[SPN] Crossroads State 9/12
Mar. 12th, 2012 06:34 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
Castiel sees more of Dean over the next week even than he's used to. On Saturday, as promised, Dean not only checks over his car, but tries to show him how to change his own oil. Even with Dean guiding his hands underneath the car (or perhaps due to, with their fingers slipping over each other in the grease), he doesn't think he's retained enough to attempt it on his own. The strawberry pie wasn't spectacular to begin with, and is even less so a day later, but Dean eats it like it is and says there's no such thing as bad pie. Sam's expression when he comes and eats a piece on Sunday would beg to differ, but Dean elbows him and they seem to have smoothed things over. On Monday, Gabriel's won a big case with Sam's help squinting over statutes and precedents and wants to celebrate, and for a while it looks like Gabriel might not survive the night because he keeps ruffling Sam's hair and calling Dean 'Dean-o' and generally being very Gabriel, but then they run into Jess from the library in the middle of a local bar's karaoke night that Gabriel's forced them all into and Sam's powers of speech seem to abandon him.
"You know her?" Dean shouts in Castiel's ear over a college student's drunken rendition of 'Friends in Low Places.'
"Her name is Jess and she has a cat," Castiel shouts back. He's had a little too much to drink. "She studies biology. I think she likes Sam."
"Good going, Captain Obvious!" Castiel can hear perfectly fine without Dean wrapping an arm around his shoulders to pull him closer, but he doesn't mind.
Sam's mumbling his way through 'Paradise by the Dashboard Light' on the stage with Jess when Dean proclaims he can't take anymore with his lips against Castiel's ear.
"I don't really like bars," Castiel says during a slow and stumbling walk home He has to concentrate very hard on putting one foot in front of the other, even though it's easier to think about Dean's arm around him holding him upright. "I am going to feel terrible tomorrow."
"You 'n me both, man. Difference is I gotta run a respectable business."
Strawberry pie is apparently much better if eaten directly out of the tin while drunk with someone you would like to kiss. Dean says it's delicious, half-intelligible with his mouth full, and that doesn't actually make Castiel not want to kiss him, but he has enough sense left not to.
On Tuesday they feel terrible.
Castiel laughs loudly in the middle of the library despite how much it hurts his head.
"I guess you've recovered," Jess says, having just walked in for her shift, carrying her apron and looking tired.
"Not really. How are you?"
"I feel like crap," she says, but she smiles. "Pretty good, though, considering. Any guy who still wants to see you again after he's seen you do sloshed karaoke to 'Stand By Your Man' and nearly catch the ceiling on fire trying to make mac and cheese at two in the morning is worth a raging hangover."
By Tuesday night, Dean is happily drinking a beer on Castiel's front porch, though Castiel himself still can't stand the thought of alcohol. On Wednesday night, Castiel makes his first trip inside Harvelle's Roadhouse and Jo greets him like an old friend.
On Thursday, Sam's out with Jess and Castiel is eating pizza in Dean's kitchen. Dean fiddles with a bottlecap and says, "Hey, uh, what are you doing tomorrow night?"
That's a little strange, just because they've never really planned anything on purpose; they tend to gravitate into something incidental or habitual that draws itself out. That's one of the things Castiel likes most about spending time with Dean, the fact that there's no need for some set activity and that the point of it is the company. "I'm going to Indianapolis for the unveiling of Anna's painting."
"Oh, right. I forgot."
"If you'd like to come, I'm allowed a guest. Gabriel's booked a large hotel suite."
"That wouldn't be weird?"
"It's going to be extremely weird, Dean. There will be men wearing nothing but angel wings and underwear, and apparently rains of feathers falling from the ceiling, and I'll probably be very uncomfortable. Anna will be fairly occupied and there's no telling what Gabriel will get up to. I've quite frankly got no interest in going, but I've promised Anna and I would like to support her."
"I meant wouldn't me being there be weird, but I guess not."
The potential for 'weird' isn't lost on Castiel, the idea of being in that place with Dean. "I've already expressed my refusal to dance."
Dean laughs, picks at his beer label, which Castiel knows by now as a sort of nervous habit. "Good, 'cause no way am I doing that. I dance like shit and I hate it even when there's not random dudes humping me-- are you blushing 'cause I said humping?"
"No." He is, but more from the picture it's put in his mind. "You shouldn't feel obligated to--"
"Obligated, my ass. Road trip. And if it totally sucks, I can help you escape."
"Thank you. What was it you wanted to do? I'm sure we could some other day."
"Oh, uh, nothing really. This new Mexican place-- El... something-Mexican-- just opened downtown and you know me and cheese. Unless it's seriously bad, it'll still be there when we get back."
That's when Sam comes home, without Jess, and Dean teases him about the sappy grin on his face. "What'd you guys do, hold hands and read poetry?"
"Shove it," Sam says. "Just because a normal dinner date might as well be a trip to the moon for you doesn't mean there's anything wrong with it. Back me up here, Cas."
Castiel doesn't get a chance to frame a diplomatic answer because Dean grumbles, "Yeah, whatever. I gotta take a leak."
"Okay," Sam says, drawing it out slowly and staring after Dean. "Sorry, that doesn't usually hit a nerve. I guess we're less okay than I thought. He got pissed earlier 'cause I got a letter from Ruby, even though she's doing this wilderness rehab thing in Arizona and I won't exactly be seeing her anytime soon."
"I'm sure you'll be fine, given time." It's more platitude than anything else, since Castiel isn't sure what that exchange has to do with Sam's recklessness with Ruby, unless it's that Sam's seeing Jess now and apparently behaving completely maturely.
And Sam seems to have the same thought. "I dunno, maybe he thinks I should still be atoning or something and not having any fun. Which I guess would be fair, but it's not like he's going to actually say that. It's not like I'm having some meaningless rebound thing. I really like Jess, I think."
"Then Dean will be happy for you." He thinks of how long and how much work it took not to act as though Anna might break at any moment, not to fear it constantly. Even now, it isn't gone and may not ever be. He doesn't tell Sam this; it's a different situation, and it doesn't seem helpful. But putting the two side by side in his own mind makes him understand a little better how Sam and Dean must feel. When Dean comes back, both he and Sam act as though nothing happened, but there's a tension in the room that wasn't there before, so he says goodnight in case they need to speak privately.
*
Dean's an hour late on Friday, and Castiel feels guilty because it didn't even occur to him to consider that Dean would need to take leave from work at short notice. Dean didn't present it as an issue when he was invited, but Castiel still wishes he'd been more considerate. But it's only an hour to Indianapolis, and even with the delay they're still leaving well in advance, so their mutual apologies end up at cross-purposes.
