Work Text:
“I think,” Castiel says after some time, “that I might be as heartless as some people say.”
Rachel draws back, and Castiel resists the urge to praise her impressively nonplussed expression. Her lips are still shiny, but Castiel must be wearing a reasonable amount of her strawberry lipgloss by now. He smacks his lips curiously, wincing at the tang of artificial sweetness.
“We’d make a good pair then.” Rachel shrugs. “Although I don’t think anyone’s called you an icy bitch.”
“You’re not an icy bitch.” Castiel scowls even more when Rachel snorts softly. “Who said that?”
Rachel laughs away the question as though it were anything but a perfectly reasonable request for information. She rummages through her bag, finding some Kleenex that she uses to dab at Castiel’s mouth. “You’re definitely not heartless, Castiel. And in the interest of being fair, I know I’m not either.”
“I didn’t mean that kind of heartless.” Castiel nods a thank you once she’s done, and then sinks back into the cushions. They’re on the loveseat of Rachel’s father’s entertainment room, and wouldn’t he be surprised to find out they’d finally done what he’s been suspecting them of doing all this time. Not that Castiel found it very exciting. “I should’ve felt something when I kissed you.”
“Well, it’s definitely not me,” Rachel says primly. “Oh, we’ve missed the beginning of the monologue, can you grab the remote?”
By all accounts, Rachel should be Castiel’s type. He’s worked it out: she’s smart, interesting, attractive, likes a number of things he does, and they already spend every other Friday night watching obscure movies from the 40s and earlier barely anyone’s ever heard of. The next step should be logical. Rachel had even agreed with that point when he’d brought it up ten, fifteen minutes ago.
Rachel had even been enthusiastic, sort of, clinical and curious when she’d shifted closer and they’d rearranged their limbs for the best position to kiss.
“Maybe I just don’t feel that kind of attraction,” Castiel suggests. On the projector screen, Greta Garbo praises her whiskey. “How about you? Did you enjoy it?”
“Not really. You were distant.” Rachel’s best quality is her honesty. “I haven’t kissed that many boys, but generally you tend to be nervous and jittery. Not that I’d expect you to be like other boys, but you weren’t giving me anything.” She shrugs. “Nothing to worry about. We tried, it didn’t take.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Castiel takes a deep breath. “Nothing to worry about.”
“You sound upset.” Rachel peers at him closely. “Since when you do you care about this sort of thing, anyway? Why now?”
Castiel almost starts a fabrication on how he’d turned her way during class and spontaneously saw her in a different light. He has it on good authority that that sort of thing does happen, so it certainly could’ve happened between him and Rachel.
Instead he offers a weak, “We’re sixteen,” that has Rachel looking thoughtful.
Things are supposed to happen by this age. Milestones are to be reached, accomplishments to be made, lessons to be learned. Castiel may not be the wisest of the Reeves, and goodness knows he doesn’t believe a thing Gabriel’s said about the mandatory sexual accomplishments of teenagers, but there is an empty space in his chest where there should be something like... something.
If there isn’t, well, then Castiel need only work out the rest of his life around that. It’s all right to have different gears and grooves in the workings of his heart. He just needs to know what those parts are.
“Well,” Rachel says, “maybe there’s really no one here suited to your taste? We’ve confirmed that I’m not your type. Neither’s Hester, or Balthazar—”
“What, Balthazar?” Castiel starts in surprise. “Why’d you bring up Balthazar?”
Rachel gives him a slow, dubious once-over. “I brought up Balthazar because he’s been flirting with you since he got here, and I’m going to spare myself the mental agony of asking whether you really never noticed.”
“Really? Balthazar?”
“Yes, Castiel.”
Actually, now that Castiel looks back on the interactions they’ve had since Balthazar’s arrival, it seems clear. Castiel had chalked it up to Balthazar’s natural and immediate friendliness – remarkable and understandable, considering his family’s tendency to move every couple of years – but an additional agenda that would go the extra mile in explaining why Balthazar signed up for the baseball team.
And asked for Castiel’s number at the tryouts before he’d been cut.
And has been texting Castiel every other day since, especially during classes.
Castiel can’t be faulted for thinking Balthazar’s dirty jokes perfectly platonic, though. Dean makes those kinds of jokes all the time, so Castiel is immune.
“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Rachel sounds intrigued. “You’re wondering what that would be like.”
“I must admit that I am.” Castiel’s especially surprised by the flutter in his stomach. Balthazar is quite nice, and from what relatively few interactions they’ve had, he’s fun and energetic and potentially interesting. “Do you think he’s genuinely interested?”
Rachel grabs Castiel’s bag from the floor and dumps it in his lap. “You can call him and find out.”
+
Castiel could text Dean immediately with his findings, but he decides to wait. Tomorrow, he tells himself, he’ll do it tomorrow. Naturally, this means that the next day comes quicker than usual, and in no time it’s Saturday morning and Castiel’s making the usual trek across to the Winchester house.
