Archive of Our Own

 “Now Boarding Flight 661, Denver, Colorado to San Francisco, California. Zone one passengers, please board at this time.”

With those words, spoken so listlessly and monotonously through the overhead speaker, Castiel Novak was roused from near sleep and brought back to the world of the living.

Or almost living, he thought as he surveyed the other passengers, standing and stretching to relieve his stiff muscles. It certainly wasn’t his best idea to take a flight home at five in the morning, but when work called, work called. Castiel absently rubbed his hand through his dark brown hair, examining the ticket he’d grabbed out of his suitcase. Zone three, he rolled his eyes, perfect.

Surveying the terminal one last time, he plopped back down in his seat with a small sigh. The only advantage to taking an early flight was that there were no children to kick his seat, and almost everyone would be asleep within five minutes of takeoff, or too tired to attempt more than small talk. Castiel grimaced. After attending an architecture convention for his business for the last week, he hardly needed anymore small talk, much less social interaction. He shuddered lightly. Everyone that worked for him knew constant human interaction was one of the things he avoided, yet his secretary STILL managed to schedule him in for ridiculous things like architecture conventions. He could handle people in small doses, be somewhat charming at best, hopelessly lost at worst. A week of constant chatter, repetitive information he’d learned while attending school? No thank you.

 The only thing that was on his mind at the moment was going home and eating a carton of ice cream for comfort. Make that two, he thought, watching as a middle-aged man tripped and spilled a coffee down the front of himself as he tried to peer down a very busty woman’s shirt. Sighing, he closed his eyes and leaned back, hands massaging his temples. His mental breakdown was interrupted by the heavy sounds of shoes clomping against the floor and labored breaths moving past him to the ticket counter.

Castiel cracked his eyes open, watching as a very tall man pushed his way to the front of the line where the airline attendant stood, calmly collecting tickets.

“Is…this…” he panted, voice much deeper than Castiel had expected. “Flight 661?”

“Yes sir,” the chipper blonde woman replied, voice rising over the grumbles of the other passengers. “May I see your ticket?”

The man fumbled around for a minute, and Castiel wished he could see his face. Must be cute, he thought wistfully, the way that girl is staring at him.

At last, the man pulled out the ticket. “I think I’m zone…two?” he said doubtfully, making it into more of a question than anything as he handed her the ticket.

“I can seat you now, sir. Right this way.” She pushed him toward the plane, nodding at the balding attendant beside her. He scrambled to take her place, grabbing the tickets out of the hands of disgruntled passengers and scanning them as they went past.

“Zone two and three may now board the plane! Please come in line if you are Zone two or three!” the man called, staring at them with a mixture of horror and disbelief as more and more people joined the line.

I know that feeling exactly, buddy. The thought entered Castiel’s mind as he joined the line, bag slung over his shoulder and hands deep in the pockets of his favorite tan trench coat. The line slowly inched forward, low hum of voices propelling them all toward the plane. Finally, after a few millennia had passed, it was Castiel’s turn in line. He shot the attendant a small, strained smile as he placed the ticket in his hand.

“Have a nice time in California, sir,” the man intoned nervously, watery eyes blinking rapidly at him as he handed the scanned ticket back. Metatron, his nametag read.

It had never occurred to Castiel that he might be an imposing figure at six feet tall, evenly tanned skin, piercingly blue eyes, and a perpetual look on his face that spoke of either extreme annoyance or confusion. Instead, he commonly mistook the silence and blank looks that followed him wherever he went as him doing something wrong and brushing it off as yet another social blunder. This constant state of unease lead to his slight disdain of social encounters, save for those with a few of his close friends. If it’s one thing I’m known for, it’s miscommunication, he mused, saluting the man as he passed through into the gate.

“You too, Metatron,” He called over his shoulder. His steps felt heavy, but his breaths were even as he walked onto the aircraft that would take him home.

A very attractive African American woman greeted him as he reached the entrance of the plane. “I’m Cassie, I’ll be one of your flight attendants for the day. Do you need help, Mister…” she trailed off as she read the name on his ticket. “Castiel. Well, isn’t that just a coincidence?” She grinned at him, eyes crinkling.

“No such thing.” He winked at her, snagging the ticket from her fingers. “I think I know where I’m going. Thanks though.”

“Of course.” Her dark brown eyes watched him as he passed by. “Be sure to tell me if you need anything else, Mr. Novak.”

He smiled politely. Pity she wasn’t his type. He favored people that more of the bearded type, preferably with a penis. Scanning the narrow aisle, he read off the seat numbers under his breath as he searched for D-18. Though he normally abhorred planes that seated only two people together, he was immensely grateful when he noticed who sat in C-18. Castiel almost stopped in his tracks, but an irritated huff behind him told him that would not be a wise decision. Though he hadn’t seen the man’s face, he was almost entirely sure that the attractive running man was his seat mate for the flight. The familiar rumpled leather jacket gave him away.  And he was gorgeous.

A perfectly tanned face lined by dirty blond hair, pin straight nose, full, plush lips that could almost be considered a sin. And emerald green eyes, Castiel noticed as he walked closer, hands almost shaking as he went to put his bag in the overhead compartment. Before he did, he snagged his favorite book out of the top, a weathered copy of Cloud Atlas that hid his jittery fingers. He tried to smile at the man, but the man’s eyes were now pinched tightly shut, jaw clenched even as he gripped the armrests on either side of him. His foot tapped quickly on the floor, and Castiel had to clear his throat twice before the man noticed him standing there.

“Oh,” he blinked rapidly at Castiel, mouth falling open slightly. “Oh.”

They stared at one another for a minute, neither saying a word, before Castiel gave up and mentally threw his hands in the air, cursing his inability to be suave in the least. “That’s, uh, my seat.” He motioned to the window seat with his book, and the man jumped a little.

“Sorry about that!” he voice cracked, and he licked his lips a bit before trying valiantly to unbuckle his seatbelt so Castiel could pass.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Castiel waved his hand at the man when it became apparent that the seatbelt wasn’t going to be coming off anytime soon. “Just move your knees a bit and I think I can slide through.”

This, however, proved to be too much of a feat for either of them, as when Castiel tried to navigate through the space between the man’s legs and the seat in front of him, he ended up jostling the elderly woman that was sitting there. She subsequently launched herself back against the seat, which bumped Castiel into the face of the stranger, arms braced on either side of him. From this distance, the freckles decorating his nose were very visible, as was the nervousness in his eyes as he stared back into Castiel’s. He swallowed slowly, eyes raking over Castiel’s face as they breathed, almost in tandem.

Castiel shook himself out of his close examination, quickly flipping himself into the seat beside the man. Face heated, he mumbled his apologies and shot a glare at the back of the woman’s frizzy head.

“It’s no problem,” the man said loudly, “it’s not your fault if old geezers can’t control themselves. Good thing we’re so close to the bathroom, huh?”

Castiel had to stifle a laugh, shooting a smile the man’s way even as the elderly woman turned to give him an indignant look.

“You’re quite right about that,” he replied warmly, looking into the man’s eyes and noticing a bit of warmth that hadn’t been there before. “I’m Castiel, by the way.” He offered a hand to the stranger, hoping he didn’t seem too formal.

“Dean. Dean Winchester. Nice to meet ya, Cas.” He grabbed Castiel’s hand, rough, warm fingers enveloping his own.

Cas, Castiel thought amusedly, I could be a Cas.

“Well, it’s good to meet you, Dean Winchester. I-” he was cut off suddenly by a fiery, redheaded woman who was looking down at them like she would bite their heads off if she could.

“You.” She pointed at Castiel. “You’re in my seat.”

He frowned. “No, pretty sure I’m not. My ticket said C-18, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Let me see,” she demanded, holding out one perfectly manicured hand.

Castiel rolled his eyes, about to reach into his trench coat pocket so he could hand it to her, but Dean making a low keening noise stopped him.

“I get so nervous on planes,” he moaned, rocking back and forth. “I may be sick. Oh god, where are the bags you can hurl in? I’m going to need at least like, twenty of those frigging  things. Oh shit.”

The woman withdrew her hand, looking horrified. “You keep the seat,” she told Castiel, eyeing Dean like a diseased dog. “I’ll go find somewhere else to sit.”

She clacked off, suitcase rolling behind her, and Castiel turned his attention back to Dean. “Hey,” he patted Dean’s arm with what he hoped felt like comfort. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean snorted, sitting up from where he’d been hunched over before. “I just had to get rid of that bitch. I’m never that  bad until that flight actually starts. Sorry you’re stuck with me, I’d just waaay rather sit with you than her.” His green eyes were wide, staring at Castiel with a bit of apprehension. “Unless you’d rather not sit with me now? I can call her back.”

“No, No! I actually don’t mind at all.” Castiel shot him a smile, still surprised Dean was so adamant about sitting with him. A warmth bloomed in his chest. “Besides, if you get to be too much to handle, I’ll just hit you over the head with my book,” he held it up, waving it even as he smiled.

“Sounds like a deal,” Dean replied as the fasten seatbelt sign flashed overhead. “Buckle up,” he told Castiel. “At least these tin cans have one working thing.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “If you’re so afraid of flying, why’d you hop on this flight?”

“It’s a long story,” Dean answered, leaning back against the seat and closing his eyes.

The soft voice over the speakers interrupted anything Castiel had been about to say and told them they’d be departing shortly, and could expect little to no turbulence with an arrival in San Francisco at about seven-thirty AM.

