OK, OK, I've blustered a lot about my updates being fixed and to stop pestering me to update earlier. But ignore that temporarily because I am updating early right now, as I'm going on a short trip and the alternative was updating a day late. I would have gone with a day late (sorrynotsorry) but this chapter is kinda filler anyway so I felt bad. I guess from now on my weekly update will just shift back a few days. IT WILL STILL BE JUST ONE CHAPTER PER WEEK.
I'm not sure whether I like awkward!Dean but it seemed like the most realistic portrayal of how Dean would deal with this kind of situation.
This chapter might be filler but I still think it's alright and it has the whole bunker family together which was nice to write, even if very briefly. So I hope you all still enjoy it even if it's not the much-awaited date :P
Dinner is awkward, there's no ignoring it.
Before Sam and Kevin arrive, it's fine. Dean and I sit at the kitchen table for at least an hour after arranging our 'date', discussing Ezekiel and Gadreel and most importantly, Sam. We haven't really reached any conclusions - other than reiterating to each other several times that we really need that footage from Charlie - when Sam himself wanders in, stopping dead when he sees us.
Dean glances up at him, blushes furiously and then glowers down at the table top, fists tensing where they rest there. His brother hovers in the doorway, lips twitching, doing a terrible job of hiding his clear amusement and excitement. I sigh audibly.
"Hello, Sam."
Sam grins widely at me. "Oh, hi, Cas! How are you this fine evening?"
"I'm well, thank you. And you?"
Sam strides into the room, heading to the fridge, smiling down at Dean as he passes. The older man shoots him a sideways scowl, which Sam ignores as he replies to me.
"Yeah, thanks, I'm pretty good. It's been a good day, huh?" Pulling three pizzas out of the freezer as he speaks, Sam tosses another toothy grin over his shoulder at Dean. "Wouldn't you say so, Dean?"
I glance at Dean, who's covered his eyes with one hand. "Yep."
"Aww, Dean, you not feeling well?" pipes up Kevin's voice from the doorway. Dean flinches but doesn't look up as the prophet practically saunters into the room, smirking between the two of us at the table.
"Headache," Dean grunts, rubbing his forehead. At this point it's probably the truth. I decide to distract Kevin from prodding Dean any further.
"Kevin," I say calmly, gaining the young man's attention. "Am I mistaken in thinking that you know how to play the cello?"
"Um. Yeah, I play. Why?"
"I would like to learn," I reply. Dean looks up, eyeing me doubtfully.
"Really?" he says in a sceptical tone. I frown reproachfully at him.
"Yes, really. I've always admired human music. Angelic song is very different and I was never much good at it. Perhaps I'll be better at making music through an instrument."
"Yeah, Dean," chimes in Kevin, eyes twinkling. "And the cello is a good choice. Cas is probably great with his fingers, don't you think?"
By the time I fully process the innuendo, Dean is an impressive shade of red and has again covered his eyes, swearing under his breath. I can hear Sam snuffling with laughter in the background as my own face heats up.
"Kevin," I say weakly, a pointless reprimand. The boy only blinks innocently at me and I shake my head, failing to keep from smiling despite Dean's clear mortification. There's a prolonged silence before Sam speaks, his voice calm.
"Let's talk about something else. The pizzas should be ready in another ten minutes or so, but in the meantime we have chicken in the fridge that needs using by tomorrow night. Dean, you wanna mix up that spicy BBQ marinade for it?"
Taking a deep breath, Dean opens his eyes and nods, standing up from the table. "Sure thing."
After that Sam and Dean bustle about in the kitchen while Kevin discusses the finer points of the cello with me, seeming genuinely pleased by my interest. It's the most engaged I've seen him regarding anything other than prophet-related business and I'm glad to see his enthusiasm as we lay the table. I really would like to attempt learning to play at some point.
"I'm just saying, being a hipster brunch food doesn't make poached eggs any less delicious," Sam's voice breaks into our conversation as he carries two of the steaming pizzas to the table. Dean harrumphs as he divides the third one between all of us, eyeing his brother doubtfully.
"I still don't get what's wrong with fried," he shrugs, putting the empty tray on the bench and settling in the chair next to me.
"Poached eggs taste better," Sam insists, picking up a pizza slice that appears to have over a dozen different types of topping on it.
"And they're a healthier option," I add. Sam slumps with a defeated look and Dean points at me with his slice as though I've revealed a sinister secret.
"I fucking knew it," he says grimly. "Healthier option, huh? I'll stick with fried. Maybe scrambled for special occasions."
Sam mouths an obviously sarcastic 'thanks' at me and I grimace apologetically, remembering too late that 'healthy' is not a word that Dean likes associated with food.
"Poached eggs are probably really good, though" I venture after swallowing a mouthful of reasonably pleasant pizza. "We should try making them, Dean. I was meaning to learn more about cooking anyway, you could teach me."
Glancing at me with an unimpressed look, Dean opens his mouth to reply when Kevin speaks instead, smirking at us.
"Aawww, cute..."
Sam nudges him but Dean has already snapped his mouth shut and is frowning at his food. I shoot Kevin an exasperated look, but there's nothing to be done until Dean gets over his discomfort and self-consciousness. At least the prophet has the decency to look repentant.
After several more minutes of stilted small talk mostly between Sam and me, Dean pushes back from the table, having eaten most of the second pizza by himself.
"I'm gonna go take a shower," he announces to the room at large. "It's quarter past seven."
Those last words make me sit up straighter and I observe Dean cleaning his plate with a new nervousness stirring in my stomach.
