Log in

21 October 2012 @ 06:09 pm
DeanCas BB 2012 - Part 2/3  
Title: Drop Your Expectations (And Your Pants)
This is part 2 of 3
DCBB Masterpost HERE
Part 1

If someone would have told Sam that forcing two people who hate each other to spend time together didn’t actually resolve conflicts in real life, he wouldn’t have bothered. But, of all things, for the result to genuinely make things worse is astounding.

They seemed almost ‘okay’ with each other before the group outings started, and the bar seems to have been the final straw. Dean won’t explain why - after Sam left to help Jess out - he dropped Castiel off at their place and locked him in Sam’s room. Any time Sam tries to broach the topic, Dean growls and calls Castiel a ‘douchenozzle of epic proportions’. It would be disconcerting if Castiel had the same reaction, but he doesn’t seem to understand Dean’s increased irritation either.

Sam’s graduation paper is due in a few weeks now, which means even less time with family and friends and more time spent nosing around dusty library books. Jess is the only person he really gets to see often anymore because their thesis topics are so similar, and they can use it to give each other tips on what sources to use.

Sam makes time for Castiel, of course, but it usually involves Castiel coming over to watch Sam study while Dean is downstairs watching TV. And perhaps a few teasing kisses between chapters.

Castiel isn’t able to hang around as much as he used to, which Dean is glad for in a way because it means less spats, but it’s also kind of sad how it makes Dean miss being able to argue and compete for Sam’s attention—even if Castiel is still a tool.

That’s one more hobby to cross off.



Dean has his ‘good brother’ moments. And inviting Castiel over - his phone number was written on a post-it in Sam’s room - as a surprise for an insomniac baby brother is part of that. He just knows Sam will be delighted by Dean trying to make peace and being able to spend some quality time with the people who matter after a long day of brain usage. Dean’s even going to try and whip up something half healthy for his floppy haired brother to enjoy eating.

Everything was going well; Castiel agreed to put their differences aside in order for the evening to go along smoothly, Dean found some vegetables in the fridge to make into a (tasteless) salad for them, and the meatloaf in the oven smelled like it would be done right on time.

But, as surprises are usually a secret, sometimes the parties involved don’t have their Spidey senses correctly attuned, and they inadvertently mess up the plans.

Dean’s phone vibrates on the kitchen table and when he flips it open, he doesn’t like what he sees.

Eat without me. I have to stay in the library for a while. Not allowed to take this book out. – Sam




Sam is in the library, but he’s not using any books he hasn’t already photocopied. Jess asked him to join her for supper, and, Sam not wanting to deal with more drama at his home, decided he would go. Telling Dean that Sam prefers to be stress-free with Jess rather than face his brother and boyfriend bickering again would only bring on a whole other kind of problem. One that Sam isn’t sure he’s ready to face yet.

Jess is sweet, funny, beautiful and so incredibly witty. Not to say that he loves her like he does Castiel – he’s his best friend and they practically share a brain sometimes, which is freaky – but he can just be when he’s around her. He doesn’t have to worry about what to do, who he might make jealous, when he can fit her into his life, because she already fits – just right.

And sometimes it terrifies Sam that he can see her this way, that they could be dating right now and Dean would have no plausible objection, but he isn’t the only one who seems to be distancing himself lately. He and Castiel have been like two ships slowly reeling in their anchors, ready to go on their separate journeys – or at least, that’s how Sam’s been feeling. Castiel is hard to read most of the time.




The first thing that comes to mind is Castiel; Dean has to tell him about the cancellation so he doesn’t come all the way here just to be disappointed. He scrolls to ‘call history’ and dials the only unknown number in the list. Castiel picks up on the first ring, which is freaky in a few ways, but now isn’t the time to be distracted by odd details.

“Hey Cas, sorry but Sam just said he won’t be able to make it. Said he needs to use a book and he can’t bring it out of school,” Dean says, tone softer than it’s ever been when speaking to Castiel. Maybe, in a way, he feels responsible for dashing Castiel’s hope of seeing Sam after weeks of hardly any contact.

“Oh.” Castiel sighs and Dean hears a car engine in the background. “I see.”

Dean notices how different Castiel sounds as well. “Are you already here or something?”

“About a minute from your home, yes, but I can turn ba—”

“No, no. It’s fine. I have too much food to eat alone now,” Dean cuts in. But honestly, what is he thinking?

Eating with Castiel—alone? They both know how supremely terrible that went last time; Dean never could eat cereal again without having an irrational fear of it being flipped onto his lap. And perhaps Castiel doesn’t want to spend a couple of hours with the ‘lesser’ of the two Winchesters.

“All right, Dean,” Castiel says dryly. “I’m in front of your home.”

“Okay, see you.” Dean hangs up.

This is going to be uncomfortable. There’s no point in denying that.

Dean leaves the door open so he doesn’t have to deal with an awkward greeting, and busies himself with setting up two places at the table. Castiel slips inside and, in a few strides, reaches the kitchen and greets Dean - anyway.

“Good evening, Dean,” Castiel says, putting a hand out.

“Come on, Cas,” Dean says, putting forks down on either side of the table, “you know me well enough to not do that. Just take a seat.”

Castiel’s hand falls stiffly to his side, and he pulls out a chair and sits, both hands politely under the table. Dean looks over and Castiel smiles a tight little thing that makes Dean’s mouth hurt. Dean wasn’t expecting a Stepford wife when Castiel said he’d be on his best behaviour.

“Relax, Cas,” Dean suggests, walking over to the oven to pull out the meatloaf, “it’s just me. You can be an ass if you want, man.”

Dealing with a guy who’s stubborn and cranky is much more appealing than a guy who’s trying too hard to keep everything peachy. Dean never thought he’d purposely ask Castiel to be a douche.

“I gave you my word, Dean,” Castiel explains, solemnly. “I will not retract what I’ve said.”