Castiel waited a few moments, but when Dean didn’t stir from his position, he turned so he could face forward, a little surge of disappointment moving through him. He looked out the window as the plane moved slowly around the runway, absently stroking the pages of his book with his thumb. Hand cupping his cheek as he stared at the lights of the field, he contemplated playing some music while waiting for the flight to take off, but a small humming noise beside him stopped him. Castiel glanced over, and sure enough, Dean Winchester was humming the opening bars of Metallica’s “Enter Sandman”. Castiel gave a small laugh, and the sound made Dean peek over at him through narrowed eyes.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Metallica calms me down.”

“It’s fine,” Castiel murmured calmly, reaching out to grasp Dean’s hand. “Everyone has their thing. It’s just cute yours is humming Metallica.”

Dean immediately stiffened. “S’not cute,” he sniffed.

Castiel pulled back his hand quickly. He was at a loss for words. Stupid, he thought to himself, you don’t even know if he’s gay or not. Or if he has a thing about boundaries. Nice job, Cas. He fought with himself for a bit before hefinally just said “Sorry. Didn’t mean to cause you offense. I’ll leave you be then.”

“No.”

Castiel was a bit shocked. Dean, pallid and sickly-looking, had pulled himself forward and turned so his knees were brushing against Castiel’s leg. His hand gripped Castiel’s arm, and Castiel could feel the cold sweat from Dean’s fingers.

“I’m sorry about that. I snap a lot when I get nervous. Planes aren’t the best place for me to make a good impression. My brother always says my best jackass qualities come out the moment I set foot on a plane.” He gave Castiel a weak grin, releasing his arm and settling back against his seat. “Promise I’ll be better once we get up in the air.”

Castiel glanced out the window, watching as the landscape moved faster and faster. “Apology accepted.” He leaned back into his seat and placed his arm on the armrest again, placing his book in between his thighs. He was startled when he felt a hand grab his and hold it tightly, but tried not to look too pleased as the plane took off. The sound of more humming beside him made him grin, and his rubbed small circles on Dean’s hand with his thumb. “It’ll be okay, Dean. Just relax,” he whispered, scooting closer to him.

Dean shivered, and he looked at Castiel, a strange heat in his eyes as he swallowed thickly. “Say my name again.”

            “Dean. Dean Winchester. You’re going to be alright. I promise,” Castiel couldn’t help the crack in his voice any more than he could the automatic lean forward, lips burning, wanting to be against Dean’s with a fierceness that was almost wild.

            The impact from the plane taking off saved him from what could’ve been an awful blunder on his part, and he moved back to his own seat. Dean’s hand still tightly gripped his own, but he stopped moving his thumb around.

            This man is going to think you’re harassing him, Castiel thought, getting mad at himself. Well, he did want you to sit by him. And he’s the one touching you. And he did tell you to say his name, a dubious voice told him. Pah, another voice said. That means nothing. The man is clearly afraid of flying, you’re just the one he chose to ride it out with. You probably remind him of his brother. Don’t get your hopes up for nothing, Cas, the voice sneered. You know how well that ended before. 

            Sighing quietly, he extracted his hand from Dean’s, shooting him an apologetic smile before flipping open his book to a random page. Of course, he just had to stop on one of Robert Frobisher’s letters to his lover, Rufus Sixsmith. How lovely, he brooded, rubbing his temple with one hand. He glanced at Dean out of the corner of his eye and found him watching him dubiously. Flustered, Castiel tried to do something resembling reading, but was drawn away by a deep voice saying “Didn’t they make that into a movie?”

            “They sure did,” he answered, trying to ignore the feeling that he should abandon the book and talk to Dean instead. He flipped a page, counting out the seconds until he could flip to the next and make it look like he was actually reading.

            “Seems pretty good,” Dean offered, leg still tapping beside Castiel.

“My favorite,” Castiel responded, cheeks heating.

“Your favorite,” Dean echoed. “Cool.”

Castiel nodded, glad the conversation was winding down. The sooner he forget the feel of those jade eyes on him, the better. His fingers twitched, almost tearing a page as he felt warm breath blowing on his neck.

“You have notes in the margins and everything. What a nerd,” he teased, eyes glowing as Castiel met them.

“Excuse you,” he retorted, closing the book haltingly. “I’m educated. And an architect. So there.”

“What’s an architect doing in Colorado, anyway? Shouldn’t you be some place big, like New York?  I think you’re really a drug dealer. An educated drug dealer. That’s why you need the trench.” He fingered the tan material, pressing it almost lovingly between his fingers. “Or maybe you stole the clothes, ran from your higher ups in Colorado, and you’re moving out to California to start a new drug ring. Gotta change your name first, though. Castiel is way too church-y.”

Castiel looked longingly at his book, knowing as soon as he’d shut it he wasn’t going to be returning to it any time in the immediate future.

“For your information,” he began slowly, “My name is not too church-y. And I was an architecture convention. Which just happened to be held in Denver. I guess that’s a thing now.” He shrugged. “Anyway, my secretary, Charlie, decided it’d be a good thing if my business attracts more attention and keeps in contact with other firms, so I guess me learning to be more sociable is a part of that. She knows I hate talking to that many people.” He made a face, looking almost exactly like petulant five-year-old.

Dean laughed. “Really? Seems like you’re just fine now.”

Castiel swallowed, looking away. “I have my moments.”

Dean smiled at him when he looked back. “That’s cool you have your own business. Wish I could do something like that.”

He looked wistful, and Castiel could feel himself getting dragged in further. “Well?” he prompted Dean when he stopped. “You can’t just leave me hanging like that. What’s your story? Besides running into airports at five in the morning and causing a ruckus.”

Dean snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, well, that wasn’t really supposed to be part of the plan. Airplanes aren’t really my gig. As you may have noticed.”

“Not at all. Most people have a breakdown on a flight right before they launch into a terrible rendition of Metallica songs.” Castiel laughed as Dean swatted at him.

“Uh-huh. Just like everyone has a habit of launching themselves into their seatmate’s lap, I guess.”

Castiel snorted. “That was an accident and you know it. Now stop avoiding the question, Mr. Mysterious.”

Dean sighed lightly, a little puff coming from his nose. He scrubbed a hand over his face, peeking at Castiel through the fingers. “I’m a mechanic. A broke mechanic that got kicked out of his dad’s house. I’m twenty-six and I haven’t done anything worth remembering, I never even finished high school. And to make matters worse, my car, the car I’ve been fixing since I was a kid, broke down while I was on the way to my brother’s graduation. Sammy’s the last of my family besides our dad’s friend Bobby, I couldn’t let him down. Not again.” He looked away something, muscles in his neck tightening.

Castiel felt something in his chest clench. “You know,” he said quietly, “it seems like Sammy is really lucky to have you as a brother. People that care about one another so strongly are hard to find nowadays. You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.” He gently touched Dean’s shoulder, smiling lightly at him. “Education or lack thereof doesn’t dictate what kind of person you are or determine your worth. Only you can do that.” He withdrew his hand, placing it back in his lap with his other hand. “And as for your father,” he paused, shaking his head. “I know family drama. All I can say for that is that if your father doesn’t realize what’s in front of him, he’s a fucking idiot, to put it bluntly.”

Dean’s mouth formed a shocked little O before the corners turned up. “That’s some good stuff, Doctor Phil.”

Castiel threw his hands up in the air. “So much for trying to help you out,” he grumbled. “So tell me about Sammy.”

Dean’s face softened. “He’s a great kid. Too smart for his own good. He’s graduating early at the top of his class from Stanford University. He got himself a girlfriend and a law degree at the same time. Might even propose to her.” Dean’s chest puffed out, and Castiel could practically see the glow surrounding him at the mere mention of his younger brother.

“Do you have a picture?” he asked.

Dean fumbled around, lifting up so he could retrieve his wallet from his back pocket. Castiel felt a pang, wishing someone cared about him enough that they carried a picture of him around in their wallet. Or even that he cared about someone enough to do the same.

At last, Dean grabbed the wallet, flipping the ancient-looking thing open to the photo pockets. “This is us when we were younger,” he said gruffly, shoving the wallet into Castiel’s hands before pointing at one of the worn photos. “The only family picture I have.” His voice tightened. “My mom died in a fire when I was a kid. Sammy was just a baby. Jesus, I guess I kinda was too. I had to carry Sammy out of our burning house. My dad was broken up about it for the longest time. Still is.  We moved around a lot after that, never staying in one place long enough to set down ties. Lots of cheap motel rooms. It’s a fuckin’ miracle Sam even passed school, much less got into Stanford. Dad and I-well, I guess we never made it easy on Sam, especially his decision to leave and go to college.”

Castiel kept his eyes down, sensing Dean needed to tell this all to someone, let it out. He was sure if he made eye contact, even for a second, the trance would be lost and whatever Castiel was beginning to feel would be for nothing. He touched the photos gently, surveying the people in them. The woman, Dean’s mother, was beautiful. Blonde and tall, Dean had definitely gotten his eyes and smile from her.  The whole family was quite handsome, he noted as he flipped to the next photo, one of Sam and Dean laughing together. Lips pursed, he studied the brothers. Arms slung around one another, they seemed inseparable, something like the family Castiel had always dreamed of. Glancing at Dean out of the corner of his eye, he watched Dean open and close his mouth several times. Finally, in low tones, he spoke.

“I was just so fucking angry when Sam chose to leave. He always told me it wasn’t because of me, but it always felt that way. I was the one who quit school to get a job to feed him, not my dad.” He smacked a fist against his leg, narrowly avoiding the seat in front of him. “No, he was content to sit around on his ass all day, drinking up what little money he had and what he could steal from me. But after Sammy left, I stayed with him. Didn’t want him to drink himself to death, but couldn’t really stand the sight of him either.”

