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Dean hustled through the door to his dorm room, all clattering keys and rustling shopping bags. A little precariously, he closed the door with his foot and let out a huff of relief. The walk from the grocery store back to his dorm never felt longer than when it was his turn to get the beers; every step made the six-pack of bottles feel heavier.
He turned to head over to his bed - and almost tripped right over some papers stacked up tall in front of the door. On tiptoes, swaying, he just managed to regain his balance.
“Dammit, Cas,” he muttered, and stepped over the pile, shopping bags swinging. He looked around the room, but it was empty - no roommate to hear him grumble, and roll his eyes, and argue back. Dean sniffed, displeased, and went to dump the bags down on his bed. He rubbed his hands together once he’d laid down his burden, trying to massage away the red lines left by the plastic handles.
He needed to get one of those canvas bags that Cas had been bugging him about. Way more environmentally conscious and all that jazz, sure - but also, Cas’ one had cushioned handles. Now, that was something Dean could really get on board with. And if he could save some polar bears along the way, or something, then all the better.
Their room was pretty standard, for a college dorm room - well, at least, Dean's side was kind of normal. He had a couple of band posters up on the walls, some textbooks piled neatly at the head of his bed, and a noticeboard with some pictures stuck onto it with magnets. Beside one of Dean and Cas, someone had written asshole and asshole mark 2, with arrows pointing to each of them. Dean couldn't remember exactly what he'd done to earn the title of asshole mark 2, but he had a feeling Charlie had something to do with the graffiti. The rest of the board was just for reminders - homework stuff, a class that had been moved, his mom's birthday next month.
Cas' side of the room, admittedly, was a little less typical-college-student in its aesthetic. Cas had eighteen plants, all of them supposedly good for making the air taste like a highland spring, or something like that. He had no posters; instead, he had actual art prints, framed and nailed to the wall. Dean polished them occasionally - Cas allowed dust to build up in actual drifts, if left unchecked - and he always enjoyed the little frown of disapproval that he got from Cas when he called the art prints kitschy.
They're not kitschy, Cas would say.
No, you're right, Dean would reply seriously. They're not even in the same league of kitschy as your floral watering can.
Cas would usually, at this point, throw the watering can at Dean's head.
Dean crossed the room and bent down to put some of the food away in their mini-fridge, packing it neatly so that everything would fit. Halfway through, he patted his pockets for his phone and pulled it out, wanting to put some music on to take the edge off the silence in the room.
When he unlocked his mobile, though, he saw a chat bubble - Charlie, that impish smile bright in her profile picture. Dean brightened, though his good mood quickly faded when he realised what she was messaging him about.
>> So. Blind date tonight. On a scale of one to Star Wars reboot, how excited are you?
Dean groaned. He’d forgotten that she was trying to set him up again.
<< Yeah… might have to take a rain check, he typed out. Said I’d study with Cas tonight.
He smiled to himself just thinking about it, plugging his phone in to charge. Him and Cas, lying on their beds on opposite sides of the room, each with a bottle of the beer he’d bought... reading their textbooks, probably getting distracted for hours at a time with talking about stuff - just random things: families, high school stories, plans for the future.
Dean pulled the pack of beers out of one of the shopping bags, and wondered when he’d got so boring. For all he knew, Charlie could be setting him up tonight with a supermodel - and yet all he wanted to do was hear again about the time Cas accidentally singed off his eyebrows in Chemistry class.
The way he told it was gold, OK.
As Dean shoved the beers into the mini-fridge in the corner of the room, his phone pinged. He huffed as he went back over to his bed, picking it up, expecting some kind of persuasive tirade from Charlie. He tapped to open the message.
>> Wait, Cas didn’t tell you? Said at lunch he’s got a date tonight. Anna set him up. Seemed pretty excited about it
The first time Dean read the message, it didn’t quite make sense to him, so he tried again.
Cas… had a date?
Dean could feel his heart starting to thud hard in his chest, like it did when he went running, or when he was angry. He frowned - and read the message a third time. He’s got a date tonight. The words still didn’t change.
