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“All in. You're so bluffing. I'm betting my craft beer stash on it.”
Dean tries not to smile when Ash goes all in. He's been playing with his cap, touching it absentmindedly which Dean knows he always does when he is bluffing.
Sam, his brother is playing with his chips, stacks them high, then uses a finger to gently push on them until they collapse in pile. Dean knows he's restless and he kind of understands him.
They had set out to watch a movie, then Ash had pulled out the cards instead.
Benny had grabbed a beer and in that characteristically cajun-drawl challenged Dean to a bet. Whoever won would choose the movie, and chip by chip – and in Dean's case, win by win – he'd pushed the movie night into the back of his mind.
Dean eyes his cards again, then looks at the sizable pile of chips in the middle of the table, surrounded by beers, cans of cokes, and a bowl of nuts.
His eyes meet Castiel's who just smiles at him before putting down his cards on the table. “I fold.”
I'd fold you too, Cas. Over a bed, that is, Dean muses.
An electric current of desire goes through Dean at the thought and he shoves it down. It means nothing, and while Dean admits to himself that somewhere along the line, his train of friendship with Cas has altered course and is now on a steady path on the tracks of love, he's fully expecting that train to derail.
Cas with his too blue eyes and his hot body – he's totally been beefing up lately – not that Dean notices those things. The hoodie Cas wears tonight hugs his biceps and complements his eye color.
Dean frowns, then remembers that he's playing poker and composes his face.
“Too bad, Cas. Don't worry, you have a chance to give me some of your dough next round.”
He hears Sam groan in frustration.
“ – ghost train.”
Dean perks up at the sound of Ash's voice. “What'd you say?”
“It's dark, and the month is right. If we're lucky we'll hear the ghost train whistling in the night.”
Fuck. Night. Dean looks out the window and sure enough, the darkness lays thick on sticks and stone and trees and whatever shrub is growing in these neck of the woods. Fuck.
Dean stands up abruptly. He sees Cas raise a questioning eyebrow but that's the least of his concerns right now. “I got to go. Fuck. Totally missed that it's dark outside. Here's to dad not skinning me alive.”
“What happened?” Benny's voice is questioning. He probably guesses that whatever it is, it is bad.
Dean's in trouble now and then, sure, but he's not one to just run off on his friends, not like this.
Dean grabs his jacket. “I'm technically grounded. Not that I see what's wrong with playing pool with Lee. It was his day off and he knew me from class.”
Sam shakes his head. “That was Mr. Lee, one of Dean's professors from school.”
Dean heads for the door. “Dad was just pissed that I won five hundred bucks from him. With his fancy colleague professor title, I figure he had the money to spare. I was gonna use the money for good anyway. Books.”
“Manga isn't books.”
“Shut up, Sammy. I'm top of my class.”
Dean grabs some nuts and chews them quickly before swallowing. “Night snacks. Gotta run. I'll catch the train. Sam, be home in two hours or dad will give you a handful.” He pauses. “And if I see a scratch on Baby, I'll give you not one but a dozen handfuls. You drive her like she's made of glass and you're a retired dude with shriveled up skin. Slowly. Carefully. Pretend you're a fucking sloth. Got it?”
Sam nods. “Prune. Sloth. Glass. Got it.”
“I never said pr – Nevermind.” He waves to his friends and then heads out.
The night is not too cold, still, the summer heat lingers in the darkness. Dean hears the nightly creatures with their croaks and screams. Fireflies flash, leaving tiny pinpricks of light before they vanish, and if Dean wasn't in a hurry he'd stop and watch.
As he's in a rush to get home not to get grounded a second time, he has no time to gawk. The underground train station is just a few minutes walk away, so Dean puts on foot in front of the other. He almost stops when he realizes that he left all his hard-earned money on the table. Whatever, Ash will pay him back later.
He turns in surprise when he hears footsteps behind him.
The moon's light dots over Cas as he hurries up to catch Dean.
“Cas? Taking a night stroll I see.”
Cas shrugs. “Mm, more a brisk run.”
