Tell Me Who I Am part 3
Tell Me Who I Am
Part 1
Part 2
~~~
“Hey, dude,” Chuck phoned Dean while he was preparing for baseball practice. Dean bit down on his lip to stifle a groan; he really didn't feel like talking to anyone today, much less gossip about what Meg Masters was doing with Mister Cowley after hours.
He managed to chew out a weak, “Hey.”
“I was just wondering if you wanted to hang out this weekend at Gabriel's; his parents are gonna be outta town.”
“What would we do there?” Dean said irritably as he stuck the phone between his shoulder and ear and did his laces. Although he never thought much of Gabriel, he did have a rep for throwing the sweetest shindigs.
“Well, gee, I dunno... How about using his in-door jacuzzi for one? Andy and Anna will be there, too. Pamela and Jo said they'd come. He said you could bring the Bellamy kid along if you really wanted.”
The phone slipped and crashed to the floor. Dammit. Why did they make such sleek designs anyway? He fumbled for the phone and snapped into the speaker, “Why the hell would he think I'd want to bring Castiel with me?”
A hesitant pause.“Well... People kind of assume there's something going on between you two since you're the only one who... uh... he talked to.”
“Chuck...” Dean said with all the calm he could muster, shoelaces completely forgotten. “Did you by any chance start a rumour about me? Be honest.”
Another pause stretched across the line. Then, with a burst of offence, “What? You think I'd sell my own friends out? I know you're butt-hurt over your rejection, but you shouldn't take it out on me. God, you're so paranoid.”
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and clenched his jaw. “Just forget it,” he ground out and hung up. He didn't have time to think about the weekend or whether or not Chuck was telling the truth - he was going to be late for practice.
- - -
“There he is!”
Dean was just coming out of a tedious French class which he'd spent catching up on his sleep when the three stooges grabbed him by the limbs and kidnapped him with all the finesse of an experienced child abductor. If his brain had been less groggy he'd have probably been able to at least formulate a sharp insult. As it was, he merely struggled like a two year old and let the kidnappers whisk him away to a dank corner of the hallway. He had a feeling he was going to regret this. Sorely.
“Listen up, bucko,” Pamela's voice cut through his light stupor as she emphasised every word with an extra squeeze to his throbbing shoulders. “Here's what you're going to do: you're going to apologise to Castiel, and you're going to do it now.”
“What?” Dean's brain finally snapped awake as soon as his pride was struck. “Like hell I will.”
Jo's lips twisted into a sour grimace. “Oh yes you are. We're sick of hearing you piss and moan about every goddamned thing under the sun when we know you're really hung up on the guy.”
Dean's face coloured and he huffed indignantly. While it was true he'd been a little pissed about what had happened two days ago, he hardly thought he was displaying a neon sign above his head that invited everyone to stick their nose in it and made them feel compelled to give a free analysis.
Play it cool Dean, play it cool; maybe they'll go away if you do this right. “I don't know what - ”
“Okay, enough with the macho schtick.” Chuck sighed and looked like he'd rather be elsewhere catching up on someone else's business. “While I don't usually care who you choose to pine after, I must agree that your foul mood has been affecting us all.” To which Jo nodded emphatically with an accusing glare in his direction.
“I'm not pining,” Dean muttered ineffectually to three glowering scowls. Oh, he was so screwed.
Pamela prodded his shoulder with a sharp nail and said, “Would you stop splashing in that little Egyptian river of yours and go apologise already?”
Dean knew when a battle was lost. He straightened his shoulders and tried to admit defeat with a minimum of dignity. Glaring at them, he grunted, “Fine. But just so you know, this is totally unfair...” and shrugged himself away from the wall they'd backed him up against. He looked to his sides and said, “ Where is the little twerp anyway?”
Jo tapped a finger on her chin as she tried to remember. “Last I saw him, he was at his locker.”
“Go on! Git!” Pamela gesticulated like a born-again school marm.
