Work Text:
“C’mon, open up!”
Dean barely manages to get the key in the lock before he fumbles in his attempt to open the door to his apartment. Maybe he should invest in a new lock after all, this one has already cost him two keys, some hairpins (no judging, he keeps them for exactly this reason) and a lot of nerves on the not so rare occasion he’s forgotten his keys. It doesn’t vouch for the safety the lock provides, but his alcohol-addled brain doesn’t find this particularly concerning.
After drunkenly stumbling past his couch and almost tripping over it, he reaches his bedroom and flops down on the mattress that serves as his bed - it’s quite enough, really, he doesn’t sleep all that much anyway.
With a groan he gets up again and divests himself of his clothes, only to make a grab for his jeans again, nearly toppling over to face-plant into the carpet. He’d lost count of how many shots he’d actually knocked back after the first four or five, but it must’ve been a lot to have him staggering around like this. He can hold his liquor damn well, thank you very much.
Dean’s been cutting back on the drinking for a while now, but after the day he’s had he’d decided he deserved a night with good old Jack and Jim at the Roadhouse. Although he had intended it to be more cheerful than it turned out to be. Slumping over Ellen’s bar top with a sullen scowl, only to be mocked by Jo, isn’t exactly Dean’s idea of a fun night out.
Finally, he gets a good grip on his jeans and begins seraching for his phone. Damn thing shouldn’t be that hard to find but locating the right pocket of his pants is like finding a hidden treasure chest in the state he’s in.
After some increasingly exasperated fumbling he gets his phone in his hand and scrolls down to the person responsible for his misery. He can barely make out the letters spelling ‘CAS’ against the glaringly bright screen. There should be a drunk-and-soon-to-be-hungover setting, it’s pure torture keeping his gaze fixated on the name, and not only because he feels like crap warmed over thinking about the man.
After a few minutes Dean’s anger subsides and makes place for disappointment and resigned hurt; lingering jealousy still making him want to repeatedly slam his fist into the nearest wall.
Dean throws the phone onto his pillow and buries his head in his hands. What was he thinking, anyway? He should’ve known his plan wouldn’t work out, his feelings aren’t reciprocated, of course they aren’t. Cas deserves so much better and that’s why it’s only logical, that’s why he went and -
Fuck it all.
With that thought he reaches blindly for his phone and presses speed-dial.
There’s a few moments until the call connects, but as soon as Dean hears the tell-tale intake of breath that precedes the introduction of a name, he starts talking. He knows his brother’s name after all and Sam can figure out who’s on the line on his own - smart sasquatch lawyer that he is.
“I’m in love with Cas,” Dean blurts out and is met with a sharp inhale before he barrels on.
“Probably have been for years, just didn’t figure it out ’til now.”
And how could he not love him? His best friend with his stupidly intense azure eyes is the most loyal, kind and unintentionally hilarious person he knows. That he’s easy on the eyes is only a bonus, one that Dean certainly doesn’t object to.
It’s not Dean’s fault that Cas chose that particular day to run into him on his way into the coffee shop, or that he had consequentially spilled Dean’s coffee all over both of them. It was Cas who’d given Dean his name and number, so that he could pay for the dry-cleaning of Dean’s clothes. It’s not like Dean could’ve done anything about the fact that they kept running into each other in the weeks after the coffee incident, and though it was never again quite so literally, each time was still memorable enough to cause the start of a timid friendship that turned out to be the best relationship Dean’s ever had with anyone besides Sam.
Sam, his foggy brain supplies helpfully. Right, he’s still on the phone. Why hasn’t Sam said anything? Dean’s had the epiphany of his life this morning and his brother doesn’t even grunt in response?
“Y’know you could give me a bit more to work with here, Sammy.”
But he doesn’t wait for a response, just digs the blade in deeper and twists.Welcoming and nurturing the pain has always been his preferred method of dealing with whatever shit life decides to throw his way.
“He’s gone and gotten himself a date with Daphne, of all people. I knew there was something going on there, but man, Cas never dates and I thought - I thought maybe I’d have a chance. I figured I’d man up and just tell him and maybe I wouldn’t screw up the best thing that’s ever happened to me – I thought maybe there would be even better things to come.”
How he could’ve convinced himself of that is beyond his understanding now. There is no way he’ll ever have a chance against Daphne; sweet, gentleDaphne with her big soft eyes and silky curls. Daphne, who is an assistant at Cas’s college department and comes from a highly-educated, academic family and who is perfect for Cas in every sense.
