Work Text:
They’d always done it, ever since they were very small.
Cas couldn’t remember when it had started. His first memory was already bathed in reassuring familiarity, just the brush of its sepia warmth across his mind enough to make him smile; in it, they were seven and a half, sitting in the hallway at Dean’s house, waiting for Cas’ mother to come and pick him up. On opposite sides of the narrow room, backs against the walls, they’d pressed the soles of their bare feet together. The dust from playing in the yard earlier had been in between their small toes.
“What’s your deepest darkest secret?” Cas had asked, watching Dean, whose face had been illuminated by the trickling light through the panels of glass in the front door. He’d had a swish of blue paint on his cheek.
“You know all my secrets,” Dean had replied easily. He’d wiggled his toes, and Cas had felt it, and wiggled his own back.
“Something you didn’t tell me yet,” Cas had insisted. He could remember the press in his little chest, the need he’d had to know Dean inside out, for there to be no surprises left. To have everything be known, and familiar, and safe.
Dean had shrugged.
“I…” he’d said slowly. The touch of their soles was a warm reassurance. Dean had cast a nervous glance over at the door to the kitchen, where Mary could be heard clattering pots and cutlery as she emptied the dishwasher. “OK. I – I took a bite out of my birthday cake early this year. It was just sitting on the table before my party and I just lifted it up off the plate and scooped out a bit with my hand and…” Dean had thrown another furtive look towards the kitchen. “You can’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t,” Cas had said seriously.
Dean had looked into his eyes for a moment, and then smiled, satisfied. “Your turn.”
Cas remembered blinking slowly, tilting his head at Dean. Dean had grinned and mirrored him, tilting his own head comically far to the left.
In the end, Cas had said simply, “I want to be friends forever.”
Dean had wrinkled his nose.
“’Course we’ll be friends forever,” he’d said.
Cas could still hear Dean saying it, now. He smiled to himself, wrapping up in the warm-scarf memory as he trudged through the snow on the way to Dean’s house. That hadn’t been the last time they’d sat opposite each other, bare feet pressed together. They’d remembered how it had felt, to touch in such an unfamiliar place, to press their tender and sensitive soles together and feel – accepted, and understood, in a way that no one else could make them feel. Cas would never press his soles against anyone else’s but Dean’s. Throughout the years, that had never changed; it was a special place on each of their bodies, saved just for the other.
They’d ask to do it, sometimes, with weighted looks and raised eyebrows, knowing each other well enough to communicate without the embarrassment of words – they’d strip off their shoes and socks with a kind of slow, relaxed ceremony, and press their soles with a familiar kind of wonder. Once, they’d done it at school, tucked away into a quiet backroom, when Dean had come to Cas in panic, a tightness in his shoulders, his breath coming fast. Fifteen years old, dwarfed by his leather jacket.
“Tell me,” Cas had said, when they were braced against the dusty walls of the dingy backroom, surrounded by stationery supplies in cardboard boxes and several mops and buckets. Dean’s feet had been cold, and he couldn’t meet Cas’ eyes – but it had still been there, the intimacy, the sensation of strange closeness. Dean’s face had been slotted in light, the lattice of the backroom door leaving strange shadows over his features.
“Cas – Cas, I – I just – I – God, this is so – I can’t tell you,” he’d said, and almost pulled his feet away, but Cas had caught his eye, stilled him with a look. Dean had let out a sigh, and relaxed his legs. “God. OK. I’m just gonna say it. Cas – shit, God, OK – Cas, I – you’re not gonna think of me differently, are you?”
Cas had said nothing, only looked. Dean had blinked down at his lap.
“Yeah. You’re right, I’m being stupid. Cas – Cas, I’m – I don’t know for sure, but I think I might be – I might be gay. Or, uh, I dunno. Because I’m – I think – I like, uh, looking at some guys, but I still like some girls, too…” He’d been blushing furiously; Cas had been able to feel the way he’d been shaking through their feet.
Cas had only been able to stare at him, his heart thudding.
After a moment, Dean had looked up at Cas. “Well… that’s it,” he’d managed to say, desperately shy. “Um. Your turn, I guess?”
Cas had sighed.
“I don’t care who you like looking at and who you don’t,” he’d said. Dean’s eyes had jerked up to meet his gaze, his eyes filling up with tears as he’d looked and looked, disbelieving.
“You – you don’t mind?” he’d said. Cas had shaken his head. The idea of disliking Dean was alien enough, but disliking Dean for something like this? It had been unthinkable – and Dean had been able to read that on Cas’ face. His shoulders had shaken, hands over his eyes, his relief too great to hold inside. Castiel hadn’t said anything, hadn’t demanded anything, had only sat still and quiet and as calm as he could. After a little while, Dean had choked out a laugh.
“You know, um. That doesn’t count as your deepest, darkest secret,” he’d said. “It’s still your turn.”
Cas had opened his mouth, not sure what he was going to say. He’d looked right into Dean’s eyes – even today, he could still remember the exact way Dean had looked, tear tracks still on his cheeks, grinning shakily, a mess of nerves and happiness.
