[SPN] Crossroads State 7/12
Mar. 12th, 2012 06:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Epilogue
Thursday comes. Castiel's gone through all the usual motions: tea, run, work, although on significantly less sleep than he's used to and a lack of concentration that is not entirely due to fatigue, and the phone becomes the bane of his existence. He receives messages from Anna, Sam, and Balthazar, all wanting to be called with varying degrees of urgency. Between Anna's 'ASAP' and the fact that it's Anna, he calls her first.
"Chill, everything's fine," she says when he greets her by asking if anything's wrong. "I just need to know how many people to put on my guest list."
"Your guest list?"
"For my big gay painting! There's going to be a big theme night next weekend to unveil it. Like an art opening but with more go-go boys. Which I know isn't exactly your scene, before you say anything, but please?"
Castiel sighs. "Of course I'll come. I hope I won't be expected to dance."
"You don't have to do anything but be there. So, yes?"
"Yes."
"Yay! Gabe already said he'd come. Are you bringing Balthazar?"
"I don't think he'll be able to make it," Castiel says, as neutrally as he can.
"I'll leave you a plus-one anyway, just in case. You should talk to Gabe, he's booking a swanky suite somewhere. Oh, and news of the weird, I ran into Dean the hottie mechanic of all people."
"Oh." It hadn't occurred to him that there would be any chance of Dean and Anna crossing paths, despite them spending time in the same city. "I'm sorry. Are you--"
"I'm fine. It was pretty weird but it got not-weird. We had a couple of drinks. Not in a date way. Actually, we mostly talked about you."
"Anna--"
"Nothing embarrassing, I swear. That's Gabe's department. But you should ask him about it."
"Gabriel?"
"No, stupid, Dean."
"Why?"
"Just trust me, okay?"
If Dean's talking about him, that at least means there's a chance Dean will talk to him. But he can't imagine what Dean could have said to Anna.
The next call is to Sam, which he tells himself is because Sam's message read more urgent than Balthazar's, not because he's putting off an uncomfortable conversation.
"I'm kinda freaking out," Sam whispers.
"Why are you whispering?"
"Because I'm hiding in a supply closet. Gabriel said he'd take my phone away if he saw me using it again."
"Sam, Gabriel had no obligation to help you in the first place, and certainly no obligation to allow you to discharge the debt for the door that I know he paid for you in a way that looks good on your resumé. I would think the least you could do is--"
"No, I mean, I know. It's not that. I kept checking to see if you'd called back and he said he'd bury it in jell-o if I didn't calm down."
Castiel laughs in spite of his annoyance at Sam's ungrateful disobedience. "That's not an idle threat, I hope you know."
"Yeah, I kinda got that after he actually made me pick out all the blue M&Ms by hand when I wouldn't stop saying thank you. He's actually really great to work for if you leave out the weird sugar fetish. But Cas, Dean's coming home tonight."
"I know. You're just going to have to face it. I know Dean better than to think he won't be angry, but if you explain it to him the way you explained it to me, I believe he will forgive you. You made a mistake. A bad one, but it turned out far better than it could have."
"I know he'll forgive me. It's not like I've never screwed anything up. But I can't stand thinking how he's going to look at me."
"Consequences, Sam. I'm sorry I don't have anything more sympathetic to offer, but this is of your own making and you have to take responsibility."
"I know," Sam sighs. "That's really pretty much what I needed to hear. Just so you know, he likes whiskey when he's mad, but don't let him have too much."
"I'll take that under advisement, but I'm not sure--"
"Shit!" There's a rustling and the line goes dead.
It's two o'clock, which is when Balthazar's afternoon seminar starts. Delaying the call has bought him more time that he's now not sure he wants. It's not that he wants Balthazar out of his life, that he won't miss him, but now that he's made his decision, he wants the matter concluded. He would like very much to somehow skip forwards in time to when they've already spoken, to have it in the past. His distaste for confrontation has only earned him two more hours to wait out in limbo.
Castiel leaves the house meaning to go to the library, but he finds himself in a liquor store staring up and down the selection of whiskey until an employee notices his indecision, hears far too many details, and eventually hands him a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue and wishes him luck.
At the library, the Divinity student who always seems to be there during his visits has seen his name on the updated panel list for Leuven and laments that she can't get funding to attend. Jess at the coffee cart asks after Sam and forces a free muffin on him. Castiel lies without lying, simply telling her that Sam's gotten a job in a law office for the rest of the summer and will likely be spending less time here. He's fairly certain she looks disappointed even as she expresses happiness on Sam's behalf. He talks to Jess for some time; this is one of three jobs she works, along with a work-study lab assistant position for her advisor in the biology department and occasional extra hours on a grant-based experimental study. She has a cat with a bad habit of coughing up hairballs when she's about to be late and confesses a guilty love for vapid teen movies. Castiel walks away thinking she'd be a far better match for Sam than Ruby, but he's no matchmaker.
Balthazar doesn't greet him with a tease or any terms of endearment, just, "Have you got a moment?"
Castiel would be relieved at not having his resolve weakened by Balthazar's usual easy affection, but it also means there's something else wrong, so he falters on the opening he's rehearsed in his head a thousand times and says, "Yes. Is something the matter?"
"Trust you to know right off." Balthazar's laugh is the one he uses when something isn't funny. "There's really no easy way to say this, but I'm a complete bastard and I've gone and slept with Luc."
That sends everything Castiel was going to say straight out the window. "I see."
"I really am dreadfully fucking sorry. I hope you believe that."
"I believe you."
"And the thing is, well, he and I-- it's not that you aren't lovely, but--"
"You would rather be with him."
"Sounds bloody awful when you put it that way."
It would be very easy to say goodbye and let it end here, because whether he has any right to feel it or not, it stings. But allowing Balthazar to think all the fault lies with him would be cowardly. In his own way, Castiel's not been faithful either. "But it's the truth. I think we both knew there wasn't a long future for us."
"Wouldn't have minded it, really. But you're miles too good for me."
