Work Text:
14th December, 2014
Cas was having one of those days. The sky was grey, the sidewalk was hushed with puddles; even the buildings of the town looked tired of being themselves, the windows sighing back sad reflections to the dismal sky. Cas, sitting on a bench outside his school with a rumble in his stomach that lunch hadn’t managed to quell, shifted his books awkwardly in his lap. He pinched his eyes closed for a moment, trying to shake off the malaise.
Against his chest, he felt the bump of cool metal. His pendant, cold and calming against his skin.
At least he had tonight to look forward to. He had everything ready in his backpack – a rug to sit on, a Thermos flask of hot tea, some sandwiches, and his iPod. He’d worn his thickest coat today, and two scarves, and a pair of woollen gloves. He was aware – as he sat waiting for the bus, which would take him up the hill – that he looked distinctly overdressed, since the cold of the night hadn’t truly set in yet. The guy sitting on the other end of his bench certainly seemed to think so; he was staring at Cas out of the corner of his eye, apparently transfixed by the sight of winter clothing. Cas briefly considered making a sharp comment, but decided against it when he took a longer look: the boy didn’t look any older than Cas himself, probably no more than seventeen or so, but he was wearing a leather jacket and a worldly, hard-bitten expression that had Cas frowning and shifting his knees together, making himself smaller.
A gasp of exhaust smoke and a tang of diesel announced the arrival of the bus. Cas stood up, hefting his backpack and following the guy who’d been sitting with him on the bench on board. The driver nodded to Castiel, who flicked a quick, polite smile back.
“Busy one, today,” the guy said. Cas pressed his lips together in what he hoped was an appropriately sympathetic response as he paid, and turned to find a place to sit.
The driver was right. There was almost nowhere left. The guy in the leather jacket was sliding into one of the only remaining seats, next to the window, with a second space on the aisle beside it. Cas began to inch awkwardly forwards, casting his eyes around the bus cabin – but no matter how hard he looked, free spaces just didn’t appear. With a sigh, Cas shared a brief, hesitant moment of eye contact with the guy from the bench before sitting down neatly in the seat next to him, sliding his backpack around to rest on his knees and hugging it to his chest. The guy watched him for a second – and then another – and then another, Cas could see him out the corner of his eye – and then turned his head and went back to staring out the window.
Cas tried to relax as the bus moved off. He wished he’d already got his iPod out of his backpack when he’d still been sitting on the bench, but he hadn’t, and if he tried to get it out now he was worried that he might accidentally elbow his rough-looking neighbour and get himself punched on the nose. He drummed his fingers softly against his backpack, and read the advert for a local bar that was stuck at a strange angle to the back of the seat in front of him.
Looking for a good time?, the advert asked. This is the only place to be!
Cas frowned at it. No matter how good the time that was being offered at the bar, Cas was pretty sure he could think of better places to be. In fact, he was probably going to go one of them, right now – the bus would arrive in about an hour and a half and there he’d be, having a good time. And if a small part of him ached for the conviviality of the people beaming at the camera in the photo at the bottom of the advertisement, Cas was able to ignore it. He was far too young to be allowed in the bar, anyway. And it wasn’t as though there was anyone his age who liked doing the same things as Cas did, so conviviality was strictly off the cards in general.
Cas looked out past the guy from the bench, through the bus window to the view outside. Past the flecks of dirt on the glass, he could see the sky darkening as the early winter darkness claimed the afternoon as its own. The houses beneath the dimming, starless spread above were lighting up, providing their own suburban constellations. Cas watched the lights flick by, counting out street names like well-known patterns in a familiar galaxy. The park was a great purple-pink nebula of hazy memories: cool breath-clouds, duffle coats, and hands chafed by playing on the slides, on the climbing ropes, on the swings with their cold chains.
The guy sitting next to Cas shifted, and looked right at him. Cas blinked and quickly looked down at his hands. Had he spent too long staring out the window, seeming as though he were watching his neighbour with some kind of unnatural intensity? Cas heard the guy clearing his throat and half-winced, waiting for the angry recriminations.
“Hey… you wanna switch? You can sit by the window, if you’d like.”
Cas looked up, his mouth falling open. His neighbour’s face was wide-eyed and genuine, a cheeky smile slipping over his features as he saw Cas’ surprise. The expression made him look younger, and kinder.