Dean stopped completely, grabbing one of the thousands of pamphlets stuffed into the seat pouch in front of him, opening and closing it nervously. He tapped it against their seats a few times before he continued.

“Sammy and I cut ties for a bit after he left. One of the loneliest times in my whole goddamn life, but he snuck his way back in eventually. Thank god for that.” He exhaled loudly. “Dad wasn’t happy about that. He told Sammy if he left the house that night, he never wanted to see him again. And that bastard meant it, too. Told him a coupla months back I was coming for Sammy’s graduation, and he never said a word. I come home from work about two weeks later, all my stuff is thrown out in the front yard.

“’Get the fuck out and stay the fuck out’,” he tells me as I’m leaving. “’It should’ve been you that died in that fire, not your mother. Ya know that?’” Dean’s fingers gripped the pamphlet so tightly Castiel was sure he’d tear it, and he hastily moved the wallet further out of his reach. “Haven’t spoken to him since. Packed whatever I could salvage, shacked up with Bobby for the time being. Can’t do that forever though. Man’s got a business to run and I can’t mooch offa him much longer. I haven’t even told Sammy yet. He’ll just call and be pissed off at dad, and that’s not going to do anything. I’m thinking about not even telling him while I’m here. I can always go back to Kansas, find a new garage to work at,” Dean finished.

A whisper of an idea began in Castiel’s head, but he quieted it quickly. “Dean?”

“Yeah?” Dean answered gruffly.

“I’m really sorry. Truly sorry that you’ve had to live through these things.” His blue eyes met Dean’s own, and he saw a rawness there, an inability to fully let go. “What your father said and did was totally uncalled for. No one deserves to be told that, especially someone as kind and caring as you. He’s damn lucky that you stayed with him as long as you did, and that you didn’t kick his teeth in when he said that to you.” Castiel shook his head back and forth slowly.

“But don’t you see?” Dean asked, hard smile on his face. “What if he was right? What if it should’ve been me that died? Everything would’ve been so much better for everyone if it’d been me instead of my mom.”

Castiel couldn’t stop the horror from showing on his face, but his near rant was stopped by the flight attendants walking by with their cart.

“Sorry it took so long to make it back here, gentlemen. Normally we serve beverages much earlier in the flight. Some people seem to forget their training sometimes.” She eyed the blonde attendant from earlier. “Would you like anything to drink, sir?” It was the attractive woman from before that asked him this, Cassie, and she smiled as he gaped at her momentarily. For a second, Castiel thought about breaking his no-liquor-while-flying-rule, but he decided alcohol would just make him more reckless than he was willing to be.

“Just a Sprite, please,” he finally managed to choke out, still reeling from Dean’s words.

Cassie nodded at him pleasantly. “And for you, sir?” she turned her attention to Dean, and Castiel could feel a coal of jealousy rising up hotly in his chest and Dean raked his eyes up and down her body.

“A White Whiskey. Please,” he tacked on, almost as an afterthought as he smiled charmingly at her. He seemed much more composed now, but Castiel supposed this man was very good at putting up a front.

Castiel pushed the jealousy back down as she handed him his drink, smiling and nodding his thanks to her. Focus on Dean’s problems, you asshole, he thought as he took a sip of the cold drink, cooling his parched throat. You only have so much time, make it count.

“Dean,” he began as the cart wheeled away, “if you ever say anything like that in my presence again, I would have to punch you. Or give you a good smack with my book. Whichever works best. And don’t laugh, I’m being serious.” He waved one warning finger at him as Dean smirked.  “I think everything happens for a reason. As hokey as that sounds. To paraphrase Cloud Atlas, our lives aren’t our own. Everything we do, every action, kind or cruel, big or small, directly effects our future, and the future of everyone we’re connected to. Your mom died, but you lived. And that’s a miracle. You are amazing and deserve to live, and if you don’t believe it, well,” he stopped, not even knowing how to finish the sentence.

Dean pursed his lips. “Are you one of those guys that believes “’-God has a reason for everything, so don’t complain because He made it so-‘”?” He made air quotes as he spoke, eyes dubious.

Castiel chuckled. “Considering my favorite book is one about reincarnation, no. I’d hardly consider myself one of those. I think souls have a way of finding their way back to one another over time, that sometimes things that happen are unavoidable, points in time that have to happen in order to make our story go on. Does that make sense?” he asked, worried Dean would misinterpret something he’d said.

Dean smiled though, baring his teeth. “Makes sense to me. Well, as much as something like that can to an uneducated shmuck like myself. But enough of my whining. I want to hear more about you.” Dean leaned forward, resting his chin his palm. With the light of the window hitting him, he looked like Apollo, beautiful and golden. “You said you know family drama. I bet that’s something.”

“Oh, it’s something alright.” He turned his face away, looking at the fluffy white clouds out the window. “My family is one big mess,” he told his reflection. “I’ve got more brothers and sisters than I can count thanks to my dad, and none of us get along too well. That’s the trouble with being half-siblings, I guess.” He blew on the window, drawing a smiley face in the condensation that formed there. “My dad was always skating in and out, I never figured out why until I was a teenager. Supposedly I was his favorite after Lucifer and Michael, but I never saw any evidence of it. My mom never put up a fight, she just let him walk all over her. Then he just…left one day. No good-bye, no nothing. We still don’t know where he is. Maybe with one of his other families. Maybe he killed himself. We’re really not sure.” Castiel stopped, wanting to turn back around, but not entirely trusting himself with his emotions. He watched himself instead, willed the tears to stay in his eyes. “Two of my brothers are lawyers now. Huge firms. Opposite sides of the playing field, though. Michael is a prosecutor and Lucifer is a defense attorney. And another is a chef. He loves making sweets. Gabriel. Probably my favorite brother, if I don’t think about it too hard. They’re even thinking about giving him his own TV show.” Satisfied that he wasn’t going to burst out in tears anytime soon, Castiel carefully wiped the smiley face away and swiveled back around.

Dean had a look of quiet contemplation on his face, almost like he wanted to ask Castiel something but couldn’t quite find the words. He finally grabbed Castiel’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly for a second before letting go. Castiel nodded, understanding the gesture for the apology that it was. They drifted into a comfortable silence then, both thinking but neither sharing.

“How about a girlfriend?” Dean asked slyly a few minutes later. “That one up there keeps giving you the eye. I bet she wouldn’t mind helping you join the mile-high club.”

Castiel, who’d been drinking the last of his Sprite, almost choked on it. Coughing, he shot Dean a look. “Uh, no thank you.” Then, when he’d mostly recovered from almost dying, he shot Dean a more meaningful look. “She’s not really my type.”

Dean narrowed his eyebrows at that, confusion on his face for a moment until he caught what Castiel was saying. “Ah.” He nodded, cheeks turning pink. It was hard to tell what the look on his face was, but Castiel thought he almost looked…pleased?

“How about you?” he asked unsteadily. “Any lucky ladies in the life of Dean Winchester?”

Dean laughed, and the freckles seemed to dance across his face. “No. No one special, at least. It was kind of a bummer to bring anybody home when my dad is an alcoholic. Not to mention that I still lived with him in the first place.” He wrinkled his nose up, and Castiel felt the motion was entirely unneeded and too adorable at the same time.

“Well, seems like you’ve got no shortage of them,” Castiel ventured. His pulse quickened and his head screamed what do you think you’re doing, Castiel?? He pressed on. “I mean, that blonde girl from before seemed pretty eager to show you to your seat.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, and Castiel realized belatedly that a few notes of jealousy might’ve wormed their way into his voice while he asked the question. 

“She’s not really my type either. Too perky. And too blonde. I like ‘em darker.” He winked at Castiel, and Castiel could feel the blood rushing to his face. Was Dean Winchester flirting with him?

“Between you and me,” Dean whispered, getting close to Castiel’s ear, “15-B was almost my type. Looks too much like an FBI agent, though.”

Castiel looked at seat 15-B, and was either delighted or horrified to see that it was a man. The man from earlier, in fact, the one that had spilled the coffee on himself in the pursuit of perversion.

“Seems like a jerk, anyway,” Castiel told him, feeling the little nugget of hope growing in his chest. Bisexual, maybe even Pan, he mused, thanking every deity above for the revelation.

“Well, I don’t know about your judgment. Seems kinda questionable if you’re willing to spill your life story to someone you just met on a plane.”

Castiel spluttered, almost throwing his empty cup at Dean, but Dean threw his hands up, laughing as Castiel glared at him.

            “Lighten up, lighten up, Cas. It was a joke. I can’t say anything, I did the same thing. Besides, I’m really glad you did. Normally I’m no good at this touchy-feely crap, but it’s different with you.”

            “You have a way of making a guy feel special,” Castiel laughed, beaming at Dean.

            “My pleasure,” Dean’s voice dipped down even lower, if that was even possible. He tilted his head closer to Castiel’s, and he could almost feel his heartbeat in his throat. Was Dean trying to kiss him or?

            Only one way to find out, he thought, debating on whether he should ask or just put his face closer and hope that Dean would get the message. Unfortunately, that was the exact moment the food cart chose to roll back around, and whatever Castiel hoped had been about to happen was thoroughly thrown out the window.

            “We’ll be landing soon, gentlemen,” Cassie cheerfully informed them, grabbing their empty cups as she spoke. “If you want to make any final stops to the bathroom, now’s the time to do it.” Her gaze lingered on Castiel as she said it, and he could feel his face heat.