There’s the stubborn part at least. Dean chuckles slightly, and slices two pieces of meatloaf, putting some on their plates. “Whatever you say.” He opens the fridge and takes out ketchup and the bowl of salad, putting it in between their plates.

“You want something to drink?” Dean bends down in the fridge looking for something sensible to offer. “We have orange juice, filtered water, milk…” Sam would never drink this- “Beer -”

“Beer would be suitable,” Castiel says from behind Dean. When exactly Castiel had time to stand, and how he got there so silently will remain mysteries until the end of time.

“Jesus, Cas.” Dean folds in half, his chest heaving. “Don’t do that! Take this.” Dean presses the cold bottle roughly against Castiel’s chest to make some space between them.

Castiel returns to his seat and sits down, waiting for Dean so they can eat together.

“Here.” Dean twists off the cap of Castiel’s beer. “Eat now.” He sits down and twists off his own. “Hope you like it.”

“I’m certain I will. Smells delectable,” Castiel says, with a realer smile this time. One that makes Dean choke on his first sip of beer; he’s not used to Castiel being so…nice.

It’s weird as all fuck. Maybe that’s why Castiel is doing it—some kind of reverse psychology bullshit.

Dean eyes the salad skeptically; it’s for Sam, but if Castiel is anything like his nerdy brother, he probably eats the crap, too. For some reason, Castiel’s not taking any though, focusing on the meatloaf instead.

“You can take some salad, Cas,” Dean says, dipping his meatloaf in ketchup. “I don’t eat that stuff that much.”

“Neither do I,” Castiel says seriously, following Dean’s lead and dipping a piece of meat in ketchup.

Well that’s unexpected. Beer, check. Not as into greenery as Sammy, check. They have a lot more in common than Dean thought.

The rest of the meal goes by quietly, but quickly. They both use beer and bread to fill the void of the salad they refuse to eat, and then Dean cleans up their dirty dishes. Castiel is standing immediately, rushing his own things over to the sink.

And, hey, since Sam isn’t around to help with drying, Castiel will have to fill the position temporarily.

Before Dean has a chance to explain that, Castiel is taking the slippery plate from Dean’s grasp and running a dry cloth over it, more meticulous than he needs to be for such an easy task. Dean shakes his head, his lips curling in a smile, and he continues to pass Castiel the rest after he’s rinsed them.

Dean takes the cloth from Castiel. “Want to watch something? I’ll let you choose this time.”

“I’m not sure what’s on at this hour,” Castiel replies, furrowing his brow. “But thank you.”

Castiel sits on the sofa, leaving plenty of room for Dean to sit next to him. Castiel waits for Dean to get comfortable, and then hands Dean the remote control. Way too nice, but whatever. Flicking through channels, Dean sees all his favourites: porn, Dr. Sexy MD and Antique Roadshow.

Dean clicks on the playboy channel accidentally – truly it is a mistake. Why won’t anyone believe him? – and then fumbles to find where Dr. Sexy MD is before it gets even more awkward than it’s been all night.

“I sometimes watch pornography when I come across it,” Castiel says, as if it’s the most ordinary thing in the world. “Though, I watch it for a different type of entertainment. The acting is so amateur that I find myself laughing.”

Dean smirks; no denying that. He puts on his favourite show and turns to see Castiel’s reaction. Castiel’s face lights up, and he leans into the back of the couch, looking more relaxed than Dean’s ever seen him. Maybe it’s all an act, maybe he’s still playing the good little boy (or the psychological attack), but it’s a good look.

“You don’t mind watching this?” Dean says, keeping his eyes on the screen.

“I thoroughly enjoy this program,” Castiel answers without hesitation. Dean can see the smile spreading across Castiel’s face without the tightness it had earlier.

Well, damn, if that isn’t another thing in common.

Whether it’s because of the carbs and meat or because of the six-pack of beer they finished together, Dean and Castiel both pass out on the sofa with the television on. When Sam finally returns, Castiel’s head is leaning on Dean’s shoulder and Dean’s head is propped against the back of the sofa while they both snore softly.

One of the many Star Wars films is flashing on the screen, and Sam can’t help but soak in the perfection of this moment. The two people who he’s been struggling to make get along for weeks just naturally found out how to fix everything, and realized that they would be happier sharing interests rather than squabbling.

Then Sam notices the empty beer bottles on the floor.

Or, they just drank until they could stand each other.

Sam pulls out his cellphone and snaps a picture, the flash startling them both from their sleep. Castiel is more awake first, and he moves away from Dean on the sofa, rubbing his eyes. Dean just yawns and stretches, not even aware of where Castiel had just been sleeping. He smiles at Sam who’s standing with his hands on his hips.

“Hey, you’re back,” Dean announces, voice rough from sleep and alcohol.

“I am. Enjoyed your sleep?” Sam replies, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Dean raises a brow at the curious look he’s getting. “Yeah.”

Castiel stretches slowly like a cat, and he looks so adorable that Sam can’t help but want to scoop him up and carry him to bed. He won’t do it, but he does help him stand from the couch and walk him to the front door. Sam doesn’t close the door all the way, but enough that Dean won’t complain or gag if he passes by.

“I’m sorry if I ruined your evening, Cas,” Sam says quietly, pressing a kiss to Castiel’s temple.

There’s definitely guilt swimming through Sam at the thought of passing up being with these two fools in favour of a quiet dinner with Jess, but maybe his being there would have stopped them from bonding.

“It’s all right,” Castiel says honestly, “I ate and watched television with Dean. It was surprisingly pleasant.”

“Are you already trying to replace me?” Sam teases, pulling Castiel closer to him.

“Of course not, Sam.” Castiel wraps his arms around Sam, nuzzling his neck.

