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stusbunker · 1 year

Text

Smoking Spirits on the Roof

Thank you to @michaelsworddean for the throwback Misha pic and @talesmaniac89 for the divider

Featuring: Dean/Cas

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.5k

Other characters: Sam, Anna, Gabriel, Bobby/Rufus, brief mention of past Dean/Cassie, Michael, Chuck, Naomi, Samandriel, Garth, Benny, Gordon and Sam/Jess at the end.

Summary: When Dean shows up to a Halloween party, he isn’t expecting his entire world to change. But that’s what happens when he drunkenly makes out with the mysterious Castiel, a brother of a friend of a friend. Follow Dean as he navigates Cas’ world and works to be the boyfriend Cas deserves.

Song fic, inspired by Tyler Childers’ Feathered Indians

Warnings, etc.: Drunken hook up, handjobs, driving under the influence and then not, Sam’s a lightweight, RELIGIOUS families and the way some of them are shitty, John Winchester’s A+ parenting, being closeted, hidden relationship, fellatio, first times, drug use, unsafe sex, HEA, seriously it’s actually pretty fluffy.

Big thank you to @thoughtslikeaminefield for her support, edits, and pre-reads.

Well my buckle makes impressions

On the inside of her thigh

There are little feathered Indians

Where we tussled through the night

If anyone asked him, Dean just said it was what he had available. But if you really knew Dean, you’d know that the costume he wore that night was born from a deep seeded interest— some may call a fetish— in cowboy culture, films and legend.

He tips his hat as he walks into the kitchen of Benny’s upper, Garth in aviators follows with Sam in overalls behind him. Sam was lucky he was so huge otherwise Dean wouldn’t risk bringing a high schooler to his friends’ party. And as his big brother, he made sure Sam knew it before they headed out that night.

Benny’s roommate Gordon is manning the keg, decked out in full ninja gear with foam swords that cross his back. His dark eyes smile when he sees Dean, and they fist bump in greeting before passing plastic cups to Garth and Sam.

“Didn’t think you’d show,” Gordon calls over the ruckus, keeping the drink line moving.

Dean shrugs and replies, loudly. “Didn’t really have any other plans, figured it couldn’t hurt.”

“Well, you know where the big man will be.”

Dean nods, then thumbs towards the back porch. “Andrea bring any friends?”

Gordon smirks, and Dean feels it behind the mask. “Yeah, she’s got a whole Greek Chorus out there.”

Dean hedges his chances and brings his entourage outside to mingle. The deck is almost at maximum capacity. And Dean sees what Gordon meant, there are three or four girls and a couple of guys all in togas, hanging around Benny and Andrea with their spray-painted leaf crowns. There are the customary sexy nurses and cats and a few guys too unoriginal to be anything but some kind of athlete with their favorite jersey thrown on for the night.

“Hail to the King!” Dean jeers, swaggering over to Benny for a jovial handshake and a side hug for Benny’s long-time girlfriend. “And her majesty, looking gorgeous as ever.”

“Eyes front, John Wayne,” Benny drawls. “This Sammy?”

Sam waves awkwardly and Garth finger guns. “Hey, Andrea, who are your friends?”

Dean rolls his eyes but lets Garth get the introductions.

“Meg and Anna are my sorority sisters, and this is Anna’s real brother Castiel and their cousin Gabriel. And Bela and Billie are up for the weekend, we grew up together.”

Everyone smiles or at least nods at the acknowledgment of their names. Then Garth is off, “well I’m your Top Gun Garth Fitzgerald the Fourth, with my two compatriots, Dastardly Dean Winchester and his hayseed of a brother Samuel.”

“Sam is fine,” Sammy points out, ducking his head nervously.

Dean just tips his hat again.

He catches a few eyes, but the unshakeable stare of the taller guy makes Dean swallow around whatever follow-up quip he’d been working on after Garth’s eagerness. And from that two hours, four shots, and three beers later, Dean is wrapped around the guy in the kitchen pantry, sloppy and silly, making out like they’re on a timer.

Seven minutes in heaven indeed.

The guy, Castiel, is strong, and solid. He shoves Dean back against the door and bites Dean’s bottom lip before slotting their legs together to get some frictional relief. Dean’s both grateful and frustrated with the jeans of his costume. Cas, Dean decides to shorten it now, in the toga is practically free for the groping, but Dean’s been keeping his hands on his hips until he’s given more verbal permission.

Sometimes kissing is enough. Sometimes, it’s hard to stop once you get started.

Sometimes Dean's a chicken shit.

He lost his hat somewhere on the floor, but he's still got his boots on and that oversized belt buckle he's saved for just an opportunity like this to present itself. And it's his belt buckle that snags on the rope tie of Cas' toga.

Cas pulls away with an annoyed grunt, tucking and twisting and gathering the flowing fabric until it’s bunched around his waist and Dean thinks he sees the hem of some white boxers in the shadows of the closet. And then he looks at Dean and tilts his head, jaw hitched and eyes imploring. “Have you ever heard that song about saving a horse?”

And then, some minutes later, Dean’s on his back, and there’s a dress's worth of sheet fanning out from either side of him as Cas writhes against him, both still fully clothed, but hard as steel as they gasp against each other’s mouths.

“I, uh, don’t usually listen to any modern country—- but I think I found a new appreciation for that song,” Dean gushes in between kisses. Dizzy and drunk on this stranger above him.

Castiel chuckles and grinds deeper. Dean sees spots and just as he realizes he’s going home with spunky shorts, there’s a bang on the door.

“Dean-o! Your brother’s puking his guts out!”

“Fuck off!” Dean hollers back before Benny finishes talking. “Christ,” he mutters under his breath, letting his head drop back onto the floor. He runs his hands up and down Cas’ thighs, feeling his retreating erection make room between them.

“Do you need to go?” Cas asks, voice low and forgiving.

Dean peers out of one eye. “Need to? No. But I’m gonna, just wanna—”

Dean finds Cas beneath all those layers, hot and heavy and somehow still hard. Cas groans at the rough tug of Dean’s hand, but he leans forwards and kisses Dean filthy as he lets this midnight cowboy get him off. At least the train makes for easy concealment and clean-up, for Cas, Dean thinks.

Begrudgingly, Dean stands to sort himself out before going to find Sam. He untucks his plaid button-up and tries to hide the dark patch on his pants. Cas hands him his hat. Dean smiles shyly and ducks into it.

“Hey, uh, think I can get your number? That was some ride,” Dean asks.

“Maybe. Go check on your brother and then find me before you go,” Cas says thoughtfully. But Dean starts to get nervous that this was all it was ever gonna be.

And then Benny’s pounding again.

It takes damn near twenty minutes to get Sam vertical and cleaned up, but with Garth’s sober, wiry strength, they get him into the backseat of the Impala. Dean dusts off his hands and looks at his friend. “Thanks, but give me like five minutes, and we can head out.”

“What?! Dean! He’s a little green in the gills to be beating around the bush,” Garth objects.

“I know, just— five minutes. Please?” Dean clamps his hand on Garth’s shoulder and begs with his eyes.

Garth agrees begrudgingly, “clock’s a’ticking.”

Dean rushes back into the house, but can’t find any sign of Cas. He spots a couple of other members of the toga crew, but none of them have the build of a centurion. He checks the den, the kitchen, even the bathroom, and then, finally, he resigns himself to being a drunken hookup.

He waves goodbye to Benny and Gordon who are in an epic battle against Bela and Andrea for the beer pong championship and mopes down the front steps.

To stop dead in his tracks.

Cas—Castiel is talking to Garth, who is apparently reassuring him that Sam is gonna be fine.

“--- won’t mind at all, in fact, it’s on the way to my place anyway.” Then the string bean notices Dean’s return. “What do you say, Dean, can we give Mr. Milton here a lift home?”

Dean straightens up and smiles, feeling ready and willing to do whatever Cas needs. “Everything alright?”

Cas clenches his fists at his sides and looks back at the house. “Uh, my sister, it appears she and Gabriel left some time ago. If it’s not too much trouble, I don’t live far.”

Dean understands his apprehension. He’s not about to draw this out in front of Garth, and least of all a shitfaced Sam. “Sure thing, man. Take shotgun, Garth can be on Sam watch for the first leg.”

Cas lives about a half mile off campus in a two-story bungalow with a well-maintained yard and three rusty cars in the driveway. No wonder he didn’t drive himself, Dean thinks.

Instead of asking for his number again, Dean gives Cas his, scratched out on the back of a gas station receipt. “Just text me to let me know you got in okay.”

It’s overkill. Everyone knows it. But no one mentions it.

Cas accepts the piece of paper and nods at Dean, never breaking eye contact. And suddenly Garth is ready to swap places with Dean for the drive to Garth’s apartment. The moment is broken, Cas lets his fingers brush against Dean’s as he tugs on the receipt, but nothing more is said.

He goes in through the side door, and the Impala backs out onto the quiet street.

If I'd known she was religious

Then I wouldn't have came stoned

To the house of such an angel

Too fucked up to get back home

Cas doesn’t text Dean until the following afternoon.

>>> I got in okay.

<<< I figured

<<<Must have been some lock

<<< glad to hear it

<<<hows it going otherwise?

They start casually talking, getting to know one another instead of just each other’s mouths and bodies. Cas is in his third year, studying ancient history with a focus on the Mediterranean. He seems very impressed with Dean being an engineering student, which isn’t the first time he’s heard it, but it still feels good.

Dean’s done with his last class with an entire day left before Thanksgiving break, so he and Benny are getting stoned and watching slasher fics. The bloodier, the better, they agreed. They’re about to start the last movie of the first trilogy when Andrea bursts in, in tears. Something about her stepmom or some family drama. Benny gives Dean a regretful look, but Dean knows when to make himself scarce. He stands to go and realizes he cannot drive. Everything is light and fluffy, and his tongue works over his teeth to give it something to do.

Dean decides to go for a walk. The fall air is crisp, and he knows the neighborhood well enough, even high as balls in the darkness of the late afternoon. He makes the brilliant decision to text Cas, to see if he’s free. Dean’s been trying not to get too attached to the stoic history major. But he can’t deny he wants to see him again and is curious to see what he only drunkenly felt on Halloween.

There are two major streets that lead into campus, and each has a minor grid of residential streets that break off in either direction, to the east it ends with the lake, to the west it ends with the river, and more pointedly, the start of the freeway. Dean heads to the west and the rows of older homes which have all slowly been turned into rental properties for the upperclassmen. The streets are full of students rushing off campus, but once Dean reaches the turn-off to Cas’ place, the chaos of the campus has quieted to normal neighborhood noises.

It’s peaceful, Dean thinks. Nothing like the crappy trailers he and Sam have been in and out of since their house burned down. Not too shabby for university housing, all in all. Cas had replied a simple ‘not much’ for his plans for the night, so Dean takes the risk. Worst case scenario, the guy isn’t even home.

So, when an acne-covered kid, who couldn’t be over fourteen, answers the door, Dean is concerned. Then the kid goes and yells at the top of his lungs, “Castiel, you have a guest!” Like they’re suddenly in some sort of Victorian novel.

Then it all clicks, this isn’t some rental, this is the house Cas lives in, with his entire family. And there are a lot of them, besides pimple face, there’s Anna and some blonde guy watching television in the den just off the foyer. Cas comes down the wide wooden staircase with a pencil behind his ear and his eyebrows pitched in alarm, pink lips pinched tight.

Dean tries to smile and wave, but he is interrupted by a short guy with curly gray hair and piercing blue eyes, lighter and more ominous than Cas’.

“Are you a friend of Castiel’s from school?”

Dean swallows because he hasn’t been asked a question like that since he hit double digits. He looks to Cas and back to his dad and holds out his hand.

“Uh, hi, I’m Dean. I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d say by— swing hi.”

“Dean—,” Cas warns softly, hand clutching the ornate railing.

“I’m Chuck, but you can call me Mr. Shurley. I’m Castiel’s dad.” The guys got a grip on him, and very soft hands. Dean nods and shakes for longer than is probably necessary, but better to be safe than sorry.

“Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Likewise,” Chuck smiles and pulls his hand back, finally.

“I didn’t realize you were already done with classes,” Castiel tilts his head, probably trying to remain civil, but Dean feels himself be weighed and measured in his gaze. Damnit, he knows Dean’s stoned.

Does his dad know though?

Dean shrugs. “I got lucky this semester, only got Tuesday/Thursday classes.”

“Castiel?” His dad interrupts. “Why don’t you see if your friend would like to join us for dinner?”

Food sounds amazing and Dean kind of likes all the politeness. “Yeah, Cas, can I stay for dinner?”

Cas looks to the ceiling and then at the couch, glaring over a fleeting giggle from Anna. “I’ll go set another place for him,” he grumbles, sulking through the den and into a door that must lead to the kitchen. Or maybe the dining room, old houses like this would have one of those, Dean thinks.

“Come on in, Dean,” Chuck holds the door wide, and Dean steps inside and takes off his leather jacket. He sets it on a well-stocked coat rack just inside the door, there aren’t any shoes in the foyer, so Dean keeps his boots on.

He doesn’t think he’d be able to unlace them in front of an audience, not at the moment anyway.

“Something tells me you know, Anna as well–”

Dean smirks. “Guilty.”

“And that’s Michael, our oldest.”

“How’s it going?” Dean nods to the guy, who looks to be damn near thirty.

“Sup?” Michael barely glances in Dean’s direction.

“Hey, Dean. How’s your brother?” Anna asks, turning from the t.v. to give their guest her full attention.

“Sammy’s fine, just a little low on the tolerance level, but I think he learned his lesson.” Dean tries to cover all his bases, not sure how well received underaged drinking would be by Cas’ family.

Chuck sighs awkwardly. Dean turns to look at him, and he almost elbows the kid that answered the door in the face. Where the hell was the twirp this whole time?!

“Samandriel, did you finish your homework?”

“Not yet, but I will after dinner. I swear!” The kid’s voice cracks, and Dean feels for him.

He shoves his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and tries not to make his presence too obvious. Though he’s probably the biggest person in the house unless there are more brothers somewhere. Dean glances around the room and sees a row of school pictures spanning an entire wall. One, two, four, shit there’s six of them!

And Anna’s the only girl.

“Guilty,” she shoots his answer back at his thinking out loud. “Did Castiel know you were coming?”

Dean spins his head and bats his lashes at her, trying to remember the question. “No— nope. I, uh, kinda just assumed.”

“Well, you’re in it now. I hope you like spaghetti because she always makes too much as it is,” Anna says.

Dean’s stomach growls. Even Michael laughs.

