Dean opens the note, punches the numbers in his phone. His thumb hovers over ‘call’ but he backspaces instead. He does this so much the paper starts to wear so he writes the number on a backup piece of paper just in case.
“Or, you know,” Sam says, looking over his shoulder at the kitchen table. “You could just program it into your phone.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Dean says.
Sam shrugs. “You could just call him.”
Dean shakes his head. Like its that easy. Sure, Cas gave him his number, but he’s still a freakin’ pop idol. He probably gives his number out to a thousand people. His phone probably rings twenty-four seven.
“I think you should call him,” Sam says and walks past him, further into the kitchen to the fridge. He comes out with two bottles of beer and places one in front of Dean.
Dean puts his phone aside. Later, he decides.
It takes Dean a full week to finally build up the nerve. He locks himself in his room. He psychs himself up: after all, what’s the worst that could happen? Cas says he isn’t interested? Is that any worse than what’s happening now, with Dean torturing himself? Dancing with the unknown?
So Dean unfolds the piece of paper again. The corners are worn but the ink is still legible. He unlocks his phone and presses the numbers.
“No big deal,” he tells himself.”Just another guy.” He hits the call button before he can think not too.
No big deal.
Then the phone starts ringing.
And of course its a big deal. Cas is gorgeous and talented and famous. And Dean - who is Dean? Some small town mechanic? How does that compare?
The ringing stops and so does Dean’s breathing.
“Hello?” says a deep, gravelly voice that Dean knows instantly.
Dean swallows. He can’t do this. Except its too late because he already did. “Um, yeah. Hey.” He clears his throat. “You, um, probably don’t remember me, but -“
“Hello, Dean,” Cas says and Dean’s brain comes to a screeching halt.
“You... you remember.”
“Of course.” Cas makes it sound so simple. Like, why wouldn’t he remember the name of this guy he met twice for all of five minutes? Of course, he says.
“I, uh, yeah. How... How are you?”
“I’m well,” Cas says. “And you?”
“Good,” Dean says, nervousness ebbing, if only a little, because Cas sounds like he genuinely wants to know, and he remembered. Yet in his pauses, Dean can hear cheering, distant, a low rumble through the phone. “Are you at a show?”
“Yes, well,” and Cas sounds embarrassed now. “I didn’t want to miss your call.”
“Cas.” Dean can’t quite believe it. “Did you stop a show to take my call?”
A pause. “No?” Cas says, after too long to be believed.
Happiness swells and bubbles out of Dean in a loud, sudden laugh.
Cas laughs too, and it takes a long moment for them both to stop. “I have to go.”
“You better,” Dean says.
With a smile in his voice, Cas asks, “May I call you after?”
“You better,” Dean says again, softer.
A quick goodbye, and they hang up.
Dean stares at his phone for a while. He’s grinning like an idiot and does not care at all.
In the hallway, Sam sees him and claps him on the shoulder. “About time.”
Dean rips the paper into pieces and saves the number in his phone.
(part 3/? of popstar!Cas/fan!Dean; read part one, part two)
They talk every night. Sometimes for only a minute or two, Cas gives him an update, “I’m in California,” “I’m in Michigan,” “I’m in New York.” Enough for Dean to know he’s made the trip and safe and happy and has to go do a show now. Sometimes they talk until the sun comes up. Dean tells Cas about his life in a small town, about his mechanic job, about Sam. Once, in a quieter moment, Dean tells him about his mom.
“I miss her,” he says.
Cas says, “She would have been proud.”
Dean tells him all about the boring aspects of his life: went to the coffee shop today, stood in too-long a line for overpriced coffee. When he relents, “I’m sure you don’t want to hear about this,” Cas shoots back with, “It’s normal. Sometimes I miss normal.” Softer, he adds, “I love listening to you talk.”
Dean ignores that last bit, because his face is burning and he doesn’t know what to say. “Well, why don’t you come see me sometime? I’ll take you on the most boring, normal date of your life.”
He half-means it as a joke. He knows Cas is busy with the tour, and he didn’t exactly pitch himself very well. Boring, Dean? Really?