“Good.” Sam leans down, dragging Castiel in for a gentle brush of lips. Castiel tastes like beer mostly, but his lips are so warm and soft that Sam can’t stop at that one kiss. He pulls Castiel closer, pressing his lips hard enough for Castiel to understand the urgency for something deeper.

Dean stands drowsily, nearly knocking over the bottles like bowling pins as he passes by with the intention to tease Sam about showing off his boyfriend to the neighbourhood. But once he reaches the front door, seeing the way Castiel is clinging to Sam, and the intensity with which Sam is kissing Castiel, he decides not to. Instead he goes upstairs, doesn’t shower, pulls his clothes off, and falls into bed.

Something about what Dean just saw is making his insides feel strange and like they aren’t in their rightful places. It’s not a good feeling. It’s probably all the beer he chugged – that must be it.



Castiel is smiling, his eyes crinkling with the effort of it, and he’s sitting next to Dean on the couch, leaning into Dean’s personal space. Against his will, Dean’s fingers comb through the hair at Castiel’s nape, and the blue-eyed man hums softly, his breath puffing against Dean’s lips. Then Castiel is on Dean’s lap, pushing him against the sofa, whimpering with each roll of his hips.

Dean grabs Castiel’s hair and snaps his head back until Dean can have a pale, virginal patch of skin to defile. His tongue swirls over the skin right below Castiel’s earlobe and he sucks, biting down when he feels Castiel’s hips buck and stutter with each flick of his tongue and graze of his teeth.

“Dean. Dean, yes.”

Castiel moans louder, both hands on Dean’s shoulders to keep himself steady, and Dean continues his torturous trail, lapping his tongue over Castiel’s Adam’s apple and across his prominent collarbone.

“I want you,” Dean says against the reddened skin beneath his lips. And that’s it; Castiel cries out.

It’s striking enough that Dean wakes in a sweat on the floor of his room, the sheets tangled between his legs and his boxer shorts soiled beyond repair.

What the fuck is happening?


Attempting for a second time to surprise Sam, Castiel passes by with pie he’d baked himself during the afternoon. Sam smiles, but he doesn’t look as content as Castiel hoped he would. Castiel thought that perhaps a change from the usual healthy diet would be more welcomed, but it seems he was wrong.

“Is it not good?” Castiel asks, watching Sam eat with much less enthusiasm than Castiel had imagined.

“It’s great, Cas.” Sam smiles, putting his fork down. “I’m just not a big sweets guy. Dean though, he loves pie. It’s his favourite thing ever.”

Dean is walking down the steps, but when he hears ‘pie’ he runs down the rest of the way to find out if he heard correctly. “Did I hear you say pie, Sammy?”

“Yeah.” Sam points at Castiel fondly. “He baked some cherry pie today.” Sam glances at Castiel who is watching Dean intently. “Can Dean try your pie, Cas?”

“Of course.” Castiel cuts a piece and puts it on a dish for Dean. “I hope you enjoy it.”

“You bet I will.” Dean practically steals the plate out of Castiel’s hands and sits down. He notices that he doesn’t have a fork, so he takes Sam’s and digs in. Dean stops after the first bite and starts shaking, his eyes filling with tears. “Oh—” Dean scoops another bite into his mouth. “Oh. Oh my,” he takes three more large bites, his fingers still trembling. “Cas, oh my god. I could kiss you! This is—freakin’ incredible.”

Castiel looks away, face as stern as always, but his cheeks are flushed, and it makes Sam laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

“I’m glad you like it,” Castiel utters in reply.

“I love it,” Dean corrects. “Why aren’t you studying cooking instead of whatever you’re taking? You’d be amazing at it.”

Sam nods his approval. “I’ve told him before, but he doesn’t believe me.”

“I will consider it if ever I decide on a career change,” Castiel says, smiling at Sam, then at Dean.

Sam goes to the washroom, leaving his half-eaten piece of pie behind, and Dean has no doubt that Sam won’t finish it, so he pulls it to his side of the table. Castiel observes this silently, and takes a seat near Dean.

“I feel as though Sam is behaving differently lately,” Castiel says in a low voice. “Have I done something to upset him? Has he told you anything?”


Sam locks himself in the washroom, muttering a string of curses. He’d been out with Jess last night, studying of course, and she bought him a single piece of cherry pie – nothing to write home about – and somehow it made his world fall apart.

But today, Castiel’s baked an entire pie, with all of his heart probably – because that’s just how the guy works – and Sam can’t even pretend it made him feel half as good. And everything about that is despicable because Sam is dating Castiel, who is way too good for him in every way that counts, but he wants to be around immature, potty-mouthed Jess who doesn’t bother trying to be more than she can.

Sam doesn’t deserve to enjoy Castiel’s heartfelt gesture. Dean can eat all of it if he wants.


Dean’s mouth is too full to answer properly, “He just doesn’t like sweets, Cas. No big deal.”

Castiel nods slowly, and watches Sam reappear in the kitchen. Sam laughs at the sight of Dean stuffing his mouth with Sam’s leftover piece, and smiles at Castiel. Even Dean sees that it’s a little forced. Maybe the pie made him sick.

Castiel wipes down his trench coat and leans over to kiss Sam on the cheek. “I’ll leave you to your studies now, Sam. See you soon.”

Both Winchesters watch as Castiel slips out the door without saying another word.



Dean is holding an entire pie in both palms, walking toward Castiel with a grin that spans at least coast to coast. He mouths the words ‘thank you’ and dips his right hand into the pie tray, bringing the mouthful of cherry sauce and crust to his lips.

Castiel just watches him, a small smile on his face, suddenly kneeling down on the floor in front of Dean with his hands on his knees. Dean looks down at Castiel with pie smeared around his lips, the red from the cherry sauce making them even more tempting than usual. Castiel leans up a bit on his knees, stretching up to touch Dean, but he’s too tall, out of reach. Dean gets the message and bends over slightly, just enough for Castiel’s fingertips to trace the sticky mess on Dean’s bottom lip.