Other than the day he hurt his knee, which seems like it was years ago, Castiel has never been in Dean's car. He's seen it, heard it spoken of reverently and affectionately, but being in it when he's not confused and in pain is something else entirely. Dean looks at home behind the wheel in a way he doesn;t even in his own house and can find all the buttons on the cassette player without taking his eyes off the road. It smells of leather and exhaust and of Dean, and of history, because when Castiel notices without comment that there's something rattling in one of the air vents, Dean sees where he's looking and tells him it's a Lego he put there as a child.
Dean sings along off-key to Kansas ('rule number one: driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole') and pulls over to refuel at a gas-station-cum-tourist-trap proclaiming to house 'Dinosaurland, the Original Jurassic Park.' Castiel politely doesn't comment on the fact that filling the tank only requires eight dollars' worth of gas and laughs when Dean shimmies up the back of an unnaturally green fiberglass Brontosaurus. They're asked to leave by a sullen young man in a uniform polo who points at faded plywood cutout of a cartoonish Tyrannosaurus Rex holding out its stumpy arm to indicate maximum (child-sized) height for climbing on the sculptures, but not before Dean persuades Castiel to climb up with him and throws his phone to a passing child to take their picture.
"We look ridiculous," Castiel says when Dean shows him the photo in the car. Castiel in particular, who seems to be clinging to Dean for dear life. He doesn't remember doing that.
"We look awesome." Dean's smile is so big that Castiel doesn't argue anymore.
Dean doesn't even bother with an excuse for the next stop they make, because the Amish family selling baked goods by the roadside is the excuse. They don't seem to have any expectation of their customers wanting to eat their pie immediately, but Dean comes up with some packages of plastic cutlery from the glove compartment and they lean against the hood with the pie between them, digging out bites of tart cherry and crust from a couple of crude slices. There are packets of salt and pepper in with the forks and knives, and using the napkin makes Castiel sneeze and Dean laugh.
Castiel can read French and German, several kinds of Greek if he has the right lexicon, enough Latin and Hebrew to get by. He's also becoming increasingly proficient in the garbled dialect of English known as Dean-with-his-mouth-full, and has no trouble understanding that what Dean's saying is, "Sometime we're gonna have to go on a real road trip."
"This isn't a real one?"
Dean swallows and says clearly, "Too short."
"I think you're doing a fine job of extending the journey."
"Nah, you're supposed to get lost and not know where you're stopping. I took Sammy to the Grand Canyon when he graduated high school and we were gone like, three weeks. It was awesome. I mean, I didn't have a real job and a mortgage and shit back then, but." He stuffs more pie in his mouth and doesn't finish the sentence.
"Real jobs tend to have the benefit of paid vacations."
"I guess. I should probably figure out how that works. Becky and our accountant guy do all the money stuff, I just sign it."
Castiel has never taken a vacation that didn't come with an itinerary, with reservations and advance planning, usually scheduled around appointments with texts or manuscripts too rare and fragile to be allowed out of closely guarded rooms, but at the very least knowing where he'll be spending the night. Even flight delays make him anxious. But the idea of a few weeks some summer wandering with Dean somehow doesn't, except in thinking about a future that has no guarantee of existing. "I've always wanted to see Niagara Falls."
"Yeah? Go over in a barrel and shit?"
"I think I'd be content to admire it from a safe distance."
Dean laughs in a way that seems to take over his whole body, a natural wonder on its own. "Okay, safe distance it is. You and me, next summer. If you're not, y'know, all super-important professor by then." He's still smiling now, but it's not so wonderful anymore.
"Dean, even in the event that I apply for the position, am chosen for it, and accept the offer, it would not begin before next fall at the earliest." It's not the promise he wants to make, that he would make if Dean asked for it, but it's the one he can make today without damaging anything. "And even in the astronomically unlikely event that I'm offered guaranteed tenure tomorrow, I'd still be entitled to a vacation."
"Deal," Dean says. He clears his throat and lends a lot of concentration to smoothing the plastic wrap back over the rest of the pie. "How come the Amish can use plastic wrap?"
Castiel knows that for the purposeful deflection that it is and explains to the best of his knowledge as they get back on the road-- he doesn't need to hear again that Dean would miss him to believe it.
They don't stop again until they're in the loading zone of the Conrad Indianapolis and Dean all but threatens the valet attendant's life if the Impala comes back from the parking garage tomorrow with so much as a scratch, and, "Don't think I don't know the mileage, buddy!" He's agitated in the elevator on the way up to the suite, muttering about not knowing what's wrong with staying someplace where you can park right outside the door.
Castiel touches his shoulder, lightly at first, and firmer when he doesn't flinch. "I'm sure it will be fine. It's their job to look after the guests' cars and they're probably used to requests for special care."
Dean relaxes, but only fractionally. "Yeah, but this isn't some CEO's dick-substitute Maserati. I put her back together from the bare frame after she got wrecked, every goddamn bolt. Hell, I hardly even let Sam drive her, never mind some random dude with shoulder tassel thingies."
"Epaulettes," Castiel supplies, and realizes he hasn't moved his hand, and that Dean's leaning back into it.
"They're douchey, whatever they are."
"If you're going to worry, you can get it back and park it somewhere else."
"Nah, it's done now." Castiel's hand drops as Dean steps forward out of the elevator. "Won't really make any difference if she's not where I can see her. Your brother can sue or something if they fuck anything up, right?"
"Most likely, but try not to worry."
Whatever Dean was about to say is overtaken by, "Holy crap," when the door to the suite opens.
That itself is overtaken by Gabriel exclaiming, "Boys!" and waving a champagne bottle. There's someone else in the room, and it isn't Anna.
"Strictly business, before he gives you any ideas," Kali says. She rolls her eyes and gives Castiel a kiss on the cheek. "If you don't count the ass-kissing."
"Kali's running for D.A," Gabriel explains. "And her ass is still delicious."
"Don't make me have you disbarred."
"Will it get me out of alimony?"
"Where are your manners, Gabe, or weren't you going to introduce me to your pet problem-child's brother?"
Whether it's the way she referred to Sam, or something else, Dean doesn't appear impressed with Kali. He shakes hands and smiles, but not genuinely, and doesn't flirt with her. Castiel certainly won't complain about the lack of flirting, but it's unusual for Dean not to do it. So the fact that he looks relieved to see her leave along with Gabriel, who announces they're off to dinner, it's a little strange.
"I guess we should get some dinner too, huh?" Dean opens the door to one of the bedrooms, winces at whatever he sees, and shuts it again. The other is untouched, just two neatly made beds with mints on the pillows. "Unless you got something you need to get back at Gabe for and you wanna just raid the mini-bar." He flashes a grin and starts rummaging through his overnight bag.
