Chapter Text
Dean was used to being alone, to waiting on the front porch for the call for his dad, beer in hand, despite his youthful age. Dean was used to looking over Kansas fields as his brother ran with their dog,
Dean called for Sam, a course, yet affectionate thing, waiting for his younger brother to follow him inside before yanking open the screen door and wandering into the kitchen. Dean downs whats left of his beer, throwing it into the trash, listening for a moment to the sound of glass hitting glass before rolling up the sleeves of his flannel and turning on the stove.
Dean makes quick work of his cooking, boiling the water for pasta, chopping the garlic and throwing seasonings and crushed tomatoes into a pot. Sam is quiet, watching his older brother work in silence.
Dean doesn't talk either. It is not an uncomfortable silence; it is warm and envelopes them like a blanket, as quiet as a night in the forest and brought about by years of the Same quiet comfort. The dog whines, and Sam chuckles, rising from his seat at the table to feed the skinny thing.
Dean looks out of the corner of his eye at the boy, at their similar stature and the familiar way his brother somehow manages to bump into everything, unused to his newfound height.
Dean curls his upper lip at the reminder of his own slowing growth spurt, ugly face falling away as he adds the box of pasta to the water, and covering it as the sauce begins to bubble. Dean covers the pot, wrinkling his nose at the tomato sauce making a mess on the stove, but he knows Sam will help him clean it.
"You gonna be ready to go into freshman year?" Dean asks, making a mental note of the time as he sits across his brother.
"I guess," Sam shrugs, looking down to pet at the dog.
"Lookit me," Dean presses, leaning forward. Sam looks up face slightly obscure by his hair, and Dean grins. "It'll be fine. Senior halls n' freshman halls are close by, and you'll always have my number."
Sam nods his head, and Dean raps the table twice, glancing at the clock on the wall and humming. He rises, pressing his knee against the oven door, and checks on their food, stirring each pot separately.
"Get over 'ere," Dean says gruffly, but not unkindly. Sam grabs a spoon out of the dish drainer, presenting it to Dean with a flourish. Dean laughs, and dips the spoon into the pasta sauce, blowing the steam off before passing it to his brother. Sam nods and hums, passing the spoon back, and Dean mimics him, taste testing the sauce.
Dean turns off the heat, and checks the pasta, brother backing off as he brings the pot to the sink. Sam fetches the colander, and sidles next to his brother. He places it in the sink, and Dean hums thankfully as he pour the pasta into the colander. "Are ya' excited to see Cas?" Sam teases, and Dean sputters, almost dropping the pot.
Dean hisses as the pot slips, leaving him to just barely lift it back up before it falls into the sink. "What's it t' you?" He growls, and Sam chuckles.
"Nothin'," the boy laughs, dancing around his brother to fetch bowls and forks from the drainer.
Dean grumbles, putting the pot in the other sink and filling it with water. He picks up the colander, shaking the water out of it, and taking tongs to portion it out. There's enough for lunch tomorrow, assuming no one gets seconds, a fact which pleases the teen.
Sam and Dean both eat with gusto, laughing over random things and affectionately mocking each other. Dean keeps most of his attention on his brother, a small amount of it waiting for the ring of the home-phone. It never comes.
John has never been the best at calling his kids, always choosing to believe that Dean can take care of him and his younger brother in an emergency rather than himself. He always leaves the boys with a couple hundred dollars, and the keys to his Impala, "Only for groceries," he says.
He doesn't seem to consider that hospital bills will be higher if the need arises, and that Dean is above taking the bus to school.
Dean sighs at the sight of the keys on his dresser, but he knows by now his dad will look the other way if he takes the car to school, always trusting Dean to never take the beautiful car for a joyride.
He slips out of his day clothes, flinching when he turns the wrong way, old bruises still letting pain seep deep into his bones. Dean sighs, changing quickly and collapsing on his bed. He flicks off the lamp on his bedside table, but picks up his phone. He opens it with a few clicks on the broken screen, opening his contacts list. He stares longingly at Cas' contact, and then drops his phone face down on the bed.
When they'd finished junior year, Dean had snatched Cas's phone, punching his number in quickly while Cas struggled to retrieve his phone. Dean had put Cas in a headlock against his chest, rested his chin atop Cas's head, and snapped a photo before releasing the boy.
