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He hates himself for being such a cliché – for loving the boy next door like in the movies and wishing for some apple pie life with his best friend.
It was easier back when being a boy was the only reason why his affections couldn't be returned. But when Dean came out of the closet in Sophomore year, it all came crumbling down. It wasn't that Dean didn't like boys. He just didn't like him.
He didn't want him. Didn't need him. Not like Castiel did the green eyed boy.
They grew apart for a while afterwards. Dean tested his newfound freedom as an open bisexual and started dating some guy named Aaron. He'd be lying if he said that that wasn't some of the worst weeks of his life.
It didn't last long, however. Soon it was back to being the 'Dean 'n Cas' show. They'd hang out every Friday without fail – marathon gory movies and take turns to catch the popcorn in their mouths (though Dean had never been a fan of popcorn, so it was usually Castiel doing the eating).
He whispered I love you into Dean's ear, once. It was late and he was tired and the moonlight really brought out the sharp angles of the other boy's jawline. The words had slipped out so easily – like a prayer against his skin.
With Dean, love felt like such a natural, honest word to use.
Castiel presumes that the confession was never heard. Dean's never commented on it, anyway. Four months later and here they are – sprawled out on the floor of the Winchester brothers' joint bedroom – 'studying'.
As usual, it's Dean who breaks the silence, mumbling a disgruntled "Man, this sucks!" before rolling onto his stomach.
Castiel smiles fondly "I hate to inform you, but life in general tends to 'suck', Dean."
"You're such a pessimist."
"No, I'm a realist."
"Yeah," Dean snorts, pushing himself up onto his knees "Exactly."
For some reason, European History doesn't seem nearly as interesting when Dean Winchester is giving you the eyes from across the room. It's not like he means anything by it (Dean's his best friend, after all) but it still sends chills down his spine.
He clears his throat and squints harder at the book in his lap "Stop it."
"Stop what?"
"Staring."
Dean chuckles "Ha! You're one to talk!"
"I'm socially inept. What's your excuse?"
"Well," Dean gets to his feet and heads towards the door, throwing a sultry wink over his shoulder as he adds "It's not my fault you're so damn gorgeous, Cas."
He blinks stupidly at the empty space his friend leaves behind. The room suddenly feels very cold and very quiet.
Just to be sure, he gives himself a quick once-over in the mirror… Nope. Nothing has changed; he's still just as skinny and pale. His hair, as usual, is messy (and not in the fashionable way) and his eyes are underlined with dark grey circles. He's not even wearing anything particularly flattering – just a baggy yellow and black striped jumper with the words 'bee yourself' stitched on the front pocket. Quite frankly, he looks pretty awful.
Gorgeous certainly isn't the word he'd use.
He doesn't have time to dwell on it, though; Dean's soon traipsing back into the room with snacks and two bottles of beer ("Dean, we're underage." "Ah, lighten up, Cas!"), wearing a smile that could dissuade a thousand armies.
Needless to say, the 'studying' is put on hold for a good few hours while they stuff their faces with pork rinds and Oreos – perhaps not the best combination of foods, but the beer does well to wash it down. Even if it does leave Castiel feeling a little dizzy.
"Dude, you're such a lightweight!" Dean chuckles when Castiel falls over his own feet for the second time.
He pushes himself back up and shrugs. The beer has made his mind nice and fuzzy; his earlier conflict of emotions is practically non-existent and now he feels light and giddy.
"You've had one beer, Cas."
"Well, you've had one beer, too! So… so ha!"
Nice one, Castiel.
Dean grins "That makes no sense whatsoever, but I'm gonna blame the booze."
Castiel's fine with that. He just wants more food, to be honest. But the pork rinds are gone –scandalous! – and he feels like he might just keel over at any moment. The nice, fuzzy feeling is still dimly recognisable, but all he can focus on is the ground now spinning beneath his feet.
"Dean? Uh –"
"Woah, woah, woah –" Dean steadies him with a warm hand between his shoulder blades.
His head hurts already. Surely that's unnatural?
"Damn it, Cas. What's wrong with you?" Dean hisses "Come on, let's sit ya down…"
His head collides with something warm and soft – a pillow, perhaps – followed by the itchy sensation of an old blanket being draped over his body.
He tries to kick the uncomfortable feeling away "Ungh –"
"Wha –? Cas, stop it!"
He soon settles down (after much persuasion from Dean) and sleeps. Maybe he dreams, too; at some point, he's sure that another body is pressed up against his back – fingers trailing up and down his forearm tenderly. Yes. That must have been a dream.
A couple of hours later, he rouses in the same position, only less achy and fuzzy. There's no pain – no numbing ache like Dean said there'd be after drinking. He feels fine. Extremely embarrassed, but fine.
Dean nudges the door open just moments later. He's carrying a tray with a glass of water, two tiny pills, and a damp cloth. Castiel can't help but smile beneath the blanket.
"Hey," Dean all but whispers "You feeling better, buddy?"
The smile slips from his face. For a moment, he'd forgotten that his feelings were unrequited – that this wasn't his boyfriend acting concerned and protective. No. It's just his friend – his buddy – being kind enough not to tease him for being so pathetic.
"Yes. Thank you, Dean."
The green-eyed boy grins like before, only it seems less natural and more plastered-on. Castiel doesn't like it all.
"Take these," The glass of water is pressed into his palm as Dean tilts his chin up. In any other situation, he'd think that maybe he was about to get that kiss, but of course Dean's simply instructing him to open his mouth "Get 'em down ya."