            He was in no way used to anyone paying him this much attention, least of all women. “Uh, thanks,” he coughed lightly. At the same time, he was surprised by her appearance. Almost two and a half hours have passed already?, he thought, disbelief tinging the words. It feels like it’s been five minutes.

            Dean was smirking beside him. “I think I’m going to go hit the head real quick.” He clapped Castiel on the shoulder and unbuckling his seatbelt, standing before Castiel could even say a word.   “Show me where it’s at, darlin’?” this he directed at Cassie.

Castiel sat there, a strange mixture of bewilderment and disbelief running through him, not to mention confusion. Really Castiel, you shouldn't have expected anything else. You always read the signs wrong, you know that, a small voice niggled in the back of his head.

The woman in front of him interrupted his pity party. She, with her wrinkled face and frizzy hair, twisted around, already glaring at him. "You two are dense," she hissed at him before spinning back around. Her companion, a younger looking man -had he really been there the whole time?-, also shot Castiel a look before turning back, patting the woman's arm soothingly.

Castiel gaped at both of them. At a total loss of words to say, all he could do was move his hands around in bewilderment and continue to give them confused glances. This was the way that Dean found him upon his return from the bathroom, and he stood in the aisle, just watching him.

"Cas, buddy?" he started, eyebrows drawn down in concern. "You smell any burning toast right now, man?"

Castiel gave him a hopeless look before shaking his head. "Not at the current moment." He threw his hands up in defeat. "Just baffled at humanity, as usual. How was the bathroom?"

Dean made a face before sitting back down, hurriedly buckling his seatbelt. "Cramped. Gross. Not sure how anyone manages to shit in there, much less fuck.”

Castiel wasn’t sure whether to laugh at this or cry, but he finally conjured up an expression he hoped was akin to amusement. “Well, I suppose they have to get very creative,” he said weakly. This drew a chuckle from Dean.

“I guess so.”

Castiel fought the urge to slap him promptly across the face with his book, and instead turned to look out the window. “Oh wow, look at that,” he breathed, leaning back so Dean could see the city below. The early-morning sun was lighting the city, making it gleam and shine. Cars moved like ants across the roads, and the water was simply gorgeous.

Castiel turned to Dean, about to ask him what he thought when he noticed Dean’s pallid face. Instead, he quickly grabbed one of the barf bags from the seat in front of him, shoving it in Dean’s face.

“Can you breathe? Do you need more barf bags? Are you feeling dizzy? Can you put your head between your legs?” he paused, about to lecture Dean about the importance of taking Dramamine or some other form of medication before travel, but Dean interrupted him.

“Cas,” he moaned as he put his head between his legs, “shut the fuck up. Tell me about living in California. Anything.”

“Uh,” Castiel wracked his brain for something to say. “Well, I live in San Francisco.  The architecture in California altogether is stunning, but I especially like San Francisco’s. Quite a mix of different styles. It’s like a patchwork quilt of new and old styles. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to live here. I was drawn here, I think. Almost moved to an even more Northern part of California, but something about the beaches there gave me the willies. The one I went to was so broken and cold, almost like it was waiting for someone else. I guess they’re supposed to be better in the summer, but something about them then just turned me off. I decided this was better. A lot warmer than New York, not as chaotic as L.A. And people in the area are a lot more, uh,” he coughed lightly into his palm, “accepting of certain lifestyles. It’s a nice change of pace. I like creating homes, thinking I can help families really be families together. Maybe that’s one of the reason I love architecture so much. It’s very ordered. Not too much personal interaction most of the time.”

Dean finally sat up, nodding and looking somewhat less sickly than he had. “And your business runs from here?”

“That it does. Best place to do it, I think.” Castiel smiled.

The overhead sign for them to put on their seatbelts clicked on as the pilot’s voice came over the intercom. “Alright, folks. We’re about to begin descent into San Francisco International Airport. We’re a bit behind schedule due to some bad weather we had to go around, but our estimated time of arrival is 8:00 a.m. Thank you for flying with Frontier Airlines, may you have a wonderful time in the City!”  

The intercom clicked off with a faint noise, and Dean went ballistic beside him, nerves seemingly forgotten. “8:00? Are you fucking kidding me?” he seethed. “Landing at 7:30 was bad enough but THIS? This is going to make me late for Sammy’s graduation and that’s not fucking happening.”

He was shouting at that point, and several people were turning their way to watch him. Though angry Dean was a sight to behold, Castiel wasn’t so sure the flight attendants would think so when they landed. Not particularly wanting to test the theory out, Castiel grabbed Dean’s arm, fingers circling his wrist. 

“Dean,” he spoke quietly. “You need to calm down right now. I know you’re upset, but screaming isn’t going to get us on the ground faster. And sure as hell isn’t going to get you to Sammy any faster. If you don’t shut up, they might even detain us when we land. Do you understand?”

Dean nodded, eyes fixed firmly ahead, still brimming with anger. Castiel gave his wrist one final squeeze, feeling the strong pulse of a heartbeat below before releasing him.

“I’ll help you find the car rental when we land, okay? Everything is going to be fine. You just need to relax.”

Dean gave one last hard nod before closing his eyes and leaning back against the seat. Castiel sighed softly, wishing he’d brought some extra Tylenol. Or that he had taken one of the hits he’d been offered by one of the more liberal architects before leaving the hotel that morning. Stop it, Castiel, he chided himself gently, staring out the window as the ground drew ever closer. Have some compassion for the man.

Their touchdown was gentle, a small bump that managed to excite Castiel no matter where it was he was landing. Thank the deities, he thought, snapping the window cover shut with a small click. Being a seasoned veteran of commercial flights, he knew what was coming next. And he doubted that Dean was going to appreciate sitting on the runway while they made final adjustments and got the gate ready for them to walk on.

“Dean,” he murmured, gently shaking the man’s shoulder.

Dean ground his teeth together before opening his eyes, and Castiel snatched his hand back. “Are we down?”

Castiel nodded quickly, speaking before Dean could start shouting again. “Before you try to get up and get us both tasered by the air marshal, no, we can’t just go charging off the plane. We’re going to have to wait in our seats for about five minutes at the least, twenty at the most. It takes them a few minutes to ready the gate, then the people bumble around getting their things together for a few minutes. It make take a bit, especially since we’re so close to the back. So, just be patient?” he finished and realized that it sounded more like a question than a statement, but Dean’s pout threw him off balance. He supposed a pout was better than an all-out shouting match though, so he settled back and let Dean be. Closing his eyes, he contemplated the various ways he could try to give Dean his number before they parted ways, but was jostled out of his thoughts by Dean steadily shaking his arm.

“Cas, Cas. C’mon. People are startin’ to get up. We’re going NOW.”

He yanked Castiel up, forgetting Castiel still had his seatbelt up. Castiel assumed under any other circumstances it would’ve been funny, but since it was happening to him, it was decidedly less so. Dean stopped yanking as soon as he heard Castiel’s squawk of pain, unbuckling Castiel himself. Castiel felt his cheeks heat as Dean’s hands came so close to him, but all lust was forgotten as soon as Dean pulled him to his feet triumphantly.

“Where’s your bag?” he demanded gruffly.

Castiel puffed up, ready to defend himself -because he could very well get it himself, thank you very much- but Dean’s look of impatience stifled the words. Instead, he merely pointed to the compartment, heart in his mouth as Dean grabbed the rolling carry-on with one hand, and Castiel’s hand with the other. Dean commenced to shove the young and old alike out of their path in their quest to reach the door. Cassie threw them a surprised look as they moved past her and out onto the gate.

“Have a nice time, gentlemen!” Castiel heard her call, and he resisted the urge to say something back, focusing only on getting Dean to where he needed to go so he could be remembered at least somewhat favorably. Hopefully good enough to get a date.

“Okay, where to now?” Dean panted as they reached the end of the terminal. The walls, normally so pale and without feeling, seemed to glow with life and vibrancy. Castiel was entranced. Wow, that looks amazing Much better than usual. It might just been the lack of oxygen to the brain from running and talking, but this is really great. Dean Winchester makes everything lovely, he thought dreamily, unable to tear himself away from the bright colors of the crowds.

“Caaas. Wake up! Which way to the rentals?” Dean broke through his haze impatiently, and he was brought back to the present.

“Straight ahead and down the escalators,” he shook his head, trying to clear it. “And you might want to take off that jacket. I think I’m having a heat stroke or something.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “No time!” he called over his shoulder, Castiel’s bag still slung ridiculously over the other. He gripped Castiel’s hand even tighter, if that were physically possible. “You can have a stroke later! Cars now, health later.”

“Glad to see how you prioritize things!” Castiel shot back, trench streaming behind him as he struggled to keep up.

They reached the escalator, and it was then Castiel saw their next problem: the lines over by the rentals. Every single one of them was abysmally long, and Castiel was pretty sure Dean was the one in danger of having a stroke then.

“How could the lines be that long? It’ll take an hour to get through them if not longer! Shit, shit, shit,” he cried, dropping Castiel’s bag onto the still-moving escalator and running his fingers through his hair.

Castiel, bending over to grab his bag, was struck with a sudden thought. “Why don’t you just let me drive you over? Stanford is about forty minutes away from here. I had a friend that went there, I can get us there in a jiff.  What time did you say the ceremony starts?”

“9:15. It starts at 9:15,” Dean said slowly.

He looked much more hopeful now that the possibility of him actually getting there seemed likely. The look he gave Castiel almost broke Castiel’s heart from the sheer amount of joy and happiness.

“You’d do that?” Dean asked lowly.

