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It was weird, how feelings worked like the weather.
Coming and going. Coming and going, Dean thought as he looked out the window of his classroom at the soft, light snow that had just seconds ago been pouring rain. In a matter of minutes it would disappear and become water again.
He tried to think about weather rather than feelings; throw his thoughts out the window – out, out, out in the cloudy 10 a.m. gloom typical for this time of the year, instead of in, with the chatty group surrounding him under bright fluorescent lights.
And the source of it all: Cas was saying something about dating.
A fleeting, scandalous notion went through Dean’s mind – that maybe, if he told Cas this kind of talk bothered him, Cas would stop. Stop recounting the worst of his experiences around cheap diner tables, or enveloped in the darkness of movie theaters, all with this or another random person he’d met at the supermarket or ran into in the school hallway. But that wouldn’t change anything, because Cas would still be dating these people, whether he was talking about them with Dean or not.
At least this way he didn’t have to worry about any of these dates going well.
“You’re a disaster,” Charlie was saying, and Dean tried to focus on her instead of letting his mind carry off and away with the rain again.
“It’s not that weird,” Cas replied, and looked at Dean like a drowning man desperate to find land. “How could I possibly know she was a furry?”
Cas was gifted in a lot of ways. Smarts. Sharp observation. Good looks (though Dean might be biased). People skills were not one of them.
“Dude,” said Dean, straightening in his seat, feeling himself getting into it. Playing the part. “If someone shows a weird interest in Tigger costumes, it’s a fetish. You’re out.”
“But-“
“Out,” Dean cut him off. Garth and Balthazar nodded in agreement.
“You just don’t have the...”Garth started, searching for the right word.
“The Quality,” Balthazar finished.
“Yeah.” Dean pointed at them, as if to strengthen their point.
“What quality?” Cas frowned.
“People skills,” Dean answered. Cas’ eyes narrowed.
“I have people skills. They’re just...”
“Telling you to befriend serial killers rather than normal humans?” Balthazar offered.
“Rusty,” Cas grumbled. “I’ve made good dating choices.”
“When?” Asked Charlie.
“In... In my life.”
“Like the vampire?” Balthazar raised an eyebrow.
“She wasn’t a vampire,” Cas protested.
“Or the werewolf?” said Garth.
“Hey,” Dean said. “We’ve established she was a furry.”
“Or Dean?” Said Charlie.
It froze the air more than the biting cold outside.
Cas’ eyes skipped over to his face, and shot away quickly.
“I’m an excellent dating choice,” Dean mumbled, the regular chorus, though it was more disheartened than he could usually manage.
For a moment, no one spoke. Cas’ eyes watched the floor, skirting around Dean’s feet, like he wanted to look up at him and didn’t want to at the same time.
It was the worst kind of moment, to be reminded of all the bad things that had gone wrong between the two of them that they’d spent months and years trying to forget.
He shook the feeling away, and broke the silence.
“April?”
Balthazar snorted. Charlie shook her head silently, shoving her hands into the pockets of her hoodie.
“I don’t understand why you guys hate her so much,” said Cas. It was mechanic, rigid with all the things that went unsaid around the group about Charlie’s comment.
“She tried to kill you,” said Garth.
“The knife slipped out of her hand,” Cas argued. The bell for fourth period rang and everyone got up from their seats, saying goodbye, except Cas and him.
“Sorry, buddy,” said Dean as the classroom was filling up with new students. “But if someone came at me with a butcher knife I wouldn’t go on a second date with ‘em even if they paid me with hamburgers.”
Cas shifted to look at him. “That’s it.”
Dean looked back at him blankly. “What?” He didn’t care for this look, for the intensity in Cas’ eyes that he wasn’t used to seeing anymore. The intensity he’d managed to forget once made his heart jump, the passion he only saw in Cas’ eyes in two cases; when they kissed, and when they fought.
These days, it was neither. Apparently this intensity was now reserved for spontaneous realizations.
