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It’s one of those days when Castiel’s completely worn out by the time his last seminar of the day draws to an end. He barely manages to keep a smile on his face long enough to nod goodbye to the two tentative friends he’s made that semester. Then he rushes off to the nearest semi-private space where he can drop the socially acceptable mask he wears so easily these days. At least he’d been prepared for the toll it would take today. Even that first conversation over breakfast with Balthazar had been difficult to get through. Most days that was a pleasant routine, sometimes even the highlight of the day. But that morning it left him feeling exhausted and hollow.
Every conversation throughout the day had only made it worse. Every smile and attempt at pleasant interactions felt fake and out of place. Like he was lying to every person he spoke to all day. In some ways, he supposed he was.
It should have been easier by now, this effort he put in to try to fit in. At some point in his life, he barely noticed doing it. Back when he was interning for his mother’s company and helping out in the church every Sunday. He didn’t even notice the mask coming on then. Simply did it out of habit whenever another person stepped into his vicinity. He’d spent all his teenage years perfecting that pleasantly socializing persona until it basically became his personality. It was impossible to say where that stopped and the real Castiel began. Looking back, it seemed like any trace of the actual him was buried too far down to be seen during those years.
Back then, he was always exhausted. And he was in pain at least four days out of five. Often more. That, however, seemed normal to him. He figured everyone carried much more pain than they ever let on. And that when people complained of headaches and muscle aches, it was as excruciating as his was the few times he dared mention them. As long as he was able to function with the throbbing in his head and back, he saw no need to trouble anyone else with it. That, however, was all before.
Before he knew the truth his parents had been hiding from him since he was four years old. Before he saw all the hidden notes from doctors and so-called specialists outlining different ways to treat him. To allegedly cure him. Before he understood why he’d been going to so many unfairly strict tutors as a child and seemed to have a vastly different primary school experience than his other siblings. Before his mother said the one throwaway sentence that made him go looking for that information. “I don’t understand what all these parents on TV are complaining about. Just train the autism out of them at a young age, that’s what I say. It worked perfectly fine with you.”
He severed contact with most of his family after that, and spent the following three years trying to figure out who he actually was. He went to university and abandoned virtually all his masking techniques at the same time. It had led to him having impressive grades, less pain than he could ever remember, and absolutely no social life. Well, close to none. He did re-connect with Gabriel that year, got to know Balthazar through him, and had a short-lived romance with a kind, but intense classmate named Hannah.
Hannah was good for him in some ways, but it became very clear that they cared more for Castiel than he ever could for them. Which was why they couldn’t remain friends after. Hannah was heartbroken, in their own stoic way, and seemed to harbour feeling for him long after the relationship ended. After that, he’d become even more of a recluse. Scared to make new connections and inevitably let them down again. Terrified of never making another meaningful friendship. Of never belonging to or with anyone again.
Which was why he started re-building the defence mechanisms and socially acceptable personality he’d previously abandoned. By the time he finished his bachelor’s degree, he was consciously masking at every opportunity. When he moved towns to start his graduate degree, he had started doing in subconsciously more often than not.
As such, it should be easier now. He’s been rebuilding those mechanisms for over a year. Most of his classmates have only ever seen this persona. They only know this side of him. They don’t see the exhaustion covering his face the moment he steps away from it all. Nor do they know how their mumbled conversations during seminars and the school’s affinity for fluorescent lights make his entire being scream in protest and head throb painfully in an increasingly insistent rhythm. They don’t see the effort behind the subconscious mask, and hopefully don’t notice how hard it is on days he must consciously raise his eyebrows into a more inviting posture, make sure not to squint at their every word and force a smile whenever it seemed expected. Much as he hates it, he just can’t go back to those friendless years when he was so visibly different.