Dean doesn’t share Cas’s passion for weird-ass poetry or good wine or fucking granola for breakfast, he’s actually made fun of him for the latter multiple times. The one good thing Dean’s got going for himself is how well Sam turned out, but that’s half Sam’s own doing.
Focus.
“I know, I should support him and I do want him to be happy, it’s just that I’d hoped he could have that happiness with me. But I get it, it’s not gonna happen.”
Sam’s silence is getting discomforting and Dean remembers how much Sam detests Dean’s drunken escapades, because it reminds him of their dad; drunk-dialing is on his list of things that has happened to their family one too many times already.
“Sorry, Sammy, shouldn’t’ve called, I just… never mind. G‘night.”
And with that, he switches off his phone and throws it in the general direction of the box he uses as a nightstand.
He can deal with the hangover tomorrow, all he wants to do now is sleep and escape the puddle of self-pity he’s about to drown in.
The thought of Cas kissing Daphne good night is the last thing on his mind and there’s an ugly twisty feeling under his breastbone before Dean’s blissfully dead to the world.
~~~
Castiel is staring at the phone in his hand, the straight line of beeping barely reaching his ears. He can’t believe what just happened, the dots won’t connect and it’s entirely probable that his body has gone into shock.
That was Dean on the other side of the line, no mistaking that deep grumbly voice. Dean, his best friend, whom he’s been attracted to the moment he met his hazel-green eyes, framed by thick black lashes and looking bedraggled with coffee poured all over him. Dean, whom he’s been in love with for almost as long, at least since they properly got to know each other, since he was blindsided by the loyal, smart, loving man who won’t ever acknowledge that he’s any of those things.
Dean said he is in love with Castiel.
It must be a mistake, clearly, this can’t be reality. Dean didn’t even bat an eyelash when Castiel told him about his date with Daphne. That his colleague and he mutually decided said date wasn’t working out about half an hour in is beside the point.
Maybe it’s a prank. Yes, that must be it, Dean wanted to mess around with Sam and decided Castiel was the easiest way to do that because he knew there was never anything coming of it. He couldn’t have known how cruel the harmless joke would turn out.
But why is it, then, that he had sounded so genuinely heartbroken, devastated even?
Castiel’s mind is reeling and jumping from one assumption to the next and he’s terrified of the next day, when he’s supposed to meet Dean and Sam at the Roadhouse for their weekly catch-up night.
~~~
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
Dean is staring up at his brother, irritation clear on his face. “Dude, I was the one drunk off my ass, how come you don’t remember?”
Great, Sam is giving him his patented bitchface.
“You were drunk? I thought you’d given up that particular coping mechanism.”
Now Dean is slowly starting to question his brother’s sanity. He hadn’t beenthat drunk, surely he didn’t imagine calling his brother.
“Are you kidding me? I poured my heart out to you and told you that I’m in love with-” but Dean doesn’t get to finish his sentence.
“Cas!”, Sam’s eyes are a little off-focus and Dean is becoming seriously concerned.
“Yes, Cas, perpetual bedhead, gorgeous eyes, about yea high. Remember?”
But Sam is stepping around him, Dean turning with him on instinct. Just to end up face to face with the object of his distress.
Awkward.
“Heya, Cas! How’re you doing?” Sam is his happy puppy self again and slaps Cas - who doesn’t topple over, kudos to him - on the shoulder, before steering him in the direction of the diner. Dean doesn’t know why - it’s not like he and Cas have a special greeting ritual, but he’s disappointed when Cas barely flicks his eyes to him and then quickly glances at his feet.
“Hello, Dean.”
Well, this at least is normal. Dean nods at him and they enter the diner, finding a booth and settling down. The weird silence that follows seems to make Sam uncomfortable, which is probably why he says the one thing he should’ve saved for later.
“So, Dean, you were telling me about your drunk adventures last night?”
Dean’s eyes widen and he doesn’t notice the blush that immediately dusts Castiel’s cheekbones because he is busy stepping on his little brother’s foot to prevent him from putting it in his mouth any more than he already has.
“Ow, what the hell? What was that for?”
Sam can be pretty dense, considering his IQ is probably higher than the man himself is tall. Dean shakes his head warningly, and quickly changes the subject. The only thing that comes to his mind doesn’t exactly steer the conversation clear of muddy waters.
“How was your date with Daphne?” he practically yells at Cas, who chokes on his drink.
After sputtering and nearly suffocating for a while he stares at Dean with wide eyes and seems to be searching for words.