They walk side by side and Dean's fingers tremble.
Lately, the urges to frankly jump Cas has been overwhelming. He figures that all the studying has taken a toll on him. Sure, he's had a crush on Cas since the kids' new craze had been Power Rangers but they are first and foremost friends. Dean has no desire to ruin that.
Fine, there was some desire there but he wasn't stupid. Castiel Kline was his best friend and no amount of wishful thinking would change that.
The underground brings with it a chill, dampness that hangs in the air. Dean avoids touching the stone walls. All manner of nocturnal bugs, earthworms and spiders are probably crawling all over the rock. The only night lamp in the tunnel shines feebly and just manages to cast a weak halo around the rocky ground.
Dean looks at his watch, figures they have to wait at least ten minutes. “So, decided that there was enough of losing for one night, mm?”
Cas' laughter echoes in the dark tunnel ahead of them. “You could say that. Not my fault you refuse to play Scrabble.”
“Hey, we did one time. Not my fault you're a walking talking”, Dean wants to say sex god but settles for the less conspicuous “dictionary.”
“Well, this dictionary bought you a laughter in a partly suppressed manner.”
Dean's brows furrow in confusion. “I've had too many beers, Cas. Spit it out.”
Cas digs into his pocket and pulls out a Snickers bars.
Dean laughs. “You're such a goofball. I lo – I'm lucky to have you.” Dean rubs a hand hastily over his face. Fucking hell, he almost told Cas. He has a slight, pleasant buzz in his head, but it's in no way, shape or form enough for him to almost have that slip out.
That thing is the only secret that Dean truly keeps from Cas.
Cas' grins. “Admit it was a good pun.”
“Yeah, if you're a nerd.”
Cas laughs again and it's a sound that Dean never tires of hearing. “You have a whole box of 'Hatchetman' memorabilia. And have you forgotten about your... was it Dr. Sexy, the full box set, autographed?”
“Hey, Dr. Sexy is a classic. “ Dean shrugs. “Fine, we're both nerds. The handsome nerd and the plain nerd.”
“Which one am I?” Cas' voice is genuinely curious but Dean notices a subtle shift in the air. The playfulness has turned into something heavier. A promise that waits to be revealed if Dean just says the right thing. The problem is that Dean doesn't know what the right thing is.
He stays silent.
The echo of a train becomes louder and the moment, whatever it was, is gone.
Dean is surprised to see that the train is packed with people, despite the late hour. The lighting is dim; the tiny bulbs, all of them, flicker dimly and Dean mutters under his breath. That's public transport for you, but he rather endures that than being grounded twice. His old man is probably asleep anyway.
The seat creaks as he sits down. Much to his annoyance, almost all the seats are taken. He sits down next to an old lady and Cas sits down on the opposite side. The aisle divides them and even though it's just a few steps between them, to Dean it perfectly encapsulates everything about him and Cas' relationship.
Close enough to touch him, but still too far away to really reach him.
The train starts up again, a slow-motion that builds until the stone walls are a blur as he looks out the windows.
Windows. Who the fuck thought about windows on an underground train?
He looks at the lady sitting next to him. She sits still, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She has typical little old lady clothes. A thick skirt, sensible shoes, some kind of mix between a cloak and sweater draped around her shoulders and her hair is pulled back tightly into a bun. “Late night meeting at the crochet club?”
The lady turns to look at him. “When you're as old as I am, it feels like every night is late. Sadly, the train is never late.” She sneezes and Dean recoils.
Gross. He wants to tell old raisin lady to cover her goddamn mouth but he feels a pull at his elbow.
“What's up, Cas?”
Cas leans in close to Dean. His jaw is set and there's an intense shine in his eyes. Not the hot kind of the shine – the one that says, come on, jump me, Dean, – and neither is it the nerdy kind of shine, where Cas is excited about finding another rare dragon in that game they play. Nope, this shine is something different altogether.
“Dean. I think the... man next to me just floats...” Cas' voice is surprisingly matter-of-fact.
