Chapter 9
shouldn't i come over and look after you? pretty sure i still have that nurse costume from halloween. if u know what i mean. xxx
lis, very tempting. VERY tempting. but i'm not really up for anything this evening, except sleeping. stomach's still growling and stuff.
sigh. fine. gonna wear the costume another time for u then. as a late birthday present. make sure to get some rest, dean - it's the weekend after all! call u 2morrow. xxx
how're u feeling dean-o? should old gabe come over and nurse you back to health?
dude. lisa just asked me the same. remember that costume she wore last halloween? yeah. i doubt u can compete with THAT. anyway. i'm staying in tonight.
i'm kinda amazed ur girlfriend still has the hots for u after today. oh how it pains me that no one took any photos.
what the hell would u do with a pic of me puking my brains out?!
hang it over my bed, for one thing.
It wasn't like Dean had never made a fool of himself before. For example that one time—years ago, but still haunting him—he had attempted to strip for Cassie Robinson. Cassie, who'd had the ability to make Dean's head spin with just a simple sway of her hips. And who therefore had easily persuaded Dean into, well, stripping for her. Dean was pretty sure a part of his brain had warned him but hey, not only had Cassie been downright hot, she'd also been the first girl Dean ever had ever gotten to second base with. So yeah, he hadn't thought twice about it. Only Cassie had turned out to be slightly wrong about her parent's not returning before midnight. Because just as Dean's little strip show had been about to reach its high point—in hindsight, the stripping alone had been embarrassing enough—Mr. and Mrs. Robinson had come bursting into the room.
Rest assured, Dean had experienced a lot of embarrassing things before. Which also seemed to be a natural consequence of being friends with Gabe. But throwing up (loudly, voluminously) in front of the whole class, after eating a friggin' hash brownie, and then passing out (possibly with his head in his own puke, he still hadn't dared to ask anyone but Gabe about that), it had just truly taken the cake, quite literally.
And, oh wait, let's not forget about the fact how I afterwards got all touchy-feely with Cas in the school nurse's office whilst being high as a kite, Dean thought. And how he touched me like I'm some kind of fragile baby floret… and how I didn't complain.
Of course, Dean hadn't gone back to class after the whole math incident. After waking up the second time, and with fortunately neither the nurse nor Cas to be seen, Dean had simply crept out of the office, and had simply gone home. Which come on, couldn't be counted as skipping all things considered.
The rest of the day he'd spent barricading himself at home. Or in other words: Not being willing to leave the couch ever and watching all kinds of crap TV (mostly Dr. Sexy MD re-runs, that, excuse you, were simply brilliant). Anything to distract him from what had happened.
With a frustrated groan he buried his face in one of the dusty couch pillows.
Screw Friday night. No way I'm showing my face to anyone today.
Dean had not told his little brother anything that had happened, just that he was feeling a bit sick. But that turned out to be even worse, because instead of laughing his ass off, Sammy had started fussing over Dean like some kind of mother hen, making him weird organic herbal teas and shit. Even though the hand holding incident with Cas had given a different impression, Dean technically didn't like being fussed over, especially not while he was embarrassed to the bone.
At least Sam had refrained from dropping lines like „aw, man, and it's your birthday after all". Well, his brother should be used to the whole technically it's Dean's birthday except it's not thing by now. To Dean's relief, Sam had given up on worrying at some point—Jess had called and asked if he wanted to hang to which Sam replied yeah deffo—and had left Dean sulking on the couch. Dean had only reacted to Sam's parting by putting the hood of his sweat jacket up. That at least had earned Dean a small chuckle.
Dean took a quick look at the clock.
6 p.m. already.
Cas had said he'd wanted to come over, and—
Never mind.
Dean wasn't obsessed with the whole Cas-coming-over thing. He was not.
Crossing his arms, he fixed his eyes back on the TV screen. Sadly, the Dr. Sexy MD re-runs had ended and now he was left with Grey's Anatomy, which was a) seriously over the top and b) just a plain copy of Dr. Sexy MD. Getting slightly bored, Dean considered taking a walk—a.k.a. having a smoke outside. Rolling his eyes at no one in particular, Dean got up—
—and the doorbell rang.
Dean didn't freeze with the initial fear of his father waiting at the doorstep. He knew there was no way that of all days, John Winchester would choose his son's birthday to return home. Yes, Dean's birthday was a tricky topic and yes, his Dad was one of the reasons why it was tricky in the first place.