Dean swallowed down a response and stalked off to the lockers in a huff. He could do this, easy. Just find the jerk and rattle of some half-assed apology and leave. Easy as pie. Who knew his mood would have called for an intervention? He glanced down the crowded corridor but failed to see the boy; well he wasn't at his locker anymore. As he was walking back down the corridor, he noticed the door to the closet supply was left ajar. What was it with every horny teen making out in a closet? He was just about to shut it when he heard a high-strung humming shrill from inside. Intrigued, he pushed the door open and stepped inside, squinting in the fairly dark room. At the foot of a shelf of cleaning products was a figure who sat crouched, hands over its ears as it hummed a pop seventies tune.
“What the...” He screwed up his eyes at the figure. “Castiel?”
The boy still didn't let up and continued his exercise regardless of the intrusion. Dean froze in place, uncertain of how to proceed. He was supposed to apologise, but it seemed Castiel wasn't ready to listen to him and looked like he should be left alone in his mediation or whatever. Going back without having accomplished anything wasn't an option. He ran a hand down his face and held back a groan. This was unbelievably awkward... He plopped down besides the boy, one knee to the chest, the other splayed out on the ground.
He cleared his throat, trying his best to ignore the unsettling humming, and said to the door in front of them, “So, uh... About last time... I... I was out of line, okay?” Even though you totally deserved it, he thought bitterly. He turned to face him to see if he'd triggered any reaction. This was stupid. Castiel wasn't even listening to him.
“Uh, Castiel?”
The humming then stopped, which made the silence somehow even louder. Dean chewed his lip, itching to know what in the world was going on in that head. He'd never been this close to the boy before, though, and he could smell rich lilac waft off his sleek hair, and felt his shoulder bump gently into his, as if unaware there was ever anything next to him. Dean squirmed uncomfortably in his place.
Finally, Castiel turned to look at him his eyes wide, as if realising for the first time that there was another person in the room with him.
“Uh...”
“You shouldn't think that just because I don't show my feelings means that I don't have any,” he said, his eyes deathly intense and unwavering. It was a little unnerving the way he was simply staring at him so up close; he could see dark purplish rings under his eyes.
So he'd struck a nerve after all...
“I didn't think... I didn't mean to...” Dean stammered. “Look, I'm sorry, okay?”
He let the words hang in the deafening silence that ensued while Castiel held his gaze. Finally, the boy looked away.
“I appreciate the sentiment, Dean.”
And God, that just sounded so... empty.
Dean plucked at his sleeve and glanced around. “So, uh... by the way... you're welcome to hang out with me, Jo, Pamela and Chuck.” Why the hell did he say that? He was certain there was some sort of mind control going on here.
Castiel tipped forward and played with his shoelaces.
Dean breathed in and continued, “Gabriel Hertz is inviting us over at his place for the weekend. You're, uh, you're free to come... y'know, if you want to. You don't have to, really, if you don't want...”
Castiel sat up and looked him over, an enigmatic expression painted on his face. “Thank you. I'll think about it.”
“Alright then...” he tried to ignore the fluttery feeling in his stomach at the words. “Hey, by the way, what's your number? You know... to keep you updated and stuff.” Crap, that sounded so desperate.
But he noticed with a ridiculous amount of relief the corners of the boy's lips give a minute twitch.
-
“Quit shoving, I can't hear a thing!” Jo whispered harshly and jabbed her elbow into Chuck's ribs.
“Watch it.” Chuck winced.
“Shh,” Pamela hushed them viciously, her ear glued to the keyhole.
“Do you think they're making out?” Jo murmured excitedly.
“Well maybe if you shut up, I could tell you.”
“How the hell would you know?” Chuck muttered.
“What's taking them so long?” wondered Jo, her hands splayed over the wooden door.
As soon as the handle jiggled, the three leapt to the side as if electrocuted, mercilessly shoving each other out of the way and adopting implausible nonchalant poses up against the wall.
“So then the Irishman says... that's not a leprechaun - that's my wife!”
Pamela and Jo erupted into raucous laughter at Chuck's words, dismissing the incredulous look Dean was shooting them.
“Oh hey, Dean,” Jo said, wiping her eyes. “How'd it go? You were in there for quite some time.”
“Did you apologise?” Pamela crossed her arms. She knew Dean could be very difficult when it came to admitting his faults.
“Yeah, yeah...” Dean muttered distractedly as he walked past them.
