Chapter 11

By the time the late November days came rolling in, the sun above St. Tipper had thankfully discarded its obnoxious early bird habits already, and usually left the people in darkness until forenoon, endowing everyone a nice dose of autumnal quiet and peace. Dean, however, who'd always been a late riser, and didn't really give a damn about longer and shorter days, decided to stir things up a little bit on a windless, chilly Sunday morning, because he was all stirred up inside, and had been for weeks now, and the world just needed to know, if no one else cared.

Dean would start the forest's fauna from its night rest out of pure, senseless rage, that would be exactly what he'd be doing, and nobody could stop him.

The long interval of restless, nightmare-studded nights over the past weeks had finally managed to drag him down completely into an embittered devil-may-care state of mind. Precisely, Dean had been an insomniac for nearly ten weeks now, even more precisely, ever since the thing between Cas and him had happened, the thing that had finally made it clear that 'getting on with it' was absolutely, undeniably impossible, for Dean, at least.

And that was why Dean, who had once rather fatefully found a true friend, had now turned into a hopeless, self-professed fuck-up, as he always managed to royally fuck everything up that he honestly cared about. Seemingly his whole life had turned into a deserted, miserable ruin. Pathetic, yes, he agreed to that, but that was just how he felt—shattered and wrecked. All the time now, he was on the run, desperate to fill the inner void that Cas had left. Food didn't work. Sex didn't do the trick, either.

He needed the thrill.

And as Dean was cautiously strolling about the narrow trails and undergrowth of St. Tipper Green Forest, which he knew like the back of his hand, his unlocked hunting rifle flicked over his shoulder, he felt kind of meaningful again, powerful even, though his head was pounding like a bitch. Dean was outrageous. And it was better to take his anger out on St. Tipper's overpopulated forest, he figured, than on his little brother, although the smartass had become a true pain in the ass within the last weeks, but still.

The forest was pretending to sleep, but Dean knew better.

The air was sizzling with a mixture of danger and anticipation, and Dean was bloodthirsty. His last hunt had been felt ages ago. There was nothing like it. When Dean had been a boy, and John had taught him the ways of the hunting world, he'd learnt to completely rely on his senses, and now, as a pretty good hunter his vision was as sharp as a razor blade, trained and vigilant, the blueish moonlight all he needed to spot a target, absorb his muted surroundings and the tense atmosphere.

The bushes were brushing against his scrawny legs, various branches were scratching and poking his worn-out leather jacket, when Dean entered a silent, wide clearing, which was surrounded by giant firs and leafless deciduous trees. The thickset, frosted grassland was recklessly stretching at his cold feet.

"Hello there", Dean whispered, winningly.

A maroon, fully grown doe was gazing all by itself at the clearing's far end.

Still have it, Dean thought, hyped up. The adrenaline—his life's elixir—shot through his veins like lightning. It was a real beauty he'd found there. And, he thought while soundlessly aiming his gun, it would certainly die as one. That much Dean would take care of.

See… aim… fire!

A deafening shot filled the silence. A few birds answered with indignant screams, for the loud, alarming bang flushed flocks of birds out of the treetops.

"Sonofabitch!" Dean yelled, furiously.

The goddamn deer was fleeing through the thicket, unharmed, because Dean had shot a friggin' tree. Apparently, he couldn't even handle a tiny backfire anymore without steering the bullet right into the next fucking trunk. And the worst part was that that wasn't even the truth. Because at the very last moment he'd aimed the muzzle just above the deer's back. Dean well knew that, but simply denied it.

He'd missed a fucking still animal on an open field. He was the biggest pussy. Sammy could eat all the tofu he wanted, Dean would still win the pussy-of-the-year award. He didn't know why he was that devastated, since it'd been just an ordinary deer not a friggin' moose or anything. Not like Dean was nearly as obsessed with them as his phantom dad. Dean had missed a target before, but right now it seemed like the biggest deal ever. The last thing he had thought he was still good at: Now ruined, too. So there was that.

Suddenly, Dean felt like crying. Not the normal, sad way of crying, but the desperate, self-hatred-soaked kind, the one he could knock his head against the next best tree to. Yeah, except that Dean didn't cry, ever. So instead, he aimed his weapon skywards, and fired a shot at it, then another one. It felt good, freeing, and sort of painful. He shot again.