Castiel blinked rapidly. “Of course I would. I can’t just leave you here. Besides it’s,” he stopped, checking his watch. “It’s 8:23. I can drive like a maniac and get you there on time. If you don’t mind ramming into a few cars on the way. Besides, his name is all the way at the end, we have plenty of time.” He looked up from his watch, noticing the little flecks of gold in Dean’s eyes for the first time.

“Castiel, thank you. Sincerely. You didn’t have to do any of this, but you are. It means a lot.” Dean brought his other hand around to Castiel’s pumping it up and down a few times before letting go completely. He stepped off the escalator then, spring back in his step.

“Well, my services come with a price,” Castiel said playfully, touched by Dean’s words but not wanting to show how much they affected him.

“Oh?” Dean raised one eyebrow, mischievous look on his face. “And what would that be?”

Castiel swallowed, balancing on the edge of a sword. Finally, he chose the cowardly route. “Sammy’s legal expertise when my drug ring gets busted, of course!”

They both laughed at this, Dean’s hearty guffaw overpowering Castiel’s own. “Helluva thing to ask for,” he said, wiping one tear from his eye. “I’ll be sure to ask him about that. Now where’s your car?”

            Walking out into the bright California sun, Castiel squinted and tried to remember. “Well, overnight housing is that way, so…must be that way.” He pointed over across from them, and they ran across the road, trying not to get hit by one of the dozens of cars roaming around outside.  “And no making fun of my car when you see it. I normally don’t use it, there’s not much need for me to in the City with the trains and trams.”

“Dude,” Dean huffed beside him, “You’re practically begging for me to make fun of your car now. As long as it’s not a smart car, I’ll be nice.”

Castiel breathed a sigh of relief. Spotting his tan Lincoln Continental, he fished the keys out of his pocket. Jogging up to unlock the door, he heard a snort of laughter. He narrowed his eyes at Dean as he tossed his bag in the back of the car. “What happened to being nice?”

“Yo-you look like a pimp, dude,” Dean was holding his sides, doubled over in laughter. How he even choked out a response was beyond Castiel.

Castiel rolled his eyes, too used to Charlie ribbing him over it to care. “Just get in before I leave you!” he called, slamming the door.

Dean had mostly composed himself by the time he lowered himself into the passenger’s seat, smirking at Castiel with a level of sass that was almost unbelievable.

“Shut it,” Castiel warned, turning the radio on and to a volume that would prevent Dean from insulting him further. The things I do to myself, he thought, backing out of the parking space and speeding off.

At one point, Dean turned down the radio, laughing when Castiel gave him a glare. “No more ribbing about your pimpmobile, I swear. I was just going to ask if you still had your plane ticket?”

“Yeah, one sec.” Castiel ruffled around in his suit pocket, trying his best not to swerve and hit the car next to them as he did. Triumphantly, he pulled it out, handing it to Dean. “Here ya go. What do you need it for?”

“Just wanted to check something,” Dean muttered, pursing his lips with narrowed eyes in such a way that made Castiel be almost in danger of hitting someone again. “Dude,” he said seriously when they were stopped at a stoplight. “That chick was right. You were in the wrong seat.”

“What?!” Castiel exclaimed, snatching the ticket back. He eyed it carefully, even as he heard honking from behind him. And sure enough, what had looked like “18-D” before was actually “16-B”, smudged a little by burger grease or some other unidentifiable substance. “I can’t believe this,” he moaned, throwing the ticket in the backseat before gunning the motor.

“Kinda cool though, if you think about it.” Dean smiled. “’Everything happens for a reason’,” he parroted at Castiel.

“Stop throwing my words back at me, Dean!” It took a Herculean effort for Castiel not to roll his eyes, yet he gave himself an inward grin. Very cool indeed, the romantic part of him whispered.

Thirty-five minutes and two near-death experiences later, they pulled into the campus parking lot, mostly unscathed.

“Alright, Cas!” Dean cheered, pumping his fist in the air. “That’s more like it!” He hopped out of the car, stopping a moment later with his fingers still on the car door. He sat back down, eyes meeting Castiel’s. “I guess this is the end of the line for us, buddy.”

Castiel gave him a tight smile. “Yeah, I guess so. It was really great to meet you, Dean Winchester.” He held out a hand.

Ask for his number! Ask him on a date! Do something, you idiot! Don’t let him get away, his brain screamed at him. He reluctantly shoved those thoughts down, just wanting to remember their final embrace as it was: pure, clean, and friendly. Never mind the wistful look in Dean’s eyes, the pull at the corners of his mouth. That could mean nothing, or it could mean the whole world. In the end, Castiel was always going to be too weak to find out. Not without a push.

Dean clasped his hand, warm fingers sliding over his own. “Cas, I,” he stopped. “I know this is really big to ask, but,” he stopped.

Castiel would feel his heartbeat, prayed his pulse wasn’t beating too fast in his hand where Dean would feel.

“Would you mind going in with me? Sam got me two tickets in case I wanted to bring someone. Probably meant it for my dad. But, uh, I’m not exactly dressed as nicely as anyone in there. And I’m probably not as smart. I’ll stick out like a sore thumb. So will you please go with me? I don’t want to be alone.” he was babbling, but Castiel felt the motion endearing, pink ears and all.

Castiel could feel his throat constricting. If he went, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t do something stupid. Better for the both of them he just left now. But Dean’s look, those puppy dog eyes, made the decision for him. “Yeah,” he heard himself say. “Let me just go park the car and I’ll come.”

Dean’s affectionate expression was enough to give him a rush, and his grin would be forever burned into Castiel’s memories. He jumped out of the car, peeking down again. “I’ll be waiting over here!” He pointed near the entrance before shutting the car door.

Castiel shifted the car from park into drive, but a knock on the window caught his attention. Keep the coat on, Dean mouthed at him, giving him a thumbs up when Castiel nodded vigorously. Castiel shot off as soon as Dean stepped away from the curb, heat blossoming across his entire face. He was able to find a spot by some miracle, launching himself out of the car the moment it was off so he could rifle through his suitcase in the back. Triumphant, he pulled out his favorite cobalt blue tie, hurriedly putting it on before locking the car. He examined himself in the window’s reflection. Tired and mussed up, but not too bad, he decided. The suit gives me an edge. Though if I don’t get to a bathroom soon, things are going to get a whole lot messier than they need to be. 

He loped back to where Dean was, trying to make himself appear less out of breath than he actually was.

“Tie’s on backwards,” Dean smirked, grabbing it before giving it a small tug. “Looks really good on you, though. You should wear it more often.” He rifled around in his jacket for a moment before pulling out two tickets. “You ready to do this?” he asked Castiel.

Castiel shot him a smile. “I am. But if there’s not a bathroom I can go to afterwards, you’re going to be in for it, Dean Winchester.”

Dean snorted, eyes sparkling. “C’mon then. Ticket says we have to go to the stadium.”

Suppressing the urge to link hands with Dean again, Castiel merely followed behind him, taking a moment to admire the masterpiece that was Dean’s ass. He was focused so acutely, however, he almost ran into him when Dean stopped abruptly, meters away from where the ticket booth stood.

“What if I’m not good enough to be here? What if I’m only the embarrassing older brother?” he whispered, and Castiel wasn’t sure if he was asking himself or Castiel. He answered nonetheless.

“You’re not an embarrassment, Dean. You’re fine,” he told him gently, massaging his shoulders. “You know that. Now let’s go. All the good seats are probably taken, but I want to get somewhere where we can actually see the stage.” Gripping Dean’s elbow lightly, he led him over to the booth where an older brunette woman was collecting tickets, marking names off the list as she went.

Dean shot her a nervous smile, handing her the two pieces of paper. Castiel noticed the small tremble of his hand, and desperately wanted to say something to make Dean realize his worth.

“Two for…Sam Winchester?” The woman tapped her pen against her teeth, flipping through the clipboard of names for a moment before she found him. “Ah, there you two are! Alright, enjoy the ceremony, Winchester clan. Here’s the program for today,” she chirped, handing both Dean and Castiel a book with Stanford University embossed across the front.

“Thanks,” Castiel told her, propelling Dean forward and towards the chairs that were tightly compacted into the space. Searching for two free ones, he craned his neck all around, even standing on his tiptoes and leaning on Dean in a last-ditch effort to make himself taller. Just as he was about to give up hope and suggest they go find a nice place to stand, he noticed two in the center row, not too close to the stage, but not too horribly far back either.

“It must be fate!’ he excitedly declared to Dean, pointing to the seats before pulling Dean over to them. With some wriggling and squirming over people that Castiel wished he could’ve perfected when he was younger, they finally plopped down in the seats, ignoring the glaring of the people they had just stepped over.

“Alright, where’s your camera? I can take the pictures for you. I think I did it professionally in a past life, that’s how good I’ve been told I am. And clearly that’s not my over-inflated ego talking,” Castiel informed Dean, winking at him before flipping idly through the program.

“Uh,” Dean cleared his throat. “I actually didn’t bring one. Couldn’t afford one nice enough, buying the plane ticket last-minute and all. Being a mechanic don’t pay that well sometimes. I’ve got my flip phone, though,” he said hopefully.

Castiel stared at him. “How about I take the pictures with mine?” he suggested. “No offense to yours, of course. I’ve just got higher quality. I can send them to you later. Or print them out and give them to you. Whichever.”

Dean nodded slowly, shoving his phone back in his pocket. “That sounds like a way better idea. And it’s a great excuse for me to get your number!” he laughed, smacking Castiel lightly on the back.

Castiel, not knowing the proper response, opened his mouth hoping something suave or sexy would spill out, but the feedback of a microphone saved him.