Dean looks at Cas with confusion that quickly melts into something else when he feels a tiny puff of air on his face. The gentle breath on his face jolts his body awake, and a trail of shivers soon follows. The close proximity to Cas is bringing back all the wants he's harbored for so long.
He's about to answer when he feels a tiny spray of something at the back of his neck. Dean bites down a curse and turns.
The old lady grins at him. Her teeth are gone, all of them, leaving her mouth a gaping maw. “Seasonal allergies. I'd grab a napkin but it's disintegrated a long time ago. It's hard to recall the time I died – “ She stops again, her eyes looking at Dean with an odd intensity. Wrinkles are etched into her face as her mouth closes.
She sneezes again and her right eye shoots across into the air, only to land with a sickening splat on the floor.
Dean backs away in horror at the same time as he feels a hard yank on his arm.
“Dean! She's not... she's a ghost!” Cas' voice breaks but he still has Dean close to him.
They're on the ghost train!
The revelation of a ghost in their midst makes no difference to the train. It's still chugging along through the underground. The windows still reveal the same view; dark rocks listening with condensed water or the blackness of soil.
The next station is nowhere to be seen.
Between them, something emerges. Dean doesn't have time to process what's happening before Cas utters a horrifying scream.
A hand grabs Dean, cold to the touch but with a nauseating coat of slime that sticks to the side of his throat. The scream that tears from him is primal. He shoves Cas in front of him. “Go Cas, come on!”
Cas sprints forward through the train.
Cas' hand goes back, searching for Dean's. He takes it, grateful for its warmth. It's a grounding feeling, something that anchors him to the world of the living in a place where the dead seem to rule.
Their feet are muted on the carpet but the harrowing screams that follow them are not. Every seat is filled with ghosts.
A man with his decaying head in his own hands walks towards them slowly. His eyes are turned to the side, white and milky and his left cheek has maggots crawling over the flesh.
Others are not so slow. A woman that seems almost normal, if it weren't for the knife handle protruding from her stomach is dead set on catching them. Cas pushes away a girl in front of them covered in blood. Her legs are bent in an awkward angle and just looking at her makes bile rise in Dean's throat.
Some of the ghosts are still seated as Dean and Cas fly past them and that is a small thing to be grateful for. Every seat occupies a ghost in various states of decay.
The red door at the end beckons them to run faster. Dean's heart is trying to break free from his chest and he has a metallic taste in his mouth. It's all good and right that moment he welcomes every sign his body shows of actually being alive.
Eye-less sneeze lady has almost reached them. She has no problem seeing them, despite the red, meaty hollow of her eye sockets being empty. Dean figures being dead has its advantages.
“Dean, are you with me?” Cas shouts, trying to make his voice heard over the screams and whispers intermingled in the crowded space of the wagon. It's as if the ghosts fear their imminent escape.
Dean squeezes Cas' hand again, not even trying to joke about the absurdity of Cas' question when he still feels Cas' fingers around his own hand, like a steel vice claiming him. He's never been more grateful for the hours Cas has spent in the gym.
A wind pushes Dean forward so he almost knocks Cas over, followed by a deep sound, like a foghorn. Dean is a strong guy – not as tall as his moose of a baby brother – but he houses no desire to turn around and find out what creature from Hell makes a sound like that.
Cas opens the door and they're outside the train.
Dean closes it with a thud behind them. His heart hammers in his chest but the presence of Cas calms him somewhat. “Cas, you alright? Did any of the ghosts...” He speaks loudly, trying to shout over the sounds from the train as it speeds along the tracks.
Cas exhales heavily. He's winded, probably more from fear than actual exhaustion. The gust of winds from the train tousles his hair and darkness casts ominous shadows over his face. He grabs the railing and squeezes tightly, avoiding the opening in the middle.
“I'm as good as I can be considering we're on a ghost train.”
The door behind them rattles with a loud thud.
Dean rakes his fingers through his hair. “Fuck, what are we gonna do? I don't even have salt with me.”
Cas looks at him questioningly. “Salt? That something you usually carry around with you?”