Pamela and Chuck exchanged worried glances
“Well, hey!” Jo grabbed his shoulder and twirled him around. “Details! Report them. Now.”
Dean bit the inside of his cheek. God, he was really going to have to say it, wasn't he? He sighed. “Okay, fine. I said I was sorry then told him he could come to Gabriel's party if he wanted to. There.”
Pamela tapped her foot. “And?”
“And he said he'd think about it.”
But it still didn't satisfy her as she pressed him on with her crazy psychic glare.
He groaned. “And we exchanged numbers.”
Pamela squealed, “Thank you and goodnight!”
“Seriously, dude?” Chuck clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Score.”
Dean cocked an eyebrow at his reaction. Chuck clarified, “No, really. I think it's great that he's finally communicating with someone. I think it'll do him, and maybe even you, a world of good.”
Dean didn't know whether to take offence at the implication that he wasn't fine to start off with, but let it go and thought back to how Castiel had opened up to him a little - admitting that he did indeed have feelings to someone whom he believed had hurt him must have been a milestone for him. He reddened.
“Yeah... Maybe.”
- - -
Dean stretched his muscles as he got out of a friend's car. He thanked him for driving him back from practice in such a shitty weather and headed into his house before he the rain could puncture bloody holes through his skin. It truly amazed him - no, pissed him off - how the weather was just fine for practice and had then suddenly turned sour in some hissy fit it decided to throw in the space of minutes. Fucking unpredictable weather. It was only once he'd reached the porch that he realised there was another car parked in front of his house. A black Mercedes-Benz, as it was. He opened the front door, his brow dripping and furrowed in confusion, and called for his mother.
“Hi, Dean.” She came from the living room and smiled at him. “Your friend decided to drop by today.”
“My friend?”
“He's a little shy but he seems to be getting on well with Sam.” She headed into the kitchen. “Take your shoes off and go change before you wet the whole house or you'll be cleaning up.”
Dean nodded dumbly and went to his room. What the hell was Castiel doing here? And why were his hands shaking so much he couldn't even get his shirt off properly? He'd finally changed pants and was looking for a dry shirt when there was a shy knock at the door.
“Come in,” he called, still foraging through his drawers. Dirty, dirty... this one looked dirty... ugly... Dammit.
“Oh, uh...” Dean turned to see Castiel at the door, wearing a smart black waistcoat over a grey shirt and jeans. He felt a perverse pleasure at having ruffled the boy's usually strong, stoic façade. “I don't mean to... I mean I can come back.”
“No, it's okay, come on in.” He walked over to him and held the door open expectantly.
Castiel reverted to his cold stare again as he studied Dean's face. Great. Now the tables were turned. Dean cleared his throat, an indication that it was getting awkward and Castiel should really imitate some sort of human reaction to salvage the situation.
Finally, he walked in. Dean let out a breath a closed the door. Only now Castiel was just standing in the middle of room, not knowing what to do with himself.
“Oh for... just sit on the bed, will you?” Dean said, going back to looking for a shirt.
“Sorry...” Castiel said meekly as he sat gingerly on the bed covers. “I'm just a little... uncertain of what the etiquette is among commoners.”
Dean paused and replayed that sentence in his mind.
“I just shake my head in wonder at the cluelessness of my fellow humans. ” He sighed.
“It's just that... well...” He smoothed out the wrinkles in the comforter. “I wouldn't have dreamt of coming here myself if Pamela Barnes hadn't convinced me it was the right thing to do. She can be very persuasive, you know.”
Dean cringed, one hand bunched in an eyesore of a shirt. “Yeah,” he chewed out. “Yeah, I know.” Pamela. He should have known. Chuck and Jo were probably in on it as well. No, he was damn sure they were.
He turned around and said, “Well, don't listen to everything she says. She gets these grandiose ideas that always sound great at the time...” he stopped and spotted the shirt he was looking for - of course it had to be right behind Castiel, on the shelf above his bed. He stepped over to the mattress, his bare feet tingling on the fitted floor, and leaned over Castiel as he reached for the shirt. He knew he could have just asked him to pass the shirt over... but he liked smelling that lilac scent as it washed over him. Castiel's head hit the wall in a soft thud as he tried to make room for him, his breath drifting warm on his goosepimpled skin.