"Balthazar, I'm not. Before you made your confession I was going to make one of my own." He takes a deep breath. "I'm in love with Dean." He'd half thought saying it out loud for the first time might change it somehow, make it more real, but it feels just the same as before he said it.
Balthazar lets out that laugh again. "We're a fucking pair, aren't we? I did wonder."
"I'm sorry. I mistakenly convinced myself that my feelings could be kept within the confines of 'bromance.'"
"Of what?"
"Bromance. It's a term that--"
"I know what it means." Balthazar's laugh is real this time. "Christ, I'm going to miss you."
"I see no reason we can't remain on amicable terms. I'd like it if we could." But it won't be the same even if they manage to, and Castiel knows that's what Balthazar means.
"Make a go of it, anyway. Sort yourself out with Dean first, as I can't promise I won't flirt and you don't want him all threatened and murderous."
"I'm not sure there's a chance of having anything to sort out."
"Never know if you don't try, will you? I know not trying, take it from someone who's spent the last three years wanting to bum his star student. Moment he'd defended, my resolve crumbled." That he's happy Balthazar won't be in danger of repercussions since Luc is no longer a student, and not more hurt that Balthazar's heart was never in it in the first place, tells Castiel everything else he needs to know. "And look, bloody awkward time to mention it, but if that job turns out to be something you want when the time comes, I'll do whatever I can. You fucking deserve it."
"Thank you."
When they say goodbye, Castiel knows it's final for the time being.
*
Castiel has lied to himself about one thing or another his whole life. That there was nothing to the way he started to look at boys when the other boys started to look at girls. That he didn't care what his father thought of him, that he wasn't trying to smoke away the truth of how much he did care. That he could win his father's approval, love, if he could do just this one thing right, in a long series of one things. That he wasn't still a little bit crushed that it never worked, that if he could have made it in time, his father's dying words might have been a little bit of what he was looking for. That last one, he holds onto loosely in the back of his mind, just for comfort.
And however he's lied to himself about Dean, he's never been quite able to deny what he hopes for. He's been able to push it far enough away to be genuinely happy with their friendship, for it to be enough--more than enough and a thing he's lucky to have--but that's never stopped him from hoping, just a low flame in the background that sparks occasionally. It flared to blinding in that moment when they might, might have been about to kiss, and it hasn't quite gone back down since.
Now he might be just a little bit on fire. It's not denial now that makes him refuse to let it overtake him; it's pragmatism. Dean could have realized what that moment was and not wanted it. Whatever Sam says, Castiel may not now be his choice for a sympathetic ear. And if he is, if Dean does come, if Castiel can even screw up the courage to ask for what he wants, the timing would be at best selfish while Dean is angry and vulnerable, and possibly grateful to him for helping Sam.
And then there's Anna's cryptic statement about asking Dean the details of their unexpected encounter. He can't help puzzling over it, but there's no way of guessing what it could be; the only thing that comes to mind is that Dean may have decided he'd like to date Anna after all, and that does get a generous douse of denial, though logic would dictate it shouldn't. The only past relationship Dean's ever spoken of is his 'thing' with Lisa a number of years ago, so it would stand to reason that a woman would be his likely choice of partner. One-person exceptions to heterosexuality don't happen in the real world, as far as Castiel knows, whatever possible near-kisses might have to say about it. But spoken facts alone aren't the whole of reality, and Dean's never assigned himself a specific label in Castiel's hearing, so the hope stays.
The hope that Dean will come here is more immediate, and Castiel tries not to let that consume him either, because if he does he'll just stare into space waiting. For a while he sits with the papers from Balthazar about the job and a glass of Johnnie Walker at his elbow that he's not drinking, but he's not so much making any sense of the words as staring at them. He will have to make sense of them eventually, think seriously about what he wants and what he should do, but for now he pushes them aside and takes down his sauce-splattered copy of How to Cook Everything and starts reading about pie crust. It's certainly more complicated than unrolling a storebought one, but it doesn't seem overly so. When he chooses the wrong video tutorial online and watches a young woman becoming increasingly intoxicated for comedic effect, even her pie crust comes out somewhat recognizable despite her carelessness in following the instructions. Castiel ate pie perhaps twice a year before he met Dean. He takes a small sip of his whiskey and pulls a stick of butter out of the refrigerator.
It's a good enough distraction even if it's still, at its core, about Dean, because Castiel isn't experienced enough at cooking of any kind, let alone baking, to be able to concentrate on anything but following the recipe. Not overworking the dough and not letting it get too warm and making sure it there's enough flour on the counter to keep it from sticking.
Castiel's back door is awkward to get to because the fence cuts it off completely from the front half of the property and there's no gate. No one, therefore, ever comes to it unless they're already in the back yard, which is rare on its own, so hearing a knock sound from the darkened back porch is enough to make him jump out of his skin and reach for the nearest thing that might serve as a weapon.
"Cas?" The shout's muffled through the door but no less recognizable for it. Castiel relaxes from the imminent threat reaction, but tenses in a different way as he unbolts the door and opens it. Dean's standing there, shoulders hunched and his hands in his pockets, face drawn into unhappy angles that are more dramatic in the shadows. Though his expression spares a moment of confusion to eye the rolling pin that Castiel's still brandishing like a club. "I come at a bad time?"
"No, of course not." Castiel lets his arm drop, feeling ridiculous, and steps aside for Dean to come in. "I was afraid you might be a burglar."
"Since when do burglars knock?"
"I suppose they don't. But there's no way into the back yard without climbing the fence."
"Explains why I couldn't find the gate. Sorry, man. I was kinda wandering around for a while and I ended up in the alley."
"It's all right. It's good to see you, Dean."
"You too." Dean's lips catch up in a smile that doesn't stay.
"There's whiskey if you'd like some."
"The guy known from here on out as My Idiot Brother warned you, huh?"
"He knew you would be angry and thought you might come here." Across the island, Castiel feels a bit like a bartender when he takes down a glass and pours what looks like a decent amount as Dean sinks onto a stool. He's forgotten to dust the flour off his hands and has to wipe it off the outside of the glass.