He lets himself into the kitchen, where Mary’s already up and making pancakes. Sam’s at the breakfast island, staring blearily at nothing.
“Good morning,” Castiel says, to which Sam grunts. “Shall I wake Dean up?”
Mary waves, not taking her eyes off the skillet. “You’re welcome to try.”
Normally Castiel would be fine with letting Dean sleep in for another hour or so, but he did make Castiel promise to wake him up early so they can get some practice in. Still, Castiel braces himself when he knocks Dean’s door and gets no answer.
“Dean?” Castiel peers inside, notes the immobile form under the covers, and then inhales deeply. No suspicious smells, aside from laundry. He steps inside and closes the door behind him loudly. “Dean, time to wake up.” That never works, but Castiel’s just covering his bases.
He could tell Dean now. He could just say, I asked Balthazar out and he said yes, to the lump that is Dean, and Castiel won’t even have to see his reaction.
But that feels like cheating.
“Dean?” Castiel spots Dean’s foot peeking out from a corner of the blanket, and tugs at it. “It’s time to get up.” Dean grumbles and pulls away.
The next step, naturally, is to throw himself onto Dean’s bed. Dean squawks in distress, covers falling away when he flails wildly. Castiel is unaffected by his protests, and so grabs handfuls of the coverlet and pulls, revealing epic bedhead and a puffy face.
“Gah.” Dean smacks his lips and glares through crusty eyes. “Is it Cas-is-an-ass o’clock already? The hell you want?”
“I’m going to eat all your pancakes,” Castiel declares. “So you better get up and stop me. And please wash your face and brush your teeth, you reek.”
Dean glances at the window, then at the digital clock at his side table. “Jesus, Cas, I only fell asleep like, two hours ago.”
“That’s not my fault.” Castiel drags the rest of the covers all the way off, smacking Dean’s feet when he tries to kick at him. “We’re supposed to be practicing your swing today. I’m being an ass to you now to preempt you calling me an ass later when you discover it’s already too hot outside for your delicate constitution.”
Dean blinks at him. “Too many words.”
“I’m not kidding about the pancakes.” Castiel glances at his watch. “If you’re not down in fifteen, they’ll be gone.”
Castiel leaves Dean to his muttering. There’s a 60-40 chance Dean will make it down in fifteen, and if he doesn’t, Sam will be awake enough by then to join Castiel in making the second wake-up call.
When Castiel returns to the kitchen, Sam’s wandered off to the living room to watch TV, and he realizes that that’s fifteen minutes with Mary. Just him and Mary.
“Mary,” he says.
“Yes, dear?” She scoops the latest batch onto a plate. Mary’s expression sobers when she sees his expression. “Is something wrong?”
Castiel doesn’t remember his mother, but he thinks – hopes – that she was like Mary. Michael doesn’t talk of her for reasons Castiel’s never understood, and Gabriel insists that he can’t remember her either, but even with the lack of information Castiel would rather persist with the illusion that, yes, she must’ve been just like Mary. She must’ve been kind and thoughtful, wise and always with a ready ear, and goodness knows Castiel counts his blessings every day for his welcome in this house.
“There’s a…” Castiel trails off. It shouldn’t be this difficult; goodness knows Mary’s had to deal with far worse than this. “I think it’s… I might be, um…”
Mary’s hand is steady on Castiel’s elbow, guiding him to the island so he can sit down. There’s a plate in front of him in no time, bowl of syrup pushed closed to his hand.
“Take your time,” Mary says. She has her own plate of pancakes, and cuts off a piece to pop into her mouth.
“There’s a boy I’m interested in,” Castiel admits. He’s surprised by how cold his hands are. “That’s – that’s all right, isn’t it?”
“Of course that’s all right.” Mary frowns. “Did someone tell you that’s not all right?”
“No, nothing like that.”
Mary scrutinizes him now, maybe recalling all the times that Dean’s talked about some girl or the other, while Castiel’s done no such thing. She sounds strangely guarded when she says, “Is it someone I know?”
“Oh, no. His name’s Balthazar, he’s new. He’s—” Castiel stops when he hears footsteps, soon followed by Dean’s ambling into the kitchen.
If Mary’s fine with this, then Dean should be, too. Dean is smarter than a lot of people give him credit for, and Castiel’s not only saying that because they’ve been friends for what seems like forever. Dean has no qualms about calling people out, or stepping up when no one else does, or making friends with the new kid that no one seems to know what to do with. (Dean thinks Balthazar’s a funny guy, Castiel knows this.)
Castiel’s stomach twists anyway. More so when Dean narrows his eyes and leans towards him from across the table.
At long last Dean says, “You finally made the move on Rachel.” When Castiel stares, Dean barks a laugh. “I knew it! Dang, Cas, when that poker face of yours cracks, it cracks hard. So how was it?”
“Didn’t work out.” That much is easy enough to say. It’s the part that came after that he can’t quite throw off his tongue, no matter that Dean’s grinning and relaxed, or that Dean’s willfully listened to everything else that Castiel’s ever told him no matter how big or small.