"Gabriel will likely raid it himself." Castiel isn't overly hungry after the pie, but he's seen the amount of food Dean can eat. "I'm not very familiar with the city. Is there somewhere you know of?"
"Yeah, few good places, nothing special." Dean's voice is muffled inside the t-shirt he's pulling off over his head.
Castiel realizes too late that he really shouldn't be staring, and Dean catches him. "I'm sorry," he says, and he can feel the color rising in his cheeks. "I was looking at your--" He makes an awkward gesture at his own chest to indicate the tattoo over Dean's heart. It's the partial truth.
"Oh, yeah, I forgot you hadn't seen it." Dean turns to face him fully and give him a better look, permission.
"What is it? It reminds me of a pagan symbol." He locks his hands together behind his back because he's tempted to reach out and see if the inked skin feels any different.
"Dunno. My mom had this necklace she wore all the time, and this was on it."
"Oh." Before, he was thinking of the warmth he could feel from Dean's skin, as close together as they're standing, but now it seems wrong, as though Dean's mother's presence has come into the room. He steps away and turns his back to change his own shirt.
Dean jokes that people will think they're 'one of those lame match-y couples' when he sees they're both now in white button-downs, and although Castiel doesn't think they will because Dean's is open farther at the collar and his sleeves make it five minutes before Dean rolls them up, he gets a little bit stuck on 'couple.' Dean doesn't seem to have meant anything by it, though, or even noticed he's said it.
"Anna told me wearing white was encouraged in keeping with the theme, so I doubt anyone will take it amiss."
"Damn, if you'd told me sooner, I could've brought my Elvis jumpsuit."
"You have an--"
"No, Jesus!" Dean laughs. "C'mon, I'm in the mood for a hunka hunka burnin' steak."
"Dean, that was terrible."
"And yet again, you're laughing."
Steak was just part of the joke; Dean's choice for dinner is an Italian place that looks like something out of a movie, with red checkered tablecloths and candles in Chianti bottles. There's also a sizeable crowd in waiting both in the chairs by the door and outside, because the whole of the dining area is roughly the size of Castiel's living room.
"Dean, I don't think we're going to have time to eat here. This is quite a long line."
"It's cool, we have a reservation," Dean says with a wink.
"We do?"
"Shh."
Castiel doesn't get very far into an elaborate and ridiculous fantasy where Dean secretly planned a romantic dinner before the harassed-looking young hostess is blowing a lock of blonde hair out of her face and saying, "I'm sorry, I don't have a Winchester here."
"Maybe it's under Dean? I don't remember, I made it like, a month ago." Castiel knows there's no reservation at all now, and he also knows that Dean's turning on the flirtatious charm as high as it goes. "See, it's my friend here's birthday and I wanted to make sure we could come here."
"I don't have a Dean here either." Dean leans forward against the wooden podium and the woman swallows visibly. "Um, could you have put it under some other name?"
For a moment he thinks Dean's eyes wander down to her chest, but then Dean smacks himself in the forehead. "Oh, man, what an idiot! I bet I put it under your name, Cas, since it's your present and everything. You got one for Novak? 7:15? I know we're kinda late, but my wife just left me and everything's been really crazy. You know how it is."
"Oh, gosh, I'm so sorry! I'll get that ready for you right away."
And in five minutes, they're seated at a tiny checkered table flanked by potted plants and photographs of Naples. "Stop gaping," Dean mutters out of the side of his mouth as the hostess sets down menus and glasses of water in front of them, and then to her: "Thank you, um-- sorry, sweetheart, I didn't catch your name."
"Heather. Your server will be here in a minute, but if you need anything, I'm here till ten."
"Did you just flirt your way into stealing someone else's reservation?" Castiel says as quietly as he can once Heather is gone. "What happens when the real Novak party arrives?"
Dean just grins. "Relax, it was crossed out. They're either already here or they cancelled, not my fault Heather didn't know. The carbonara here is bitchin'. You can thank me later. Oh, and just look happy when they bring you birthday cake."
"I don't think you should have led there on that way." It's possible, of course, that Dean wasn't leading her on and will return later, and though that thought is another blow to his already diminished appetite, he doesn't think Dean would abandon their plans. He also didn't think Dean would resort to this level of subterfuge for the sake of a dinner, though.
"I didn't. She's wearing an engagement ring. Big-ass one for a waitress, too. Even if I showed up out back at ten down on one knee singing O Sole Mio, she wouldn't actually bite. Win-win. Perfect crime." Dean looks pleased with himself.
"We could have gone somewhere else."
"I wanted to go here. I just figured you'd like it."
"I'm sure I will. But Dean--"
"Damn, Cas, if you're gonna go all moral outrage, we can leave."
"I'm sorry." Castiel wishes now that he hadn't said anything, because Dean's somewhere between insulted and petulant. "I'm happy to stay."
Dean's smile is back as he slides the wine list over. "Good. Pick something, birthday boy. I don't know crap about wine."
"You do remember it isn't really my birthday?"
"Shhh, you'll blow our cover. Besides, now when I totally forget in, uh--"
"October."
"--I won't look like a complete dick 'cause I already did something."
"Let's just say we're celebrating early."
Castiel should still feel guilty about the ruse, but he's enjoying himself too much. The food is excellent, though Dean barely touches his wine and can't quite mask his distaste every time he takes a sip. Castiel finally slides Dean's glass over to his own side of the table and asks the server to bring him a beer. "So much for me pretending to be classy," Dean says with a sheepish grin.
"At times there's a point to doing something you don't like for the sake of appearances, but this isn't one of them." You're only ever exactly yourself, Castiel abruptly remembers Balthazar saying. He could hope Dean would like to impress him, but that Dean would think he needs to be anything but exactly himself to do that only saddens him. "I hope I've never caused you to think you should."
Dean swallows too much at once and it makes his eyes water and thickens his voice. "Hey, no, nothing like that. I just figured, fancy celebration thing-- it was dumb."
"Perhaps slightly, though I suppose I can appreciate the thought."
"Since we're not doin' class, does that mean I should tell the waiter you need a birthday song?"
"Absolutely not."
Dean laughs loudly enough to turn heads. "Ah, man, your face. I wouldn't have, I swear. I hate that shit. Sam used to do it to screw with me, tell them it was my birthday even when it wasn't. You ever heard the Biggerson's birthday song?"
"No."
"Lemme tell you, it sucks pretty bad the first time, but the next six are fucking murder. There is no pie in the world worth that."
"Not even Ellen's?"
"Maybe Ellen's. Maybe."
Castiel does get an unsolicited sparkler candle in his 'birthday' tiramisu, but there's no embarrassing fanfare and Dean licks the cream off the bottom of it. He also eats most of the tiramisu, because Castiel is too full, once he's finished his own cannolis in a nearly obscene manner. Castiel's forgotten all about Heather until they're walking out the door, but by some stroke of luck, she's just turned her back to lead a couple to their table and doesn't spoil the moment of Dean scooping up an entire handful of after-dinner mints and saying, "What? Dude, they're free," and being exactly himself.