Cas had only stared at him when he gave the device back, looking up at Dean skeptically. "Call me anytime," Dean had shrugged, doing his best to be nonchalant, knowing full well his acting could be a hit or miss with the smaller teen.
Dean's cocky pretending aside, he was ashamed to admit when Cas had texted him that night, just a simple Congratulations, message, he had blushed while watching a movie with Sam.
Sam had caught on immediately, but Dean played it off nonetheless.
Dean still hadn't found the will, nor the courage, to call Cas, or even text, his reply to Cas's message at the beginning of summer aside.
Dean sighed, looking up at the ceiling of his dingy room. He missed Cas, missed his eternally confused voice and the way he looks lost. Dean rests his arm behind his head, settling his other on his stomach. Dean inhaled, wordlessly, sliding his hand down the smooth expanse of his stomach to the waistband of his pants.
Dean swallows, slipping his hand into his sweatpants, and grabs his length. He strokes himself to hardness, closing his eyes and begins to imagine that it is Cas's pretty hand on his dick, whispering words of encouragement. Dean's inner voice whispers that Cas would never be so forward, but he brushes it aside, focusing on Cas's mouth, how it would look on him, around him, how his eyes would tear up as Dean thrusted into his throat.
Dean comes back to himself, thrusting into his hand rather than Imaginary Cas's mouth, and muffles a whimper as he comes. Dean sighs, carefully lifting his hand out of his pants with a look of disgust. He grabs a dirty shirt from the floor of his room, and wipes come off his hand. He settles back in bed, feeling dry heat set into his bones once more, and falls asleep with a groan and a sigh.
Dean isn't as ready as he thought he was to see Cas again. He wasn't ready to have Cas's eyes staring into him once more, and he much less wasn't ready to pick him up on their way to school. Cas was walking to their high school, no doubt having missed the bus, as unusual as it was.
Sam groans, climbing into the backseat, and Dean smiles. He pulls over on the side of the road, Kansas playing loudly, and honks once. Dean idles the car to where Cas is, leaning over to open the door. Cas climbs into the car with a smile, adjusting the passenger seat so its closer to the dash.
"Hi," Dean laughs, beginning to drive.
"Hi," Cas replies, hugging his bag. Sam mocks the two in the back seat, leaning forward to turn up the music. Dean gives him a mean look, but Sam knows there's no bite behind it.
They pull up to the school, and Dean lowers the music as Cas gets out.
"Come on up," Dean says, and Sam does so, grimacing at how cramped his seat now is. "Now, got your phone?" Sam holds the device up, much newer and less broken than Dean's own.
"You're gonna go up to the front office, and ask for a schedule," Dean enunciates. "I'ont care what the other kids are doing, but i don't want'cha wandering around like a lost puppy, got it?" Sam nods, and Dean grins, clapping his brothers shoulder.
"Let's go, moose," Dean laughs, climbing out of the drivers seat, and waiting for Sam to do the same on the other side. Dean locks the car, slipping his keys into his pocket. Sam reaches out with Dean's bag, and he takes it without a word. Dean gives Sam a grin and a wink as he trails off to his group of friends, and Sam goes to look for his own.
"Boys," Dean grins, group greeting him with pats on the shoulders and well wishes.
"Dean, you old slag," one of them laughs, some nameless jock that Dean doesn't even know.
"Jack?" Dean guesses hesitantly, and the jock laughs, clapping him on the shoulder once more. Dean looks with wide eyes to where Cas stands, and finds the thinner teen laughing.
Dean grins, patiently waiting for the bell, and tries not to get caught looking at Cas for too long. More than once Cas catches his gaze, but its happened so often in the year since they met that they have an unspoken arrangement to never talk about it.
Time flies, Dean just going through the familiar motions of another first school day. He waits patiently in the Impala for his brother, and wonders if Cas needs a ride back home.
Dean closes his eyes, leaning back to bask in the warmth of the sunlight, and his father's face flashes through his mind. Dean's brows furrow, hating the memory of his father looking down at him, belt in hand.
Dean didn't even remember what he'd done to deserve the beating that time, but he knew his father no doubt knew about his impurities, his selfish lust for his closest friend.