Pressure on Castiel’s back makes him start. Mary passes round into his line of vision, and her expression is calm. It’s okay, she seems to be saying, you don’t have to do this now.
Castiel doesn’t have to do this now, but with Mary right there, this is the safest place he’s ever going to be.
“Rachel wasn’t into – we ended up calling – long story – won’t get into that now,” Castiel babbles, embarrassed. “Balthazar.”
Dean chews and swallows pancake. “Balthazar what?”
Castiel resolutely holds Dean’s gaze. “I asked him out instead.”
In the uncertain, quiet seconds that follow, Castiel contemplates a world where Dean is not okay with this. From the paltry few times it’s been brought up, Castiel’s had the impression that Dean only cares about other people’s sexuality inasmuch as they relate to his attraction towards them (though admittedly that’s not stopped Dean’s crush on Amber Heard).
Would Castiel be okay with Dean not being okay? It’d be disappointing, Castiel thinks, and hurtful. But more hurtful than that would be if Castiel found himself genuinely unable to be open with Dean about this. Castiel can’t – won’t – do that to himself.
The sound of Dean putting his spoon down is absurdly loud. Finally he says, “Does that mean I can ask Rachel out?”
Castiel hasn’t even processed that before he’s retorting, “She’s out of your league.”
Dean makes a face. “She’s out of my league but not yours?”
“Precisely.” Castiel almost laughs. “You could try if you like, but don’t say I didn’t advise you appropriately.”
Dean waves his fork enthusiastically as he espouses Castiel’s supposed challenge, animated and awake likes this is just any other weekend morning in this household. Dean doesn’t see it, but over his shoulder Mary meets Castiel’s gaze and lifts up her glass of OJ in a silent toast. Castiel accepts it with a jerky nod of his head, relief loosening the knots of his body.
+
The date with Balthazar goes well. Balthazar is funny and charming, with a sense of humor that pleasingly complements with Castiel’s own. As for the actual activities of the date, Castiel has no expectations and Balthazar doesn’t care to live up to anyone’s but his own, so they spend the chosen Sunday by having a free and easy afternoon going around town. There’s still plenty Balthazar hasn’t seen yet, and Castiel is more than happy to show off some of his favorite places.
“You’re a decent guy, Cas,” Balthazar says. “I knew you’d be. Anyone who wears a tie and jacket to school of their own free will has to have an interesting personality to match.”
“That’s a nice way of looking at it,” Castiel replies in amusement. “You’re quite agreeable as well.”
It’s only later, during the ride home, that it occurs to Castiel to wonder if this is all there is to it. Balthazar is as good a friend as Castiel would’ve liked to have, even without the romantic declaration. Aside from the low level buzz of attraction that’s followed them all afternoon, it’s not all that different from, say, hanging out with Dean.
“You could come in,” Castiel suggests. “Say hello to Anna, I believe she should be around.”
They’ve parked outside Castiel’s house, the engine idling. Balthazar had offered to drive today, unabashed in his desire to show off his set of wheels.
“What about Gabriel?” Balthazar asks.
“At this time?” Castiel glances at his watch. “He’s probably still sleeping off last night.”
They walk up to the house together, but before Castiel can put his keys in, Balthazar catches his wrist. It’s not a sudden movement at all, but just the gentle rest of fingers around Castiel’s cuff, stilling him.
Castiel turns to Balthazar easily, thinking – ah, yes, here it is. This is what makes it different.
And it is different. Balthazar’s lips are firm and dry, not slick with lip gloss the way Rachel’s had been. He is careful, not pressing any harder until Castiel opens his mouth for him, and there’s a sweet moment when Balthazar exhales in relief, hands coming up to rest gently on Castiel’s waist.
“Well,” Castiel says when they part. Balthazar smiles lopsidedly, nervous despite all his confidence of earlier. It’s enough for Castiel to dare coming back in for another kiss. “Yes, this is nice.”
“So now you’re going to invite me up to your room? Kidding! Kidding.” Balthazar chuckles and follows Castiel into the house.
There’s noise in the living room: electronic music and random yelling that means that Anna’s controlling the main TV. Anna and Dean are sitting on the couch – Anna hunched over and Dean with his legs tucked under him – and they raise their hands in a near-unison greeting when Castiel calls out, “Hello, I’m home.”
Castiel leads Balthazar to the kitchen, which is thankfully tidied up. Gabriel usually knows better than to mess around the kitchen, but one never knows. “Would you like a drink?” Castiel moves to the fridge when Balthazar nods.
“Hey,” Balthazar says, sounding strangely cautious. “Is Dean dating your sister?”
“I hope not, seeing as how she’s already called for.”
“Then Dean just… I mean, I know you and him are bosom buddies and all, but is it normal for him to be hanging around here when you’re not?”
“Oh, yes.” Castiel lifts up two juice cartoons, putting the other one back when Balthazar points at his choice. “He’s just the second house over, so we’re practically living in each other’s pockets.” Castiel trails off at Balthazar’s faint scowl. “Dean and his family made us feel welcome when we first arrived here. By ‘we’, I mean me and Anna. The move here was a little tense, and they… helped, you could say.”