“What, no one ever talked to you on a bus before?” he asked. His hair was soft-looking, short and brownish-blond, and he had green eyes, set off by the fairly hideous plastic of the bus seats they were sitting on. Cas swallowed, and then returned his smile.
“Yes,” he said. “But not often. Usually I have headphones on, so people don’t tend to… engage.”
The boy nodded. He must be around Cas’ age, Cas thought. He couldn’t be older than eighteen, anyway. He had neat, attractive, almost… pretty features, and a charmingly quick smile that he flashed again now.
“But not today?” he said. Cas shrugged.
“My iPod’s in here,” he said, hugging the backpack on his lap a little closer. “I didn’t want to disturb you by getting it out.”
The boy blinked at him for a second, and then grinned again, this time with his nose a little screwed up.
“Well, aren’t you just the regular gentleman,” he said. “Knight of… uh, well, wherever the hell this is.” He threw a casual over-the-shoulder glance towards the town outside.
“You don’t know?” Cas said, squinting at him. The boy shrugged exaggeratedly, with a hint of macho swagger and an expression that verged on smug.
“We travel a lot,” he said. “Don’t really get to settle down, you know how it is.” He tipped Cas a condescending wink, to which Cas did not respond. Ugh. Just when it had seemed like this guy might not be a tool… he turned out to be some kind of – of itinerant douchebag with a superiority complex. And now Cas was probably stuck talking to him until one of them got off the bus.
The guy seemed to realise that his performance hadn’t much impressed Castiel, and his posture deflated a touch, shoulders rounding and softening.
“I’m Dean, by the way,” he said, in a tone of voice that sounded more natural. He held out his hand to shake. Cas looked down at it for a long moment, before blinking and looking up into Dean’s eyes. Going on what he’d already learned, this guy was either a douche playing at being a decent person half the time, or the reverse. Fifty percent chance of douche. Cas didn’t much like those odds.
Cas’ prolonged stillness and refusal to shake Dean’s hand were becoming obvious. Dean’s expression was hardening, the asshole glint returning. In a sudden rush, Cas gripped hold of Dean’s hand and shook it firmly. This time, it was his turn to watch the surprise spread across his neighbour’s face.
“Castiel,” Cas said, as he let go. “I’m Castiel. But – you can call me Cas.”
What had made him say that? Cas normally saved his nickname for his friends – of which he had somany, he reminded himself dryly – and his brothers. Names were important, Castiel knew, and a name that really meant something shouldn’t be given out lightly. But – Cas had to admit it, douchebag or no douchebag – there was something about Dean, maybe the shape of his mouth, or the look in his eyes, that had Cas wanting to hear himself be familiar almost at once. A fast friend.
“Cas,” Dean said, and he said it right – not easily, but curiously, turning the word over like a delicate thing. The name was safe with him, Cas knew. He wanted to hear Dean say it again. For a long moment, he only stared at Dean, and Dean stared right back.
Some kind of fluttering was starting in Cas’ stomach; something was making his heartbeat thud a little faster, and the same thing was making him want to smile even though he had no particular reason to do so. He did it anyway, and Dean smiled right back.
“It’s good to meet you, Cas,” Dean said, a little more confident with the name this time, but still gentle with it, easing into its use.
“It’s good to meet you too,” Cas replied. “Dean.”
Dean blinked at the sound of his name in Cas’ mouth, and then smiled wider. He understands, Cas thought. Or perhaps a little, anyway.
“So what brings you onto this particular bus on this particular evening?” Dean asked, putting his hands behind his head. His confident smile seemed acted, so Cas threw him a swift, shrewd look to let him know he hadn’t got away with it before answering.
“I’m going up the hill to watch the Geminids,” he said. He felt a little burst of excitement just saying the words out loud; Dean, however, didn’t look enthused.
“What are those, some kind of bug?” he said, grimacing. Cas snorted.
“Of course not. In any case, there would be little point going bug-hunting in the darkness,” he said, hearing the bite of condescension in his own tone, now – and sure enough, Dean gave a little eye-roll and a nonchalant shrug in response.
“Whatever, man.”
Cas opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again. Dean was looking down at his hands, his expression blank, but his eyes thoughtful and – if Cas wasn’t mistaken, which he could be – a little sad. Now who’s the douchebag, Cas thought, with a small twist of guilt.