*
When the cab driver hears where they're going, he fixes them with a stern look in the rearview mirror and says, "Sure. Just keep it G-rated back there. Anything I gotta clean off the upholstery's fifty bucks extra on account of the lost fares in between."
Dean's cheeks go a little bit pink, but he doesn't correct the driver beyond, "No worries, dude."
Castiel's also blushing, as well as shifting uncomfortably and wondering if there's a way to sit without being physically on the seat. "You... do clean it, don't you? When something... happens?"
That gets both Dean and the driver laughing. "You think I wanna drive around with that crap? Anyhow, there's health codes. Wet-vac and Lysol."
"That must be hell on the leather," Dean says, running an assessing hand over the space of seat between them.
"You're tellin' me. Ain't enough Armor-All in the world for that. New Year's eve, I just put down plastic."
"There's this stuff you can get called Liquid Leather, which I know sounds like weird bondage crap, but it's awesome. That and a little bit of sandpaper can do magic."
"Yeah? You into cars?"
Most of the rest of the conversation is too far over Castiel's head for him to follow very well, because it turns out that the driver (Tommy) has a classic Mustang he's been slowly restoring in his spare time, but it's nice to watch anyway, Dean animated and sharing his knowledge, sure of himself and his skills without joking anything away. There's also nothing of what Castiel sees in some teachers, himself included at times of great strain and frustration, the implicit you idiot at the end of every sentence. Dean's not showing off or condescending, and it probably helps that Tommy has a certain amount of expertise, but it was the same kind of patient instruction when he showed Castiel how to unscrew his oil drainplug. Dean no more has a right to say that he's just a mechanic (as he has a couple of times when their conversations have taken a more academic turn than usual) than Michael would have to say he's just a monk, and Castiel thinks the same sense of calling is present.
"Sorry about the schmoozing back there," Dean says when they're on the curb across the street from Heaven and Tommy's told them to have fun and driven away with his fare, tip, and Dean's business card.
"Not at all. It was interesting, and vastly preferable to the discussion of bodily fluids."
"Oh, man, I thought you were gonna get out and ride on the roof."
"I contemplated it."
"Well, don't sit on any soft surfaces in there, then." Dean nods at the club. "They probably don't get a chance to clean between customers."
"Thank you for the advice."
Dean laughs at Castiel's frown. "I'm messing with you, Cas. It didn't seem gross at all."
"I'm sure Anna wouldn't have agreed to do any work there if it were, but certain things are to be expected."
"Hell, then don't ride the bus or sleep on a hotel bed."
"And thank you again."
"I'm sorry. It's too easy." Dean grins and knocks against his shoulder. "So, uh, while we're sober, wingman rules?"
"I'm not sure I understand."
"Y'know. Like you said I should help you escape if it gets bad, but what's bad and what's 'get the hell outta here and stop cockblocking me, I'm getting my freak on'?"
Castiel wishes he still didn't understand Dean's meaning, but three years with high school students leaves one ignorant of very little. "I have no intention of 'getting my freak on.' Nor equally my swerve, nor turning on my swag."
Dean doubles over laughing. "You can't just say that shit, Cas."
"I thought it best to cover all the terminology."
Dean catches his sarcasm, which few people do-- he's been told his sarcasm doesn't look or sound very much different than when he's serious-- and grins. "Yeah, I bet." It takes him a moment to get the amusement out of his system. "So, nothing? 'Cause it's cool if you wanna-- whatever, seriously. I know how the rebound thing rolls."
Castiel blinks and tries to piece together Dean's meaning, its ramifications. What it means that it's perfectly fine with him if Castiel would like to have meaningless sex to, apparently, help him get over Balthazar. He's never had meaningless sex in his life. Even at the worst and lowest points, it always meant something, if not exactly what it perhaps should have. "I don't... roll that way."
"I didn't mean you should or anything," Dean says quickly. "Just in case you were thinking about it."
"I wasn't."
"Gotcha." They still haven't stepped off the curb to cross the street, and they're just outside the reach of Heaven's blue-lit sign, only closed stores' shadows illuminated by a harsh buzzing streetlight. A moth files close enough to the light nearest them that it casts a horror-movie-sized shadow, flickering them back and forth through dark and bright. "Me neither, just so you know." It's the closest thing to 'yes, I am interested in sex with men' he's ever heard from Dean, and Castiel's heart matches the moth's projected wingbeats. "Me and Sammy used to have this code word," Dean says after a few moments of thick silence. "If we needed to get out of something but there were other people around or whatever, we'd say 'funkytown,' and we'd know it was time for a rescue mission. Bad dates and sketchy parties and stuff."
"Funkytown."
"Yeah. So if it's not obvious or you're afraid you'll look like an asshole, just say that and I'll get you outta there."
"All right." He's skeptical that he would be able to work it into a sentence, but he doubts he'll find himself in a situation where 'I think I'd like to leave now' wouldn't work just as well; Anna knows he wouldn't be coming here if not for her, and her feelings won't be hurt if he doesn't stay very long past the presentation of the painting. "What about you?" He knows there's a chance he might not like the answer, but it's fair to ask, and he'd rather hear it now.
"What about me?"
"I wouldn't want to make you leave if you're having a good time." He leaves with someone else unsaid.
What looks like a flash of surprise on Dean's face turns to something angrier in the shadows. "How big a dick do you think I am? I'm gonna just ditch you to hook up with some random... whoever?"
"You seemed to think I might."
"That's not the same. You're just going to a thing. I'm s'posed to be moral support or whatever, watch your back."
He knows he should take it as a compliment that Dean cares enough to want to look out for him, but a lifetime of various people thinking that because he's skinny and awkward and quiet, he needs to be led around by the hand and protected has made such sentiments tend to rub him the wrong way. "It's not a battlefield, Dean. I can take care of myself."
"I know that, man. Sorry." Dean shuffles a little closer to nudge Castiel into looking at him as his mouth curls into a rueful grin. "Any chance if I made a Pat Benatar joke right now it'd make you un-bitchface?"
"Pat Benatar?"
"Love is a Battlefield?"
That does startle a laugh out of him, both at Dean's unapologetically horrendous sense of comedy and in surprise at the choice of words. "Once more unto the breach, then," he says.
"Okay, that?" Dean's grinning and pointing his finger. "Way worse than mine."
"As you're so fond of pointing out, you're laughing."