"Dean, what the actual hell are you doing?"

Dean turned around, unaffectedly.

It was Sam.

His little brother was still wearing his pyjama trousers—well, it was like five in the morning so Sam wasn't the odd one here—, along with a distraught facial expression and a hair style that could easily be described as bird-nest meets electric socket. He'd thrown on some grey hoodie and was wrapping his arms around himself, freezing, and the bridge of his nose pinched. Dean put his weapon back on his shoulder.

"Don't know", Dean replied, honestly. "I don't know what I'm doing, Sam."

"Well, it looks like you're completely nuts to me", Sam said with a worried tone. Look who's talking, Dean thought. "You're shooting at the sky? It's not even six yet. Are you hunting birds or something? No, let me put it in other words, why the hell are you hunting?"

Dean merely shrugged. He'd been angry, still is. Still could hardly remember why else he was even here. His lip started trembling, and he quickly turned away. Bitch needs to mind his own business.

"Are you… crying?" Sam's voice softened and he stepped closer to Dean, briefly touching his shoulder. "What's with you lately, Dean?"

"I ain't crying, Sam!" Dean shouted, wiping Sam's hand off his shoulder like an annoying fly. An asshole, that's what he acted like, but he just couldn't stop being one right now, though he tried. "Sam, just." Dean breathed in deeply. "Don't ask. It's nothing. I don't wanna talk about it."

„Okay", Sam shortly said. „But I don't think killing innocent animals will solve any of your problems, Dean. Swallowing your anger won't do it, either, but, you know. Just saying."

"So, what do you suggest, smartass?" Dean snarled, glaring at Sam. "Stuffing myself with tons of vegetables and running around declaring the rights of animals like you do?"

"Dean, how many times do I have to tell you", Sam began, offended. "I'm not trying to rebel against Dad. That's not what I'm doing. Jesus, sometimes you're the most small-minded person ever. Anyway", Sam stopped himself from holding a speech. "Talk about it, man. It can't be that bad, and I won't judge you. Promise. You look like shit, by the way. And I'm not talking about your new haircut."

"Shut up, bitch", Dean grumbled, lamely, automatically running his hand through his short-cut hair.

It wasn't that short anymore. Considering that just a few weeks ago, he'd been almost bald. Even though everyone seemed to like it—who cared what they said, anyway—Dean still felt a little self-conscious about it. Mostly because he'd chopped it all off himself, with a knife, in a moment of insanity after his crazy fringe had literally poked his fucking eye out, and he'd nearly lost his vision.

"The hell do you want me to do, Sammy", Dean began when Sam continued staring at him with a weird mixture of worry and ridicule. "Do you want me to pour my fucking heart out to you? Bawl like a baby and listen to your smart-alecky advice? Well, face it, it's not gonna happen. Wouldn't know where to start anyway."

Dean cringed as he heard himself say the last bit out loud. Goddammit, he definitely started sounding like a baby now.

Of course Dean wanted to scream, scream his lungs out at the whole world for giving him such a shitty, horrible father, who'd been nowhere to be seen for two months now (yes, two months), but he just didn't want to talk about it with Sam again, considering how great the last time went. And there was no way in the world Dean would tell anyone the whole Cas business. There were a million other things that had bottled up, but talking about them? Hell, motherfucking no.

"All right, then." Sam turned around, walking, then quietly added: "Guess I can't force you."

"Damn right you can't!"

He could practically feel Sammy's eye roll.

Both cold as fuck now, they slowly moved away from the clearing, crouching under a few branches every now and then, stumbling over roots that were dangerously sticking out of the ground, and the two of them made their way through the darkness, along the trail that led directly back to their home.

No, Dean wasn't proud of the tense atmosphere he'd created. Out of all people, Sammy was the last one he'd want to be stuck with in confined space like that, surrounded by angry silence and thick air; because as everyone knew, Sammy could be a real bitch about almost anything.

In a poor attempt to quickly smooth things out again, Dean caught up with his little brother to playfully mess up his already tousled hair, receiving a grouchy "Stop it" from Sam for his action. The tiny smile that appeared on Sammy's face shortly afterwards was pretty satisfying, though.