“I always make the wrong choices,” said Cas. “They’re either too smelly, or a demon, or really into soup, or have a collection of turtle lamps. I’m sick of making horrible dating choices.”
“I don’t think that’s something you can control. You’re just a shitty decision maker, man. Own it.”
“Okay,” said Cas, and with his next sentence, Dean finally saw where he was getting at with this fiery look in his eyes. “Then you make my decisions for me.”
Dean huffed out a soft snort. Then, when Cas didn’t start laughing or anything, he said, “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” Asked Cas. “You always get whoever you want. And they’re always great, because you make good dating choices.”
He didn’t mention how it never worked out, and Dean didn’t mention why. Though he felt like it was fairly obvious, with the way he was looking at Cas, lips dry and face hot and almost on the verge of panic.
Cas didn’t seem to notice.
“It’s perfect,” he was saying. “If you see me about to make a horrible decision, you’ll just stop me, and I’ll have to listen to you.” He looked at Dean brightly, with...
Hope, Dean thought. As much as he didn’t want to admit it. Didn’t want to think Cas wanted to make some relationship with a stranger work, really wanted it to work, when maybe- maybe there was someone good enough for him right here.
Cas looked at him with light in his eyes. “Yeah?” He asked.
“Yeah,” Dean answered, and smiled tightly.
There was nothing he could do against it. He could do anything if he set his mind to do it; he could turn anyone down. But this was the one person he couldn’t bring himself to say no to.
“Let me get this right.”
Charlie sprawled down on a desk, her cheek to its surface as she looked at him. Her stare was fierce.
“Your ex who you dated when you were sixteen and had the nastiest breakup with, and has since been your best friend, asked you to manage his dating life. And you said yes? Don’t you feel weird about it?”
Dean swayed uncomfortably in his chair. The class was abandoned – they hadn’t even bothered to turn on the light, and the heavy clouds outside made the room dim just the right amount to make it feel like high school in the week before Christmas break - the good kind of high school, the kind where you could lie down on a table in an unused classroom and talk to your friend about dumb choices regarding your ex.
“Of course I feel weird about it,” he said, and his tone grew more desperate with each word. “But what can I do, Charlie? What the hell am I supposed to do? He asked for my help.”
“Tell him no!” Charlie argued sharply, as if that were the obvious answer.
“I can't tell him no!” He snapped back, straightening up in his chair.
“Why the hell not?”
“Because I love-“ He cut himself off, sucked in a breath. “As a friend,” he said coolly after a moment, trying to save some face. “I love him as a friend.”
“No, you don't.” Charlie rose on one elbow, her eyes narrowing. “You're still in love with him.”
“Still?” He said. “We haven't dated in two years.”
“Oh my God,” Charlie stared at him. “You’ve been in love with him for the past two years.”
He wanted to tell her no. He wanted to deny it. But, God – he was so sick of denials. If he had to deny it to Cas with everything he had, make sure it would never slip out – maybe he could give in to his feelings in one small, insignificant way. It was such an irregular notion, to talk about his feelings like that, he almost felt that doing it was rebelling against the rules of society.
“I’m not in the mood to be judged, okay?” He said, his eyes fixed on the floor. “So save it.”
Charlie sat up. He couldn’t see her expression, insistent as he was to avoid eye contact.
“Look, man, I feel you.” She leaned over the empty space between them and touched his shoulder. “I really do. But you guys dating... I mean, have you really managed to forget? It was brutal.”
She wasn’t wrong. They had both been their worst selves back then, and it had been extremely messy, and it ended bad.
But that wasn’t to say things couldn’t change, he told himself insistently. Their friendship in the past two years had to be a proof of that, right?
“It was complicated then,” he told her. His voice was soft, protective of himself and of Cas and of everything that was and had been between them. “His dad had just died, Sam ran away from home. We had a lot of crap to deal with.”