“Ah.” Balthazar accepts the offered glass, taking a sip while Castiel sits down. “So now you’re just joined at the hip.”
“Not today, as you might’ve noticed.” That gets a smile out of Balthazar, and warmth spreads in Castiel’s chest. “I thought about maybe showing you those books I told you about, but the shelves are out front.”
“This is fine.” Balthazar grins as he leans in.
They jerk apart when Dean and Anna come stomping in – not literally, but they might as well be for the amount of noise they’re making. They’re arguing about something that’s no doubt very important in their heads, and only Anna has the decency to trail off with an embarrassed, “Oh, sorry” when they spot Castiel and Balthazar at the table.
“There any more of that?” Dean looks pointedly at Castiel’s glass. Castiel sighs and pushes it towards him, not at all surprised when Dean downs the juice like a shot. “Thanks. Hey Balthy, hitting the hard stuff, I see.”
Balthazar replies, “Not too hard, I’m driving. Actually, I should go.”
“Already?” Castiel follows Balthazar up on to his feet. “You just got here.”
“Another time, all right?” Balthazar’s wink sends another jolt up Castiel’s spine, confirming that the rest of the afternoon hadn’t been a fluke. Castiel starts to offer to walk him out, but Balthazar successfully distracts him with a firm kiss on the lips. “Definitely another time,” he whispers, fingertips brushing Castiel’s elbow before pulling away entirely.
Castiel shoves down his disappointment, dropping back on to the stool when he hears the front door close. Anna murmurs something unintelligible, her head a red blur at the edge of Castiel’s vision as she makes her exit.
Obnoxious cracking sounds make Castiel look up. Dean’s gotten some ice out from the fridge, and is chewing noisily. “So,” he says around a full mouth, “was fun?”
“Yes.” Castiel smiles. “Yes, actually.” Disappointment is swiftly replaced by delight at the realization that he’s not exaggerating. He had an enjoyable afternoon that wasn’t nearly as awkward as he’d been lead to believe they could be. “I understand what you mean now.”
“What I’d mean by what?”
“All the fuss you used to make about dating.” Castiel can still feel Balthazar’s touch on his waist. “I see what you mean. It’s quite exciting, isn’t it? To have someone’s attention like that.”
“Yeah, exciting.”
“We could double-date one of these days.” Castiel winces. “Well, I mean, not right now, of course, but you’ll find someone else soon.”
Dean’s voice is very dry when he says, “Thanks, Cas.”
“Dean,” Castiel says. At the corner of his eye he sees Dean start, his body jerking to some unseen string. It’s an odd reaction, so Castiel turns. His thoughts, which had previously been simmering pleasantly in the aftermath of a well-spent afternoon, narrow down now to register the expression on Dean’s face.
Dean notices Castiel looking, and tries to force his expression back to neutral.
But Castiel’s already seen it. Castiel’s already wondering: is that new, had it been there earlier when Balthazar was there, did Balthazar see it, and if he did is that why he left in such haste?
Castiel drops his gaze to the table. Perhaps they can pretend that Dean hadn’t curled his mouth in distaste. Or they can pretend that Castiel never saw him doing it.
A different kind of disappointment settles in Castiel’s gut. This one’s sharp and sour, curdling tight with the creeping fear of what could come next. Castiel’s seen that look before, on the faces of Michael, Uriel and Uncle Zachariah, but not Dean, please not Dean. Castiel can take it from any of them, but with Dean, it wouldhurt.
“I’ll just.” Dean coughs awkwardly. “I’m going.”
Castiel nods, and gets up to put the empty glasses in the sink.
+
For all of Castiel’s worrying, Dean’s behavior afterward is… exemplary.
On Monday morning he’s back to his usual antics, picking Castiel and Anna up on the way to school and joking benignly with them as though everything is as it’s always been. It’s as if that moment never happened. Castiel certainly wishes he could forget he’d ever seen it.
The thing is, Dean’s trying so hard. He’s a kind person, even if the ways he expresses that kindness may not be conventional ones. That he’s struggling at all with this makes Castiel sad and angry at the same time.
Still, he’s trying.
Dean’s an attentive friend to begin with, but in the days after Castiel’s date with Balthazar he brings it up a notch. He’s extra conscientious and patient, listening attentively when Castiel speaks and dropping his typical boisterous teases. He’s a larger presence at Castiel’s side, too, helping carry Castiel’s books between classes, picking out the nicest dessert at the cafeteria for Castiel’s tray, and is the first to speak up when someone tries to crack a joke at Castiel’s expense (the town isn’t that big, so it’s unsurprising that someone had seen him and Balthazar out and about together).
A few times Castiel considers telling Dean that it’s okay, he understands what Dean’s trying to do and it’s not necessary. But when he thinks about, this seems to be more about Dean than it is about Castiel; no one is as hard on Dean as Dean.