"Uh, thanks, Mr Wolf," Sam replies in a confused tone. "You got somewhere to be?"
"Not going anywhere, no," Dean says evasively without looking up. He stacks the cleaned items on the draining board and wipes his hands on his jeans as he walks past us, meeting my eyes briefly and offering a small smile. "See ya."
"See you," I murmur, lips curving up as I watch him leave the room. Sam looks at me and his face lights up with understanding.
"Oh!" he whispers excitedly. "You asked him?"
I nod slowly and Kevin frowns between us.
"Asked him what?" he enquires after swallowing his mouthful. I shrug awkwardly.
"I'm just spending some time with Dean tonight," I explain. Kevin raises his eyebrows.
"I see. Well, have fun and all, but keep it down, OK? Some us have study to do."
"Wow," mutters Sam, rolling his eyes. Kevin scowls at him.
"I'm sure we won't disturb you," I assure the young man. "It's just some quiet drinks and conversation, I think. Oh, and Dean mentioned something about 'third base'."
Both Sam and Kevin startle at this, with Sam almost choking on the last slice of pizza. I eye them with concern.
"Oh, wow, I did not need to know that," Sam gasps out. Kevin's shocked expression has morphed into mirth, eyes gleaming with laughter as he thumps Sam on the back.
"Hey, I assumed they'd be all out having sex," he says cheerfully, which only causes Sam to look more pained. I feel myself flush and squirm in my seat a little.
"I - I don't think - I mean, as far as I can tell, that is not what Dean has planned, but I suppose I don't know-"
"Hey, relax," Kevin cuts across me. "I'm sure Dean won't push you into anything you're not comfortable with. Right, Sam?"
"Right," confirms Sam, having recovered from his coughing fit. "And I'm equally sure that I don't want to keep talking about my brother and sex. Cas, you oughtta go get ready, huh?"
I nod seriously. "I suppose I should shower too."
"Go hop in with Dean," Kevin snickers, earning an eye roll from Sam. My eyes widen at the thought, skin warming considerably.
"I don't think-"
"He's joking," Sam sighs. "Go use the little one attached to the gym. Takes longer to heat up and the water pressure isn't as good, but it'll do."
"OK. Thank you, Sam."
"No problem," Sam grins up at me as I stand, picking up my plate. I wash them as quickly as possible, suddenly aware of time ticking away. Waving goodnight to the two men at the table, I head to my room, casting a longing look at the closed bathroom door. I can faintly hear Dean whistling in there.
I accidentally flew in on one of Dean's showers, years ago when we were first friends. At the time I was unable to understand his mortified yelping and grabbing at the curtain. Nudity has always struck me as an odd issue for humans to be so deeply concerned about, although admittedly it's a seemingly instinctive one; even Adam and Eve had a complex about it. However, I took note of his expletive-laden orders to never, ever do that again and I haven't seen him in the shower since. Which is a shame, because I'm now far more appreciative of how visually pleasing Dean is without clothes on. Perhaps, in time, I can enjoy the sight again.
But the first step will be tonight's date. I need to make sure that I don't somehow put Dean off. Being clean and nicely dressed will be a good start.
The gym shower is as disappointing as Sam indicated but I wash my hair and skin quickly, using the one faded bottle of shampoo in there for everything. It doesn't smell as pleasing as the one I've been using in the main shower, which I've identified as Dean's because his hair has the same citrus scent. Towelling off, I make my way back to my room, shivering lightly in the cool air. The bathroom is open now, tendrils of steam still dissipating into the hallway. Dean's bedroom door is closed.
I check my phone before dressing. It's twenty minutes to eight. I put on a blue t-shirt and the blue-purple plaid that Dean picked for me, along with a fresh pair of jeans. Quickly, I make a trip to the bathroom and brush my teeth, wiping steam from the mirror to examine my reflection. I attempt to finger-comb my damp hair into some semblance of order. There's a slight tuft at the crown of my head that won't lie flat and so I try running my fingers aggressively through the rest of my hair too, deciding that it's better to have slightly wild-looking locks all over rather than neatness ruined by one stubborn piece of hair. The messed up hair actually looks sort of good, and the ever-present stubble is at a pleasing level too. Smiling a little more confidently at my reflection, I carefully dab a few drops of the pleasant aftershave onto my neck and return to my bedroom.
Ten minutes to eight. I tidy the room nervously, hanging up my towel and straightening the blankets on the bed. I start playing the songs that Sam put onto my phone, adjusting the volume to fairly quiet but still clearly audible. I leave the phone on the bedside table and pace the floor in time with the beat, wringing my hands with mounting anxiety. This is bizarre. How do humans do this? More to the point, how should I do this? I wonder what Dean is expecting of me. Should I treat him any differently? Does applying the word 'date' to time spent together change how that time should be spent?
Abruptly, my mind goes to Kevin's assumption that Dean and I are going to have sex. I haven't really considered whether sex will be included in this change to mine and Dean's relationship. It does seem like an inevitable realisation of the attraction between us, but I wouldn't be more than mildly disappointed if Dean wasn't interested in exploring that. It doesn't matter much to me. I'll leave that up to Dean.
What I'm less sure about leaving to Dean is maintaining the emotional closeness that we've hesitantly established. Sam was probably right in advising me not to give Dean too much space lest he talk himself out of the whole thing. But that's why tonight is a good idea. Explicitly calling this a 'date' doesn't have to change the way I interact with Dean, but it does provide a clear definition of that interaction as a romantic one. I nod firmly to myself.
There's a knock at the door.