“The Geminids are a meteor shower that always happens at this time of year,” Cas explained, more kindly. “It’s caused by a Palladian asteroid passing nearby. Well, relatively nearby. The meteors move across the sky quite slowly, and they make trails across the sky. Normally, they’re kind of… yellow, and bright. I like to come and watch them, if I can – if I’m allowed. The peak days are today and tomorrow, so I hope that there will be some good visibility. The cloud did look like it was lifting, earlier, and –” Cas broke off, dropping his gaze.
“What?” Dean asked, ducking his own head just a little to catch Cas’ eyes.
“Sorry, I was just – rambling,” Cas said, shrugging and smiling. “I don’t mean to bore you.”
“No way,” Dean said, naturally enough for Cas to believe that he might be sincere. Dean’s balance was definitely tipping towards decent person, rather than douchebag. Cas wondered what his own scales looked like, in Dean’s head. “It sounds great! Are you meeting your friends up there? Or family?”
Cas half-smiled and shook his head, his gaze cast downwards again.
“Just me,” he said. After a moment of silence, he glanced sidelong at Dean through his lashes. Dean’s expression was complex, caught between surprise, and a little bit of sadness, and… well, compassionwas the only word that Castiel could come up with. He felt uncomfortably understood. Apparently, Castiel wasn’t the only one who was lonely.
“Anyway,” he said, wanting to move the conversation along. “What brings you onto this particular bus, on this particular evening?”
Dean waved his hand dismissively.
“Nah, I got nothing planned,” he said lightly, with a touch of bravado that Cas didn’t like to hear. “Just, you know, general… things. Riding around, seeing the sights…”
Castiel looked pointedly out of the bus window. The sky was now almost completely dark, the street lamps illuminating the sidewalks next to the road and little else. Dean shrugged.
“I don’t know, man,” he said airily, but as though that air was a little too thin to breathe quite right. “I just didn’t want to be inside for a bit. I, uh, I travel with my father and my brother, and they… that is, we, uh, I – well, my brother made a friend at school today, and wanted to go over to his house to play on his computer. And I said yes and let him go, but my dad didn’t think that was a great decision, so.” Dean shrugged, rubbing the lightest of stubbles on his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Time to make myself scarce for a bit. Sam texted to say he’s staying the night at his friend’s, so I’m just…” Dean broke off, with a small, embarrassed smile. “Now who’s rambling,” he said. “Sorry. Too much information, right?”
“Not at all,” Cas said seriously, and watched Dean’s face relax. He wondered if he’d looked anything like that, when Dean had reassured him in the same way. “Actually, I have a question. If you’re brand new to this town, why was your brother at school today?”
Dean lifted a shoulder.
“We arrived yesterday,” he said. “I know it’s stupid but I get my brother to go in for a trial day at a school in whatever town we rock up at. Sometimes we stay longer, sometimes not. It’s hard because I’m not his parent, so they don’t always let him in. But I want Sam to have the best, you know? You can probably tell I’m pretty dumb,” Dean said, flashing that quick grin, the one that Cas was starting to see the hollowness behind. “I didn’t get a lot of school. I want better than that for Sam. I try to pick up jobs where I can, earn some cash, and I know my dad’s got money stashed from when we sold the house. I’m gonna get Sam into college.”
Cas looked at Dean’s face as he stared into space for a few moments, lost in his own thoughts, his jaw set with a private determination. There was so much to him, Cas thought. Here he’d been, hoping that Dean wasn’t some loutish asshole, when actually Dean was far too busy apparently playing parent to his younger brother to have time for being a… douchebag. Cas felt shallow himself in comparison, sitting on his high horse and assuming that he could pronounce judgment.
“That sounds complicated,” was all he said out loud, hoping that his sympathy would be conveyed in the tone of his voice. He almost wanted to put his hand on Dean’s shoulder, but that would probably be going too far. Instead, he allowed his expression to relax into lines of gentle concern. Dean saw it, and shrugged.
“Ah,” he said dispassionately, waving his hands. “It’s all good. I just wanted to take a ride, clear my mind. It’s nice to have, uh, met you. Get out of my own head, you know?”
“Likewise,” Cas confirmed with a small smile, and he meant it. It was nice to talk to someone – and someone new, someone who didn’t already know his ins and outs, someone who wasn’t bored of him already. Someone who didn’t make him feel vaguely as though he was taking up valuable space that could have been providing another, better human being with more air to breathe, essentially. He looked over at Dean, who was looking at him. They smiled at each other, and Dean’s gaze lingered in a way that was – different, in a way that made the fluttering in Cas’ stomach come back in a happy swirl of sudden giddiness. Was it the way Dean lowered his eyelids slightly, or the way he licked his lips just a bit before he smiled? Whatever it was, it was… good. Cas looked down at his backpack, feeling his cheeks reddening.