The following morning, it was time to step up for another shit day at school.

Gently, the birdsong was floating through the fresh air, announcing the beginning of another unwritten chapter, another opportunity to rewrite people's fate and let them reach a little closer for their unfulfilled dreams and undying hopes. Yeah, didn't that just sound like complete, utter bullshit. Unconcernedly, the sun above St. Tipper was at the ready to take up the moon's station, stoked for another match against the crippled ozonosphere, glaciers in the Antarctic and—that one took the least effort—Dean's fragile nerves.

Wow, what a remarkable Monday morning, Dean thought, lighting up his cigarette, totally didn't live through that crap a thousand times before.

Dean walked around the corner at the end of his street and entered St. Tipper main road, facing the same grey asphalt, buildings and trash bins as usual. It was still dark and gloomy outside, a few cars were passing the smoking guy in his brown leather jacket and dirty jeans, as he was slowly approaching the bus stop, where he always met Lisa before school.

She looked good, unsurprisingly. Her hair was shiny and long, her red jacket was sitting really well on her, her black pants were tight in all the right places and yada yada yada. Overall, Dean could seriously count himself lucky to have her. It was only that she looked really good every single day, so it was hardly exciting anymore. And Lisa was always so sweet to him, which was, of course, nice, but—when you felt like a piece of shit, all the time, being treated like the greatest hero on earth didn't feel any good at all.

As hard as Dean tried to suppress these thoughts, he just couldn't help it sometimes. None of it was Lisa's fault, anyway. Dean and her were slowly drifting apart, it seemed, and no one but Dean was to blame for it. She just didn't know him anymore, didn't know anything, hell, she didn't even know he thought these kind of things.

"Hey, hon", she greeted, smilingly. "How are you?"

"Smashing", Dean said, approaching her.

Here we go again, he thought, absently, while spitting on the sidewalk to get rid of the tobacco leaves in his mouth. Damn rollies. He gave her a quick peck on the lips, and they felt soft, warm, sugary and all that, but also they felt like nothing. There had been a time when Dean had called their relationship magical. Yeah, only a stupid idiot like him would say something like that.

They got under way. Lisa told some story about one of her girlfriends being preggo or something, and Dean said "Must be really hard for her", just to keep her talking. Lisa was walking to his right, and Dean kept his cig in his right hand. She didn't even notice they weren't doing their holding-hands-on-the-way-to-class thing and Dean didn't care, either.

His attention was suddenly revived, when a brown Chevy Pickup shot past them.

Cas' car was speeding down the road, and it was gone as ridiculously fast as it had appeared. Beyond stupid—he'd give you that—but Dean's heart was hammering wildly in his chest at the sheer sight of it.

"Someone's in a hurry", Lisa giggled. "Wasn't that Mr. Novak's car?"

"Mhm", Dean grumbled. "Looks like it."

"See, that's exactly what I like about him." Her eyes lit up, cheerfully. "None of our teachers would ever be late for class. But Mr. Novak, he's so down to earth. He's funny, kind of shy and a little bit out of it sometimes. He's like us, you know? Who knows, but maybe I'll become a teacher in the end, too. Then I'd definitely try to be just like him!" She declared, turning to Dean. "Don't you think?"

Dean didn't reply straight away, 'cause his heart had heavily dropped at her zealous words. Cas would so love to hear something like that. And Dean wasn't able to tell him, because he was an immature, pathetic idiot, couldn't deal with himself, and because they weren't really talking anymore. He sighed, downcast.

"Yeah, sure", Dean approved, shortly. "He's pretty awesome."

She shot him an unsteady glance when he left it at that, and they leaped into uncomfortable silence.

"Haven't you been friends or something?" She eventually asked, hesitating.

Dean flipped the butt of his cigarette on the street, and immediately pulled his rollie can out of his jean's front pocket. Did he want to answer her? Well, a forceful no to that, but she was Lisa after all, and he wouldn't give her the silent treatment, too.

"Kind of, yeah", Dean rasped, lighting up another cigarette. "But not anymore. Anyway, you got some more gossip for me or what, Lis?"