"Damn straight I'm fuckin' angry." Dean knocks back half the whiskey in one go. There's a smudge of blue on the back of his left hand that looks like the remains of some kind of stamp, but Castiel can't tell what it is.
"I hope you understand my decision to let Sam explain what happened himself."
"Oh, yeah. Dude, I'm not pissed at you. Totally opposite. Who knows what would've happened if you and your brother hadn't been there to bail his dumb ass out." Dean drains his glass and pours another. "Which, seriously, thank you. That's like not even repayable. I know he wasn't going to actually die or anything, but you guys did save his life."
"There's nothing to repay. I would have done the same for any friend." Those words are chosen carefully, because he would have done the same had Sam been a complete stranger, because he's someone Dean cares about.
"Still. I should send Gabriel a fruit basket or something."
"If it would ease your unnecessary sense of obligation to thank him with a gift, he'd likely prefer Godiva."
Dean snorts into his glass. "I'm trying to thank him, not get in his pants."
"I doubt he'd arrive at that conclusion. He just prefers sweets to... well, most things."
"I can get behind that. Speaking of which, that looks a damn lot like pie crust."
"Whether it will taste that way remains to be seen." Castiel realizes he should get the dough into the refrigerator, since he discovered halfway through the endeavor that he doesn't actually have anything to serve as pie filling. He starts to wrap up the dough, and suddenly Dean's close and warm behind him, reaching under his arm to pinch off a bit of dough. "Dean, that's not going to taste very--"
"Doesn't taste good now but it will later. I used to do this to Missouri's when I was a kid, so I know when it tastes right."
He can feel the heat of Dean's breath on the back of his neck and smell the whiskey and he tears the plastic wrap with more violence than he means to. The roll fumbles out of the box and bounces across the counter. Dean goes after it and leaves a cold void at his back. He has to remind himself that this isn't supposed to be about what he wants. "Are you and Sam going to be all right?"
"Yeah," Dean says. He's leaning back against the counter and at another time Castiel might tell him not to rest his boot on the cabinet door but that doesn't seem very important now. "We've had bigger fights. I'm kinda pissed at myself as much as I'm pissed at him."
"Sam's mistake is not your fault."
"He was saying all this crap about wanting to feel like a normal college student, which, I mean, is crap because can you even imagine that kid at a frat party or something? But he wouldn't think he needs to do that if he hadn't had a screwed-up childhood, which is my fault. If I could've--"
"That's bullshit, Dean." Castiel didn't swear on purpose; he just felt that strongly, but it has the added effect of shutting Dean up. "From what little you've told me, all the fault for your and Sam's unstable upbringing lies with your father, and by your account and Sam's as well, you've only ever worked to remedy that. Besides which, Sam is an adult. You have a right to be angry, but not at yourself."
"Maybe." Dean sighs. "I just want him to have a damn life, you know? Even I thought hey, way to go Sammy, rockin' the debauchery with your hot girlfriend."
"Some fault there is mine as well. I knew Ruby's background and said nothing. She's a very smart girl who's had a hard time and made some unfortunate choices, and I allowed myself to believe that Sam might be good for her, rather than the complete opposite."
"If I'm not allowed to blame me, you're not allowed to blame you, okay?" Dean picks up Castiel's barely-touched glass from the island and refills his own. "You know me, man, I probably wouldn't have listened even if you'd warned me. Let's just move the hell on." He pushes Castiel's drink into his hand and touches their glasses together, and their eyes meet as they drink.
In the living room with Dean rifling through records, Castiel realizes just how many of the ones that are here belong to Dean. Dean doesn't choose one of his own, though; technically it doesn't belong to Castiel either, but he hasn't spoken to its owner in years. He remembers Mark grinning behind hungover sunglasses and paying a quarter for it at a yard sale in New Haven, but he's played it enough in the intervening years that there's nothing much attached to it anymore.
"I wouldn't think you'd like Gram Parsons," Castiel says.
"Are you kidding? Dude was awesome. His friends stole his damn dead body from an airport. Beats the hell outta your Simon and Garfunkel shit anyway. There's three men in cowboy hats I actually respect, not including Clint Eastwood, and he's one of 'em."
'Return of the Grievous Angel' fills the room and Dean's close next to him on the sofa and they don't talk until the song's over, when Castiel starts to feel the silence and asks how things went in Indianapolis.
Dean scratches the back of his left hand, where the smudged ink is, and says, "Yeah, it was good. I met some cool guys who I think can help me out with parts if I can start pulling in some restoration jobs."
"Anna mentioned she saw you. I hope that wasn't awkward."
"Nah. There was a definite oh-shit moment when I saw her, but she was really cool. She showed me her painting, which seriously mad skills."
With that information and the way the light's hitting Dean's left hand, it looks more like a pair of wings on either side of a capital 'H.' It would be easy to jump to the conclusion that Dean went to Heaven on his own, but it's just as likely that the stamp is from Anna taking him there specially. "I've agreed to go to see it unveiled."
Dean laughs, and he's close enough that Castiel can feel it. "Don't sound so happy for her."
"I'm not particularly sanguine toward the so-called club scene."
"It's an okay place. It was like five in the afternoon when I was there so it was pretty empty, but it didn't seem skeevy. And believe me, I know skeevy. Other than some old queen hitting on me, it was nice."
There's a lot to interpret there. Castiel's never heard 'old queen' thrown out so casually except from people who apply it to themselves or who are close to those who do. "Did Anna take you there?"
"No." Dean's looking off toward the side of the room.
"Oh." Castiel's never been to Heaven, but he's been to places like it. The thought of Dean grinding against strangers' sweaty bodies on a dance floor, of him finding some anonymous back-room tryst, it makes his chest hurt. He can live with Dean not wanting to be with him, but Dean deserves better than that. Still, Dean said it was early and there weren't many people there. He'll be perfectly content never to be told how long Dean stayed, or what he was looking for when he went there in the first place.
