Chapter Text
Dean scratched absentmindedly at a mosquito bite on his ankle as Lisa Braeden finished the Sunday reading. The church was stuffy with heavy August heat, and summertime drowsiness made Dean slump in the pew. The soft rustle of church bulletins being used as fans was the only sound accompanying the sharp tap of Lisa's heels as she returned to her seat.
"Thank you, Lisa, for spreading the Word of God," the preacher said, smiling in a way that wasn't exactly sincere. Dean had never liked Bartholomew Novak. He was like an action figure, shiny and hard and fake. "Good people, please turn to First Corinthians, chapter six, verses nine and ten."
Dean looked down as Sammy slid his well-worn Bible over a little. Dean never remembered his, so they spent most Sunday mornings with the Bible spread open over both their laps, the spine falling into the space between their thighs. Sam, the clever little creature, had covered the page with sticky notes, carefully outlining the passage. On the edge, in messy middle-school scrawl, he had written evil things.
"Right in the midst of that passage," Bartholomew told them, "right in the middle of that verse, it says those who are homosexual."
Dean bobbed his head obediently with everyone else. One of Sam's sticky notes was covering the line in question, but neither of them moved it.
"You can not have faith in God, and be okay with homosexuality!" Bartholomew boomed. He seemed to realize he was yelling, because he forced a smile. “But this is about love.”
Dean flicked the Bible closed. Sam glanced at him questioningly, but didn't say anything. Dean kind of wished Sam would elbow him in the side and hiss "what's your problem" quietly enough that nobody would hear. Dean would tell him. Dean wanted to tell him.
But Sam just scooted away and put the closed Bible between them.
"We must tell the homosexuals that it is possible to change," Bartholomew said earnestly.
Dean knew that Bartholomew was wrong. That no matter how often Dean prayed to the ceiling, he couldn't change. Almost without realizing, he glanced toward the front row, where the preacher's family sat.
Castiel Novak, the preacher's son, was already staring at him. Cas seemed to know what Dean was thinking, always seemed to know. He smiled, those ridiculously blue eyes looking right into Dean.
Then Cas's little sister Anna nudged him and pointed up to their father. Cas didn't exactly smile before turning back, but he crinkled his eyes at Dean and that was just as good. Maybe better, Dean decided, grinning to himself.
After service, Cas found Dean outside. They shook hands, polite and well-mannered as anything. Then Cas ran his fingers over Dean's tie.
"It's a nice color on you," Cas offered, looking back up at Dean.
Dean was sure that the tips of his ears matched the dark red of his tie now. "Thanks," he managed. "Do you... do you want help with yours?"
It wasn't that Cas's tie didn't look good on him, because it did. It was messy, tugged loose. The top couple buttons of his shirt were even popped open.
"No, but thank you," Cas said politely. He smiled, looking much too proud himself as he leaned closer to Dean and lowered his voice. "Mother doesn't like when I do it this way."
Dean laughed and glanced over at Naomi, the preacher's wife. She was bouncing her youngest son on her hip, a fat baby boy named Gabriel. He was always clad in little blue onesies, or tiny green t-shirts with tractors rolling across the front. Meanwhile Anna was clinging to her dad's leg with a pink bow the size of her face perched on the top of her head.
It made Dean roll his eyes sometimes, how the people in his town liked to color-coordinate their children. But he had to grin now, looking at Cas's tie and imagining Naomi's frustration.
"It looks good," Dean said finally. "Matches your eyes."
The eyes in question crinkled happily. "Thank you, Dean."
Dean shrugged, trying not to blush. "Yeah. You going to the barbecue this afternoon?"
"Your barbecue?" Cas asked.
"I guess. I mean, it’s my old man’s barbecue. But my house. My family’s house." Dean rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. “I guess you have to go, ’cause of your dad.”
Cas scrunched his nose. “I will go. But not because of your father or my own.”
“Oh.” Dean shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah. Right, okay.”
Cas beamed. He didn’t smile often, not really. When he was happy, his eyes would crinkle and his lips would curl up a little. But this. This was showing teeth and gums.
Dean stared.
“Are you alright, Dean?”
“Yeah. I’m good, I’m good.”
Cas didn’t answer, just stared curiously.
“Yeah, okay, buddy. I’ll see you in a bit.” Dean clapped Cas on the shoulder and grinned.
Cas was the preacher’s son, so he and his siblings were dragged with their father most places. Luckily, Dean liked Cas, so they kept each other entertained.
Not that kind of like. Not that kind of entertained.
Though... Dean glanced back at Cas as he started the walk home, Sam chattering at his side. Cas was watching him in that calm, patient, strangely intense way he had.
Maybe that kind of like.