“So, where will you go tonight?” he said, to cover his embarrassment. When he looked up at Dean, he saw a mirror of his own shrewd look from earlier, and knew that he hadn’t got away with it. Dean’s slow, easy grin put him back at his ease, though.
“I don’t know,” Dean said, eyes flicking over Cas’ face for a few moments longer before turning his head to look out of the window. The clouds seemed to be clearing; Cas could see a few starry pinpricks splintering the sheen of the perfect dark above. “I guess I’ll just ride the bus until the line ends, and then go back. I got nowhere to be.”
Cas looked at the back of Dean’s head for a long, long second. He thought about the hilltop, and the quiet of it, and how much he enjoyed the space and the solitude. How everything about today had been normal, and boring, and grey, and rainy. How stupid it would be to try to wring something special out of a dishcloth day like today.
But then again, Cas thought, no day is special until something special happens on it.
And then he thought about Dean sitting on this bus all night, with the chewing gum stuck to the floor and the dirt on the windows, all alone. And he thought about the rug that he’d brought with him, much too big for just one.
He looked at the seat in front of him, at the advert, with its happy smiling people. Looking for a good time? This is the only place to be!
“Dean,” Cas said quietly, and there must have been something in his voice that gave him away, because Dean’s eyes already had a spark of hope in them when he turned around as Cas asked hesitantly, “Would – would you like to come and watch the stars with me?”
*
“So – so that one’s – uh, Cirrus.”
“Sirius, Dean. Cirrus is a type of cloud.”
“Right! Right, got it.”
They were lying on their backs on the rug, staring upwards. At the top of the hill, facing away from the town, they could see little of the empty fields spread out below them in the blackness. To their backs was a copse of dark, lumbering oaks, their thick old trunks shielding the pair of them from most of the lights of the town. The shower hadn’t started in earnest just yet – there was still a little too much light from the sun in the far west, Cas thought, to be able to see any meteors clearly – but to the East, especially, the stars were shining brightly. They were lucky: the clouds had cleared up completely.
And Cas was lying on the ground, at the top of the lonely hill, next to a boy.
Cas turned to look at the boy. He was blinking up at the stars above him, his face calm and his green eyes bright with wonder.
Cas thought that the boy was really quite beautiful.
Dean turned to look at him, his lips slightly parted, and for the first time Cas really considered actually leaning over and kissing him. He drew in a breath, and could have sworn he heard Dean do the same.
The moment stretched on, as though time was willing to wait for them.
Out of the corner of Cas’ eye, he saw something bright and yellowy, moving across the sky. Sitting up suddenly, he pointed excitedly.
“Look! The first one!” he said.
“Oh,” Dean said, sitting up too with a delighted smile on his face, as though all the mysteries of the world had just been explained. “You mean all this time you were talking about shooting stars?!”
Cas, watching the meteor’s slow progress across the sky, frowned.
“It’s not a star,” he said. “Stars don’t shoot. It’s a meteor. It comes from –”
Cas broke off when he glanced over at Dean, who looked utterly enraptured, staring up at the sky.
“Yes,” Cas contradicted himself softly. “I meant shooting stars.”
Dean glanced over at him, his eyes bright, and then back up to the sky.
“Look – look, another one!”
They lay back on the blanket, arms behind their heads, and watched the celestial show unfold. Sometimes, when a new shooting star began to streak across the sky, one of them would point it out to the other in tones tight with enchantment; for the rest of the time, they simply lay in silence. Cas caught himself mapping out the distance between his body and Dean’s, just as he’d usually map out the stars of Gemini overhead as the meteors passed across.
“You always come up here to see this?” said Dean at one point, turning his face away from the stars to look over at Cas.
Cas shrugged.
“Whenever I can,” he said. “My parents aren’t big fans of my interest in the astrophysical. They’d prefer that I focus on something more… realistic, and closer to home.”
Dean swallowed, and turned his gaze back to the sky. Their conversation felt somehow small and strangely magical, each word a puff of steam spoken like a spell into the cold December night. Cas’ face was tingling with the cold. Soon it would be time to break out the Thermos of tea.
