Chapter Text
Staring out the car window, Cas’ thoughts drifted away as he watched the loose leaves of autumn fly past; the sleek black Chevy Impala raced down the calm residential streets like an unstoppable force as some hairband rocked over the radio.
At the sound of Dean’s voice booming from the driver’s seat beside him, Cas couldn’t help but jump. He wasn’t sure how long Dean had been talking, trying to get his attention, but judging from his tone and heavily furrowed brow, Dean was clearly annoyed. “Dude, I’ve been talking to you for the last five minutes.” He paused for a moment, as though to let the guilt sink in. “What’s the last thing you heard?”
Dean wasn’t trying to hide his irritation, but even if he did try, it wouldn’t have mattered; he and Cas had been friends long enough that Cas could pick up on the telltale signs of Dean’s frustration, no matter how subtle they may have seemed to anyone else.
“Sorry, Dean.” Cas watched as Dean shot him quick glances while trying to keep his attention on the road until Cas eventually allowed his gaze to drift back out the passenger window. He was met with the reflection of his own blue eyes staring back at him as the houses and trees rushed past in a blur. The silence between them was deafening, but what more did he need to say?
“Dude, where’s your head?” Although Cas continued to stare out the window, he could hear that Dean’s tone had changed and he imagined the furrowed brow relaxing.
They had driven another few blocks as Cas tried to figure out what he wanted to say. It wasn’t until he felt the car slow and finally stop that he turned his gaze back toward the driver’s seat.
Turning off the car, Dean removed the keys from the ignition and dropped them into the pocket of his worn leather jacket before turning on the bench seat to give Cas his full attention.
His heart racing and mouth dry, Cas looked at his friend thoughtfully as he took a calming breath before allowing a small, gentle smile to creep across his lips. “Dean," he began slowly, "if there is something that you want to tell me, please know that I am here to listen. I won’t judge or criticize; I am here for you, you know that.” The car remained silent, not even the November wind daring to make a sound.
After waiting in silence for what felt like hours, Cas tried again, this time taking a bit more of a direct approach; he was talking to Dean Winchester after all, so direct was probably best. “ I know, Dean.” When Dean didn’t respond and instead looked back quizzically, Cas repeated the statement, but this time with more pause and emphasis on every word. “I know, Dean.”
Something began to register on Dean’s face, although Cas could not be certain what it was. The muscles in his jaw tensed as his cheeks flushed and color drained from the rest of his face; while Cas could not be certain, it almost looked as though Dean had stopped breathing.
“Dean.” Cas spoke, but Dean’s eyes seemed to be staring through him.
“I--I don’t--uhm, I’m not--I don’t know what you mean.” Forming a cohesive sentence seemed to be physically taxing as Dean’s hands, clenching tightly onto the sleeves of his leather jacket, began to tremble.
Cas moved a little closer, and in doing so, Dean tried to put even more distance between them, but couldn’t; the door of the Impala remained closed, trapping him in the car like a scared, caged animal. “Dean, it’s okay.” Realizing that moving too close was not the right approach, Cas lifted a calm and reassuring hand instead, and at the sight of it, Dean squeezed his eyes closed as though he were expecting to be slapped, punched, beaten.
Cas lowered his hand and made no further attempts to move closer, but he did not back away. He had been wrestling with how to talk to his best friend for days now, and he was not going to give up so easily. Instead, he sat quietly, patiently. After another moment, Cas noticed a single tear drop down Dean’s cheek, but his green eyes remained tightly closed.
“I want you to talk to me, Dean. Please.” Cas’ voice was unchanging, his pitch never fluctuating. Even though this conversation made him nervous--the fear of saying or doing the wrong thing and therefore hurting Dean had been on his mind since making the decision to broach the topic--he did not want to give Dean any reason to think that he, Cas, was angry or upset with him. And although he wanted to respect his friend’s space, the sight of more tears sliding down Dean’s trembling cheeks brought Cas across the bench, wrapping his arms around the boy beside him who was still trying so hard to disappear.
At the contact, Dean recoiled, but Cas didn’t let go. “It’s okay, Dean.” The sound of heavy sobs filled the silence of the car and the air seemed to thin, making breathing difficult. The strong and confident Dean Winchester appeared, in that moment, powerless. Despite never pushing Cas away, Dean remained rigid except for the quaking of his shoulders and the tremors that shook through him.
Minutes crept by with neither boy moving from their spot when suddenly, the sound of Dean’s shaky breathing changed. Now, it seemed as though he were struggling to breathe, choking on air itself. Cas moved back towards the middle of the bench, leaving one hand rested on Dean’s shoulder.
“Cas--” Dean gasped, his frightened eyes now shining like large green orbs; while clutching at his chest, his tears continued to fall. “I ca--can’t breathe.”
“Dean, you’re okay. You’re safe. Just take a slow breath.”