It's probably Sam. He's always forgetting his key.
Or Cas. He did say he wanted to check on me at some point, didn't he? No big deal.
How Dean wished the sheer probability of facing Cas in a matter of seconds wouldn't make him blush all over, and not make his hands all sweaty, which was gross, and not to mention inappropriate. Nervously, Dean tried to flatten the mess of his hair, and straightened his sweat jacket, whilst being all too aware of all the holes in his jeans. He stopped himself and took a deep breath. Cas had seen him throwing up all over the place today. So, dude—whatever.
Bravely, Dean turned the doorknob.
And found himself face to face with a stranger.
Show-off, Dean couldn't help but think.
Quickly, he gave the guy in front of him the once-over. A slender man in his mid-thirties—Dean wasn't sure, he'd never been any good at guessing people's ages—whose appearance, admittedly, could really steal one's show. He was dressed up all smartly, wearing brown leather boots, expensive-looking, tight jeans, a grey V-neck shirt that was revealing quite a lot of tanned chest, and a black leather jacket. His blonde hair was messy, but—unlike Cas' bed hair—the weirdly stylish kind of messy. Plus, he had this sort of tough and rough stubble going on. Again, unlike Cas', whose stubble was more of the shaving, what is shaving kind.
„Oh, goodness. Are you Dean Winchester?" The guy said, eyebrows raised and revealing quite a posh sounding accent.
Dean instantly didn't feel like being polite—on the other hand, when did he ever—and put on his best don't-fuck-with-me face.
„Well, yeah. Do I know you?"
The guy's blue eyes sparkled with amusement, mustering the grumpy teenager in front of him. Before he could reply however, Cas came bursting around the corner.
„Balthazar, what do you think you're doing?"
The guy, Balthazar, sighed and turned around.
„Talking to Dean Winchester, that's what I'm doing", he said, innocently. Then, noticing the look on Cas' face—a mixture between annoyance and I-don't-understand—he added: „Oh, calm down, Cassy, will you? You can't give such a present and expect me to not take a look at the kid who's responsible for it."
And with that, he went back to eyeing Dean, curiously.
It took Dean a moment to catch up with the situation, because the sight of Cas was pretty damn distracting. Striding towards them, he was wearing nothing but a grandpa-ish looking bathrobe, face all flushed and hair still dripping. Obviously, he'd jumped right out the shower. Dean tried not to gawk at all the bare skin Cas' ugly bathrobe failed to cover. Luckily, his mind still managed to put two and two together.
„So, that's your brother, then?" Dean said, tearing his eyes away from Cas' delicate neck.
„Yes. This is my older brother Balthazar", Cas replied with a pained expression. He shifted uncomfortably. „We're going out tonight, as I told you yesterday, to celebrate his birthday."
To which you're of course really looking forward to, right? Dean thought and smiled, sympathetically.
Balthazar, clearly enjoying his little brother's discomfort, patted Cas on the shoulder. „There, there, Cassy. We're just going to a bloody bar. You look like I'm planning to take you clubbing, for god's sake." He looked at Dean. „Ha. I did take him clubbing once, though. Back when he was in college."
The memory made Balthazar laugh and Cas cringe. Dean dimly wondered what Cas' childhood had been like, growing up with a guy like that. And possibly even more siblings, Dean did not know.
„Fun times", Balthazar went on. „But anyway, Dean Winchester, here's the thing. Every year I'm receiving the dullest presents you can imagine from my brother—no offense, Cassy—and today I was standing in front of him, thinking oh boy, I wonder what boring book I'm getting this year, and then, without a comment, he puts this thing on the table!"
Dean could't help but grin at that. He'd just known the present would be perfect.
„Absolutely hilarious! And so I was saying to Cassy No bloody way you came up with that! And he told me a friend had helped him choose it. And I thought friend? Well, that's a first—aw, come on, don't look so sulky, Castiel—because you know, my brother isn't really the friends type. And after a good while of nagging—brother, would you stop wiggling about, it's my birthday and therefore I am allowed to talk, am I not?—Anyway, after a while of nagging, Cas spilt the beans about this mysterious friend of his. And." Balthazar paused to actually breathe for a second. „And, Dean, then I had to take a look at you myself. Since of course Castiel's very first buddy has to be no one but the neighbor's kid who also happens to be his student! Sounds a tad odd, doesn't it?"