She didn't even hear the last part.

"Huh", she made, thoughtfully. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

"Drifted apart", Dean quickly said. "That happens."

"Sure, it does", Lisa said. Dean felt her doubtful stare on him. "I just think it's… sad, Dean. I mean, you really liked him. And he cared so much about you and your grades. It's not often you find someone like that."

"Yeah." Dean smiled, painfully. "I know."

Lisa nodded, gently squeezing Dean's arm, walking.

Obviously Lisa was getting that the topic was making Dean uncomfortable as hell. He could easily tell, because normally she went on and on like a waterfall. But, unfortunately, it seemed too interesting for her to just let it go like that, and Dean cursed the heavens for it. Because she then gave a weird fake laughter, awkwardly nudging Dean's shoulder with her fist.

"Sounds like I was right after all", she said, sounding amused and tense at the same time. "He really was just a summer affair. Ironical, isn't it?"

Shut up, Dean couldn't help but think. Her stupid jokes and curiousness were seriously pissing him off now. Also, the fact that she was kind of right—of course she was—, but he'd be damned before admitting that. Hell, she was just trying to be funny and lighten up the mood. She couldn't know that her words hurt like a stitch into an open wound.

So, Dean managed a half-hearted grunt.

Fortunately, they'd reached school by now.

Or unfortunately, depending on how one looked at it, because feeling the tense Cas situation was even worse than unwillingly talking about it.

"Hello, students."

Dean, who'd been dozing on his seat in the first row with a throbbing headache, trying hard to fade out everyone's painfully loud and annoyingly motivated voices, looked up lazily.

A stressed-out, panting Mr.-Novak-styled Cas came rushing into the classroom, his overstuffed, scratchy, black brief case in one hand, and a large pile of papers in the other. Today, Dean stealthily noticed, Cas was looking extraordinarily good. Oddly clean and showered. Disregarding the reversed, loose blue tie, the eye-catching coffee stain on his chest and the few missed buttons of his white shirt. Remember when Dean had been startled by the huge difference between Mr. Novak and Cas? Good times.

It would be pretty harsh to say that Cas had been looking like shit the last weeks. But the once pretty definite line between free-time and teacher Cas had become blurrier and blurrier, had slowly vanished away like, well, dust in the wind or something. Let's just say, now Cas was looking fairly older than a few weeks ago. To be fair, though, Cas actually kind of rocked the below-the-bridge look. At least as long as he left that one hairy, woolen sweater out of it. Dean wasn't the kind of guy who remembered people's clothes, really wasn't, but that one…

Anyway. The sleek, shaved, neatly dressed and organized math teach from the beginning of the school year slowly but surely became a fleeting memory. Cas' once rather subtle stubble, for example, had escalated into a thick, scruffy beard by now. He had stuck to the black pants and white shirt look, though, even if he seemingly didn't bother to change them every day anymore—or even once a week.

Last Friday, hopefully, the climax had been reached, when Cas had accidentally worn his dirty garden shoes for class, spreading pieces of garden soil and mud in the whole classroom as he'd walked around between the desks. When Gabe had been done having a hysterical giggle over it, he'd eventually pointed it out to Cas, and Cas had been kind of quiet and shameful for the rest of the lesson. That had been the infamous garden shoe incident.

So today, Mr. Novak had obviously made an effort (to maybe erase it from people's minds), and, well, it wasn't weird to notice that, right? 'Cause he was just looking really nice today. His face was all heated and rosy from running or something. His hair was effortlessly great, as always, wild and curly. The beard was sitting him very well, and today it matched his look perfectly. Yes, all in all, really nice.

Dean winced when a loud thump brutally tore him out of his daydreaming.

Diagonally across from him, Cas flung his brief case on the teacher's desk, causing a few loose sheets and chocolate bar wrappings to glide on the floor unnoticed. Dean was still fascinatedly staring at the impressive, hopeless mess that was going on with Cas'—probably important—documents, even noticing a crinkly test paper, when Cas cleared his throat and stepped in front of the class, the stack of paper he'd been carrying pressed to his body.

Everyone quickly sobered down, Gabe stopped talking to the girls sitting behind them and turned around. Within a few seconds, it was deadly quiet in the classroom.