So when Cas says, “Okay,” Dean’s more than a little surprised.
He stammers his reply, “O-okay. Good.”
It’s a week later and today’s the day. They’ve talked about it every night. Dean’s got it all planned. Still, when he opens his front door and finds freaking world-famous superstar Castiel standing on his front porch wearing a black leather jacket and tight jeans, Dean’s breath hitches. His heart races. It’s too surreal.
And he’s nervous, been that way for a full week. They’ve talked on the phone a lot, sure, but they haven’t seen each other. What if Cas decides he doesn’t like the look of him anymore? What if -?
“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, his smile gentle and his eyes bright. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“Yeah,” Dean says, and clears his throat. “You, too.”
Cas has a small overnight bag beside him. He can only stay one night before he’s got to get back. They put it inside, then Dean leads Cas out to his Impala.
“She’s beautiful,” Cas says. “Just as you described.” A pause. “Many, many times.”
“I didn’t mean to...” Dean glances at Cas, sees the smile there and knows he’s joking. “Yeah, well. Baby deserves all the attention.”
Dean drives them to his favorite diner. Fortunately he had the presence of mind to set the radio to the rock station the night before. All of his Castiel albums were tucked safely under his seat. No accidents there.
He couldn’t account for the diner radio, however, and Castiel’s voice greeted them through the speakers as they walked through the front door. Dean gets embarrassed, maybe they should just leave, but Cas doesn’t seem to mind. He’s glancing around the room, eyes stopping at a booth where a little girl is singing along.
The waitress seats them. Dean asks for the corner booth. She’s looking at Cas a lot. When they sit in the booth, the next group over looks too.
“What should I order?” Cas asks, burying his face in the menu.
“Their burgers are the best.” Dean says. A girl at the counter is getting out her phone. “Cas -”
“I’m sorry,” says someone, and suddenly there is a teenage boy by their table. “But you look just like... Is there any chance you are...” The boy’s face is going redder by the second.
“Oh,” Cas says. He lowers the menu. “Would you like a picture?”
The boy nods so hard he looks like his head might bobble clean off his neck.
“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas says. “Do you mind?”
“No, man. Of course not.” Dean’s not a monster, after all. He wouldn’t deny this kid a picture with his idol. Especially because Dean would have hoped for the same thing, if he’d been that teenager.
By the tenth picture, Dean’s starting to feel a bit more monstrous. The waitress distracts him, approaching him for their order. Dean orders for both of them, “Two burgers with the works.”
By the thirtieth picture, Dean’s about to go green and turn into the hulk. Cas has already taken pictures with the whole place, and now that teenage boy is back again for round two. Cas’s burger is on the table and its getting cold. Dean tried to wait to eat his, but it smelled so good and he hadn’t eaten all day - all week really, from his nerves - and... is anyone going to let Cas eat his freaking lunch?
This date is a disaster.
By the time his adoring public finally lets Cas sit down, his fries are limp and the top of his burger has slipped through the ketchup and mayonnaise and fallen straight off the patty and his plate. Cas looks at it where it sits unceremoniously on the table top, then up at Dean. He doesn’t say anything.
The waitress tries, “We can make you another?”
There’s new people at the door. They take one look at Cas and start coming over.
“I think maybe we should get back,” Dean says. They could make him burgers all day, and he’d never get to eat them.
Cas frowns, but nods. He follows Dean out of the diner, stopping only once more to take a picture with the new arrivals.
Dean gets to the car first. He sits behind the wheel and watches Cas interact with his fans. He’s got to be tired by now - and hungry - but he’s patient and kind. He shakes every hand, returns every hug. He loves his fans. Maybe too much. He’d let himself starve before turning them away.
The whole thing gets Dean fired up. His grip is firm on the wheel. When Cas gets to the car and closes the door behind him, Dean doesn’t even look at him. He starts the car and Baby comes to life with a roar.
They’re halfway home when Cas says, “I’m sorry about back there.”