Dean places each individual pill onto his tongue, allowing his fingers to linger on his bottom lip a moment longer as they stare each other out.
"Take them." He repeats.
Castiel does what he's told. The glass is cool against his skin – fresh from the tap – and does well to sooth his aching throat "Thank you, Dean."
The mattress dips as Dean shifts closer to him, his left knee bumping against Castiel's thigh whilst his other leg dangles over the edge. He exhales through his nose.
"I…" He begins, voice cracking immediately "I, uh… I mighta spiked your beer back then."
Castiel frowns `"I don't under –"
"I'm such a dick," Dean cries "I thought it'd be funny for your first drink to be… well, a proper drink!"
He's not quite sure what Dean's getting at, but the wild, frantic look on the other boy's face is making him feel uncomfortable. He doesn't like it when Dean's upset; it makes him wants to draw him into his arms and hold him tight until the feeling subsides.
"Dean, what are you saying?"
He keeps his gaze steady on green eyes until Dean gives in "I put a little vodka in the beer, Cas. I… I didn't know you'd react like that."
Castiel purses his lips and looks down "I see…"
"Please, Cas! I-I know it was stupid! I'm stupid, I know that! But, I… you just looked so frickin' adorable in that ridiculous sweater, so I –"
"You think it's ridiculous?" He pouts "I thought you liked bees?"
A little of Dean's panic melts away "Yeah, Cas. I love bees. Those dudes are downright efficient."
He hums "Yes, they are."
Dean looks away. There's a tiny, quivering smile on his face as he continues "I just wanted you to have some fun, for once. That stick up your ass has to be removable, somehow."
"I don't have a –"
"I like you," Dean suddenly says – eyes wide and bright – "I like you, okay? As more than a friend, as more than a brother. I mean, I… I like like you, Cas. You know what I mean?"
Castiel almost drops the glass in his hand "You… You like me?"
"Yes, you idiot!"
"But – but why? Why me?! I-I thought that Aaron –"
"Aaron?" Dean balks "Aaron?! You thought – oh, man. Seriously?!"
"You two seemed very happy together."
Dean swallows thickly, taking Castiel's hands between his own. They're calloused and warm against his skin – worker's hands.
"Aaron was great. Aaron was… he helped me. A lot." Dean sighs "When I… ya know… it was kinda hard trying to feel normal, again. I felt like everyone was staring at me, judging me."
He resists the urge to speak – to brush his fingers over Dean's trembling jaw. He has to hear this. No distractions allowed.
"I needed to reassure myself that I was doing the right thing, ya know? And Aaron was… kinda cute. A little sketchy, but nice enough."
Don't be jealous. You don't have the right to be jealous, Castiel.
"He said he liked me and that felt good. He treated me right; he kinda educated me… I know that sounds weird, but –"
"It doesn't sound weird."
Dean pauses, eyes smiling as he looks up at Castiel "Thanks, man."
Their fingers had slipped together at some point; he hadn't even noticed until Dean squeezes them tighter.
"He wasn't you, though," Dean chuckles "All this time I didn't realize, but… I was always comparing them to you."
"E-Even Lisa –?"
"Lisa's hair wasn't dark enough. Her eyes weren't even blue," Dean shrugs "And she always laughed at my jokes – even if she didn’t get them."
Castiel frowns. Isn't that was boys like?
"I know it's supposed to be cute and everything, but… I was just waiting for her to ask 'why a cricket would enter a drinking establishment', or something like that."
"That joke doesn't even make sense…" He mumbles.
Dean grins "You see what I'm saying?"
"So, you like me because I think you have a terrible sense of humour?"
"What –? No, man! I – I like you cos you're funny and smart and so frickin' cute, I can't even –"
"I'm none of those things, Dean!" He cries "I'm boring and stupid and –"
"Shut the hell up, Cas! You're a genius!"
He clenches his jaw, pulling his hands away with a huff "Far from it. People always look at me like I'm some foreign creature from another planet…"
"That's because they don't see the real you, Cas."
Oh, their hands are back together. How did that happen?
"What… what do you see?" He breathes.
Dean's thumb is brushing lazily over his knuckles; it feels like electricity buzzing beneath his skin "I see the most ridiculous, adorable, dorkish, oblivious sonofabitch I've ever met," He smiles "And I see the person I'm in love with."
His body freezes at that word – the word he'd never expected to be directed at him, ever.
"You love –?"
"I've been in love with you for six years, Cas!"
He scrunches his nose "That long?"
"I know. It's embarrassing."
Silence ensues. Neither of them know what to say, so Dean continues to brush Castiel's knuckles. They're still close enough that their breath mingles between them – like a handshake between their lips.
After a while, he squeezes Dean's hand and says "Not as embarrassing as seven years, though."
Dean looks up hesitantly – a wetness to his eyes that Castiel chooses not to comment on. His smile is watery and his hands are trembling as he cups Castiel's face. Up close, he can count the freckles arching over the other boy's nose. They're made even more apparent by the light blush dusting his cheeks and he feels the urge to kiss each and every one of them.
Instead, he leans into Dean's touch.
"I've already said it, you know," He whispers against Deans palm.
"Said what?"
"When you were sleeping," He explains "I told you I loved you. You never heard me."
Dean grins before leaning in and pressing his lips against Castiel's nose. The smaller boy squirms and chuckles – rough and deep for his age – as he swats at Dean's arms playfully.
"I love you," Dean repeats "I love you, I love you, I love –"
"Shut up and kiss me, assbutt."
Needless to say, Dean obliges quite readily.