Cas ran his fingers through his jumbled bed-hair and began with an awkward "So, uh", vaguely pointing at the text written on the front page of his pile, as if anyone could read it from the distance.

"I just copied these. That's why I'm late. Class, uh, this is your task for today, it's an interesting topic. I'm pretty sure you'll enjoy it. I've prepared these work sheets here for you, and—"

Soundlessly, a couple of sheets sailed out of his hand and to the ground. Cas groaned, annoyed, and quickly bent down to recollect them, and—another one of his well-known, accidental slapsticks—lost the grip to another few papers while doing so.

Dean noticed a few students sharing amused looks. As if Cas' clumsiness was their inside joke or something. Yes, it was irrational and probably the most stupid thing Dean had ever thought, but sometimes Dean kind of wished that Cas would get his act together again, like he'd managed the first weeks of September, for the sole reason that this was Dean's Cas. Dean used to be the only one who knew this side of him. The others didn't deserve to see it, it was none of their business and—yeah, see, it was just really irrational and stupid.

"So, uh", Cas started over when he was done collecting. "As I was saying, we'll start with this new topic today and I thought, uh, it'd be fun for you to work it out on your own. Hence, the papers. So, beforehand, I'll read out the instructions to you."

He coughed slightly.

"Number one. Primarily, summarize the terms. Then, factor out the highest possible number. Then, uh", he hesitated, narrowing his eyes. "Oh, sorry students, that was number two. Never mind. That was the better one, anyway—hah."

No one reacted to Cas'—admittedly kind of lame—joke, as usual. Except for Dean, who smiled, but it wasn't like anyone saw that.

Cas went on.

"Number one. Calculate the angle." He paused. "Ah, yes, that one's actually quite tricky. See, there's this board." He pointed at a tiny picture of a black square thing. "And there's only one length and this beta angle given. But it's still very simple, I'm positive that you'll manage. Just, uh, apply your former knowledge and you'll easily detect the angle of the board", Cas sighed. "Number three. Another adaption into everyday occurrences. So, at a construction area, an iron bar is inserted into a slut..."

He paused, frowning. "Slot, I mean. I uh, must have typed that wrong, I guess."

Naturally, Cas' awkward reading was interrupted abruptly when Gabe burst into hysterical laughter next to Dean. Soon enough, a handful of other similarly childish students joined him, and nearly everyone else grinned or smiled, embarrassed. Dean just buried his head in his arms, waiting. Well, it was a little bit funny all right, but he was feeling kind of sorry for Cas, who grew stiff and wore a deep frown.

"Class, please", Cas advised them, completely out of concept. "Be—be quiet. Well. Uhm. Let's just skip this part then. Please pick your papers up on my… on my table."

With that, the reading was over. With a sigh, Cas sat down behind the teacher's desk, obviously confused, and pulled some science magazine out of a drawer.

During Cas' performance, Dean had tried really hard not to stare at him, especially not into his eyes. But, yeah, that never worked out too well. Luckily, Cas had been too nervous to notice Dean's stare, though.

But now, as Dean still couldn't get his damn eyes off of him, Cas finally looked up—straight into Dean's eyes.

It wasn't like Dean had aimed for that to happen or anything, except that of course he had. And like every day, it was totally worth it. As blue and gorgeous as ever, they were, absorbing, and inappropriately exciting. Dean lasted about five seconds, then broke the connection, his heartbeat completely out of control, racing, pounding hard and loudly in his chest. He enjoyed the feeling, a lot. It gave him the thrill.

So, this was their thing nowadays.

Math class had become the highlight of Dean's empty days.

To quote Lisa: Ironical, wasn't it?

"What is this shit? Dude, look, number six is killing."

Gabe shook his head, laughingly, at the work sheet lying on their desk. There were exactly fifteen minutes left of the lesson, and all Gabe had done so far, besides chattering on and on to Dean about how hot Lisa was looking today, was to point at the instructions on the paper and laugh his ass off about them, loudly, and every time Dean had tried to grab it, Gabe had just yanked the paper out of his hand. It was the most annoying thing ever, so Dean had eventually given up. Also, Gabe had been drawing way too much attention—Cas' attention precisely— and asides from their little eye thingy, that was something Dean avoided like the plague these days.