So if Dean wants to touch Castiel a little more, arm often around Castiel’s shoulder or hand clasped at Castiel’s elbow, that’s all right. If this is how Dean wishes to prove to himself that he’s okay and accepting of the latest turns of events, Castiel can be party to that.
It may be a little strange to feel Dean’s hand touch the small of his back during baseball practice, but Castiel doesn’t move away. They’re waiting for their turn out on the field, far enough at the back that no one notices or cares how Dean’s subtly crowding against Castiel.
Castiel almost throws it back on Dean’s face – he hasn’t forgotten all their previous conversations about the importance of personal space – but it’s kind of nice. The opposite of invasive. Even the fingertip Dean’s dragging curiously along the line of Castiel’s spine is oddly calming.
“Oh hey,” Dean says, hand dropping away, “Balthazar.”
Castiel looks up and Balthazar is indeed out in the stands. There are a handful of other people out there as well, some of the chatting and others watching the practice. Balthazar is in an easy conversation with Jody, but he seems to sense Castiel watching and waves.
Satisfaction is a warm blanket, and Castiel wears it for the rest of practice.
+
Honestly, Castiel should’ve seen the next part coming.
“Look, I know you and Dean are thick as thieves,” Balthazar says, “and that’s fine. But you might want to ask him to ease up on the territorial peeing.”
Castiel blinks. “On the what?”
Balthazar sighs heavily. “He’s jealous.”
Castiel wishes that Balthazar had chosen another time to talk about this, instead of honing in on him as soon as classes were over and dragging him round the corner of the building as if there aren’t students milling noisily around them in their daily exodus. But as soon as Castiel thinks that, he takes it back, because Balthazar isn’t saying this to be mean. That’s genuine frustration in the lines around of his eyes, which is all the more understandable when Castiel looks back on the past few days with new context.
“I know, I know,” Balthazar continues, “we never agreed to be exclusive, and I have yet to plot out a scheme that’ll sweep you off your feet, but I’d like the chance.”
“Why are you bringing Dean up now?”
“Because I don’t know what to do about it.” Balthazar frowns, the expression seemingly directed inward. “I don’t even know if I should do anything about it. He is your friend, and I understand what that means, but it doesn’t do well for my fragile ego to watch another guy touch you in front of me.”
“I understand.” Castiel takes Balthazar’s hand, squeezing it apologetically. “For what it’s worth, you’re right. Dean is jealous, and I’m not going to justify it. He feels things very strongly, and we have a common circle of friends so it’s rare that I spend time outside of that. You should’ve seen how he reacted when Sam first showed interest in a girl.”
“I don’t mean that kind of jealous.” Balthazar’s mouth quirking wryly. “I mean he’s jealous of me.”
Castiel double-takes. “We’re not like that.”
“Maybe he didn’t think you were an option before.”
“No,” Castiel replies firmly. “Trust me.”
“How do you know for sure?”
“I know.”
“But—”
“I know.” That comes out sharper than Castiel meant, just on the edge of outright anger. Castiel sighs. “Just believe me when I say that I know, all right? Dean doesn’t think of me that way.”
“Ah.” Balthazar nods. “I see.” He stares at Castiel for a long moment, and then his eyes move, tracking something over Castiel’s shoulder. “Hello there, Dean.”
The cliché about cold water and dousing comes to mind. Castiel’s throat is thick in what almost feels like panic when he turns. Sure enough, Dean is standing right there, within eavesdropping distance as though he couldn’t even muster the effort to try and be sneaky about it.
“You forgot your…” Dean raises a small leather satchel, which is Castiel’s, not that he’d realized that he’d left it behind. Dean’s expression is inscrutable. “Sorry, bad time?”
“No, it’s fine.” Balthazar gives Castiel a quick, meaningful look. Settle this, he says to Castiel with his eyebrows. He pulls his hand free from Castiel’s grasp, withholding the goodbye kiss that Castiel’s almost certain should’ve been his. “See you later, Cas.”
Castiel holds his tongue as he follows Dean out to where the Impala is parked. He even holds his tongue the entire drive back to their neighborhood, because the conversation he needs to have isn’t one he’d ever thought he’d have to. Castiel’s been on the other side before, when Dean dated Lisa and Jamie, and got into an on-again-off-again relationship with Bela that he’ll never understand. This vantage point is new.
“He’s right, you know,” Dean says suddenly. They’ve stopped just outside Castiel’s house, and Dean pulls the handbrake with a soft creak. “Balthazar’s right about me.”
Castiel starts. “What?”
“Yeah.” As Castiel watches, Dean’s mouth moves silently to an argument he’s having in his head. Dean makes a helpless, stilted gesture. “I’m jealous of – of him.”
Castiel’s chest tightens. “I see.” He starts to pull the door open, jumping when Dean grabs his arm to stop him.
“You’re not listening,” Dean says.
Dean’s starting to sound angry, which is fine, because Castiel can be angry as well. “This isn’t funny, Dean. I don’t want to hear it.” Dean’s face is a stone wall, unyielding under Castiel’s own responding glare. “You’re obviously not thinking straight, so let’s have this conversation another day.”