Next: Part 10
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
Castiel sees more of Dean over the next week even than he's used to. On Saturday, as promised, Dean not only checks over his car, but tries to show him how to change his own oil. Even with Dean guiding his hands underneath the car (or perhaps due to, with their fingers slipping over each other in the grease), he doesn't think he's retained enough to attempt it on his own. The strawberry pie wasn't spectacular to begin with, and is even less so a day later, but Dean eats it like it is and says there's no such thing as bad pie. Sam's expression when he comes and eats a piece on Sunday would beg to differ, but Dean elbows him and they seem to have smoothed things over. On Monday, Gabriel's won a big case with Sam's help squinting over statutes and precedents and wants to celebrate, and for a while it looks like Gabriel might not survive the night because he keeps ruffling Sam's hair and calling Dean 'Dean-o' and generally being very Gabriel, but then they run into Jess from the library in the middle of a local bar's karaoke night that Gabriel's forced them all into and Sam's powers of speech seem to abandon him.
"You know her?" Dean shouts in Castiel's ear over a college student's drunken rendition of 'Friends in Low Places.'
"Her name is Jess and she has a cat," Castiel shouts back. He's had a little too much to drink. "She studies biology. I think she likes Sam."
"Good going, Captain Obvious!" Castiel can hear perfectly fine without Dean wrapping an arm around his shoulders to pull him closer, but he doesn't mind.
Sam's mumbling his way through 'Paradise by the Dashboard Light' on the stage with Jess when Dean proclaims he can't take anymore with his lips against Castiel's ear.
"I don't really like bars," Castiel says during a slow and stumbling walk home He has to concentrate very hard on putting one foot in front of the other, even though it's easier to think about Dean's arm around him holding him upright. "I am going to feel terrible tomorrow."
"You 'n me both, man. Difference is I gotta run a respectable business."
Strawberry pie is apparently much better if eaten directly out of the tin while drunk with someone you would like to kiss. Dean says it's delicious, half-intelligible with his mouth full, and that doesn't actually make Castiel not want to kiss him, but he has enough sense left not to.
On Tuesday they feel terrible.
From: Dean Winchester going 2 kill ur broom. damn autocorrect. bro.
Castiel laughs loudly in the middle of the library despite how much it hurts his head.
"I guess you've recovered," Jess says, having just walked in for her shift, carrying her apron and looking tired.
"Not really. How are you?"
"I feel like crap," she says, but she smiles. "Pretty good, though, considering. Any guy who still wants to see you again after he's seen you do sloshed karaoke to 'Stand By Your Man' and nearly catch the ceiling on fire trying to make mac and cheese at two in the morning is worth a raging hangover."
By Tuesday night, Dean is happily drinking a beer on Castiel's front porch, though Castiel himself still can't stand the thought of alcohol. On Wednesday night, Castiel makes his first trip inside Harvelle's Roadhouse and Jo greets him like an old friend.
On Thursday, Sam's out with Jess and Castiel is eating pizza in Dean's kitchen. Dean fiddles with a bottlecap and says, "Hey, uh, what are you doing tomorrow night?"
That's a little strange, just because they've never really planned anything on purpose; they tend to gravitate into something incidental or habitual that draws itself out. That's one of the things Castiel likes most about spending time with Dean, the fact that there's no need for some set activity and that the point of it is the company. "I'm going to Indianapolis for the unveiling of Anna's painting."
"Oh, right. I forgot."
"If you'd like to come, I'm allowed a guest. Gabriel's booked a large hotel suite."
"That wouldn't be weird?"
"It's going to be extremely weird, Dean. There will be men wearing nothing but angel wings and underwear, and apparently rains of feathers falling from the ceiling, and I'll probably be very uncomfortable. Anna will be fairly occupied and there's no telling what Gabriel will get up to. I've quite frankly got no interest in going, but I've promised Anna and I would like to support her."
"I meant wouldn't me being there be weird, but I guess not."
The potential for 'weird' isn't lost on Castiel, the idea of being in that place with Dean. "I've already expressed my refusal to dance."
Dean laughs, picks at his beer label, which Castiel knows by now as a sort of nervous habit. "Good, 'cause no way am I doing that. I dance like shit and I hate it even when there's not random dudes humping me-- are you blushing 'cause I said humping?"
"No." He is, but more from the picture it's put in his mind. "You shouldn't feel obligated to--"
"Obligated, my ass. Road trip. And if it totally sucks, I can help you escape."
"Thank you. What was it you wanted to do? I'm sure we could some other day."
"Oh, uh, nothing really. This new Mexican place-- El... something-Mexican-- just opened downtown and you know me and cheese. Unless it's seriously bad, it'll still be there when we get back."
That's when Sam comes home, without Jess, and Dean teases him about the sappy grin on his face. "What'd you guys do, hold hands and read poetry?"
"Shove it," Sam says. "Just because a normal dinner date might as well be a trip to the moon for you doesn't mean there's anything wrong with it. Back me up here, Cas."
Castiel doesn't get a chance to frame a diplomatic answer because Dean grumbles, "Yeah, whatever. I gotta take a leak."
"Okay," Sam says, drawing it out slowly and staring after Dean. "Sorry, that doesn't usually hit a nerve. I guess we're less okay than I thought. He got pissed earlier 'cause I got a letter from Ruby, even though she's doing this wilderness rehab thing in Arizona and I won't exactly be seeing her anytime soon."
"I'm sure you'll be fine, given time." It's more platitude than anything else, since Castiel isn't sure what that exchange has to do with Sam's recklessness with Ruby, unless it's that Sam's seeing Jess now and apparently behaving completely maturely.
And Sam seems to have the same thought. "I dunno, maybe he thinks I should still be atoning or something and not having any fun. Which I guess would be fair, but it's not like he's going to actually say that. It's not like I'm having some meaningless rebound thing. I really like Jess, I think."
"Then Dean will be happy for you." He thinks of how long and how much work it took not to act as though Anna might break at any moment, not to fear it constantly. Even now, it isn't gone and may not ever be. He doesn't tell Sam this; it's a different situation, and it doesn't seem helpful. But putting the two side by side in his own mind makes him understand a little better how Sam and Dean must feel. When Dean comes back, both he and Sam act as though nothing happened, but there's a tension in the room that wasn't there before, so he says goodnight in case they need to speak privately.
*
Dean's an hour late on Friday, and Castiel feels guilty because it didn't even occur to him to consider that Dean would need to take leave from work at short notice. Dean didn't present it as an issue when he was invited, but Castiel still wishes he'd been more considerate. But it's only an hour to Indianapolis, and even with the delay they're still leaving well in advance, so their mutual apologies end up at cross-purposes.