"Binominal coefficients in Pascal's triangle", Gabe read aloud and snorted. "Like? I don't even know what any of these words mean. And who the hell is Pascal?"

"Jeez, man, who cares", Dean mumbled, resting his head on his elbow.

All around them, their classmates were busily discussing the math problems, low-voiced, and some of them were already finished. Cas, after going for the one or other spin through the classroom, was just placing himself back behind the teacher's desk, looking rather pensive, but that was just his casual look—hopefully.

"Just write something down", Dean grumpily advised Gabe. "Nobody cares, Gabe. Besides, it stopped being funny at least twenty minutes ago."

Surprised, Gabe raised one brow, mustering Dean.

"Oh, I'm sorry, princess", he said with a fake worried tone, squeezing Dean's arm. "Didn't know you were on your period. Poor thing. Can I get you anything, Dean-o?"

Dean just scoffed at him, turning his head away. Gabe rolled his eyes, finally shutting his mouth to take a serious look at the work sheet.

It took him a few seconds to realize: "This is totally above our heads, man."

Dean lazily looked back at Gabe. "So?"

„So", Gabe began. „I'll just ask the one who's responsible for this crap. Mr Novak!"

Dean jumped, abruptly waking up from his half-nap.

„Stop it", he hissed, whispering. „What are you doing, man?"

„Uh, well", Gabe laughed, giving Dean the look that was preserved only for seriously dumb questions. „What's it look like, huh? Calm your tits, dude. Mr. Novak!"

Cas automatically got up from his chair and scanned the room for the student calling for him. When he saw that it was Gabe, he kind of winced, there was slight hesitation in his look but it was only a glimpse, so possibly Dean was wrong. Anyhow, Dean was hating Gabe with every cell of his body right now. And himself, too, because he was unable to stop his pulse rate from shooting out of the roof and—of course—because he secretly loved the feeling of horror and excitement mixed together. Dean's stare was fixed on the table's surface. He was nervously fiddling with his pencil, when Cas leaned over the table from behind to talk to Gabe.

"Hello… Gabriel. Dean."

As usual when Cas was checking on them during class, Dean wished he could just act normal for Christ's sake. But an awkward smile to the table was all Dean could manage.

Gabe started explaining their gigantic problem with the tasks, gesturing wildly, and Dean could feel that Cas' look was resting not on Gabe, but on him, curiously, shyly, friggin' intense. Dean's palms got sweaty, and he had no idea what to do with himself while Cas was standing right behind him, watching him, so he just sat there, tensely.

Halfway through Gabe's dramatic speech, Cas put his hand on the back of Dean's chair. A second later, Dean felt a cautious fingertip on his lower back, brushing over the thin fabric of his t-shirt. Dean held his breath. Rhythmically, again and again, Cas started caressing Dean, and Gabe's jabbering became static noise in the background.

This was… new.

Cas had never… done that before.

Every time Cas eventually left their table, Dean wished he'd stayed a little longer, but this time, Dean wished he wouldn't leave at all, ever. He wished Gabe would simply go on and ask all the questions there were to ask, even though it hurt.

It hurt, because Dean would bet anything that Cas didn't even know what was going on between them, only that something had gone wrong. It was killing Dean just to think about it, and the way Cas was touching him now, silently reaching out for him, felt like a knife between Dean's ribs. Still, he never wanted it to end.

Dean's breath hitched, when Cas placed his whole palm on his lower back, leaning forward to explain the work sheet to Gabe. Now, Dean could see Cas' face out of the corner of his eye, see his hand busily scribbling on the paper, and the close sound of his voice made the skin of Dean's neck crawl. Safely, behind the back of the chair, Cas continued caressing Dean, now with his thumb, the warmth of Cas' palm jetting through the fabric of Dean's t-shirt.

Five minutes, and the magic was over. Gabe's voice fought its way through to Dean's conscious—"so that's what an epiphany feels like"—and while leaving their table, Cas took the last chance to touch Dean and squeezed his shoulder, and Dean laboriously stared at the table surface. Dean peeped at Cas' back, felt pathetic, looked away, and it was all over when math class ended and the school bell rang.