Castiel is on his back the next moment, Dean kissing him so hard he can taste morsels of cherry on his tongue but, more importantly, he can taste the current of arousal flowing out of Dean. Dean moans, swirling his tongue across Castiel’s parted, sticky lips, sharing the flavour of everything, including Dean’s growing need for intimacy.

The pie is flipped over on the floor next to them when Dean decides to pick Castiel up and carry him across the room, going as far as they can get while he insists on kissing Castiel with his eyes closed. They make it to the kitchen table, and there are pies all around Castiel, as though he’s on display with the things he resembles—or the things Dean enjoys most.

Dean kisses Castiel, knocking all the trays away to make space for him to cover Castiel like an undeterrable barrier of flesh. He rubs against Castiel shamelessly, mouth less and less sticky but more swollen from the increasingly rough kisses.

“I want you,” Castiel whispers, and Dean pulls back, grinning down at the disheveled mess of dark hair and puffy lips at his mercy.

“I won’t tell Sam if you don’t,” Dean says in Castiel’s ear, nibbling his earlobe.

Castiel sits up in bed, panting, covered in a sickeningly cold sheen of sweat. But of course his dick doesn’t understand that having weird sex dreams about your boyfriend’s brother isn’t the best time to be standing at attention.

He reaches over on his nightstand and, without worrying about the time, sends a text message to Sam.

I miss spending time with you.

When can we have some quality time?




Sam invites Castiel over on a Saturday, hoping that Dean will go out to a bar and pick up a chick, so Sam can - indeed - have some quality time with his boyfriend. It turns out Dean is covering someone else’s shift during the evening, so Sam takes it as a sign to go ahead with his plan.

Castiel arrives in his usual attire: beige coat, crooked tie, white dress shirt and dark slacks. The only thing that even remotely tells Sam it’s a weekend is that Castiel is wearing black running shoes rather than dress shoes.

Sam helps Castiel out of his coat, and tells him to take off his shoes and to wait upstairs. Sam hangs the coat up near the front door and puts the shoes below it. He pulls off his t-shirt and throws it in the laundry bin on his way to his room. Sam doesn’t like to toot his own horn, but enough girls have melted when he’s taken off his shirt that – maybe – it could send the message across to Castiel, too.

And maybe moving things along with Castiel can remind Sam why exactly he’s dating the genius, blue-eyed man instead of Jess.

Castiel is flipping through a law book when Sam closes the bedroom door behind him quietly. He stalks toward Castiel, hoping he’ll figure out everything there is to understand in the few seconds it takes Sam to cross the room.

Castiel’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t look away. He puts the book back in its place and stands. Sam cups Castiel’s face with both hands, running his thumb over the sharp cheekbones that have made him harder than plywood. Castiel’s eyes fall shut and his lips part, so Sam lifts him and wraps Castiel’s arms around his neck. They land on the bed a bit more bumpily than Sam intended, but the effect is good enough, knocking the breath out of Castiel – or maybe that’s just Sam’s weight.

Sam presses down against Castiel, hands fisted in the dark locks to keep Castiel’s mouth exactly how it is and right where he wants it. Castiel’s whimper is muffled, but it does something twisty to Sam’s gut and his hips buck, making the bed springs squeak dangerously.

So Sam’s definitely still attracted to Castiel at least.

And maybe Sam’s bed isn’t made for two men their size, but he could always buy a new one if they break it.

Castiel gets with the program and unbuttons his dress shirt, Sam tugging it out from where it’s tucked between their hips. They don’t even bother moving it from underneath Castiel’s weight before continuing to rub skin against skin, reconnecting their lips like it will physically harm them if they aren’t kissing again.

Sam rolls his hips roughly, their clothed erections bumping and throbbing. Castiel’s chest tightens at the thought of how far they’re going, how much further they could be going. They’ve never done more than kiss up until now, and it’s frightening how quickly things are moving. Sam can feel Castiel’s heart banging like it wants to puncture Castiel’s chest, so he moves away slightly.

“Am I going too fast? Is this okay?” Sam says, voice a stark contrast to the earlier thrusting. Please don’t tell me to stop, not yet. I can’t deal with my feelings if you don’t let this happen, Cas.

Castiel wishes for once in his saintly little life that Sam wouldn’t worry. If he didn’t care so much, could just let things follow their own path, Castiel wouldn’t be tempted to think, re-think, overthink and obsess over why his body is aching not with need but inexplicable doubt.

“I’m fine. This is fine. Let’s continue,” Castiel says firmly. There’s no way that mindless sex dream about Dean is going to ruin his chances of being happy with Sam for as long as they can be.

Sam is frozen, struck by how pathetic he is, how cowardly he must be if he can’t tell his best friend that he’s falling for someone else. That he’d rather just manhandle Castiel and pray that things fix themselves, when he knows they will only worsen, makes no sense - none whatsoever. And Sam can’t do that, not to Castiel. He means so much, and is such a big part of Sam’s life. He can’t do this. He can’t—

When Sam makes no move to resume their making out, Castiel helps him along by unbuckling his belt, sidling a hand in to cup him through his briefs. Sam gasps, his head tipping forward until his lips are back where they were—pressed against Castiel’s. Castiel grips tighter, distracting Sam from questioning, distracting himself from the doubt breeding at the back of his mind.

Castiel is pushing Sam’s jeans over his ass when the door swings open. Dean’s eyes could not be any wider, even if he were in the Asian cartoon porn he loves so much.

No one is sure of what happens next, except perhaps Dean, but even he seems to be working on auto-pilot.

