Discover Top Posts Tagged with #emeraldcas2k

“If You Can Read My Mind, I Love You”

For @emeraldcas‘s creator celebration day 4 💚 congrats bestie!!

7.7k Read below or on ao3

Dean couldn’t take it anymore – watching his best friend fumble through his first steps of humanity like a toddler in a trench coat. Maybe Dean couldn’t exactly relate to the guy losing his grace or that big ass Chrysler building form, but he knew Cas well enough to understand how helpless he’s gotta feel. Even with his wings clipped, Cas was still Cas to Dean. Always would be.

So, last night Dean had done what he does best.

It was easy convincing the moping ex-angel to go out to the bar. With the promise of food, beer, and good company, even Cas couldn’t say no to that. Dean hadn’t expected his ears to burn, his palms to sweat like he was asking a girl out to prom in front of a group of giggling friends. Hadn’t readied his defences for the wide-eyed, grateful look on Cas’ face, like Dean had just offered him the world at his feet.

It meant nothing when Cas chose Dean’s clothes from the laundry, or took extra care styling his hair for the road. It wasn’t until they’d been stuck in traffic, Dean stealing a glance at Cas’ nervous gait, that he noticed the small cuts along his friend’s jaw. It sure as hell hadn’t meant anything when a blush bloomed bright along Cas’ high cheek bones when Dean offered to teach him to shave. And it especially didn’t mean shit that Dean had accidently stared so long that the cars behind him honked impatiently, the lights long since turned green. Sam, mercifully, hadn’t given him shit for that one.

Dean had been on his third beer by the time their food arrived to their corner booth. He’d warned Cas not to try keep up, but there was no talking to the guy. Cas smiled too wide at the waiter, thanking him profusely for the food. The bastard had the nerve to look at Dean offended, the sincerity in Cas’ slurred voice lost on him.

The bar’d been busy for a Thursday night; the band setting up on the makeshift stage had seemed familiar with the locals sitting nearby. The atmosphere wasn’t bad. But all that kind of faded to the background with every drink that passed his lips and every scowl that quickly melted into a full belly laugh from the man that sat opposite him.

Using the restroom, Dean was reminded repeatedly throughout the night, was the true downfall of humanity. According to the guy who’d only experienced peeing for the better part of a week. The full-bodied eye roll each time Cas excused himself never failed to make Dean laugh.

They were having fun, he’d told himself. Just two guys – and Sam – kicking it with a beer. Sammy didn’t seem to mind playing designated driver for the ride home. Something to do with his gross liquid veggie diet or some crap.

Dean had caught Cas staring in that way he does; blue eyes soft and dazed and gorgeous as ever. Dean had chalked it down to the alcohol. He’d peeled every sodden label off every cold beer just to do something, anything, with his hands. Because, drunk as they both were, reaching out for Cas’ hand across the table – wanting to trace the length of Cas’ fingers, run his lips along the map of veins on his hand – Dean still wasn’t brave enough.

By the time Sam convinced them to go home, neither Dean nor Cas had been walking straight. Dean had pulled Cas’ arm around his shoulder, looping his own around his stumbling friend’s waist to guide them to the backseat. It was a miracle Sammy kept his mouth shut when Cas slumped against Dean, his grumpy ass mumbling something about “tolerance” and “dizzy” and “so warm”.

Dean had slept like a damn baby last night. He woke well-rested, if a little dehydrated and covered in crumbs. It was still early when he found his dead-guy robe and made his way to the kitchen. The bunker was quiet; no sign of Cas grumbling in the kitchen, engaging in another battle with an appliance. Memories of the night came back to him in a slow crawl.

He snorted as he recalled Cas, giddy and revived after drooling on Dean’s shoulder on the drive home, insisting he could cook them a meal. Dean had stood by as Cas placed two slices of bread in the toaster without switching the damn thing on, watching with growing amusement as the innocent appliance received a death glare when it didn’t magically spit out toast. Not to embarrass the poor guy or interrupt the insidious chanting Cas was muttering under his breath in what had to be Enochian, Dean made a round of grilled cheese. Which, he supposed, explained the crumbs over his bed.

Another memory came back to him; like a stone causing a ripple in calm waters, the series of images pieced together clear as day. Cas sitting at the table, staring down at his palms. His shoulders slumped, and a sad frown knit between his brows. Dean had knelt on one knee before him, covering Cas’ hands with his own. He’d meant only to rouse Cas from whatever path of thoughts he’d slipped down, to get Cas into his own bed to sleep the night off. But the look in Cas’ eye as he spoke had Dean frozen on the spot.

“I don’t belong here, Dean,” Cas had sighed. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Sure, you do,” Dean had replied, pulling Cas to his feet. “You got me – and Sammy. We’re family, Cas. ‘Course you belong here.” Sadness shadowed Cas’ eyes, and Dean tried not to think too hard about it. Knew that he was no consolation prize for a lost pair of wings. Angels were dicks and Cas was better off without their holier-than-thou crap, but Dean wasn’t sure humanity was much better. That he was any better.