He couldn't help think about how each of them came out of it; him, with relief and anger for his brother once they found him, safe and sound. And Cas, with his head high, and without a father. This void that was filled for him was never filled for Cas. And he couldn't be more grateful for their friendship, that grew and flourished out of this ugly thing that ended things between them. The best days of their relationship could never compare to an average summer day of them sitting in Dean's room and talking about nothing in the past two years. Their time as a couple – it was fire, and anger, and then regret. Every day since had been... happiness in its own way.
Happiness in their long conversations. Happiness in their quiet looks. Happiness even in the burn and ache in Dean's chest, knowing that things were so much better this way and still wishing it could have been more, wishing he could somehow take this profound, forgiving relationship they had now and combine it with the kissing and the laughing and the touching, without all the bad stuff, without the yelling and the fighting and the hurting, hurting, hurting.
To Charlie, with a dull ache, he said, “Things would have been a lot different if we were the people we are now when we dated.”
Charlie brought her palm to her forehead. “You are the people you are now! If you’re so positive it’s a good idea then just go for it.”
Good idea?
He never said anything about that. His heart didn’t seem to care about good ideas.
“All I’m saying,” she continued, “Is that as a self-appointed dating decision maker, you should realize that yours is a shitty dating decision. Setting a guy up with lots of people doesn’t exactly seem like the direct way into his pants.”
“I’m not looking to get into his pants,” he muttered.
“Or into his heart.”
“I’m not looking for that either, okay? I just want him to be happy.” Dean shrugged helplessly. “Can we talk about something else?” He asked, and he couldn’t help the slightly miserable note to his voice. He didn’t like being at someone’s mercy, and this was double that case – him being at Cas' mercy, on the one hand, given that he was helplessly in love with him, and Charlie's on the other, given that she knew.
“Sure,” said Charlie. “How about the Christmas activity?”
He looked at her blankly. “The what?”
“Oh, you haven’t heard? They call it an ‘activity’ but it’s just a pretty word for ‘lecture’. Ms. Mills talked about it Monday morning.”
“Oh. I must have spaced out.” He was pretty sure that was the day Cas showed up with a new haircut. He definitely wasn’t telling her that.
Charlie didn’t seem to notice his face getting red. “We’ll be sitting in the gymnasium,” her voice was thoroughly annoyed. “Having to be quiet and listen to the history of Christmas or something instead of having a party. On the last day before break.”
At that, Dean tuned back in. “Instead of the winter party?”
“Yeah.”
“Aw, man.”
“Assholes, right?” She squinted at his crestfallen face. “Hold on. You weren’t planning on...”
“What?” He asked. “Oh, no. No, no.” No telling Cas, as much as he’d like that. Just staring at him longingly from across the room like the pathetic loser he was.
He supposed he could do that during a lecture, too.
Cas and him had a tradition, three years old this December. It was a good one: Amara didn’t care whatsoever about Christmas decorations, or any of her deceased brother's - Cas’ dad’s - old traditions for that matter, so Dean would come over and help him decorate the tree. In turn, he’d come over to Dean’s and decorate with his family. That way, they each got to do two trees. And it was a good excuse to see each other.
They were sitting on the floor of Cas’ living room, now. Cas was placing the last of the ornaments on his tree. Dean was watching him, lazy from the warmth that poured into the room through the fireplace. They only had old radiators in his house, no fireplace. It didn’t make Cas any less willing to spend winter nights there, especially around this time of the year; Dean’s house was one place that felt like home without reminding him of his father.
“So?” Dean asked, picking on a loose thread in his sweater, after they’d been sitting in silence for a while.
Cas looked at him. “What?”
“How’s my bossiness been working so far?”
Cas shrugged. “There hasn’t been much of it.”
It was a hit to his chest and a wave of relief at the same time. He forced out half a chuckle, molded his face into a mask of nonchalance. “You’re saying I don’t work hard enough at getting you action? You’ve already asked out two girls and hit on someone at Denny's, and the week has just started.”