“Goddammit Sammy! You couldn’t lock your door or something!” Dean shouts, his gaze almost burning them up with its intensity. “You know it’s only seven at night, right? You couldn’t do this when I was asleep? And why not go to your fucking boyfriend’s house while you’re at it!” Dean’s nostrils flare, and he slams the door as he leaves, all but barrelling down the stairs and back out the front door—which he also slams.

Sam sucks in a shaky breath, turning back to Castiel. They’re definitely alone now, but who could enjoy their first time together after getting scolded like that? (Not that he’s really enjoying it.) Castiel’s hand was still awkwardly down Sam’s pants the entire time Dean ranted, and he removes it now, shifting until he can crawl out from below Sam’s frame.

“I’m sorry,” Sam says quietly. I’m sorry I’m trying to make things work when I know what I’m meant to do. But I can’t hurt you; I don’t want to lose my best friend.

Castiel tries to smile reassuringly, but he can’t help but fail, not when he’s relieved they were interrupted. He buttons up his shirt and smoothes out the creases before turning back to kiss Sam on the cheek.

“Perhaps we’ll have better luck next time,” Castiel replies. If there is a next time.

And with that Castiel is out the door as well, leaving Sam with enough confusion to sift through for years.




Dean is back before midnight, but won’t make eye contact, won’t acknowledge Sam’s presence, won’t discuss with Sam what just happened, and definitely won’t admit that he overreacted. It’s a long, infuriating, silent night for the both of them after Sam gives up trying to be civil with Dean.

Sam can feel something is going on, though, and he will get to the bottom of it. Eventually. After he deals with his own problems, that is.



Sometimes your body decides for you

Dean wakes to multiple problems. The first, and most obvious, being a headache from his consumption of alcohol the night before. The next is, well, also obvious: he feels like a complete asshole for cockblocking Sam like that. And the third, which he is hoping will go away on its own, is the raging boner in his boxer shorts.

If he wants to be able to deal with Sam properly, his morning wood is going to have to jump to the top of his mental list.

Dean sneaks out of his room and into the bathroom. It’s certainly not as comfortable, and Dean isn’t shallow enough to want to see his own reflection when he comes, but it’s easier to hide and clean up the mess if he’s jacking off over the toilet bowl.

So he starts.

Then he stops.

This kind of thing works better with visuals, but Dean was too tired to think of that when he left his room, so now all he has to use is his imagination. It’ll have to be enough; there are other items he needs to get to on his list.

Dean looks down at his cock; it’s red at the tip, droplets of pre-come falling into the water of the toilet. He closes his eyes and strokes languidly, imagining a mouth—anyone’s will do—around the head, sucking and licking, slurping even, coaxing more of the opaque liquid from the slit. Dean moans when the person slides more of the length down their throat, practically trying to choke on it, gagging with each thrust that Dean provides through their parted lips. Dean knows distantly that he’s thrusting into the circle of his palm, but the images are working so well it feels like the wet heat of a mouth.

Dean’s eyes clench tight, and he visualizes pushing the person’s hair out of the way, grabbing a handful of it and thrusting deeper down their throat. The hair is soft and shiny, dark. It’s messy, and that only makes it better because Dean doesn’t have to worry about ruining the mood by being too enthusiastic. He groans with the thought of them pulling back, a trail of saliva hanging from their inviting lips. Those perfect, pink, swollen lips. Dean traces over them, the person looking up into his eyes, tongue darting out to touch the tip of Dean’s cock. Dean gasps; the blue is devastating. It wrenches something from deep inside Dean and he thrusts once more, watching those eyes flutter as he coats the pale skin with strings of white.

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel says, licking his soiled skin.

Dean’s eyes snap open. Holy fuck, what did he just do? Did he just jerk off to the thought of blowing his load on Castiel’s face? While Dean’s still awake? It must be the end of the world soon.

Dean closes the toilet lid when he sees all the remnants landed safely within bounds, and hops in the shower, not bothering to touch the dial for hot water.


Sam is eating breakfast when Dean comes down to join him. Sam puts the newspaper down, hoping Dean is in a better mood today, so they can fix whatever it is that broke yesterday. Dean smiles tightly, swinging the fridge open for some orange juice.

“M’sorry,” Dean mumbles mostly to the juice container. Sorry I just shot my load on your boyfriend’s face in my head, too.

“What was that?” Sam smirks, keeping his eyes on the tensing of Dean’s shoulders.

Dean shakes his head and sighs, throwing the door closed. “I’m sorry, bitch. Okay? I didn’t mean to cramp your style.”

“I forgive you, jerk.” Sam keeps smirking, pushing the plate of muffins closer to Dean as a peace offering.

“So, we’re cool?” Dean says, biting into a chocolate chip muffin. And god damn is it ever orgasmic. “Where did you get these, Sammy? They’re freakin’ awesome.”

“Cas made them for us—well—for you. As an apology.” Sam picks up his newspaper, smiling to himself. “And yeah, we’re cool, so you should enjoy them.” Sam’s glad he doesn’t have to feel bad about not eating this time since it’s for Dean.

Dean grumbles, but doesn’t stop chewing, not wanting the bliss to ever go away. What couldn’t Castiel make? Hopefully, he won’t dream about Castiel feeding him muffins later.

“Let ‘im know I forgive his dumb ass,” Dean says, already on his second muffin.


“He said he was sorry, and he forgives us. Oh, and that he loved the muffins,” Sam says, smiling against the receiver.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Castiel says flatly. “How are things?”

“Busy. Actually, pretty hectic to be honest. I’ve still got a few dozen pages to write, and I have no idea how to tackle them.” Sam sighs, rolling onto his back in bed. “You? I never hear anything about your classes.” Or about whether or not we’re still doing okay.

“I switched from sociology to theology, so I’ve nothing to report for now,” Castiel replies matter-of-factly.

“S’that so? That’s cool. Well-” Sam clears his throat and sits up. “-I have to continue my paper. Text me?”