They've sat in a lot of silences together, mostly the kind that are comfortable and come on because there's nothing that happens to need saying. This isn't like that. He's too aware of even the smallest movements Dean makes next to him, the warm point where their knees are touching, the line of Dean's throat as he tips his head back to drain the last drops out of his glass, of the things he's trying not to ask, and of whatever Dean isn't saying.
"Hey, Cas?" Dean says after a while. "You, um, wanna watch a movie or something? I don't really feel like going home."
"Because of Sam?"
"Yeah. It's not like I'm so pissed I can't stand his face or anything, but he's going to be looking at me all puppy-eyes wondering if he's forgiven yet."
"You'll have to see him eventually."
"I know. I just want to not deal with it for a minute. I mean, if you weren't busy."
"You're welcome as long as you'd like."
"Thanks." The smile Dean gives him is open, relieved. "You pick something, I'll go make some popcorn."
Castiel doesn't own many DVDs and can barely remember between one use and the next how to make the player and the television interact correctly. Most of his collection is things he uses in his classes-- Jesus Christ Superstar, Indiana Jones movies, Schindler's List-- and has seen a thousand times. He's got Withnail and I and North By Northwest, both still in their cellophane because he and Balthazar had never gotten around to watching them, and those seem like inappropriate choices. He doubts Dean will be interested in Amélie or Gosford Park, but he takes those along with Raiders of the Lost Ark and Dogma into the kitchen to present to Dean as choices and see if he needs help finding the popcorn, because Castiel hasn't heard the microwave going.
Dean's found the popcorn. He's also found the proposal for the New Testament position that Castiel left lying on the island. Dean looks up sharply, expression unreadable. "I wasn't, uh. I had to move your laptop and--"
"It's all right. It's not a secret." That isn't really true, of course. He's purposely not told Dean because he can't think how to phrase that kind of announcement without asking for something.
"News to me."
"The resources won't exist to begin a search before next spring, and I've yet to decide whether I'll apply."
"But you're thinking about it."
"I would be doing myself a disservice not to consider the opportunity. I never meant to teach high school for the rest of my life, Dean. You know that."
"Yeah. I guess it must be pretty serious business with Balthazar, huh? If you're thinking of moving up there."
"He gave me that proposal because he believes I would be a good fit for the position. Our...relationship will have no bearing on my decision, since--" it would be dishonest not to mention it now-- "since we are no longer a couple."
"Oh. Shit. I'm sorry. When did that--"
"This afternoon."
"What the hell, man? You were just gonna let me be emo into my scotch all night and not bother to mention that? How big a dick do you think I am?"
"That's not it at all. Bathazar and I parted amicably by mutual agreement." Not quite, but close enough. "It's unfortunate but I'm not in pain. We weren't in love. It was a piece of news I could tell you at any time. I thought your problems with Sam should take precedence for now."
"Man." Dean scrubs a hand over his face. "So he didn't dump you over shroom shakes and I don't need to kick his ass?"
"No. And I'd strongly prefer if you didn't."
"So that he'll help you get that job?"
"I doubt doing him some sort of violence would change his intentions. He believes I'm just what the faculty needs."
"What's the matter with IU or something? It's down the damn street."
"They and numerous other institutions have offered me visiting professorships on several occasions, but those are temporary and would have me uprooting myself once the year is out. The Chicago position is a tenure-track endowed chair. I've only been at St. Benedict's as long as I have because I went to college with the head of the board of trustees. You don't have the frame of reference to understand the risk involved for any faculty taking me on, but my scholarship is extremely controversial. Even Chicago would be a gamble, in terms of having the tenure approved, but the chair they're setting up is a guaranteed three-year appointment."
"So what do you do in three years if they tell you to take a hike?"
"That's something I would have to consider."
"Not that you should listen to the asshole with no frame of reference, but that doesn't sound like any more of a sure thing than the one-year offers."
"I'm aware. It's why I've decided nothing thus far."
"I mean, a year at IU could work out too, right? The tenure and everything? And you wouldn't have to move, and if the trustee guy's your friend, he'd probably give you back your old job if it didn't, right?"
Dean doesn't want him to leave, Castiel realizes. Dean's saying without saying that he doesn't want him to leave. Dean can give complicated lines to read between, but these aren't. "It's a possibility. A distant one, but possible. I don't want to leave, but I'm not a high school teacher."
"Look, I'm doing a shitty job of it, but I'm trying to say I'd miss you, dumbass." On that, Dean turns away and throws the popcorn into the microwave.
Castiel's heart feels like it's somewhere in the middle of his esophagus. He'd like to say that if Dean asked him to stay, he would. That he'd let everything else go and spend the rest of his life at the front of a high school classroom. But all he says is, "I'd miss you too," quietly, having to swallow around it.
Dean turns back to face him and the first kernels pop like gunshots in the silence. It would take three steps to cross the space between them, but Castiel stays where he is as the runout groove pops static from the turntable in the living room.
Dean picks Raiders of the Lost Ark and falls asleep against Castiel's shoulder half an hour in. He knows he should go up to bed, but after he summons the presence of mind to send a message to Sam that Dean's probably staying here for the night, he just pulls the afghan from the back of the sofa down over them and closes his eyes.
He wakes up with it still dark out and Dean snoring lightly into the side of his neck, the DVD menu playing the same thirty seconds of music over and over. His left hand is trapped behind Dean's back and has lost all feeling. His right has a mind of its own and wants to stroke through Dean's hair. He makes it stop when Dean stirs and mutters something unintelligible.
The last time this happened, Castiel panicked somewhat and left Dean alone. This time, he revels selfishly. Dean wakes up when Castiel can't help pressing his lips to the spot where Dean's hairline meets his forehead, a guilty stolen thing.
Dean just blinks up at him and says, "Hey." He doesn't jerk away, doesn't act as if this is anything but completely normal.
"It's very late," Castiel says.
"Shit."
"Sam knows you're here. If you'd like to sleep in the guest room--"
"'m good here."
It's an Herculean effort for Castiel to get up, to kneel down and unlace Dean's boots and lift his feet up onto the couch. An even bigger one not to lie back down next to him. He doesn't think Dean hears him say goodnight.