Luckily Chuck wanders away at some point, so Dean is able to relax a little. But then Cas is back, and Dean has to remember not to openly flirt with the oh-so-handsome grump.

“So how blazed are you right now?” Cas murmurs as they let his siblings lead the way to the table.

Dean squints and pouts his lips, contemplating. “About half as much as when I got here. I’ll be fine!”

Cas cocks an eyebrow, but Dean must be adorable like this or something because Cas throws him a bone. “My mother’s name is Naomi, call her Ms. Milton if you want to get in her good graces.”

Dean whispers, “I thought your dad’s name was Shurley.”

Cas licks his lips and grins. “It is, she didn’t take it.”

“Ah!” Dean gets it, and Cas nods him towards the dining room door.

The dining room is lined in dark wood, but is well-lit. The parents take the seats at either end of the table while the mostly grown children all find spots along the sides. No one mentions the empty seat between Anna and Michael or from whom Dean’s borrowing his chair. He chooses the seat on the end near Cas’ mom, she looks nice, and he hasn’t gotten to charm a mom since he helped Benny and Gordon move in August.

“It smells amazing, Ms. Milton. Thanks for having me,” Dean beams as he pulls in his chair.

The woman’s bright eyes sparkle with amusement. “So you’re our surprise guest. Mr?---”

“Winchester, ma’am. Dean Winchester. I go to school with Cas and Anna,” Dean explains as Cas fills his water glass. “Thanks, man.”

“It’s nice to see that Castiel is being social, he tends to get so involved in his studies that he—,” Naomi starts.

“Mom!” Anna cuts in, eyes Cas and Dean, and then bobs her head to show that line of conversation is a little awkward. “Dean, what’s your major again?”

“Mechanical Engineering, though it was a tough call, I almost went civil, but I figured the small problems are more my specialty. I love figuring out how to make things work and work better.”

“It’s nice to see someone passionate about their field,” Chuck adds, after which Dean catches a glare between Michael and Salamander. Chuck clears his throat and holds up his hands for his children on each side to hold. “Bow your heads.”

Dean takes Cas’ hand in his left and Naomi’s hand in his right, the size difference between their two hands is mesmerizing, and Dean forgets to listen to the prayer of gratitude. He risks rubbing his thumb against Cas’ while it’s out of sight.

Cas has good hands.

Suddenly there is a very abrupt chorus of “amen,” and Dean catches up a beat too late. But at least he can open his eyes again. Anna smirks at him, and Cas does his best to avoid making eye contact as they eat. Other than Dean eating two full plates worth, his presence becomes less of a novelty as the meal progresses.

He volunteers to do the dishes because that’s how he was raised.

Awkwardly enough, it is also Michael’s turn. So Dean dries as Michael washes. The weed is almost completely out of his system, but a thick food coma has settled in its place. Michael isn’t terribly chatty, but Dean gets the impression that he is not impressed with Dean at all.

Dean’s spinning the cullender as he wipes it dry. He wonders what Cas is doing since his dad insisted that Dean was fine on his own. Either way, there are worse ways to spend a night off.

“So, you go to State too or—?” Dean tries to make conversation.

Michael chuckles and shakes his head.

“No, I work with our dad printing his magazine. I set us up online, and now I kind of do whatever comes up,”

“Family business, huh? I get that. What’s the magazine? Anything I would have come across?”

Michael looks at Dean in mild amusement. “I doubt it.”

Dean counters, “try me.” He takes the last pot from the drip tray.

“Christian Home & Family Quarterly,” Michael deadpans and flicks the water off his hands towards the sink before wiping them off on the front of his jeans.

Dean concedes with a little bounce of his head. “Yeah, can’t say that I have seen that one.”

“Yeah, you don’t seem like the church-going type. No offense.”

Dean just raises his eyebrows, because he’s not about to get into an argument with this guy in his own kitchen. But also, what the fuck?!

Michael grins and slaps Dean on the back. “Thanks for the assist. I’ll go tell Castiel he gets to have his playdate before it’s time for bed.”

Dean mutters silently behind Michael’s back. “Playdate my ass.”

He drains the sink and wipes down the counters, unsure if Cas is going to come to find him or if Dean is going to have to wander back to the living room for a prayer circle.

He wouldn’t be surprised either way.

“You’re still here,” Cas says briskly. Dean can’t decide if that’s shock or annoyance in his eyes.

Dean goes for broke and smirks. “Can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“I’m sorry— when you texted— I had no idea you were nearby. Or—”

“High as a kite? Yeah, man, no problem, I didn’t realize this was your folks’ place. This is all on me. On a scale of one to never, how likely will I be welcomed back?”

Castiel tilts his chin down. “Do you want to come back? We usually weird people out well before they make it to the dinner table.”

“Uh, well,” Dean stutters and scratches the back of his head. “I don’t mind the family time. I was just hoping to maybe hang out with you some more. But, uh, I’m guessing they don’t know about—.”

Cas sighs and looks behind him to see that the kitchen door is still closed. “No, they don’t. They think I’m an innocent, socially inept, straight guy who is so busy with school he isn’t ready to find a wife and settle down.”

“What about Michael?” Dean asks because that’s the first counterpoint to Cas’ parents' thought process his brain supplies.

“What about Michael?” Cas leans against the sink, holding his opposite elbow.

“Why isn’t he married and having a soccer team of his own?”

Cas frowns, but mostly in the brow. “He’s got impossible standards. And a bit of a temper, if I’m being honest. But who am I to judge?”

Dean tugs Cas’ hand away from his middle, stepping into his space and whispering, “Cas, if me hanging around could get you in trouble, I won’t do it. But if you still want to get to know one another better, I’ll be on my best behavior. Honest.”

Cas bites his lips and looks at their fingers looped together. “I don’t have many friends. I can’t trust a lot of people with who I am, Dean. All I can do is work my ass off to graduate on time and find a doctoral program or a teaching job somewhere my parents and their church can’t repress me.”

“Well, I gotta admit I was hoping for more than friendship showing up here tonight. But if that’s what you need, Cas— I can be your friend,” Dean tries to swallow down the disappointment. It’s not a rejection, but the aches are related.

Cas looks firmly into Dean’s eyes. “I can only be friends here, Dean. Anywhere else, in private—”

Dean nods, biting his bottom lip as he tries not to stare at Cas’ mouth. Oh, to feel those lips on his again. He clears his throat and straightens up.

“Alright, buddy, you got it. So— you think you can give me a lift to my car?”

Lookin' over West Virginia

Smoking Spirits on the roof

She asked ain't anybody told ya

That them things are bad for you

I said many folks have warned me

There's been several people try

But up 'til now, there ain't been nothing

That I couldn't leave behind

It was one of those in-between weeks, where the panic of finals sneaks up after Thanksgiving. Meanwhile, everyone is rushing to get ready to head back to wherever they’re actually from. Except for Dean, of course, ever the townie.

He inhales a long drag off his cigarette and looks out over the campus. It’s late, even for night classes. The walkways are lit up like a Christmas tree but in Hannukah’s colors of white and safety blue. He’s got a good ten minutes before his supervisor comes looking for him, so Dean spends the last minutes of fresh air sucking down chemicals. It still beats the fake lemon tinge of the floor wax.

He’s got two more floors worth of hallways ahead of him, and then the main floor’s bathrooms. Dean sighs and watches the smoke drift over the edge of the roof and into the night. He’s grateful for the job, especially since campus jobs are required to work around his class schedule. It’s just the second shift that kills most of his chances at socializing. And stops him from keeping closer tabs on Sam during the school week.

Which might be for the best, for both of them, these days.

Dean knows he’s not their dad, but Sam could really stand to listen every now and again. Kid’s smart, of course he is, but Dean doesn’t want him bullshitting his junior year and losing his chance at scholarships.

Fuck— this isn’t the time to start worrying about this shit. Dean takes the last pull and holds the smoke in his lungs, letting it simmer. He exhales, scrapes the cherry off the end, and tosses the butt into the abyss between buildings. Sammy’d glare at him for littering, but when it’s his crew that’ll be pulling it out of the bushes someday, Dean can’t feel too guilty about it.

He feels his phone vibrate against his thigh once he’s back inside and he takes the chance to check his messages.

Cas

>>>Kinda a nasty habit

Dean instinctively looks over his shoulder, and back into the blinding fluorescence of the physical science building hall. He’s alone. Before he can reply to Cas being a creepy fucker, he gets another message.

>>>I don’t know if you’ve heard, but it’s not very good for you.

Well, at least he knows what he’s getting reprimanded for.

<<<Yeah, but I look hot doing it

<<< call it a wash

>>>I doubt your lungs would agree.

Dean checks the hall one last time and walks to the stairwell behind the elevators, mostly meant for staff use.

<<<Why are you still at school?

<<<Don’t you usually turn into a pumpkin about this time?

He shoves his phone back into his pocket as he marches down to the fourth floor to pick up where he left off. He doesn’t feel a reply until he’s got the scrubber lined up and crawling along. It’s tomorrow before Dean can reply, but he goes to sleep rereading Cas’ last message.

>>>Working in the library. God has not been so gracious as to turn me into a gourd to save me from the FOUR papers I have this semester.

>>>Don’t work too hard. Or give yourself cancer.

It’s weird to have somebody besides Sam giving him grief about his health. It almost feels like enough of a nudge to actually listen.

From the circles it has raced

Well my heart is sweating bullets

Like a little feathered Indian

Callin' out the clouds for rain

Dean steps through the old wooden doors and does not immediately burst into flames. Sam’s behind him, and Bobby’s behind him. They make their way to one of the back pews, guided by candlelight alone. It’s Christmas Eve, and Dean decided they were going to church for the first time since John’s funeral.

Amazingly, neither Sam nor Bobby questioned it.

Dean sits down and tries not to get caught searching the congregation for a specific head of dark hair. Bobby even takes off his hat and reads over the single-sheet program. The shadows cast by the flames turn the room into something otherworldly, both ancient and echoing. An unmistakable strum of an acoustic guitar breaks through the murmuring of the settling crowd. Then Cas’ little brother sings the first verse of Silent Night to start the service.

Dean doesn’t have anything against God. Besides the usual orphan’s complaints, he supposes. He just doesn’t feel like he has anything to prove to the guy either. As far as he’s concerned, if God minds his own business, Dean will too. But there are those people who look at him funny, like they can see the gutter he dragged him and Sam out of and blame him for it. Like it really matters if he’s poor, or fucks around, or parties.

Life’s too short not to enjoy it.

And until God gives him a personal guarantee either way, he’s not changing.

Those people are just too uptight to see the things Dean enjoys as blessings, not temptations. Sam’s more of an everything-in-moderation type, but that even seems restrictive to Dean. And as long as they're safe and happy—

An older man stands at the front of the church and begins reading from Luke. The guy has a nasally voice, and it grates against Dean’s ears, but he soon passes the story on to Anna, who is wearing a simple black velvet dress with her hair pulled back.

They pause in the reading to lead the congregation in a verse of O’ Little Town of Bethlehem. Then Dean sees Cas for the first time. Not singing, but approaching the front of the church from the side aisle. He takes the Bible from Anna and stands with dazed patience as the melody trails off. Dean wipes his palms on his thighs as he mumbles the words he thinks are right, swallowing when Cas starts to read.

His voice is so much better to listen to than creepy guy’s.

It’s then that Sam catches up. Dean doesn’t look directly at him, but he FEELS the bitch face he’s getting across the side of his face and down the suddenly tight collar of his dress shirt. It’s uncalled for is what it is, it’s Christmas! Can’t a guy pick a church to go to without an ulterior motive?

Dean hates that he knows what Sam is going to say already and that he’s probably right. What Sam doesn’t know is that Dean is doing this to get in good with Cas’ family, not just get into Cas’ pants again. But he couldn’t exactly explain that without spilling all of Cas’ secrets, either.

Dean ignores Sam but misses the end of Cas’ reading. There are a few more songs and more scripture. They close with their heads bowed in prayer, and a simple chime from the organ sends them off, to proceed reflectively and silently into the dark night.

Their very conveniently placed seats for arrival suddenly are not so helpful as the people fill the aisles and bottleneck at the exits, either for donning their hats and coats, which Dean and company hadn’t bothered hanging up, or for socializing in whispers. Dean feels suddenly scrutinized as boomer after boomer eye him and Sam as fresh meat. He smiles and nods placatingly until he catches Michael’s raised eyebrow.

Dean is trapped. What was he even thinking— now he is actually going to have to interact with Cas’ family. And not the nice ones.

Michael lunges forward and grabs Dean’s hand in a tight shake, but takes care to murmur his greeting. “Dean, my man. Glad to see you.”

Dean squeezes his hand back. “Hey Mikey, this here, uh, is my little brother Sam and my Uncle Bobby.”

“Fellas,” Michael nods in turn. When Cas approaches and eyes the space between Michael and Dean suspiciously, Michael smirks. “Caught me fraternizing, huh, Castiel?”

Cas just rolls his eyes before nodding at Dean, his jaw is locked tight.

They share a glance as the crowd crawls out the back of the sanctuary, but nothing close to the reunion Dean was hoping for after weeks apart. He waits for the Milton-Shurleys to pass and then he follows them outside, completely unaware if Sam and Bobby are following or if they left him to fend for himself.

Dean keeps his head down, though his heart is in his throat and his stomach is in knots. He came to see Cas and seeing him just makes Dean miss him more. Once outside, he hunches his shoulders against the cold, stepping carefully down the stone stairs. The parking lot is packed with people mingling, despite the late hour and the weather. There’s a row of people waiting to be picked up along the small walkway.

Dean blows on his bare hands, rubs them together, and looks around, trying to find Sam or Bobby in the crowd. It’s like he’s been transported to an old movie or a Christmas card. Silver Bells’ lyrics run through his head as the snow gently falls on the retreating churchgoers. A throat clears behind him, and he spins, expecting Bobby.

It’s Cas.

With apologetic bright eyes, he smiles secretly at Dean. “Hello, Dean.”

This was all worth it, dragging Sam along, singing carols, and the awkward exchange with Michael. Because Cas is looking at him like he’s a gift and Dean has to swallow and remember to breathe all at once.

“Heya, Cas. Merry Christmas.” His cheeks prickle, but he can’t get any redder, from cold or blood.

Cas’ face softens further. “It is, isn’t it?”

They hold each other’s gaze, ignoring the dwindling crowd and even the rumble of the Impala’s engine as it pulls up beside them on the curb. Cas’ family is climbing into a beat-up van that’s parked in a loading zone. But neither of them really registers any of it. Because even in the darkness, Dean’s green locks on to Cas’ blue and holds tight, like spring leaves reaching towards an afternoon sky.