A very elegant, gray-haired woman now stood on stage, her finery a bit too much for Castiel’s taste. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the 2015 Stanford University Commencement Ceremony! We’re very excited to begin, so please give a round of applause to our Dean after he says a few words about this year’s class!”

Applause was smattered as the portly man walked up on stage, and Castiel tuned him out as he read off a generic speech about the “fine young men and women” and how “their excellence was truly a testament to the fine professors here at Stanford”. It vaguely registered that the man was moving on the stage a few minutes later, grabbing diplomas from another woman and preparing to give them out. Castiel fiddled with his phone, hoping it didn’t seem as rude as it was. He played around with the filters on the camera for a few minutes before a sharp elbow to his side broke his concentration. Busted, he thought belatedly, looking over at Dean. But to Castiel’s surprise, he wasn’t scowling at him or insisting he get off his phone. Instead, he was beaming up at the stage, finger placed on a name in the program book. He tapped on the name for a moment, motioning for Castiel to look. Jessica Moore, it read.

“Sammy’s girlfriend,” Dean whispered, happiness radiating across his face. “Just look at her!” he nodded toward the stage where a beautiful blonde crossed the stage, smiling happily out at the crowd as she accepted the diploma.

Castiel quickly snapped a couple of pictures, blushing when he realized the sound was still on. Amid the sounds of “shhhh” and “hey man, turn that down”, Dean’s own response was audible.

“Stuff it up your ass,” he hissed, twisting around to look at one of the offenders before putting his arm around Castiel’s shoulders. “Did you get any good ones?” he murmured, lips close enough to Castiel’s ear that it gave him goose bumps.

Shivering, he nodded quickly, thumb pressing the back button so Dean could look at them.

Sadly, it seemed Dean could not operate a phone without using both of his hands, so he removed his arm from Castiel. Castiel felt the loss immediately.

But Dean’s grin and praise brought the warmth back to his chest. “Very nice,” he told him, green eyes never leaving Castiel’s. “Maybe you should be a photographer instead of an architect.”

Castiel snorted, and he felt someone kick the back of his seat.

“Shut the fuck up,” another voice snapped. “”Fuckin’ fags.”

Castiel was sure Dean was going to rise up at that moment and solidly plant his foot in the man’s ass, but Castiel grabbed his arm and shook his head. As much and he’d have liked to see the man get pummeled, he’d really rather Dean didn’t get kicked out of his brother’s graduation. 

“He’s not worth it,” Castiel mouthed to Dean. “Besides, I’ve heard worse,” he shrugged.

The tightening of Dean’s mouth told him that they weren’t quite finished with the conversation yet, but just then Sammy’s name was called.

“Shit,” Castiel cursed under his breath, fumbling with his phone after Dean shoved it back into his hand. He quickly stuck it up in front of his face, thankful he had enough camera space to fit all the photos he was about to take. He snapped frame after frame of Dean’s brother walking across the stage, shy and boyishly cute even from this distance. He could feel Dean beside him, a glowing ball of nervousness and joy as he watched his brother.

 Zooming in, Castiel caught the smiles of both Sammy and the dean as they shook hands, Sammy laughed at something the older man said. Finally, the dean released his hand and walked over to the podium again, Sammy trailing not far behind. Castiel quickly switched to video, not sure exactly what was happening.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our class valedictorian would like to say a few words before we finish this ceremony. Please give him a warm hand!” He stepped back, motioning for Sammy to take his place.

Dean whooped beside him, pumping his fist in the air before jumping enthusiastically to his feet. “Yeah!! Go Sammy!” he called out, causing both Sammy and Castiel to blush.

Castiel could only squirm in his seat, taping the whole ordeal. Sammy had other plans.

“Sit down, Dean,” Sammy protested. “You’re making me look bad.”

That got a few laughs from the crowd, and with a happy sigh, Dean fell back into his seat. He grinned at Castiel, his whole face stretching into one of the biggest smiles Castiel had ever seen. Castiel could only chuckle at him and shake his head before turning his attention back to Sam. He reluctantly moved the phone back that way as well, much happier filming Dean in his newly-found state of bliss.

Up on stage, Sammy looked nervous, shuffling notecards around before swiping a hand through his long brown hair. “Well,” he began, “before anything else, let me just say congratulations to the class of 2015!”

Cheers rose amid both the graduates and the other people in attendance, some taking their hats and waving them in the air, Sammy chuckled into the microphone, and Castiel saw that pleasantness really did run in the family.

After the noise died down, Sammy started speaking again. “Dean Devereaux talked about excellence before, our excellence, and that is something that is evident as I look around the stadium today. But we weren’t just handed that excellence, no. It took work and a drive to be better, to be greater than we’d ever dreamed we could be. Some of us had to work harder than others, but at the end of the day, we all made it. Not only because of ourselves, but because of our families too.” He stopped, moving a few notecards around before looking around at the crowd again, much more seriously than he had before. “Stanford has become a home to me in the years I’ve been attending, and my family has grown much more than I thought it would. The support from the staff and students has been overwhelming, and without them, I might’ve not even finished my first year. But the real reason I’m standing up here now is my big brother, Dean.”

Castiel wanted to watch Dean’s face, sure that pride and love were shining in his eyes. He kept his gaze forward though, wanting to capture every moment of what Sammy was about to say.

Sammy continued, grinning at Dean with a happiness that was almost sickening. “Though Dean can be a gigantic pain sometimes, without him, I would’ve never even made it through grade school, much less be on this stage right now. Dean has always been there for me, even when he could’ve been doing much better things with his life. Though he may protest, I’ve always seen him as my role model, someone who is relentlessly loyal and caring. I’m so proud to call him my brother, and my friend. No one has impacted my life as much as he has.” Stopping, he wiped a tear from his eye. From the corner of his eye, Castiel watched Dean do the same.  “I want to finish by saying that all of us should be proud of our achievements and the people we’ve become, the people we are still striving to be. And always remember family is who you make it to be, not always the assholes you were born with.” This received quite a few cheers, and Sammy laughed. “Congratulations, Class of 2015! May we all be as successful as we’re meant to be.”

He threw his hat up in the air after that, and what seemed like a million more followed suit. They gleamed in the sunlight, black caps holding the dreams of a generation. Castiel couldn’t help himself. He let out a loud cheer of his own before shutting the recording off, smiling as he tucked the phone back into his coat.

Dean shook silently beside him, tears streaming in a steady line down his face. “Sam-Sammy shouldn’t have written all that gir-girly crap,” he croaked.

Castiel laughed then, a kindly sound full of mirth and understanding. He wrapped his arms around Dean tightly, letting the man cry into his jacket. Slowly petting Dean’s hair, he could faintly make out Dean saying “Sammy’s such a great kid.”

“He’s that way because of you, Dean,” Castiel mumbled into Dean’s shoulder, watching as Sammy and Jessica approached them. He saw their confusion, but held up one finger, smiling as Dean finished his cry. “Dean, Dean,” he whispered. “Someone’s here to see you.”

Dean sat up abruptly, and Sam held out his arms, grinning at his brother’s indignant expression. “Saaaaaammy! I told you not to talk about me in your speech! You pulled half that shit about me out of your ass anyway.” But he stood hastily, colliding with his brother as they hugged. Castiel was amazed to see than Sammy was even taller than Dean, both towering over Castiel’s six feet.

“Yeah, well, I always ask you not to call me Sammy, but we both see how that went, huh?” Sammy retorted, pulling his brother back to look at him. He smiled, pleased at what he saw there, before pulling his eyes away to glance at Castiel. “And you brought a guest, too.” His eyebrows rose, disappearing into his long brown bangs.

“Well shit, you didn’t even give me time to introduce him. Or me to your beautiful lady back there.” He pointed to Jessica, and Castiel could only assume he flashed her one of those magnificent smiles because her whole face broke out in a grin.

“Jessica Moore,” she announced, stepping around Sammy to shake his hand. “It’s really nice to meet you after all this time. Sam can never go a day without mentioning you. He didn’t mention how cute you are though,” she told him playfully, shooting him a sly wink as she withdrew her hand.

Dean’s loud laugh rivaled the spluttering sounds Sammy was making. “Jess! C’mon!”

“This one’s a keeper, Sammy. That’s for sure,” Dean declared, nodding towards Jessica.

Sammy mock-glared at him. “Yeah? What about yours?” he asked, motioning back towards Castiel with a jerk of his chin.

Dean turned around, and suddenly all focus was on Castiel. He squirmed in his seat, belatedly realizing he should be standing like the others. He shuffled the program in his hands before rising, anxiety suddenly coming back. He plastered a smile on his face, looking to Dean for further direction.

Dean pursed his lips at him before speaking. “This is Cas. Castiel…” He squinted. “I don’t think I ever got your last name,” he recalled, shooting Castiel a puzzled look.

“Novak,” Castiel supplied. “I’m Castiel Novak. It’s very nice to meet both of you. And congratulations. I’ve heard a lot.” He stepped forward, shaking both Sammy and Jessica’s hands.

Jessica look surprised for a moment. “Castiel Novak? As in the architect? The one that owns that huge building over in San Francisco?”

Castiel suddenly grew much more relaxed, feeling himself treading on familiar ground. “The one and only,” he replied.

“Wow, really?” Sammy looked impressed. “Dean, you didn’t tell us you were friends with an architect that lived here.”

Dean, who’d been studying Castiel the whole time, turned back towards his brother. “We actually just met today. On an airplane,” he exaggerated the word, appalled look on his face.

“Airplane?” Sammy said, wrinkling his nose in confusion. “I thought you said you were going to be driving the Impala over?”