Dean blinked. Why would he want them to? Shouldn’t he be pleased that his roommate was finally going to get himself a date - maybe have some action - maybe bring whoever it was back to their room, to -
Dean cut that thought off. He was probably just mad that Cas hadn’t told him in person about the date, even though he’d supposedly been excited about it in front of Charlie. Dean had thought that they told each other pretty much everything.
Apparently not.
He tried to imagine sticking around in the dorm tonight, knowing that Cas was out romancing someone, probably having the time of his life. Even the thought of it made him feel - restless, somehow, or - something, some kind of intense bad feeling. His heart was still pounding. He swallowed hard.
<< Oh, well, he didn’t tell me, he typed out to Charlie on his phone, and then deleted it. He sounded like an offended tween.
<< Huh! Cool! He deleted that, too. It sounded like he was pretending to be OK with it, instead of sounding actually OK with it, when of course he really was actually OK with it. Of course he was.
<< Right, didn’t know. That wasn’t too bad. I’m back in!
He walked back over to the mini-fridge, and grabbed one of the beers. No point saving them for tonight anymore, after all. He sat back down on his bed - and that was when there was a rattle of keys in the door. It swung open, and, clutching a stack of books, Cas walked in.
His hair was a mess, as usual, and he had on that big stupid trenchcoat. It wasn’t even raining outside, Dean thought, with an irrationally large amount of annoyance.
“Hello, Dean,” Cas said, not meeting Dean’s eye exactly as he stepped over his pile of papers by the door and headed for his bed. Was Dean imagining the way he sounded more tense than usual? Probably.
“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, popping the beer open on his bed frame. “How’s your day been?”
“Not bad.”
Cas set the books down beside his bed, and then pulled back his covers and then the pillows, frowning. Dean took a gulp of his beer.
“Under the bed,” he said. Cas bent down, and picked up his phone charger.
“Thanks.”
Dean’s phone went off; Charlie, again.
>> Orcsome. 7pm at Mario’s. Don’t be late, k.
7pm. Shit. That only left him about fifteen minutes before he needed to get going, if he wanted to make it on time - and Mario’s was a pretty nice restaurant, too, he’d have to dress nice. God, he hoped he wasn’t going to have to pay for his date’s meal, whoever they were. He couldn’t afford to waste money on feeding someone he was never going to see again in his life.
That was… he could see them again, if the date was a success. Dean frowned, and pushed that thought away. It didn’t seem right, for a reason he couldn’t put his finger on.
Cas was fiddling around on his phone, his back half-turned to Dean, who cleared his throat.
“So,” he said. “Heard you’ve got a hot date tonight.”
Cas lifted one shoulder.
“Yes,” he said. Dean narrowed his eyes, and took another swig of beer.
“Who with?”
“It’s a blind date, Dean. Just like yours.”
“Oh - you know about that.” Suddenly, it occurred to Dean that he hadn’t mentioned anything to Cas about his blind date for tonight, either. It had slipped his mind - mostly because he’d never intended to go. Cas wouldn’t do that, though, Dean thought. Cas remembered stuff like dates and times. At least Dean had forgotten to tell Cas, instead of deciding not to.
Cas just shrugged his shoulders. Something was definitely the matter, Dean thought. Cas was quiet a lot, but never like this.
They began to get ready. Dean pulled on a decent shirt and combed his hair, trying to focus on the date that was coming instead of the person on the other side of the room. The person who was pulling on his very best pair of jeans, wearing a closed expression.
Dean pulled off the shirt he’d chosen, and reached for an even smarter one.
“So,” Dean said again. “You excited?”
“Yes,” Cas said, shoving his foot into a sock with what Dean felt was unnecessary force. “Yes, I’m filled with anticipation. And you?”
“Yeah, I guess.” Dean cleared his throat. “I mean, I was looking forward to studying with you tonight.”
Cas looked up at him.
“Because, you know, I’ve got that final coming up,” Dean said, losing his nerve, and Cas looked back down at his socks.
“We can study tomorrow,” he said. “If that happens to suit you.”
“Sure,” Dean said. “So long as you’re not, you know... doing anything.”