Dean chuckled nervously once he yanked the ACDC shirt away. “Sorry. My favourite shirt,” he said and shrugged it on.
He glanced back at Castiel and noticed his face was a little red. The sight of him flustered and leaning back on his bed in those ruffled fancy clothes of his... was just... Uh oh. He felt an uncomfortable heaviness swell below his belt.
“Uh...” He turned away and sat at his desk, trying to hide the compromising manifestation. Stupid inappropriate adolescent libido...
Just then, a stampede of footfalls stopped short at the door. Sam popped his head inside and chirped, “Castiel, my mom was wondering if you wanted to stay for dinner. Please say yes,” he pleaded with puppy dog eyes.
At this point, Dean didn't know what he wanted; he sat back and let Castiel decide for himself.
“While I appreciate the offer, I'm afraid I'll have to decline.” He directed his apology in Dean's direction. “My father doesn't like it when I go out much when he's not around. It's nothing personal.”
Sam's face fell. “Aw, well. Another time then.”
“Absolutely,” Castiel said with the same tone a politician would use at a press conference. Sam nodded and closed the door.
“Your dad doesn't let you get out much, huh?”
“It's quite understandable, actually.” Castiel took a pillow in his hands and started to absently fluff it. “Ever since... well... For a year now, he's kept a close eye on me even when he has to go abroad for conventions and business contracts.”
“Oh,” Dean said. Because what else could he say? He didn't want to push and seem like a complete creep, or like Chuck.
“Well... It's getting late.” Castiel got up, as did Dean. “I didn't know you were at practice, but at least now I know your family better.”
“Er, yeah. Next time, just text me.”
Castiel's mouth twitched in what looked like the painful birth of a smile. He gave a tight nod and was shown out of the house where his chauffeur drove him back home.
“What a sweet kid...” his mother said as Dean passed her on his way to his room. “It's just a shame he's trying so hard to keep his distances.”
“Yeah, the rich have it so hard,” he muttered with more weariness than spite as he climbed the stairs. But he had a feeling that with Castiel, it just might be the case.
- - -
A/N: A little calm before the storm. Lol, Pam, Jo and Chuck are so random.
Part 4
sms lån
Part 1
Part 2
~~~
“Hey, dude,” Chuck phoned Dean while he was preparing for baseball practice. Dean bit down on his lip to stifle a groan; he really didn't feel like talking to anyone today, much less gossip about what Meg Masters was doing with Mister Cowley after hours.
He managed to chew out a weak, “Hey.”
“I was just wondering if you wanted to hang out this weekend at Gabriel's; his parents are gonna be outta town.”
“What would we do there?” Dean said irritably as he stuck the phone between his shoulder and ear and did his laces. Although he never thought much of Gabriel, he did have a rep for throwing the sweetest shindigs.
“Well, gee, I dunno... How about using his in-door jacuzzi for one? Andy and Anna will be there, too. Pamela and Jo said they'd come. He said you could bring the Bellamy kid along if you really wanted.”
The phone slipped and crashed to the floor. Dammit. Why did they make such sleek designs anyway? He fumbled for the phone and snapped into the speaker, “Why the hell would he think I'd want to bring Castiel with me?”
A hesitant pause.“Well... People kind of assume there's something going on between you two since you're the only one who... uh... he talked to.”
“Chuck...” Dean said with all the calm he could muster, shoelaces completely forgotten. “Did you by any chance start a rumour about me? Be honest.”
Another pause stretched across the line. Then, with a burst of offence, “What? You think I'd sell my own friends out? I know you're butt-hurt over your rejection, but you shouldn't take it out on me. God, you're so paranoid.”
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and clenched his jaw. “Just forget it,” he ground out and hung up. He didn't have time to think about the weekend or whether or not Chuck was telling the truth - he was going to be late for practice.
- - -
“There he is!”
Dean was just coming out of a tedious French class which he'd spent catching up on his sleep when the three stooges grabbed him by the limbs and kidnapped him with all the finesse of an experienced child abductor. If his brain had been less groggy he'd have probably been able to at least formulate a sharp insult. As it was, he merely struggled like a two year old and let the kidnappers whisk him away to a dank corner of the hallway. He had a feeling he was going to regret this. Sorely.