“Yeah, every time you bring me over for dinner. It's not gonna kill you, Cas. Fries without salt is just... wrong.”
“Low sodium is beneficial for your health.”
The levity of the conversation almost transports Dean back to normalcy. For a few seconds, he forgets about hopping onto a strange train, about ghosts with poor oral hygiene and sickening wet skin.
The sound from the door changes. The rattling transforms into creaks and groans as something pushes against the door. A crack in the door appears.
Fear turns Dean's stomach heavy with lead. “What are we gonna do?”
Cas looks at him, desperation in his eyes. He looks down and Dean follows his gaze, his throat suddenly dry.
The wind whips at his hair but he can still see. In a sense.
The abyssal pit below them is dark. The only light is a weird blinking from multiple unknown sources that comes and goes with irregularity and even that is not enough to dispel the darkness, let alone give them a clue as to how far the below stretches on.
“Jump? That's your suggestion?”
“Do you have a better idea?” Cas shouts. “Brine them to death?”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Ghosts don't like salt. I've heard, well, read in a book about supernatural stuff.”
“I don't understand why we're even talking about this. You didn't have salt on you, remember?”
“I don't need it, you're salty as fuck when you're scared apparently.” It's spoken out loud, but Dean is quite certain Cas hasn't heard a word of what he's said over the rattling of the train.
A stab of sadness makes him swallow hard. There are other words he wishes Cas would have heard before this apparent end.
Cas turns somber and moves his hand, so it covers Dean's.
Dean's heart pounds in unison with the beating on the door.
They both take a step, angling their bodies to the side and squeeze through the opening. Precariously they perch on the edge. The dark void seems to have a life of its own and a silent call that beckons them to take the plunge.
Dean looks at Cas, takes in his strong jaw and those startlingly blue eyes that he could drown in and that dark, disheveled hair that he's longed to run his fingers through for so long. A quick glance over dry but full lips and a taste he'll never experience.
Cas' hand burns in his own.
Cas looks at him. A shadow crosses his features, and in a flash, it's gone.
They jump.
Dean opens his eyes, surprised to both be alive and back on the train.
Their hands are still intertwined and Dean tries to ease out of it but finds that Cas' fingers tighten. Dean ignores it for now, and if that wasn't a crazy notion when it was something he'd previously only dreamed about.
“We're still here. I wasn't expecting that,” Cas shouts over the rumble of the train.
“Me neither. Maybe this is some kind of, I dunno, ghost cycle we're trapped in.” As soon as the words leave his lips, he frowns. That was not an encouraging thought at all.
Dean and Cas turn, only to face a dozen or so ghosts, staring at them in silence. The contrast with the previous howling and piercing wails is startling.
Anger rises inside him and he stares down the ghost closest to him; a tall one, more tree than ghost with his gaunt face and narrow eyes. For some reason, he looks out at the stone walls. His beard trails down his stomach in a straight line, unbothered by the winds around them. As he turns, Dean bites back another outburst.
The man's left cheek is gone, revealing teeth and tongue, sinew and skin. Dean is glad that his stomach is too busy clenching with unease to all the ghost train stuff, otherwise, he'd be on his knees right now puking his gut out.
Cas mumbles something and when Dean doesn't answer Cas shouts. “They're not very appealing!”
Dean almost laughs at the ridiculous statement – this whole thing is fucking ridiculous – but his anger simmers stills and when the ghosts proceed to just stand there and do nothing, he boils over.
Letting go of Cas' hand, Dean screams, his adrenaline surging yet again through him. “What the fuck do you want? Stop following us!”
A force pulls them inside and the door behind them shuts with a loud bang.
Half-face stares at them intently.
Cas mumbles, so only Dean can hear. “You really think it's wise to antagonize ghosts, Dean? I'm pretty sure we died just then when we jumped, but I have no desire to see if that'll work twice.”
A small child in a dress that leaves her bony knees bare and with hair in two braids that does nothing to hide the ugly gash in her neck speaks up as blood runs down her chest in constant rivulets. “The audacity! You with your flesh, a talking sack of meat!”