“I’m saying,” Cas licked his lips. “That none of them worked out.”
“Why not?” His voice was demanding, and all at the same time, the tension in his chest eased. Every time one of Cas' dates didn't work out, the tension in his chest eased. He knew it was cruel, and selfish, but the only thing he could do about it was work hard to never let it show.
“It didn’t feel right,” Cas said simply.
The question burned on his lips. Did it feel right with me?
He used to think it did. Used to believe it with everything he had. But strange things happened when you broke up with someone. Promises, words of love, entire futures – they all broke. Not at first; at first you still believed them. But time had its way around these things. Drop by drop, it changed the strongest vows, the most earnest whispers in the dark, until there was an ocean between the two of you, so vast you couldn’t even imagine how you used to be so close.
He was happy Cas and him found it within themselves to carve their way through that ocean back into friendship. But sometimes he missed that. That feeling of being loved - not just with the eyes, the smile of a friend, but with the touch, with the words, with the feelings.
“Let’s go,” Cas said suddenly, and stood up, reaching down a hand.
“Where?”
“The kitchen.”
He took the hand, and Cas pulled him up.
The brief touch didn’t make butterflies jump in his stomach. It didn’t make his throat dry. It was just the opposite – safe. Warm, comfortable. Painfully natural.
Cas let go the moment he was up. He led them to the kitchen.
“What are we doing?” Dean asked. Cas’ kitchen wasn’t very big, but it was warm and homey. It felt all the more so with the pouring rain outside serving as an antithesis to the warmth inside.
“Making cookies.”
He watched Cas pull ingredients out of cabinets, and he couldn’t help the short, disbelieving laugh that came out of his mouth.
“Cas,” he said when the other boy didn’t seem to be daunted by his reaction. “Neither of us knows how to bake.”
“So?” Cas asked, and turned to him.
“It’ll be a disaster.”
“And?” Cas said, almost like he was saying, what’s new?
And then, as if he could read Dean’s mind, he gave a half smile and said, “Everything else we’ve ever done was a disaster. It didn’t stop us from doing it.”
Dean turned away. He didn’t know how to respond to that, though his heart seemed to be reacting hard and fast enough for Cas to hear.
Two years of neither of them bringing it up, not even by a hint. Two years of stumbling around it and never addressing it except, occasionally, when a friend made a mistake and brought it up by accident when they were in the same room. And now... now this. Standing in Cas’ kitchen, making cookies, and doing their best to ignore this weight between them.
Cas didn't back down about the cookies.
“So what should I aim for?” Dean asked a few minutes in. His forearms were covered in flour, straining to knead the dough. Cas was lining up frosting materials on the counter.
“What do you mean?”
“Like, do you have a preference?” He tried not to make his voice sound tense, like he meant he might be a preference himself. He didn’t. “Gingers? Brunettes? Any gender preferences? Or do you only date furries and serial killers?”
Cas shrugged helplessly, the joke blowing right past him. “I don’t have preferences.” He looked at Dean almost apologetically, as if he needed to be sorry for this thing that was very private, even if people seemed to mistake it as being their own to criticize and make fun of.
He hated that anyone should feel this way - that the public deserves an opinion about whomever they had a weakness for, whomever their stomach chose to twist at the sight of.
“It just feels weird,” Cas said. “To categorize people by what they are, rather than who they are.“
“Okay,” Dean said smoothly to his bowl of dough. “No preferences. Gotcha.”
Cas eyed him. “Do you have any preferences?” He asked, in the tone in which a kid might ask an adult something in order to learn from them and adopt their behavior.
Just the one, Dean thought. Out loud, he said, “You know me. S’long as they’ve got a mouth and use it as a pie-chewer, I’ll take anyone.”
“Pie,” Cas repeated in a mumble, as though taking a mental note.