“I know that feeling,” Dean said. “I always wanted – actually, I always wanted to build things, you know? Like, mechanical things. But my dad…” Dean swallowed.
“He doesn’t approve?” Cas said, his eyes tracking two meteors that seemed to be on a convergent path. From this angle, it was impossible to tell if the two really were set to collide someday, or if they were actually miles and miles apart.
Dean was silent for a long moment.
“He doesn’t approve of anything,” he whispered, more to the stars than anything, Cas felt. He said nothing. “Ever since my – my mom died, he’s been taking us from place to place, looking for something he can never find. Nothing’s ever good enough, I just – I just want to make him proud, I want to feel like she’d be proud of me…”
Cas heard Dean swallow thickly.
“I’m never good enough,” Dean said, even quieter than a whisper, so low that the words almost weren’t spoken at all.
Cas turned to look at him. His lips were hard and thin, pressed tight together, and his eyes were shining and full.
“It’s OK,” Cas said softly. “Neither am I.”
Dean looked over at Cas, and offered him a watery smile.
“Can’t believe I’m crying in front of a total stranger,” he said, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “God. M’sorry…”
“I don’t mind. Maybe you couldn’t have done it in front of anyone else,” Cas said. “I once cried in front of my new gymnastics teacher at school, because I didn’t know her and it didn’t matter what she thought of me.”
Dean snorted, and then went quiet for a while. Cas let him think in peace, sitting up once more and turning his attention to his backpack, out of which he pulled his Thermos flask. He poured himself a cup of steaming hot tea, the scent of it delicious and strange in the cold, mulched world of the hill, against the backdrop of the crisp, distant, twinkling stars.
Dean eventually sat up too, his eyes dry, not a sign of sorrow’s shadow on his upturned face. He accepted the cup that Cas passed over to him, and took a sip of the tea, smacking his lips.
“That’s good,” he said, sounding surprised. “I don’t normally go for, uh – you know, whatever that is.”
“Darjeeling,” Cas said, taking back the cup with a smile. “It is good.” He took another sip, watching Dean over the rim of the cup. Dean watched him right back, grinning.
“Hey,” Dean said suddenly, peering back over his shoulder towards the copse behind them. “I was wondering, when we walked up here. D’you ever climb the trees?”
Cas swallowed the last of his tea, screwed the cap back onto the flask and stood up abruptly. Dean blinked at the flurry of movement, getting to his own feet, too. Cas hesitated, and then – bashfully, uncertainly – put his hand on Dean’s arm and pulled him towards the line of trees.
“I know where the best one is,” he explained, as they made for a big oak with a thick, pitted trunk and low branches. “It’s good to sit on, too.”
They climbed easily, Cas first, showing Dean which handholds and footholds to use to make it up to the first branch. He shifted his weight along, making room for Dean to sit down next to him. Dean swallowed as he looked down; it wasn’t far, but Dean’s face still looked a little tight with nerves. Cas tucked himself in a touch closer, smiling at Dean reassuringly, letting his legs swing in the air to show how relaxed he was. Dean let out the breath he was holding and leaned into Cas, his eyes going back to the shooting stars above.
“You know,” he said, “since you saw the first one, you should really get to make a wish.”
“A wish?” Cas said. “Wishing on shooting stars is –”
He cut himself off abruptly, hearing his mother speaking clearly through him, and silencing her.
“OK,” he said, instead. “I wish – I wish for…”
He thought deeply. Christmas wasn’t far away; perhaps he should wish for a special present? But the effort would seem a little futile, seeing as Naomi had already told Cas exactly what he would be receiving for Christmas. No such thing as surprise in the Novak household.
When Cas tried to think of what he wanted, all that kept popping up in his brain was the person sitting right next to him. Which was a little crazy, Cas had to admit. But it was a quiet kind of crazy, inside his own head. No one needed to know, right? I wish I could see Dean again, Cas wished, as fervently as he’d allow himself without feeling stupid. I wish I could see Dean again.
“Done,” Cas said. Dean, who had been watching him the whole time, grinned. Cas looked at him for a long moment, and then said, “Dean – will you still be here for Christmas?”
Dean’s face fell, but he picked up the edges of his smile and tried to rehang it neatly.
“Maybe,” he said. “I hope so.”
Cas frowned for a minute, and then reached up to feel for the cord that was tied around his neck, loosening the knot. He tugged, and a pendant lifted out from under his many layers of clothing: a metal star, a little dented in places, bent into shape by Castiel himself in art class, years ago.