“Must’ve left quite an impression, huh?”
Unfortunately, the hurt in Dean’s voice is more prominent that he’d hoped for. Of course, Sam catches on instantly and raises his eyebrows. Dean gives him another withering glare and a warning tap to the shin for good measure.
Cas still hasn’t answered and Dean is slowly getting the impression that the universe has sworn itself to make this the weirdest day in Dean Winchester’s mockery of a life and that is saying something, because Dean has seen a lot of weird shit in his days.
“It was… quite enjoyable, I suppose,” is Castiel’s quiet response, slightly belated and still a bit breathless.
Sam seems to have caught on and asks cheerfully if they’re going to meet up again. Dean bites his lip and doesn’t look at Cas while he waits for him to answer.
“No, I don’t think so. I’m emotionally invested elsewhere, so I don’t think it’d be fair to either one of us,” Castiel says softly and now he’s looking directly at Dean.
Who doesn’t notice because he’s still contemplating the scratches in the surface of their table. After a moment Cas’s words sink in and his head snaps up, only to see Sam rising to his feet and making an exit for the bar.
“You guys talk, I’ll go say say hi to Ellen and Jo,” he calls over his shoulder, and with that he’s gone.
Dean awkwardly twirls his fork in his fingers. When has he ever felt awkward around Cas? Not even with coffee dripping down his face has he ever been this uncomfortable.
Castiel is in no better better state; shredding the paper napkin in his hands nervously. The pieces fall down between them on the tabletop and Cas seems to make up his mind about something.
Dean still hasn’t got a single clue what’s going on other than the fact that now he can’t concentrate at all because Cas is focusing on him with a piercing look in his eyes.
Those eyes.
“You didn’t call Sam last night, Dean. It was me.”
Wait, what?
“I didn’t… you were talking so quickly, I couldn’t even get a word out and then you hung up on me and…”
Fuck.
Dean really can’t seem to catch a single break. You’d think the universe would cut him some slack but now he has to listen to his best friend gently letting him down with the Harvelles and Sam hovering like harpies just out of ear-shot. He knows Cas will try to maintain their friendship afterwards, because that’s just how Cas works. But it won’t ever be the same and Dean is such an idiot. He’ll never touch a single drop of alcohol ever again.
“I’m sorry, Cas, I didn’t mean -” but he never gets to finish his sentence because Castiel blurts out a string of words that make no sense to Dean at all.
“Dean Winchester, don’t you dare say that you didn’t mean it, because I don’t think I’ll survive it if this turns out to be a big elaborate joke at my expense.”
“Cas, I’d never - wait, what?” obviously Dean’s brain needs a reboot; it’s getting stuck on the stupidest things. Simultaneously his heart is rising with a tentative swoop of hope.
Castiel is looking at him questioningly and suddenly he’s leaning over the table, grabbing Dean’s shirt by the collar and then his lips are on Dean’s and they’re just as soft and warm as he’s imagined and finally his brain admits defeat and all he can think are variations of hmm and that feels awesome why did we wait so long to do that? and does Cas use conditioner because his hair is so soft.
Apparently Castiel is thinking along the same lines, because he’s sliding over the table - damn, he’s flexible, Dean had no idea but now there are definitelyideas flying around in his head - and settling down snugly in Dean’s lap.
The hard smack on the back of Dean’s head pulls him out of his bliss and he’s rearing up to return the physical maiming on his brother. But Cas is still straddling his hips and maybe he’ll just stay here and make do with glaring accusingly at the overgrown moose he sadly can’t deny being related to.
“What the hell, Sammy!”
Sam is grinning like a maniac but he also looks like he didn’t really sign up for witnessing his big brother make out enthusiastically with one of his best friends in public.
“Couldn’t you have waited until you were back home to pounce on each other? Man, I’ll need a bucket of bleach now. Ellen is going to lose her customers if you two don’t keep it PG-13.”
Cas simply gets up off Dean’s lap and drags him by the hand to the exit. Dean weakly throws a “Bitch!” over his shoulder and he barely hears Sam’s faint reply.
“I totally called it, jerk!”
While Cas is man-handling him into the driver’s seat and urging him to start driving, Dean, he catches a glimpse of bills changing hands between his brother and his surrogate sister.
Dean couldn’t care less that his lost-and-found family apparently has been putting wagers on his love-life and personal happiness because the feeling of Cas’s strong hand on his thigh is so much better than winning the lottery could ever be.
fin