He’d felt Cas’ eyes on him every step of the way to Cas’ bedroom. Dean had paused by the open door, gently guiding Cas’ tipsy ass into the room. He’d been surprised when Cas planted his feet in front of Dean, hands lifting and dropping again like he wanted to reach out.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas had told him, standing before him with only inches and worlds between them. “I had fun tonight.”

It was somewhere in the realm between a curse and miracle that Dean’s body had chosen that exact moment to sober up. Cas staring at Dean the way he had; blue eyes fixed on Dean’s lips. He’d looked like he wanted to say something more, and whatever it was, Dean couldn’t hear it. No matter what Cas had to say, it wasn’t what Dean wanted to hear. What, on some fucked up level, he’d been waiting to hear for years.

“We’re just gettin’ started, buddy,” Dean had said with a wink, stepping away and closing the door between them like the coward he was.

What was his life if not a series of close calls?

#

The bunker was too quiet all morning. It was nearing eleven when Dean gave up waiting for Cas to wake up. With a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and a bacon sandwich in the other, Dean shoved his way into Cas’ darkened bedroom.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Dean called out.

Cas rolled over in bed to face the man daring to interrupt his sleep. His eyes were ringed in darkness; his wild and wayward hair a perfect match to the bleary-eyed glare underneath.

“Why are you yelling?” Cas grumbled, shielding his eyes from the hallway light spilling into his room.

Dean set the plate at the end of the bed, pulling a bottle of water from his back pocket.

“Baby’s first hangover!” Dean grinned. “How’s it goin’?”

Cas sat up in bed, pulling the sheets all the way to his neck. “I feel terrible,” he frowned, eyes locked on the mug in Dean’s hand.

“Water first. Then coffee,” Dean said, nudging the bottle toward Cas. “Trust me.”

Cas glared at the water bottle, giving in with grumbling defeat. He brought the bottle to his lips, drinking deeply. Droplets of water spilled from the corner of his mouth, running down the tanned skin of his neck. Dean’s mouth suddenly felt dry.

When Cas finished, he wasted no time reaching for the coffee. Dean chuckled at the eagerness, sobering instantly at the deep groan that followed Cas’ first sip.

“Good?” Dean’s voice came out smaller than he’d intended. He cleared his throat.

Cas’ closed his eyes, inhaling the coffee. “It’s very good. Thank you, Dean.”

Dean scratched the back of his suddenly heated neck. The hell was wrong with him?

“A’right. Well, eat up. Bacon is the cure to everything.”

Cas cracked open one eye, regarding him warily. “That’s not true.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Have a little faith, why don’t you?” he said, shoving the plate toward the fallen angel. Bacon had never done him dirty a day in his life. He watched as Cas brought the sandwich to his face, sniffing it.

“It ain’t poisoned, buddy,” Dean deadpanned.

A loud grumble sounded somewhere beneath the nest of blankets, and Cas dropped the sandwich. Shoving the half-full coffee back into Dean’s hands, the dude took off out of the room, one hand clutching his stomach, the other clamped around his mouth.

Dean watched as Cas disappeared into the bathroom. His cooking couldn’t be that bad, right?

He took a bite of the sandwich, eyes rolling back in his head at the taste.

That’s some damn good bacon.

The sound of retching echoed down the hall, turning Dean’s stomach almost but not quite enough to give up the food. It was only when the toilet flushed and a low moan followed that Dean abandoned the coffee and breakfast.

“How you holdin’ up, Cas?” he called out on the short walk to the bathroom.

The only reply was another moan.

Dean leaned against the open bathroom doorway, arms crossed as he took in the pathetic sight before him. Cas was sitting on the floor, head resting on his knees. Wearing nothing but a pair of Dean’s old grey sweatpants, the dude was shivering so violently Dean could hear his teeth chattering.

“Doin’ okay there, buddy?” Dean asked, unable to keep the trace of amusement from his voice.

“Screw you,” Cas hissed, not bothering to lift his head.

Dean fought hard to keep the laughter at bay. “Told you not to try keep up with me, Cas.”

Cas groaned again, tightening his arms around his knees. “I think I’m dying, Dean.”

This time, Dean couldn’t hold back the snort of laughter.

“My body temperature feels too high. My head is pounding. I think my organs are shutting down – this isn’t funny, Dean!” Cas said, raising his voice over Dean’s full-belly laughter.

“You’re not dyin’ man, okay?” Dean said, wiping a tear from his eye. Dean remembered his first hangover well, and it wasn’t pretty. He’d spent the whole day dry heaving, his stomach too fragile to eat no matter how badly he craved a greasy slice of pizza. It was only when he’d resigned himself to the inevitable cold hands of death, that one last idea had hit him.

Despite the groaning behind him, Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed this hard. These last couple of weeks with Cas learning the ropes hadn’t been easy. Dean had only just gotten him back when shit hit the fan again with the trials and Abbadon. And when the angels fell… Dean blocked out the thought. A couple days layin’ low, teaching Pinocchio how to be a real boy – it didn’t hurt.

