It would be inaccurate to suggest that Dean usually slept peacefully. In fact, he was a restless sleeper- tossing and turning, screaming and yelping, reaching out for invisible beacons of light. It would also be wrong to assume that Dean -hard as nails, no guts no glory, Dean- didn't enjoy a cuddle every now and then, especially at night when nightmares tended to invade his sub-conscious. So, it was just natural for him to hold tight to anything that promised a calm night's rest and, in this scenario, that 'thing' was a seventeen year old boy named Castiel. Dean awoke around 12 o'clock but didn't immediately open his eyes. Everything seemed to be more comfortable: the duvet softer and warmer, the mattress curved and moulded to fit his body shape exactly, even the brightness of the midday sun didn't seem to attack his eyesight as violently as it was prone to in the past.
Castiel had turned in his sleep, grabbing the covers and bringing them up over his shoulders as Dean pressed his chest into the other's back, knees against knees, arms draped over waist and holding him close. Dean's nose was pressed between Cas' shoulder blades, forehead in the dip of his neck and smiling without realising it. Screw watching chick flicks, Dean was living in one. When he became more aware of his surroundings, Dean noted that the weight on put his arm was making it ache, so he retracted it and used it to pat down an awkward hair sticking out the top of Cas' head. It was whilst doing this that Dean noticed there were thousands of strands out of place, so he began pressing them down, running his fingers through the hair and trying to make something neat of the fluffy mess.
He paused. What the hell was he doing? He considered moving, rolling out of the bed to avoid any awkward bed chat, but there was nothing to be nervous about- it's not like anything had happened.
"Dean, what are you doing?"
Dean froze, because he really didn't know how to answer.
"You had something in your hair."
"Yes, your fingers." Came Castiel's quick reply, and Dean realised their bodies were still pressed firmly together. He pushed himself out of the position and stood up, pulling his t-shirt over his head and stretching until his back gave a satisfactory click.
"No need to flatter yourself, angel." Dean replied, frowning quickly as he realised what he'd said.
"Angel?" Castiel pushed on, and Dean turned to see him tilting his head in that positively adorable manner. "You have researched my name?"
"Well... you can't blame me for being interested, I mean, Castiel, really?"
"My parents were quite religious."
"No shit, Sherlock." And Cas opened his mouth to probably complain about the use of a reference he didn't quite understand, but Dean pushed his hand to cover the other's lips before that irritating phrase rose it's head again. On noticing this, a deep blush blossomed on Castiel's cheeks and he gulped, staring at the hand wide eyed and fearful.
Something in Dean's brain clicked at this- what should be- overreaction, because weird shadowy memories of his brain started to blend together and form a blurred sort of image. He couldn't actually visualise anything, just an eerie sort of light in an otherwise pitch black room, but he could feel lips on his, and hands on him, and he could almost hear his own content sigh.
A sigh. What has he, a thirteen year old chick watching a Justin Bieber interview?
Castiel murmured something unintelligible behind Dean's palm, and Dean removed his hold hesitantly, mouth suddenly dry.
"Um." He said.
Castiel yawned and stretched his shoulders back, ruffling his own hair as the other hand rubbed one eye. Dean watched through betraying eyes as the bones in Castiel's arms moved under his skin, and his neck was so open... so available and almost begging to be touched as Cas let his head roll back. His hair was more out of place than usual, falling over his eyes and pointing upwards, sidewards and every direction possible and it made Dean want to throw up a little bit. Because he had two options, two definitive, life altering options. He could go up to Cas right now, and grab him and kiss him and do everything his hands and other limbs were urging him too, or he could walk out that door and deny everything. That was the familiar route, the safe route, and definitely the more preferable, but Cas had to ruin everything by turning his pretty blue eyes on the other boy and speaking with that mild concern he always did.
"Why did you kiss me?"
He had said it so bluntly, desperately earnest, that Dean could hardly brush it off and pretend he didn't hear the question. Instead, he gave a breathy chuckle and busied himself with searching his wardrobe for nothing in particular.
"Heat of the moment, you know." Dean said, throwing a quick grin at the boy in the bed. "Telling me what my heart meant." He sung, and Cas looked even more confused. "Asia, dude."
"I do not understand what a continent has to do with this situation."
"Never mind... look, it just happened, okay? Nothing to think about, we can just forget it."
Castiel remained sitting upright under the duvet, rubbing the material between his thumb and index finger and deciding not to reply. Dean sighed, because there was this weight in his stomach that felt like somehow his heart had dropped a few foot further down than it where it should be, and it was beating five hundred times a second and every nerve in his body was willing him to sit next to the shirt and tie wearing boy, put his hands behind his neck and bring him forward into -what Dean's dreams could only anticipate- the best kiss he'd ever have.
But Dean was an expert in denial, and he couldn't even bring himself to suggest that he even had a crush on the poor guy, let alone this unyielding desire to cuddle him and go on long pointless drives, teach him about good music and film, get him out of that trench coat and possibly a few more layers.
"Hey." Dean said, thinking that maybe he could do a few of those things without overstepping the mark. He felt insanely guilty, the type of physical guilt that made him want to smash his head continuously against the wooden door of his wardrobe. "Wanna watch some more movies? It was all Sam and Jo's choice yesterday, you need to see some classics- Clint Eastwood type classics."