Other than the day he hurt his knee, which seems like it was years ago, Castiel has never been in Dean's car. He's seen it, heard it spoken of reverently and affectionately, but being in it when he's not confused and in pain is something else entirely. Dean looks at home behind the wheel in a way he doesn;t even in his own house and can find all the buttons on the cassette player without taking his eyes off the road. It smells of leather and exhaust and of Dean, and of history, because when Castiel notices without comment that there's something rattling in one of the air vents, Dean sees where he's looking and tells him it's a Lego he put there as a child.
Dean sings along off-key to Kansas ('rule number one: driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole') and pulls over to refuel at a gas-station-cum-tourist-trap proclaiming to house 'Dinosaurland, the Original Jurassic Park.' Castiel politely doesn't comment on the fact that filling the tank only requires eight dollars' worth of gas and laughs when Dean shimmies up the back of an unnaturally green fiberglass Brontosaurus. They're asked to leave by a sullen young man in a uniform polo who points at faded plywood cutout of a cartoonish Tyrannosaurus Rex holding out its stumpy arm to indicate maximum (child-sized) height for climbing on the sculptures, but not before Dean persuades Castiel to climb up with him and throws his phone to a passing child to take their picture.
"We look ridiculous," Castiel says when Dean shows him the photo in the car. Castiel in particular, who seems to be clinging to Dean for dear life. He doesn't remember doing that.
"We look awesome." Dean's smile is so big that Castiel doesn't argue anymore.
Dean doesn't even bother with an excuse for the next stop they make, because the Amish family selling baked goods by the roadside is the excuse. They don't seem to have any expectation of their customers wanting to eat their pie immediately, but Dean comes up with some packages of plastic cutlery from the glove compartment and they lean against the hood with the pie between them, digging out bites of tart cherry and crust from a couple of crude slices. There are packets of salt and pepper in with the forks and knives, and using the napkin makes Castiel sneeze and Dean laugh.
Castiel can read French and German, several kinds of Greek if he has the right lexicon, enough Latin and Hebrew to get by. He's also becoming increasingly proficient in the garbled dialect of English known as Dean-with-his-mouth-full, and has no trouble understanding that what Dean's saying is, "Sometime we're gonna have to go on a real road trip."
"This isn't a real one?"
Dean swallows and says clearly, "Too short."
"I think you're doing a fine job of extending the journey."
"Nah, you're supposed to get lost and not know where you're stopping. I took Sammy to the Grand Canyon when he graduated high school and we were gone like, three weeks. It was awesome. I mean, I didn't have a real job and a mortgage and shit back then, but." He stuffs more pie in his mouth and doesn't finish the sentence.
"Real jobs tend to have the benefit of paid vacations."
"I guess. I should probably figure out how that works. Becky and our accountant guy do all the money stuff, I just sign it."
Castiel has never taken a vacation that didn't come with an itinerary, with reservations and advance planning, usually scheduled around appointments with texts or manuscripts too rare and fragile to be allowed out of closely guarded rooms, but at the very least knowing where he'll be spending the night. Even flight delays make him anxious. But the idea of a few weeks some summer wandering with Dean somehow doesn't, except in thinking about a future that has no guarantee of existing. "I've always wanted to see Niagara Falls."
"Yeah? Go over in a barrel and shit?"
"I think I'd be content to admire it from a safe distance."
Dean laughs in a way that seems to take over his whole body, a natural wonder on its own. "Okay, safe distance it is. You and me, next summer. If you're not, y'know, all super-important professor by then." He's still smiling now, but it's not so wonderful anymore.
"Dean, even in the event that I apply for the position, am chosen for it, and accept the offer, it would not begin before next fall at the earliest." It's not the promise he wants to make, that he would make if Dean asked for it, but it's the one he can make today without damaging anything. "And even in the astronomically unlikely event that I'm offered guaranteed tenure tomorrow, I'd still be entitled to a vacation."
"Deal," Dean says. He clears his throat and lends a lot of concentration to smoothing the plastic wrap back over the rest of the pie. "How come the Amish can use plastic wrap?"
Castiel knows that for the purposeful deflection that it is and explains to the best of his knowledge as they get back on the road-- he doesn't need to hear again that Dean would miss him to believe it.
They don't stop again until they're in the loading zone of the Conrad Indianapolis and Dean all but threatens the valet attendant's life if the Impala comes back from the parking garage tomorrow with so much as a scratch, and, "Don't think I don't know the mileage, buddy!" He's agitated in the elevator on the way up to the suite, muttering about not knowing what's wrong with staying someplace where you can park right outside the door.
Castiel touches his shoulder, lightly at first, and firmer when he doesn't flinch. "I'm sure it will be fine. It's their job to look after the guests' cars and they're probably used to requests for special care."
Dean relaxes, but only fractionally. "Yeah, but this isn't some CEO's dick-substitute Maserati. I put her back together from the bare frame after she got wrecked, every goddamn bolt. Hell, I hardly even let Sam drive her, never mind some random dude with shoulder tassel thingies."
"Epaulettes," Castiel supplies, and realizes he hasn't moved his hand, and that Dean's leaning back into it.
"They're douchey, whatever they are."
"If you're going to worry, you can get it back and park it somewhere else."
"Nah, it's done now." Castiel's hand drops as Dean steps forward out of the elevator. "Won't really make any difference if she's not where I can see her. Your brother can sue or something if they fuck anything up, right?"
"Most likely, but try not to worry."
Whatever Dean was about to say is overtaken by, "Holy crap," when the door to the suite opens.
That itself is overtaken by Gabriel exclaiming, "Boys!" and waving a champagne bottle. There's someone else in the room, and it isn't Anna.
"Strictly business, before he gives you any ideas," Kali says. She rolls her eyes and gives Castiel a kiss on the cheek. "If you don't count the ass-kissing."
"Kali's running for D.A," Gabriel explains. "And her ass is still delicious."
"Don't make me have you disbarred."
"Will it get me out of alimony?"
"Where are your manners, Gabe, or weren't you going to introduce me to your pet problem-child's brother?"
Whether it's the way she referred to Sam, or something else, Dean doesn't appear impressed with Kali. He shakes hands and smiles, but not genuinely, and doesn't flirt with her. Castiel certainly won't complain about the lack of flirting, but it's unusual for Dean not to do it. So the fact that he looks relieved to see her leave along with Gabriel, who announces they're off to dinner, it's a little strange.
"I guess we should get some dinner too, huh?" Dean opens the door to one of the bedrooms, winces at whatever he sees, and shuts it again. The other is untouched, just two neatly made beds with mints on the pillows. "Unless you got something you need to get back at Gabe for and you wanna just raid the mini-bar." He flashes a grin and starts rummaging through his overnight bag.
"Gabriel will likely raid it himself." Castiel isn't overly hungry after the pie, but he's seen the amount of food Dean can eat. "I'm not very familiar with the city. Is there somewhere you know of?"