“Thank you for—”

“I should probably-”

A nervous beat breaks the stalemate and forces them to look away. And all the world rushes back around them. Dean shifts and holds up a finger to signal Sam to button it up before he starts heckling.

“‘S good to see you, man. Take it easy.”

Cas reaches out and grips the meat of Dean’s bicep and nods. “Merry Christmas.”

Dean wants to kiss him so damn bad. Instead, he licks his lips and does them both a favor by stepping back and breaking the contact. He waves at Anna as she approaches, folded in her puffer coat, big eyes full of concern. Impossibly, he walks away.

Dean doesn’t look back as he crawls into the backseat. Bobby’s got the keys, and there’s no way Sam would forfeit shotgun now. It’s almost two before Dean’s in bed, looking forward to a long weekend of good food and sleeping in. Exhaustion can’t stop him from checking his phone one last time.

It’s not in vain.

Cas

>>>How would you feel about getting coffee soon?

<<<Free now

<<<just saying

>>> *grinning emoji* Very funny.

>>> Monday?

<<<Monday! bright n early

>>>Until then. * kissy emoji*

Dean blushes and cringes in equal measure as he types a simple “x” and darkens his screen. Suddenly he’s very much awake.

I'd go runnin' through the thicket

I'd go careless through the thorns

Just to hold her for a minute

Though it'd leave me wanting more

Coffee gets crashed by Cas’ cousin Gabriel, and though he’s annoying and nosey, he seems to be someone Cas can trust. Then Cas has to drive Michael and their father to the airport the next time they try to schedule something.

Dean’s getting desperate, but he tries not to let his disappointment show. To top off all of their scheduling conflicts, Cas is taking a winterim course, three credits of work, and knowledge packed into three weeks’ time. Dean is worried he’s coming on too strong, pushing Cas away with his neediness.

<<<If it doesnt snow maybe we can get lunch on campus tmrw

It takes nearly an hour for Cas to reply. Dean does not have a cigarette as he waits, impatiently. He has to stop himself from deleting the text or double texting three different times. Why is he like this?

>>>I’d love to. Subs or burgers?

<<< Burgers!

<<< The redder the meat the better

>>>Agreed!

Dean huffs out a chuckle at Cas’ earnestness.

<<<Meet you outside your class?

>>>Sounds good. See you at 12:45

It snows. From sun up until just before noon. Which means Dean has to work, clearing the sidewalks with one of the plow-fitted ride-on lawnmowers. During breaks, he fills in on the grounds crew to make up for the hours he loses with fewer custodial shifts available. The school’s recruiting brochure brags about the five miles of walking paths on a scenic, green, urban campus. Dean curses every inch of those five miles as he speeds to make it in time to at least tell Cas in person why he has to miss lunch.

He pushes the engine as hard as he can while taking the time to carefully plow the way from the parking lot to each building. He forgot his headphones and his phone’s tinny speakers do little against the open air, but Dean bobs his head and sings along, trying to keep up some momentum. And fight his growing anxiety.

The Humanities’ buildings all back up against a small pond and Dean gets to those paths as his phone reaches a glaring 11% battery life. He shuts off his tunes and keeps pressing forward, only thirty minutes or so to get done.

He’s gonna make it. He has to. Even if he only gets a thirty-minute break and getting back to the Union will take ten of it, he’s going to get to see Cas. One-on-one, finally.

Dean plows and backs up and plows some more. He clears the loop around the pond and kills the engine just outside the nearest side entrance to the History building. It’s 12:48 and Dean is swiping his staff badge to get inside quicker. He stomps his boots clean before charging up the steps to the second floor and nearly runs smack into Cas as he turns toward the discussion rooms. Cas apologizes without looking up at first, clearly irritated.

Dean grabs him by the upper arm and makes Cas see him, however late. Dean made it. He’s sweaty, and his nose is freezing, but Dean beams as Cas’ eyes take him in.

“Hey, sorry, I—”

“Yeah, I just made it. Sorry, I’m on the clock.”

Cas squints and closes his distractingly chapped lips. “I see.”

“Got time for a quick lunch, if you’re still game?” Dean cocks his head down to the stairs and holds his breath.

“It’d be a bit brief for a first date, don’t you think?” Cas asks, adjusting the strap of his messenger bag on his shoulder.

Dean licks his lips because he knows he’s got to salvage this. “This is just the pre-date. The real date will be longer— better.” He sighs and steps closer. “Maybe we can hash out the details over lunch?”

Dean ducks to meet Cas’ reluctant gaze, giving his best hopeful eyes. Castiel looks at Dean and sighs with his whole being.

“Okay, burgers?”

Dean slaps him on the shoulder and holds on. “Burgers!”

They ride to the Union on the lawn mower with the plow raised for safety, Dean speeding on the nearly abandoned pavement, and Cas holding on to the back, grinning like a fool.

Hold me close my dear

Sing your whispering song

Softly in my ear

And I will sing along

They've managed a handful of stolen moments since. And now, Cas is over at his place, attempting to watch football while not overtly flirting in front of Sam.

Their first date was indeed longer, but finding time and location that had both access and anonymity was difficult. The Italian food left much to be desired, though Dean couldn't ask for better company. Miraculously, Cas asked him out for a second date, and the movie wasn't bad.

Sam is not buying it. "You guys know you don't have to babysit me, right?"

Dean looks at Sam and silently begs him to not be a bitch. "What are you talking about? I wanna watch the game."

Sam cocks his head. "Who’s playing, Dean?"

Dean looks at the TV and tries to figure out the teams by their helmets and initials on the score at the bottom.

"That's what I thought. Go fool around, or whatever it is you keep stopping yourselves from doing. I get it," Sam clips out the last t's.

Dean pushes up off the couch, hovering over his seat as he looks at Cas and smirks.

Cas’ eyes go wide, but he nods, his lips hollowed out in query. Dean nods towards the back of the trailer and heads down the hallway without another word, away from Sam and to the thinnest illusion of privacy. He feels Cas follow but doesn’t see his fisted hands at his sides.

The hollow door latches loosely closed behind them.

Dean turns on Cas instantly. Before he even realizes he chose to, he’s cupping a nape, and his mouth is catching Cas’ on the uptake. Both open and filthy. Dean feels Cas exhale into him, feels his body still and his hands perch on Dean’s shoulders delicately.

Dean grins into the kiss and presses closer into Cas’ space. Tries to unbury that toga-clad energy from Halloween. However sober, Dean knows it's in there.

All while getting them closer to the bed.

Cas sighs and grips Dean tighter. Pushes in with his chin forward and gives back. Dean sucks his tongue into his mouth and moans at the thick, heavy wetness.

Fuck, he’s hungry.

Dean stagger steps them towards the far wall, which makes the bed less than three feet away, but for some reason, they can’t stop kissing long enough to get there. It’s like depleting oxygen tanks or the last slurp of soda at the bottom of the cup. They need to kiss until they’ve gotten all of each other, desperate and determined; they taste.

Until they start to laugh.

Dean feels Cas chuckle, hunching his shoulders as they peck around giddy smiles.

“What’s so funny, hm?” Dean asks, looking down at Cas’ scrunched-up nose as he tries to pull away.

Cas just shakes his head and hauls Dean by the waist, kisses him again, and notches their thighs tighter. And okay, Dean is all about that, but he still feels like he’s missing something, but he doesn’t really think too hard about it with all the friction.

Then the floor is out from under his feet, and Cas is on top of him, half off the bed and growling against his neck. Dean huffs and giggles. Because, damn. He should have had his guard up. Luckily Coach Sonny wasn’t here to see that, because that was a solid takedown and Dean let it happen.

Dean catches his breath, slides his hand under Cas’ sweater and squeezes.

Cas freezes and glares. Dean looks back under his lashes, challenging.

“Ticklish, Cas?”

“No, but I know you are— that , I remember,” Cas replies as he slides up and pulls Dean’s hands above his head. Dean stretches out, slinking further up the bed and Cas follows, fucking stalking up his body with heated determination.

Dean swallows and goes for broke. “You gonna lose the Sunday best? Been dying to see you— feel you.”

Dean looks Cas up and down, crumpled and creased. His starched khakis do little to hide his desire, even in the gray afternoon light of Dean’s one-windowed room.

Cas rears back, kneeling on the bed between Dean’s legs and yanks the thick crocheted sweater over his back. It leaves his hair messy, but Dean’s too busy watching the way his shoulders flex as he pulls his arms out of the sleeves.

Cas balls up the shirt and tosses it in the corner, shrugging as if to say, ‘and?’

Dean rolls his eyes but scoots to sitting and starts unbuttoning his flannel. Castiel plays with Dean’s necklaces until it’s time to take off his t-shirt. And now that he’s got Cas in his lap, topless, Dean’s a little shy about his own bare torso. He’s not exactly super-defined or anything. He knows his strength, but he likes to eat, okay? Being poor you don’t skip meals unless you have to.

He’s kicking himself for not letting Sammy talk him into matching tattoos. Any tattoo automatically makes you hotter. But the kid’s got another two years before Dean could get him into a legit parlor anyway. He inhales and ducks out of his shirt, and immediately surges up to restart making out, unwilling to watch Cas see him just yet.

Cas’ hands roam Dean’s back, groping and kneading, dexterous and distracting.

Dean gets lost in the fog of want, too tight in the pants to dwell on his shirtlessness. Then Cas cups his jaw and pulls back to look him in the eyes. Insistent, imploring blue.

“Can we turn on some music?”

Which was not, at all, what Dean was expecting Cas to ask him in that moment.

Dean laughs and nods. But Cas keeps talking, “it’s just I know we’re probably louder than we realize. And with a younger sibling within earshot— I’d feel better if we— at least pretended—”

Dean kisses Cas, shutting him up. “Dude, yes.” Peck. “I’ve got tunes.” Peck. “Just give me a sec.”

Dean carefully unwraps himself from Cas’ body, giddy and grinning over all the skin he can see and finally feel . He pulls out the thigh of his jeans, trying to create room as he half stumbles and half struts to the bookcase and the ancient boombox he found at the Goodwill that has a double tape deck and a six-disc changer.

He had been making compilation tapes during his downtime before spring classes start, and had intended to make one for each year to give the impala some diversity without letting Sam use his damn phone all the time. He just pushes play on the last finished tape. The old hiss from recording from vinyl starts and the room is filled with the crooning of Tommy James and the Shondells.

When Dean turns around Cas’ head is cocked and he’s resting back on his palms, broad chest and strong arms on display. Dean wants to crawl into his lap and pink up his lips some more. But, ever the little shit, instead he unbuckles his belt and drops trow, kicking out of his pants and making Cas’ eyes bulge like a treefrog.

Cas licks his lips and sits up, trying to open his fly and watch Dean step closer at the same time. If there’s one thing Dean knows it’s the art of distraction, and if his dick is out, there’s less chance Cas is gonna be staring at his softer-than-he’d-like torso.

He grabs Cas by the back of the neck and leans down to kiss him filthy, kneeing between Cas’ legs as he feels Cas’ shaking hands find his hips. Dean smiles into the kiss and slows it down, pulling back to watch Cas’ lids flutter open, dopey and bright.

“Wanna see you— can I?” Dean gestures down to Cas’ khakis and instantly draws attention back to his ruddy cock. Cas mumbles something but then nods, sitting taller and leaning back, forcing himself to look away as Dean sinks to the floor.

He starts with Cas’ shoes and then his socks, and sees Cas flex his toes before falling fully onto his back on Dean’s bed. Dean drags himself back up and pulls open Cas’ pants, hands snaking beneath his thighs and tugging the fabric as Cas rocks from side to side. Dean looks him over, strong runner’s legs and dark hair, flat stomach, and messy hair. Fuck! If Dean didn’t know he went every which way already, he’d be so screwed. Castiel is gorgeous, and Dean’s got him in his bed naked as a jaybird.

Happy early birthday, Dean thinks to himself and sets his hands alongside Cas’ waist to crawl up the miles of skin, trying not to stare at Cas’ fat dick that's hard and leaking for him.

“I don’t want you to penetrate me,” Cas blurts out of nowhere.

Dean stops in his tracks. “Uh, wasn’t even close to that yet, buddy. But, okay. That’s fine.”

Dean looks down at their laps and then away, resting back on his heels, needing Cas’ to say more or even look at him. Cas’ eyes are shut tight, and he’s rubbing the bridge of his nose. Dean feels his anxiety in the air, so he starts rubbing Cas’ thigh and waits.

And does not touch his own dick, even though it’s begging for any sort of contact.

“Cas?” Dean asks after a solid two minutes of tense silence. “Is this your first time?”

Dean knee-walks to Cas’ side and tries to pry his hands from hiding his face. “Because it’s totally okay if it is. I, uh, I haven’t really done much with guys— and I’m just excited we’re finally getting a chance to be alone— and all that.”

Cas sighs and glares at Dean.

Dean drops his chin and glares back. “What’s that for?”

“You are being completely understanding, and I really don’t need another reason to like you,” Cas explains.

“Thanks?” Dean guesses a polite response.

Cas rolls his eyes and sits up, apparently unaffected by his own nakedness. He reaches for Dean’s hand and fiddles with his mother’s ring. “Can we go back to the kissing? I can handle that, and it’s goo—”

Dean doesn’t let Cas talk himself into more embarrassment. Yeah, the kissing is good, great even. But Dean doesn’t want Cas worrying either. So he lays them both down, on their sides, knees knocking and dicks not quite touching. The heat between them lays in concentrated hollows, making the rest of them pucker in the winter air.

Dean cups Cas’ jaw and runs his thumb along his cheekbone. “You okay?”

Cas holds his wrist and husks out, “yeah. You?”

Dean breathes out a single laugh. “Yeah, I’m pretty effin’ okay.”

Dean kisses Cas’ chin, and nudges down to kiss along the underside of his jaw until he can suck on his pulse point. Cas’ breath hitches and Dean goes for broke, sliding his pelvis across the neutral zone they’d silently negotiated, in search of progress and the throbbing relief of the press of flesh against flesh.

Cas moans and Dean reaches down and grabs a handful of Cas’ ass. Then he rolls them both so Dean’s on the bottom and Cas is the one in control. Cas licks into Dean’s mouth and grinds down, feeling the way their dicks slide together between their bellies.

“What do you like?” Cas asks suddenly, hips rolling long and languid as Dean squirms and pecks at the parts of Cas he can reach.

