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"I’m sorry we’re late,” Cas says hurriedly, taking a seat at the table. His cheeks are flushed, like he’s been running. “It was because of the gerbils."
Dean takes a second to blink and make sure he heard that correctly. “Gerbils?” he echoes.
"At the pet store," Cas clarifies. "They had babies. Sam took me to visit them again." He smiles fondly.
"Course he did," Dean mutters, ignoring the ache in his chest. "Here. Eat."
He slides a burger across the kitchen table to Cas, who licks his lips, puts both hands on the edge of the plate, and slides it directly in front of his chest.
"Thank you, Dean," he says with reverence, as if this burger isn’t just a burger, but a relic.
"It’s probably cold," Dean dismisses when Sam walks into the room and joins them at the table. Cas beams at him before meeting Dean’s eyes again.
"Did you already eat?" Cas guesses. He looks apologetic, but that doesn’t stop him from picking up the burger and biting into it.
"Wasn’t waiting for you jerks," Dean says and gets up to start the dishes.
+
It’s one thing to be upset that Cas and Sam missed dinner, but it’s childish to sulk because Cas is sitting on the opposite side of the couch, curled up against the arm with a blanket over his legs. He isn’t looking at Dean. He and Sam eat out of the same bowl of popcorn, positioned on the end table between the couch and the chair Sam’s bulk overflows. He hates this thing in his gut that feels a hell of a lot like jealousy.
He’s got no reason to be jealous of Sammy. He’s seen his brother in love; this isn’t it. But Cas is softer around Sam, brightening like a starved flame. Sam moves, and Cas flickers.
Dean wonders if Sam knows, if he’s aware of the way Cas looks at him, as if Sam were the immortal one and Cas the mere human raised from Hell.
They share that, too. Once, it had belonged only to Dean. He wishes Sam knew nothing of that suffering.
Cas never stays long: a day, maybe two, before he’s back on the road. Before each visit, he texts Sam his location, his approximate arrival time. Sam prepares his room while Dean pretends not to notice, and he’s the one to answer the door, announce, “Dean, Cas is here.”
They laugh together over something in the movie Dean isn’t even watching. He clears his throat and thinks about getting up for a drink. Cas holds the bowl of popcorn out to him. Dean scowls.
"Would you like your own bowl?" Cas offers with a confused expression, which makes Dean feel like a useless third wheel.
"No," he says sharply, which causes Sam to look up, mouth, "You okay?”
Dean snatches a handful of popcorn from the bowl Cas holds out. He forces his eyes to remain on the screen, though he knows Cas is watching him, feels it burn his face.
+
"Cas is leaving in the morning," Sam says, hovering in Dean’s bedroom doorway. It’s close to eleven.
"Good for him," Dean mutters and sets his book aside.
"Did something happen between the two of you?" Sam asks, coming into the room.
"No. Why?"
"I don’t know; you’re acting more standoffish than usual."
"Maybe I don’t want to get in the way," Dean says.
"In whose way?"
"You know what, forget about it." Dean switches off the bedside lamp, throws the covers back. "See you in the morning," he says toward the wall.
"In whose way?” Sam repeats.
"Night, Sammy," Dean says. He lies down and folds a pillow over his head.
+
Dean sleeps until seven-thirty. Cas is usually gone by now, so he takes a chance and goes to the kitchen for coffee. Cas and Sam are side-by-side at the stove. Sam is showing Cas how to flip bacon, and Cas is laughing. Dean’s heart sinks. He feels sick. He backs away, quietly at first so they won’t hear him, and then he’s full-speed to his room, pulling on yesterday’s jeans, the first shirt in his closet, fumbling for the keys. He’s out the door and in Baby’s front seat, gasping for breath as he inserts the key.
He can’t do this. He can’t watch Cas fall in love with someone else. But he won’t ruin this for Cas, either.
He pulls out of the garage and makes a right, Baby’s tires skidding on the wet pavement. It’s raining. He has no destination in mind, just needs to drive, go anywhere that isn’t here.
+
He takes 281 north toward Nebraska, drives for a couple hours before turning around, even though it’s a waste of gas they can’t afford. The music plays so loudly, it hurts his ears, but the sting feels good. He sings until his throat is raw and ignores his phone.
He doesn’t remember turning into the parking lot for the pet store, just looked down to see his hand on the front door. It swings toward him; he listens to his own footsteps thump inside. The bells chime overhead, announcing his arrival; he blinks up at them in a daze.
"Can I help you?" a bored man asks, craning his neck around from where he is stooped over, cleaning a fish tank.
"Gerbils," Dean says without thinking.
"Aisle four," the man replies.
Gerbils look like small rats, he decides, standing in front of the enclosure. They scurry over rocks and pieces of wood, through cardboard tubes and across a bed of sawdust. He stands there for a long time, watching. The employee checks on him twice, but he keeps his distance.
How many times has Sammy brought Cas here? How many times could Dean have been the one to do it?
His back is stiff from driving and standing on the concrete floor. He shifts to crack it, checking the time on his phone when he hears the door chime, thinks he ought to head home. He’s been in here a good half hour; they’re probably closing up soon.
He has missed calls from Cas and Sam, a string of unread messages. The sound of approaching footsteps makes him cringe, the familiar swish of a jacket; he curls in on himself, wrapping his arms over his stomach. Cas steps up to the glass next to him, close to Dean’s side, and exhales.
"I brought you breakfast, but you weren’t in your room."
"We needed milk," Dean lies. The gerbils scurry back and forth. "How’d you know where I was?"
"I drove around until I saw your car."
"Oh."
"I’ve been driving for a while," Cas tells him. "You didn’t answer my calls."
He’s quiet for a few moments. A dark gerbil buries itself in sawdust, then emerges to dash across the enclosure. Dean angles his face away.
"Why did you leave?" Cas asks.
"You deserve to be happy, man," Dean manages, embarrassed by the way his voice breaks. "You don’t need me fucking that up."
"I’m not in love with Sam," Cas says. He puts a finger beneath Dean’s chin and tilts it up, cups his cheek and gently turns it so Cas can look into his eyes.
"I’m not in love with Sam,” he repeats, eyes blue and fond. They burn for Dean. Cas rubs his thumb over his cheek. Dean chokes in a breath, and his eyes spill over in relief.
Cas’s expression melts into something tender and sweet; he folds himself around Dean. His coat smells like their detergent, Cas’s neck like his soap, like home, when Dean breathes in against it.