These days there are just four people in his life who truly know him. Two of which he lives with, and one who knows him purely by accident. They aren’t friends. Not really. Not yet. But she’s so wholeheartedly accepting of everything and everyone that he can’t help being himself around her. And he never even feels self-conscious about it. But for today even her inviting energy is too much. Same with Gabriel and Baltazar. They’re good friends and lovely roommates most of the time, but they’re also intense. And they’ll know something is off if he comes home now. He’s too tired to pretend.
It’s not right to burden them with his issues anyway. Especially since he knows it won’t help. Tact has never been Balthazar’s strong suite. The guy cares and can hold his own in a serious conversation, but moments when Castiel needs the world to stop around him is not a good mix with that particular friend. With Gabriel it’s often even worse. He blames himself for not noticing more when they were young, and for hightailing out of the house the moment he turned eighteen. That guilt often turns into overcompensating, and somehow becoming everything Castiel needs him not to be. He needs… He needs calm. Yes. Calm and quiet. And for the light to stop hurting. And that’s not at home. Which is why he’s still leaning against a tree so long after the end of class.
His hands have long since covered his ears to protect against the light, shaking where he clasps them tight. Even while a small logical voice tells him that this isn’t efficient behaviour. Covering his ears won’t stop the sensory input, but it’s the only thing he can measure enough thought capacity to do. The only thing that seems to make sense while he focuses on his breathing and tries to figure out where to go next. He needs calm and quiet. But more than that. He needs… Needs…
He needs safety.
And that really only means one thing. One person. He just hopes he’s home. That he has time and energy to spare. And that an unannounced visit like this won’t be too intrusive. He had said that Castiel can come over whenever after all. Even seemed to mean it.
*
The walk over to the apartment never takes more than twenty-five minutes, but today it seems to take forever. Even with the noise cancelling headphones playing one of his calming playlists, everything seems to be loud and burning and just too much. By the time he reaches the door he’s almost ready to collapse. It has been a long time since he’s allowed it to get this bad. To the point where the world seems fuzzy and almost swimming around him. Like he’s trapped in a fishbowl and everything’s just a little bit off.
Gabriel always tells him to take breaks. To take care of himself. That therapist he saw for a few months after leaving his old life behind said something along the same lines. And he tries. It’s just hard when there’s so much important he has to do. Today, there had been no time for breaks. Now his body is retaliating for that. Or perhaps it is his mind.
The door opens mere seconds after he knocks, revealing a perplexed looking Dean. He’s dressed far too nicely for a Thursday evening, with tight dark washed jeans and that flannel that looks incredible on him, but always feels a little too rough under Castiel’s fingers. His hair is coiffed meticulously, almost identical to the way it looked when they first met outside the resident student-bar. He’s handsome as always, and obviously going somewhere. Ridiculous really to think he’d be available when they hadn’t agreed upon anything beforehand.
“Cas? Did we have plans? Fuck, did I forget again?” His eyes widen slightly, obvious guilt covering his face. Sweet Dean, always so quick to put the blame on himself. Even with no reason for it.
“No. There were no plans,” he hurries to reassure. “I just… I need…” To see you? To hide away in your arms and forget the world? Simply hide in general? That all seems too presumptuous. Dean’s busy. Guilting him into giving up his evening out isn’t fair. Even if the way back home will be abhorrent.
“What do you need?” His voice is so gentle. Soft and familiar. Safe.
“It’s not important. I seem to be interrupting your plans.”
“U-huh. Like you’d come all the way here for something unimportant.” Dean rolls his eyes in an exaggerated fashion. “What do you need sweetheart? And don’t try to bullshit me. You never succeed, and I’ve had enough of people doing that today.” Despite the annoyance of his words, his tone is still soft and calming. And he said sweetheart, which signifies that they are good.
A car horn blares too close to comfort. Castiel’s hands covers his ears of their own accord. It’s all too much. “The lights are too loud,” he mumbles. No. That’s not right. “Bright. They’re too bright I mean. Everything else is loud. I need quiet. Just for a little. Please. I just need you.”