Dean looks up at Cas and smirks. “Do your worst. We can try whatever you want to try first.”

Cas stills and bites his lips. “Are you sure?”

Dean spreads his legs and feels Cas fall harder against him. “Yeah, it’s okay, just see how it goes. No stress—- this is supposed to be fun.”

Cas nods seriously and kisses Dean’s cheek. “Thank you, Dean.”

He looks down at their bodies, nestled and sticky, their dicks have been impossibly patient. “I’m not sure about the taste of semen. Do you mind if I taste you?”

“Do I mind?” Dean stares slack-jawed and appalled. “No, I do not mind. Fucking taste away, Cas, Christ. Blow jobs are only some of the best things humans have invented, up there with music and pizza.”

“Hmmmm, I may have to ask you to prove your hypothesis, but—.” Cas clears his throat. “Later.”

Then he inches down Dean’s body and takes Dean’s dick firmly in hand. He traces the head with the pad of his thumb, making Dean whine as he tugs the skin of the shaft, watching carefully as more precum beads at the slit. With a flattened tongue, Cas laps the head of Dean’s dick and Dean goes cross-eyed watching him.

Still holding Dean’s shaft, Cas starts licking Dean like an ice cream cone, and it’s not bad, it’s just very apparent the guy has never watched porn. Dean moans and starts rolling his hips, trying to at least get some stroking going on if Cas isn’t gonna take him into his mouth fully.

When Cas starts to mirror Dean’s movements, Dean husks, “yeah, now, uh, can you suck on it? You don’t have to take it all, just start slow.”

Cas watches Dean’s face as he holds the tip of Dean’s dick on his bottom lip and mouths around the girth. If he wasn’t so worried, Dean might have laughed, but Cas’ bright-eyed earnestness is making it hard for Dean to keep talking him through it.

“Okay, now try and use your tongue, like we’re kissing,” Dean offers. “And take a little more in.”

Cas obliges, words buzzing around his mouth as he asks, “like that?”

Dean nods, licks and bites his bottom lip as Cas rolls his tongue and squeezes with his lips.

“Suck, Cas, and bob,” Dean says, trying to stay still as Cas finds something like a rhythm.

He pulls off breathless, but smiles. “Your dick is quite big— I, uh, I have to try again.”

Dean chuckles. “Hey, look who’s talking, that monster between your legs is gonna be a full meal.”

Cas blushes, but grabs Dean by the base and takes him even deeper. Dean’s starting to throb, the storm in his belly makes him thrust against Cas’ efforts, but he forces himself to keep it shallow.

“You’re doing so good, babe, sucking me so good,” Dean murmurs, voice pitching higher with each wave of pleasure.

Cas groans around Dean’s dick, tonguing the underneath as he dips his head down and up, down and up, dooooown and up. Dean’s right on the edge when Cas starts to gag. Dean catches himself a second too late from whining in defeat, but he gets Cas upright and coughing before it can go beyond repair.

“Just breathe, it’s okay,” Dean says, watching Cas for any signs of regret or vomit.

Cas clears his throat and takes big breaths through his nose, eyes wide with alarm.

Dean hugs him around the shoulders and just squeezes until everything evens out. He doesn’t say anything, just brushes his lips along Cas’ hairline and waits it out.

“Sorry,” Cas gasps out.

“Sorry? Don’t be sorry— you don’t apologize for going whole ham on me like that, okay? We’re figuring shit out. There’s a learning curve to this, too, you know.” Dean says firmly, not making Cas face him just yet.

Cas chuckles mirthlessly. “I do now.”

Cas side eyes him sheepishly, but Dean just smiles and waggles his eyebrows. Cas rolls his eyes but lightens up the more Dean goads him with flirty faces.

Dean kisses him softly, hands brushing over Cas’ face and down his neck until they start leaning back towards the pillows. Dean thinks about the skin mags shoved beneath his mattress and the lube he’s got in an old shoe box beneath that. He thinks about how none of that feels like this.

Having Cas here, to himself, has been the true fantasy since Halloween. But this is real, and it’s happening. And Dean isn’t going to waste it.

“Do you touch yourself?” Dean murmurs.

Cas exhales and stretches back against the covers. “Sometimes, but I don’t have much privacy for anything elaborate.”

Dean guessed as much.

“How do you like it?” Dean asks as he reaches for Cas’ dick, just a gentle tug as if he’s gripping his shoulder in passing.

“Harder,” Cas sighs, eyes cautious.

Dean stops himself from rolling his eyes and squeezes as he starts to pump, leaning on his side as he watches Cas relax into his touch. He stops and licks his palm and over the pads of his fingers, easing the slide against Cas’ thickness.

Cas groans at the wetness. “Faster, Dean.”

Dean speeds up, dropping his free hand on Cas’ flat stomach and down to the ridge of his pelvis poking out. He keeps Cas’ face in his periphery but focuses his attention on the gorgeous body before him and the fat cock in his hand.

“You’re so fucking hot like this,” Dean says, mesmerized by the straining muscles and the throbbing heat. “Wanna get you there, Cas. Let me?”

Cas moans Dean’s name over the sound of CCR’s steady opening to Proud Mary.

Dean kisses Cas’ chest and reaches down to cup his balls, stroking faster, careful to swipe the tip for a more natural glide. Dean looks over his shoulder and sees Cas watching him.

“Like this?” Dean asks, voice as wrecked as Cas looks. Cas whimpers and bends in half around Dean’s hold, coming hot and hard all over Dean’s bed and hands.

“Shit!”

Dean almost giggles because Cas never swears. He strokes Cas through it, easing until Cas is whining from the contact. Dean kisses Cas’ shoulder and tugs the comforter out from under them, careful to avoid the mess and wipe his hands off at the same time.

With just the sheets left on the bed, Dean falls beside Cas. Cradling him into the curve of his body, Dean tries to avoid direct ass-to-dick contact. He doesn’t want Cas to panic again.

“You have incredibly strong hands,” Cas mutters into the pillows.

Dean looks down and flexes his fingers. He’s never thought about his hands much, but he guesses Cas must be right. Years of working molded him into a very different animal from Cas, whose life is all Bible studies and textbooks.

“You’re welcome,” Dean teases.

Cas laughs, breathy and tender.

Dean kisses his temple, gripping his chest and pulling him closer. They lay in the comfort of each other’s arms, letting the mixtape run out as they spoon and joke, eventually twisting beneath the top sheet.

“When do you need to be home,” Dean asks against Cas’ chest, too content to even raise his head.

“Don’t remind me,” Cas replies, reaching off the bed for his phone all the same. “Ugh! Probably should leave soon.”

“How soon is soon?” Dean asks, sitting up while keeping the sheet bunched around his half-hard cock.

“Seventeen minutes,” Cas replies offhandedly until he glances apologetically to Dean and starts to crawl out of bed.

“Uh, where do you think you’re going?! I still get your naked ass in my bed for at least another ten minutes.” Dean grabs Cas’ elbow and drags him down on top of him.

Cas smirks at Dean’s determination and shakes his head, snuggling closer. Then his hips slot against Dean’s poorly hidden erection.

Dean hums noncommittally.

Cas grinds down again, and Dean whines as he feels Cas’ growing interest.

“Fuck! We really don’t have much time, man,” Dean warns, rocking against Cas. Cas yanks the sheet away, leaving Dean bare beneath him.

“Next time,” Dean promises. “We’ll do more than the surface stuff, alright? Now I just want to feel you.”

Cas nods, mouthing up Dean’s neck as they grip each other and stroke in incongruous rhythms.

“I’m going to have to sit through dinner still smelling you on my skin,” Cas thinks out loud.

“Good! Want you thinking about me while those assholes play house. Want you knowing I’ll be thinking about you— your mouth— your dick in my hands— in me— however you want, Cas.”

Castiel gasps, but his hand moves faster on Dean’s shaft. “You want to take me?”

“Cas!” Dean warns, too strung out after hours of build-up.

“Dean,” Cas’ voice drops like a reprimand and Dean comes all over both of their stomachs.

Too blissed out to keep jacking Cas off, Dean groans and then wiggles down to mouth at Cas’ dick. Half wild and desperate, Dean sucks Cas into the back of his throat.

Cas, who is dumbfounded by Dean’s actions, keens at the new sensation of mouth and tongue and then comes again within moments. Dean doesn’t know if Cas is aware of how hungry he still is for him until he feels Cas tense when Dean catches Cas watching him lick his own spendings off Cas’ stomach.

Cas twitches and moans a warbly, “oh, Lord!” They both freeze at his blasphemy.

Dean looks up at him through heavy lashes, and Cas simply stares back. Dean kisses just below Cas’ navel and sits up, knees framing Cas’ thighs.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” Dean rockets off the bed and throws a towel around his hips. But he realizes he’s still a mess, so he tugs it up around his chest. He opens the door and quickly ducks out, closing it tight behind him.

He rushes to grab an extra towel and a washcloth from the bathroom between his and Sam’s rooms. Dean’s gone less than three minutes, but in the moments they’re apart, he starts to worry that it was too much too soon.

Dean doesn’t know if he can go back from this now. If he can keep it strictly PG since he’s gotten to truly worship Cas’ body. Now that he knows how it feels to just be in his presence, the connection, the comfort. Dean misses him already.

He wipes off his belly and rinses out the cloth and adds some hand soap for good measure. He clutches the fresh towel to his chest and rushes back to his door, knocking.

“It’s me,” he says and slips inside.

Honey tell me how your love runs true

And how I can always count on you

To be there when the bullets fly

I'd run across the river just to hold you tonight

Dean sits in the impala, anxious. Cas is coming to dinner. And not just at the trailer with Sammy. He’s been personally invited to Seder by Uncle Rufus. And well, to say that’s a big deal is an understatement.

Bobby and Rufus have been a thing as long as Dean can remember. From what he gathers, since the mid-80s after Bobby’s wife, Karen, passed and they met at a grief support group. The way the men always bickered, it took Dean into his teen years to realize how and how deeply they loved one another.

Their home was probably the safest place for Dean to come to terms with his own varying sexuality. And after John disappeared for good, they were the only family he and Sam had left.

The months with Cas start to fly by, between their ever-increasing class loads and the necessity of sneaking around, it’s spring before either of them realize it. Actual spring, not whatever the school tries to pass for it giving its spring break in mid-March, either.

Dean knows Cas is curious about Rufus’ faith, among other things. He just hopes Cas’ blunt inquisitiveness isn’t met with mockery. He exhales and counts down the minutes until Cas is out of his last class of the day. He wonders what excuse Cas gave his parents for missing dinner with the family.

He hates having to be a secret.

With Cas’ family being so prominent and his father’s business at stake, Cas knows he has to lay low until he’s done with school. Because he’s on a scholarship for one thing, and another he doesn’t want to hurt his siblings or bring further scrutiny on them. Anna especially has had many struggles with mental illness that she’s had to fight without professional help because their parents insist it's a matter of faith and devotion, not brain chemistry.

Dean has to bite his tongue so often that he’s gotten used to the taste of his own blood. But this is not his battle to fight. He’s there as backup only. He lets Cas lead the way, which he always does with compassion. Even when Cas is asked to pray at services Dean’s attended or the occasional family meal, Cas always prays for the lost or the less fortunate. He believes in the love of God in a way his parents and their judgment never could.

He’d probably make a good priest, or pastor, whatever. Dean wonders which churches even let gay people be ordained. He bets there are some out there. He wants that for Cas, for him to find true community someday. Something like the crotchety old guys who wouldn’t pass for queer until they’re caught kissing in the toolshed. The type of safety and home Dean’s had the better half of his life.

But he’ll do it and keep doing it as long as it keeps Cas safe. Cas told him about what happens when queer people are exposed within his family’s circle of friends, or anyone, really not willing to fully conform. Either the kids, because they’re usually too young to be able to fend for themselves, are sent to those awful camps. Or the entire family is blacklisted. Jobs are lost and all sources of charity or socializing suddenly dry up. Then they have to start over, somewhere else.

Faith is something too commercial and too big for Dean to grasp most days. But he likes the ritual of it all, the tradition and the history. He knows Cas will love Rufus’ Seder. He just hopes Rufus and Bobby like Cas, too.

“Hello, Dean,” comes Cas’ standard greeting as he pries open the door.

“Heya, handsome. How was class?” Dawn checks his mirror and waits for the parking lot to clear as Cas tells him about his day. They hold hands across the bench seat because it’s dark enough for it to be hidden from any passersby.

It’s a long drive this time of night, rush hour pushing them past sundown, which Dean knows will earn him a reprimand. But he’s not worried about himself. Sam was with Bobby helping out at the garage for some part-time money, so Dean knows at least they’ll be on time for dinner.

Rufus will just have to deal with them crashing in.

When they pull up to the well-worn bungalow, Dean takes his hand back to kill the engine and wipe his palms off on his thighs.

“So, uh, this is Rufus and Bobby’s place. Dinner’s probably already started— so we’ll just go in quietly, especially if they’re singing. Neither of the bastards can carry a tune— but it’s tradition, so.”

“Understandable, as you know, I’m not one to judge someone’s singing voice,” Cas even self-deprecates with empathy.

“Okay, but, before we head in, can I?” Dean leans in and kisses his boyfriend without waiting for an answer. Cas slides closer across the seat and enters Dean’s mouth, thoroughly agreeing with the further delay.

Dean breaks the kiss to breathe, resting his forehead against Cas’ as they both regain their composure.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“We should go inside.”

“Yeah, I know— I just—.” Dean squeezes Cas’ forearm and searches his eyes in the darkness of the car.

“I missed you, too,” Cas says softly, eyes big and hand warm against Dean’s cheek.

They kiss once more for good measure and head inside.

All things considered, it was a good night. Cas’ cheeks are flushed from the wine, and he’s grinning as Sam and Bobby regale him with the story of Dean’s last significant other to make it long enough to attend a family gathering, Cassie.

Except Cassie hadn’t been invited to Sam’s birthday dinner, she just showed up.

“So get this— we’re grilling out back— about to start a game of two-hand touch with a bunch of middle school guys and —,” Sam sets the scene.

And Bobby cuts in gesturing wildly, “a flipping diva. Hair out to here, walks in.”

“She had more makeup on than I’ve seen on professional drag queens,” Rufus adds as he clears their dishes.

“Okay, let’s be nice,” Dean interjects. “It was bad timing— I’ll give you that.”

“It was weird, Dean! It was my party. I was twelve!” Sam argues.

Cas chuckles and watches Dean as he shrugs, Dean ducks his head and tries to hide the heat in his cheeks.