“My fault,” Dean says. Cas had warned him, had told him normal wasn’t part of his life anymore. Dean didn’t believe him. He tried to force it. He should have been more careful, should have -
“I can get a hotel tonight,” Cas says.
Dean snaps out of his thoughts. “What?” At a red light, he glances over.
Cas’s curled into himself, shoulders down, gaze in his hands, fingers curled together in his lap. “You’re having doubts.”
“Cas, that’s not -”
“It’s fine,” Cas says, in such a sad, quiet voice that makes it clear it’s not fine. Not fine at all. “This is my life, Dean. I won’t turn them away. They are a part of me, and if you want to be with me...” He swallows. “If we really are going to try to make an us, they are a part of that. I’m sorry.”
“Cas.” Dean’s not good at this - this, talking about emotions. But God, for Cas, he has to try. “You got this all wrong, buddy.”
Cas looks at him, and his watery gaze makes Dean’s heart ache. The ache gives him courage. He can do this, for Cas.
For the two of them, and any future they might have together.
“I promised you normal, and I threw you to the wolves,” Dean said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how it would be. That’s on me.”
Cas’s face crumples. He opens his mouth to speak.
Dean holds up a hand. “Hear me out, okay?” When Cas’s mouth closes again, Dean presses on. “You spend all of your time taking care of other people. Your fans. Hell, even me. You’ve listened to me blabber on about everything, Cas, but what do I really know about you? You never even mention your family.” Dean knew, of course, that Cas was the youngest of many, many siblings, but he never heard any of it from Cas. “You don’t have to do that. Not with me.”
The tears are drying up in Cas’s eyes. “Everyone already knows everything about me. I didn’t think... you’d want to hear it again.”
“I want to, Cas.” Softer, “I love listening to you talk.”
The car behind them honks. The light’s turned green.
“You take care of everyone. You need someone to take care of you.” Dean licks his lips. “I want to be that person.” He shakes his head. That’s too presumptuous. “I want to try.”
Cas is silent a moment. Two. Then three, and Dean chances a glance off the road. Cas is smiling, and Dean’s whole world brightens back up.
“Now,” he says, eyes back on the road. “Let me take you back home and I’ll make you the actual best burger in town.”
Cas laughs a little. “Alright, Dean.”
Later, they are in the kitchen, Dean cooks Cas a burger on the stove while Cas watches over his shoulder. The closeness has Dean’s heart racing; Cas’s warm breath tickles his neck.
“I never learned to cook,” Cas tells him. “I never had to. My siblings always took care of me.”
(popstar!cas/fanboy!dean part 6/7; read parts 1/2/3/4/5 or on ao3)
“I love you, Dean Winchester,” Cas says, much much later, when they are next to each other in bed. The lights are off, the sun’s setting over the trees through the window, and the warm glow of dusk sparkles in Cas’s eyes.
Dean’s blissed out and exhausted. They’d talked about this, and he planned. But nothing in his wildest imagination prepared him for the real thing. The real incredible joy of having this perfect man in his bed.
Still, he fights off sleep, heart squeezing, remembering the last time Cas was here. He’d promised he wouldn’t just leave again, no matter how cute Dean looks asleep, but a curl of dread lingers in his bones. Remembering. Always, remembering.
“I love you,” Cas whispers.
Dean has his head on Cas’s chest. He’s counting the strong steady heartbeats beneath his ear. Cas runs his fingers through Dean’s hair, soothing.
Stay awake, he commands himself, as his eyes drift closed.
When he opens them again, the sun is bright and the bed beside him is empty.
“Cas?” Dean says. Then louder, “Cas?”
He crawls out of bed and throws on a pair of boxers. He’s in the hall, around the corner. Is there a taxi? Maybe Dean can catch him this time. He has the front door half open when -
Behind him.
Soft talking.
Dean closes the door. He swivels on his bare heels and storms toward the kitchen.
Sam’s leaning against the counter, holding a bowl of cereal, spoon lifted halfway to his mouth.
Across from him, near the fridge, stands Cas in one of Dean’s t-shirts and a pair of soft pajama pants. The coffee mug in his hands reads World’s Best Brother.