Next: Part 8
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Epilogue
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Epilogue
Thursday comes. Castiel's gone through all the usual motions: tea, run, work, although on significantly less sleep than he's used to and a lack of concentration that is not entirely due to fatigue, and the phone becomes the bane of his existence. He receives messages from Anna, Sam, and Balthazar, all wanting to be called with varying degrees of urgency. Between Anna's 'ASAP' and the fact that it's Anna, he calls her first.
"Chill, everything's fine," she says when he greets her by asking if anything's wrong. "I just need to know how many people to put on my guest list."
"Your guest list?"
"For my big gay painting! There's going to be a big theme night next weekend to unveil it. Like an art opening but with more go-go boys. Which I know isn't exactly your scene, before you say anything, but please?"
Castiel sighs. "Of course I'll come. I hope I won't be expected to dance."
"You don't have to do anything but be there. So, yes?"
"Yes."
"Yay! Gabe already said he'd come. Are you bringing Balthazar?"
"I don't think he'll be able to make it," Castiel says, as neutrally as he can.
"I'll leave you a plus-one anyway, just in case. You should talk to Gabe, he's booking a swanky suite somewhere. Oh, and news of the weird, I ran into Dean the hottie mechanic of all people."
"Oh." It hadn't occurred to him that there would be any chance of Dean and Anna crossing paths, despite them spending time in the same city. "I'm sorry. Are you--"
"I'm fine. It was pretty weird but it got not-weird. We had a couple of drinks. Not in a date way. Actually, we mostly talked about you."
"Anna--"
"Nothing embarrassing, I swear. That's Gabe's department. But you should ask him about it."
"Gabriel?"
"No, stupid, Dean."
"Why?"
"Just trust me, okay?"
If Dean's talking about him, that at least means there's a chance Dean will talk to him. But he can't imagine what Dean could have said to Anna.
The next call is to Sam, which he tells himself is because Sam's message read more urgent than Balthazar's, not because he's putting off an uncomfortable conversation.
"I'm kinda freaking out," Sam whispers.
"Why are you whispering?"
"Because I'm hiding in a supply closet. Gabriel said he'd take my phone away if he saw me using it again."
"Sam, Gabriel had no obligation to help you in the first place, and certainly no obligation to allow you to discharge the debt for the door that I know he paid for you in a way that looks good on your resumé. I would think the least you could do is--"
"No, I mean, I know. It's not that. I kept checking to see if you'd called back and he said he'd bury it in jell-o if I didn't calm down."
Castiel laughs in spite of his annoyance at Sam's ungrateful disobedience. "That's not an idle threat, I hope you know."
"Yeah, I kinda got that after he actually made me pick out all the blue M&Ms by hand when I wouldn't stop saying thank you. He's actually really great to work for if you leave out the weird sugar fetish. But Cas, Dean's coming home tonight."
"I know. You're just going to have to face it. I know Dean better than to think he won't be angry, but if you explain it to him the way you explained it to me, I believe he will forgive you. You made a mistake. A bad one, but it turned out far better than it could have."
"I know he'll forgive me. It's not like I've never screwed anything up. But I can't stand thinking how he's going to look at me."
"Consequences, Sam. I'm sorry I don't have anything more sympathetic to offer, but this is of your own making and you have to take responsibility."
"I know," Sam sighs. "That's really pretty much what I needed to hear. Just so you know, he likes whiskey when he's mad, but don't let him have too much."
"I'll take that under advisement, but I'm not sure--"
"Shit!" There's a rustling and the line goes dead.
It's two o'clock, which is when Balthazar's afternoon seminar starts. Delaying the call has bought him more time that he's now not sure he wants. It's not that he wants Balthazar out of his life, that he won't miss him, but now that he's made his decision, he wants the matter concluded. He would like very much to somehow skip forwards in time to when they've already spoken, to have it in the past. His distaste for confrontation has only earned him two more hours to wait out in limbo.
Castiel leaves the house meaning to go to the library, but he finds himself in a liquor store staring up and down the selection of whiskey until an employee notices his indecision, hears far too many details, and eventually hands him a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue and wishes him luck.
At the library, the Divinity student who always seems to be there during his visits has seen his name on the updated panel list for Leuven and laments that she can't get funding to attend. Jess at the coffee cart asks after Sam and forces a free muffin on him. Castiel lies without lying, simply telling her that Sam's gotten a job in a law office for the rest of the summer and will likely be spending less time here. He's fairly certain she looks disappointed even as she expresses happiness on Sam's behalf. He talks to Jess for some time; this is one of three jobs she works, along with a work-study lab assistant position for her advisor in the biology department and occasional extra hours on a grant-based experimental study. She has a cat with a bad habit of coughing up hairballs when she's about to be late and confesses a guilty love for vapid teen movies. Castiel walks away thinking she'd be a far better match for Sam than Ruby, but he's no matchmaker.
Balthazar doesn't greet him with a tease or any terms of endearment, just, "Have you got a moment?"
Castiel would be relieved at not having his resolve weakened by Balthazar's usual easy affection, but it also means there's something else wrong, so he falters on the opening he's rehearsed in his head a thousand times and says, "Yes. Is something the matter?"
"Trust you to know right off." Balthazar's laugh is the one he uses when something isn't funny. "There's really no easy way to say this, but I'm a complete bastard and I've gone and slept with Luc."
That sends everything Castiel was going to say straight out the window. "I see."
"I really am dreadfully fucking sorry. I hope you believe that."
"I believe you."
"And the thing is, well, he and I-- it's not that you aren't lovely, but--"
"You would rather be with him."
"Sounds bloody awful when you put it that way."
It would be very easy to say goodbye and let it end here, because whether he has any right to feel it or not, it stings. But allowing Balthazar to think all the fault lies with him would be cowardly. In his own way, Castiel's not been faithful either. "But it's the truth. I think we both knew there wasn't a long future for us."
"Wouldn't have minded it, really. But you're miles too good for me."