Dean thought it over – how often he went on dates, and how he always managed to find – no, always searched for something wrong with them, a reason to break it off. How Cas looked up to him, to his dating choices. How he’d gotten this reputation among his friends of someone who had a way around the ladies. This reputation he’d created for himself by relentlessly going out on dates, showing interest in anyone but who he was really interested in. And what stopped Cas from seeing him this way, except he himself?
He glanced sideways at Cas, who was using a rolling pin to flatten the dough.
Why shouldn't he tell him?
What was stopping him from doing it, right now? What was the worst that could happen – things getting awkward between them? He didn't think it could get any more awkward than, “we used to date, it ended horribly, and now no one mentions it even when everyone feels it's there”.
Fuck, he was going to do it. He was going to do it. He was going to-
He looked at Cas, working quietly beside him. He seemed to be deep in thought.
The silence was harder to break in reality than in his mind.
Well, maybe he didn’t have to do it now. But if he wanted it to stop tormenting him, to stop consuming his days and his nights, then he recognized that he should do it at some point.
By winter break, he decided. It was a good timing – if Cas didn’t reciprocate, they would have an entire two weeks to avoid each other before having to go back to school. And then maybe things wouldn’t be as awkward as they could be. He could do it right before the stupid Christmas activity, so that Cas wouldn’t have to come up with something to say; they could sit in silence through the whole dull thing, and then go on break, and by the time they came back, everything that happened would be forgotten and things would get back to normal.
He made up his mind with some amount of confidence, not minding his surroundings, until he looked over to see Cas standing by the dining table and reading something on his phone.
Dean walked over to stand by him, quiet, not sure whether Cas had said anything that he’d missed.
Cas’ eyebrows pulled together.
“What is it?” Dean asked. Cas showed him the phone.
It was a text from a girl in their class. Nora. It just said, hey.
“What’s the problem?” Dean asked.
“I’m not sure how to proceed,” Cas said.
Dean let out a laugh. “I don’t think you could make a mistake answering a text that says ‘hey’.”
Cas pursed his lips and typed. Dean watched the phone over his shoulder.
“No, no, no. You don’t tell people ‘hello’ in response to a ‘hey’.”
“You just said I couldn’t make a mistake,” Cas protested.
“I was wrong,” he said, and pulled Cas by the elbow back to the couch. “Start with ‘hi’.”
Nora replied after a moment.
“She said, ‘what are you doing?’” Cas said.
“Okay, write, ‘hangin’. Without the second G.”
Cas looked at him. “I’m not writing that.” Their faces were close, closer than they should be for the sake of Dean’s blood pressure.
Dean swallowed. “I’ll do it. Gimme.” He took the phone. Cas leaned in, his chest against Dean’s shoulder, not seeming to mind this closeness whatsoever.
Dean tried to focus on spelling hangin’.
How could he want such thoroughly opposite things? How could he be contented sitting here, huddled together, feeling Cas’ warmth, and at the same time drive himself crazy wanting more?
Nora wrote back: wanna hang together?
Sure, he wrote, but before he could hit send, Cas touched his arm to stop him. He looked up. Cas returned him a look, his eyes worried.
“I don’t know...” He said.
"Why not?"
He hesitated. "I don't even know her that well."
Dean shook his head. “I make your decisions,” he said, “And I decide you’re gonna hang with this girl.”
He didn’t let himself think about what would happen if Cas got together with Nora, or with someone else, before they ever got to the Christmas activity.
Cas scowled at him. “That’s not fair.”
“You made me boss.” He hit send. “Go get ‘em, tiger.” He got up and patted Cas’ shoulder.
“What about the cookies?” Cas asked.
“Forget about the cookies. I just got you a date.”
“I don’t want to forget the cookies.”
“Cas, they’ll taste awful anyway.”
“I don’t care,” Cas insisted. “I don’t know when I’ll get to... make cookies again.” He looked at Dean deliberately, and it was clear that by saying make cookies he meant see you again.
Dean threw his hands in the air, pretending he wasn’t touched, like he didn’t take Cas’ words and treasure them, didn’t feel something for Cas not wanting to give up this time with him.