“Man, you’re gonna hate this,” Dean said, turning to the bath and flipping on the cold faucet. He left Cas to his grumbling for a couple of minutes, returning with a bucket of ice. He poured the ice into the bath and switched off the faucet.

“What are you d-doing?”

“You trust me?” Dean asked, brows raised at the pale, sweating patient on the cold floor.

“You know I do, but I’m not sure I follow your intentions,” Cas said slowly, his voice hoarse.

Dean didn’t envy the guy. “Get in,” he said, gesturing toward the bath. Cas only stared between Dean and the tub, making no move to stand. “Up,” Dean persisted, pulling Cas to his feet. The dude was a deadweight when he wanted to be.

“Dean, what are you…” Cas yelped as Dean knocked him into the icy water.

Gasping, limbs flailing, Cas narrowly avoided kicking Dean square in the face. Dean supposed he would have deserved it, but he was laughing too hard and avoiding getting splashed right then to care.

“What-what t-the – Dean!” Cas yelped, desperately grasping for the edge of the tub.

“Give it a minute, man, trust me. You’ll be-“

In an attempt to swing his leg over the bath, Cas slipped further into the icy water, soaking Dean and the floor. His back hitting the bottom of the tub, and a second later his head emerged, eyes bright enough that Dean almost swore he caught a glimpse of that angelic grace for a just a moment. Breathing laboured, Cas finally relaxed enough for Dean to sit on the edge of the bath.

“Thirty seconds,” Dean promised, holding his hands out in front of him in a sign of a truce. “You’ll thank me later.”

Cas’ lips trembled as he said, “you were wrong about the bacon.”

“That’s on you,” Dean said defensively. “What kind of weirdo can’t hack his bacon?”

“Many people don’t enjoy b-bacon, Dean,” Cas shivered violently. Dean almost felt bad for the guy, but already he could tell it was working.

Cas’ wild hair was now flattened against his forehead. Droplets of water trickled down from his hairline, and Dean watched the journey, spilling down Cas’ neck and shoulders, all the way to his bare chest. His eyes fell on Cas’ hardened nipples, immediately betraying him by dipping further down to the hair at Cas’ navel. The old sweatpants were almost transparent, and Dean quickly shifted his gaze around the room, desperate for a distraction. He’d count the damn tiles if he had to.

“Fifteen seconds,” Dean promised quietly when the sound of Cas’ chattering teeth filled the room.

A small whine escaped Cas’ lips. He threw his head back, lips moving soundlessly as he counted down the seconds. His shoulders flexed as he braced both hands on either side of the tub.

Dean felt a lick of shame as he caught himself staring again. Did Cas always have those shoulders? Wide blue eyes turned to him pleadingly, and Dean nodded.

“Time’s up,” Dean said, grabbing hold of Cas’ elbow to help him out of the water. The floor was already dangerously wet when Cas planted his feet on the tiles. Dean held him tighter, his free arm swiftly curling around Cas’ back to steady him on his feet.

Cas slipped forward, his chest slamming against Dean’s own as he scrambled to get his bearings.

Dean froze.

All too aware of the hard muscle of Cas’ soaking wet chest pressing against him. It seemed like an eternity before Cas pulled away, breathing heavily as he stared down at the mess at his feet with a manic look in his eye.

“You were right,” Cas said, a grin splitting across his face. “I did hate it.”

A breathy laugh punched out of Dean. He looked down to see his own clothes dripping wet. “Yeah?” he said, meeting Cas’ eye. “You feel better though, right?”

Cas tilted his head in thought, his bare chest rising and falling rapidly. “I don’t believe I’m going to die anymore,” he said cautiously. “But I don’t think it’s healthy for humans to be this cold.”

“Right,” Dean snorted. “Well, get those pants off. I’ll grab you another pair fro – woah, what the f–“ Dean’s voice rose several octaves as Cas hooked his thumbs beneath the waistband of his pants, eyes locked on Dean, and began to pull them down.

“Dude!” Dean turned away, heart hammering like nobody’s business. “You can’t just – What the hell, man?” He moved to the safety of the door, eyes wide and fists clenched. He could feel the glare at his back as Cas stood silently behind him. “Just gimme a minute to grab you something. Christ.”

#

It was after dark before Cas left his room again. Dean was just clearing up the mess from his and Sam’s dinner, when the pyjama-clad ex-angel shuffled sheepishly into the kitchen.

Under the florescent lighting, Dean noted the dark circles that haloed Cas’ eyes. His hair was all fucked up again in that fluffy way that called for Dean to reach out and smooth it.

Dean flexed his hands by his side.

“He lives!” Dean smirked as Cas trudged toward the fridge on bare feet. He made a mental note to pick him up a pair of slippers tomorrow.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas mumbled. His voice was gruff; a little raw after a rough night and rougher morning.

Cas pulled the carton of orange juice from the fridge, and Dean mindlessly handed him a glass. The dude only blinked when it appeared in front of him, like it was taking a minute to process the world around him.

Must be a hell of a hangover, Dean thought.

Dean crossed his arms and leaned his ass against the table. His gaze fell on Cas’ hands; the way his long fingers twisted the cap off of the carton. How his hands covered the entirety of the glass, and his bicep flexed just that little bit when he replaced the carton back in the fridge.