"Balthazar, I'm not. Before you made your confession I was going to make one of my own." He takes a deep breath. "I'm in love with Dean." He'd half thought saying it out loud for the first time might change it somehow, make it more real, but it feels just the same as before he said it.
Balthazar lets out that laugh again. "We're a fucking pair, aren't we? I did wonder."
"I'm sorry. I mistakenly convinced myself that my feelings could be kept within the confines of 'bromance.'"
"Of what?"
"Bromance. It's a term that--"
"I know what it means." Balthazar's laugh is real this time. "Christ, I'm going to miss you."
"I see no reason we can't remain on amicable terms. I'd like it if we could." But it won't be the same even if they manage to, and Castiel knows that's what Balthazar means.
"Make a go of it, anyway. Sort yourself out with Dean first, as I can't promise I won't flirt and you don't want him all threatened and murderous."
"I'm not sure there's a chance of having anything to sort out."
"Never know if you don't try, will you? I know not trying, take it from someone who's spent the last three years wanting to bum his star student. Moment he'd defended, my resolve crumbled." That he's happy Balthazar won't be in danger of repercussions since Luc is no longer a student, and not more hurt that Balthazar's heart was never in it in the first place, tells Castiel everything else he needs to know. "And look, bloody awkward time to mention it, but if that job turns out to be something you want when the time comes, I'll do whatever I can. You fucking deserve it."
"Thank you."
When they say goodbye, Castiel knows it's final for the time being.
*
Castiel has lied to himself about one thing or another his whole life. That there was nothing to the way he started to look at boys when the other boys started to look at girls. That he didn't care what his father thought of him, that he wasn't trying to smoke away the truth of how much he did care. That he could win his father's approval, love, if he could do just this one thing right, in a long series of one things. That he wasn't still a little bit crushed that it never worked, that if he could have made it in time, his father's dying words might have been a little bit of what he was looking for. That last one, he holds onto loosely in the back of his mind, just for comfort.
And however he's lied to himself about Dean, he's never been quite able to deny what he hopes for. He's been able to push it far enough away to be genuinely happy with their friendship, for it to be enough--more than enough and a thing he's lucky to have--but that's never stopped him from hoping, just a low flame in the background that sparks occasionally. It flared to blinding in that moment when they might, might have been about to kiss, and it hasn't quite gone back down since.
Now he might be just a little bit on fire. It's not denial now that makes him refuse to let it overtake him; it's pragmatism. Dean could have realized what that moment was and not wanted it. Whatever Sam says, Castiel may not now be his choice for a sympathetic ear. And if he is, if Dean does come, if Castiel can even screw up the courage to ask for what he wants, the timing would be at best selfish while Dean is angry and vulnerable, and possibly grateful to him for helping Sam.
And then there's Anna's cryptic statement about asking Dean the details of their unexpected encounter. He can't help puzzling over it, but there's no way of guessing what it could be; the only thing that comes to mind is that Dean may have decided he'd like to date Anna after all, and that does get a generous douse of denial, though logic would dictate it shouldn't. The only past relationship Dean's ever spoken of is his 'thing' with Lisa a number of years ago, so it would stand to reason that a woman would be his likely choice of partner. One-person exceptions to heterosexuality don't happen in the real world, as far as Castiel knows, whatever possible near-kisses might have to say about it. But spoken facts alone aren't the whole of reality, and Dean's never assigned himself a specific label in Castiel's hearing, so the hope stays.
The hope that Dean will come here is more immediate, and Castiel tries not to let that consume him either, because if he does he'll just stare into space waiting. For a while he sits with the papers from Balthazar about the job and a glass of Johnnie Walker at his elbow that he's not drinking, but he's not so much making any sense of the words as staring at them. He will have to make sense of them eventually, think seriously about what he wants and what he should do, but for now he pushes them aside and takes down his sauce-splattered copy of How to Cook Everything and starts reading about pie crust. It's certainly more complicated than unrolling a storebought one, but it doesn't seem overly so. When he chooses the wrong video tutorial online and watches a young woman becoming increasingly intoxicated for comedic effect, even her pie crust comes out somewhat recognizable despite her carelessness in following the instructions. Castiel ate pie perhaps twice a year before he met Dean. He takes a small sip of his whiskey and pulls a stick of butter out of the refrigerator.
It's a good enough distraction even if it's still, at its core, about Dean, because Castiel isn't experienced enough at cooking of any kind, let alone baking, to be able to concentrate on anything but following the recipe. Not overworking the dough and not letting it get too warm and making sure it there's enough flour on the counter to keep it from sticking.
Castiel's back door is awkward to get to because the fence cuts it off completely from the front half of the property and there's no gate. No one, therefore, ever comes to it unless they're already in the back yard, which is rare on its own, so hearing a knock sound from the darkened back porch is enough to make him jump out of his skin and reach for the nearest thing that might serve as a weapon.
"Cas?" The shout's muffled through the door but no less recognizable for it. Castiel relaxes from the imminent threat reaction, but tenses in a different way as he unbolts the door and opens it. Dean's standing there, shoulders hunched and his hands in his pockets, face drawn into unhappy angles that are more dramatic in the shadows. Though his expression spares a moment of confusion to eye the rolling pin that Castiel's still brandishing like a club. "I come at a bad time?"
"No, of course not." Castiel lets his arm drop, feeling ridiculous, and steps aside for Dean to come in. "I was afraid you might be a burglar."
"Since when do burglars knock?"
"I suppose they don't. But there's no way into the back yard without climbing the fence."
"Explains why I couldn't find the gate. Sorry, man. I was kinda wandering around for a while and I ended up in the alley."
"It's all right. It's good to see you, Dean."
"You too." Dean's lips catch up in a smile that doesn't stay.
"There's whiskey if you'd like some."
"The guy known from here on out as My Idiot Brother warned you, huh?"
"He knew you would be angry and thought you might come here." Across the island, Castiel feels a bit like a bartender when he takes down a glass and pours what looks like a decent amount as Dean sinks onto a stool. He's forgotten to dust the flour off his hands and has to wipe it off the outside of the glass.