“Fine,” he said, and let Cas drag him back into the kitchen.
They spent the rest of the afternoon frosting cookies. Cas’ were decent, all winter things, like snowflakes, and presents, and gingerbread men. Dean’s were all Shrek faces. And they looked quite horrendous, since he had no art skills.
It was still worth the way Cas examined them, and nodded approvingly, saying, “Your baby Jesuses look good.”
The day before winter break came all too quickly. And the more Dean thought about it, the less he was sure of his decision.
Cas was devoted to his decision to leave his fate in Dean’s hands, and he did everything Dean told him to do. But he grew irritable and surly about it with each day passing, and in the past few days, it didn’t even seem like he wanted to talk to Dean at all.
That didn’t exactly encourage a love confession.
Someone threw their bag on his table, and his eyes jumped up.
“So?” Charlie asked and hopped on to sit beside her bag. “Have you told him?”
“Nope.”
“You should,” she said.
“I’ve been going back and forth about that.”
“What’s stopping you?” She asked dryly, leaning in to get more privacy in the classroom full of students. “The fact that he goes on tons of dates, or you being too busy to tell him because you’re setting him up on all those dates?”
Dean sighed and leaned back in his chair. “It’s never going to work,” he said. That wasn’t to say he wouldn’t ever tell Cas; he would. He would - just to be able to move on. It was just... hard, almost too hard, to set himself up for failure. To go through with his plan, just to be hurt more by the one person who could hurt him most, whether or not he intended to.
“You don’t know that,” Charlie said.
“He wants nothing romantic to do with me,” he said. “I know it.”
“How could you possibly know if you didn't ask him?”
“Because I want nothing to do with any of my exes,” he answered heatedly. “I don't ever wanna see them again. I would do anything to avoid them. I would cut my own leg and hit myself with it before going on another date with them.”
“And yet he sees you every day,” Charlie raised an eyebrow at him. “And chooses to spend as much time as he possibly can with you. You're his best friend.” Her voice softened toward the end. She started saying something else, but Dean shushed her urgently, pushing her away for good measure. Cas was approaching.
“Hey,” Dean greeted him, pushing Charlie’s shoulder until she walked away, scowling at him.
“Hey,” Cas said back. He was wearing a holiday sweater, red and white. What a nerd. Dean didn’t want to touch the soft knitted wool at all. And if he did, well, it was just because this wool looked so damn soft.
“Festive,” Dean said.
Cas sat down next to him. “What?”
Dean motioned vaguely at the sweater. “Your shirt.”
“Thanks,” Cas said. He didn’t smile. He took a book out of his bag and opened it. After a while, Dean grabbed his phone. He wondered if they were going to sit here for the next twenty minutes, Cas reading and him pretending to text, until the first period would begin and Ms. Mills would come to pick the class up to go to the gymnasium.
The Christmas activity. Dean’s plan. It almost made him want to laugh, in a bitter, humorless way. And what did he have to lose now? Cas talking to him? That didn’t seem to be happening, anyway.
They did end up sitting silently – Dean tense, Cas serious, both clearly uncomfortable, but keeping up this pretense that everything was fine.
Finally, Dean broke.
“So how’d it go with Nora?” He asked. Cas looked up slowly, and turned to him, and closed his book.
“It didn’t work out,” he said.
“Oh,” said Dean, feigning disappointment. He worked to remember other names he hadn’t made sure yet Cas had lost interest in. “Hael?”
“She was weird.”
“Hannah?”
Cas’ eyebrows furrowed. “I’m pretty sure we’re related.”
“Ew.”
Cas’ expression softened, and it took a moment before he looked away from Dean.
Their teacher showed up a few minutes later, and Dean still hadn’t managed to shake off the feeling Cas’ eyes had spread through his chest.
Dozens of students filed into the gymnasium, class after class. Everyone looked annoyed, or dejected, or thoroughly bored. A lecture on the last day before break had that effect on you.