“I was, I was.” Dean threw his hand up in the air. “She broke down on me. Got the quickest flight I could here, had to pay out the ass for it, too. I guess your punk ass was worth it.” He grabbed Sammy, pulling him into a headlock before rubbing his head quickly with his knuckles.

Castiel couldn’t help but smile, transfixed by the two. His eyes met Jessica’s, and they shared a small look before both going to grab their respective person. Castiel pried Dean off, remembering doing the same for his younger brothers once upon a time ago.

“C’mon, you two,” he huffed. “People are staring. If you don’t watch out, someone will come take your degree away.”

Dean froze, peeking up at Castiel. “Wait, seriously?” He let go of Sam, straightening to stare around at the various staff members like he might need to beat one up if they suddenly came over.

Castiel struggled to keep in a laugh, biting his cheek in order to keep a serious look on his face. The amusement in his eyes gave him away though, and he burst out laughing when his gaze reached Sammy’s.

Dean narrowed his eyes, watching the three of them as they laughed at his expense. “I see how it really is now, Cas. You’re around Sammy for five minutes and he’s already corrupted you. Jess, there’s absolutely no hope for you at all. You’ve been around him too long,” he sniffed.

Castiel smirked. “What does that say about you, then?”

“Ohhhhh! He got you, man!” Sam cheered, holding up one hand so Castiel could high-five it.

Castiel did with relish, snickering lightly at the expression on Dean’s face.

“Well, fine then,” Dean finally said. “I’m going out to get something to eat. I don’t know who else is going, but they better be a helluva lot nicer once we get there,” he warned them.

Jessica was the first to give in, linking arms with Dean as he walked past. “You can tell us all about your flight here once we get there. How long do you think you’ll be staying for? Does your dad need you back anytime soon or can we steal you for a week or two?” the warmth in her voice was apparent, but from where Castiel stood, he could see the tension in Dean’s shoulders.

“I know some apartments you could maybe rent from, if you’re interested,” he called out, trying to be helpful. Belatedly, he realized this was a very stupid idea. Dean had been trying to avoid telling his Sammy about what had happened with his father, and now…

Dean halted altogether, turning to face him even as Sam did. “Why would Dean need to rent an apartment?” he asked Castiel quizzically before looking back at his brother.

A mixture of horror, anger, and betrayal marched across Dean’s face. Castiel felt dread curling up in the pit of his stomach as he watched Dean.

“I was thinking about telling you about it later,” Dean replied coldly, eyes on Castiel the entire time. “I figured after your big day would be better. Dad kicked me out a coupla months ago. I’ve been staying with Bobby. But I can’t keep doing that,” he rasped.

Suddenly, Sammy was the angry one. “What do you mean, ‘kicked you out’,” he spat. Jessica let go of Dean, coming over to Sammy and gripping his wrist delicately.

“Sam,” she said quietly, “maybe we should go somewhere else to discuss this. Somewhere quieter.” Even as she said this, eyes were beginning to turn their way again.

“No.” Sammy shook her hand off, planting his feet rigidly on the ground. “Why did he kick you out? I want to know. Did you finally tell him you’re bise-“

“No,” Dean interrupted firmly. “I told him I was coming to your graduation. That was enough to drive him over the edge.” He abruptly brought his eyes back to Castiel’s, eyes cold and gray like a stone. “I’d appreciate it if you’d leave now, Castiel.”

Castiel felt his cheeks flame. If only I can make him understand, he thought desperately, opening his mouth to apologize.

Instead, Dean interrupted him. “No, I don’t want to hear it. I asked you to leave. So go.”

Humiliatingly, Castiel felt tears spring up in his eyes. He grabbed his phone out of his trench, fingers so loose he almost dropped it. “What about your pictures?’ he quavered. He saw both Sammy and Jessica shooting him pitying glances while giving Dean scowls, yet they didn’t say anything.

“Print them out and leave them at the front desk of your business. Jessica can come get them,” he snapped, evidently done with the whole conversation.

Feeling oh so foolish, Castiel sped past Jessica and Sam, nodding his good-byes. When he reached Dean he paused, unsure if he should make one last-ditch effort at some sort of an apology, but decided against it as he saw the stormy look on Dean’s face. As he reached the entrance of the school, he realized the program book was still clenched in his hand, fingers cramping from the deathly grip he’d kept on it. He found the nearest recycle bin and dropped it in, unable to keep it and remind himself of the biggest blunder he’d ever made.

He only allowed himself to cry when he reached the safety of his car.

*******

Castiel rolled over in his bed on Monday morning, two days after the incident. Hair sticking up and eyes crusting, he probably looked like an advert for the dangers of some type of addiction. He looked up at the ceiling of his spacious white room, hating that it seemed so empty.  Rolling onto his side before he could wallow for too long, he eyed the clock with a level of trepidation that would have impressed his brother Gabriel, the king of laziness himself. He still had an hour to get up, get ready, and get to work, but his heart just wasn't in it. What better reminder of Dean would there be then to relive the whole thing with Charlie? She was like a bloodhound with this kind of stuff, and she'd no doubt sniff out all the truth from him before tracking Dean down and running him over. Or, even worse, try to get him to reconcile with Castiel. He wasn't sure he could handle that level of rejection, not twice in a row.

Oh, what the hell, he thought to himself, feeing for his phone under the covers. It's not like anything's going to happen if I take one day off. One day, he promised himself as he shot a text off to Charlie telling her he wouldn't be in that day and to call him if anything terribly important happened. One day's all I need. I'll pull myself together, then get back on track. Maybe even get a cat. They’re supposed to help with lonely people. Something like that. Turning his phone on silent, he stashed it back under his pillow, stifling a yawn with his hand.

He sighed, burrowing himself back under his covers. Through the dark haze that was his dreams, he never noticed his phone repeatedly going off.

The midday sun streaming through the skylight over his bed was woke him, his conscious swirling into awareness before his body. He shook himself awake, stretching and frowning as the bits and pieces of his dream flew away. There’d been something about people called Hunters, and several demons, strangely enough. Dean had had a starring role, to add insult to injury, fear in his eyes as he begged him Castiel to help him.

Castiel snorted, rubbing his eyes before he rose out of bed. Why do dreams always have to be so weird, he asked himself as he wandered into the bathroom. After he used the toilet, he took a moment to look at himself in the mirror and cringed. His skin looked pasty, made even worse by the greasy, inky tone his hair was taking on. His eyes looked like they’d been drained of all color, and the bags under his them spoke volumes about how he’d been sleeping the past couple of days. The redness, along with the puffiness, showed exactly what he’d been doing instead of sleeping. Serves you right, he told himself angrily. Getting attached to a man you just met. Nice one, Castiel.

Shaking his head at himself, he decided some Chinese food and a shower were needed, and not necessarily in that order. He sighed before turning the shower faucet, watching the water gush to life before sticking two hesitant fingers in to test the warmth. When he was finally satisfied, he kicked off his boxers, stepping in.

 The warm water enveloped him, held him like no one else would, and he vowed to himself that he wasn’t going to shed one more tear for Dean Winchester. Or keep searching his name persistently online in case something about him popped up. Nope, he thought as he scrubbed his head with shampoo, I’m done.

By the time he finished with the shower and wrapped himself up with one of his monogrammed towels, his resolve was still mostly intact, so he decided to treat himself to a Maury marathon on television after getting dressed in his comfort pajamas. His dirty little secret, the only other person who knew he watched it was Charlie. We really do get along well, all things considered, he mused, scrolling through his DVR to see all the tapings he’d missed while on his trip.

A loud knock on the door made him jump. Wow, Chinese sure got here fast, he speculated, grabbing his wallet as he walked to the door. “How much do I owe you?” he asked as he pulled the door open. Two beats later he thought, Wait a second I didn’t order the Chinese yet!

Staring at him was none other than Dean Winchester, holder of the best ass and lips he’d ever seen. And broken shards of your heart, you don’t forget about that, Castiel, he chided himself, placing a more neutral expression on his face. “Yes?” he asked impassively, swinging the door so only his face was visible. The door hid his shaking legs, the arms that wanted to be thrown so carelessly around Dean’s neck.

Dean shifted from foot to foot, looking as uncomfortable as Castiel felt. “Well, it’s actually me who owes you. An apology, that is. Among other things.” The grin he gave Castiel was weak, struggling to even stay on his face. “Can-I mean, may I come in?” hope leaked into his voice, and Castiel felt he couldn’t resist it.

One side of him screamed to slam the door in his face, see which one of them was really the easily dismissible one. The other told him that letting Dean in wasn’t really that bad of an idea, that he should listen to him before deciding what to do. A third voice, one so tiny it could barely be heard, told him he should tell Dean off, crush him the way he’d been crushed. Use every bit of ammunition that Dean had provided him and make him feel it tenfold. It was that cruel voice Castiel recoiled from, disturbed by his own thoughts, pushing him into deciding the second voice was right.

He moved aside, allowing Dean room to step through the door before closing it. Silently, he led them down the hallway and into the living room, glad he hadn’t been home long enough to really make a mess of the place. He plopped down on one of the chairs, nodding to the couch so Dean would sit there. “Before you say anything else, you need to tell me how you found my apartment,” Castiel told him, and he was surprised by the ice in his own voice.

“Ch-Charlie,” Dean stammered, clearly surprised by Castiel’s cold tone. “I mean, Charlene Bradbury, your secretary. We called a bunch of times, but you never picked up.”

Castiel opened his mouth to say something-because goddamnit, he was going to have Charlie’s head for this-but Dean stopped him.