Some instinctual part of John told him to beat the gay away, to bruise Dean clean of his sacrilegious lust and homosexuality.
Dean winces, reliving each blow silently, and is snapped out of his memory by his brother finally entering the car. "Are you okay?" Sam asks, whispering, and Dean slowly opens his eyes. He inhales once, reaching out blindly for his brothers smaller hand. Sam takes it wordlessly, and Dean squeezes once, before dropping his hand.
"I'm fine," He exhales, and ignores the looks of concern Sam casts at him. Dean puts on a grin, for his own sake, not his brothers. "How was school?" he asks, putting the car in reverse to drive home.
"It was good," Sam beams, going along with the act, also for Dean's sake.
"That's great, moose," Dean laughs, watching out of the corner of his eye at the way his brothers nose wrinkles. Dean chuckles, turning on the music and rolling down his window. Sam follows suit, sticking his head out of the window, floppy hair flying around.
"Put your head in," Dean chides, "You'll catch flies in your mouth."
Sam grimaces, but he knows its only a joke. He obeys nonetheless, and settles into his seat. The drive home is filled with Sam's quiet teasing, snide remarks revolving completely around Cas.
John is home when they get back. Dean isn't sure how he got home, the truck stop he's supposed to park at being miles away, but here he is nonetheless. Dean swallows as he pulls up in front of the house, gripping the steering wheel. He turns off the car, listening to the engine die down, and he feels John's eyes on the back of his neck as he climbs out, Sam following suit.
Sam knows by know what to do. He runs into the house, bringing his bags with him, waiting by the phone in the event he needs to call Bobby, or worse—an ambulance.
"You're home," Dean says, not masking the quaver in his voice. John catches it, latching on to it.
"Yessir," he says. John's gaze keeps Dean from climbing up the stairs, and the boy chooses lingering at the handrail instead. "Come on up boy," John says, patting the empty seat of the swinging bench.
Dean does as his father commands, sitting on the bench and picking at the flaking paint with a worn down fingernail.
"See ya' took the car out," John says, voice low, leaning forward to hiss the words in Dean's face. Dean continues to look forward, and flinches when John puts his hand on his shoulder. "What did i tell ya'?"
"Only groceries and emergencies," Dean replies, stiff with fear.
"Tha's right, and what did you do?" John presses.
"Took the car out."
John nods. "Good boy," he says affectionately, but Dean knows its a ruse. "Where'd you take her?"
Dean lowers his head, and John grips the boys shoulder. "School," he whispers.
"Really," John laughs. "I didn't know it started already."
"Started today," Dean murmurs, so quietly John almost can't hear him.
"Is 'at right," John chuckles, rising off the bench. He pulls open the screen door, and is halfway through when he realizes Dean hasn't followed him. "Whate'er you doin' boy?"
Dean's head whips up, and he pushes off the bench, wood hitting the back of his knees. "Comin' sir," Dean replies, following his father through the door. Sam still waits at the home phone, receiver lifted to his ear and first-aid kit on the table. He blinks, and lowers the receiver quietly, and follows his dad and brother into the living room. He only lingers near the door, still not considering the danger to be over.
"Sammy?" John asks, Sam's head whipping up. "Beer for your old man and big brother please." Sam rushes from where he lingers in the door, and comes back with bottles for the two of them. Sam sits stiffly next to Dean, knees brushing each other to gain a sense of comfort.
John chooses to ignore the action, just as he did Sam with the phone and first-aid kit at the ready. John reaches for the remote, and flicks on the TV, scrolling through what films and shows are available.
John is home for three more days. He gets drunk and hits Dean for two of them. On the last day, he drives the boys to school, and walks with Dean to the office, signing the teen up for what John considers mandatory sports, also known as football and soccer.
"He's gonna be on the Chiefs one day," John brags to the receptionist, filling out all the sports forms as Dean stands awkwardly behind him. She nods, just as awkward as Dean, and he feels a pang of jealousy for her flawless smile that no doubt is a result of parents exactly like his.
"Well," john exclaimed, tapping the pen against the paper, "I'll be back to pick you up when football gets out," John smiles, giving the receptionist a smile. He claps Dean on the shoulder, and the teen knows full well the woman caught the way he flinched, caught the bruises peeking out of his shirt.