“Okay. Okay. Let’s get you inside, huh?” They do. The door closes the offensive world out, and then it’s just the two of them and the too-bright bulb of the hallway light.
“Hey Dean? Who was? Oh hey Cas!” Just the two of them, the bulb and the ever-enigmatic Charlie who pokes her head out from her bedroom. “Didn’t know you were joining us. But that’s lovely, we’ll have a proper double date!”
“That’s my bad,” Dean sends her his ever-charming smile. “I’d totally forgotten about movie-night with Cas when I said yes to karaoke. So, rain-check on that one?”
Charlie replies something, but Castiel closes his eyes against the sound. The insides of his eyelids are dark and welcoming. And Dean’s hand rests on his shoulder. This is okay. He can just wait here. Stay here until everything stops being so unfathomably intense. It’s okay.
His eyes stay securely closed until Charlie disappears with an uncharacteristically soft goodbye. Then he needs some visual assistance to move to the couch, but once he’s settled, he hurries to close them again. It’s better like this. Less intense while Dean’s busying himself with something or other. Doing what’s necessary to be okay with a night with him instead of going to a karaoke-bar with his best friend.
Castiel swallows while a lump of guilt settles heavy in his stomach. He never wants other people to be inconvenienced by his troubles with the world. Especially not Dean. Never Dean. And yet it’s always here he goes when he needs the comfort than no one else are able to give. When the world becomes too intense and his thoughts too loud to be left alone with. It isn’t fair to the other man of course. But there isn’t much to do about that now. Unless…
“It was not my intention to keep you from your plans,” he says when Dean re-enters the room.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll make it up to Charlie another time.” Dean shrugs as if it means nothing. As if his roommate’s feelings are the only ones affected. Like he wouldn’t much rather be out having fun with her and Glinda.
“I don’t want to deprive you of a fun evening. I can leave if you want to catch up with them.”
“Fucking Christ Cas.” Dean walks over in long strides, placing two cups carefully on the coffee table, then sits down next to him. Their thighs are barely not touching. Despite the rather large size of the couch, they’re existing within each other’s personal bubbles. Many people, the man next to him included, have informed Castiel about the importance of maintaining an appropriate amount of personal space. Then again, Dean hasn’t mentioned that in relation to them since the first time Castiel kissed him.
“If going out tonight was important to me, I’d have told you when you got here, okay?” Dean looks at him with the kind of intense stare that others have informed him is rude. He stares back. Because he can. Because Dean never tells him to stop these days, just looks right back or bashfully turns away. Because his boyfriend is beautiful and there is nothing he’d rather be looking at. Except, occasionally, a honeybee colony or the twinkling rays of a setting sun on the ocean. And because he doesn’t have to worry about what’s socially acceptable when it’s just the two of them.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, and Dean rolls his eyes again.
“Are you even listening to me?”
“Of course. You know I always value your input.”
“Okay. Then believe me when I say I’m happy you’re here, and that I’d tell you if I wasn’t. Most of the time I’d rather hang out with you anyhow.” Dean says it all straightforward without breaking eye-contact. That’s not something he’d usually do. Most times, he shies away from serious conversation, or reacts to them with either anger or awkwardness. Which really only means one thing.
“I must look very unwell for you to be this unaffectedly honest with me.” It’s not a statement that needs reply, but Dean’s reaction is enough of an affirmative. This is what makes him bashful, makes him finally break eye contact and look down at his hands. Castiel instantly misses the connection.
“I made you some of that weird grass tea,” Dean says in lieu of an answer. “Put a little of that fancy honey of yours in it too.” It’s not that fancy. It’s just grown at a local farm, and because of his academic pursuits into the subject, Castiel was invited to take part in the harvesting. But there is no reason to correct the other man. They both know what it means. And he’s too busy leaving a grateful kiss to his boyfriend’s cheek to say anything at all.
“Music or TV?” Dean asks after they’ve both taken a sip from their respective drinks.