Fear was now visible across Dean’s face as one hand clutched at his chest, the other at his forehead. “Cas,” he gasped again.
“Dean, you’re having a panic attack. You need to breathe. I'm here.”
While Dean had always been a kind and compassionate friend for Cas going all the way back to their early days in elementary school, he had never been able to talk about himself or his own feelings ("Nah, Cas, I just needed to bitch for a sec'. We don't need any chick flick moments."). On so many occasions, he and Cas had sat talking together when Cas was struggling with his brothers or stressing about school, and though Dean would listen for hours and offer comfort in any way he could, he never allowed the same for himself. Some may attribute this to societal expectations of masculinity and “manliness,” and although that was definitely true, Cas knew that even more so, Dean had been fighting a losing battle with his own self-worth for years.
“Dean, I know that this is scary, but you have to listen to me.” Cas forced Dean to look him in the eyes. “I need you to try to breathe, Dean. Please, just breathe.” And Dean tried. Shallow, choppy breaths escaped his lips, and Cas found that he had begun to take slow and deliberate breaths himself. After several minutes, the sound of Dean’s breathing began to normalize and the terror began to fade from his eyes, although it did not disappear entirely.
Cas’ hand was still resting on Dean’s shoulder; once it seemed that the worst was behind them, he rubbed gentle circles into his friend’s arm, hoping that the pressure would help to provide some kind of relief. And although it did seem to do so for a moment as Dean closed his eyes and continued his slow inhale and exhale, that relief soon faded and was replaced with a look of shame and panic. Before Dean could speak, Cas was again embracing his friend and allowing the silence and their closeness to speak for them.
“Cas.” Dean’s voice was hoarse. When Cas moved back to look into those familiar green eyes, he saw that Dean looked older, weathered, and defeated. “Cas,” he repeated. His voice choked with emotion.
“It’s okay, Dean. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
The boys sat in silence for a moment, Cas watching Dean closely, Dean staring down at his hands. Finally, Dean spoke. “How?” The question was barely audible.
Cas spoke, his tone level with concern and even hesitance. “When you stayed over a couple weekends ago, you were talking in your sleep.” These words seemed to hit Dean hard as he grabbed his stomach and grimaced, small beads of perspiration visible along his hairline. “And after then, I just tried to watch a little more closely.” Cas paused before continuing cautiously. “And when I was at your house last Friday for movie night, I was on your computer when you ran down to get food and I saw your search history.” That was it. That admission sent Dean writhing in his seat as though suffering from excruciating pain; without that, he could have said it was all speculation, but with that, Cas had proof.
Not removing his hands from his face, Dean’s words came out rushed and muffled. “Cas, I’m so sorry. Please, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I couldn’t--”
Cas took hold of Dean’s wrists in a way that was both gentle and forceful, and even though Dean’s eyes stayed covered, his words stopped.
When Cas spoke, he articulated carefully and spoke slowly, wanting to be sure that every word was heard and understood completely. “Dean, you have nothing to apologize to me for. Nothing. Okay?”
“But, Cas--”
“Damn it, Dean. No.” Dean’s glistening eyes peaked through his fingers and Cas’ knuckles gently pressed against his cheeks as he continued to hold Dean’s wrists in place. “You have been my best friend since fourth grade, Dean Winchester. I am so sorry that I ever made you feel like my love for you was contingent on a specific sexual orientation.”
It broke Cas’ heart to see his best friend so clearly uncomfortable talking about himself.
“Let’s go inside. Please.”
It was Friday, so no one would be home at the Novak house for hours; Cas’ parents were out for their book club and his younger brother was having a game night with some friends from school. Dean had been reluctant to get out of the car, but Cas insisted, and eventually, they made their way inside together.
Under normal circumstances, Cas would not have pushed Dean to talk about this; he would have disregarded what he heard and saw, and instead waited for Dean to feel comfortable enough to start the conversation himself (if and when that ever happened), but the internet search history changed things. Cas had not tried to snoop; he was searching for the cast list of the movie they were about to watch and inadvertently stumbled upon recent searches like “suicide hotline,” “self-harm,” and “how to fix being gay.” In the moment, Cas was too confused, too nervous, too taken aback to know what to do. When Dean came back into the room with sodas and a pizza, Cas did his best to carry on like normal, but he knew then and there that his friend was struggling and needed help.
After making their way into the Novak house on that chilly November day, the boys sat in Cas’ living room, each on their own chair, facing one another, but not making eye contact. Cas was watching Dean intently, but Dean’s eyes were trained on the floor, unblinking, as though expecting the rug beneath him to do something amazing. Not wanting Dean to feel pressured, Cas wanted to allow Dean to speak when he was comfortable, but after several minutes he realized that that would probably never happen, so Cas spoke first.