"Damn straight I'm fuckin' angry." Dean knocks back half the whiskey in one go. There's a smudge of blue on the back of his left hand that looks like the remains of some kind of stamp, but Castiel can't tell what it is.
"I hope you understand my decision to let Sam explain what happened himself."
"Oh, yeah. Dude, I'm not pissed at you. Totally opposite. Who knows what would've happened if you and your brother hadn't been there to bail his dumb ass out." Dean drains his glass and pours another. "Which, seriously, thank you. That's like not even repayable. I know he wasn't going to actually die or anything, but you guys did save his life."
"There's nothing to repay. I would have done the same for any friend." Those words are chosen carefully, because he would have done the same had Sam been a complete stranger, because he's someone Dean cares about.
"Still. I should send Gabriel a fruit basket or something."
"If it would ease your unnecessary sense of obligation to thank him with a gift, he'd likely prefer Godiva."
Dean snorts into his glass. "I'm trying to thank him, not get in his pants."
"I doubt he'd arrive at that conclusion. He just prefers sweets to... well, most things."
"I can get behind that. Speaking of which, that looks a damn lot like pie crust."
"Whether it will taste that way remains to be seen." Castiel realizes he should get the dough into the refrigerator, since he discovered halfway through the endeavor that he doesn't actually have anything to serve as pie filling. He starts to wrap up the dough, and suddenly Dean's close and warm behind him, reaching under his arm to pinch off a bit of dough. "Dean, that's not going to taste very--"
"Doesn't taste good now but it will later. I used to do this to Missouri's when I was a kid, so I know when it tastes right."
He can feel the heat of Dean's breath on the back of his neck and smell the whiskey and he tears the plastic wrap with more violence than he means to. The roll fumbles out of the box and bounces across the counter. Dean goes after it and leaves a cold void at his back. He has to remind himself that this isn't supposed to be about what he wants. "Are you and Sam going to be all right?"
"Yeah," Dean says. He's leaning back against the counter and at another time Castiel might tell him not to rest his boot on the cabinet door but that doesn't seem very important now. "We've had bigger fights. I'm kinda pissed at myself as much as I'm pissed at him."
"Sam's mistake is not your fault."
"He was saying all this crap about wanting to feel like a normal college student, which, I mean, is crap because can you even imagine that kid at a frat party or something? But he wouldn't think he needs to do that if he hadn't had a screwed-up childhood, which is my fault. If I could've--"
"That's bullshit, Dean." Castiel didn't swear on purpose; he just felt that strongly, but it has the added effect of shutting Dean up. "From what little you've told me, all the fault for your and Sam's unstable upbringing lies with your father, and by your account and Sam's as well, you've only ever worked to remedy that. Besides which, Sam is an adult. You have a right to be angry, but not at yourself."
"Maybe." Dean sighs. "I just want him to have a damn life, you know? Even I thought hey, way to go Sammy, rockin' the debauchery with your hot girlfriend."
"Some fault there is mine as well. I knew Ruby's background and said nothing. She's a very smart girl who's had a hard time and made some unfortunate choices, and I allowed myself to believe that Sam might be good for her, rather than the complete opposite."
"If I'm not allowed to blame me, you're not allowed to blame you, okay?" Dean picks up Castiel's barely-touched glass from the island and refills his own. "You know me, man, I probably wouldn't have listened even if you'd warned me. Let's just move the hell on." He pushes Castiel's drink into his hand and touches their glasses together, and their eyes meet as they drink.
In the living room with Dean rifling through records, Castiel realizes just how many of the ones that are here belong to Dean. Dean doesn't choose one of his own, though; technically it doesn't belong to Castiel either, but he hasn't spoken to its owner in years. He remembers Mark grinning behind hungover sunglasses and paying a quarter for it at a yard sale in New Haven, but he's played it enough in the intervening years that there's nothing much attached to it anymore.
"I wouldn't think you'd like Gram Parsons," Castiel says.
"Are you kidding? Dude was awesome. His friends stole his damn dead body from an airport. Beats the hell outta your Simon and Garfunkel shit anyway. There's three men in cowboy hats I actually respect, not including Clint Eastwood, and he's one of 'em."
'Return of the Grievous Angel' fills the room and Dean's close next to him on the sofa and they don't talk until the song's over, when Castiel starts to feel the silence and asks how things went in Indianapolis.
Dean scratches the back of his left hand, where the smudged ink is, and says, "Yeah, it was good. I met some cool guys who I think can help me out with parts if I can start pulling in some restoration jobs."
"Anna mentioned she saw you. I hope that wasn't awkward."
"Nah. There was a definite oh-shit moment when I saw her, but she was really cool. She showed me her painting, which seriously mad skills."
With that information and the way the light's hitting Dean's left hand, it looks more like a pair of wings on either side of a capital 'H.' It would be easy to jump to the conclusion that Dean went to Heaven on his own, but it's just as likely that the stamp is from Anna taking him there specially. "I've agreed to go to see it unveiled."
Dean laughs, and he's close enough that Castiel can feel it. "Don't sound so happy for her."
"I'm not particularly sanguine toward the so-called club scene."
"It's an okay place. It was like five in the afternoon when I was there so it was pretty empty, but it didn't seem skeevy. And believe me, I know skeevy. Other than some old queen hitting on me, it was nice."
There's a lot to interpret there. Castiel's never heard 'old queen' thrown out so casually except from people who apply it to themselves or who are close to those who do. "Did Anna take you there?"
"No." Dean's looking off toward the side of the room.
"Oh." Castiel's never been to Heaven, but he's been to places like it. The thought of Dean grinding against strangers' sweaty bodies on a dance floor, of him finding some anonymous back-room tryst, it makes his chest hurt. He can live with Dean not wanting to be with him, but Dean deserves better than that. Still, Dean said it was early and there weren't many people there. He'll be perfectly content never to be told how long Dean stayed, or what he was looking for when he went there in the first place.
They've sat in a lot of silences together, mostly the kind that are comfortable and come on because there's nothing that happens to need saying. This isn't like that. He's too aware of even the smallest movements Dean makes next to him, the warm point where their knees are touching, the line of Dean's throat as he tips his head back to drain the last drops out of his glass, of the things he's trying not to ask, and of whatever Dean isn't saying.