Castiel curls his hands around the warm cup while he ponders the question. It’s wonderful that his boyfriend knows him well enough to understand that quiet doesn’t necessarily mean silence. That he needs pleasant distractions as much as anything. And that sound they pick themselves is something very different from the general noise of the world and people around them. “TV today.”
“What do you wanna watch then?”
“What are my options?”
“Let’s see.” Dean puts on a face of contemplation, though he probably has the options picked out already. He always has a line-up of both movies and tv-shows that it according to him is borderline blasphemous that his boyfriend hasn’t watched yet. Which many a time has led Castiel to remind him that being allowed to be borderline blasphemous is one of the perks of leaving the church behind. “We still have a few Indiana Jones movies on our list. Or there’s always that bee documentary you wanted to show me.”
“The pollinators yes. I think you might enjoy that one.” It’s nice of him to offer, even though he has no real interest in the documentaries himself. He’s just good like that. Always willing to listen to Castiel speak on the topic of bees, and occasionally to watch documentaries with him. Doesn’t even scroll on his phone while watching the way Gabriel and Baltazar almost always do. “Though I think I’m in the mood for something less informative today.”
“Well, there’s a Dr. Sexy marathon on tonight, so that’s an option too.” Dean says the last part almost shyly. As if Castiel will ever judge him for anything he enjoys.
“I’d like that.” The medical drama is just simple enough for him not to have to pay attention, but interesting enough that he can. Which is exactly what his brain needs at the moment.
“You sure?”
“Of course Dean. You know I’m always honest with you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Okay.” This again makes Dean look flustered, even while he rolls his eyes in a put-upon act of nonchalance. Seems like they’ve had enough emotional honesty for a little while. That’s okay too. Castiel knows that Dean usually enjoys his bluntness, even when he pretends not too. In fact, they’ve had conversations on the topic. Rather long ones too. Well, as long as emotional conversations with Dean gets.
In that time, they did promise to be honest with each other. And to not judge each other for that honesty. It’s not a promise they always manage to keep, but things are somehow always better when they do. It’s why Castiel is able to be here now, instead of laying on the floor between the desk and bed in his own room. Because his boyfriend expects him to be himself. Even when ‘himself’ is someone he hides from nearly everyone else in his life.
The light around him dims considerably, and he looks up to find Dean returning from the light switch. The only source of light now is the TV, mixed with the barely there glow of the outside through the thick curtains.
“Thank you,” he murmurs into his teacup as his boyfriend settles next to him once again. That earns him a fond smile and a practiced shrug. As if Dean’s consideration of him is not worthy of thanks or mention. He is painfully aware that most people don’t show that level of care. Especially not unprompted.
This is, however, not the time to dwell on a past long since abandoned. He gently puts down his teacup and scoots closer to the other man on the couch. Close enough to rest his head on Dean’s shoulder and lay a hand on his stomach. He’s changed from the too-rough-flannel into an old, and very soft, band t-shirt.
“I really like this t-shirt.” He says it without meaning to. Without really considering the impact of the words first. Not that they needed much consideration of course. But he rarely allows himself to get so complacent. To just speak. Then again, being around Dean always brings it out of him.
“I know you do.”
Of course he does. That is probably the reason he’s wearing it now. Because he knows how much Castiel enjoys touching it. And touch it he does. His hands move over the material, all but rubbing it against his skin. It’s extremely soothing. All soft and familiar. He closes his eyes for a while, allowing his sense of touch to take over. It feels better than it probably should. Even better yet once his hands move from the worn material to Dean’s skin.
At first he only let’s his hands run over Dean’s arms. It’s a tentative, light touch, that seems to tickle based on how the man moves next to him. So he adds more pressure, rejoicing in the feel of that supple skin under his fingertips. It’s so good to be allowed to touch like this. There is no pressure here, no expectations on how to act or what’s going to happen next. His boyfriend is enjoying his medical drama, while Castiel finds pleasure in the simple act of touching him. Of having him close like this.