Cas rammed one of his socked feet into a boot - the lace-up ones that he wore when he wanted to look cool, Dean noticed, with a pang that brought a scowl to his face. He started rummaging under his bed for the bottle of cologne he had somewhere - the one that smelled amazing.
"I got us some beers," he said, for the sake of conversation. "And that, uh. What was it again? Mozza-blah-blah."
"Mozzarella," Cas said flatly. "Thank you. And did you get -"
"Tomatoes, yeah. Like, none of this sounds good. Weird white shit and vegetables."
"It's pizza," said Cas. "But not."
"Not being the key word, there."
Their banter flew quickly, and for a second it felt as though they were almost back to normal, albeit with a strange tautness to both of their voices that betrayed their discomfort. Then, however, Cas got to his feet.
“I’d better get going,” he said. Dean stood up too, pointlessly. It was all happening too fast - and Cas’ face was almost strange to him, like this, the angles so hard. He felt a kind of queasiness in his stomach, and that thudding was back in his chest. Cas made for the door.
“Cas, wait -” Dean said, and Cas stopped, so fast that it was as though he’d been hoping for it. He looked back.
Dean stared at him for a second, trying to drink him in - trying to grip onto what little time he had left with things as he liked them - with Cas as his roommate, his best friend - with them being important to each other in a way that meant they didn’t have to date other people. Neither of them had, for months.
But Cas had a date. Cas wanted to date. And Dean couldn’t stop him.
“Have a great time,” he said, voice distant and not his own. Cas’ expression closed.
“You too,” he snapped, and Dean felt his own anger kick in. Why did Cas have to make this so difficult ?
“Bye, then,” he ground out.
“See you after.” Cas swung the door open.
“Not if I get lucky,” Dean said to his retreating back, as if that would sting, as if Cas would care where he spent tonight -
The door slammed.
**
Mario’s was busy. Dean ducked through the door into the crowded little restaurant, wearing his nicest shirt and his nicest jeans and his nice cologne, and trying not to think about how the person he was wearing them to impress was somewhere else, walking through a different door, ready to meet a date of his own.
There were booths all down the side walls, and freestanding tables crammed close together in the middle. A pleasant, lowkey hubbub of noise echoed off the artsy exposed brickwork. The place was a little hipster without being painfully so. The lighting was a soft, warm yellow, a little flickery and romantic. A waitress with a bright smile approached Dean, her eyebrows raised.
“Do you have a reservation?”
Had Charlie booked ahead? “Uh, I think, um -” Dean began, and then cut himself off abruptly. Sitting in one of the booths, hands folded on the table, looking mysterious and handsome in the low lighting…
It was Castiel.
Dean gaped. His heart leapt for a brief, shining second, before he remembered what that meant. Cas was here. Cas’ date was going to play out... right in front of Dean.
Not that Dean cared.
“Sir?”
“Uh, sorry, yeah, that’s my friend over there,” Dean said, and sidestepped the waitress. Time to have some fun, right?
Dean put on an air of total unconcern as he walked across the restaurant, and slid neatly into the booth opposite Cas. The table was small; Dean found himself altogether closer to Cas than he’d planned. He shuffled his legs so that their knees wouldn’t touch, though it wasn’t easy in the cramped space. He tried to look relaxed.
“Oh,” Cas said, starting. “Good evening. Sorry, I was -” He cut himself off as soon as he looked up and his eyes came to rest on Dean, who gave him a bright, stupid smile.
“Dean?”
“That’s me,” Dean said. What was he doing? What was the plan? He wasn’t sure he had one.
“What are you… you’re not - you’re my… ?” The confusion in Cas’ voice was suffused with something Dean didn’t recognise for a long, long moment - and then he realised what Cas was getting at.
“Oh, God, Cas, I’m not your fucking date,” he said, the words coming out a little too strong. Cas sat back in his chair, his features hardening.
“Good,” he said, icy. “I still have a chance of getting some decent company this evening.”
That one stung. Dean glared at him.
“Yeah, well, put up with me for now, if you can.”
"Difficult. I'll try."
"It's not like I'll be staying long, dude," Dean said. "I'll have my own date to be with, remember?"
"Oh," Cas said grimly, "I remember."