“I will,” Castiel says, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. It’s become harder to speak to Sam lately. “Good luck, Sam.”

“Thanks,” Sam answers, “bye, Cas.”

Something about the conversation feels too final. It doesn’t sit well with Castiel.


Castiel and Sam begin their texting frenzy. When one is busy, that’s when the other sends or answers a message. Each time Castiel finishes class or lunch, the reply he gets from Sam is ‘sorry, I have to stay in the library’. With Jess is the part Sam never writes out, but they both know she’s stuck to him like glue. On the other hand, when Sam finally has time to see Castiel, it’s late in the evening, and Castiel doesn’t have the energy to drive over or to receive company.

They can’t get the timing right for some reason.

Sam loves Castiel, really, but he knows now – absolutely – that they’re drifting apart. And it hurts, not because of their romantic liaison, but because Castiel is his best friend, and he’s never had one of those until now. He just wishes he could figure out a time when they could see each other, and try to mend the rift.

Castiel takes matters into his own hands, missing Sam just as much as Sam misses him. It doesn’t matter how exhausted he is from studying five different religions, he is going to invite Sam to his place so they can be comfortable and have privacy for once. They’re going to try again – one last time.


Things progress seemingly in snapshots.

Sam was at the door. Then he was being led to Castiel’s bedroom. Castiel was stripping off his very casual clothes, and helping Sam to take off his own. Then Castiel was on his knees, unbuckling Sam’s belt.

And now Sam is standing in Castiel’s room, dazed, disconnected from what’s happening, and trying to understand why this feels so…wrong. It’s not like how he imagined it months ago, not how it should still be. There’s just no passion behind Castiel’s movements, and Sam’s not even completely in the moment, so what the hell are they doing? Can’t they just go back to being friends?

Sam helps Castiel stand up, and picks up his shirt on the floor. “I can’t do this, Cas.”

Castiel’s mouth opens in protest, but Sam just pets his cheek and adds, “I’m gonna go, you look exhausted. I’ll text you tomorrow.”

Sam puts his clothes on and doesn’t turn back, not wanting to see the expression on Castiel’s face. He won’t be able to leave if he does.


Sam texts as soon as he gets home, explaining how things were moving too fast and it startled him. But Castiel doesn’t answer that one. Sam sends another the next day, asking how things are, and Castiel ignores that one as well. It’s days later and Sam has sent apologies in at least ten formats, and even in different languages, but Castiel still hasn’t replied to any of them.

Sam feels like a royal piece of shit. They should have been talking about their estrangement a long time ago.



“Where’s your lover-boy been? He doesn’t still think I’m mad, does he?” Dean says, grabbing a cold beer from the fridge.

Sam taps the edge of his textbook with a pencil and, without glancing up, answers, “I think we’re going through a rough patch.” Sam sighs, and Dean twists the top of his beer open, taking a swig.

“You want a beer?” Dean says, back against the fridge.

“Nah. I think I’m gonna go see Jess. I’m having problems with my paper again,” Sam says, snapping his book shut and stuffing it into his bag. “Be back later.”

“Okay,” Dean replies, peering at Sam as he crosses the room and goes through the front door. “Huh.”

If Dean was dating someone—which he wouldn’t because that’s a sure fire way to end up in headacheville—he wouldn’t go hang out with other people if they were in a rough patch. He’d try his best to resolve the issues first. Dean gets that Sam needs to work on his graduation paper, but doesn’t Castiel’s feelings matter? The guy hasn’t been around for at least a week, and that should definitely bother Sam more than it currently is.

Without thinking, Dean invites Castiel over for supper. Maybe the gesture would let Castiel know he’s welcome in the Winchester household again—in case Sam wasn’t clear about that.

Castiel is at the door before Dean even has time to finish ordering the pizza, and he lets Castiel in pointing to the couch. Castiel looks around, for Sam obviously, but sits down when he doesn’t see him around. Dean puts his cellphone down on the coffee table and sits next to Castiel.

“Yeah, he’s not here.” Dean rubs at the nape of his neck. “I just wanted to let you know everything was cool between us. And that, you know, you can hang out here whenever you want.”

“Thank you, Dean.” Castiel smiles, handing Dean a DVD. “I thought it might be something that would interest you. You can watch it whenever you like.”

Dean stares at the cover for a moment then chuckles. “Zack and Miri make a porno? I remember wanting to see this when it came out, but Sammy wouldn’t go with me.” He glances over at Castiel. “So it’s good?”

“I thought it was very entertaining.” Castiel wrings his fingers together. “But you should know there is no actual porn in the movie.”

“Yeah, I know.” Dean scoffs, putting it down and standing. “You want a beer while we wait for the pizza?”

“I’d love one.” Castiel leans back in the sofa, trying to calm his nerves. Alcohol should do the trick.


When the pizza arrives, they’ve finished their beers and they’re beyond starving. Dean pays for it and shoves Castiel aside when he tries to give Dean money for his half.

“Put your money away, Cas,” Dean says, handing Castiel the pizza box. “You made a freakin’ pie for us.” Dean’s mouth waters just thinking about it. “And those muffins were-” Orgasmic. “-anyway, you don’t owe me anything. We’re even now.”


The whole pizza is gone before they finish their third beers. Dean pops in the DVD Castiel brought, and sits back, nursing a new beer. There’s another six-pack in the fridge just waiting for them if this movie turns out to be shitty. Not that Dean doubts Castiel’s taste in movies…okay, maybe a little.

After thirty minutes, it turns out Castiel was right—it is entertaining. It’s so crass and so unlike Castiel that it’s almost shocking to Dean at first. He offers Castiel another beer, as a sign of gratitude, and he accepts. Sure enough, they go through the six-pack, and Dean has become relaxed and inquisitive.

“You really don’t remember meeting me and Sam when we were neighbours?” Dean slurs, laughing at another of Seth Rogen’s one-liners in the movie.