Solemnly, he handed it over to Dean.
“What’s this?” Dean said, a little guarded, a little charmed, as he took hold of the pendant. Cas shrugged.
“Early Christmas present,” he said lightly. “Call me sentimental, but – in case you’re not here for the actual day, I… I want you to have that.”
“To remember you by?” Dean said with a wink and a warm smile, rolling the metal star between his fingers as carefully as he’d handled Cas’ name on his tongue, on the bus. Cas shot him a quick, smiling glance.
“Something like that,” he said, as carelessly as he could.
For a moment, they sat in silence. Above them, the meteors continued in their brightly-shining courses over the Earth. The quiet didn’t feel easy, though, until –
“You gonna tell me what your, uh…”
“Even I know that if you tell a wish, it won’t come true,” Cas said, interrupting him. The smile slid off his face when he added, a little more quietly, “I very much want this one to come true.”
Dean reached up and squeezed Cas’ shoulder.
“I’m sure it’ll come true,” he said. “I’m sure it will.”
*
Cas waited for a call that never came.
For the first four days after meeting Dean, Cas kept his phone with him, always. They’d exchanged numbers and Dean had promised to call – so even when he was in the shower, Cas left the phone perched on top of his towel on the rail, with the screen angled so that he’d see when it lit up, if Dean rang.
He didn’t.
Not for four days, for five, six, seven. By the eighth day, Cas had started leaving his phone on loud and vibrate in his pocket most of the time, rather than having it almost constantly in his hand. By the fourteenth day, he’d stopped taking it out every three minutes or so to check that he hadn’t somehow missed a text or a call.
He never had.
He sent exactly three texts, himself.
> Thank you for coming last night :) if you would like, the shooting stars will still be as bright tonight. Cas. [sent:12/15/14]
> Merry Christmas Dean, I hope you have a good day today with your family. Cas. [sent:12/25/14]
> Happy New Year Dean, I hope it’s not selfish to wish that it will bring you back to visit. I won’t text again unless you text me back. See you again, perhaps. [sent:01/01/15]
The days lengthened into weeks. The weeks lengthened into months.
Cas did not forget.
*
14th December 2015
Cas was on the bus.
The smoke was smoky and the grey sky was grey and the thick smell of diesel in the air was… just that, just the smell of diesel. Everything was exactly what it was, and nothing more. Cas was going up the hill again to watch the Geminids, and that was all there was to it. He wasn’t thinking about anything else or anyone else at all. His mind was focused entirely on things that were.
The bus was on time. The sky was getting darker. The wind was picking up. Cas was hungry.
Today, Cas was dealing entirely in facts, and it was going exceptionally well. He hadn’t thought about anyone whom he had been trying not to think about, all day. And he hadn’t got out his phone and considered texting said person – not even once.
Cas sighed. That was a lie, a complete lie. He’d spent the best part of the day staring at his three texts to Dean’s phone, wondering if somehow his phrasing had been wrong, if he’d seemed too keen, or too aloof, or too boring, or too… well, he didn’t even know. Too himself, not enough… someone else. Someone else, who would have caught and kept Dean’s attention.
The familiar cold clutch in his chest threatened; Cas pushed it away and looked out of the window of the bus. This time, he had the window seat. He wished he still had the capacity to be surprised by how much he didn’t want it, wanted instead to be stuck in the aisle next to a rough-looking boy in a coat too big for him...
Cas was under no illusions. It was almost certainly because he’d been so lonely, both before and after Dean coming and then leaving, that he felt this level of emotional attachment. It was that, surely. And it probably had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that Cas had never felt particularly inclined to kiss or hold hands with or even truly befriend anyone before Dean. That was just... more madness. Cas imagining some kind of deep connection between them, because he wanted there to be one. For all he felt, the pair of them hadn’t so much as hugged goodbye. Their fingers had brushed as Dean had handed Cas’ phone back, having tapped in his digits.
Cas had replayed that moment in his head over and over, probably warping it out of all reality with his constant examination. Had Dean meant for their hands to touch? The way he'd angled his wrist, the way he hadn't pulled back quickly... these things surely meant that... well, probably meant that... that Dean had wanted it to happen too? Possibly?
Cas must be crazy, he knew that. He must be completely mad. Dean probably wasn’t actually into guys, and if he was, he definitely wasn’t into Cas, having pulled the move that even Cas knew was ‘the classic’ – the “I’ll call you,” immediately followed by an eternity of not calling.