The seniors sat in the back. No one said anything in fear that a teacher might hear and make them move, but relief was in the air; it was much easier to sleep through a lecture if you sat at the back of the room.
Dean sat down on the floor beside Charlie, who waved Cas over and then got up and went to the bathroom as soon as he sat down beside her.
Of course she did.
Dean took a look at Cas, and scooted over. “Hi,” he said awkwardly.
Cas nodded at him.
He paused for a moment. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Cas said flatly. He tapped his fingers on his knee, looking around.
“Okay...” Everywhere around them, students were sitting down. A big man who looked suspiciously like Santa walked into the front of the room and fiddled with a microphone.
Dean cleared his throat.
The man started talking, and the voices in the room faded. “Welcome. We’re here today to talk about Jesus...”
Cas’ knee twitched and touched his, and Dean stopped listening. He cleared his throat again, quietly, although his throat felt quite clear. He couldn’t bring himself to get Cas’ attention with words.
“Hey,” he whispered. “I think we need to talk.”
Cas’ head tilted toward him. “Now?” He whispered back.
Dean’s throat was dry. “Or later,” he said. “We can do it later.”
The man started talking about the Holy Spirit and pagan gods.
“No, let’s do it now,” Cas said.
“Really, we can do it later...” he mumbled. He’d lost his courage. But Cas was already leaning toward him, tuned in, seeming determined to do anything but listen to Santa Man. “Okay,” he said weakly. He grappled to find his words. Santa Man was talking in the background, somehow fading into the margins yet at the same time talking over anything Dean tried to say. “There’s something I’ve been thinking about for... for a while, now, and I wasn’t sure I wanted you to know.”
“What is it?” Cas asked, still looking forward. Dean swallowed. He stared straight ahead, trying to focus on anything that wasn’t Cas’ attention directed at him. “Dean? What is this about?”
“About...” He lost his voice. He tried again. “About us.”
And now, for the first time this morning, Cas looked at him – really looked. “What about us?” He asked, and his voice sounded just as carefully neutral as Dean’s. And it almost felt like they both knew they were thinking about the same thing.
Do you feel it, too? He wanted to burst out and say. Do you feel it in the air, when we’re sitting on your living room floor? Do you hear it in our footsteps when we walk back home together? Do you taste it in all the words we never say, never say, never say, and only ever get dangerously close to saying? Do you ever think it when I think it, too? Do you ever think it when I don’t think it?
He looked at Cas. He opened his mouth. He took a breath.
And then someone leaned in from the row behind them, clapping a hand on Dean’s shoulder.
“Garth wants to talk to you,” Balthazar said to the back of his neck.
Dean turned back. A few rows behind him, Charlie was glaring at him, mouthing something silent aggressively. He squinted to catch the mute words on her lips.
Do it. Do it!!!
He ignored her as best as he could. Behind Balthazar, Garth leaned forward to talk to him.
“I found the perfect match,” he whispered. Dean’s eyebrows furrowed. “For Cas,” Garth went on. “I think I actually found his soulmate.”
“I...” Dean started, turning around to make sure Cas wasn’t listening. “I kind of already have someone in mind, and I... I really hope he likes them.”
“Are they better than mine, though?” Garth raised his eyebrows. “I mean, look at her.” He pointed at someone in the crowd, and Dean’s eyes followed the motion. It was a dark-haired junior, wearing a black leather jacket, black jeans, black socks and black... well, everything. He was pretty sure her name was Meg.
“Isn’t she perfect for him?” Garth asked.
Something nagged at his brain, something he’d told himself about Cas almost two weeks ago. Maybe there was someone good enough for him right here.
Maybe it was pretentious of him; but maybe he was good enough for Cas.
The thing was, he didn’t want to give Cas just ‘good enough’. If good enough was all he was, all he was ever going to be, then this whole thing was pointless. They would try again – if Cas would want that. And they would break up again. And they would hurt again. And if they were lucky, they’d stay friends after this time around, too.