“Anyway, this is better, right? See!” Dean asks everyone with insistent eyes. ‘Don’t embarrass him like you’re dragging her,’ he silently begs.

“Much,” Sam agrees. “But I already know Cas– more or less.”

“What is it you’re going to school for again?” Bobby asks carefully, popping some leftover matza into his mouth. Dean only eats the stuff when he has to, but Bobby doesn’t let any go to waste. The conversation flows easily and before long Cas needs to get home.

“Thank you so much Mr. Turner for having me— I hope the second night goes just as well for you all.” Castiel shakes Rufus’ hand.

Rufus preens under all the attention, earring sparkling in the glow from the front porch light. “I’m sorry you can’t make it, but there’s always next year, am I right?”

Cas, clearly surprised, smiles all the same. Dean scratches the back of his neck and waits for the goodbyes to be over.

“Alright, young man, drive safe,” Rufus says to Dean. He can’t remember Rufus ever using his actual name. He’s always ‘hey you’, ‘punk’, or if he’s been on his best behavior, ‘young man’.

Dean shakes Rufus’ hand and leans in for a quick hug. Sam follows behind shaking hands and nodding his gratitude.

Dean glances at Sam to sit in the backseat as they make their way down the driveway. Sam pretends to think about it, the sacrifice of giving up shotgun is a pretty big deal when it comes to being sixteen in your brother’s legacy car.

But before it gets too noticeable that they are silently arguing, Sam relents and lets Cas have the cherished spot. Dean isn’t impressed, but he mouths a ‘thank you’, though it could be interpreted another way. He slides into the driver’s seat and grins over at Cas. Cas smiles knowingly back, and Dean cranks the volume.

They don’t kiss goodnight, and not just for Sam’s sake either. It’s just too rushed, and Cas has to transform back into the stoic machine he is around his family. Dean hates these moments the most. Not just parting with Cas but watching him bury so much of himself.

“Thanks for the ride,” Cas says sadly before ducking out of the open passenger side door. He nods to Sam and marches dutifully up his front steps. Dean ignores Sam when he turns down the music and settles into the front seat. Something pulls at Dean’s insides, but he stays put watching Cas. Then Cas turns around, waves, and opens the door to return to that damned prison.

Dean slowly blinks back to reality and puts the car into gear. He drives home on autopilot and Sam’s smart enough to leave him to his thoughts. When he gets home, Dean reworks some details on a design for his automation class. Then tries to get ahead on some reading for a seminar he’s taking. Nothing sticks, but maybe it will come back when he needs it.

Guess he’s an optimist now.

A week later, Dean chances a phone call when he knows Cas will still be on campus, but out of the obligation of any classroom.

“Hey— this is stupid—- but I was wondering if you— maybe— like this summer— when the semester is over, and classes aren’t so crazy—- I talked to Sam and he’s cool with it if you help out. But like— no pressure or anything—- and only if you wanted to. It would be awesome. So, do you think—- maybe— you’d like to move in with me? I mean with us?” Dean hadn’t rambled this long since he tried to talk their way out of a parking ticket for a passed-out John, in middle school.

He must have lost oxygen to his brain because when he hears Cas on the other end of the line, it’s only a thready plea of his name.

“No, listen, I know you’ve got your scholarship shit, but you can get grants and a job at the student aid office or tutor for money or something. They can’t stop you from finishing school—- they can only make it a little bit worse. But everything else can be better, Cas, I swear.” Dean wasn’t supposed to be so desperate about this, but he really wants Cas to be happy. Well, safe and out and happy, but still.

“Dean—- we’ve only been dating for a few months,” Cas sighs. “They’re my family forever.”

“They don’t have to be,” Dean says without thinking. He closes his eyes, takes a breath, and then rubs his forehead with the back of the hand that’s holding the phone. “Not like you have to cut ties with them or anything— but, uh— well, Bobby’s always said family don’t end in blood. So, you know— you’ve got options.”

The seconds of silence coming from Cas’ side of the call last into the next century.

“And what happens if we break up, Dean?’ Cas doesn’t sound upset, but he still isn’t sold on anything.

Dean wasn’t expecting to go down that particular trail of possibility, and he flounders for a response. Both hurt and worried that Cas would think so little of him, of them.

Dean looks around the trailer’s living/dining/kitchen area and wonders what this could look like to Castiel’s eyes. He thought it was freedom, but maybe it’s just a trash hole to him like it was to the wrestling team and half of Dean’s exes.

“We’re both really young to be making such decisions,” Cas adds lightly.

“Look— I just want you to be happy. Are you happy, Cas?” Dean lays it out.

Cas exhales and shifts on the line, Dean can practically hear the gears in his head whirling a mile a minute. When he doesn’t answer, Dean presses on.

“Do you think you could be happy with me?”

“That’s not fair,” Cas counters. “You know this isn’t just about me. Would you leave Sam behind if it meant you could be happy?”

Dean locks his jaw, bitter and righteous. “No, but–”

“I may not be responsible for my siblings the way you are for Sam, but I do love them, Dean.”

“I know.” Dean feels it all slipping away from him. He doesn’t know what to say or do to make it better. He wishes he could take the entire conversation back.

“For what it’s worth—- when I’m with you—- that’s the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Dean pinches the tears out of his eyes and bleats out something like a chuckle. “Yeah, well, that’s great.”

“Dean?”

“Hm?”

“Do you work tonight?” It’s such an innocent question it throws Dean for a loop.

He looks at the clock on the microwave and sighs. “Uh, yeah, got like an hour before Sam’ll be home and then I’ll head in after we eat.”

“What are you making?” Cas’ voice is soothing, and Dean hates him for being able to distract him like this because it’s fucking working.

“Uh, just hotdogs and beans—- didn’t want to make a huge mess.”

“Because it’s on Sam to clean up and he’s probably got homework,” Cas concludes.

“Didn’t want him to leave it for me in the morning is all,” Dean reasons.

“Of course,” Cas agrees, knowing Dean’s thought process better than Dean would like.

“How late is the library open?” Dean turns the curiosity back on Cas.

“Ten, you know that: why?”

Dean shrugs though Cas can’t see him. “Was hoping to see you, maybe, if you’ll still be there when my shift starts.”

“Okay.”

Castiel is waiting for Dean in the parking lot closest to the Macleod Library. He walks him to the maintenance staff office so Dean’s not late for his shift. They shake hands and pat each other on the back goodnight. Just guys being bros.

Dean doesn’t mention the sheet of folded-up paper Cas passes him. It’s just a time and place, but it brightens Dean’s mood better than any placation or even kiss probably could at that moment.

His shift has never been longer.

Just before dawn, Dean finds Cas right where he had said he’d be. On one of the stone benches lining the small pond on Cas’ department’s side of campus.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Got your note— a bit cryptic— but I chose to interpret it like a middle school note— do you like me? Check yes or no.” Dean saunters closer, his hands fit around Cas’ hips beneath where his hands are wedged into his pockets.

“What are you checking?”

Dean kisses him because they are alone and because it’s his answer. Cas hums and pulls back. “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

Dean rolls his eyes at the lame joke, but kisses him again, deeper and more forceful until they both have to pull apart for air, grinning and giddy.

“How was work?” Cas presents one of his hands for Dean to thread their fingers together.

“Work— but I managed to get through. Might have been a little distracted.”

“Sorry about that,” Cas smiles mischievously.

“No, you’re not,” Dean murmurs against his temple, kissing him softly. “What’s up?”

Dean is dead on his feet, but he won’t be able to sleep until Cas tells him what all this build-up was for. Cas goes still, but he stays close.

“I wanted to tell you something—- and ask you for a favor,” Cas explains carefully, not making eye contact.

Dean watches the side of his face but aims for casualness. “Okay, a little dramatic, but shoot.”

Cas does face him then, eyes bright and brows high in hope or apology, Dean’s not sure. “It’s about your offer— sort of.”

Dean waits, but his palm is getting sweaty underneath Cas’ insistent grip.

“I want to be with you. I do. But since I can’t—- fully— until I graduate and Samandriel is an adult—- I want to promise to be true to you until we can both be our real selves.”

Dean squints and looks at Cas.

“Are you breaking up with me?”

Cas glares. “You are an idiot. Are you seriously so tired right now that you interpreted me pledging myself to you as me breaking up with you?!”

Dean doesn’t know what to say, so he puts on his best adorable apology face, essentially saying ‘I’m dumb but pretty.’

Cas rolls his eyes.

“You’re impossible.”

Dean reaches up to hold Cas’ face with both hands. “That’s already where I’ve been, Cas. That’s all relationships are— loyalty and devotion.”

Cas leans into Dean’s touch. “No, Dean. Maybe it’s not common in the secular world. But promising ourselves to each other is kind of a big deal with the people of my church.”

Dean drops his hands and steps back. “Are you proposing?”

“No-o,” Cas says it like it’s a question.

Dean grabs his hair and has a mini freak-out. But turns back and looks Cas in the eye even though he’s terrified. “Holy shit, you’re proposing.”

“Dean, I’m not proposing,” Cas says more sternly.

“And you were freaking out about me asking you to move in together.”

“To be fair, moving in together doesn’t happen in my experience until after marriage.”

“Yeah, but like half the people you know don’t even kiss before marriage,” Dean snarks.

Cas grimaces, but nods. Dean leans back in. “We’ve done a helluva lot more than kiss.”

“Your point?” Cas asks with a fragile sort of firmness.

Dean laces his hands behind Cas’ neck. “You are proposing.”

Cas, once again, rolls his eyes and tugs Dean closer by one of his front pockets. “Call it a pre-engagement if you must, but only if you swear to it, too.”

All the teasing leaves Dean’s body. Instead, he breathes deep and stares into Cas’ hesitant eyes. “I love you, you know that right? I mean— we don’t say it, but you know that about me.”

Cas softens in Dean’s arms, nodding as tears start to build in the corners of his gorgeous eyes.

“I’m yours, Cas. As long as it takes, okay?”

Cas swallows thickly and grins. “Okay.”

Dean looks down at Cas’ hands and between their bodies. “I feel unprepared for this.”

Cas cocks his head. “What are you talking about?”

Dean flexes his fingers and spots his solution. “I feel like I should be giving you something.”

“Dean, it’s not like I brought you anything.”

But Dean’s already untying one of his necklaces. It’s made of rough leather with a few beads knotted onto it. He bought it because he thought it was the right colors for the bisexual flag, but there’s a green one that throws off his reasoning.

“Here,” Dean insists, taking his mother’s ring off his right hand and threading it down the twine. “That should work— long enough to hide it, but still with you at all times.”

Cas doesn’t speak, just swallows and nods, turning so Dean can tie it on. Cas cradles the metal loop against his chest like he’s making the pledge all over again.

Dean beams at him, never realizing how satisfying it’d be to call Cas his. To have a claim on him, and his heart.

“Looks good on ya.”

“Thank you, Dean. I’ll— I’ll think of something to give you. Okay?”

Dean nods, hugging Cas close and whispering in his ear, “we’ve got plenty of time for that, okay?”

“We do, don’t we?” Cas grins his nose-scrunching grin and kisses Dean with more teeth than tongue.

Six years later

The arena is packed with people, families and friends filling the lower levels for the first round of afternoon graduations. Dean scans the crowd looking for Bobby and Rufus because, frankly, he’s sick of telling people the seats on either side of him are taken.

Then there’s the guy one chair over who won’t stop announcing that his cousin is getting his doctorate and how cute it is that Dean’s kid brother is only getting his bachelor’s. Dean isn’t going to let him bate him, it’s neither the time nor the place. But he clenches his fist anyway, just for something to pass the time.

Finally, Dean spots Rufus stiff-arming his way through the masses. He doesn’t say, “move, I’m gay.” But Dean imagines he is. Once they’re within earshot, he realizes Rufus is playing another card entirely.

“Senior citizens coming through!”

Dean picks up his coat and stands up to shake his uncles’ hands.

“Have trouble finding the place?” Dean teases.

“Don’t get him started,” Bobby warns, sitting in the now open middle seat. Leaving the far seat for Rufus, right next to Mr. Obnoxious himself.

Rufus settles into his seat and does a double take. “Don’t I know you?”

Gabriel rolls his eyes and acts offended. “Yeah, you do, Gramps. Forget your readers at home, huh?”

Dean tries to stifle his laugh, muttering, “he’s your problem now.”

The ceremony begins with a quick introduction and only two reasonably long speeches. The graduate students are announced first, but Cas is in the last row. It feels like Dean has been waiting for this moment as long as Cas has. He’s certainly put in the hours of research beside him. Fed and watered and supported them while Cas TA'd, wrote, and argued his thesis.

Dean shoves down the nervousness and focuses on the pride. There were only six doctoral candidates, and five made it across the stage that day. Dean couldn’t help but scream his head off when they announced, “Doctor Castiel Milton-Winchester.”

Everyone in the row beside him joined in, from a very pregnant Anna and her husband to Samandriel and Jess, Sam’s girlfriend whose nursing school graduation was in two and a half hours. Their tribe went hard.

Then they all had to wait for Sam’s turn near the end of the undergrads.

Dean doesn’t think it’s possible to be any prouder than he is at that moment. Seeing Sam’s floppy hair tucked underneath his square cap brings tears to his eyes. His brother was gonna be a lawyer someday, and not too far in the future Dean and Cas will be at another one of these robe parades.

Who knows, maybe Jess will still be around for it, too.

Dean grins and sniffles, because, yeah, Sam is graduating, but Dean helped get him there, damn it.

Not bad for two trailer park kids.

After the official time for applause, once the final name is called, the crowd returns to chaos. Dean bides his time, knowing Cas and Sam will find each other and meet up with him at the impala, sooner or later.

He watches his extended family gather their belongings and trudge outside into the spring sunshine. Rufus is loudly impatient the whole way. While Anna is almost to the point of waddling. Dean can’t wait to meet their niece already. Life is starting to slow down it seems.

Maybe they’ll finally be able to take the honeymoon they’ve been putting off for the past two years.

From somewhere behind Dean, Cas drawls a pathetic, “hey there, cowboy.”

Dean spins on the spot, smirking. “What’s up, Doc?”

“Really, Dean?! Bugs Bunny?!” Sam admonishes.

“Shut your face, Sammy,” Dean snips, not breaking eye contact with his husband.

Sam groans and turns to find Jessica. Dean’ll properly congratulate him later with the new juicer Sam’s been talking about, none too subtly, since the air fryer Dean got him for his birthday.

“Ready to celebrate your momentous accomplishment?” Dean asks, sliding in close and slipping his hands inside the now open sides of Cas’ faux satin gown.