Dean has the urge to both step back as to avoid the pool of blood that soaks the carpet and take a step forward and punch Sailor Boo in the face. No one calls him a talking meat sack! He's grateful that Cheek-less isn't talking though. His mind is still deciding whether to be brave or foolish but if that disgusting thing confronts him, he'd hug foolishness and run with it.
He fiercely shuts down the tiny voice that says Cas was right, and that it is stupid to pick fights with ghost girls.
Ghost girl sighs. “We just wish to talk. We need your help, meat.”
Dean has another scathing remark on his tongue – being afraid apparently brings forth what his dad calls the Winchester dumb – and looks at Cas.
Cas shakes his head as he tilts his head slightly to one side. After a brief pause, he speaks. “What do you mean, you need your help?”
“To stop the train of course before it tumbles down into the dark abyss!” The ghosts behind her echo her despair, wailing softly.
Dean frowns. What the fuck is going on? “Why don't you just... pull the brakes?”
“Brakes! What brakes?!” A pale face with bumpy skin and hair standing in all directions peeks out from the throng of ghosts.
“The brakes in the driver's cabin?” Dean's voice trails off at the end.
The sound of wails, gnashing of ghost teeth and chilling groans erupt all around and Dean is pretty sure the ghosts are going into some kind of hysteric frenzy.
Sailor Boo cuts through the cacophony. “We can't! The driver will be very angry with us.”
Dean blinks and looks at Cas who is looking equally confused.
Cas speaks slowly, as if not believing his own words. “You mean you haven't tried the brakes because the driver will get... angry?”
“Furious!” A floating head screams.
Dean's fear quickly abates – well, most of it, they're still kind of disgusting – and he waves with his hands. “Move, um, melt into the walls or whatever.” He tries to ignore the wounds, burn marks, bursts of blood and his own mind that insists on picturing a cold hand going through him and ripping his spine out as he walks past them.
Cas is behind him, a comforting hand on his back. “They're... quite rational for being ghosts. “
“Rational? They've been stuck here for God knows how long and have yet to try the breaks because they're afraid?”
Dean stops and pounds a heavy fist on the door. The ghosts tremble with excitement.
Nothing happens.
“Maybe you need to pound harder.”
Dean glares at Cas. “I can pound hard Cas, trust me.” An impulsive thought occurs to him. He turns the doorknob and the door swings open.
Inside, the cabin driver – a short, older man with a slight belly – looks out the window. A crown of grey-white curly hair frames his face and without pulling his attention from the tracks, he spits out angrily. “Have I not told you not to interrupt the great Metatron?”
“Yo, great douchebag! You need to stop the train. We're heading towards a great maw. You'll kill every last one of us if you don't change tracks!” Kill us again, Dean thinks silently, only for me and Cas, it will be a dead and gone, buried forever kind of death. Or worse.
“What did you call me?” Metatron sputters.
Cas takes a step forward as he makes a placating gesture towards Dean. “It's come to our attention that there's a black abyss ahead of us, tracks leading there. Soon we'll pass the point of no return. We need to use the breaks and stop the train.. um, great Metatron.”
Dean nods, impressed. Cas sure can sweet talk when he has to.
“You take me for an utter fool?!” Metatron shouts.
'Yes' is on the tip of Dean's tongue but even he recognizes that straight, blunt talk won't work on Metatron.
“I know that”, Metatron continues. “I'll just sip my tea and biscuit and that'll leave me plenty of time to change tracks. Freeloaders. Have you even paid for your tickets?”
“Oh, alright. Can I punch him now, Cas?” He can't see any apparent injury or wound on Metatron, so, for now, he can fool himself into believing Metatron is just an asshole of a man, instead of an undead ghost guy.
Metatron ignores them and reaches out to grab his cup of tea and biscuit. At the same instant, the train careens and the cake rolls down on the floor, while spilled tea covers some of the instruments.
”God Almighty, why does this keep having every night?” Metatron mutters as he gets down on his knees. Ass up high, it seems he's totally forgotten his duties as a train driver.