"You okay son?" She asks, leaning forward, mouth creased with worry.
"I'm fine," Dean smiles, stiffly walking to class.
John is not there to pick Dean and Sam up when football gets out. By the time Dean's ready to go, Sam having waiting in the bleachers patiently, all the buses have gone. Dean begs a jock for a ride, but is ignored.
Dean had played with all of these meat brains junior year, been in their little clique for prom and said cruel things about cheerleaders together, but that didn't matter now. When Cas had transferred, Dean had grown tired of that life, choosing to ignore his old group in favor of the quiet, awkward boy.
Dean and Sam walk home. Sam tells him about school, about how he's finally getting used to walking to each class and finally had his locker code memorized.
John isn't home when the boys are either. Instead, the Impala is parked in its tiny lot, the house door unlocked and keys on the coat hook next to the door.
Dean considers how much he misses Cas as he and his brother clean the living room. He hadn't been able to hang out with his friends after school, what with the oppressive weight of his father's presence following him everywhere, much less jerk off in the quiet hours of night.
Dean needed to fuck someone. Anyone would do at this point, a cheerleader or her nerdy cousin, hell, maybe even her jock boyfriend.
Sam calls Cas as he cooks that night. Dean is standing at the stove, tending to the nights soup, when Sam takes advantage of the fact his phone has been left out.
Dean doesn't question why his brother is giggling as he cooks, stirring the soup gently. He knows his brother can be a happy person, when their dad is gone and Sam no longer feels the need to keep quiet and make a snarky remark here and there, just to show he's alive.
"Yeah, he's cooking."
Now that, gets Dean's attention, making him run through all the possibilities in a split second. He spins around, wood spoon still in hand and a carrot flung across the kitchen. Sam laughs into his brother's phone, relaying the events to god knows who.
Dean drops the spoon back in the pot, walks to his brother, and snatches the phone out of his brother's hand. "Who is this?" Dean asks hesitantly, not checking the contact name.
"It's Cas," answers a wheezing voice, and Dean feels his heart soar as the boy laughs into the microphone. "Sam says you yeeted a carrot."
Dean wrinkles his nose, but tucks his phone up against his face with his shoulder, walking back to tend to his food. "I have no idea what that means," Cas adds, "But it seems really fun." His voice is affectionate, and Dean feels a longing in his chest.
"You can always come over," Dean hesitantly adds, leaning against the counter to hold his phone to his face.
"I'd like that," Cas replies softly, and Dean can feel his heart beat in his chest. "I gotta go now," Cas whispers, and Dean feels his high drop ever so slightly.
"That's cool, just-" Dean looks at where Sam is pumping his fists excitedly- "let me know when you wanna come over and we can give you a ride."
"Okay."
When the phone is hung up and returned to Dean's back pocket, Dean allows himself to breath, to turn back to the soup and try to hide his grin in the steam. Sam grins, not saying a word.
"Little shit," Dean hisses.
"You love me," Sam laughs, fetching their usual dinner dishes. The kitchens been a mess since John came home, dishes stacking up in the sink and trash desperately needing to be taken out.
Sam begins to take care of it, humming some song as he does so. Dean serves the soup into bowls, leaving them on the dining table to cool, and puts bread in the toaster. He takes out the trash, careful to put the lid back on the bin. "Goddamn critters," he mutters. Dean figures they're gonna have to call Bobby soon, to take their trash to the dump and restock on beer.
Dean and Sam eat together at the table, quiet, comfortable, in peace, all the things they don't have when John is there.
Dean is allowed to fantasize about Cas that night. He replays a memory of Cas's pencil in between his lips, of the way he looked up at Dean, completely unaware of what he was doing to the teen. Dean strokes himself, wishing those lips were on his own, Cas's fingers dancing on his skin and mouth pressing kisses into the hollow of his throat.
Dean groans Cas's name into his forearm, biting down as he comes.
Sam is awake all the while, cringing in disgust. He bites back a whispered insult, and contemplates on how to set his elder brother up with his crush. He supposes it hasn't gone so well in the past, but he can always manipulate the situation some more.
Sam would much more prefer meddling than hearing his brother whimper Cas's name into what was supposed to be the silent night.