“Please tell me there’ll be food. I woke up late and was too distracted to have breakfast,” Cas grumbles on Dean’s shoulder, shuffling his feet as if they’re dancing.

“Okay, but you never eat breakfast,” Dean argues since he was the source of the distraction in the first place.

“Because I eat between classes at like ten, Dean!” Cas bellyaches.

Dean sighs and gives him an unimpressed grimace. “Yes, there’ll be food, Christ. I’m not a sadist.”

They walk hand-in-hand to the car, Sam and Jess trailing behind them.

“Okay, quick lunch, and then back for round two?” Dean asks as everyone finds their respective doors. They all nod in agreement and Dean ducks into the car.

A memory of Cas’ first ride in the impala pops into Dean’s head. Having Sam in the backseat with Jess, it’s like looking in a funhouse mirror of that night. Sober and Garth-less, Dean chuckles.

“What?” Cas asks, amused.

Dean shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Just funny how everything works out in the end.”

“Good things do happen, Dean,” Cas agrees.

“Yeah, tell me about it. I got you, didn’t I?” Dean revs the engine and pulls into the line of traffic making their way out of the parking garage.

Destiel Tags: @dolphincliffs, @lastactiontricia

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#supernatural fanfiction #destiel #dean/cas #destiel fanfic #college au #hea #drunken hook up leads to fluff #homophobia #bisexual dean winchester #closeted gay castiel #bobby/rufus #first time

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zacharyleigh316 · 3 months

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the haunting cry of a hollow heart

the haunting cry of a hollow heart | E | 8.6K | Read here (or below cut)

Castiel, despite his interest in all things other, despite his favor for the fantastical, his love for reading stories and fairytales, despite his faith and religion, he didn’t believe in the supernatural. --

Though, regrettably, much to his chagrin, perhaps if he had, he wouldn’t have been so unprepared. --

He believed in the afterlife, believed in God, angels (he was named after one, after all) and demons, Heaven and hell. But that was where his belief both started and ended. He didn’t believe in those creatures the very stories he loved to read warned him about, the creatures that shape-shifted, or sucked humans dry. The creatures that feasted on dead flesh, or came from other lands, other universes.

Though, regrettably, much to his chagrin, perhaps if he had, he wouldn’t have been so unprepared. However, less regrettably, it did put him in the position of crossing paths with a man who, by all accounts would have never known he’d existed, a handsome athlete who ran in completely different crowds—or so he presumed originally—a man who he only knew in name until the very object of his disbelief brought them together.

Castiel was working late in the library that night, when he heard Charlie’s bright voice greet him from a distance.

“Yo, what’s up?” She had a grin on her face, of which he could hear before he even saw her.

Not that it was very hard, even over the stacks of books he was carting around, and through the thick bindings of ones already shelved, her bright red bob could be seen coming across campus.

“Charlie.” He said in lieu of a proper hello, but his tone was no less fond.

“Look at what I found.”

Castiel didn’t have time to ask before she was thrusting a piece of paper to his chest, a smug look on her face.

“And by found, naturally you mean…” he asked skeptically, pulling the paper away from himself and reading it.

“This is a flyer for the gala. The same flyer that’s been posted to the events billboard since the beginning of the semester.”

“Okay, so I might have taken-“

“Pilfered-“

Charlie playfully shoved his shoulder, and shot him a glare, without any of its usual bite, had it been directed toward anyone but him.

“-Taken,” she repeated, purposefully ignoring his correction, “from one of the boards, yes, but there’s so many of them, it’s not like they’ll miss one.”

Castiel hummed disapprovingly, but let her continue.

“I thought we could go!”

At that, Castiel furrowed his brow. “Go? To the Valentine’s Day gala?”

“Yeah! C’mon, it'll be fun. We’ll stuff our faces with free food, and watch people get shitfaced and make fools of themselves on the dance floor. Think of all the blackmail.”

“And with whom are you thinking of bringing as your date?”

“You, silly, duh! We’ll go together. As friends of course. Because you’re dreamy, but definitely not my type. Seeing as you’re not a girl.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “You’re not my type either.” He muttered, handing her back the flyer.

The ‘seeing as I like guys’ went unsaid, but Charlie smiled anyway. They both knew this of one another of course, having been friends since freshman year, when Charlie bounded into his life uninvited but no less welcome, but Charlie liked to bring it up every now and then, “as a reminder” she had said once, flourishing it with a wink. Though, it was her odd idiosyncrasies that made her so likable by even someone like Castiel himself—not that he was entirely lacking in those either, except, people usually steered clear of him for his.

“And who knows, maybe there’ll be some hot people there we can hit on. Wins all around the board.” Charlie added jovially, taking the flyer back, only to wave it about the air as she gestured excitedly.

“You make it sound like we’re already going.”

She smiled at him guiltily, and Castiel couldn’t help but sigh.

“Charlie…”

“Don’t be mad, okay? Promise you won’t be mad?”

“That depends. What did you do?” He asked, though by the look on his friend’s face, he was certain he already knew the answer.

“About that…I…might have already…bought us tickets. To go.”

“Charlie…” Castiel said again, not bothering to hide the weariness in his voice.

“You said you wouldn’t be mad!”

“Actually I said it depends. But that’s not the point. You never asked if I would want to attend.”

“Well, that’s because I knew you’d say no.” Charlie snorted, not looking all that sorry for it.

Castiel knew she wasn’t.

“You don’t do anything fun unless we make you, and this is me making you. Besides, you can’t say you’d rather be working late hours in the library of all places, all by yourself, again, when you can be hanging out with the coolest people on the planet! And you know I’m right.”

Castiel sighed again, this time in, albeit reluctant, acquiescence. Not that Charlie would take no for an answer, anyway.

She grinned at the droop of his shoulders, knowing full well that was him giving up the fight. The queen, per usual, proved her right to the title; Castiel was no stranger to loss when it came to arguing with Charlie. He was certain no one was. She got her way in the end, eventually.

“Fine.”

“Yes! No one deserves to be alone on Valentine’s Day, Castiel. Even jaded history majors with a work study in the university library, such as yourself.”

“I’m not jaded,” he defended, turning back to his long since forgotten task of shelving the returns. “My people skills are just…rusty.”

“Unless they learned to talk back, which would be super cool by the way, burying yourself in work with books as your only company isn’t going to help.”

That, Castiel surmised, was a lesson he knew all too well.

Ever since her reveal that they would be attending the gala, courtesy to none other than herself, Charlie hadn’t shut up about it. Every chance she got she talked about it with the excitement erring on that of a small child, that Castiel couldn’t help but allow it to bleed into himself, despite his earlier grievances. He still had his doubts of course, feeling rather under qualified for a social occasion such as a dance, but it really did beat staying in library, or worse, in his dorm, all by himself, with nothing to do whilst his friends had fun living life—he’d also rather not have to hear the couple in the room beside him have raucous sexual relations all night. He, too, has learned that lesson the hard way.

“We should go shopping this weekend, make it a whole thing.” Charlie suggested to the table, before stealing some of the fries off Castiel’s plate, having finished her own minutes prior, and popping them into her mouth.

Gabriel snorted. “What makes you think we don’t already have outfits?”

Meg, who was pretending not to listen, but so clearly was, looked up from her phone with a smirk. “We’ve all seen inside your closet, that’s what.”

“I’ll have you know that everything in there is peak fashion.”

Meg raised a manicured brow. “To whom exactly? The dead guy you inherited it second hand from?”

“Hey! Thrifting is very efficient, and cost effective. You know, for a college student.”

“You’re a graduate student, mastering in business management, I hardly think you need to be frugal.” She argued, and Gabe crossed his arms, pouting.

“Cassie, you’re just going to let her be mean to me?!”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Meg didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

Gabriel gasped, looking thoroughly offended. He shook his head, and sullenly turned back to his own food.

“Don’t worry, Gabe, we’ll pick something real nice for you. Oh, we can even do a montage!”

“Sorry, Red. You may be able to get me to tag along at the mall with you, but I’m not going to be participating in that.” Meg said defiantly, her mind already made.

“But…montage.”

Gabe scoffed, muttering into his lunch. “Forget trying to convince this one, Charles, she’s stubborn. Like a mu-OW!”

Meg glared at Gabe, who was now rubbing his shin, from across the table. “Finish that, and die.”

“We’ll be there.” Castiel said suddenly, interrupting his friend’s antics. “Unless you’d rather show up naked.” He said this to his brother.

“Ew. Don’t give him ideas.” Charlie scrunched up her face in disgust, and Gabriel let out a laugh.

“Hey! There’d be a lot of people who’d enjoy that kind of show.”

“In your dreams.” Meg said, at the same time of Castiel’s, “not if it got you kicked out.”

“You lot are so boring.” Charlie whined, finishing off Castiel’s fries too. “Regardless of whether or not you guys are doing a montage, I’m making you watch me do one.”

The four of them set out that weekend to go shopping for outfits, and, although they shared their initial reluctance at lunch all those days prior to their outing, Charlie did, in the end, get her montage(s). Castiel, despite feeling foolish whilst modeling his various selection of outfits—all chosen meticulously for him by Charlie and Meg because he “couldn’t be trusted to put together a coherent look that both fit properly and wasn’t a boring color”—couldn’t have denied his red headed friend in the first place. By the two additional shows they got alongside his and Charlie’s, he figured it was much the same for Meg and Gabriel too.

Castiel wouldn’t be incorrect in presuming that Charlie already knew this, but he’d be damned if he told her that she was right, that he had fun, of course he did, in time that would have otherwise been spent in solitude brought upon by no one but himself, lest he inflate her ego any further.

With four new outfits under their metaphorical belts, they left their shopping spree in good spirits. It was only natural then, that the overall good mood wouldn’t last, and the playful camaraderie established between the friends would change the second they got back to campus, to blue and red flashing lights.

“What…do you think happened?” Charlie asked, her expression mirroring what Castiel was sure all their faces looked like in that moment.

He shook his head in lieu of answering, and swallowed down the bile rising in his throat.

As they neared the quad, they merged silently with the ever growing group of onlookers, most of whom were peers and faculty, whispers amongst the sea of people seeming all too loud over the eerie blanket of quiet. The cops, separated from them only by a thin barrier of police tape, stood just along edges of the area they cordoned off, no doubt keeping the crowd at bay. They offered no explanation, though Castiel could barely make out the murmured “stay back”s over the dread in his gut.

He did hear the sharp inhale beside him, however, that was Meg, he was certain, closely followed by a gasp, Charlie, and when he looked over, he saw why.

There, lying just beyond, was a body.

The grass was dark, no doubt stained crimson from blood, and the large gaping wound, from where the skull was bashed in, from which could be none other than its source, was still seeping, still fresh. The eyes stared out, wide and unseeing, as Castiel stared back in abject horror.

That was when he saw him. Jaw set and arms crossed, just across the way on the other side, stood Dean Winchester.

The man looked determined, not surprised at all to see the dead body of a classmate, in fact, and Castiel couldn’t help but watch, watch as Dean seemed to assess, seemed to study the crime scene in front of them, as if he was filing it away for later. Castiel recognized that look, because it was one he shared whenever he was trying to solve a puzzle.

Dean looked up then, like he could feel Castiel’s gaze on him, and their eyes met. The moment they did, Castiel remembered—albeit rather shamefully—the way stomach flipped for an entirely different reason than the horrific sight before them. Gabe’s iron grip on his arm was the only thing able to pull his attention away, and so he took the time to check in on the well-being of his friends, but by the time Castiel got the chance to look back, Dean was already gone.

To say the suicide—it was classified as a suicide—stirred up the atmosphere on campus, would be an understatement. Castiel couldn’t remember a time where he’d felt so shaken in his faith, so rocked to the core, raw and open and vulnerable. It was on everyone’s minds, and on everyone’s lips, and it was all anyone heard about the next few days. They didn’t cancel classes, or work, the world still went on—even though their fellow classmate’s’ was cut short, Castiel reminded himself—everything proceeding as normal, as if someone hadn’t just died, and perhaps that was worse.

Castiel didn’t know what he expected, or why he thought it would go differently, but he prayed and prayed and prayed for peace for the lost soul. Still, he couldn’t get the image out of his head. Nor could he get a certain cutting figure, but that was neither here nor there.

The very little information he had was acquired secondhand from the tail-ends of gossip, at work in the library. Apparently, or so the running theory was, the young woman, in a bout of madness, bashed her head against the tree until she dropped. Another student on their way back to their dorm found her and called the proper authorities. Castiel couldn’t imagine being the one to find the body, and he’d seen it for himself that night. He also heard that the woman’s boyfriend was beside himself with grief, most understandably, that not even he believed she would kill herself, that they were happy. She’d begged him to take her to the gala and he’d agreed.

Castiel also heard that her brains had been sucked out, but he was certain that was just hearsay; she had severe head trauma, after all, it probably only seemed like her brains were gone, when in reality they were just…well.

Shaking his head from his musings, if they’d even be called that, he got back to work, trying to lose himself in the repetitiveness of routine. Charlie had been unnaturally quiet the past few days, the dance quickly overshadowed by the recent events that transpired, and none of them felt it right to change the subject either. Castiel understood, for he was much the same, but he relished in being able to escape feeling for however long his shift was.

“Uh, hey, do you have any books on Gaelic mythology and folklore?”

Castiel paused what he was doing, and turned to greet the voice—definitely not Charlie this time—only to meet a pair of recently familiar, but quite beautiful up close, green eyes.

“Oh. Hello, Dean.” He said dumbly, but was rewarded with an amused smirk.

“Heya, Cas. Well, do you?”

Castiel furrowed his brow. “What.”

Dean chuckled. “Have books. On Gaelic folklore.”

Castiel inwardly cursed his ineptitude, and allowed himself to blink, forcing his basic motor functions to, well, function.

“Yes. We do. You know who I am?”

Dean regarded him curiously, brow raised. “Well, yeah. You’re friends with Charlie. We’ve never had the pleasure of meeting before, but she does talk about her other friends.”

“Oh.” He said again, finding himself at a loss for words.

Dean didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he still seemed rather amused by it, much to Castiel’s displeasure.

Instead of dwelling on it, however, Castiel abandoned his cart and gestured to Dean for him to follow, leading the other man to the section where he’d find what he was looking for.

“If you need anything else, let me know.”

He didn’t ask why an engineering student would need a book on Gaelic folklore, nor did Dean offer up an explanation.

“Awesome, thanks Cas.”