"Hey, Cas?" Dean says after a while. "You, um, wanna watch a movie or something? I don't really feel like going home."
"Because of Sam?"
"Yeah. It's not like I'm so pissed I can't stand his face or anything, but he's going to be looking at me all puppy-eyes wondering if he's forgiven yet."
"You'll have to see him eventually."
"I know. I just want to not deal with it for a minute. I mean, if you weren't busy."
"You're welcome as long as you'd like."
"Thanks." The smile Dean gives him is open, relieved. "You pick something, I'll go make some popcorn."
Castiel doesn't own many DVDs and can barely remember between one use and the next how to make the player and the television interact correctly. Most of his collection is things he uses in his classes-- Jesus Christ Superstar, Indiana Jones movies, Schindler's List-- and has seen a thousand times. He's got Withnail and I and North By Northwest, both still in their cellophane because he and Balthazar had never gotten around to watching them, and those seem like inappropriate choices. He doubts Dean will be interested in Amélie or Gosford Park, but he takes those along with Raiders of the Lost Ark and Dogma into the kitchen to present to Dean as choices and see if he needs help finding the popcorn, because Castiel hasn't heard the microwave going.
Dean's found the popcorn. He's also found the proposal for the New Testament position that Castiel left lying on the island. Dean looks up sharply, expression unreadable. "I wasn't, uh. I had to move your laptop and--"
"It's all right. It's not a secret." That isn't really true, of course. He's purposely not told Dean because he can't think how to phrase that kind of announcement without asking for something.
"News to me."
"The resources won't exist to begin a search before next spring, and I've yet to decide whether I'll apply."
"But you're thinking about it."
"I would be doing myself a disservice not to consider the opportunity. I never meant to teach high school for the rest of my life, Dean. You know that."
"Yeah. I guess it must be pretty serious business with Balthazar, huh? If you're thinking of moving up there."
"He gave me that proposal because he believes I would be a good fit for the position. Our...relationship will have no bearing on my decision, since--" it would be dishonest not to mention it now-- "since we are no longer a couple."
"Oh. Shit. I'm sorry. When did that--"
"This afternoon."
"What the hell, man? You were just gonna let me be emo into my scotch all night and not bother to mention that? How big a dick do you think I am?"
"That's not it at all. Bathazar and I parted amicably by mutual agreement." Not quite, but close enough. "It's unfortunate but I'm not in pain. We weren't in love. It was a piece of news I could tell you at any time. I thought your problems with Sam should take precedence for now."
"Man." Dean scrubs a hand over his face. "So he didn't dump you over shroom shakes and I don't need to kick his ass?"
"No. And I'd strongly prefer if you didn't."
"So that he'll help you get that job?"
"I doubt doing him some sort of violence would change his intentions. He believes I'm just what the faculty needs."
"What's the matter with IU or something? It's down the damn street."
"They and numerous other institutions have offered me visiting professorships on several occasions, but those are temporary and would have me uprooting myself once the year is out. The Chicago position is a tenure-track endowed chair. I've only been at St. Benedict's as long as I have because I went to college with the head of the board of trustees. You don't have the frame of reference to understand the risk involved for any faculty taking me on, but my scholarship is extremely controversial. Even Chicago would be a gamble, in terms of having the tenure approved, but the chair they're setting up is a guaranteed three-year appointment."
"So what do you do in three years if they tell you to take a hike?"
"That's something I would have to consider."
"Not that you should listen to the asshole with no frame of reference, but that doesn't sound like any more of a sure thing than the one-year offers."
"I'm aware. It's why I've decided nothing thus far."
"I mean, a year at IU could work out too, right? The tenure and everything? And you wouldn't have to move, and if the trustee guy's your friend, he'd probably give you back your old job if it didn't, right?"
Dean doesn't want him to leave, Castiel realizes. Dean's saying without saying that he doesn't want him to leave. Dean can give complicated lines to read between, but these aren't. "It's a possibility. A distant one, but possible. I don't want to leave, but I'm not a high school teacher."
"Look, I'm doing a shitty job of it, but I'm trying to say I'd miss you, dumbass." On that, Dean turns away and throws the popcorn into the microwave.
Castiel's heart feels like it's somewhere in the middle of his esophagus. He'd like to say that if Dean asked him to stay, he would. That he'd let everything else go and spend the rest of his life at the front of a high school classroom. But all he says is, "I'd miss you too," quietly, having to swallow around it.
Dean turns back to face him and the first kernels pop like gunshots in the silence. It would take three steps to cross the space between them, but Castiel stays where he is as the runout groove pops static from the turntable in the living room.
Dean picks Raiders of the Lost Ark and falls asleep against Castiel's shoulder half an hour in. He knows he should go up to bed, but after he summons the presence of mind to send a message to Sam that Dean's probably staying here for the night, he just pulls the afghan from the back of the sofa down over them and closes his eyes.
He wakes up with it still dark out and Dean snoring lightly into the side of his neck, the DVD menu playing the same thirty seconds of music over and over. His left hand is trapped behind Dean's back and has lost all feeling. His right has a mind of its own and wants to stroke through Dean's hair. He makes it stop when Dean stirs and mutters something unintelligible.
The last time this happened, Castiel panicked somewhat and left Dean alone. This time, he revels selfishly. Dean wakes up when Castiel can't help pressing his lips to the spot where Dean's hairline meets his forehead, a guilty stolen thing.
Dean just blinks up at him and says, "Hey." He doesn't jerk away, doesn't act as if this is anything but completely normal.
"It's very late," Castiel says.
"Shit."
"Sam knows you're here. If you'd like to sleep in the guest room--"
"'m good here."
It's an Herculean effort for Castiel to get up, to kneel down and unlace Dean's boots and lift his feet up onto the couch. An even bigger one not to lie back down next to him. He doesn't think Dean hears him say goodnight.
Next: Part 8
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Epilogue