“Dean...” Cas pulls Dean's attention to the window and to the view he knows he'll find.
“It's a tasty biscuit, mother's old recipe. It can't just have vanished.” Metatron is still down on the floor.
A sudden lurch makes Dean's stomach swoop uncomfortably and the train picks up speed. He grabs Cas, who holds onto a bar tightly as the train changes its angle, driving faster as they hit a steep decline.
Metatron seems oblivious.
Dean spies the break and lunges for it just as Metatron looks up.
His face twists, anger turning it ugly.
Dean starts to pull the breaks but Metatron is strong for being an angry gnome of a ghost.
The train groans as it sways back and forth and from the back, an echo of frightful utterances can be heard from the ghosts.
A surge of despair hits Dean. His underarms and biceps ache and he's pretty sure he can't dislodge his fingers from the lever even if he wants to. But still, the lever won't budge from Metatron's iron grip.
“I found it, the biscuit! It's right over there.” Cas' triumphant call momentarily stops Metatron in his tracks before he dives in the direction where Cas is pointing.
Dean doesn't question the absolute insanity of what just happened. Instead, he presses his entire weight on the lever but it just groans slightly, still not moving. The sweat on his back momentarily chills as he recognizes what that means. “Cas, a hand here!”
Cas is next to Dean in seconds and hangs on the lever. They both groan and finally, it moves a few inches. Every slight movement fuels their determination and with a shrill sound, the brakes hit at last.
The darkness of the tunnels flood with sharp fiery sparks as metal grinds against metal. The anguished sounds of ghosts are soon drowned out as the brakes try to halt the frenzied speed of the train.
At long last, the train comes to a halt.
Dean breathes heavily and doesn't dare move for a few seconds. He can feel the train, the driver's cabin hanging precariously over something. When they don't tumble down into nothingness, Dean breaks out into a smile. “We did it Cas, we stopped this motherfucking train.”
Cas smiles back and it's radiant. “We did it, Dean.”
“You still wanna talk about how you had time, Metatron?”
Metatron's answer is drowned out by the cheering of hundreds of ghosts. Although calling it cheering would still be too kind. The screams and howls make goose flesh erupt all over Dean but the mauled ghosts are smiling so he assumes that that's their happy screams.
Metatron is already out and quickly changes the train tracks.
Eye-less sneeze lady approaches Dean and he tries not to recoil. She could've at least put her goddamn eye back in. “We're grateful. Now we can finally move on.”
Dean shrugs. “Uh, it was nothing. You're welcome.”
“The light, the light at the end of the tunnel!” The ghosts' excited murmurs and howls fill the train as they approach their final destination.
The glow of the light fills Dean with a sense of wonder and he understands the excitement of the ghosts. It truly is beautiful. A silent call beckons him to move forward together with all the ghosts. He takes a step over a pool of blood, following the throng of people out the door of the train.
Finally, he's home.
Something pulls at him and he creases his eyebrows in confusion. It's a tug but not towards the light but back into the darkness.
Dean shakes his head. Why would he ever say no to the radiant light? He takes another step but again something pulls, more insistent this time.
“Dean, stop! What are you doing? You don't belong with them!” Cas' voice is filled with something that Dean can't quite name. Is it despair? Grief? Love? It all seems to be abstract concepts that only humans pay any mind.
He knows what he is.
A ghost finally laying its weary head to rest.
The pull is still there. Cas steps in front of him, blocking his way.
“Dean, stop it. We have to head back home. I can't lose you now! Snap out of it!”
Dean blinks. He tries to decipher what Cas... yes, the human's named Cas, is trying to tell him but he notices that the rest of the ghosts are already well on their way.
Determination gives way to a softness in Cas' face that Dean has never seen before. He grabs Dean by his shirt and pulls him flush to his chest.
Cas' mouth on his lips shatters the world.