“I sincerely do not,” Castiel answers, sounding way too sober to be fair. But he nearly tips over when he tries to touch Dean’s shoulder, so all is well. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. It was a long time ago.”

Dean takes another gulp of beer, using it to force his mind to forget that very explicit, very wrong morning wood mishap. He keeps his eyes focused on the screen to avoid asking Castiel about more personal things.

Castiel’s eyes drift from the screen to Dean so easily he can’t keep track of it himself. One second Castiel’s enjoying another nonsensical scene, and the next he’s noticing how Dean’s lips wrap around the neck of the bottle, and how Dean’s freckles seem brighter the drunker he gets.

Dean gets up to make some popcorn, and asks something, but Castiel’s vision is starting to blur, so he just nods. Dean un-pauses the movie and puts the popcorn on his lap. He catches Castiel frowning from the corner of his eye, and sighs while eventually moving closer.

Castiel’s head is lolling with the amount of alcohol coursing through him, the popcorn doing nothing to suppress the effects. He ends up falling asleep before the end of the film. Dean figures there’s no point waking him until the morning, so he gets a blanket from the cupboard and throws it over him. Castiel hums and shifts closer to Dean, leaning his head on Dean’s shoulder again.

If anyone asks why he does what he does, Dean will blame it on pizza and beer and the movie.

He presses his lips to Castiel’s forehead and brushes stray strands away softly. More gentle with Castiel than he’s ever been with a woman. Castiel whimpers, pressing closer, tilting his head up with his eyes still closed. And Dean is holding Castiel’s chin, bringing him closer, taking in the warmth of Castiel’s breath against his mouth and it’s making him…hungry. Castiel’s lips part, and Dean licks his own in response, just about ready to kiss Castiel—

“I’m back, Dean,” Sam says, pushing his keys in his pocket. “Cas?”

Castiel rubs his eyes, but is still more or less asleep. They agree to let him stay the night.

(And Dean doesn’t have a ‘happy ending’ because all he can see when he closes his eyes is the way Castiel’s face looks when he sleeps.)



My once upon a time is different


Castiel is running towards his backyard, sliding the glass door open, and scurrying over to the fence. There’s a family that lives next door. They haven’t been there long, but Castiel has seen them driving their children to a nearby school. Whether they’re boys or girls, Castiel wants to meet them. There hasn’t been anyone his age in the neighbourhood in what feels like forever.

When Castiel sees them, both definitely boys, his eyes widen. One of them is young, too young for Castiel to play with, but the other boy looks just the right age. The older of them has sandy blond hair and can already ride a bike without needing training wheels; he looks so cool. Castiel wants to befriend him before school starts again so he can show off to his classmates.

The next day, Castiel returns to the fence, and the boy is there again, watching his brother intently. Castiel waves, and gets his attention almost immediately, but the boy pretends not to see Castiel. Castiel huffs and leans over further, trying to climb the stupid wooden fence, but he’s too short. He pushes onto the tips of his feet, but only manages to get his arm stuck between the wood panels. He pulls, and ends up scraping off the skin of his forearm, letting out a small yelp of pain.

The boy looks at that sound. He drops his bike quickly and rushes over to the fence, peering into Castiel’s eyes.

“Are you okay?” The boy asks, sounding more worried than Castiel’s mother ever would.

“I’m okay,” Castiel replies, feeling pathetic that his future-best-friend has to see him looking so lame.

“Let me see,” the boy says, stretching out his hand over the fence. He seems so tall up-close like this.

“I’m fine,” Castiel says, defensive. “I just scratched the skin off my elbow.”

“Show me,” the boy demands, “you’re making me break my promise to my mom right now.”

Castiel narrows his eyes, but the neighbour does the same. “Fine!” Castiel tries to bend his arm over the fence, but the boy just climbs it instead to get a closer look.

“You’re bleeding,” the neighbour says accusingly, “that’s not fine!”

“It doesn’t hurt!” Castiel retorts. “I’ve been through worse than this!”

The boy sighs, and his eyes soften. He takes a step down from the fence. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault, isn’t it?” His green eyes look away guiltily, and it makes Castiel’s stomach hurt.

“No,” Castiel says firmly. “It’s my fault because I’m too short.”

“You’re not short,” the boy says, “you just aren’t as tall as me.”

“Honey, why aren’t you watching Sam? And don’t climb the fence, you’ll hurt yourself,” a pretty blonde woman says from inside the boy’s home. Their mother seems nice, caring. He must have learned it from her.

Castiel flees from the fence, and rushes inside his home.

The next day, things are different. The boy is serious, interested only in keeping his eyes on his brother and nothing else. It makes Castiel feel lonelier than he has in a long time; he thought he finally had someone to talk to at least. The neighbour won’t even answer anymore.

Is it something he did? Did the boy get in trouble for talking to Castiel?

The boy continues to ignore him, but Castiel doesn’t give up.


One day, Castiel’s mother comes home to find him spying on the neighbour kids –again –and she is absolutely furious. She drags Castiel back inside by the collar and tells him that the Winchester family is vile, and to never associate with them. He doesn’t know what any of that means, but he knows it can’t be true. They are good people. They have to be. Their mother looks like an angel. Castiel promises not to go to the fence again because he doesn’t want his mother to be angry anymore. She says that if he does, there will be serious consequences.

A week passes, and Castiel keeps his promise, but he watches them from his bedroom window instead. This way he can see for himself if they are bad people, even though deep down Castiel already knows the answer.

Then, his mother returns early from her job one day. Castiel is so busy staring at the neighbour’s bright smile – murmuring to himself that he wants to impress him if he can – that he doesn’t hear his mother sneak into his bedroom.

“Castiel!” She says, her voice startling him from that dream world. “I’ve been calling you for five minutes.”