“It makes me happy that you told me first,” he said softly. He wasn’t sure why this felt like a secret, but it did – perhaps because he wouldn’t normally say it out loud. “I like being the person you trust for something like this.”
Dean’s face had relaxed into surprise, and then his smile had returned, all the wider.
“I’m glad I told you first, too. God, I was so scared. I know I shouldn’t’ve been, but… it’s a thing, you know? I’m all twisted up about it anyway, let alone having to tell people. Or, I was. I, uh. I don’t feel so bad about it anymore. I think I wanna tell my family, maybe. Definitely Sam. And Mom. I just wanted to ask you… how you think I should do it? I have no idea.”
They’d grinned at each other, soles still firmly pressed together. They’d accidentally skipped their English class that day, just talking and laughing in that tiny backroom, surrounded by blank paper and unused staples and pens and scissors. They’d been so easy in each other’s company, giving advice and sharing their thoughts with bare truth, no need to hold back.
It had never occurred to either of them that they might someday not be the person they went to first with news, with worries, with questions.
They were right not to be concerned about it. They were far too good to each other, every day, in the tiniest ways, to ever grow apart.
And down the years, they’d shared so many things with their soles together. As Cas walked on through the snow towards Dean’s house, he ran through the memories like touching the tips of his fingers over the spines of his favourite books; all the secrets they’d shared…
I’m failing Math. I don’t like Led Zeppelin like you do. I don’t want to work at my dad’s auto shop. I want to be a writer someday. I didn’t really kiss that girl, but she told everyone I did and I just went along with it. I tell everyone I lose my phone every time we hang out, so that it can just be you and me. I ate the whole of the pie that Mom baked in one sitting and I told her Sam ate half. I told Gabriel I dropped a book he lent me in a puddle and I never gave it back to him because I loved it so much. I’m scared about college, because it means we won’t be in the same place every day. I’m going to miss doing this. I’m going to miss you. I’m going to miss you, too.
Castiel’s throat tightened when he thought of those last ones. The earnestness in Dean’s face… the sadness – it was giving him the courage to do what he was going to do now. To say what he was going to say, before it was too late.
The snow was thick on the ground, but Cas still managed to make it to Dean’s house in fairly good time, his hands deep in his pockets to keep them from turning blue. He was wearing the bright blue beanie that Dean had given him for Christmas, and it was keeping his ears warm. He rang the doorbell, and shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.
It was Dean who opened the front door, grinning as soon as he saw who it was. His expression shifted when he saw Cas’ face; as usual, he was unconsciously attentive to the language of Cas’ body, the subtle signs of nervousness and hesitation. Today, as always, he knew what was needed.
“Come on,” he said, smiling reassuringly. “Bedroom.”
They headed upstairs, Cas kicking off his snowboots in the hallway and shedding his thick coat and hat as soon as he walked through the door to Dean’s bedroom. A lot had been added to it since Cas had first walked in, all those years ago – different posters, new books, clothes on the floor, pictures of the two of them in more places – but underneath those layers, the room was still the same. Cas touched the back of his hand to the side of Dean’s wooden wardrobe as he passed by, knocking on it for luck, like he always did.
Dean, meanwhile, was already sitting on the floor and taking off his socks.
“We’ll never get over doing this, will we,” he said, as Cas sat down opposite him. “Eighteen years old and still going strong.”
Cas couldn’t seem to speak past the nervousness, tight and cold in his throat, so he responded only with a smile. What Dean had said was, of course, quite true. For Cas, at least. He would never get tired of doing this – of feeling… well, whatever the opposite of alone was, even though they weren’t quite together.
And that, today, was what he was hoping to change. He and Dean had always been close enough to live inside each other’s pockets, speak for the other with assurance, trust each other without hesitation. But more and more often as the years went by and the deep, dark secrets came out, Cas found himself feeling as though he were walking along the edge of a sheer cliff face – with a chasm beyond, a secret that went deeper and darker than any other he had ever shared. Recently, with the threat of separation looming over them, Cas had come to understand the nature of this secret in its entirety; it had all added up, the moments of tension between them, the sensation of nervous excitement in his stomach when they were together, the warmth of his skin wherever Dean touched him… and the ache all over when he wanted more, more, more.
Now, here he was. Sitting on the floor of Dean’s bedroom, about to tell him the truth.
“So, Cas,” Dean said, leaning back against the wall and stretching out his legs. Cas sat up against Dean’s bed, and pressed the soles of his feet against Dean’s. “What’s your deepest, darkest secret?”
And Cas’ brain stalled. He’d only resolved to actually tell Dean about an hour before, and on the walk over to Dean’s house he’d been far too occupied with the butterflies in his stomach and the whirling in his head to have actually figured out how he was going to phrase this. If he was being honest with himself, he hadn't thought that he'd have the courage to make it this far; several times on the walk, he’d almost turned back.
A large part of Cas now wished that he had, in fact, turned back.
Dean was watching him, letting him think out whatever he had to say, obviously concerned but not putting any pressure on Cas to speak before he was ready. Cas let out the breath that he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. This was Dean. He could tell Dean anything. He just had to… start talking.
