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The door shook, the pounding rattling the wood on its hinges. They were trapped on the fourth floor of the college campus’ main building, shut inside a professor’s office while the creature slammed itself against the door.
“Dean!”
Dean looked over at Cas, newly human and newly a hunter, and was surprised to see that he looked more determined than scared.
“What?”
BANG.
Dean grabbed his dagger from his waistband with his right hand, gun in his left, and he was settling with the grim realisation that they still didn’t know how to kill this thing – but he was going to give it a shot anyway.
BANG.
“Dean,” said Cas again, this time grabbing Dean’s arm. “We need to stall it.”
“Yeah? How d’you think we’re gonna do that? It only –”
“Goes after lovers, yes.”
The confidence in his words made Dean look away from the door then, locking eyes with Cas while his brain tried to splutter out something about them not being lovers, Cas, so why would it –
BANG.
“Kiss me.”
Dean stared. Cas stared back. Dean tried to come up with a response.
“I – what.”
Good one, Winchester.
“Dean, kiss me. It goes after the lover of the original cursed individual, correct? If it thinks I’m your lover, it will come after me. Which gives you time to kill it without it attacking you.”
“I’m not – we’re not doing that Cas. We can fight it while it’s coming after me.”
He couldn’t even imagine it. Refused to imagine it. In the weeks since Cas had lost his grace, he’d become a permanent resident of the bunker, wearing clothes Dean had given him and more often than not had some stubble or scruff going on – which Dean was definitely not thinking about in that moment as he involuntarily glanced at Cas’ lips.
BANG.
“Dean, you’re a better hunter than me. I can keep it busy and you can kill it. If it isn’t focused solely on you, we have a chance.”
Dean felt cold suddenly, a dim wave of panic rolling in against Cas’ urgency.
“No.”
Cas rolled his eyes, whole body moving with him, and let out a frustrated sigh.
CRACK.
The door was splintering.
“It’s not a big deal,” Cas said through gritted teeth, and the glare he levelled at Dean had his soul ripping itself out of his body and sprinting in the opposite direction.
Cas was offended.
“No, buddy, it’s not …” Dean had no idea how he was going to finish that sentence. It’s not you, it’s me?
CRACK.
A huge piece of wood from the door frame splintered off, flying across the room to hit the desk lamp with a clang.
Cas grabbed Dean’s shoulder, spun him around to face him.
“Dean, just fucking kiss me.”
“No, Cas! Not like this!”
A stunned pause, the pounding on the door a distant sound.
“What?” said Cas after a beat.
Dean immediately started backtracking, verbally and physically, stepping away from Cas so he was out of reach.
“I just meant, I didn’t mean, no, not –”
“What does that mean? ‘Not like this’?”
“Nothing, it didn’t mean anything, I didn’t –”
He’d backed up to the wall, the cool breeze from the cracked window soothing his burning ears and neck.
Window.
“Dean –”
“Forget I said anything, it’s fine, I didn’t mean anything –” he had already pushed the bottom of the window down and was halfway through the gap before the door finally gave way.
Cas yelled for him, but the monster (as expected) ignored Cas outright, barrelling towards Dean and his window escape route.
Suddenly Dean was through, standing on the ledge that ran around the building for fancy architectural reasons, but gave him a nice few inches of concrete to shuffle along, away from the creature and also his mortifying babbling.
He wondered distantly, as the creature shattered the window in its pursuit of him, if this was actually the better of the two options (and immediately concluded that it was).
The monster, human-like but bigger and chunkier and like nothing they’d ever seen before, was going to have a hell of a time crawling along Dean’s ledge.
He started moving faster, hoping to come across another open window while the four-storey drop below him tried to throw him off balance.
Then, an inhuman yell.
Dean whipped his head around to see the creature flailing for a moment, then losing its balance and tipping forward, reaching for a handhold that wasn’t there, and it fell. For a long moment, Dean held his breath. Then, there was a sickeningly wet crunch as the monster hit the ground.
“Huh. Guess that’s how you kill it,” Dean quipped to the night air.
*
“I can’t believe you climbed out a window rather than kiss Cas.”