“No,” Dean barks stubbornly. “Right now. You’ve got to know. I mean, if Balthazar noticed, surely you would have…”
“Would have what, Dean? Would have come to the conclusion that you want to be where Balthazar is?” Castiel tries for a flippant laugh, but the sound comes out bitter. He feels lightheaded, disconnected, this sudden loss of control terrifying. “Don’t be cruel.”
Dean inhales sharply, pain flickering over his features. “I’m not messing with you, Cas. I swear.”
“Dean, we are friends, that’s not going to change just because I’m seeing someone else.”
“When you were talking to Balthazar,” Dean presses on with such determination that Castiel feels rooted to the spot, “you said – I heard you say – you said that I’m not interested in you that way. You didn’t just say it the other way round, that you weren’t interested in me.”
“Oh no.” Castiel tries to breathe around the sudden, horrifying clog in his throat. “That was years ago, Dean. I had a crush on you once. Once. It was stupid and childish, that’s all.”
“Well, maybe I have a stupid crush, too.”
Dean’s only using Castiel’s own words him, but the stupid hits something sharp and unexpected in Castiel. It stings, and in its wake come shame and horror and hurt, not that Castiel understands any of it.
“Hey,” Dean says softly. “Cas, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean like that.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Castiel reaches blindly for the handle, hissing when he can’t find it.
Castiel starts to turn but Dean’s hands are on him again, pulling where they should push. Castiel isn’t even sure what’s happening except that there are too many hands in the narrow space of the car and Castiel doesn’t believe Dean’s insistence that, “I'm trying to help, Cas, cool down” because Castiel’s hands end up in Dean’s shirt, Dean’s palms are around Castiel’s face, and they’re kissing.
They’re kissing, and it’s fierce and hot, and Dean’s startled yelp is music to Castiel’s ears. What, Dean didn’t think Castiel could be demanding? Dean never considered that Castiel’s lack of experience didn’t mean a lack of desire? Castiel surges against him, fitting his lips against Dean’s in his determination to prove him wrong.
Dean smells amazing. Castiel paws at the hard lines of Dean’s neck, his shoulders, his back – whimpering his approval when he feels Dean’s hand pushing under his shirt. Dean’s palm finds his waist, the thumb digging into the flesh near Castiel’s stomach. Shocking heat settles low in Castiel’s groin, because goodness knows Balthazar’s kisses had never done this.
Balthazar.
Castiel pulls away, gasping for air. He jerks his hands off the body against his, the back of his head knocking against the window. “Stop. Dean, stop, I’m sorry, stop.”
Dean’s face is buried in Castiel’s neck. Castiel can’t see his expression, but he’s got to be making a face – Castiel can practically feel the scowl pressed against his skin.
They manage to untangle themselves.
Castiel’s whole body is tingling. Adrenaline and other things,like the trembling aftershocks that follow a particularly good rollercoaster ride. Castiel just manages to stop himself from adjusting his half-hard dick where it’s twitching in his pants.
“I’ve got to tell you—” Dean starts.
“Not now.” Castiel shakes his head frantically and pushes the door open. “I have to go. I have to – I’m sorry.” He shuts the door before Dean can answer, and limps away to safety.
+
“I kissed Dean.”
Castiel doesn’t move from place in the middle of Anna’s doorway. There’s an impending earthquake in her narrow-eyed glare of judgment, but telling his sister about it is the most sensible thing to do. Goodness knows Castiel’s proven time and time again that he has a complete and utter lack of sense when it comes to Dean.
At long last, Anna crooks her finger at him. Castiel slinks into her room, locking the door behind him as he goes.
“I’m a sorry excuse for a human being.” Castiel sits on her bed, confessing to Anna’s back while she turns on some music to fill the room with ambient noise and hopefully keep Gabriel off their radar. “I’ve kissed three different people in two weeks, and while that in itself is fine, the last one might be the mark of a downward spiral.”
“Does Balthazar know?” Of course that would be Anna’s first question, for it is the worst of question.
“Not yet.” Castiel covers his face. It won’t hide his shame, but it helps. “Oh God, I’m slatternly.” Anna smacks the back of his head, and Castiel apologizes automatically.
Perhaps Anna can derive some humor from this. Among the many stories shared between them over the years, the majority of the interesting ones have been Anna’s, and Castiel sometimes has the feeling that she’s just waiting for him to catch up.
“Stop that.” The bed moves when Anna sits next to him, and then a slender arm is coming around his shoulders. “Tell me everything. From the start, if you want to.”
It’s even worse in the retelling. Castiel reluctantly puts his hands down and tells her about how relieved he’d been at the start, about Dean’s face in the kitchen, about Dean’s recent behavior that has even newer context now that there’s been reciprocal mouth-on-mouth contact.
“I feel like I should have seen this coming,” Castiel says in disbelief. “But I didn’t.”