“Oh. Hello, Dean.” Cas gives him a soft, secret smile that makes Dean warm all over.
He didn’t leave. He’s here. He’s in the kitchen. Talking to Sam.
And everything’s okay.
Sam stares at the ceiling. “Dean. Could you please put on some pants?”
They have a great visit. And when Cas has to go to the airport, Dean drives him, helps get his luggage out of the car, and then kisses him goodbye.
Dean rides the high of their visit for a full two days. Then they run out of milk. Dean stops on the way home from the garage to get a jug and a few other groceries. Only one checkout line is open, and the lady in front of him decides to pay with a check.
It’s okay. He’s not in any real hurry.
In boredom, he scans over the magazines in the checkout aisle.
He drops the milk.
WHO IS CASTIEL’S SECRET HOOKUP? the headline reads, on one of the tabloid magazines. And there, right beneath it, is a close up of Dean’s face. It’s fuzzy, like taken from a distance and blown up. A smaller picture beside it shows Dean and Cas in Dean’s front yard, arms around each other, deep in their kiss.
It’s fine, he reasons, as he grabs the whole stack so no one else will see. Except the cashier who looks at the magazine, and then up at Dean. “No way,” she says, and Dean leaves it, leaves everything. He goes to his car and drives home.
“You get the milk?” Sam asks when Dean walks through the door. He looks up, sees Dean, and concern etches across his face. “Dean? What happened?”
“I...” He can’t explain it, really. He knew it would happen, someday. Cas was ultra famous. They couldn’t be together without Dean being pulled into the limelight at least once. But he thought it would be under different circumstances. Controlled, somehow. They’d talked about it. Cas was going to take him to an awards show. They’d wear suits and hold hands.
“This is Dean Winchester,” Cas would say. “My boyfriend.”
They didn’t talk about this.
“Sit down.” Sam guides Dean to the couch. “What happened?”
“I don’t...”
“Breathe,” Sam urges.
Dean tries. “They got my picture.”
Only it’s worse. Because later, after watching the news - “Something to distract you,” Sam says - Sam goes to the bathroom and the celebrity gossip show comes on. The top story?
“We’ve got the scoop from an inside source,” says the host. “All you could ever want to know about pop star Castiel’s new secret lover, Dean Winchester.”
Inside source?
Sam comes back from the bathroom, sees the show, whitens, and rushes for remote to change the channel.
“Leave it,” Dean says, because whoever is talking to these shows about his life, he wants to know.
Their “source” if a fifty year old guy with a British accent who Dean has never seen before in his life. He gives a list of Dean’s personal details - his birthday, his sign, his job. Too much time is spent describing his appearance.
“Who is that?” Sam asks. Dean shrugs.
“Honestly, he works hard,” this guy says. “But he’s a lousy mechanic.”
“Hey!” Dean hops to his feet.
The guy’s expression turns grim. “I don’t think he’s worthy of our Castiel. But I’m sure Castiel sees that too. We have no reason to assume this is more than a fling.”
Anger turns to ice, and Dean sits back down.
Sam flips off the television. “Don’t listen to a word of that garbage.”
Dean nods.
When Cas calls that night, before he even says, Hello, he says, “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” Dean says.
“We wanted to do this differently. They must have followed me.”
“I was surprised,” Dean says. “But...” For Cas, he’d do anything. “It’s okay. I’ll figure it out.”
I don’t think he’s worthy of our Castiel.
“We will figure it out. Together,” Cas says, and Dean lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he held. “I love you, Dean.”
“I... I know, Cas.”
The next day is worse. Strangers come up to him on the street. Most of them are okay, asking if he’s really that guy, if he really knows Cas. Dean gives them vague answers. Some ask for selfies. Dean shies away. Only a few say he’s not good enough for Cas. Dean walks away without a word.
But its those few he remembers.
“Are you okay?” Cas asks, later on the phone.
“I’m fine,” Dean lies. Even he can hear the rattle in his breath.
Cas is quiet for a while, so long Dean thinks he might have hung up. But then he says, “I have an idea. If you want.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Let’s set the record straight.”