But – but there had been something – something so sure about the way that Dean had grinned and said, “I’ll call you,” before saying goodbye. Something so absolutely sure. Cas had been so full of excitement, practically skipping up the stairs to bed that night. And it had all been for nothing; Dean hadn’t called. Yet something in Cas still rejected the idea that Dean was the douche he had first appeared, on the bus. If Dean had left, Cas found himself trusting that it must have been for a good reason. And Dean hadn’t called or texted to tell Cas that excellent and valid reason, because… well – well, because.
It made Cas’ chest ache just to think about it.
The bus jerked to a halt and Cas realised that another wormhole in time had opened up, swallowing him whole and spitting him out at the bus stop at the top of the hill. The wormholes had a tendency of opening when Cas started thinking about Dean, chewing up great swathes of his time and leaving him sitting bleary-eyed in cafes and libraries and cinemas, with the workers trying not to stare.
He stumbled out of the bus, backpack slung over one shoulder. Making his way quickly through the copse of trees, Cas reached the far side, where the view of the meteors was always the best. He managed to emerge out of the trees right beside the oak – beside their oak, as Cas couldn’t help thinking of it, even though he and Dean had done nothing more in it than pat each other on the shoulder in a friendly manner. He let his backpack fall to the ground, placing his palm flat against the huge trunk; even if he spread his arms wide, he wouldn’t have been able to reach a fifth of the way round it. He sighed, looking up into its branches. Through the bare, spidery winter strands, Cas could see a clear, starry night. Visibility would be excellent for the shower.
He’d have to set up his blanket, soon. Cas decided to let the first shooting star go past first, so that he’d be standing up when it happened, not lying down, like last time. He wanted as little as possible to be like last time. That is, he wanted everything to be exactly the same as last time, but if he couldn’t have that, it would have to be as little as possible. He had a vague theory that he’d miss Dean less that way.
So far, it didn’t seem to be working overly well.
Cas leant up against the tree trunk, his eyes on the stars without really seeing them, loosely focused – paying so little attention that he almost missed it. A small, shooting glimpse of a meteor, streaking across the sky. Just a small one, to begin, but Cas found himself stepping forwards as it flashed and then faded, as though trying to follow the shooting star to wherever it was that it was going –
Cas heard a rustle beside him, and a snap. With a small gasp of surprise, he jolted backwards and raised his fists. The darkness around him was not complete, but it was close enough to it that all that was visible was the dim shape of a shadowy figure, silhouetted against the darker backdrop of the night…
“Cas?” said a soft voice, and the world went wonderfully, terribly, dizzyingly still.
“D-Dean?” Cas said, stumbling over the name in disbelief. The figure stepped forwards, hands raised in surrender; as it got closer and the ambient light from the town and the moon above hit its face, Cas recognised it for certain. There was no mistaking those green eyes, that nervous smile, that big leather jacket.
“Um,” said Dean, his hands clenched into fists. “Um.”
“You’re here,” said Cas, stupidly.
“Yeah,” Dean said, a little wretchedly, Cas thought.
For a long, long moment, all they did was stare, drinking each other in.
“Look, Cas – I owe you an apology –”
“There’s no need to justify yourself to me. I’m sure you –”
“Stop, stop,” Dean said, stepping forwards and reaching out a hand and grabbing Cas’, making Cas’ heart squeeze, but – oh, God, it was a good squeeze, a twist of happy disbelief, a melting ache, a thawing. “Cas, wait, I gotta explain. See, the thing is…” Dean trailed off, and then seemed to stiffen his resolve and ploughed on. “God, this is embarrassing. See, the thing is, my dad saw the text you sent me, the first one. And he didn’t believe it was about actual stargazing. He thought it was some kind of, of code, or something crazy like that. And I’d already told him that you were a guy, so… he freaked out. He already knew about how I’m, uh, I’m bisexual, so…” Dean’s face was turning bright pink to the tips of his ears, and he couldn’t meet Cas’ eyes. Cas, meanwhile, felt as though he was slowly learning to float. “So, he confiscated my phone, wouldn’t give it back. And I didn’t have your number written down anywhere else. Tried looking for you online, but I couldn’t find you anywhere – I guess you don’t have Facebook? No, that would have made it easy, wouldn’t it…” Cas managed a little laugh, still reeling from Dean, Dean here, in front of him, here, Dean!