The man smiled at Dean, obviously expecting some kind of statement of him.
Dean quickly glanced at Cas, whose face had gone red as a beetroot. A reaction Balthazar had obviously been aiming for. And a reaction that was kind of nice to look at. But despite the distraction, there was no way Dean would let the guy win this little game. He'd had enough of embarrassment today.
„Well, you know", Dean simply replied. "I was pretty much flunking math, and Cas was nice to help me out. Plus, he's fun to hang out with. He's a cool guy. And a great teacher. " Dean shrugged. „No big deal."
He concentrated on keeping a straight face, because really? Calling what was and had been going on between him and Cas no big deal was a big fat lie, and Dean was all too aware of that.
Balthazar gave an amused huff. Then he turned to Castiel. „You could have told me that he looks like some bloody Calvin Klein model. I expected some scrawny teenager, spotty-faced and brace-wearing", he muttered as if Dean wasn't standing right in front of him.
Cas just frowned in response. Well, he could at least have agreed or something. Dean crossed his arms, feeling weirdly self-conscious now.
„So... I guess you two want to get going soon?" He shot Cas a look.
This is your way out, man, take it.
Thankfully, Cas got the hint. „Yes. Yes, we do. I've made some reservations and—"
„Why don't you join us, Dean?" Balthazar interrupted.
Then, since neither his brother nor his first buddy gave any indication of responding anytime soon, Balthazar went on, breaking the dumbfounded silence.
„Well, it would be fun, wouldn't it, Cassy? Make us feel young again. Especially you, always pondering over one thing and another, wearing that deep frown of yours."
Dean watched Cas frown harder at his brother's words, and, becoming aware of what he was doing, attempt to smoothen his features, which just looked really awkward and sort of painful.
„Balthazar", Cas then said, tentatively „Dean is ill. And I highly doubt he wants to—"
„Nonsense!" Balthazar interrupted again, and looked at Dean. „You certainly don't seem to have any plans tonight, the way you're dressed, boy. And what could possibly be wrong with eating a nice steak in the company of your dear friend and his oh-so-curious brother? Because frankly, I'm dying to know what Cassy has been up to the last few weeks. And since he won't tell me, you sure have some gossip for me."
„There's nothing to tell!" Dean blurted out, thinking of all the things between him and Cas that would make for some juicy gossip. He cleared his throat. „I mean, I really don't want to disrupt your evening. You haven't seen each other for a while, probably got lots of catching up to do." He glanced at Cas. „Right?"
Unfortunately, Cas didn't get the hint this time. „Dean, you wouldn't disrupt our evening."
Cas turned to Balthazar, his bathrobe's belt slowly working itself loose. And revealing, well, not like Dean could see a lot of it (he wasn't actively trying or anything), a pale, flat stomach and thighs. Cas was too confused to notice it.
"Balthazar, would it be socially acceptable for Dean to—"
"Well, Cassy, I'm sure you two can work this out, can you?" Balthazar smirked. "I'll give you some privacy."
Cas' brother turned around, and while walking—dancing—he added, teasingly: "Oh, and would you mind covering yourself, dearest brother of mine?"
Cas looked down himself. Hesitant, as if he was trying to understand why the robe had betrayed him, Cas knotted the belt tight. At the sight, Dean was embarrassed, flustered, because Cas fumbling around his crotch. Dean stuffed his hands in his jeans' pockets, trying hard not to let his inappropriate feelings show.
"So, uh", Dean began, clearing his throat. "Guess I don't have anything better to do. If it's cool with you, I mea—"
"Yes, it is", Cas shot out.
He shortly met Dean's stare, and his tense face softened into a weak smile. "It's uhm, very 'cool with me' indeed. My nerves are quite frayed already, as you might have noticed. I could really use your—your company tonight. If you're feeling better, that is. Are you feeling better, Dean?"
"Uh, yeah. Better. I'm feeling better, yeah."
"Good, good", Cas muttered. He quickly looked over his shoulder, and then gave Dean an apologetic look. "Like I said, he really has no boundaries. My apologies. He makes me feel deeply uncomfortable."
"It's fine, Cas." Dean shrugged. Then, he smirked. "I'll hold your hand if it makes you feel better."
Cas swallowed, mouth-opened.
Crap. Dean remembered the nurse office, stuttering. "That—uh—that was a joke, Cas."
"Oh." Cas shyly glanced at him. "Okay."