A few days later, Dean is backstage at an amphitheater. Cas is onstage in tight pants and a white t-shirt with black wings on the back - the same as when they met. He’s halfway through the show. The crowd is roaring, singing, cheering.
They love him. Dean loves him too.
Between songs, Cas is sweaty and smiley and breathy as he says, “There’s someone I want you to meet.”
Cas looks over, the bright lights behind him, glowing around his dark hair like a halo.
Dean, helpless against those blue eyes and that smile and the wave of his hand, starts moving forward without really thinking.
When Dean gets close enough, Cas takes his hand and brings it to his lips. Dean steps closer. It’s warm under the lights and his skin tingles.
“This is my boyfriend, Dean,” Cas says, and though there is a microphone between them, it’s Dean he’s speaking to. “And I love him.”
This is how it should be. Them, and the fans. Their terms. That smile.
“I love you, too, Cas.”
And they kiss.
And the crowd cheers on and on.
Three months later, they do attend that awards show. Both wear tuxes and smiles, and Dean holds Cas’s hand like a lifeline because he’s never seen so many cameras or had so many flashes go off in front of his eyes before.
Then they get to the interviewer, who asks about Dean.
“This is Dean Winchester,” Cas says, just like they talked about. “My fiance.”
(popstar!cas/fan!dean part 5. read parts 1/2/3/4 or on Ao3)
"He probably didn’t want to wake you," Sam says when Dean sits down to lunch. "No big deal."
Dean places his phone on the table in front of him and waits for it to light up.
"I’m sure he’s just busy," Sam says later, as he sets their table for two, and Dean’s at the stove, watching his phone on the counter. "Doesn’t he have a show tonight?"
At midnight, Dean’s sitting in the same spot on the couch he had with Cas, watching television and his phone on the coffee table at once.
"Dean," Sam says from the doorway to his bedroom.
Dean calls over his shoulder, "Yeah, Sammy?"
"You’ve watched this same infomercial three times."
Dean blinks. Is that what’s on? He hadn’t noticed.
"You should go to bed," Sam says. He starts to close his door, then stops. "He had a long day. He probably fell asleep."
Dean flips the remote over in his hands. "Yeah. You’re right."
Sam says goodnight and closes his door. Dean turns off the television, drops the remote next to his phone, and buries his face in his hands.
Sam’s right. Everything is probably fine.
But if that’s true, why does he feel like he ruined everything?
He sleeps on the couch, not wanting to go into the bedroom where Cas had been. Maybe he’ll wake up tomorrow to find today had been a dream. He reaches for his phone, checks his texts and his messages. Nothing new. He drops the phone on his chest.
He watches the ceiling fan and the dust coating the blades.
He doesn’t sleep. The phone doesn’t ring.
He flips over on the couch, but he can’t find a comfortable position. Soon, he’s on his back again, and how did he let that fan get so dusty?
Abandoning sleep, he grabs the duster from the closet, stands on the couch and cleans the blades. Satisfied, he hops of the couch. Dust covers the television and the coffee table. So Dean cleans them too. He dusts the pictures on the wall, the family portrait of him, Sam, and Mom. He dusts the bookcases, of his favorites, of Sam’s, and Sam’s textbooks. He dusts until not a speck is left.
Then he gets the vacuum.
"Dean!" Sam says, and Dean presses the button to turn it off. "It’s 3 in the morning."
"Dirt never sleeps, Sam." Dean starts it again.
Sam throws his hands in the air. Dean stops the vacuum again.
"Don’t complain," Dean says. “Make yourself useful and help me move the couch.”
Dean can’t remember the last time he cleaned under there. They are likely to find some kind of live animal or supernatural creature.
Sam grumbles but helps. He takes one end of the couch as Dean grabs the other, and together they move it back a few feet.
The dirt has built up thick, along with some change and what look to be half a sandwich. But sitting on top of it all, is a note on crisp white paper. A name written on top, Dean.
Dean recognizes that handwriting from a note not that long ago, with a number and a message, No more dreaming.