Castiel watches her come closer, her makeup running down her cheeks, her shoulders hunched. Something is wrong. She walks so quickly over to Castiel that he flinches, expecting to be hit, but she brings him in for a tight hug instead. Castiel leans into the warmth, giving some of his own.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, stroking fingers through his dark hair. “Mommy’s been so mean to you, hasn’t she?”

“No,” Castiel says, trying to make her feel better.

“So you trust mommy? You think she’s right about the neighbours?” She says, and her hands are clutching at Castiel so tightly he’s afraid of what will happen if he tells her what he really thinks. Maybe she would crumble apart. Maybe she would hit Castiel. Maybe she would start crying.

“Yes,” Castiel whispers in reply. And it hurts more than he thought it would, almost more than what she says next.

“You need to keep away from them, Castiel,” his mother says softly. Castiel pulls back a bit, but she drags him closer, nuzzling into his hair. “Please tell me you understand.”

“I understand, mommy,” Castiel whispers, craving this warmth and fearing it all at once. What has happened to her? She’s not acting like her usual self, and it’s worrying Castiel.

“Daddy is going to take you to a better school. A private school,” she says, still petting his hair. “You’ll be able to be with children almost as smart as you, honey.”

Castiel’s eyes are bulging. “We’re moving away?”

His mother shushes him, rocking him slowly. “Yes.” Her voice cracks. “But mommy—mommy is going to stay behind. Daddy is going to take good care of you, don’t worry.”

“Why? I don’t understand—”

“You said you trust me,” she says, her words muffled in Castiel’s hair, her body shaking around him.

Castiel knows she’s crying even though he’s never seen it before. “I trust you, mommy.”

“You’re such a good boy, Castiel. Promise me you’ll stay a good boy for your father,” she says, brushing hair away from Castiel’s forehead, placing a kiss so soft he barely feels it.

“I promise,” Castiel mutters, squeezing her as tightly to him as he can.


On moving day, Castiel’s mother accompanies him on the ride to the new city. Dad is driving the moving truck, and she is driving her car, holding his hand as soon as they begin to drive away. Castiel hears a boy shouting, and he knows exactly who it is without looking. But promises are things Castiel keeps no matter what, so he ignores him.

Dean! My name’s Dean! And my brother’s name is Sam!

They could have been good friends, probably.

Castiel doesn’t see his mother again once she leaves him at the new home. The next time he does is at her funeral, five years later. His father explains that she had cancer, and if he wasn’t already crying, the image in his mind of her devastation that day would have been enough to break his spirit.

She really must have loved Castiel more than she showed him if she insisted on dying alone rather than making her youngest watch her suffer. The Winchesters were just an excuse, a cover, an outlet for her anger. She may have even liked them deep down. But greedily wanted all of Castiel’s attention to herself before she had to send her youngest away. The last of the Novak children.


All those years later

It’s the anniversary of his mother’s death, and Castiel’s father leaves him a message asking if he can do a bit of cleaning in his childhood home. It’s not exactly what Castiel had planned for today, but he accepts, not wanting to upset his father.

While going through his old room, Castiel finds a dusty box in the back of the closet in his old room. ‘To my boy’ is written across the cover of it, and something about that makes his chest burn. It hadn’t been there the previous years he’d visited this house. He removes the lid carefully, and nearly falls over when he sees what’s inside.

There’s a letter from his mother with pictures of her hidden underneath.

Dear Castiel,

I’m writing this from our home while you and your father sleep.

I’m sorry if I seem really mean, but I’ve only tried to protect you.

I know how sensitive you are, but don’t think that I do these things to purposely hurt you.

I love you so very much, Castiel.

And I know how alone you must have felt once your siblings left for college.

I just didn’t want you to get attached to anyone else, because I knew eventually I’d have to let you go.


The Winchester family is wonderful and would definitely be the right people for you to be close to.

I only wanted to spare you the pain when you’d eventually move. That is the truth.

 If I could, I would tell them to find you and watch over you once I’m gone because I can tell that they would.


I know how your father can be sometimes, but he does love you. Please listen to him and become the rocket scientist that you are.


I’m sorry if I made the wrong decision, darling. Please forgive me.

And if you find the Winchesters again, don’t let them go.

Especially Dean. He seemed so broken up when he heard we were moving.


I’ll always love you with all my heart, even when I’m in Heaven.

With love,

your mommy.


Castiel can’t stop the tears from streaming down his cheeks. His mother was such a strong woman, so serious and hard-working. He can barely reconcile this intimate letter, these soft words with that person he knew. Why couldn’t she have just let him take care of her? Why couldn’t she have let him stay with her and cherish those final moments?

After reading it for the third time, seated on the floor with his legs crossed, Castiel smiles. He always had a feeling deep down that she’d liked the neighbours. And whether it’s because she nudged him from Heaven or because he felt the pull of connection, familiarity, he’s found the Winchesters again. But for his mother to approve of his friendship with them means more than anything.

Sam couldn’t have remembered meeting Castiel, but Dean can. He does. And, that it’s taken this letter for Castiel to remember someone so significant is embarrassing. Castiel had wanted so badly to be liked by the boy he admired next door. Dean. He wanted Dean to like him. And, all the way past the bullshit, and the insecurity, and anything else, he can still sense that longing is there. Even after all those years, now more than ever, he wants Dean to like him, to have him.

But what happens when you’re dating your soul-mate’s brother?


Castiel will say nothing because Sam is perfect in his own way, and he’s the one who walked into Castiel’s life first—not Dean. That Dean may have been his first love is of no importance anymore, not when over a decade has passed since that time. Not when Sam is Castiel’s best friend, and he seems to be hanging on to him by a thread.

--Part 3 this way
(Deleted comment)
yasu ka kazutrickylady on October 22nd, 2012 09:26 pm (UTC)
heheh. ;)