“Yeah,” he said to Garth, forcing a smile.
He told himself that Meg probably was the better match. He told himself he was agreeing to this because he should do what was best for Cas, because that was the reason Cas had him and no one else do this in the first place. But in his heart he knew he was doing it because it was the easier choice. Because this way, he didn’t have to go through the excruciating process of feelings and confessions.
“Yeah, okay. I’ll tell him.” He turned back around and touched Cas’ shoulder. “Hey.” He pointed at Meg, working to make his voice sound casual. “Garth got you another date.”
He hated this mixture of self-loathing and sharp relief in his chest.
“You were in the middle of telling me something,” Cas said.
“Yeah, well. What do you think about her? She looks pretty cool.”
Something in Cas’ expression hardened; or maybe it just fell. “I don’t think so.”
“C’mon, man. You didn’t even take a second look at her.”
Ms. Mills walked over to their row, hissed Dean’s name, and shushed him.
Cas pursed his lips. “Listen,” he said when their teacher was out of sight again. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me with the dating thing. I really do. But I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to do this anymore.”
Dean’s voice went flat. “Why not?”
“I just... I need a break,” Cas said. “This is just a little much.”
And he felt it. He felt it in every bone of his body, in his lungs, in his fingertips, like Cas’ words were infectious. It was too much.
He stood up.
He had to go. Where, he didn’t know. Why, he also didn’t know.
He let his feet carry him away before Cas or Ms. Mills or fucking Santa Man could follow him. When he passed by Charlie she reached out to grab his hand, but he shook her off.
He walked out the door of the big, suffocating hall and into a hallway leading outdoors. Christmas decorations lined the walls and hung from the ceiling in red, green and white. Even still inside, the freezing outside temperature seeped through cracks in the windows and under the gymnasium door. He wrapped his arms around himself, crossing the hallway in determined steps. When he heard the door open behind him, he didn’t turn around.
“Go away, Charlie,” he muttered. “This isn’t the time.”
For one dreadful moment, it occurred to him that he might be barking at an innocent stranger who had just happened to walk out after him. But the steps were too heavy, too deliberate not to be chasing him.
A hand touched his elbow, then, and he turned around.
It was Cas.
Of course it was. He couldn’t catch a fucking break.
“Please don’t go,” Cas said. His eyes were pleading.
The emotion in it caught Dean off guard. He didn’t move.
“It was stupid,” Cas said. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“What?” He asked dumbly.
“I shouldn't have asked you to do this. Not when I already had someone in mind that I was trying to forget about.” He’d started off heatedly, but his words crumbled toward the end. Still, he held Dean’s eyes.
Dean’s voice was almost a whisper. “Who's that?” His heart was pounding in his chest, so hard he thought he might lose balance and tumble over.
The lines of Cas’ mouth softened. “Well, he's tall,” he said, “And funny, and kind, and he knows me better than anyone in the world. And whenever I look in his eyes...” He shook his head slightly. “I think he knows what I mean. No matter what it is I’m saying."
Dean’s words caught in his throat. He forced himself to cough them up, to look in Cas’ eyes. “He kind of sounds like a butt.”
“He's a very big butt.” Cas' eyes were open and kind, so impossibly kind.
“Well...” Dean swallowed. “Did you manage to forget about him?”
The look in Cas’ eyes shifted into something intense, almost desperate. “Not when I tried my hardest.”
For a long moment, they stood there and looked into one another's eyes. Dean didn't know what they were waiting for; maybe for one of them to move toward the other, maybe for a stranger to push through the door and kill this one precious moment before it turned into another moment.
Finally, when Cas didn't move, didn't stop looking at him with this intense look that set his heart on fire - Dean shuffled his feet on the floor. "Guess it worked out pretty well for you, then, that he couldn't forget about you either."
And before he could make another move, Cas closed the space between them.