Dean scratched his cheek. "Uh—yeah. Maybe I should, you know. Get dressed now."
"Ah. Yes." Cas quickly looked Dean up and down, which made Dean feel hot all over. "You don't need to change, though. You're looking—you're looking good, Dean."
They exchanged a long-drawn-out glance.
"Yeah", Dean nodded, voice hoarse, looking down. He slowly backed off inside the house, making an awkward finger-gun at Cas. "Yeah, okay. Thanks. I'll keep that in mind. And you, uh—you're looking just amazing, man."
"Thank you, Dean", Cas said, earnestly. "For everything."
At the emotions in Cas' look, Dean stopped dead. A wave of affection rushed through him, relentless, and he felt a reasonable amount of pride. In spite of how shitty, horrible and shameful the day had turned out so far, and no matter how much Dean felt like hiding himself from the rest of the world forever, the half-naked man standing in front of him was a whole different story. Cas trusted, needed him.
"I'll be there in a sec", Dean said, shyly smiling.
Cas just nodded, eyes saying it all, and went off.
The Ramshackle Hut had been driving St. Tipper's people to the edge of despair for decades, so it was only fitting that the bar sat on the edge of the town.
Too far away to just go and grab a beer, too close to deny its existence.
The musty, decayed insult of a bar was a real tragedy, and a great example for good old times gone wrong. It was a wrung-out family business, only kept alive for the ancestor's sake, and the second home of a few thrown-out ex-husbands, ex-whatever. The mecca of the aimless and nameless. A depressing as hell place—excluding the fact that it was situated in friggin' St. Tipper, the diva of retirees-meet-bored-to-death-teenagers-towns and therefore a mere depression in itself.
The Ramshackle Hut truly lived up to its name and was definitely numbering among those mysterious 'What, that shithole still exists?' places. So, all things considered, it wasn't too far-fetched to say that the town's only bar simply sucked.
On the bright side, however, nobody would run into Dean and the two distinct brothers at this place. Hell, Dean himself hadn't been to this bar in about five years, thanks to his Dad relocating his drinking habits into their cottage's living room.
The three of them were sitting together on a mustard, damned uncomfortable corner booth in the middle of said bar that Friday evening, halfway-eaten fast food dishes and beer bottles placed on the round table between them.
Oh, what the hell, Dean thought, trying to enjoy his night out without further thought—well, trying.
If he wanted to spend time with Cas, he reasoned with frustration, then that'd be exactly what he'd do, for Christ's sake. It wasn't Dean's fault that Cas had to be his friggin' math teach, he hadn't asked for it. And it wasn't forbidden to just hang out with your neighbor. Fantasizing about his lips every now and then couldn't be considered a crime, either. Or, well, about his dick. So, whatever.
And this was the friggin' Ramshackle Slut (yes, Gabe's invention) after all. Nobody here cared about anything and—Dean casually scanned the darkened, dirty room that looked like some of its dust could be counted as an antiquity—barely anyone was even around tonight.
"What are we looking for, Mr. Dean Winchester? Or may I say whom?"
Balthazar tossed Dean a challenging look while cutting the sticky, fat dripping cheese pizza on his plate in bite-sized pieces.
Not knowing how to respond (oh, how much Dean hated people that knew how to do this), he just shrugged and downed the rest of his beer, unable to move his stare away from Balthazar's odd behavior.
Cas, who'd thrown on a surprisingly clean plain white shirt—tight as hell—under his fairly dirty trench coat, too, was staring at Balthazar. But more in an exasperated, rather than in a fascinated sort of way.
Eating pizza—or fast food in general—with knife and fork was, to Dean at least, a beyond strange thing to do in the first place, but at a place like this one it was downright provocative, parodying at its finest. Dean wasn't sure whether Cas' older brother simply couldn't stop showing off his British-but-not-really-manners, or if he was the greatest douche.
So far, Dean found it pretty much safe to say that it was most likely a mixture of both. And that he most likely wouldn't become a huge fan of the—nicely described—sarcastic gentleman in the course of the evening.
"Come on, schoolboy", Balthazar went on, unimpressed by Dean's lame reaction. "With a face like yours the girls must be all over you. Don't be so shy, that's boring. We want to hear all about your young lady, am I right? Aw, Cassy, don't give me that look now, I'm just asking the questions that you don't dare to ask, it's not like I'm molesting the boy—just thank me later, will you?"
Balthazar winked at Cas, squeezing his shoulder.