Dean blinked rapidly, shaking himself out of… whatever the hell line of thought that was.

Cas brought the glass to his lips, and promptly spewed the juice back into the glass. He coughed, bracing his hands on top of the stove for support.

Dean was at his side in an instant.

“This is disgusting!” Cas whined, pushing the glass away as if it was offending him. He leaned into the hand Dean placed on his lower back. “Why is everything disgusting?”

Dean reached around Cas, snatching up the glass. Looked just fine to him. He opened the fridge and checked the date on the carton. Still good. Cringing, Dean uncapped the carton and took a swig.

“It tastes fine, man,” Dean rolled his eyes. He checked over his shoulder and, seeing that the coast was clear of any pain in the ass brothers to rant about Dean drinking straight from the carton, he put the juice back in the fridge. As he did, he caught the faint scent of spearmint from the grumbling man beside him.

“Rule number – how many we at now? Whatever. Gotta be top five at least,” Dean said, pointing a finger at the fridge. “Never drink orange juice right after brushin’ your teeth.”

Cas frowned deeply. “Of course. Because of the effect the sodium la-“

“Right,” Dean said, “Because it’s gross. Gotta give it time, buddy.”

Cas dumped the orange juice in the sink and began cleaning the glass. “Being human,” he said quietly, “it’s… constant. There are so many steps to taking basic care of your physical form. It’s a lot of work.”

Damn right it was.

“You get used to it,” Dean lied. Sure, you could keep your routines or roll with the punches, whatever the day threw at you. With the life they led, necessities were built around whatever crap they had going on at the time. Maybe the bunker was a damn step up from mouldy motel rooms, but luxury wasn’t really in the cards for Dean and Sam. For Dean, at least, some days it was a win just to get out of bed.

Now he thought about it, those hard days had been fewer and further between since Cas had moved in.

“I admire you,” Cas said, snapping Dean right out of his thoughts.

“Huh?”

“I didn’t appreciate, before-“ Cas cut off with a sad smile. Dean tried not to wince. “Before I was human,” Cas continued.

Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah, well. It ain’t all bad,” he forced a smile on his face. “Now you get to enjoy the real beauty in life.”

Cas smiled wide, his lips pulling back over his teeth. Dean’s breath caught in his throat at the spark in those angel blues. His eyes dipped to Cas’ full lips. And there it was again; that simultaneous punch in the gut and stuttered beat of his heart as Dean imagined what that smile would feel like against his own lips. How that three day old stubble would feel scratching at his chin; how different it would feel compared to the kisses he’d been used to. Dean’s stomach clenched as he imagined what would happen if Cas wrapped those arms around him and pressed Dean against the fridge. Without that stupid coat, the dude was practically naked. He imagined-

“What would that be?”

Dean’s gaze snapped back up to meet Cas’ curious stare. “Hm?” he swallowed hard. “Oh. Meat Lovers pizza,” he replied, like it was obvious. “Speaking of which, you hungry? Made you dinner but-”

As if on cue, Cas’ stomach growled loudly in response.

“No bacon,” Cas said quickly.

Dean wrinkled his nose, trying real hard not to take offense. “Pizza it is.”

“Sounds good,” Cas said.

Dean pulled a beer from the fridge, holding it out to Cas. “Hair of the dog?”

Cas glanced around the room before snapping his attention back to Dean. “What dog? You have a dog here?”

Dean pinched his nose. “No man, it’s a-“

“Why would I want it’s hair?”

Dean turned back to the open fridge, partly to put the beer back but mostly to hide his smile.

#

“The pizza man has arrived,” Dean burst into Cas’ bedroom an hour later, carrying a comically large pizza box. He was grinning like a kid on Christmas.

A low moan sounded from the Cas-shaped lump of bedsheets. After the incident with the orange juice, Cas had crawled back to bed to await his food in peace.

“C’mon, buddy, gotta eat it while it’s hot,” Dean slumped down on the foot of the bed, causing the mattress to bounce. He pulled back the lid on the greasy box, mouth watering at the sight. “I got that cheesy crust I know you’re gonna like.”

“Dean.”

Dean pulled out a slice; strings of melted cheese dripping from the edges. He shoved half of it in his mouth, moaning around the burst of flavours. He swallowed hard. “Dude, you gotta try this.” He elbowed something solid he could only assume was Cas’ legs.

“Dean,” Cas repeated, more urgently this time.

“Huh?” Dean managed to respond through a mouthful of crust.

“I think I’m really sick,” Cas squirmed around until the top part of his head peaked out from his blanket cocoon.

Even in the dim light of the windowless room, the sheen of sweat was visible on the man’s forehead. Dean dropped his second slice back into the box and hastily set it aside. He leaned over Cas, ignoring his friend’s blink of surprise at the closeness. Lightly pinching the dude’s chin between his thumb and index finger, Dean tilted Cas’ face toward the thin stream of light illuminating from the hallway.

Cas’ eyes were dilated; the blue a thin halo around his pupils. Without thinking, Dean brushed a hand through the mess that was Cas’ hair, finding his scalp damp.