... bisexual Dean!
“Anyway. Point is, I couldn’t get away, I couldn’t call. But yesterday, my brother managed to distract my dad for me and I took a cross-country bus. Made it all the way back here. And – and I don’t want you to think that – that there’s any kind of expectation, or, uh –”
Cas couldn’t hold back any longer. He wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck, pulled him in close, and kissed him.
In the cold December air, the kiss was a coal of warmth, a bright defiant flame against the chill. Dean’s arms slid around Cas’ waist and pulled him in close, close, closer, until their bodies were swaying, off-balance – but the press of Dean’s mouth was so sweet, so right…
They finally had to break apart. Dean didn’t let go his hold, keeping Cas close until they found themselves upright again, huffing slightly against each other’s lips, with Dean smiling in shocked disbelief and Cas only staring into Dean’s eyes, as though expecting him to vanish at any moment.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I said goodbye last year,” Dean murmured, and Cas closed his eyes, leant his head forwards and pressed their brows together. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, it was driving me crazy. And I know it’s crazy, but – oh, wait – I have something for you!”
Dean pulled back, just far enough to dig around in his pockets with one clumsy, numb-fingered hand. He pulled something out of his jacket – something corded, made of metal, shaped like a –
“It’s a star,” Cas said, holding it carefully in his fingers as though it were made of tissue paper. “But it’s not the star I gave you.”
Dean frowned and tugged the pendant out from under his layers of clothing, still hanging on the same cord on which Cas had given it to him.
“Like I’d lose it. Not even to give it back to you,” he said, with a grin. “No, I made that new one myself. I told you before, I want to make things. Happy Early Christmas, Cas.”
“It’s – it’s beautiful,” Cas said, reaching up to slip it over his own neck, admiring it for a few seconds longer before tucking it safely inside his scarf. “Dean, I…”
Words couldn’t seem to express what it meant to him that Dean hadn’t forgotten him – had been thinking of him all this time, had even bothered to make something for him. He reached up his hands, and placed them on either side of Dean’s face, holding him there, looking in his eyes – checking, he thought, just checking that he’s still the same, still the person I remember him being…
“I know it’s been a while,” Dean said, leaning ever so slightly into the touch on his right cheek. “And I know we only knew each other for a night, anyway. And I know that my life is a mess, and I’m a mess, and…” His breath shuddered. “I didn’t know whether to even try to see you,” he croaked. “I didn’t know whether I should hope you’d be here or hope you’d stay away. Cas, I’m… I’m…”
Cas kissed him again, just a soft, swift peck to his lips, to still their trembling.
“You’re here,” he said. “I don’t care if you’re a mess. I think... if we aren’t all messes now, we were once, or... or we will be soon. It doesn’t matter to me. All that matters is that you’re here.” He ran his thumbs down Dean’s cheeks, still disbelieving. “You’re here.” He leaned forwards and kissed him again, and again, gentle, long kisses that became more and more passionate, more profound.
“Hey,” Dean said eventually, his lips still close enough to Cas’ to touch, his arms still around Cas’ waist. “Did you see the first one? The first shooting star?”
Cas blinked at him, and then nodded.
“I got the wish last year, though,” he said. “You have it this year.”
Dean’s eyes lit up.
“Yeah? OK, alright. I wish…” he began. “I wish…”
“I should warn you,” Cas said, looking into Dean’s eyes with a tiny, glowing smile. “The wishes, they definitely work.”
“They do?” Dean said, grinning against Cas’ lips. “Then I know exactly what to wish for.”
They watched the shooting stars that night as they streamed silently across the night sky, wrapped in each other’s arms.
“Do you think yours will come true, too?” Cas asked, later, as they made to leave, speaking the words against the warm skin at Dean’s neck.
Dean paused for a moment before answering.
“That depends,” he said, finally. “On you. Will you let me see you again?”
Cas smiled, and pressed a kiss to Dean’s cheek.
“Yes,” he murmured. “Yes. You’re coming back to my house with me, now.”
“I’ve got a place in a motel –”
“You’re staying with me,” Cas said firmly.
“But your family – they won’t be expecting –”
“Then,” said Cas firmly, “it will be a surprise.”
He linked his hand with Dean’s. Together they walked down the hill, the shooting stars still swooping overhead, guiding them forwards and round and back on themselves, to a future that they couldn’t foresee – but which looked warm, and hopeful, and bright.