Except that it wasn't.

Because Dean, who'd barely been present all day, had somehow managed to fall asleep during the last minutes of class and—surprise, surprise—neither Gabe nor anyone else had bothered to wake him up. So the school bell had done the job instead, and the noisy, high-pitched ding dong did it just fine.

Dean blinked into the bitingly light class room, fully disorientated, and found himself all alone. Hilarious. They'd probably taken thousands of photos or something, or drew shit on his face. Friggin' terrific.

"Hello, Dean."

Jesus Christ. Dean swirled around on his chair, nearly knocking it over, and found Cas standing at the tiny sink at the back of the classroom. He was fully concentrating on rubbing the coffee stain off his shirt with an old, wet cloth. It took Dean a few moments to catch his breath.

"H—hey, Cas."

"Coffee", Cas said, gravely, focused on his shirt. "It's a good drink, but… it's impossible to remove. It just won't… work."

„Well, uh", Dean awkwardly spoke into the silent classroom. "Have you tried, you know, soap? 'Cause it'd work better, I guess. Soap is… cleaner… and, uh", Dean paused, actually listening to his own words, "yeah. That's all, I guess."

"Oh, yes, actually", Cas went on, conversationally. "I've tried doing that while you were asleep. Unfortunately, it doesn't help, either."

Dean tried hard to fight off the mental image of Cas watching him sleeping.

"Uh, Okay? That's…" Well, what? Interesting? Insightful? "That sucks, man", Dean finished, lamely, not knowing what else to say about soap.

Dean couldn't believe they were actually talking—yes, about the most random shit, and Dean felt like he was about to pass out, but holy shit they were talking. Dean was absolutely stunned.

But his flight instinct was a little bit stronger than that. So, Dean tore his eyes away from Cas and, with an awkward cough, he got up from his chair, quickly collected his school stuff, and hesitatingly headed for the door, his eyes still flickering to Cas, uncontrollably.

When Cas' look finally met him, Dean froze.

"I'll come with you", Cas decided, letting go of the cloth.

Quickly, Cas made his way across the classroom, and stopped in front of Dean. More like: onto Dean. Way, way, too close. Dean didn't know where to look. The dark, shiny and crazily tousled curls. So very contrastive to those light blue, narrowed eyes. Dean swallowed hard. The odd, yet weirdly attractive grizzly-bear beard. Slightly touching, framing, those damned pink, dry lips. Then back to the eyes. No idea how, but Dean escaped them.

"C—Cas", Dean croaked out. "What are you—"

"I miss you, Dean."

Dean blinked, staring at the wet coffee stain. "You—"

"I miss you all of the time, Dean. And I'm sorry if this overwhelming emotion sometimes makes me do inconsiderate things to you, like today, I was touching you, inappropriately, and I'm sorry if this made you uncomfortable, which I am sure it did. I just want you to know that—Dean, I don't know anything anymore, to be quite honest. But just know that I will try my best not to let something like today happen again."

Dean had no idea what to say, mind emptied. Cas looked at Dean, sort of desperate, and for a long moment Dean couldn't breathe, until his eyes fell on Cas' neck, and the blue tie dangling there.

„Your—tie, Cas", Dean said, choked. "It's backwards, you know."

In response, Cas just frowned and tilted his head, irritating Dean even more.

Dean reached out his hand, waving Cas over. "Can't let you walk around like that, can I. C'mere, let me fix it."

Cas took another step closer, now basically standing on top of Dean's feet. Not knowing what else to say or do, Dean quickly fixed the tie with a few handy movements. When he was done, he was not only as red as a tomato, but also stiffly tapped Cas' shoulder, concluding the intimate scene.

"Look at you, all suited up and back in the game. Now, you're good to go."

Dean swirled around, hurrying towards the door, and was stopped by Cas' anxious voice.

"Dean. Dean, wait."

Dean didn't around, just looked at the ceiling. "What."

"When I touched you today, was it wrong? Or was it... acceptable?"

Dean inhaled, sharply, closing his eyes. He gave himself approximately one second, before he shortly replied, voice hoarse.

"Acceptable. You might wanna keep that up."

And with that, he simply left Cas standing there, once again.