“You don’t look so good,” Dean frowned.

Cas scowled.

Dean ignored it. He placed a hand on Cas’ forehead, finding it hot to the touch.

“Shit, Cas, I think you might be sick.”

“Thank you for the observation,” Cas grumbled. He shifted around, bringing his knees to his chest beneath the blankets.

Dean bit his tongue. Up until now, it seemed like the classic whiskey and beer hangover. Now he thought about it, they’d gone through every step last night to prevent it; eating during and after drinking. He’d lost track of how many bottles of water he’d made Cas drink last night in the kitchen. Dean felt fine, for the most part. The dull headache and restless energy was nothing new to him.

“A’right, buddy. What’s the symptoms?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re hot,” Dean argued. A blush crept high on his cheeks when Cas’ eyes widened. “You’ve got a fever,” he quickly clarified, his voice deepening on instinct. “You’re burnin’ up, man. You been drinkin’ enough?”

Cas squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m never drinking alcohol again.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, yeah, that’s what they all say.”

“I mean it,” Cas snapped.

“Whatever. You’re not fine, though, Cas. Tell me what else is goin’ on.” He didn’t care that he sounded like a mother hen. This was Cas. He didn’t get sick, human or not.

For a few long seconds there was nothing but silence in the darkened room. Finally, Cas spoke. “I think my body is dying.”

The words sounded so mournful and earnest, Dean’s heart ached behind his ribs.

“You’re not dyin’, Cas,” Dean said quietly, firmly. He sighed, remembering the quickly cooling pizza abandoned at the foot of the bed. “Think you can eat?”

Cas shook his head.

“Right. Gimme a minute, I’ll be back.”

Dean lifted the pizza box and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. He took one last regretful glance at the pizza inside before dropping the box in front of Sam in the war room.

“Today’s your lucky day, bitch.”

Sam lifted the lid, surprise evident on his face when he found more than just a slice and a few leftover crusts inside. “You feelin’ okay, Dean?”

“M’fine,” Dean said, hunting around for his duffle bag in the corner of the room. “Cas is sick.”

Sam chuckled. “Yeah, I’m not surprised. You guys were pretty wasted last night.”

Dean paused his search through the bag. He turned to Sam, hands flexing anxiously at his sides. “No, man. I think he’s really sick.”

Sam picked all the best parts off of the pizza before chewing thoughtfully on a slice. “What makes you say that?”

“He keeps telling me he’s dyin’.”

Sam braced his elbow on the back of his chair, turning to face Dean with a deadpan expression. “Dude, you think you’re dying every other hangover. He’s fine.”

Whatever. The jerk was probably right. But Dean couldn’t help the cold fear that gripped at his insides.

Sam sighed. “Alright, no need to look like a kicked puppy. I’ll check on him.”

“I don’t look like – shut up. I already checked on him. I told you he’s sick.”

“Right. Remember how you reacted when I had a stomach bug? When the nurse on the phone suggested bed rest and you threatened to key her car if she didn’t prescribe the good stuff?”

Dean rolled his eyes, turning back to the duffle bag. “You were eight, what was I supposed to do? Let you die?”

“I was fourteen, Dean.”

“You’re welcome.” He knew Sam was joking, could sense him smiling like the jerk he was, but it wasn’t funny. No matter how old the kid got, Sam never seemed to get how huge the responsibility of raising him was. The toll it took on Dean – the constant fear of getting in trouble if he took one wrong step or fucked up even once.

Dean found the pack of ibuprofen right when he heard Sam’s big sasquatch fists knock on Cas’ door.

“Hey, Cas, how’s it goin’?” Sam's muffled voice sounded from the hallway.

Dean tried to suppress the growing fear as he grabbed a pack of crackers and a couple bottles of water. He checked the first aid kit he’d swiped a couple months back at a hotel. Riffling through band aids and gauze, he found a couple of cooling patches. He read the pack:

“Relief for headaches, migraines, and high temperatures. Lasts up to 2 hours.”

Seemed gimmicky, but whatever.

He pocketed seltzer, before remembering Cas hadn’t eaten anything all day. He put on some toast and packed the rest of the small hoard he’d gathered into a bag. He knew Cas would bitch about the lack of peanut butter and jelly, but he could suck it up. Plain food was better when you’re sick.

Just when Dean considered chopping up some vegetables and making soup, Sam returned. He sat in front of the pizza box, hands already reaching for a slice.

Dean turned to him expectantly.

“He’s sick,” Sam said, tucking into a slice like he hadn’t just confirmed Dean’s worst fears. “Food poisoning.”

“Food poisoning?” Dean managed to say around the lump in his throat. Had he poisoned Cas? He ran through everything he’d cooked in the past few days. No one else was sick.

“Yep,” Sam said, leaning back in his seat. “Told you, he’ll be fine.”

People die of food poisoning, right? Fuck. “We gotta get him to a doctor.”

Sam rested an ankle atop his knee; the picture of relaxation.

Dean was pacing.