The nickname stole Castiel’s breath away with a familiarity he wasn’t aware they had, because they didn’t, not really—Dean was just friendly it seemed—also did he say he knew Charlie, she never said anything why didn’t she say anything—and he stood there, lingering longer than he should, awkwardly shifting in place.

“I’m…going to go…now.” He announced unhelpfully, and Dean had the decency not to comment on it.

“You do that.” He replied with a smile, and turned his attention to the shelves.

Castiel, released from whatever hold the other man had on him the second his gaze was elsewhere and no longer pointed at him, quickly made his way back to finish his work, lest he embarrass himself further.

“I wasn’t aware you knew Dean Winchester.” He grumbled to Charlie at dinner that night.

“Dean? He’s my handmaiden, of course I know Dean.”

Gabriel snorted. “Handmaiden?”

“There’s a story to that, I can tell.” Meg said, amused.

Charlie chuckled, a welcomed sound that the group hadn’t realized they missed until they heard it.

“There is, but I’m not telling. A queen’s gotta have her secrets.”

Meg clicked her tongue disapprovingly, and Gabriel groaned, complaining about “being edged, and not in the fun way” which promptly earned a smirk from Meg, a loud, boisterous laugh from Charlie, and a look of disgust from Castiel.

There was another ‘suicide’ reported that night.

Castiel was in the hall heading to his religious studies class when he next ran into Dean Winchester. He couldn’t fathom how he went his entire college career without so much as seeing a glimpse of the man, and now he saw him thrice in a matter of a few days. All because their peers appeared to be being picked off one by one.

There were now an accumulated three deaths since the first, and Castiel’s doubt had steadily increased right alongside the creeping uptick in body counts. He detested his wavering faith in the police, but there was only so many ‘suicides’ exacted in the same manner that they couldn’t be categorized as ‘suicides’ anymore. Two could possibly pass a coincidence, but three was a pattern; he knew that much. He had pondered, however, the reluctance in which the police seemed to label the ‘suicides’ as ‘murders’, but was only met with unease. For there to be murder, which Castiel was already (mostly) convinced was the case, would naturally mean for there to be a murderer.

But wouldn’t he want to know if his life was in danger? He wasn’t sure which option was scarier, but he was positive he’d rather be afraid and knowledgeable than ignorant but afraid anyway. So it was a dangerous doubt, Castiel surmised, since the only conclusion it led to was the authorities withholding the truth, regardless if it was due to their own incompetence or ulterior motives.

Dean looked furious, expression blazoned with a fierce determination, fiery and bright, even from the distance where Castiel stood. It was a devastatingly beautiful look on him, he noted sourly, seeing as his stupid heart couldn’t have picked a worse time to seek out another, and form a ridiculous infatuation that, Castiel knew, would go nowhere, regardless of their connection with Charlie.

He was talking with a much younger man, though, with the boy’s height, one wouldn’t be able to tell at first glance, and immediately Castiel knew this was Dean‘s little brother, Sam Winchester—a freshman in pre-law. Castiel recalled seeing him about, since a lot of their classes were in the same building.

“I’m pretty sure I know what it is, I just don’t know who it is.” Dean growled, crossing his arms in a posing figure, much like the one on the night they first met.

“We’ll figure it out, Dean. We always do.” Sam reassured, looking all the worse for wear as he said it, however.

Like he was trying to convince himself too.

“Yeah, but how many people have to die before then, Sammy?” Dean replied wearily, a horrifying dark look casting a dark shadow across Sam’s face.

Castiel’s chest seized in terror as he witnessed it; he’d never seen such a look on anyone’s face before, a look that, with resounding clarity, should not have ever had a place on the younger Winchester brother’s face.

“Oh hey, Cas.” Dean greeted as he noticed his approach, shooting a look at his brother before his face slipped into an easy grin.

Castiel noticed he did so with practiced familiarity, as if he was used to putting on a mask, but didn’t mention it.

“Cas?” Sam questioned, at the same time Castiel himself said, “hello, Dean. Sam.” With a cordial nod.

Were they actually investigating the incident? What business did two brothers have in a series of deaths? What could they do that the police already weren’t?

He didn’t think it wise to ask them any of these questions either.

“Hey, Castiel.” Sam said with a little wave, a small, friendly smile smoothing out his expression the same way his brother’s did.

“Just dropping off my baby bro to class.” Dean lied, just as easy as the rest of him, and reached across to ruffle Sam’s shaggy hair.

Sam squawked indignantly, knocking Dean’s hand aside with a rising blush to his cheeks. Dean chuckled at his brother’s embarrassment, which was an action definitely more genuine than anything else previously had been. Castiel had experience with this, after all, being a little brother himself, to Gabriel especially.

“You heading off to one of your smarty pants classes too, Cas?”

Castiel raised a brow. “I’m not sure what you mean by that, but I’m heading to my religious studies class, yes.”

Dean chuckled. “‘S’nothing, Cas. Just teasing you. Y’know, cuz you and Sam are both nerds, attending all your boring nerdy classes.”

Sam shot a glare at his brother, and Cas tilted his head to the side, curiously.

“Interesting. You seem to regard us as nerds, but you too are one. Perhaps not in the same way, but I would consider you a nerd most of all, considering your area of expertise.”

Sam snorted, his glare morphing into a smug grin as Dean spluttered. Apparently he had not expected Castiel to come back with such a lethal rebuttal.

“Damn, Cas.” Dean whistled, and Sam nodded his agreement.

“I’ve been telling him that for years.”

“Unfortunately I’ll be late if I stay any longer. Goodbye, Dean. Sam.”

He nodded his apologies as he said goodbye, and passed them by on the way to his class.

“See ya, Cas.” Dean said after him, before grunting in what Cas could only assume was an elbow to his side from Sam.

“Cas, huh?” He asked, amused.

“Shaddup!”

“I can’t believe we’re still going to this damned dance, after everything.” Meg mused, wrapping a long, thin section of her brunette hair around her curling iron.

Gabriel snorted, adjusting the cuffs of his creme colored blazer, as he stared at himself in the mirror. They were all getting ready in Charlie’s room, their hangout spot more often than not, since she bought out the double as a premium single (which meant more space and privacy), and could reasonably, and comfortably, fit them all. Though, Castiel shared the sentiment, and often wondered too, why they still planned to go.

It made him uneasy to think that it was just another excuse to sweep things under the rug and pretend everything was normal by the administration, since, aside from the plethora of grief counselors at their disposal, they hadn’t really done much in assuaging any actual grief by divulging in some sort of explanation why people were dying (read: being murdered, he begrudgingly admitted to himself, because people didn’t experience the same bouts of madness that drove them to suddenly kill themselves, all in the same exact manner as the one that succeeded them). He wouldn’t have believed it if he didn’t see it himself.

Safety, Castiel thought sullenly, apparently came second to whatever the reason was for the university’s decision to proceed as if nothing happened.

He was also still unsure what the Winchesters had to do with any of it.

“You don’t sound too displeased.” Gabriel commented, smoothing invisible creases on his maroon turtleneck.

Meg shrugged. “Do I like that people are dying? Of course not. But I suppose being distracted by a dance is better than focusing on the fact that life is short, and death is inevitable.”

Gabe groaned, and Charlie made a sound of discontent.

“Okay, yeah, bummer. I mean, at least we have each other, right? It can still be fun…”

Meg grinned, cat like. “Oh I definitely plan to still have fun.”

“Get laid you mean?” Gabriel teased, which only emboldened her.

Meg turned around, arms opened wide as she presented herself, devastatingly gorgeous in a satin crimson dress, with a black, mesh overlay, and a, in Castiel’s opinion, leg slit dangerously close to her upper thigh. It left little to be desired, but he couldn’t deny she looked amazing in it. Of course it wasn’t a surprise to any of them, since she’d chosen this particular dress during their shopping trip, that seemed so long ago now, rather than just last week.

“Have you seen me? Getting laid is half the fun. The remaining survivors won’t know what hit ‘em.” She all but purred, and Gabriel shook his head.

“Can’t believe you’d think about sex during these hard times.”

“Oh, and you aren’t?” Charlie quipped back, and Meg laughed.

He was glad his friends could find light in the darkness, but it didn’t sit right with him to participate. He did have the heart to. It didn’t feel right, when a guy lost his girlfriend, and then another girl lost hers. When another person lost their partner right after. And then, just the other day, another guy lost his boyfriend. It didn’t seem like the right time for anything, let alone love.

“Clarence, you okay? You’re awfully quiet over there.” Meg asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“I know it sounds kinda fucked up, but the situation is kinda fucked up.” Charlie added, reaching over to pat shoulder.

He loathed to be the one to bring down the mood so he forced a smile. “I know, it’s alright. I’m…okay.”

It was a lie, on every account, and they all knew it, but thankfully none of them pressed him further.

“Well, it’s settled then. We’re gonna go to the gala, just like planned, and we’re gonna have fun, stuff our faces, make fun of drunk people, and maybe get our flirt on.” Charlie said with a determined air of finality, and the rest of their group nodded.

“Are we all ready?” She asked, having been the first to finish, but looking nothing less than graceful in her fuchsia pantsuit.

Castiel looked down at himself, feeling a bit self conscious in black, slim fitting slacks, and a dusty rose colored dress shirt, his blazer a matching black with light, pink floral patterns, but both Meg and Charlie assured him when he tried it on, that he looked ‘hot’ in the outfit. He wasn’t all too sure he would have used those words, nor did he have desire to look ‘hot’, but he accepted the praise for what it was, and bought it with encouragement from all three of his friends.

He nodded reluctantly, and they all filed out of Charlie’s dorm, looking ready to take on the night. He tried not to imagine the walk to the campus ballroom as a death march to the gallows. Tried to ignore the impending doom settling deep in his gut, to think positive thoughts, about spending time with his friends having fun at the dance, what had been Charlie’s original selling point, when she approached him at work—which seemed like forever ago now—and proposed the idea of going to the dance in the first place.

He failed.

Castiel didn’t know precisely when it happened, but, at some point during the night, he and his friends got separated. He had excused himself to get some air outside in the hallway, away from prying eyes and warm bodies, tightly packed together on the dance floor, at cocktail tables, and hidden in not so secret corners.

He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall, when the sound of distant thudding reached his ears, just under the sound of the music, like an undercurrent to the pulsing bass of whatever was playing in the ballroom.

At first, he attempted to ignore it, truly he did. But it continued, louder and louder and more aggressive; it was too far to discern anything, so, in what must have been a fit of insanity, for the serious lapse in judgment, he pushed himself off the wall and walked toward the sound, curiosity getting the better of him.

What Castiel witnessed then was no short of terrifying. He rounded the corner, and nearly lost all his breath, watching in frozen terror as someone bashed their head repeatedly into the glass window of a classroom, his knees almost buckling at the wet crunch of their skull cracking against the surface of the glass, icy fractures running up and out like veins in a splintered web as it, too, broke under pressure.

The person was crying, screaming really, hands cupped over bloodied ears, begging for someone to “make it stop, please just make it stop!” When, seemingly all at once, it did.

With one last sounding thump, they slid down to floor, smearing blood and brain matter against the pane of glass, and Castiel was helpless to do anything but watch, an unfortunate bystander to such a vile display, like an out of body experience that rattled his very soul, whilst his real, tangible body, this corporeal form, stay firmly rooted where it was.

But nothing, and he meant nothing, would have ever prepared him for the absolutely repulsive, ghastly looking, free-floating creature that materialized out of nowhere, before it stuck its long, equally repulsive tongue into the stranger’s head, and (honest to god) slurped their brains out. If Castiel thought what had just transpired was hard enough to stomach, it was nothing compared to watching this…this thing feast on someone who, only minutes prior, had been a living, breathing human.

Eyes wide and full of fearful tears, mind screaming at him to “move, just move, get out of here, run!” Castiel managed to take a step back. Unfortunately for Castiel, the movement was enough to rouse the monster from its food, dead, milky white eyes zeroing in on him and once again stealing his breath away. Choking on a silent gasp, Castiel had just enough time to see it unhinge its jaw, before he finally forced himself into a sprint back the way he came, stumbling only when an ear piercing shriek sounded from behind him, so loud it shook the walls.

An unnatural mist he hadn’t noticed before, sluggishly seeped from the tiled floor, surrounding his ankles, pouring endlessly up and out, creeping along the walls and pooling across ceiling, and out of it came the screaming beast, somehow right in front of him, blocking Castiel’s path. He cried out in pain as it screamed even louder, the sound reverberating in his skull, causing his vision to blur. He reached up to cup his ears, his heart lurching at the warm fluid he felt trickle against his palms.

He realized that, and perhaps a bit too late, but again with resounding clarity, that this was what had killed all those other people. That this was what was going to kill him.

“Hey, you ugly son of a bitch!”

Castiel snapped his eyes open—when had he closed them, he couldn’t remember—and watched the creature tear its attention away from him, snarling toward the intruder.

“Get away from him!”

Castiel flinched at the sound of a shotgun round, heard the shells clatter to the floor as the shooter reloaded, but was unable to look away from the thing in front of him as it dissolved into whatever before his eyes, just as quickly as it appeared. And yet, Castiel dared not take a breath, in fear that it would return because he had.

“Is…is it dead?” He asked, realizing the screaming had stopped, despite the residual ringing in his ear.

“Unfortunately, no. Only pure gold can kill these things.” Dean answered, guiltily.

“Right.”

“But not to worry. Rock-salt rounds are enough to stall them for a bit. Banshees take longer to recover than other spirits, so we have some time.”

Castiel said nothing, and Dean looked over at him, worry in his expression. He reached out, a comforting hand on Cas’ shoulder.

“You okay, Cas? I know that can be…a lot your first time.”

“First time?” Castiel muttered, brow furrowed.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean had the gall to appear abashed, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “Y’know, your first encounter with the…supernatural.”

Castiel hated how he noticed how good Dean looked, even like that.

“The supernatural…” he parroted, as if trying it on for size.

And suddenly it all clicked in place. He glanced down at the gun, a sawed-off shotgun to be precise, in Dean’s hand, the one that had been used to blast away the banshee. He’d called it a banshee, a spirit, a malevolent fae spirit, from Gaelic folklore. Dean came to the library asking for a book on Gaelic folklore. He’d caught Dean and Sam talking about the murders after that. He remembered the ease at which Dean wore his mask then, how the lie came as free as breathing. The fierce determination radiating from both men, a look that Dean held close to his heart the very moment their eyes locked across the quad on the night of the first, and one Castiel noticed every time they ran into one another thereafter.

“Cas?”

“Dean.”

“Y-yeah?” Dean furrowed his brow, looking a bit put out by the lack of tone in Castiel’s voice, probably because he couldn’t read the situation anymore, but mostly concerned for, and about, Cas.