"Yeah, few good places, nothing special." Dean's voice is muffled inside the t-shirt he's pulling off over his head.
Castiel realizes too late that he really shouldn't be staring, and Dean catches him. "I'm sorry," he says, and he can feel the color rising in his cheeks. "I was looking at your--" He makes an awkward gesture at his own chest to indicate the tattoo over Dean's heart. It's the partial truth.
"Oh, yeah, I forgot you hadn't seen it." Dean turns to face him fully and give him a better look, permission.
"What is it? It reminds me of a pagan symbol." He locks his hands together behind his back because he's tempted to reach out and see if the inked skin feels any different.
"Dunno. My mom had this necklace she wore all the time, and this was on it."
"Oh." Before, he was thinking of the warmth he could feel from Dean's skin, as close together as they're standing, but now it seems wrong, as though Dean's mother's presence has come into the room. He steps away and turns his back to change his own shirt.
Dean jokes that people will think they're 'one of those lame match-y couples' when he sees they're both now in white button-downs, and although Castiel doesn't think they will because Dean's is open farther at the collar and his sleeves make it five minutes before Dean rolls them up, he gets a little bit stuck on 'couple.' Dean doesn't seem to have meant anything by it, though, or even noticed he's said it.
"Anna told me wearing white was encouraged in keeping with the theme, so I doubt anyone will take it amiss."
"Damn, if you'd told me sooner, I could've brought my Elvis jumpsuit."
"You have an--"
"No, Jesus!" Dean laughs. "C'mon, I'm in the mood for a hunka hunka burnin' steak."
"Dean, that was terrible."
"And yet again, you're laughing."
Steak was just part of the joke; Dean's choice for dinner is an Italian place that looks like something out of a movie, with red checkered tablecloths and candles in Chianti bottles. There's also a sizeable crowd in waiting both in the chairs by the door and outside, because the whole of the dining area is roughly the size of Castiel's living room.
"Dean, I don't think we're going to have time to eat here. This is quite a long line."
"It's cool, we have a reservation," Dean says with a wink.
"We do?"
"Shh."
Castiel doesn't get very far into an elaborate and ridiculous fantasy where Dean secretly planned a romantic dinner before the harassed-looking young hostess is blowing a lock of blonde hair out of her face and saying, "I'm sorry, I don't have a Winchester here."
"Maybe it's under Dean? I don't remember, I made it like, a month ago." Castiel knows there's no reservation at all now, and he also knows that Dean's turning on the flirtatious charm as high as it goes. "See, it's my friend here's birthday and I wanted to make sure we could come here."
"I don't have a Dean here either." Dean leans forward against the wooden podium and the woman swallows visibly. "Um, could you have put it under some other name?"
For a moment he thinks Dean's eyes wander down to her chest, but then Dean smacks himself in the forehead. "Oh, man, what an idiot! I bet I put it under your name, Cas, since it's your present and everything. You got one for Novak? 7:15? I know we're kinda late, but my wife just left me and everything's been really crazy. You know how it is."
"Oh, gosh, I'm so sorry! I'll get that ready for you right away."
And in five minutes, they're seated at a tiny checkered table flanked by potted plants and photographs of Naples. "Stop gaping," Dean mutters out of the side of his mouth as the hostess sets down menus and glasses of water in front of them, and then to her: "Thank you, um-- sorry, sweetheart, I didn't catch your name."
"Heather. Your server will be here in a minute, but if you need anything, I'm here till ten."
"Did you just flirt your way into stealing someone else's reservation?" Castiel says as quietly as he can once Heather is gone. "What happens when the real Novak party arrives?"
Dean just grins. "Relax, it was crossed out. They're either already here or they cancelled, not my fault Heather didn't know. The carbonara here is bitchin'. You can thank me later. Oh, and just look happy when they bring you birthday cake."
"I don't think you should have led there on that way." It's possible, of course, that Dean wasn't leading her on and will return later, and though that thought is another blow to his already diminished appetite, he doesn't think Dean would abandon their plans. He also didn't think Dean would resort to this level of subterfuge for the sake of a dinner, though.
"I didn't. She's wearing an engagement ring. Big-ass one for a waitress, too. Even if I showed up out back at ten down on one knee singing O Sole Mio, she wouldn't actually bite. Win-win. Perfect crime." Dean looks pleased with himself.
"We could have gone somewhere else."
"I wanted to go here. I just figured you'd like it."
"I'm sure I will. But Dean--"
"Damn, Cas, if you're gonna go all moral outrage, we can leave."
"I'm sorry." Castiel wishes now that he hadn't said anything, because Dean's somewhere between insulted and petulant. "I'm happy to stay."
Dean's smile is back as he slides the wine list over. "Good. Pick something, birthday boy. I don't know crap about wine."
"You do remember it isn't really my birthday?"
"Shhh, you'll blow our cover. Besides, now when I totally forget in, uh--"
"October."
"--I won't look like a complete dick 'cause I already did something."
"Let's just say we're celebrating early."
Castiel should still feel guilty about the ruse, but he's enjoying himself too much. The food is excellent, though Dean barely touches his wine and can't quite mask his distaste every time he takes a sip. Castiel finally slides Dean's glass over to his own side of the table and asks the server to bring him a beer. "So much for me pretending to be classy," Dean says with a sheepish grin.
"At times there's a point to doing something you don't like for the sake of appearances, but this isn't one of them." You're only ever exactly yourself, Castiel abruptly remembers Balthazar saying. He could hope Dean would like to impress him, but that Dean would think he needs to be anything but exactly himself to do that only saddens him. "I hope I've never caused you to think you should."
Dean swallows too much at once and it makes his eyes water and thickens his voice. "Hey, no, nothing like that. I just figured, fancy celebration thing-- it was dumb."
"Perhaps slightly, though I suppose I can appreciate the thought."
"Since we're not doin' class, does that mean I should tell the waiter you need a birthday song?"
"Absolutely not."
Dean laughs loudly enough to turn heads. "Ah, man, your face. I wouldn't have, I swear. I hate that shit. Sam used to do it to screw with me, tell them it was my birthday even when it wasn't. You ever heard the Biggerson's birthday song?"
"No."
"Lemme tell you, it sucks pretty bad the first time, but the next six are fucking murder. There is no pie in the world worth that."
"Not even Ellen's?"
"Maybe Ellen's. Maybe."
Castiel does get an unsolicited sparkler candle in his 'birthday' tiramisu, but there's no embarrassing fanfare and Dean licks the cream off the bottom of it. He also eats most of the tiramisu, because Castiel is too full, once he's finished his own cannolis in a nearly obscene manner. Castiel's forgotten all about Heather until they're walking out the door, but by some stroke of luck, she's just turned her back to lead a couple to their table and doesn't spoil the moment of Dean scooping up an entire handful of after-dinner mints and saying, "What? Dude, they're free," and being exactly himself.