“Give him twenty-four hours, he’ll be fine,” Sam waved a hand. “Dude, how many times have you had food poisoning? You’re fine.”

Dean had lost track of the amount of times he’d gotten sick from bad truck stop food. Cas hadn’t eaten any of that. He added a seventh bottle of water to the bag, before sticking his nose in the fridge.

Cas hadn’t eaten his bacon. Dean had made pancakes the day before, but they were good. He and Sam had eaten them, too, so that wasn’t it. They’d both ordered the same thing at the bar last night; Cas following Dean’s suggestion eagerly. The only thing Dean could think of were those rancid-looking nuts Cas had been picking at throughout the night.

God damn it.

“He’s fine!” Sam yelled after Dean as he marched toward Cas’ room with enough supplies to last a week.

How the hell was Sam so calm about this? Cas was sick. Cas!

Dean shoved his way into Cas’ bedroom without knocking this time. “A’right, buddy. Get up. I’ve got somethin’ to show you.”

Blue eyes squinted at him beneath the blankets. Dean only waited him out.

Reluctantly, Cas got to his feet, pulling the blanket along with him. “Where are we going?”

Dean pushed down the surge of worry as he noticed how bad Cas was shivering; guilt squeezing at his heart for that stupid ice bath idea that morning. Cas had said he’d felt better, right? Even if he had gone right back to bed afterwards?

“C’mon,” Dean urged, balancing the bag and plate of toast in one hand and guiding Cas out of the room with his other on the ex-angel’s lower back. In the hallway, he looked over his shoulder, checking Sam was out of sight. He couldn’t believe he was doing this.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Almost there,” Dean said, walking faster and hastily glancing around the corners. All clear. They came to a stop outside the secret room that was Dean’s pride and joy. He pushed open the door, eyes fixed on Cas to see his reaction. “Welcome to the fortress of Dean-a-tude, baby!”

Beneath his blanket burrito, Cas squinted at the bright light emanating from the juke box. Dean watched his friend’s gaze dart around the room; taking in the small couch and the bar by the wall. Cas stepped inside.

“It’s a work in progress,” Dean said, dropping his bag on the edge of the couch. “He pointed to the empty space by the door. “Been lookin’ out for a pool table for over here. Maybe a foosball table. We’ll see.” He ushered Cas over to the couch, and the dude wordlessly slumped down. Dean noted the small smile on Cas’ lips.

“The couch ain’t great,” he admitted. “Always wanted one of those recliners – you know the kind you can kick your feet up? The type that spins? That’s the dream, man.”

Cas tilted his head. “Why have I never seen this room before?”

Dean walked around to the other side of the couch, dropping the plate of toast on Cas’ lap. “That’s ‘cause you weren’t supposed to know,” he shrugged. “I mean, it’s cool that you know. Just – don’t tell Sam.”

“Why?”

Riffling through the bag of wonders, Dean pulled out the cooling patches and bottle of water. “You kiddin’ me? Place like this all to myself? Why the hell not?”

Cas’ eyes softened. He nodded like he understood, dropping his gaze to the plate.

“You deserve this private space, Dean. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

“Eat up,” Dean urged, ignoring the way his cheeks began to burn. “Got everythin’ you need right here,” he slapped the bag. “Just promise you won’t throw up in here and we’re good to go.”

“I feel terrible. I can’t promise anything.”

“Sure you can,” Dean said with more confidence than he felt. Faith was all about faking it ‘til you made it.

Cas brought the toast to his lips and chewed tentatively. Dean watched with bated breath, but after a few bites it seemed like the food was going to stay down.

“Thank you,” Cas said quietly, moving on to the second slice.

“Got crackers here, too. Should be safe to eat,” Dean said, fishing out the packet and placing it on the small space separating him from Cas. “How’s your head?”

Cas paused, considering. “Not as bad as this morning.”

Dean nodded. He tore the foil packaging from the cooling patch and motioned for Cas to lean closer.

Frowning, Cas allowed Dean to stick the patch to his forehead.

“It’s supposed to get cold,” Dean explained, running his thumbs along the edges of the patch. He could feel the heat radiating from Cas’ forehead. “How’s it feel?”

“Strange,” Cas said.

“Give it a minute,” Dean said, ignoring the blush creeping up his neck. Between the blanket, dorky patch on his head, and the clothes Cas had borrowed from him, the guy looked kinda cute. Dean couldn’t deny it.

Coughing pointedly, Dean reached for the remote and switched on the TV. The reception in the bunker was terrible – the only channels that worked were some crappy news station, one showing those god-awful dating shows and… the Muppets.

Dean settled on the dating show. He’d made a drinking game of it one lonely night when he couldn’t bear the company of his own thoughts. It was a win-win: he got to watch a bunch of hot people pull dumbass shit in the name of love and get drunk in the process.

“My money’s on the brunette,” Dean said, pointing at the lady in the little red dress. “No way any of these guys are gonna pass on her.”

Cas glared at the screen. “I don’t understand. Why are they interviewing their partners? Do they have an arrangement of sorts?”