“Listen up, bucko,” Pamela's voice cut through his light stupor as she emphasised every word with an extra squeeze to his throbbing shoulders. “Here's what you're going to do: you're going to apologise to Castiel, and you're going to do it now.”
“What?” Dean's brain finally snapped awake as soon as his pride was struck. “Like hell I will.”
Jo's lips twisted into a sour grimace. “Oh yes you are. We're sick of hearing you piss and moan about every goddamned thing under the sun when we know you're really hung up on the guy.”
Dean's face coloured and he huffed indignantly. While it was true he'd been a little pissed about what had happened two days ago, he hardly thought he was displaying a neon sign above his head that invited everyone to stick their nose in it and made them feel compelled to give a free analysis.
Play it cool Dean, play it cool; maybe they'll go away if you do this right. “I don't know what - ”
“Okay, enough with the macho schtick.” Chuck sighed and looked like he'd rather be elsewhere catching up on someone else's business. “While I don't usually care who you choose to pine after, I must agree that your foul mood has been affecting us all.” To which Jo nodded emphatically with an accusing glare in his direction.
“I'm not pining,” Dean muttered ineffectually to three glowering scowls. Oh, he was so screwed.
Pamela prodded his shoulder with a sharp nail and said, “Would you stop splashing in that little Egyptian river of yours and go apologise already?”
Dean knew when a battle was lost. He straightened his shoulders and tried to admit defeat with a minimum of dignity. Glaring at them, he grunted, “Fine. But just so you know, this is totally unfair...” and shrugged himself away from the wall they'd backed him up against. He looked to his sides and said, “ Where is the little twerp anyway?”
Jo tapped a finger on her chin as she tried to remember. “Last I saw him, he was at his locker.”
“Go on! Git!” Pamela gesticulated like a born-again school marm.
Dean swallowed down a response and stalked off to the lockers in a huff. He could do this, easy. Just find the jerk and rattle of some half-assed apology and leave. Easy as pie. Who knew his mood would have called for an intervention? He glanced down the crowded corridor but failed to see the boy; well he wasn't at his locker anymore. As he was walking back down the corridor, he noticed the door to the closet supply was left ajar. What was it with every horny teen making out in a closet? He was just about to shut it when he heard a high-strung humming shrill from inside. Intrigued, he pushed the door open and stepped inside, squinting in the fairly dark room. At the foot of a shelf of cleaning products was a figure who sat crouched, hands over its ears as it hummed a pop seventies tune.
“What the...” He screwed up his eyes at the figure. “Castiel?”
The boy still didn't let up and continued his exercise regardless of the intrusion. Dean froze in place, uncertain of how to proceed. He was supposed to apologise, but it seemed Castiel wasn't ready to listen to him and looked like he should be left alone in his mediation or whatever. Going back without having accomplished anything wasn't an option. He ran a hand down his face and held back a groan. This was unbelievably awkward... He plopped down besides the boy, one knee to the chest, the other splayed out on the ground.
He cleared his throat, trying his best to ignore the unsettling humming, and said to the door in front of them, “So, uh... About last time... I... I was out of line, okay?” Even though you totally deserved it, he thought bitterly. He turned to face him to see if he'd triggered any reaction. This was stupid. Castiel wasn't even listening to him.
“Uh, Castiel?”
The humming then stopped, which made the silence somehow even louder. Dean chewed his lip, itching to know what in the world was going on in that head. He'd never been this close to the boy before, though, and he could smell rich lilac waft off his sleek hair, and felt his shoulder bump gently into his, as if unaware there was ever anything next to him. Dean squirmed uncomfortably in his place.
Finally, Castiel turned to look at him his eyes wide, as if realising for the first time that there was another person in the room with him.
“Uh...”
“You shouldn't think that just because I don't show my feelings means that I don't have any,” he said, his eyes deathly intense and unwavering. It was a little unnerving the way he was simply staring at him so up close; he could see dark purplish rings under his eyes.
So he'd struck a nerve after all...
