Ohoho! Some introspection at last. Yeah, mutual obliviousness is a classic, but Cas isn't a fucking idiot and Dean is bad at hiding what a thirsty hoe he is. Don't worry, our leading ex-angel has enough self-doubt and inexperience to keep the slow burn going a while longer.
Honestly, human concepts about gender and sexuality baffle me, and I am in fact a native human. Poor Cas must think we're absolute nutjobs.
Much as I love shipper!Sammy, he is loyal to his bro, so not much matchmaking moose here. Sorry!
Please enjoy this slightly filler-y chapter :)

It takes me a good twenty minutes to muster up the energy to get out of bed but once I do, I become aware that I am in dire need of a shower. I quickly strip out of my boxers and shirt, grimacing at the dried mess. Simple pleasures might be an advantage humans have over angels, but the ever-displeasing presence of bodily fluids is not. Wiping myself off with the soiled clothes, I ball them up and wrap them in my t-shirt from yesterday, which doesn't appear to need washing but is now destined for the laundry anyway.

I then debate what I should wear to the bathroom. I don't have a robe and it seems unnecessary to put on my jeans and a fresh shirt just for a short walk up the hallway. I vividly recall several occasions when I appeared in various motel rooms over the years to find Dean - and Sam, but my memory is less sharply detailed there - with a towel wrapped around his waist so I do that, firmly tucking the end into the slight hollow inside my hipbone. Pleased with my developing grasp of human behaviour, I pick up my small bundle of clothes and head for the laundry, one hand poised to catch my makeshift garment should it slip.

The laundry door is ajar and I nudge it open with my hip, which unfortunately tugs on my towel. Grabbing it and holding it up, I almost trip into the small room, dirty clothes dropping to the floor. I want to feel annoyed, but I'm somewhat distracted because the laundry is already occupied.

Dean stands about a foot in front of me, hands out to catch me on reflex, face frozen in surprise. His wide eyes travel over my bare torso to where I'm keeping the towel in place with my hand, low on my stomach. I can feel myself blushing and I wonder if normal humans actually have whole days in which they're not horribly embarrassed at some point. It's hard to imagine.

"Hello, Dean," I sigh, hoisting the towel up higher and watching as his gaze skitters back up to my face. He opens his mouth but then shuts it again and nods sharply, looking almost annoyed. I honestly just can't be bothered trying to decipher what's causing that so I drop down to pick up my balled up clothes. When I straighten up Dean's eyes are closed and he doesn't seem to be making any move to do or say anything, so I squeeze past him to examine the two machines there, wondering which one I should use.

"Cas." Dean's voice is low and rough and I find that I can quite easily ignore the pleasant thrum in my stomach at the sound. Masturbating seems to have had the unforeseen effect of drastically relaxing my attraction to Dean, making it somewhat less difficult to manage and suppress my reactions to him. I muse vaguely on whether this will be a permanent change or just a temporary one as I hum a questioning sound in response to the man behind me, not turning to look at him as I'm reading the words on the closest machine. There's a short silence during which I conclude that yes, this is the washing machine, and I open the lid, dropping my clothes into it.

"Dean, which buttons should I press to-"

I turn and my words cut off abruptly as I find Dean hovering directly behind me, eyes directed downwards at my bare skin. I gulp as he raises them to mine, inches away, and I think weakly that perhaps Dean's effect on me hasn't been as altered as I thought. His pupils are very dilated considering the bright lightbulb overhead and he still looks annoyed, or something close to annoyance. Whatever it is, it's intense and it's clearly directed at me. My fist tightens nervously on my towel and I draw in a deep breath.

"What is it?" I ask, unnerved by his silence. He blinks at me and looks down at the floor, scowling.

"Nothing," he mutters and I frown in confusion. He steps back slightly and shoves his hands into his pockets. "You turn the dial to setting three and then press the big round button. Add a scoop of powder first though."

"What powder?"

Dean looks back up and the ghost of a smirk appears on his lips. Just as I'm thinking that his behaviour couldn't be any more confusing and strange he steps forward into my space, almost touching me, eyes trailing down to my mouth. It drops open in shock and my spine stiffens. I only have time to register that whatever calming effect the masturbation had has well and truly passed before he steps back again, holding a colourful cardboard box.

"This powder," he says simply, holding it out for me to take. I shake my head, feeling like I've missed an important element of this whole exchange. Dean waves the box impatiently at me, still smirking a little, and I squint at him as I reach out and take it. Is he alright? Is he under some sort of spell? What the hell is going on?

"One scoop," he reminds me. I nod slowly and his gaze sears across my chest and stomach once more before he turns and strides out of the room, leaving me staring after him.

I ponder his odd behaviour as I turn the washing machine on and make my way to the bathroom, trying to work it out as I rub shampoo into my hair and scrub my skin with soap. I'm still utterly clueless as I towel myself off, wrapping the material back around my hips. Giving my teeth a careful brushing in front of the fogged up mirror, I exit the bathroom and go back to my room to get dressed.