A smile pulled at Dean’s lips. Of sorts, yeah. “They date everyone in the group and in the end, everyone picks someone to hook up with,” he scratched the back of his neck, then threw his arm around the back of the couch. “Never understood it, myself. They’re all hot enough to find someone without some stupid show. The girls I mean,” he quickly added.

Cas glanced sidelong at him. “Don’t the men… ‘date’, too? Those two are looking at each other romantically. I think they’d make a nice couple.”

Dean’s skin burned in a full-body blush. “Uh,” he said intelligently. “I don’t think it’s that kind of show, buddy.”

“Perhaps it should be,” Cas said, pulling the blankets tighter around himself. “Statistically, it is unlikely that all sixteen contestants are heterosexual.” Dean’s blush only deepened. “It’s not an accurate portrayal of the human sexuality, if the end goal is fornication. Unless, of course-“

Dean changed the channel.

“Yeah, take it up with the studio, Cas. These shows are trash anyway.” Cas wasn’t wrong; Dean would pay good money for a show where everyone swung both ways. Now that would be entertainment. He glanced sheepishly at Cas, whose head was tilted slightly as he watched Miss Piggy beat Kermit over his poor little froggy head with her purse.

“Maybe we should get you on the dating scene,” Dean’s stupid mouth said before his stupid brain could stop him. “They got all kinds of apps these days. Handsome guy like you could score a chick in no time.”

Cas slowly turned his head toward Dean. His expression unreadable, he said, “No, thank you.”

“C’mon, Cas. Ain’t it time you sowed your wild oats or whatever?” Dean gestured flippantly to Cas’ hunched over form. A corner of the cooling patch hung loosely from Cas’ forehead, swaying a little with every movement. “Girls would be fallin’ all over you, man.”

Shut up shut up shut up.

Why wasn’t his mouth stopping?

Cas fixed Dean with a look that pinned him in place. “I’m not interested in dating women.”

“You’re human now. Ain’t too late to get your head in the game,” Dean pushed. Why was he pushing this?

“I’m gay, Dean,” Cas said quietly, turning back to the TV.

For a minute, only Kermit’s voice echoed through Dean’s empty head. It could have been a whole year for all Dean was aware of. His heart flatlined for all of a second before kicking up a storm against his ribs.

“Gay,” Dean mouthed silently. He swallowed hard. “You’re gay,” he tried again. “Gay as in-“

Cas’ head rolled beneath the blanket in a way that Dean knew was him rolling his eyes. When Cas looked at him, his expression was neutral, if a little tense. “Gay as in, I am romantically and sexually attracted to men. Yes.”

Dean nodded. He just kept nodding like one of those stupid bobble head figures people ruin their cars with. He was still nodding when he said, “You. Like men?”

Cas opened a bottle of water and chugged, taking his time. Dean’s eyes fixed on Cas’ throat, his heart pounding at every gulp. His own throat suddenly felt dry as a damn desert.

“Is there a problem, Dean?”

“Wha – no. No! No, ‘course not,” Dean spluttered. His voice was quiet when he said, “You’re… gay. That’s… cool. Totally fine.”

“I know it is,” Cas said simply, turning toward the TV.

They watched to the end of the Muppets episode in silence. By the time the ads rolled on, Dean was fighting for his life for something – anything – to say.

He liked to think he knew his best friend pretty well. Right now, Dean would give just about anything to be able to read Cas’ mind.

“I like these characters,” Cas said. “The concept is ridiculous, of course. Animals don’t have the vocal capabilities of humans, but,” he smiled wide, his full top row of teeth shining, “I very much enjoy the rat.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, Rizzo’s pretty cool. Can’t really look at Elmo the same way these days, though.”

“Why’s that?” Cas shifted a little closer.

Dean was suddenly all too aware of his arm around the couch. One wrong move, and he’d be no better off than some kid at the movies trying to be smooth about putting an arm around his first date. Dean imagined Cas leaning against his side; Dean’s arm around his shoulder, fingers playing through Cas’ feather-soft hair. He imagined what it would be like to press a kiss to his best friend’s cheek. To be able to cross all these invisible lines between them without ruining everything.

He’d been in love with Cas for so long he was starting to imagine girly crap, like holding hands and cuddling. Except it wasn’t girly. It didn’t feel that way. Everything with Cas… it felt real.

“Dean?”

“Oh, uh,” Dean blinked hard, thrown off balance by the cold smack of reality. Cas was his friend. His gay friend who had no interest in dating. No interest in Dean. “Okay, so there was this case a couple years back in, uh, Pennsylvania. There was a whole thing back then with these Tickle-Me-Elmo dolls,” off of Cas’ look of confusion, Dean said, “Right? Anyhow turns out the damn thing was haunted. Some kid took it to a college party. Next mornin’, his roommate found him with his throat cut, and the doll lyin’ there in a pool of blood with a tiny felt knife in his hand.” Dean winced at the memory.

“By the time the cops showed up, Elmo was long gone. The roommate ended up behind bars – parents weren’t too happy ‘bout that – until the next night. Same thing happens to a girl in the house across the street.”

Cas paused his chewing of a cracker. “What did you do?”