"So, Dean", Balthazar went on, leaning back. "Excuse my little brother, he's a tiny bit prude, but luckily that is where the both of us distinguish. Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, right—right. Almost had me off topic there for a second, Dean Winchester. Well played, my friend. Well played. So, who is that 'girlfriend' that you're so nervously awaiting? Or why else are you constantly looking around this truly magnificent ambience as if you're expecting the bloody FBI to come bursting in at any moment?"
Balthazar waved his hand, impatiently, as if to express: Stop fussing and tell us already. Making Dean feel like he had been the one to blab without breathing, not Cas' sassy brother.
"Uh", Dean made, slayed by the waterfall of words. Dammit. "Guess I kinda missed the point."
"Wonderful", Balthazar exclaimed. "A true conversational genius, you are, aren't you. Well, schoolboy, you have the right to remain silent. Our dear friend Castiel, however, would really like to know about your love life, so perhaps you'll tell him."
Again, Balthazar winked at Cas. Cas' nervous look switched between Dean and Balthazar, eyebrows furrowed, mouth falling open and quickly shut again.
"Listen, man", Dean began, trying to help Cas. "I'm not waiting for anyone. If you want to ask me something, well, then just go straight ahead. There's no need to drag Cas into this… conversation."
For a moment, Balthazar just mustered Dean in a kind of approving way. Dean tried his best not to back off.
"I like your confident attitude." Balthazar sneered at Dean. "But I'm afraid you got this all wrong, sunny boy, so let me give you a tad of insight on this one, why don't you. See, besides yourself there are two people sitting around this table, one of them is—excuse my language—simply shitting you, and the other one is—how do I put this?—in serious, desperate need of some answers."
"I'm not waiting for anyone, jeez", Dean snapped, defensive, not really seeing what Balthazar was getting at. "Not for my girlfriend or anyone else. I'm just here. With Cas—and with… you."
"Balthazar, please", Cas piped up. "You're upsetting Dean."
"Thanks, Cas, but I can speak for mys—"
Dean choked on the last word. It surely was meant as a protective, calming gesture, but Cas' sudden touch on Dean's knee under the table happened so abruptly and unexpected that his heart took a giant leap, and his skin started prickling all over. Unexpected. That was it. Definitely just a surprise reaction. And possibly all the girlfriend talk also had something to do with Dean's excitement. Cas' hand on his knee under the table making him get all hot and bothered, nowhere less than right between his friggin' legs to be precise, that'd be highly inappropriate and fucked up and goddammit, take your fucking hand away.
Cas didn't even look at him. He was just firmly staring at Balthazar, while casually doing his touching thing, and for some reason, his casualty was the worst part—or best? Wait, what—because the touch felt so hidden, and covert, and forbidden, and holy damn, so good…
"How colorful", Balthazar interrupted the sudden silence. "So you're waiting for your boyfriend, then?"
Feeling weirdly caught, Dean winced, and snatched Cas' hand as if his touch wasn't all he had ever dreamed of. He tore it away, far away from his leg and pressed it on the seat cushion instead, a little too violent, but not at all minding if he was hurting Cas right now. For that, Dean received an irritated, pained look from Cas. He was kind of red in the face, too, Dean noticed, but in the dimmed light it was hard to tell. Dean was just unable to reopen his cramped fingers. Hell, he was on the verge of getting a major hard-on, and it was all Cas' fault.
"Well", Balthazar went on with an amused huff, closely mustering them. "Looks like I found a weak spot there." Suddenly, he playfully banged his palms on the table, and Dean almost had a heart attack. "Dean Winchester, I take my hat off to you. I must say you are one mildly entertaining young fellow. Perhaps a tad too quick-tempered for my liking, but we've all been there, haven't we, Cassy?"
Balthazar smiled at the two of them, self-congratulatory. Cas just continued to sit upright, gazing into the distance with a concentrated expression, as if he wasn't even with them anymore. Dean awkwardly turned his hot face away from Balthazar, his sweaty hand still clung to Cas' fingers. He had probably broken Cas' hand by now, but Dean hardly even realized he was still pressing it, for the turmoil in his stomach, between his legs, in his head and everywhere else was already way too much to handle.
"Looking anywhere particular, or are we just showing off our ravishingly beautiful profile, schoolboy?"
Dean looked up, hating himself for reacting to the nickname. Balthazar flipped some peanut puff into his mouth, and smiled innocently (and fairly douchey) back at him.