“D-Dean,” Cas said, unsticking his throat with an effort. Dean’s feet were warm against his own, the same twin points of strange vulnerability that they’d always been. “Dean, I… I… we’ve been friends for so long, and – and you know how much I value that. And normally I would never do anything to jeopardise it. But there’s something… something that I feel like I have to tell you, something you don’t know yet, and…” he trailed off. He was making this sound very dramatic, but it was dramatic, he was terrified and his heart was pounding and his fingers were shaking…
“Cas, man, you’re scaring me,” Dean said, his face caught in a nervous half-smile. “What’s going on?”
Cas frowned down at his hands, clasping them together to stop them trembling. He closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them again, looking into Dean’s eyes. There was his comfort, his courage, his best friend. Cas wanted to tell him the truth.
He opened his mouth to speak.
“Dean, I’m in love with you,” Cas said. His voice didn’t shake, not even once, and he was proud of that, at least. “I – um. I almost wish I didn’t have to tell you, because I know this will change things between us. But I can’t keep hiding things from you, because that’s changing things between us too. I want to be open with you, like I’ve always been, and I…” Cas shrugged, his throat closing up again as the magnitude of what he’d done set in. Dean’s face seemed frozen, his mouth open, his expression unreadable.
After a little silence, Dean finally spoke.
“Cas, you – you really – you’re not just, uh, playing a joke?”
Cas blinked at him.
“Why would I say I loved you for a joke?” he said. “No. I mean it.”
Dean swallowed hard, seeming to be looking for the right words. Cas could only watch, feeling a small part of himself crushed down to nothing – the part of himself that had… that had actually hoped that maybe, just maybe…
He’d been a fool. And now Dean was uncomfortable, and he was thinking things that he wasn’t saying, which was the opposite of the point of soles together, and –
“Cas,” Dean said, his voice barely above a whisper, still looking stunned. “Cas, I love you, too.”
The world stopped. Everything slowed down to a strange, soft, dreamlike pace. Cas watched Dean’s eyes flicker down towards his lap, and then back up to Cas’ face, in gentle slow-motion. He felt his own mouth falling open, registering his own shock from a long, long distance.
“Dean, you – you –? This isn’t – you’re not…?”
“I’m not joking,” Dean said. His feet, still up against Cas’, were a steady, reassuring weight. “I’m not. Cas, I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you for years. I… God, Cas, I think about you all the time, and before it was – well, you know, we were kids, but then – then I, uh, you know – figured out I was into guys too, and – Christ, Cas, do you have any idea how attractive you are?” The last sentence came out strained with Dean’s emotion, full of feelings that he’d kept to himself for too long, hiding them just like Cas had hidden them. Now that Dean could speak freely, the dam had been broken and the river water was bursting through; Cas’ heart was thudding furiously in his chest, his disbelief slowly melting away…
“If it’s anything like how attractive you are,” Cas managed to say, “then I think I understand. I thought – I used to think that I would never get together with someone, that I would never get married. Then I realised that I was just too busy being in love with you to even see anyone else.” Dean was pressing his lips together in the way that he always did right before he was going to cry; Cas’ own eyes were filling up with tears. Could this really be happening? Did they really both feel the same way? His heart was soaring, and he could believe it, he could believe it – because really, after all – it had always been him and Dean, hadn’t it?
“I think you already had your turn,” Cas said, moving his left foot slightly, taking Dean’s with it. Dean pressed harder against his soles, his tears beginning to fall. “So I’m not going to ask for your deepest, darkest secret, because I feel like you told me already.”
“I guess so,” Dean said, bringing up his hand to wipe at his face. “God. This is ridiculous.” Cas lifted his feet away from Dean’s and crawled over to him, one hand and one leg on either side of Dean’s legs. When he was up close, Cas sat back on Dean’s thighs. He wasn’t sure exactly what spirit of bravery or madness had possessed him to think taking up this pose was a good idea, but he had to thank that wayward entity for the way that Dean’s jaw loosened with surprise, his eyes wide and his lips slightly parted. It felt so good, so right, to be this close…
“Kiss me,” Dean said, bringing his hands up to rest on Cas’ hips. “Cas. Just – kiss me. Please.”
Cas reached up, his fingertips tracing the lightest patterns over Dean’s face. He leaned forwards, and kissed Dean’s cheek, his heart beating fast but steady. With one hand cupping Dean’s face, he leant back.
“You said we’d be friends forever,” he said. Dean swallowed hard, and nodded.
“We will,” he said. “And – and I’m gonna be in love with you forever, too. God, I love you so much.”
And Cas couldn’t resist any longer, couldn’t bring himself to tease out the sweetness of this moment for a single second more; with one hand still touching Dean’s cheek, he leaned forwards and kissed him.
The press of their lips was like the press of their soles, a strange vulnerability, a new way to touch skin that was special, and only for each other. They relaxed into it, finding themselves at home at once in the taste and feel of the other’s kiss. When they were together like this, there was nothing between them, no secrets, no dark and hidden dangers, nothing left unsaid. In the light of their love, they kissed each other warm.
Outside, the snow fell softly. Each snowflake fell as it should, and settled.