Dean shrugged. “Salt and burned that fuzzy bitch. Never seen an Elmo I trusted again since.”

“That’s a shame,” Cas said solemnly, pulling out another handful of crackers. It was good to see him eating again. There was a little more colour on the guy’s cheeks, too.

Dean hummed in agreement. “Bit outta season, but they got a whole Christmas movie with those guys in it on Netflix. Been meanin’ to show you how to work it,” Dean said. He pulled out his laptop and hooked it up to the TV; took his time showing Cas the wires and right buttons to press. The smile on Cas’ face when Dean made him his own Netflix profile sent an army of butterflies in his stomach.

“You think you got it?” Dean asked.

Cas nodded. “I think so.”

“Great,” Dean said, hitting play on The Muppets Christmas Carol.

He settled back on the sofa, letting his long legs stretch out in front of him. Cas had squirmed his way closer still, and Dean tried not to notice the way their arms brushed every once in a while. He relaxed once he really got into the movie.

An hour passed before either of them spoke.

“Dean, you’re crying. Are you okay?” Cas said, voice laced with concern. He placed a hand on Dean’s shaking shoulder.

“M’not cryin’, Cas,” Dean said gruffly, tasting the salt of his tears on his lips. “Just tired is all.” He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his flannel. Kermit was a damn good actor – who could blame a guy for crying? Which Dean very much wasn’t doing right now.

“Alright,” Cas said, dropping his hand. “If you’d like to go to bed, I understand. I’d like to stay a while longer if that’s okay.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Dean said, voice thick. He kept his eyes glued to the screen.

“Then, here,” Cas said, shifting to unravel the cocoon he was in to throw the blanket over both of them.

It was warm. Cas was warm, now sitting right up against Dean. Dean mumbled his thanks and tried very hard not to think about how easy it would be to lace his fingers around Cas’ own. To tilt his head and finally learn the taste of his best friend’s lips.

Instead, he watched as the Ghost of Christmas past scared the hell out of that dick bag, Scrooge.

Cas’ yawns were contagious. The guy was so warm, and soon, Dean found himself nodding off; entire chunks of the movie skipping by as he faded in and out of an inevitable sleep. He forced himself to stay awake, feed Cas a couple more ibuprofen and water.

He had no idea when he’d drifted off, when suddenly the loud drums of Netflix yanked him back to the waking world. Dean relaxed beneath the warm, heavy weight on his chest. His arms tightening around the pillow and the pillow hummed contentedly.

Not a pillow.

Cas.

Dean’s eyes shot open to find Cas curled on top of him, clinging like a koala bear. Dean’s arms were tight around his friend’s waist. When the hell had his legs kicked up onto the couch? Cas’ own were tangled through Dean’s.

Panic rose like a bolt of lightning through Dean’s chest. He couldn’t do this. This wasn’t-

Cas held him tighter, his head nuzzling beneath Dean’s chin.

Holy shit.

Dean felt Cas’ heart beat against his own in a slow, steady rhythm. He debated moving. Squirming his way out and never speaking of this again. But –

Dean ran a hand along the curve of Cas’ spine. Cas sighed at the touch.

“Thank you, Dean.”

Shit, fuck, shit. Cas was awake. Had he been awake this whole time?

“What, uh. What for?” Dean managed to say while holding his breath and waiting to die. There was no way this was happening.

“For taking care of me.”

Oh.

Dean glanced down to see Cas staring up at him; his eyes hazy from the allure of sleep.

Even with that stupid cooling patch now stuck in his hair, Cas was beautiful.

“You’re, ah. Welcome,” Dean said shakily. He gently untangled the sticky patch from Cas' hair, discarding it to the floor.

Cas’ gaze dropped to Dean’s lips, and Dean felt the moment that steady heartbeat stumbled against his own.

The world stilled, like all the air got sucked out and there was nothing left but the warmth between their bodies and the blue eyes that bore into Dean’s own.

“Goodnight, Dean,” Cas said, eyes soft beneath the dark lashes shadowing his cheeks.

Dean swallowed hard. “Yeah, Cas,” the words came out in a whisper. “Goodnight.”

Disappointment was an ache in his chest as Cas made to get up.

He should have known this was too good to be true. He knew Cas could never want him, not like that but-

As an angel, Dean had always wondered if Cas could read his mind. There were times he swore the angel understood him just a little too well. Right now, he wished it were true.

If you can read my mind, I love you, Cas. If you can hear me, I want you to stay.

Cas made no indication of hearing him. He stood, stretching out his limbs.

“Wanna stay?” The words were out before Dean could help it.

Cas only watched him for a moment, still as a deer caught in the headlights. Slowly, mercifully, a small smile lit his face. “I’d like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Dean lifted his arms to allow Cas to sink back down against his chest. Cas held him close, their bodies fitting together like they were made for this. It was a stupid thought, Dean knew. But as his eyes closed and the smell of Cas’ shampoo hit his nose, Dean drifted off to sleep with the memory of that small smile playing over in his head.

#emeraldcas2k

Trending Tags

Recently Viewed Tags

#emeraldcas2k