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People say a lot of shit about Dean. So much, in fact, that he can’t let it bother him. Can’t be mad—and stay mad—at himself for every single thing he regrets. Much less try to be for the things he doesn’t.
The second Cas ducks his head, however. The second Cas lets his shoulders slump forward into that weak, small posture that Dean never, ever wants to see on the man again and speaks those words.
That second makes him want to kill himself a hundred times over for whatever he’s done to ever make Cas feel such a way. Like he owes Dean. Like he, who’s saved Dean a hundred times over—and fucked shit up himself just as many times, but had tried, owes Dean anything. Because Cas had tried and had always believed he was doing good. (Something Dean can’t say about himself.)
That second, he would kill himself if it would fix whatever thing he’s said to make Cas think he won’t understand—or worse, that he does, and would still just... “Fuck, Cas.”
The angel’s words, muttered between their lips as Cas’ eyes studied the tips of his fingers in his lap echo around in Dean’s head like the whispers of a spirit.
“Dean, I'm asexual. I don’t desire sexual intercourse. Of course... I understand you will still want that of me. I won’t stop you.”
Dean is frozen in place. He doesn’t know whether to slide away and give Cas space, or surge forward and gather as much of Cas in his arms as he can fit, hoping to reassure him. Either feels like it could send the wrong message. Either feels like it could hurt more than it will do good.
Cas’ eyes, for the first time, look empty when he raises his chin to meet Dean’s. “Dean, I’m sorry. I’ve tried to desire you—”
“Cas, stop,” Dean interrupts urgently, giving in to the burning need to reach out, clasping his hands around Cas’ shoulders and pushing them upward, outward, back—upright in the wide-shouldered position they should be in. Urging Cas’ spine straight into the fierce confidence the angel had displayed when they’d first met, all those years ago.
He takes a deep breath, trying to organise his thoughts even as he hurries to speak, not wanting Cas to draw any conclusions from his silence. “I don’t want to have sex with you. I mean—” He chuckles humourlessly. “I do, look at you.” He shakes his head, forcing himself back on the track he is so hurriedly constructing. He can’t afford to ramble, not when Cas is so obviously hurt. “But, I don’t— I’m not gonna have sex with you if you won’t enjoy it.”
Cas’ eyes are downcast again. His hair, messed up beyond recognition (courtesy of Dean’s fingers), falls into his eyes. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t seem to breathe. Maybe he isn’t.
“Cas? Ba—buddy?” Dean starts again, his voice laced with high-pitched anxiety. “Talk to me, man.”
People say a lot of shit about Dean, and if Cas opens his mouth right now to do just that, Dean will rejoice. He’ll take anything over the nauseating silence.
When Cas looks up at him again, it is with his signature head tilt and the familiar line between his eyebrows. Dean squeezes Cas’ shoulders, relieved to see the angel as he knows him, once more. “I don’t understand. Would you have... sex with others than me?”
Is this what people think of him? Is this how Cas sees him? Son of a bitch, that hurts. “No, of course not,” he snaps, his voice angrier than he’d intended. It is hard to reign in the rage. What is Cas even doing with him if he believes Dean to be so... so... capable of that? “I— I need you, Cas. I...” Fuck, feelings are hard. He lets go of Cas’ shoulders and rubs a hand over his face.
Cas seems to have reverted to factory settings, his piercing blue eyes trained on Dean as if determined not to miss a blink. Perhaps actually determined not to miss a blink. He never knows with Cas.
“I care about you, Cas,” Dean confesses then, his voice soft, but no less rough. “Why would you think I’d hurt you?”
“You wouldn’t hurt me, Dean, the human form I am in is capable of—”
“No, Cas, you’re not hearing me, you— you don’t want it. Aren’t angels all about consent? No play time before the lease is signed?” Dean has felt frustration trying to talk with Cas before, but this is an entirely new level of struggle. “I’m not gonna force myself upon you. That’s wrong— that’s—” His face scrunches up with disgust. “I could never do that to you. To anyone.”
Cas seems, if anything, even more confused. “But I consent,” he states blankly. “You desire sexual intimacy in your relationships.” He pauses, as if to make a point. “We are in a relationship, Dean.”
Dean can’t hold back the involuntary cringe at those words. “That’s not consent, Cas, that’s— I don’t know what that is. Letting me have my way with you? No. No way. I ain’t doing that to you.”
“Then what?” Cas’ shoulders are teetering on the edge of drooping again, like he is worried he’s disappointed Dean.
The thought almost makes Dean laugh. Cas has lost the ability to truly disappoint him a long time ago. Now, Dean is just glad to have the angel with him. Even when it hurts. (Sometimes it hurts a lot.)
“Why do you think I have sex, Cas?”
“You enjoy carnal relations with others,” Cas responds, not missing a beat.