"Alrighty, folks", Balthazar then yawned, clapping his hands on the table surface again, making the bottles clink. "I do enjoy talking to myself, really do, but it'd be nicer if we'd all loosen up a bit more, wouldn't it? I'm going to get us another round. Unless Dean's bedtime has arrived yet, that is. In that case I will—as a true cavalier—drive my little brother's first friend—no offense, Cassy—right back to his doorstep myself."
Balthazar made a move to get going, but then—of course—leaned in again, because—who'd have known—he wasn't finished yet. Was he ever?
"Frankly, I'm dying to know what else Cassy has been keeping from me. A dirty side job? A secret hobby? Another friend? You'll tell me, Dean, will you?"
In response, Dean just scowled at him. Laughingly, Balthazar rumpled Dean's hair up.
„Aw, sweetheart. You ought to do something about that horrible fringe, though, if you're intending to keep up with the pretty boy angel to your right. After all, you want to look all lovely and get-at-able for him, don't you?"
With that, and an obnoxious wink, he finally headed for the bar and left Cas and Dean—equally blushed—to themselves. However, the biggest part of the built-up tension inside of Dean was eased as soon as he knew the guy in safe distance. Relieved, he exhaled, and remembered that—oh, yeah—he was still kind of holding Cas' hand.
As if it'd been burned, Dean stressfully tore his hand away from Cas, only to hide it shamefully in his sweater's pocket, which didn't feel a whole lot more graceful. Cas let out a painful hiss. He was moving and turning his squashed hand in front of his eyes as if he'd never seen it before, as if he was trying to understand where the pain was coming from.
"Sorry 'bout that", Dean mumbled, apologetically. "Guess I sort of crushed your bones."
Cas' look wandered around, as if woken up from a dream. Then, he found Dean's uncomfortable appearance. As much as Dean hated it, he couldn't help but lock eyes with Cas.
"No, it's fine", Cas said in a strangely soft voice. "That was a fascinating experience, wasn't it? What you did with my hand, I—wow. I've never felt that many emotions within a couple of minutes before. Pain, stress, embarrassment, and, uh—"
Cas broke off, glancing at Dean.
"—other."
Dean shifted, quickly looking away. "Yeah, yeah, I get what you mean. Wasn't really my cup of tea, though. The whole, y'know, experience."
Cas was silent for a moment. "It wasn't?"
"Uh, no, Cas. Dunno about you, but I'm not the type of guy who's into getting grilled by the police."
Dean turned to Cas, meaning to share a solitary look with him, 'cause Balthazar really was as bad as Cas had described him, but then Dean's mouth just hung open, 'cause Cas was shyly staring at his crotch, where the situation admittedly wasn't as critical anymore, but still clearly visible.
Both of them jumped when Balthazar suddenly slammed the beer on the table in front of them, chuckling, delighted in mischief. Cas immediately grabbed for one of the bottles, keeping a straight face, but Dean, even though he was trying hard to look anywhere but at friggin' Cas, didn't fail to notice those uncoordinated hand movements of his, and well, the way he almost dropped the bottle, twice. Not knowing what to do with himself, Dean pulled out his pack of cigarettes and, with a long, deep drag, lit one up.
"Woah, bad boy Winchester" Balthazar exclaimed, brows raised. "Are you even allowed to do that, at your tender age? Smoking without offering one to your companions?"
That, finally, earned Balthazar a tiny grin from Dean.
A very tiny one.
The following hours were some of the longest in Dean's life. Balthazar was basically talking non-stop, interrogating Dean—and Cas—like they hadn't met only the same evening. Even as Dean and Cas slowly started to loosen up—alcohol did it once again—the trio was still a rather difficult constellation, though a certain fun factor was definitely undeniable.
Every now and then, Dean shot a quick glance at the one to his right, smiling, thinking how surreal this whole situation seemed, and how thrilling Cas was looking in this light, in the smoke, at this place. He remembered how they'd held hands twice in the course of one day, holy shit, what a fucked up day, no, they hadn't actually held hands, and if they had then it had probably been kind of accidental, scary, screwed up, wrong…
Inevitable.
And from time to time, Cas returned Dean's look, smiling a crooked smile, sending a flash all the way down to Dean's toes. A smile that made Dean feel alive, present, safe and sound, arousing odd sensations inside of him, ones he couldn't name.
Maybe he didn't need to.