“Because of what happened before between you and Dean.” Anna squeezes him gently; Castiel hadn’t even realized he’d tensed up at the mention of it. “It’s okay, Cas.”
“It’s not okay,” Castiel insists. “I didn’t even know Dean still remembered that. We’d never talked about it, so I…” He trails off, struck by Anna’s sudden inability to look him in the eye. “What do you know? Anna, you know something, tell me.”
“Cas.” Anna’s using her older sister voice, which sets alarms ringing in Castiel’s head. “If I can keep your secrets, I can keep Dean’s.”
“Dean has secrets? From me?”
“The only thing he can’t talk about with you is, well, you.” Anna’s smile is kind, and Castiel has half the inclination to remind her about how just last week he’d helped cover for her when she’d gone off to the next town over just to visit some club. “He’s got to be the one to tell you.”
“What, that he likes me?” Even just saying that makes Castiel feel angry. His lips are still tender where Dean bit them, but connecting the dots to what that means feels impossible. Incorrect. Disproved. Castiel’s face still burns when he thinks about that incident from years ago, so he tries not to.
(When they were thirteen, he and Dean went to Victor’s house for his birthday party. A group of them had ended up playing truth and dare, and someone had asked Dean who the first person he’d ever kissed was. Dean had grinned and told them about Rhonda. Castiel had turned away, embarrassed by the necessary lie.)
“You still like him, don’t you?” Anna asks quietly.
“Who, Dean?” Castiel laughs weakly. “If it had to be a competition, Anna, then Dean would win. Dean would always win.” Just thinking that makes Castiel feel shaky, on the edge of some unformed anger. Does Dean already know this? Is that why he behaved the way he did? That isn’t fair. “I don’t know what to do. Please tell me what to do, Anna.”
Anna just draws him in until he can rest his head on her shoulder. Then she pushes her box of candy into his hands.
+
The conversation with Balthazar is as terrible as Castiel feared it would be. Balthazar takes Castiel’s confession with a shrug and a joke, initially dismissing his hurt as unimportant. It’s only when Castiel pleads with him, “I do want to be your friend,” that Balthazar laughs.
“No,” Balthazar says, “I don’t think so.”
So Castiel takes the rebuff, steps back, and allows Balthazar his dignified exit.
+
The conversation with Dean isn’t that much better.
Castiel returns home buzzing with nervous energy, unfinished business itching just under his skin and demanding closure of this nonsensical episode so that he can return to the rest of his life. He wouldn’t choose to see Dean while in this headspace but there’s a note waiting for him, stuck to his door:
if you want to talk, I’m there right now
That’s a stupid thing to say, because it immediately sets the image in Castiel’s head of Dean sitting all by himself at their favorite spot. It’s in the semi-cleared area halfway behind their street and the river, not too far that they can’t see Dean’s house, but just far enough to give them the illusion that the immediate world belongs entirely to them.
So Castiel goes to him. He marches back out of the house and just goes. How can he not, when there is a perfectly willing target for him to unload his frustrations?
Dean even seems to expect such an onslaught, rising to his feet when he hears Castiel approach. His expression is guarded. “Hey.”
“I would just like to know one thing.” Castiel takes a deep breath. “When we kissed, did you want it?”
Dean frowns; it’s obviously not the question he’d thought. “Of course I… Yeah. Yes, I wanted it. I’ve been wanting it.”
Well then. Castiel takes that piece of information and slips it into the Dean-shaped archives in his mind. A part of him recognizes that Dean’s admission of attraction should be satisfying or flattering. It might even be, once Castiel can stop being angry.
Dean’s still talking.
“I’ve been wanting to, you know, ask you out. I just needed time to get used to the idea, see if I could… ‘Cause I wouldn’t want to keep it a secret, you know? Not from the guys, not from Mom and Dad. I was working towards that.” There’s a quiet desperation in Dean’s voice, and it lights goosebumps along Castiel’s arms. Dean sighs. “C’mon, Cas, we were just kids, then, I wasn’t ready. Why couldn’t you have just waited for me a little longer?”
Castiel stares. “Dean, I wasn’t waiting for you. I wasn’t ever waiting for you.”
This visibly blindsides Dean. His mouth falls open and his eyes widen, Castiel’s words apparently knocking down the narrative he must’ve built in his head to bring him to this point.
Castiel honestly doesn’t think about their first kiss. He’d never considered that the same wasn’t true for Dean.
That kiss isn’t even important. They’d been, what, twelve? And they’d practically just met, really, so Castiel hadn’t figured out some very basic things about how the world and other people worked. All Castiel remembers is that it had been a good summer day, he and Dean had been lazing around doing what they usually do on good summer days, and Castiel had been overcome with the urge to kiss Dean.
Castiel’s gotten better at impulse control since then.
But the point is, they’d moved past it. Castiel had done something unwanted and Dean had reacted badly, but that’s in the past. Dean had offered an olive branch almost immediately afterward -- he’d marched straight into Castiel’s house, demanding: “You coming or not?” and that had been that, the kiss and its aftermath relegated to a bad memory.