There was an awkward, drawn-out silence.
After a while, Dean snorted.
"What?" Cas demanded.
“You thought I was your date.”
Cas’ look could have frozen the flaming margaritas that a waiter whisked past them on a tray, to cheers of excitement from the next booth.
“Clearly, that would be a disaster,” he said.
“I mean, yeah,” Dean said, as though he were crazy. Cas just glared narrowly at him, not saying anything. “I mean," Dean went on, "you’re all - you know - you’re Cas, you know? You’re…” He frowned, and blinked. “Cas.”
Cas tilted his head to one side, and Dean’s heart skipped a beat. What was happening tonight? His anger over Cas’ date, this weird feeling in his chest that he just couldn’t shake. What was wrong with him? He’d never been possessive over his friendship with Cas - of course he hadn’t. So why was Cas going on a date so different?
"You're Cas," he said again, much more softly. He cleared his throat - that had been weird. He'd repeated it at least once too often and it had felt uncomfortable.
“Yes,” Cas agreed, and there was something quieter in his tone. “I’m Cas.” He paused. “And you’re Dean.”
There was a note in his voice that made Dean feel like he was missing something big - something that was the whole point, somehow - but he couldn’t grasp it. He shrugged grumpily.
“Sure am,” he said. He paused, looking down at the table, fiddling with the edge of a menu. He sought for something to say, anything to say. Shouldn't he be going to ask after his actual date? In his head, Dean set that aside. He'd have to go soon, but not yet. He couldn't leave on a note like that.
He looked over the table at Cas. After a moment of thinking, he huffed a laugh and went back to folding over the corner of the paper menu.
“What?”
“I don’t know, man. Just thinking about if, like, this was a real date.”
Cas’ face, when Dean looked up, was tense in a different way - tight, as though with… sadness, Dean couldn’t help thinking, though that was stupid. He pushed away the idea as wishful thinking.
Wishful thinking about what? Internally, Dean shook his head in bewilderment. His own thoughts were a mystery to him, tonight.
“A real date?” Cas said out loud, in his best impenetrable tone.
"You know, like... our actual date tonight. Can you even imagine?"
"We already decided it would be a disaster," replied Cas stoically.
“I’d order you some fine wine,” Dean said, ignoring him and talking a little recklessly, because talking was better and less confusing than thinking, right now. “Pay for the whole thing, obviously. Only the best for Castiel Novak on my watch. We’d talk about all kindsa things. I’d tell you how good you look, like, twice, because I’m a charmer like that… you’d tell the eyebrow story... I’d choke on my drink when you get to the part where your teacher asks you to stop looking so surprised... all glamour. We’d share a dessert, because I’m broke and also, like, romance. Afterwards, we’d go up to the lookout point and…”
“Dean,” Cas said, and for a horrible moment, Dean thought that one of their actual dates had arrived, or something - but no, Cas was just looking at him with a face that was pale and angry, or maybe not quite angry, but - but - something.
There was always that something between them. Always. And Dean never knew what it was, but tonight, it felt closer to the surface than ever. It made the stupid tiny table between them feel too small and not small enough, all at once.
“Anyway,” Dean said. “Not meant to be, right? Like you said, we’d be horrible at dating.”
Cas watched him for a long, long moment, and then two more words were coming out of Dean’s mouth - two words that, even as he said them, Dean knew would change everything.
“Wouldn’t we?”
Cas only looked at him, lost for words. Dean stared into his eyes, suddenly feeling - everything, suddenly feeling it all slide into place, and - oh, God.
“I mean,” he said out loud, “it’s not - I mean, come on, it’s not like we’re really… right? I mean, like…” Moments flashing before his eyes. Cas, pulling on his jeans. Cas, lacing up his boots. Cas, reading late into the night. Cas, wearing that stupid trenchcoat. Cas, tilting his head sideways to look at him…
Dean swallowed.
“I mean,” he said weakly. “I mean…”
“Dean,” Cas said. “Do you… ?”
“Well - well,” Dean said, his tone almost angry again. “Do you ?”
“Do you want anything to drink?” said a waiter, stopping by their table, pen and pad raised.