Heat floods Dean as his heart – yes, his beating, rushing heart – pumps blood throughout his body. The warmth spreads all over, in his chest leaving him breathless, and down his legs where it grounds him, leaving him anchored to the earth. Up the heat goes, through his arms that flex slowly and up, up where it lodges in his throat. The heat lingers there, a heavy, living thing, tying his tongue and leaving him speechless.
“Don't leave me,” Cas whispers against Dean's lips.
Dean's house stands where it has always stood. Against a backdrop of dark trees and the light of the moon, it looks unreal.
Recalling all of the events from the poker game and up until now, all of it seems unreal.
Dean stops and glances at his house again. He can see John pacing back and forth and digs in his pockets for his cellphone. The front is smashed.
“Will I ever see you again?” Cas' voice is quiet.
Dean's throat is dry but he still answers. “Dunno, depends. With college and me probably being grounded for at least a year, I'd say it's a safe bet that the answer is no. Hey, at least they pay for my tuition...”
“Education is important, Dean. You shouldn't jeopardize any of that.” He pauses and looks at the ground. “I understand.”
Dean makes a move towards the house and Cas doesn't move. It kills Dean.
“Look, Cas. I... I don't want things to be...” He sighs and licks his lips. Here goes the second try. “I don't want things to be, awkward between us. Don't get me wrong, I'm... You probably saved my life out there with that...”
“Kiss? Mm, I figured that would shock you enough to pull you out from whatever that was.”
Dean makes a face. “Yeah.”
Cas turns to leave and an unnamed emotion seizes Dean's heart. “Cas!” He realizes as he utters Cas' name that the emotion is terror.
Cas stops and faces Dean.
He's faced ghost trains, eye-less ghosts, trains almost driving off the tracks and Sam driving Baby home. He can survive this too, goddammit. “That kiss. Uh, it was more than a distraction. I mean, it sure as hell distracted me but it was also welcome. Not in the sense that you saved me, I mean don't get me wrong, I'm really grateful that you saved me but...” Dean lets out a frustrated sigh. “What I'm trying to say is... I fucking liked it alright. I liked it! And I like you!” He doesn't realize that he's screamed until silence settles around them.
He groans internally. He's pretty sure dad, mom and his fucking neighbors heard his stupid declaration of love.
Dean stops.
Love?
Yes, love. He loves Cas.
Dean dares a look at Cas, who stands absolutely still, an unreadable look on his face. He steels his heart for the inevitable rejection but it will hurt, he's not going to lie.
Slowly, Cas' face transforms. His eyes light up, and his lips turn upward into the biggest smile Dean has ever seen. “I've been in love with you since you helped me glue back that paper model of the solar system we did back in 8th grade. I haven't made a move because I was afraid that you didn't feel the same. And I care about you too much to lose you.” His voice is hoarse with emotion.
“You...” Dean stops and swallows. “Ever since... 8th grade?!”
Cas just nods, still smiling.
And that's it, Cas standing there, grinning like an idiot, Dean being an idiot, them surviving poker night and ghost trains and Dean's sure he'll survive John grounding him and Mary scolding him.
Dean surges forward, wraps his arms around Cas' neck and kisses him with every ounce of yearning, want and lust he's felt for him over the years.
He tastes like the salt on skin after a swim in the ocean, the grass after rain has drowned the earth and the smoky residues of a forest fire.
He tastes like home. Dean is home.
John is also home. A door creaks and John's voice calls out. “Dean Winchester! Congrats on your new boyfriend. Hi Cas!” John pauses to take another breath. “But I swear, if you don't get your ass over here, you'll be grounded for a month!”
Reluctantly, Dean pulls away from Cas. “That was... wow, Cas.”
Cas' eyes twinkle with amusement. “Yes, most certainly wow.”
“A month... I was expecting at least six months. My old man is getting soft.” Dean takes a step towards the house. “So, send me a text online. Voice chat? My phone died so....”
“We can talk through Zoom.”
Dean nods and fires of a grin towards Cas. “Yeah, sounds great. Um, call me!”
Cas laughs. “Bye, Dean.”
Dean shakes his head in disbelief, but his smile is still there. “Bye, Cas.”