It's as I'm leaving my room, wearing my outfit from the previous day but with a new grey t shirt, that I stop in sudden doubtful realisation. I replay the image of Dean's facial expression in my head, the one he wore when he stared at me in the laundry. I put it together with the strange behaviour directly afterwards, the way he leaned so close to me and almost brushed his mouth against mine, just for an instant. I think of his arousal in my bed this morning, the way he whimpered as my leg touched his crotch. I think of the way he's looked at me several times since I became human, the same way he's been looking at me for years, that tense, torn look in his eyes and the quickened breathing when we're close together. I think of Purgatory, all the times that I dismissed as strange human emotional responses to an extraordinary situation, the intensity in Dean's eyes whenever he spoke to me.

Does Dean desire me?

I gulp, trying to think past my automatic rejection of the idea. Perhaps I am projecting my own feelings onto him, but I have to admit to myself that it makes some sense, especially with his recent behaviour. I think of Sam and the strange, knowing smirk he always wears when he looks at Dean and I together. Like he knows something secret.

But Dean has always appeared to have a very strong, apparently exclusive preference for women. I've never really understood sexuality particularly well but I'm aware that if only for biological purposes, humans tend to develop attraction mostly to their opposite sex. For Dean that's females, and he's always seemed very open about his sexual and romantic interest in women. I've never seen him display those kinds of interests in men. From what I understand, most men only desire women and vice versa. My personal gender identity, whatever that means, is fairly murky since my concept of gender is as vague as my concept of sexuality, but I'm aware that both Dean and Sam tend to view me as very much male. So if I'm a man in Dean's eyes, and he only feels attraction to women, perhaps it's not possible for him to want me. My heart sinks as I ponder this flaw in my theory.

But then I think more about the idea of Dean developing an attraction to a male-presenting person. It seems unlikely, but from what I know about human emotions and desires, nothing is impossible. And perhaps I don't know much about human gender and sexuality, but I do know Dean. Dean is an insecure person with a tendency to create personas and masks to present to others. From what I've seen throughout human history, same sex attraction is often frowned upon and even in modern times, many people have some sort of incomprehensible problem with it. If Dean felt such an attraction, it would be very like him to ignore and deny it for the sake of maintaining his secure self-image. Perhaps he fears judgement from others, or perhaps he himself has an instinctively negative reaction towards the idea of same sex attraction.

I lean against the wall, my head spinning as I argue back and forth with myself. It's a ridiculous, far-fetched concept, that Dean could feel anything but friendship for me, but my newly human mind seems to revel in it rather than rejecting it logically the way I would have as an angel. And even with all my doubts and rationalising, the more I think about the way he looks at me the more it seems to mirror my own feelings about him.

Oh, shit, maybe it's not just me. Maybe Dean actually wants me too. Maybe...

"Cas?"

Sam is walking up the hallway towards me, a mug in his hand. He smiles at me, his face open and friendly, and I ask the question on my mind before I can stop myself.

"Does Dean have romantic or sexual feelings for me?"

Sam stops dead, eyes going wide and mouth dropping open. He blinks at me and I stare back, heart hammering in my chest. There's a long pause before Sam clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably on his feet, looking away.

"Um, that's probably something you should ask Dean, Cas..."

I frown. "He might say that he doesn't. He might say that even if he does, but he also might say it because it's the truth. And if that happens, I would be extremely embarrassed and he would be extremely uncomfortable. So, no, I wouldn't like to ask him this."

Sam sighs and runs his free hand through his hair. "Yeah, I get that. But I can't just discuss this behind his back. You're going to have to figure it out yourself."

"But surely you have some idea-"

"No, Cas," he says sharply, meeting my eyes again. "He's my brother. I'm not talking about this with you, even if I'd like to help you out. You need to suck it up and ask him, or find out some other way, because this conversation is over."

I swallow, feeling selfish and ashamed for trying to push the issue. Sam's eyes soften and he claps me on the shoulder as he walks past. "Sorry, buddy."

I murmur acknowledgment and listen to his footsteps move away, thinking hard. I can't ask Dean this. I just can't, the very idea makes me feel ill. But now that the possibility has taken root in my head, I also can't just leave it alone. I need to know, because I adore Dean with everything I am and the idea of him returning even a fraction of that feeling is intoxicating.

Pacing slowly up the hallway, I think about the moments which tend to make me feel like there's more going on in Dean's head than he's letting on. Practically any time we have close physical contact, for sure. And any time I say anything which might be construed as sexually suggestive or indicative of our close bond. He seems affected at certain times by my physical appearance, when I'm wearing aesthetically appealing clothes or certainly when I'm only wearing a towel. And he always displays his reactions more openly when Sam's not around.

Alright, then. I nod decisively to myself, formulating a rough plan in my head. I'll try these things out on Dean more frequently - close physical contact, suggestive and affectionate comments, pleasing physical appearance and regular lack of clothing, more time alone together - and analyse his reactions closely. If he doesn't desire me, then surely nothing will come of it and no one will need to feel humiliated or discomfited. If he does... well, I'm not sure, but it's worth a try.

I take a deep breath as I enter the kitchen and see Dean making coffee. Time to begin.