Sam reaches for it first. He holds it out for Dean. It’s a piece of stark white computer paper folded in half. His name is written carefully. When had Cas done this? Had he slept at all that night?
"I don’t want it," Dean says, because he would rather face silence than rejection.
"It’s 3 in the morning, Dean," Sam says, sighing, and shakes the paper. "Find out either way and go to bed.” His grip tightens and the note starts to crinkle.
Dean takes it before he can ruin it further.
When Sam leaves the room, Dean sits on the couch with the note on his knee, and waits for his heart to slow down and his breath to catch up.
When neither happens, he opens the note anyway and reads,
Dearest Dean,
Perhaps this is too fast, and you want to take things slow. But I must be true to my heart, and my heart must be true to you.
I am falling in love with you.
I am a coward who fears your reaction, so I will wait for your call. If it is too soon, if I am moving too quickly... You needn’t say it back. You needn’t say anything, if you don’t wish to.
I will wait.
Yours,
Cas
Dean reads the note again. And a third time, gaze snagging over love. In love. With you.
It can’t be right, but it is there. Right there, in Cas’s own handwriting.
Then, slowly, his mind registers, I will wait for your call.
No.
He wouldn’t.
I will wait.
He would. He totally would.
Cas hasn’t called. Because he’s afraid of rejection?
Dean wants to laugh at the absurdity of it. But then, his treacherous heart whispers, Haven’t you done the same?
No. It is totally different. He could have woken Dean up. They could have talked about it. They could have -
Dean reaches for his phone. It’s three in the morning. He should wait for a more reasonable hour. Still, he unlocks his phone. He searches for Cas in his contacts.
Yet before he can click call, his phone starts ringing. Cas’s smiling face is on Dean’s screen, a candid moment he stole during dinner, Cas holding up his burger. So entranced with the screen, Dean doesn’t remember clicking accept. But he must, because the phone is to his ear, and Cas is talking faster than Dean has ever heard him.
"I’m so sorry to call so late," he’s saying, strained, desperate. "I’m sorry, too, if my call is altogether unwelcome. But I couldn’t leave it. I know I said I would, but I couldn’t. I have to know what you are thinking." He takes a shaking breath, or maybe that’s Dean. Maybe it’s both of them. "Dean, please." Dean’s name is heartbreak so raw, Dean aches.
"Wake me up next time," he manages, somehow, words punched out of him.
A silence falls, lengthy and unsure.
"Will... there be a next time?" Cas asks, hope taking hold now, growing like a flower in his voice. And this hurts Dean more, because how could Cas ever think this would be the end of them?
"Cas," Dean says. He’s not good with these kind of feelings, never had been before anyway. But with Cas... Dean finds it’s not so hard to say, “I’m falling for you too.”
Cas exhales sharply, then starts laughing. Dean laughs too, in relief. In love.
"You were sleeping so peacefully, I didn’t have the heart to wake you" Cas admits later, after Dean told him about his terrible day and Cas confessed to Dean that he wrote an entire ballad this afternoon about lost love.
"Next time," Dean says, stern. "I don’t care how cute I am, you wake me up." A pause. "You tell me you love me to my damn face."
And Cas, smile in his voice, promises, "Yes, Dean."
Dean frames the note and hangs it above his desk.
Two months later, Cas gets out of a taxi, runs across the lawn into Dean’s open arms, and says, “I love you, Dean Winchester.”
(part four of popstar!cas/fan!dean. read part 1/2/3, or on Ao3)
They talk late into the night. At one point, they move from the kitchen to the couch where they sit, turned toward each other, knees close but not touching.
Cas tells him how difficult it is to date while famous, which Dean easily believes now, having seen it first hand. But it’s more, it’s worse. “Some people only want the fame. They want the money and the lights and the songs. But they don’t actually want me, this nerdy guy from Indiana.”
“Hey,” Dean says. “I like that nerdy guy from Indiana.”
Cas laughs, and his smile shows gums. Dean smiles too, has to, body reacting on its own - reacting to Cas.