“I didn't think... I didn't mean to...” Dean stammered. “Look, I'm sorry, okay?”
He let the words hang in the deafening silence that ensued while Castiel held his gaze. Finally, the boy looked away.
“I appreciate the sentiment, Dean.”
And God, that just sounded so... empty.
Dean plucked at his sleeve and glanced around. “So, uh... by the way... you're welcome to hang out with me, Jo, Pamela and Chuck.” Why the hell did he say that? He was certain there was some sort of mind control going on here.
Castiel tipped forward and played with his shoelaces.
Dean breathed in and continued, “Gabriel Hertz is inviting us over at his place for the weekend. You're, uh, you're free to come... y'know, if you want to. You don't have to, really, if you don't want...”
Castiel sat up and looked him over, an enigmatic expression painted on his face. “Thank you. I'll think about it.”
“Alright then...” he tried to ignore the fluttery feeling in his stomach at the words. “Hey, by the way, what's your number? You know... to keep you updated and stuff.” Crap, that sounded so desperate.
But he noticed with a ridiculous amount of relief the corners of the boy's lips give a minute twitch.
-
“Quit shoving, I can't hear a thing!” Jo whispered harshly and jabbed her elbow into Chuck's ribs.
“Watch it.” Chuck winced.
“Shh,” Pamela hushed them viciously, her ear glued to the keyhole.
“Do you think they're making out?” Jo murmured excitedly.
“Well maybe if you shut up, I could tell you.”
“How the hell would you know?” Chuck muttered.
“What's taking them so long?” wondered Jo, her hands splayed over the wooden door.
As soon as the handle jiggled, the three leapt to the side as if electrocuted, mercilessly shoving each other out of the way and adopting implausible nonchalant poses up against the wall.
“So then the Irishman says... that's not a leprechaun - that's my wife!”
Pamela and Jo erupted into raucous laughter at Chuck's words, dismissing the incredulous look Dean was shooting them.
“Oh hey, Dean,” Jo said, wiping her eyes. “How'd it go? You were in there for quite some time.”
“Did you apologise?” Pamela crossed her arms. She knew Dean could be very difficult when it came to admitting his faults.
“Yeah, yeah...” Dean muttered distractedly as he walked past them.
Pamela and Chuck exchanged worried glances
“Well, hey!” Jo grabbed his shoulder and twirled him around. “Details! Report them. Now.”
Dean bit the inside of his cheek. God, he was really going to have to say it, wasn't he? He sighed. “Okay, fine. I said I was sorry then told him he could come to Gabriel's party if he wanted to. There.”
Pamela tapped her foot. “And?”
“And he said he'd think about it.”
But it still didn't satisfy her as she pressed him on with her crazy psychic glare.
He groaned. “And we exchanged numbers.”
Pamela squealed, “Thank you and goodnight!”
“Seriously, dude?” Chuck clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Score.”
Dean cocked an eyebrow at his reaction. Chuck clarified, “No, really. I think it's great that he's finally communicating with someone. I think it'll do him, and maybe even you, a world of good.”
Dean didn't know whether to take offence at the implication that he wasn't fine to start off with, but let it go and thought back to how Castiel had opened up to him a little - admitting that he did indeed have feelings to someone whom he believed had hurt him must have been a milestone for him. He reddened.
“Yeah... Maybe.”
- - -
Dean stretched his muscles as he got out of a friend's car. He thanked him for driving him back from practice in such a shitty weather and headed into his house before he the rain could puncture bloody holes through his skin. It truly amazed him - no, pissed him off - how the weather was just fine for practice and had then suddenly turned sour in some hissy fit it decided to throw in the space of minutes. Fucking unpredictable weather. It was only once he'd reached the porch that he realised there was another car parked in front of his house. A black Mercedes-Benz, as it was. He opened the front door, his brow dripping and furrowed in confusion, and called for his mother.
“Hi, Dean.” She came from the living room and smiled at him. “Your friend decided to drop by today.”
“My friend?”
“He's a little shy but he seems to be getting on well with Sam.” She headed into the kitchen. “Take your shoes off and go change before you wet the whole house or you'll be cleaning up.”