They should be better than that now.
Castiel stares at Dean, willing this to make sense. Nostalgia does funny things to memories, and Castiel is unnerved by the idea that Dean has been building an image in his mind based a kiss that neither of them have acknowledged in any meaningful way since it happened.
“You mean…” Horror dawns on Dean’s face. “You mean you and Balthazar are real?”
“What? Of course we…” Castiel grits his teeth, forcibly clamping down the urge to start shouting. “Did you think I was with Balthazar to make you jealous?”
Dean shouts anyway. “You’ve never shown an interest in anyone! Ever! And suddenly not only do you like a guy, you’re dating him right away? Sucking face right in front of me?”
Castiel gapes. “The world doesn’t revolve around you, Dean! How can you even think that?”
“Oh my god.” Dean turns in a slow circle – trying to get his bearings, which are now gone. “I wouldn’t have – if I thought you were really – oh shit. Shit, fuck, fuck, goddamn, fuck, Cas, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter if you’re sorry.” Castiel shakes his head, hysterical laughter bubbling in his chest. “How could you have possibly thought that I’d want to cheat with you?”
“I didn’t—” Dean blinks rapidly. “That wasn’t cheating.”
“If you don’t consider that cheating, I do not want to know—”
“I kissed you first,” Dean claims. “I reached for you first. Actually... Actually, you don’t even have to tell him.”
“Stop that!” Castiel’s hands have tightened into fists. Dean is distressed and fearful before him, and Castiel hates, hates that he still wants to comfort him, hold him, tell him everything will be all right. “That’s done. I have to deal with it.”
Dean averts his gaze down to his hands, his feet, to the side; an animal poised to flee but unable to summon the strength. “How I do fix it? Tell me how to fix this, so we can... we can move on.” He can’t even say that to Castiel’s face.
“You bury it.” Castiel finds himself stepping forward, jabbing a shaking finger at Dean’s heart. “You take those feelings, and you bury it, kill it. You will take whatever I choose to give you, even if it’s ‘just friendship’—” he stabs finger quotes furiously in the air, “—and you will be content, because that’s how much I mean to you.”
Dean swallows, Adam’s apple jumping. “Yeah,” he says in a small voice. “Yeah.”
Castiel hadn’t lied to Anna. Dean will always win because he’s Dean, and Castiel loves him. Castiel could try hating him but that doesn’t work, he’d hate himself more readily than he’d ever hate Dean. He certainly has cause to hate himself, because where he should turn around and walk away, he instead comes forward and kisses Dean.
It’s just a press of lips at first. Then Castiel opens his mouth to slot them together, and Dean lets out a shocked breath before kissing back. It’s slow and careful, each kiss leading into another as they explore each other’s mouths. Dean’s tongue finds Castiel’s, darts across his teeth, curls around the Castiel’s breath.
Castiel’s experience may be limited, but he can tell there’s something missing. There should be sweetness and hunger, but the longer they cling to each other and breathe into each other’s mouths, the clearer it becomes that it’s not coming. Instead there’s a discordant chord creeping in from the edge of Castiel’s thoughts, getting louder and louder until he has no choice but to pull away.
He pulls away, and Dean opens his eyes, which are soft and unsurprised.
“It’s not working, is it?” Dean asks.
“No. It’s…” Castiel tries to put words to it, but can’t find them.
Dean seems to get it anyway. “Yeah. It’s not you who should’ve waited, it’s me.”
Castiel finds Dean’s hands, holding them firmly between his own. “Maybe this just isn’t right for us. Maybe we’re better as friends.”
Dean snorts softly. “Can I be honest with you? I don’t believe that, Cas. I think we can be great as something else. Just… yeah, maybe I just messed up. Again.”
“Please don’t say that, I can’t stand it.” Castiel looks down at their hands, smiling when Dean moves their palms, linking their fingers together. That feels better than the kissing, actually, filling Castiel’s chest with fondness until Dean’s smiling back at him.
“What are we, then?” Dean asks.
“Friends. We’re still friends.” Castiel tugs Dean’s hand gently, pulling him into a hug. Dean’s face comes next to Castiel’s, chin digging into his shoulder, arms around his body. Castiel imagines Dean’s closing his eyes and breathing in deep. “But other than that, I don’t know. I would ask you to move on, find someone else, but I don’t think that’d go down very well.”
Dean clutches Castiel tighter. “Damn straight, it won’t.”
Limbo, then. They’re in limbo, neither here nor there, attraction flawed and unconsummated. Now that Castiel’s anger has faded, guilt and disgust are trickling in, demanding attention that Castiel must give.
“It’s not so bad, though,” Dean says. “You’re right, I’ll take whatever you want to give me. That’s… right, I think. The right thing to do.” Dean pulls back, his smile a little sad but handsome. He flicks a finger a Castiel’s chin, snickering when Castiel glares. “How about we take it one day at a time, make it up as we go along?”
It’s not really a plan, but it’s better than the null sound in Castiel’s head. “Sure. We can try that.”