“Dean, if you’re comfortable, I’d like you to talk to me.” Dean neither spoke nor lifted his eyes from the floor, so Cas spoke again. “I don’t want to pretend to know what you’re thinking, and therefore don’t know what to say.” When Dean still didn’t respond, Cas took a deep breath. “Okay. That’s okay. Then, if you’ll allow me, I am going to say what I’m thinking. Please, interrupt me, correct me, contradict me at any time.” Seeing a slight nod to Dean’s head, Cas took another calming breath.
“I’m going to go back a couple weeks.” He adjusted himself on the armchair, placing both feet on the floor and resting his elbows on his knees while looking over at Dean; even if he didn’t want to speak, Cas wanted to be sure that he was aware of any signs that Dean was uncomfortable or had something to say. “It was a night that you had slept over.”
“Cas, they’re superheroes ! How can you complain about watching a movie about superheroes ?” Dean spoke as though Cas had offended him greatly and maybe even sprouted a third eye on his forehead.
Taking off his thick black glasses, Cas began to clean the lenses with the microfiber cloth from on top of his dresser. “It’s too fantastical for me, Dean. And although these filmmakers try so hard to make it seem plausible, the stories are too outlandish and inconceivable.”
“Inconthievable!” Dean blurted, clearly unable to control himself.
Cas squinted, tilting his head to the side as he looked at Dean carefully. “Are you having a stroke?”
“Dude!” Dean yelled, throwing a handful of popcorn at Cas’ face.
“Uh--Dean, you know that I have an issue with butter residue and popcorn kernels!” Cas quickly began picking up any piece that he could find, hoping that it didn’t leave a grease stain.
Dean rolled his eyes as he clicked play on the remote. “Jee-zus, Cas! Just sit down and relax. The movie’s starting.”
The movie was over three hours long . Even though Cas noticed a number of inaccuracies related to his understanding of physics, the United States government, and human genetics, he decided to keep those comments to himself; Dean didn’t often seem to appreciate Cas’ criticism of superhero films.
“Dude, it’s 11:11. Make a wish!”
Cas looked over at Dean as he was setting up a pillow on his makeshift bed. “I don’t understand the connection between the time of day and wish-making, Dean.”
Dean looked Cas in the eye, clearly unamused. “Of course you don’t.” He then jumped to his feet and grabbed his backpack. “Man, I hate when you get popcorn kernels stuck in those little spots behind your teeth. I’ll be right back.” And with that, Cas could hear Dean’s footsteps as he walked to the bathroom down the hall.
Their Friday movie night tradition started two summers ago and, with the exception of a few Fridays here and there, it was one tradition that the boys would not abandon. Rotating between weeks, Dean and Cas would take turns hosting, and it was decided long ago that staying the night would be easier than someone having to drive home in the pitch black, even though they lived less than a mile from each other.
After Dean returned from the bathroom, it was Cas’ turn. Within ten minutes, the lights were off, their cell phones plugged in, and they were getting ready for sleep.
“Night, Cas.” Dean’s voice already sounded heavy, as though barely awake.
“Good night, Dean.” Although this was already later than he normally stayed up (research showed that 7 to 9 hours of sleep was recommended for his age group, and who was he to argue with research?), Cas was finding himself more alert than normal. He was silently blaming the caffeine he had an hour or so before when he heard talking. It was quite clearly Dean’s voice, but it sounded jumbled. “What did you say?” he asked, but he heard no reply. Listening intently, he heard Dean speak again, but could not make out what he was saying.
Climbing off of his bed, Cas carefully crouched down beside Dean; sure enough, he was talking in his sleep. Cas was unable to understand much of what he was saying, but Dean’s words were monosyllabic and quick, his tone something close to anxious or frightened. Assuming that he was having a nightmare, Cas was about to wake him when Dean’s words became a little easier to understand.
It only took a moment longer for Cas to realize that Dean was repeating the name of the male superhero from the film, and the tone that he had previously identified as being anxious or upset was clearly something else. As he listened more carefully, he realized that Dean sounded enamored. Putting two and two together, Cas was left feeling a little perplexed and guilty for stumbling onto his friend who was asleep and vulnerable, his subconscious having been brought to light in a way that would never be allowed if he were awake.
Climbing back onto his own bed, Cas tried to put it out of his own mind. Dean continued to ramble, his volume low and his tone consistent, but Cas ignored it until sleep took him.
Dean was mortified. At no point during Cas’ narrative did Dean pick up his head or try to speak, but his body language and the tremors told Cas everything that he needed to know about his friend’s current mental state.
“Dean, if I misunderstood something or interpreted something incorrectly, please let me know.” Dean was silent, but he shook his head slightly. “Okay, then if you’re okay with it, I’m going to keep going.” Again, Dean gave a slight nod of the head, so Cas continued.