Dean scowled. Cas, after helping Dean back in another office’s window, had not said a word to him. They’d driven back to the motel in silence, Dean desperately trying to fight the fog in his head to say something to Cas, who actually seemed to be glowing with hostility.
“That’s dedication, man, I’ll give you that,” Sam was saying now, with a laugh and a shake of the head.
“Dedication to what?” Dean snapped. He was holding his toiletry bag, waiting for Cas to finish in the bathroom (who knew an ex-angel would be such a shower hog) and now he stopped in his pacing to glower at Sam directly.
Sam raised his hands in an ‘I-swear-I-come-in-peace-even-if-I’m-smirking’ motion.
“Nothin’, man.”
“Sam.”
Sam shrugged. “Look, Cas will get over it once he realises it’s not him, you just … you know. You’re not comfortable with that stuff.”
Dean stared at him.
“I’m not –” His throat grew tight, so he threw his hands up in defeat instead.
Sam shrugged, closing the journal he’d been writing in. When he raised his head again he was giving Dean a sympathetic look, which was worse than any of the numerous bitchfaces he could have made. He stretched his arms above his head and rolled his shoulders.
“I’m gonna go get us some beer. I think we could all use it tonight.”
“Get me something stronger,” Dean grumbled as the motel door swung shut behind his brother.
At the same time, the bathroom door opened and Cas emerged surrounded by steam, sweatpants low on his hips and his towel in his hand still tussling his wet hair. No shirt.
Dean kept Cas in his periphery, unable to look at his naked torso straight on after their non-moment earlier in the night. He found himself replaying the moment in the office the whole drive back to the motel; if he’d let Cas kiss him – if he’d kissed Cas – and of course he wouldn’t’ve put him in the line of fire like that – not that he would’ve – but if he had – would his scruff have itched or tickled his face? Would it have been quick and dry? Would it have been hard and deep? Would –
“Bathroom’s free.”
Cas’ voice was gruff, his head down as he rummaged in his duffle when Dean looked over at him, towel forgotten on the bed.
“Oh. Right.” Dean cleared his throat. “Thanks.”
He stalled, worrying his lip and weighing his toiletry bag in his hands. It was only half a dozen steps between where Dean stood and the bathroom door, but to get there he’d have to walk right by Cas, who was still shirtless, and probably smelled good.
Cas, clearly sensing Dean’s hesitation, dragged his duffle down the side of the bed so he was in the space between the two queens and out of Dean’s path. He kept his face turned away.
“What’re you even looking for?” Dean’s mouth asked without his permission. He edged forward a little, watching Cas’s tense shoulders drop.
“I’m not looking for anything,” he sighed, and turned to face Dean properly. “I was avoiding you.”
Oh.
“Well that’s rude,” muttered Dean, as he took another step toward the bathroom, drawing level with Cas. “Um –”
Cas cut him off, moving to stand next to him. He raised his hand, paused as if reconsidering, then dropped it. Dean just stared at him.
“It’s fine, Dean.” He sounded weary, but he forced a small smile. “I understand.”
As Cas turned away, Dean dropped his bag and his right hand shot out instinctively. He caught him around the elbow and with one quick motion, pulled him around to crash against his chest. His arms fell around Cas immediately, the only thought in his head do it, so with his right hand on Cas’ jaw and his left on his back, Dean held him tightly and kissed him.
Cas immediately returned the kiss, arms wrapping around Dean’s neck to pull him impossibly close. He could feel the muscles on Cas’ bare back flex against his hand as he held them together. He licked at Cas’ bottom lip and Cas opened up for him immediately, hot and needy and Dean didn’t care that a small moan escaped him – because when he ran his hand through Cas’s damp hair, tugging the dark half-curls, Cas let out his own gasping moan against his lips.
The slamming of the impala door was like a gunshot, and Dean pulled back. He heard Sam’s footsteps outside the door and the dull ache of panic started to climb into his chest.
“I meant something like that,” he murmured, half-smiling and a little dazed as he and Cas stared at each other, breathing hard.
As the door handle turned, Dean grabbed his toiletry bag from the bed and he ran to the bathroom, pushing the door closed behind him and dropping against it heavily.
Shit.