*
When the cab driver hears where they're going, he fixes them with a stern look in the rearview mirror and says, "Sure. Just keep it G-rated back there. Anything I gotta clean off the upholstery's fifty bucks extra on account of the lost fares in between."
Dean's cheeks go a little bit pink, but he doesn't correct the driver beyond, "No worries, dude."
Castiel's also blushing, as well as shifting uncomfortably and wondering if there's a way to sit without being physically on the seat. "You... do clean it, don't you? When something... happens?"
That gets both Dean and the driver laughing. "You think I wanna drive around with that crap? Anyhow, there's health codes. Wet-vac and Lysol."
"That must be hell on the leather," Dean says, running an assessing hand over the space of seat between them.
"You're tellin' me. Ain't enough Armor-All in the world for that. New Year's eve, I just put down plastic."
"There's this stuff you can get called Liquid Leather, which I know sounds like weird bondage crap, but it's awesome. That and a little bit of sandpaper can do magic."
"Yeah? You into cars?"
Most of the rest of the conversation is too far over Castiel's head for him to follow very well, because it turns out that the driver (Tommy) has a classic Mustang he's been slowly restoring in his spare time, but it's nice to watch anyway, Dean animated and sharing his knowledge, sure of himself and his skills without joking anything away. There's also nothing of what Castiel sees in some teachers, himself included at times of great strain and frustration, the implicit you idiot at the end of every sentence. Dean's not showing off or condescending, and it probably helps that Tommy has a certain amount of expertise, but it was the same kind of patient instruction when he showed Castiel how to unscrew his oil drainplug. Dean no more has a right to say that he's just a mechanic (as he has a couple of times when their conversations have taken a more academic turn than usual) than Michael would have to say he's just a monk, and Castiel thinks the same sense of calling is present.
"Sorry about the schmoozing back there," Dean says when they're on the curb across the street from Heaven and Tommy's told them to have fun and driven away with his fare, tip, and Dean's business card.
"Not at all. It was interesting, and vastly preferable to the discussion of bodily fluids."
"Oh, man, I thought you were gonna get out and ride on the roof."
"I contemplated it."
"Well, don't sit on any soft surfaces in there, then." Dean nods at the club. "They probably don't get a chance to clean between customers."
"Thank you for the advice."
Dean laughs at Castiel's frown. "I'm messing with you, Cas. It didn't seem gross at all."
"I'm sure Anna wouldn't have agreed to do any work there if it were, but certain things are to be expected."
"Hell, then don't ride the bus or sleep on a hotel bed."
"And thank you again."
"I'm sorry. It's too easy." Dean grins and knocks against his shoulder. "So, uh, while we're sober, wingman rules?"
"I'm not sure I understand."
"Y'know. Like you said I should help you escape if it gets bad, but what's bad and what's 'get the hell outta here and stop cockblocking me, I'm getting my freak on'?"
Castiel wishes he still didn't understand Dean's meaning, but three years with high school students leaves one ignorant of very little. "I have no intention of 'getting my freak on.' Nor equally my swerve, nor turning on my swag."
Dean doubles over laughing. "You can't just say that shit, Cas."
"I thought it best to cover all the terminology."
Dean catches his sarcasm, which few people do-- he's been told his sarcasm doesn't look or sound very much different than when he's serious-- and grins. "Yeah, I bet." It takes him a moment to get the amusement out of his system. "So, nothing? 'Cause it's cool if you wanna-- whatever, seriously. I know how the rebound thing rolls."
Castiel blinks and tries to piece together Dean's meaning, its ramifications. What it means that it's perfectly fine with him if Castiel would like to have meaningless sex to, apparently, help him get over Balthazar. He's never had meaningless sex in his life. Even at the worst and lowest points, it always meant something, if not exactly what it perhaps should have. "I don't... roll that way."
"I didn't mean you should or anything," Dean says quickly. "Just in case you were thinking about it."
"I wasn't."
"Gotcha." They still haven't stepped off the curb to cross the street, and they're just outside the reach of Heaven's blue-lit sign, only closed stores' shadows illuminated by a harsh buzzing streetlight. A moth files close enough to the light nearest them that it casts a horror-movie-sized shadow, flickering them back and forth through dark and bright. "Me neither, just so you know." It's the closest thing to 'yes, I am interested in sex with men' he's ever heard from Dean, and Castiel's heart matches the moth's projected wingbeats. "Me and Sammy used to have this code word," Dean says after a few moments of thick silence. "If we needed to get out of something but there were other people around or whatever, we'd say 'funkytown,' and we'd know it was time for a rescue mission. Bad dates and sketchy parties and stuff."
"Funkytown."
"Yeah. So if it's not obvious or you're afraid you'll look like an asshole, just say that and I'll get you outta there."
"All right." He's skeptical that he would be able to work it into a sentence, but he doubts he'll find himself in a situation where 'I think I'd like to leave now' wouldn't work just as well; Anna knows he wouldn't be coming here if not for her, and her feelings won't be hurt if he doesn't stay very long past the presentation of the painting. "What about you?" He knows there's a chance he might not like the answer, but it's fair to ask, and he'd rather hear it now.
"What about me?"
"I wouldn't want to make you leave if you're having a good time." He leaves with someone else unsaid.
What looks like a flash of surprise on Dean's face turns to something angrier in the shadows. "How big a dick do you think I am? I'm gonna just ditch you to hook up with some random... whoever?"
"You seemed to think I might."
"That's not the same. You're just going to a thing. I'm s'posed to be moral support or whatever, watch your back."
He knows he should take it as a compliment that Dean cares enough to want to look out for him, but a lifetime of various people thinking that because he's skinny and awkward and quiet, he needs to be led around by the hand and protected has made such sentiments tend to rub him the wrong way. "It's not a battlefield, Dean. I can take care of myself."
"I know that, man. Sorry." Dean shuffles a little closer to nudge Castiel into looking at him as his mouth curls into a rueful grin. "Any chance if I made a Pat Benatar joke right now it'd make you un-bitchface?"
"Pat Benatar?"
"Love is a Battlefield?"
That does startle a laugh out of him, both at Dean's unapologetically horrendous sense of comedy and in surprise at the choice of words. "Once more unto the breach, then," he says.
"Okay, that?" Dean's grinning and pointing his finger. "Way worse than mine."
"As you're so fond of pointing out, you're laughing."
Next: Part 10
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Epilogue
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Date: 2012-04-27 08:16 am (UTC)no, but seriously. i literally could not contain the explosive laughter that came out when i read that. Nor turning on my swag. fucking priceless. perfect mental image. hahahahahaaha.
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Date: 2012-04-28 06:35 am (UTC)