“No,” said Dean and Cas together, at the same time. The waiter backed away hurriedly, and Dean and Cas were left to stare at each other.
“You do,” Cas said, wonderingly.
“No, I don’t,” Dean said. “Not thirsty.”
“Dean...”
“Fine. I still don’t!” he said, though he could taste the untruth of it. All this time - all this time…
“You do.” Castiel sounded confused, disbelieving.
"No, I - I mean, I just - you know, like, whatever?" Dean, aware that he was making no sense, decided that he needed to keep talking. "Like, come on, we're friends, right? What are we going to do, freaking go on dates, now? Like, you're cute and all but that's no reason to just rush in, and..." He broke off, because Castiel's expression had shifted.
"I'm... ?" he said, a little wonderingly. Dean thought back through what he'd just said, and swallowed hard.
“Look,” he said. “Look. Just because I think you're cute doesn’t mean I want to date you.”
Cas squinted at him, and Dean reddened.
“No, listen -” he began, but it was too late; Cas’ smile was already widening, his eyes lightening, and Dean didn’t know whether he wanted to bury his head in his hands or just sit and enjoy the view.
“Oh, God,” he said. Castiel half-reached over the table for his hand, but cut the motion off quickly. Instead, he met Dean’s eyes and said simply,
“I think you’re cute, too.”
“Shut up,” Dean said automatically, and then - “Really?”
Cas bit his lip; Dean watched him take a breath - knew him well enough to see him gathering his courage. And then he said,
“Yes. Really. More than that, I think you’re - I think you’re the best man I’ve ever met.”
Dean was speechless. All he could do was stare. His brain seemed to have short-circuited. Cas met his gaze, and lifted a shoulder, as if to say - what? It's true.
"You don't mean that," Dean said eventually.
"Of course I do. You know I do."
"Cas, I'm not..."
“I’ve wanted to tell you for so long. I’ve known how I’ve felt for so long. I thought I didn’t stand a chance… I only agreed to tonight because I heard you had a date. I didn't want to sit in the dorm on my own, thinking about you dating someone else -”
“Cas, you - you fucking sap, what the hell, where is this even -”
“- because,” Cas carried on determinedly, “if it were up to me... this date would be ours. Like you said. We’d drink that wine and - and I wouldn’t let you pay for me - and we’d go up to that lookout point, and…” He swallowed, and shrugged. Dean stared at him, mouth open.
“You - you really - you really want all that? With me ?”
Cas lifted a shoulder. He was resting his elbows on the table, looking intently into Dean’s eyes in the way that he did, the way that he’d always done - with a special something.
“That’s… what I want,” Cas said. “So. Now you know." He, too, looked a little dazed by the conversation, by the suddenness of their revelation.
"I'm... Cas, I don't - you don't really mean this -"
"I do." Cas met his eyes with absolute and solid certainty. Dean felt as though he was floating. "I mean every word. That's what I want."
"That's - you -" Dean fumbled with words and dropped them. He had nothing.
Cas cleared his throat. "So... what - what do you - what would you want, if it were up to you?”
Dean could feel a hum under his skin - a hot, happy, delicious excitement, like something was right that had been wrong, like it all made sense. Cas looked - looked like he always did, looked incredible, and suddenly Dean was awash with feelings that he’d held back without even realising for so, so long. They coursed through him now, great wave after wave, as he sat perfectly still at the tiny table in Mario’s restaurant.
Cas was watching him, waiting.
“If it was up to me,” Dean said, “I - I think I'd - kiss you. Right now.”
Cas blinked - and then his eyes dipped down to Dean’s lips, and back up.
“If you wanted me to,” Dean added, and swallowed. Just like that, the air between them was all abuzz, full of possibility.
Cas breathed out - and on that breath, natural as a rolling wave, he said, “Yes. Of course.”
And so, with the both of them leaning across that stupidly small table - Dean kissed him.
Cas’ kiss was soft, the touch of his fingertips at Dean’s cheek sending thrills all the way through him. He was so buried in it, the moment, the kiss, Cas - that he didn’t even notice Charlie and Anna behind him, clinking their margaritas together with identical, knowing grins.