Dean shakes his head, even though his lips curl into a small smile at his friend’s choice of words. “That, too, but that’s not the most important reason. I have sex because it’s fun. I enjoy it. I enjoy the other person enjoying it.” He looks at Cas intently. “I enjoy the other person having fun. This ‘consent’ of yours? Doesn’t sound like much fun.”
Cas doesn’t respond. His eyes, which had been so focused on Dean, are glued to the cushions of the couch they are sitting on, stubbornly refusing to meet Dean’s gaze.
The worst thing, however, is the silence, because there are so many things Cas could say. So many ways he could respond, could show he is starting to understand. Could convey that Dean is in fact making the point he is trying to make.
Then again, words have never been Dean’s strong suit, so their ineffectiveness shouldn’t be a shock to him. He curses under his breath, once again rubbing a hand over his face. He needs Cas to understand. But what can he do if his words aren’t enough?
He averts his eyes, unable to face the guilt that shows so clearly on Cas’ face. Looking at the other man hurts. Not because he is upset with Cas—not in any way Cas thinks he is, anyway—but because he completely understands why Cas is reacting like he is.
It isn’t like Dean has made his love for sex a secret. Hell, if there is anything he’ll ever shout off the rooftops, it would probably be ‘I love sex.’
More than that, though, he loves Cas. More than anything, really. And that is what he wants to show Cas; that there are other things, things that mean so much more than sex—that are so much more special and fantastic and so, so important.
Resolutely, Dean looks up and grabs Cas’ wrist. “Come with me,” he says, standing up and pulling Cas along to his bedroom. He tries not to think too hard on the fact that Cas comes, willingly, unquestioningly, simply following Dean and not protesting as he is led to Dean’s bedroom—probably thinking Dean is going to have sex with him.
Cas seems resolute about it, too, his face stubborn, brave, like he’s mentally preparing himself to do this for Dean because he loves him. Like he’ll do it, for Dean, even if he doesn’t really want to. The thought alone makes Dean’s heart ache.
Once they are in his bedroom, Dean gently guides Cas onto the bed. He toes off his boots before flopping down next to him, and settles with an arm around Cas’ shoulders, pulling him close until his head is resting on Dean’s chest.
It’s been a long time since he last held someone like this. Just held them, and not done anything else.
Cas shifts against him awkwardly, and shoots him a questioning look, his eyes big and lost, like he’s wondering what to do next—like he’s wondering when the clothes will come off.
Dean just lies still, cradling Cas in his arms, one hand sliding up into Cas’ hair, fingers playing with the strands in way he hopes is soothing. Dean’s heart his hammering in his throat and, suddenly, he’s nervous.
But Cas shifts back, his forehead once again resting against Dean’s chest, and Dean’s fingers tighten in Cas’ hair, pulling him just a little bit closer. He plants a quiet kiss on top of Cas’ head.
“Dean, I don’t— What do I do?” Cas whispers against his chest.
Dean shakes his head, his lips brushing across Cas’ head as he does so. Nothing, Cas, he tries to convey. Just be here with me.
After a while, Cas seems to settle in against him, the last of his tense muscles relaxing, his head resting just that little bit more comfortably against Dean’s chest. He can probably hear the way Dean’s heart is banging inside his ribcage. Dean hopes it sounds more soothing than it feels.
Lying like that, for who knows how long, somehow, the tension slowly slips away. Dean doesn’t realise Cas has closed his eyes until he carefully looks down at him. Cas looks... peaceful. Relaxed. Dean puffs out a soft breath of relief and curls his fingers into the nape of Cas’ neck, cradling it as he leans in to kiss Cas’ forehead; just a slow press of lips.
Somehow, with that one kiss, Cas seems to melt into him.
“This is what matters, Cas,” Dean whispers softly, now pressing their foreheads together, their noses just inches apart. The blue of Cas’ eyes is overwhelming when they slide open just a fraction of an inch, meeting Dean’s gaze. He looks like he’s listening, no longer lost. Dean reaches out to hold Cas’ hand.
“This is important,” Dean continues, his voice no longer a whisper, but still just as soft. “This is what I want for you—for us. Sex is something trivial. Compared to this”—he squeezes Cas’ hand—“right here... It means nothing.”
Cas blinks slowly, like a cat, and for a second Dean’s heart is frozen in limbo, hoping—praying—for Cas to finally understand. A soft, almost shy smile spreads across Cas’ features. “Okay.”
Just that one simple word gives Dean air again, gives him room to breathe. He presses another kiss to Cas’ forehead. “Okay,” he agrees, his lips brushing Cas’ skin. “Okay.”
And just like that, everything seems right again. Because people can say a lot of shit about Dean, but one thing they can’t say is that he doesn’t love Castiel. More than anything.