His hands move down Dean’s chest and under his t-shirt. One comes to rest on his stomach, the other sneaks around to rub his back. Dean lets out a pleased hum, edging impossibly closer to him. And yes, that’s another perk of an evening such as this. Castiel is mainly tending to his own needs at the moment. He’s touching because it settles something within him, makes him feel more like himself again. But his boyfriend is such a tactile man. Even though he mostly denies that part of himself. This allows him to indulge as well. To feel how much he is cared for. How deeply he is loved. This is beneficial for them both.
Stroking Dean’s back is a different sensory experience than doing so to any other part of him. Most of his skin is soft and even. Sometimes there are patches of hair or dry skin, but the feel is overall quite similar. The skin of his back however, is interrupted by bumps of varying sizes. They add an interesting texture to his exploration, as long as he doesn’t think too much about what they mean. When they are in bed together, he occasionally takes the time to trace the scars with warm kisses, trying to erase the bad memories in the process. For now, he just slowly maps them with the tips of his fingers. They tell the story of the life his boyfriend went through before they met. Of a childhood spent being far too harshly punished for things he could not control. Castiel wishes he could remove the bad parts of those years. Simply make the scars and, more importantly, the memories they carry go away. Even so, he treasures every part of his lover’s body. Even these. And he is so grateful that Dean allows him to touch them now. That he, at least to some extent, finally understands that this is not something to be ashamed of.
Dean’s stomach is another story completely. It’s soft and yielding under Castiel’s ministrations. More so than when they first met, in a way he knows his boyfriend is slightly self-conscious about. But Castiel appreciates it as proof of Dean finally allowing himself to enjoy life. He takes time to be happy now, instead of always striving to reach some impossible ideal of perfection. Moreover, it’s an excellent place to rest his head. Which he decides to do. He gently pushes Dean until he’s almost laying down on the couch, then lays down himself with his head cushioned by the soft stomach.
“Getting comfy?” Dean asks, a slight note of laughter in his voice.
“Yes. You are very comfortable.” Almost too comfortable he finds. His eyes close of their own volition while he nuzzles closer to the warm body beneath him. The battle he’s been fighting against the world all day is over, and his body and mind seems to have given up in the wake of it. Staying awake seems like an unlikely prospect. Especially once talented fingers start stroking his hair and gently massaging his head.
“I will fall asleep if you continue doing that,” he warns in a soft voice. If anything, it only makes the fingers more determined.
“Then sleep. I have Dr. Sexy to keep me company. We’ll do dinner when you wake up.”
“Sounds wonderful.” He’s definitely slurring his words at this point. But that’s okay too. There is only him and Dean. No one will judge him here. Though he’ll likely get a stern talking to after dinner. Another pleading speech about how he needs to take better care of himself. How he’s good enough on his own and doesn’t have to try so hard to fit in. Maybe it’s correct. Being himself feels much better. And both Gabriel, Baltazar and Dean seem to like that version of him. The true one. But then, they are the only ones… Well, them and Charlie. Perhaps that’s okay. They can be enough. He doesn’t have a need for many more than three or four anyhow.
That is, however, not thoughts that are helpful for sleep. It’s better to focus on how Dean’s stomach slowly rises and falls with every breath. And how his fingers keep massaging Castiel’s head. If he has the energy after dinner, he’ll treat Dean the way he deserves. He’ll take him to bed and worship his body the way they both love. Make him tremble in pleasure and fall apart over and over again under Castiel’s eager attention. Then they’ll both be sated and happy and just exist in each other’s space until morning. If he’s lucky, they’ll just exist together like this throughout the weekend as well. These days, that’s always when he feels the most content. And, unless he is misreading the signs completely, the same goes for Dean.
Castiel smiles at the thought while the sounds of the TV and his boyfriend’s heavy breathing slowly fade into nothing as he falls into a peaceful sleep.