Cas looked up from staring at his hands, his eyes larger and bluer and brighter than Dean had remembered. Or maybe it was to be expected, because everytime he saw him it was like a new, refreshing look at a human being that was so damn perfect, so innocent and oblivious, yet smart and strong... and it was always his eyes that reminded Dean of all this. Those deep, deep eyes that just glowed with every emotion Cas ever had. Dean didn't expect a huge reaction from Cas, and he didn't get one, because that isn't what Cas does. Instead, he gave a small nod and tugged nervously at his shirt collar. Realising that Castiel couldn't stay in those clothes all day, he yanked his AC/DC top from the wardrobe and then a pair of faded grey jeans, throwing them lightly onto the bed and walking out of the door, grabbing some well needed space and leaving Cas very, very confused.
It wouldn't take a ruler to figure out that Dean and Cas were sitting much further away from each other than they were last night. Even if Jo were there, casually stretching out to push their personal bubbles as close as humanly possible, there would still be this thick 'couldn't cut it with a chainsaw' tension that Dean didn't even realise he could feel with Castiel- what with the boy being unaware of most social etiquette.
"Dean, perhaps I should go, I feel I have outstayed my welcome."
Dean had left the room to discover Sam and the others had decided to spend the day at the mall, watch a movie and grab some pizza. They'd left a note on the kitchen table with a handy comment from Gabe informing Dean 'My brother is a fragile flower, if you blow him, he may fly away... if you catch my drift," which was extremely uncomfortable and lead to the note being ripped and thrown out in record timing.
"Look." Dean said, turning on the sofa so he was kneeling and pointing directly at Cas. "No, dude. I don't want things to be different with us because of one lousy kiss and cuddle... you're like, the best friend I've had, okay? I don't want any girly moments here, but you're... you're more to me than I could've imagined you becoming." Dean swallowed nervously because usually when there are awkward conversations, one of the participants is looking away, at their feet or at the ceiling, but both pairs of eyes were completely locked on the other and it seemed no one had the strength to turn away. "Don't go running out on me."
Perhaps Dean should have said 'don't go running into me' instead, because that's exactly what Cas did. Well, more like leaping and grabbing and kissing and gasping and moaning and moving in a way that Dean did not expect. He eagerly straddled Dean's thighs, edging closer and breathing heavily, his eyes dark with a passion Dean had only seen once before- after punching the shit out of Zach- and bruised lips and messy hair and... and Dean didn't really have any more time to admire aesthetics because he'd much rather focus on this contact and adrenaline rush poisoning his judgement, the warmth and feelings consuming both of them in a messy fight to get as close as possible without losing balance and tumbling off the sofa onto the rough, red carpet. Cas was trying his goddamn hardest to keep in control, but his movements were unsure and his confidence was wilting so Dean literally growled and pushed Castiel's back down onto the sofa, moving forward between his legs and smashing his lips against the other's in a predatory fashion, aiming to teach Cas how a real kiss should be done. A desperate moan was enough for Dean to take complete advantage of Cas' mouth, deepening the kiss and expertly biting and teasing the chapped, full lips, hands running underneath his own shirt- his own shirt- to lightly scrape Cas' chest, and dammit if Dean wasn't a little disappointed that Castiel wasn't in his usual attire because it had become an ignored, recurring fantasy to grab that tie of his and yank it off like they do in the movies.
When it was essential to break apart, Dean straightened slightly, resting on Castiel's hips as the other was lying, looking absolutely dishevelled and surrounded by the plush cushions of Bobby's sofa. His hair was pushed from his face, his lips parted and eyes lidded, hands still gripping tight to Dean's arms as if afraid to let go- scared the moment will end too soon. Dean gave a wry smile, placing a chaste kiss on Castiel's lips before a excited shriek was heard from behind the sofa and Dean froze in horror, all colour draining from his face.
"Becky." He whispered, sitting upwards and turning slowly to face the horrified looking girl who had one hand placed over her mouth and the other holding the keys from the counter that Dean had noticed earlier. Jo was stood beside her, her expression undeniably smug, arms folded and eyebrows raised. Dean's colour suddenly returned, and at full power: his ears and cheeks flushed red with a blush he'd never experienced. "Jo."
"Becky forgot her keys so I dropped her off to get them." Jo explained, and then nodded at Dean for him to provide his own story. Dean took this as his chance to leap off the sofa, scratch the back of his head and let out a nervous laugh.
"Oh, this, er... this isn't anything, Cas, he, erm. He wanted practice, yeah. Practice, not a confident kisser and you know me, I'm a friggin' expert." Both Jo and Becky looked unimpressed, Becky's gaze flickering to the boy on the sofa who just looked hurt. "A mistake. It was a mistake."
"A mistake? Dean you can't just... Dean!" Dean had grabbed his leather jacket from the back of an armchair and turned to leave the room. "You can't just leave him here!" Jo shouted, reaching out to grab his arm, but Dean quickly dodged it.
"I'm... I'm sorry."
Becky and Jo were left dumbfounded, before rushing to the sofa to comfort a quivering Castiel.
Dean, you have to speak to Castiel about this.
Seriously, he's at home now I think, go see him.
You can't run from this Dean, you're not fooling anyone. Call him!
I have lost all respect for you Dean Winchester. You call or text or send a freakin' carrier pigeon to his house right now, because the least you can give him is closure.
Fine, ignore me, ignore him, but there's not a hope in hell you can ignore yourself.
Dean clicked off the most recent message, curling up in the back of his impala and staring at the interior of the car, praying for distraction. Every time that familiar face appeared in his mind, he cringed, heart aching at the mess he'd made. He hadn't even turned to look at Castiel as he left, he didn't want to glance at another chance of happiness he was walking out on.
He never did call Cas that night, he just kept on driving.