When was the last time he felt so at ease?
“Well, dating for us normal guys isn’t exactly an enjoyable thrill-ride, either,” Dean says, when their laughter falls away. “People see the grease on my shirt and under my nails, and they make assumptions.”
“That you are capable and dependable?” Cas tries.
Dean offers a smile for the effort, but soon shakes it away. “That I failed at something. Or didn’t try hard enough to be something else.”
Cas frowns, and the small silence that follows makes Dean wish he would have picked a different subject. Still, Cas, fearless, presses on. “I don’t think that about you, Dean.”
“I know,” Dean says, soft in the newly quiet room. The clock ticks on the wall. It’s nearly two in the morning. “The way you looked at me that first time...”
Cas looks at him now, eyes focused like Dean’s the most important person in the whole universe and the world won’t turn until he takes his next breath.
“Yeah.” Dean swallows. “Like that.”
“I think you could do anything you set your mind to, Dean Winchester,” Cas says with so much reverence, Dean almost believes it. He wants to, but when so many people tell you you’re nothing, it’s hard to think otherwise.
Still, if Cas can believe it...
Cas glances down shyly, then looks up at Dean through his lashes. “And you could have anything you wanted.” He pauses. “Anyone.”
Dean freezes. Every nerve screams to reach out, to grab Cas, to hold him. Kiss him. Push him back on the couch cushions. Sam’s staying at a friends house the night to give him privacy. They’d have all the time in the world.
Cas licks his lips and Dean stares at that mouth. At those pink lips. And he wants.
But.
“Cas, I...”
“Yes, Dean?” And those blue eyes are looking up, expectant. Dean has to stop. Has to think. Or he will jump. And he will drown.
“I want to go slow.” He’s never said that before. He’s never really wanted to. But with Cas, everything’s different. His whole world’s off-kilter. “I’m not after that, Cas. Not with you. I mean, yeah, I want that, but I want the rest too. The whole package.” He’s botching this big time but he can’t stop talking, stop spiraling, half afraid Cas will change his mind and think him an idiot or, or -
Cas’s hands touch Dean’s face, palm flat on each cheek. Holding him still, he leans in close. His nose brushes Dean’s. “Dean,” he says, voice strained and charged with so much something, Dean’s heart physically aches. His breath is hot on Dean’s mouth. Dean closes his eyes. He’s so close to falling.
“I don’t want to wreck this,” Dean says. “I want to do right by you.”
“You are,” Cas says. Again, “You are.”
The clock strikes two. Cas pulls away. His cheeks are pink and his eyes are kind.
“You can have my bed,” Dean says. “I’ll take the couch.”
“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says. He stops in the doorway to the bedroom and looks back. A breath, then two, and he closes the door.
Later, in the pre-dawn dark, Dean stares at the ceiling, at the overhead fan with its dusty blades, and lets himself see a future. Another car in the driveway. Lazy Sundays in bed. Long walks in the morning, holding hands. And maybe, distantly, a pair of silver bands and a couple of tuxedos. Further, maybe some kids.
Dean’s never let himself indulge like this before. He always thought that once Sam found someone, moved on, that Dean would be alone. Mostly forgotten. Maybe a phone call once a week. Maybe a babysitter if they didn’t move too far.
A few hookups of his own. A fling or two. Nothing serious.
But now...
No. He stops himself. It’s too dangerous to dream of a future like that. It’s too soon to think he’s not going to ruin this.
He turns over on the couch, trying to get comfortable. Cas’s car is picking him up at 5am. Dean needs just a little sleep before then. A quick nap.
He closes his eyes for a moment, and opens them to daylight. He’s on his stomach now, and someone’s shaking his shoulder. He blinks away the sleep from his eyes. It’s Sam.
Sam?
“Where’s Cas?” Dean asks, pushing himself upright. He looks at the clock. It’s 11 am.
The door to his bedroom is open. Inside, the bed is made.
Cas is gone.
“Did you see him?” Dean asks Sam.
Sam shakes his head.
Dean’s heart sinks down into the carpet. His mind whispers, Your fault.