“As I said before, after that night, I tried to be more observant when you and I were together. Not because there would be any problem if my initial deduction was correct; more because I wanted to be sure that I was seeing you completely.” Cas and Dean had been friends for 8 years, and the idea that his best friend may have been keeping something like this a secret bothered him; for years, he had prided himself on knowing Dean better than anyone else, sometimes even better than Dean knew himself. “I don’t think we need to get into those things, but what I would like to say is that I believe my observations supported what I was beginning to assume.”
Cas knew that this conversation was hard for Dean, so he didn’t want to go into the details of it all; however, after that night, he had started picking up on details that may have been there all along, but that Cas wasn’t looking at properly. For example, he noticed that Dean had a habit of watching his lips intently whenever Cas spoke and he would often lick his lips absentmindedly while doing so; Dean would also allow his eyes to wander and focus on attractive people when they were in populated places, and while he often made verbal comments on the physical attributes of ladies, Dean’s eyes followed men just as often, but always without comment.
“Dean, I would like you to talk to me for this last part.” Although he was trying so hard, Cas could not hide the waver from his own voice; not only was this the most definitive proof that he had regarding Dean’s sexuality, but he was about to ask his emotionally-unavailable friend to confirm or deny that he had been thinking about harming himself.
With a sigh, Dean picked up his head and looked into Cas’ eyes for the first time since his panic attack, and the sight before him made Cas sad. Dean’s eyes were puffy, his cheeks blotchy, and he looked absolutely exhausted.
Cas paused for a moment, and to his surprise, Dean spoke. “I--” Clearing his voice, Dean tried to speak once more. “I, uhm, don’t really know what to say, Cas.” He dropped his eyes to his lap. “Everything you’ve said so far has been true, and I’m guessing your assumption about me is too.” With that statement, the sadness and hurt crept back into his voice. “And I’m so sorry.” A new wave of sobs broke and Cas couldn’t stop himself from kneeling in front of Dean, holding both of his hands in his own.
“Dean, I don’t understand. Why are you apologizing to me?” Cas couldn’t hide the sound of his own voice cracking.
In response to the question, Dean looked at Cas through a stream of tears, his face almost offended by the question. “Cas, I’m gay!” He yelled the words as though trying to rid himself of their meaning too. “I’m gay, Cas, and I’ve felt this way for years! And I’m sorry for doing that to you, for betraying your trust, for false pretenses and everything else. I’m not who I wanted to be and I’m not the friend that you deserve me to be, and I--” The words had flown from his mouth in a rush of speech until he seemed unable to speak any more, leaving his final statement hanging in the air between them.
“Dean,” Cas’ eyes were brimming with tears, but there was a small smile on his lips. “Dean, thank you for telling me that you’re gay. I am so grateful that you told me, but you should not be apologizing. You have nothing to apologize for. You are the same person now that you have always been; you mean the same to me now as you always have. Why do you think you owe me any kind of apology?”
“I--I’m not who I wanted to be, Cas. I’m not the cool guy, or the ladies man, or anything anymore.”
“First of all, that’s not true. Your status and reputation do not change because of this, and so what if you’re not a ‘ladies man’? That has never defined you. But I still don’t understand why you think your sexuality would change anything.” Cas hated being so persistent, forcing his best friend to talk about a topic that clearly brought him such pain, but Cas was afraid that if Dean closed himself off right then, he may never open himself up to talk again, or maybe even do something worse. Before Dean could respond though, Cas continued speaking. “No, Dean, I don’t care your reasoning. What matters is that you know that you are wrong. Dead fucking wrong, Dean Winchester. Your sexual orientation does not define you; and I do not feel as though there have been any false pretenses or types of betrayal. Dean, you’re my best friend. You always have been and always will be if I have anything to say about it.” Cas pushed himself up and grabbed a hold of Dean, hugging him where he sat. “You have nothing to apologize to me for. Our friendship will be what it has always been, okay?” Cas felt Dean nod against his chest.
“But, Dean.” Cas’ voice was slower now, soft but full of dread. “We need to talk about those internet searches.”
Dean nodded. “Yeah, I know.” He hiccupped as he wiped at his nose with the back of his hand. “I promise you that I never did anything. I don’t think I was ever really going to. I just didn’t know what to do and I was afraid you and my parents, or even Sammy”--his voice broke on his little brother’s name--“would tell me to fuck off or something worse when you found out.”
“Never, Dean. Never, ever, ever. Never.”
Dean nodded, trying to speak a few times, but not quite able to make the words come out. After clearing his throat and wiping his nose again, he was able to say, “Thanks, Cas.”
“I have done nothing, Dean. You have nothing to thank me for.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “Thank you for being you, Dean. And please don’t ever question our friendship again. If you need something--to talk, to listen, to have someone stand by your side, or help distract you from whatever--I’m here. I’ve always been here, and I plan on being here for the long haul.”