“You were investigating. The deaths.” A statement, not a question.

“Uh, kinda? Me and my brother we…hunt the supernatural.”

Castiel recalled how comfortable Dean looked when using the shotgun, the speed in which he reloaded after taking a shot, and hummed.

“A banshee. Did you hear it too then? You knew what it was.”

“Not exactly. I knew what it was because of the nature of the kills. Only its targets can hear its scream.”

Castiel closed his eyes and swallowed against the lump in his throat. “I heard it…”

“…”

Castiel opened his eyes, taking in the knowing look on Dean’s face, seeing the guilt and concern and anger—the latter not directed at him—there, all at once, wrapped into one gut wrenching expression.

“Am I going to die?”

“No.” Dean snapped immediately, sounding so sure that Castiel couldn’t help the flare of hope in his chest.

“Their screams are usually a death sentence, Dean. I watched…I watched that person get their brains sucked out. After they…killed themselves. It’s how the others died too, isn’t it?

“Fuck,” Dean cursed, shaking his head, “sorry you had to see that, Cas. It’s true I was too late to save them, but I will save you. I promise.”

Castiel didn’t feel like reminding Dean not to make promises he couldn’t keep. He really hoped that he could.

Castiel was in the middle of contemplating how mad his friends would be if he didn’t get to say goodbye, if he just left and disappeared without a word, when the walls of the hallway he and Dean retreated to (further, and at a safe distance, away from the ballroom) began to rattle. The lights flickered angrily, and the same mist from before returned, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Castiel heard its screams before anything else, however, and already knew it was back.

It materialized behind them, and all for Dean’s fast reflexes, he was still a tad too slow to react, and certainly felt it as his back made contact with the floor a good few feet away, after the banshee tossed him aside without even touching him.

“Dean!” Castiel called after him, only to be brought to his knees by the shrieking to his left, its rancid breath curling against his skin, and raising the hair on the back of his neck.

He grunted in pain, his ears ringing anew, and blindly struck out with the iron poker Dean had lent him, slumping when it, just as Dean said, disappeared. The relief was momentary, and it quickly reappeared beside Dean, who was still trying to grasp his bearings, looking downright pissed at being thwarted again.

“Son of a bitch-“ Dean’s curse was cut short, or rather, drowned out by another rattling screech, right in Dean’s face.

It reached out and pinned him down, and he turned his head, trying to wriggle out of its grip.

“Ugh! Ever heard of breath mint, lady?”

“Dean…” Castiel breathed, exasperated. He never ceased to be amazed by Dean’s tenacity to joke in the face of danger (literally).

Dean knocked their foreheads together, catching the banshee off guard, and managed to toss it off him, quickly grabbing his shotgun and taking a shot before it had time to recover. It exploded in a fiery cloud of whatever it was made of, and Castiel managed to pick himself up off of the floor, helping Dean up after making his way over to him.

“Thanks.” He said breathlessly, giving his hand a squeeze.

Castiel nodded, and didn’t fail to notice the way their hands lingered, before they dropped back down to their collective sides.

“Did you and Sam ever figure out why it’s here?”

Dean snorted. “Yeah. Our friendly neighborhood banshee is killing people because she’s jealous.”

“Jealous? Of whom?” Castiel asked, trying to make sense of it.

“Us. You know. Lovers, halves of a pair. Whatever. Guess Valentine’s Day stirred up some resentment, some bad memories.” Dean clarified with a shrug.

Castiel knew it wasn’t what Dean meant, when he said ‘us’, but he tried not to blush all the same.

“That’s why they were all people in a relationship?”

“Bingo. Banshees hunt in a particular place until there’s nothing left, and a college campus is basically a feast of couples, so our friend would have been well fed on us for a while, if it wasn’t for Sammy and I.” Dean sighed.

“Just wish we figured it out sooner.”

“You can’t blame yourself for that, Dean. But if what you said is true, why is she after me?”

“Eh, you got in her way. That, or you’re in love.” He said wryly, and at that Castiel did blush.

“Plus Charlie told me she signed you all up for the gala. Everyone who died so far was on that list. Could be a coincidence but…” Dean trailed off and shrugged again, but shot a smile over to Cas.

“You look really good by the way. Sorry you got caught up in all this. You got all dressed up and now you’re missing the dance, trying to hunt a banshee with me. You didn’t even know this stuff existed until now, and all you’re getting out of it is a ruined outfit.”

Castiel snorted. “And my life. I think surely that’s worth more. Along with everyone else’s life. I couldn’t care less about an…outfit. It was nice though.”

Dean chuckled. “Makes sense.”

“Besides, I didn’t even want to go. To the dance. Charlie made me. My only regret is that I didn’t let her know where I would be. But would you believe me when I’d say I’d rather be hunting a banshee with you, than in there with all those people?

“What, not a people person, Cas?”

Castiel shot him a deadpan look that made him laugh, and, despite himself, Cas found himself laughing along.

“Yeah. M’not either. Not really. Sure I talk a big game, but there’s only a few people who I can be real with, y’know?”

Castiel opened his mouth to reply, when the light above them exploded, and the banshee flew into them, dragging them across the hall and throwing them into the wall on the opposite end of where they had been standing. They crashed into each other, the impact stealing all the breath from his lungs, and they tumbled to the ground in a pile, the banshee’s resounding cackle rumbling the building like an earthquake.

Castiel rolled off of Dean, looking sullenly at their weapons that had clattered to the ground and skidded across the tile just out of reach.

“Damn, this bitch is really getting on my nerves.” Dean grunted out, almost a growl.

“I think I’m starting to share your sentiment.” Castiel managed, glaring at the imposing figure of the banshee, as she floated above them.

This time, when she screamed, both Cas and Dean cowered away from the sound.

“Really wish I had a golden blade right about now.” Dean joked, and Castiel groaned.

“Dean!”

“Sorry.” He apologized, though he didn’t sound that sorry to Castiel at all.

The banshee reached out and grabbed the lapels of Dean’s jacket, as if reminding them she was there, and picked him up off the ground. He scrambled for purchase, struggling in her tight grip, but his efforts were fruitless, and, as she raised them higher, her screaming never faltered.

Castiel reached up, wincing as the pads of his fingers pressed against the weeping wound at his forehead, and shakily lowered them again.

“If you wanted a dance, all you had to do was ask.” Dean quipped, which worked well in keeping her distracted.

“But any more than that I’ll have to politely decline. Don’t believe the rumors about me, I need to be wined and dined a least once before I put out.”

With a vindictive screech, Dean went flying again, but this time he was expecting it, and tumbled out of his fall. It wasn’t graceful by any means, but it still impressed Castiel.

He managed to grab the poker, his shotgun stuck between him and the banshee, and swung it as she charged at him. The moment she disappeared, Castiel scrambled up and tossed the shotgun to Dean, before ducking behind him.

Grateful that the attention was off him, he got to work, as Dean wildly swung at the banshee, her attacks becoming more ruthless as his hits became more predictable. He glanced up at the two of them, the mist acting as a smoke screen as she disappeared and reappeared, swirling around the poker as Dean used his baseball prowess to hit her every strike and lunge. It was ineffective in the long run, and hardly a long term solution, especially as Dean’s stamina wore out, but it helped Castiel by keeping her distracted once more.

When he finished, he stood up, fixing the banshee with a hard glare, the movement drawing her gaze to him.

“When it’s two against one, make sure to have eyes on both enemies.” He growled out, and as she charged after him, knocking an exhausted Dean off to the side, Castiel slammed his hand down on the blood sigil he made, activating both it and its copy on the opposite side of the hall.

It glowed bright, and in a matter of seconds, the banshee was dragged backward, and trapped against the wall, bound by the line of sigils. She roared, struggling against her invisible tether, mist swirling angrily, lights flickering like crazy, but she remained trapped, her fretting useless against the Celtic blood trapping spell.

“Holy shit, Cas!” Dean exclaimed, both pride and awe in his tone.

“You may be a hunter Dean, but you’re not the only one who reads.”

Dean grinned. “Awesome. How did you know that would work?”

“To be fair, I didn’t. But I figured if banshees were real, then the magic used to trap them must be too. So, while you kept her distracted, I drew the sigils with my blood.”

“Awesome.” Dean repeated, and Castiel couldn’t help but smile back.

Then, startling both of them out of whatever moment they were just about to have, the banshee suddenly burst into flames with a cry, crumbling like burnt paper into floating, ashy debris, until there was nothing left.

“What-“

The trill of Dean’s phone signaled an incoming call, interrupting whatever Castiel was about to ask, and he looked over curiously as Dean fished the device out of his pocket.

“It’s Sam.” He explained before picking up. “Sup, bitch. Took your sweet old time salting and burning the body, didn’t you?”

Castiel’s eyes widened. Salting and what-ing the body?!

“Yeah, fucking thing almost took out me and Cas…” he blushed and glanced over at him, before quickly looking away, and lowering his voice.

“Uh, yeah, that Cas. I mean there’s no other, is there? Anyway Sammy, don’t change the subject. What took you so long?”

Dean snorted. “Excuses, excuses. What? Oh…uh…I don’t know if he’d be up for that.”

Dean’s brow furrowed. “Well would you if you just got attacked by a banshee?”

The features then smoothed from his face, and he grinned once more. “You shoulda seen him Sammy, he used his blood to draw these badass sigils and trap the banshee, it was awesome.”

Castiel felt the heat rising in his cheeks, unsure how he felt about the Winchester brothers talking about him whilst he was right there, and only able to hear only half of the conversation, but mostly he was just embarrassed.

“Yeah yeah, alright, I’ll ask him. Bye, bitch.” Dean hung up and fondly rolled his eyes, before walking over to Cas.

“Sorry about that. Sammy had only just finished digging…uh well, you don’t need to hear about that, haha, the less you know the better, but the banshee is banished for good now, and he should be on his way back, thank fuck, but he suggested that after we clean up, maybe we catch the end of the dance together, if you-mmph!”

Castiel surged forward, most likely encouraged by the adrenaline still pumping through him—if not for that, he’s certain he would not have been that bold—and sealed their lips together, cutting Dean’s rambling short.

“Yes.” He whispered between them as he pulled away, Dean blinking away the surprise as his brain rebooted and processed what just happened.

“Uh…yeah?” Dean said dopily, a smile tugging at his lips.

Those lips Castiel just kissed.

“Yes.”

“Even though you said you’d rather be fighting a banshee than go to the dance?” Dean asked, sounding amused.

“We fought the banshee.” Castiel replied rather seriously, earning a chuckle from Dean.

“True. Guess we do deserve a reward after that.”

“Besides,” Castiel started with a sigh, “I disappeared without saying anything earlier. I’m sure Charlie, at the very least, is worried about me.”

Charlie was indeed worried about him, but so was Meg and Gabriel, in their own way. After he and Dean cleaned up, including making themselves semi presentable, they entered the ballroom only looking slightly rumpled, and no less for wear than they had already. The trio bounded up to him right away, once they found him, but Charlie couldn’t admonish him for long without acknowledging the man beside him—rather excitedly, might he add.

She jumped up and gave him a hug, which Dean happily returned, only wincing slightly as his sore muscles tugged and flexed to compensate for the weight and movement. He put her back down not too long after, and the second her feet touched the ground, the three of them were on them like a pack of hellhounds.

“You two came in together?” Gabriel asked, smirking.

“Where did you go? Why didn’t you tell us?” Charlie punched both of their arms lightly, and pouted.

“You two came in together?” Gabriel said again, looking even more smug, if possible.

“We looked everywhere for you and couldn’t find you! We thought you might have left, but then you didn’t say anything, or tell anybody if you got back to the dorm safe or not!” Charlie continued, shaking her head in blatant disapproval.

“You two came-ow!” Gabriel rubbed the back of his head, and pouted at a smirking Meg.

Castiel, who was scowling at his brother, felt his face smooth out, and Meg rolled her eyes rather dramatically.

“We get it, Gabe, they came in together. Did you fuck?”

Dean laughed, and shook his head. “No, we definitely didn’t. Cas is too good for a quick fuck like that, anyway.”

Meg nodded her approval, and Castiel groaned, hiding his face in his hands. Gabriel and Charlie both grinned.

“He just went out for air, when I happened to pass by on my way back from the auto-shop. I wasn’t sure I wanted to come to the dance, but then I saw Cas standing there looking like that, well.”

Charlie squealed excitedly, waving her hands in the air. “This is so awesome! I told you the dance would be fun, did I not say the dance would be fun?”

Castiel and Dean shared a look, a brief moment of silent conversation only they would understand, and Castiel let out a sigh.

“You did.” He confirmed, though ‘fun’ was a vast understatement, and certainly not how he would describe the dance—not that he’d experienced much of it, fighting a malevolent Gaelic fae spirit, and all.

“Aw man,” Charlie said with pout, as if she had a sudden revelation, “Cas is way ahead of us you guys! He wasn’t even here and managed to bring a date. Wait, you guys are here as a date right?”

“Yes, Char, we’re here together, as a date.”

Charlie squealed again, muttering how she “totally shipped it” whatever that meant, and turned back to their group with more fervor than ever that they “needed to catch up”. This time, however, when they separated, it didn’t bring the sense of dread it did when Castiel first encountered the banshee, and thought for certain he was about to die, without ever having said goodbye.

“I never did thank you, Dean. For saving me earlier. I truly thought I was…well. I didn’t think I would still be here, and I probably wouldn’t have been, if it wasn’t for you.”

“Dude, don’t thank me. You held your own against the banshee too. It was pretty hot.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, but smiled. He caught Charlie’s eye across the dance floor, and she gave him a thumbs up. Gabriel caught his eye next, but made a rather lewd gesture that would have appalled him, had Dean not also caught it and snickered, finding it amusing. Meg shoved him, and Castiel smirked as Gabriel flailed about, silently thanking her for once again reprimanding his brother on his behalf. She winked at them before turning away, and Castiel tilted his head to the side, thoughtfully.

“It’s strange to think that not too long ago we were fighting a supernatural creature, and now we’re back at the dance, spending time with our friends like it didn’t happen. There’s literally a body down the hall.”

“Eh, Sam’s got that taken care of. And nobody will know you were there, or what we did at all. They’re safe, and that’s what matters. That’s the job.”

Castiel hummed, and turned to Dean with an appreciative look. Dean looked back, blushing slightly at the attention, but smiled softly regardless.

“What?” He asked, and Castiel shook his head.

He kissed Dean in lieu of answering, and Dean eagerly kissed back.

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