“Wait, Cas. Castiel. Let me just say my bit and you can decided what you want to do with me after that, okay?” He held up one hand, and Castiel nodded begrudgingly. “Okay. Alright,” he sighed. “I’m horrible at apologizing. Always have been. Sammy tells me I’m as stubborn as a mule, and that’s coming from the guy who’s gunning to be a lawyer. But as soon as you left two days ago, all I wanted to do was apologize. I never shoulda treated you like that or said anything I did. I overreacted, big time. If I woulda told Sammy sooner like I should’ve, none of that would’ve happened. I never even told you not to say anything, and I blew up at you when you were just trying to be helpful. And I’m an asshole for doing all of that. I’m really sorry, Castiel.” He stopped, taking a deep breath before he continued. “The truth is, I wanted to ask you out from the moment I saw you.”

Castiel’s heart dropped at this, and his brain chattered relentlessly, a million voices ramming against one another. He silenced them quickly, needing a clear head. He stilled the hand that had been playing with the remote, gripping it tightly in his hand now so he could stay grounded. He nodded brusquely so Dean would go on.

Dean expression waned, disappointment Castiel hadn’t commented, obvious. But he continued nonetheless. “I know that doesn’t make everything right, but I though you should know. Anyway, that’s why I invited you to the ceremony with me. I was hoping afterwards I could talk to you more, get your number or something.” He smiled weakly. “But we both see how well that worked out. After all that went down and I calmed down, I talked to Sammy and he convinced me to go to your office and apologize to you there. We agreed home would be too…weird.” He cringed. “Sorry about that. I got up this morning to go there, rented a car, drove to your office from Sammy’s…I put on the damn GPS so I wouldn’t make a wrong turn and be late. I even thought about getting you some flowers,” he mumbled the last part, looking down at the floor instead of Castiel.

And damn it, Castiel could feel himself getting sucked right back in, this man with his golden hair and beat-up leather jacket. “And?” he prodded, nodding slowly.

Dean’s head snapped back up. “I decided against the flowers. Way too chick-flick.”

Castiel snorted, covering his mouth with his hand so Dean wouldn’t see the smile blooming there. “I mean what happened at my office,” he responded.

“Oh.” Dean blinked. “Uh, you weren’t there. I went in and asked for you, but Char-Ms. Bradbury,” he corrected himself, “told me you weren’t coming in. I lied and told her it was an emergency, and she told me she was the only one could qualify things as an emergency or not. I couldn’t think of a good enough lie, so I just told her the truth and hoped it would work.” A cocky grin lit up his face. “It did. So she called you, but you never answered. Eventually, she just gave me an address and told me to come here to see you myself. And she told me to tell you she wants a raise if turning away men is going to become a regular part of the job. I told her hopefully it wouldn’t be,” he added the last part on quickly, hopeful glint in his eyes again.

Castiel tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair, deep in thought. Finally, he spoke. “This is a lot to think on, Dean.” Dean’s face fell, but Castiel shook his head back and forth quickly. “I don’t want you to think I’m dismissing you, because I’m really not. This is just a lot to digest, and I need a day or two to mull it over. And I owe you an apology too. I never meant for it to come out, it should’ve been your choice of when or what you were going to tell Sammy. But,” he halted. “I need to know something. When Sam was asking you what made your father kick you out, he mentioned something.”

Dean was nodding before he even stopped talking, knowing exactly what Castiel was getting at. “Sammy knew long before I did that I was bisexual. He accepted me from the start, even when I didn’t. I don’t actually tell many people, you could say I’m not the most comfortable person in my sexuality.” He was gripping his hands together, knuckles white. “If my dad ever found out.” He shook his head. “He’d beat the living shit out of me. You’re not the first guy I’ve wanted to kiss, but maybe you’ll be the first that I actually do.” Dean’s cheeks were pink, and Castiel was sure his own were too. “Man, I can’t believe I just said that. My life is turning into one big chick-flick.”

“Say it again and I just might let you.” The words tumbled out of Castiel’s mouth before he could stop them, the humor drying up off of Dean’s face.

He stared silently at Castiel, trying to see if he was being serious or not. “You’re not the first guy I’ve wanted to kiss, but I sure would love it if you were the first that I did.”

Castiel stood, legs trembling slightly as he unfolded them. His arms felt like jelly, and he was surprised he could even feel them through the ice that was taking over his body. Dean stood too, disbelief with tinges of lust and fear in his bright green eyes.

“Let me show you to the door, Dean,” Castiel intoned quietly, noting the disappointment running through Dean’s face before adding, “So I can give you a goodnight kiss. You’re going to need your beauty sleep if you’re going to go to my office in the morning so I can print off your pictures.”

Dean laughed then, a nervous little sound. He twisted the ends of his jacket and Castiel found the motion completely irresistible. “Thank you, Cas. For everything. I mean it.”

Castiel gave him a half smile. “Hey, this isn’t me saying yes to anything. Not quite yet.”

Dean’s lips pulled up. “I know. Even if you say no tomorrow, I’ll still have this. That’ll just have to be good enough. I can make do with what I’m given.”

“Alright,” Castiel whispered, turning so he could move to the door. The hallway seemed to go on forever, and it’d didn’t help his legs felt like they’d been strapped down with 500 pound weights. Finally, he touched the door handle, relishing the cool, smooth metal. He opened it slowly, allowing Dean to go out in front of him before he stepped back under the doorframe. His pulse was beating so loudly his vision was practically throbbing, and he realized his lips were as dry as the Sahara. He licked them, and Dean copied the move.

“Dean-I,” he stopped, unsure of how to finish the sentence. “Thank you for coming to apologize. I’m so glad you did.”

“Me too. And thanks for yours. I ‘ppreciate it,” Dean replied hoarsely, nodding his head up and down so much he resembled a bobble head. In any other situation, Castiel would’ve found it comical, now the motion just made him want to mash their lips together.

No, he thought, smiling as he pulled Dean closer to him, that wouldn’t make for a very good first kiss. He laced his fingers through Dean’s coat, bring their faces closer together. “Don’t look so nervous,” he chuckled, sliding one of his hands up to the back of Dean’s head. “I don’t bite. Not on the first time, at least.”

Dean gave him a surprised expression before he laughed, and Castiel captured Dean’s mouth with his own in the middle of the laugh. Even though both their mouths were open, he didn’t dare stick his tongue in, couldn’t risk Dean scaring dean off. Both oh, those lips. Clumsy at first, yet slowly getting their bearing. Castiel moved his own lazily, hands slowly moving to Dean’s cheeks, caressing the stubble there. Their lips separated and came back together again, the suction making a small pop as they did, Tentatively, Dean’s tongue met his own, and Castiel’s blood was suddenly on fire. He wanted nothing more than to throw Dean up against the wall, show him who was in charge, lay a claim to him. But no. This wasn’t the time for that. Not when their tongues slowly met over and over again, exploring each other, learning. Finally, Castiel leaned back, giving Dean’s lower lip a firm suck as he did. They both panted slightly, watching each other.

“How was that?” Castiel breathed, hands still on Dean’s face.

Dean’s answer was a slow lean forward, an experimental tug on Castiel’s lower lip before releasing him and reclining back.

Castiel couldn’t stop the grin on his face. “Good. My office tomorrow morning, 8:00 sharp.”

Dean nodded, apparently devoid of all powers of speech. He slowly backed up, accidentally hitting the railing as he did.

Hazards of living on the second floor, Castiel thought smugly, you almost lose the man you just kissed senseless when he falls over the rails. He stepped back, watching as Dean held onto the handrail for dear life.

“And Dean?” he asked throatily.

Dean whipped around, eyes wide. “Yes?” his answering tone was even lower than Castiel’s, and he couldn’t help it as another pulse of desire went through him.

“Don’t lose the coat.” He winked, almost shutting the door before he heard his name being called. Opening the door on a crack, he peeked out. “Yes?”

“This could’ve waited until tomorrow, but,” Dean crept closer. “When you mentioned apartments…where you talking about the available one here? I saw a sign out front.” He pointed in the direction of the sign.

“Well, if you wanted to do that, you could. I was thinking somewhere else, though.” Hurt flashed across Dean’s face, only for a second.

“Okay,” he said woodenly, nodding as he went to leave.

“Dean,” Castiel called hastily. “It’s not because of you. It’s because you are currently standing in the Castro district. This is the largest gay community there is. This whole apartment complex,” he flapped his hand, motioning to all the other doors. “Filled to the brim. I wasn’t sure if you’d be comfortable doing that. That’s the only reason I didn’t bring it up.”

Dean nodded slowly, life coming back into his features. “Alright.”

“Do you think you could do that?” Castiel held his breath, mentally crossing every finger and toe he could.

Hesitantly, Dean reached out and touched his cheek. “Yeah,” he said quietly, blowing out a breath. “I think so. I’ve been living in a box for too long. It’s time to finally find out who Dean Winchester really is.”

“And if he likes chick-flicks?” Castiel teased, reaching up to rub smooth circles on Dean’s hand.

“Blasphemy,” Dean answered. He gave a small chuckle before leaning forward to plant one last chaste kiss on Castiel’s lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Novak. I’ve got my fingers crossed that you’ll say yes.”

“And if I don’t will you fade away?” Castiel threw a hand dramatically to his brow, thoroughly enjoying the fierce look Dean gave him.

“I just might.” Those lips curved into a smile, and then he was gone, racing down the stairs as if that could make 8:00 get there faster.

When Castiel closed the door and leaned against it, he felt something he hadn’t felt for a very long time. Something so achingly good it made his toes curl and body break out in goose bumps: hope for the future.