Dean nodded dumbly and went to his room. What the hell was Castiel doing here? And why were his hands shaking so much he couldn't even get his shirt off properly? He'd finally changed pants and was looking for a dry shirt when there was a shy knock at the door.
“Come in,” he called, still foraging through his drawers. Dirty, dirty... this one looked dirty... ugly... Dammit.
“Oh, uh...” Dean turned to see Castiel at the door, wearing a smart black waistcoat over a grey shirt and jeans. He felt a perverse pleasure at having ruffled the boy's usually strong, stoic façade. “I don't mean to... I mean I can come back.”
“No, it's okay, come on in.” He walked over to him and held the door open expectantly.
Castiel reverted to his cold stare again as he studied Dean's face. Great. Now the tables were turned. Dean cleared his throat, an indication that it was getting awkward and Castiel should really imitate some sort of human reaction to salvage the situation.
Finally, he walked in. Dean let out a breath a closed the door. Only now Castiel was just standing in the middle of room, not knowing what to do with himself.
“Oh for... just sit on the bed, will you?” Dean said, going back to looking for a shirt.
“Sorry...” Castiel said meekly as he sat gingerly on the bed covers. “I'm just a little... uncertain of what the etiquette is among commoners.”
Dean paused and replayed that sentence in his mind.
“I just shake my head in wonder at the cluelessness of my fellow humans. ” He sighed.
“It's just that... well...” He smoothed out the wrinkles in the comforter. “I wouldn't have dreamt of coming here myself if Pamela Barnes hadn't convinced me it was the right thing to do. She can be very persuasive, you know.”
Dean cringed, one hand bunched in an eyesore of a shirt. “Yeah,” he chewed out. “Yeah, I know.” Pamela. He should have known. Chuck and Jo were probably in on it as well. No, he was damn sure they were.
He turned around and said, “Well, don't listen to everything she says. She gets these grandiose ideas that always sound great at the time...” he stopped and spotted the shirt he was looking for - of course it had to be right behind Castiel, on the shelf above his bed. He stepped over to the mattress, his bare feet tingling on the fitted floor, and leaned over Castiel as he reached for the shirt. He knew he could have just asked him to pass the shirt over... but he liked smelling that lilac scent as it washed over him. Castiel's head hit the wall in a soft thud as he tried to make room for him, his breath drifting warm on his goosepimpled skin.
Dean chuckled nervously once he yanked the ACDC shirt away. “Sorry. My favourite shirt,” he said and shrugged it on.
He glanced back at Castiel and noticed his face was a little red. The sight of him flustered and leaning back on his bed in those ruffled fancy clothes of his... was just... Uh oh. He felt an uncomfortable heaviness swell below his belt.
“Uh...” He turned away and sat at his desk, trying to hide the compromising manifestation. Stupid inappropriate adolescent libido...
Just then, a stampede of footfalls stopped short at the door. Sam popped his head inside and chirped, “Castiel, my mom was wondering if you wanted to stay for dinner. Please say yes,” he pleaded with puppy dog eyes.
At this point, Dean didn't know what he wanted; he sat back and let Castiel decide for himself.
“While I appreciate the offer, I'm afraid I'll have to decline.” He directed his apology in Dean's direction. “My father doesn't like it when I go out much when he's not around. It's nothing personal.”
Sam's face fell. “Aw, well. Another time then.”
“Absolutely,” Castiel said with the same tone a politician would use at a press conference. Sam nodded and closed the door.
“Your dad doesn't let you get out much, huh?”
“It's quite understandable, actually.” Castiel took a pillow in his hands and started to absently fluff it. “Ever since... well... For a year now, he's kept a close eye on me even when he has to go abroad for conventions and business contracts.”
“Oh,” Dean said. Because what else could he say? He didn't want to push and seem like a complete creep, or like Chuck.
“Well... It's getting late.” Castiel got up, as did Dean. “I didn't know you were at practice, but at least now I know your family better.”
“Er, yeah. Next time, just text me.”
Castiel's mouth twitched in what looked like the painful birth of a smile. He gave a tight nod and was shown out of the house where his chauffeur drove him back home.
“What a sweet kid...” his mother said as Dean passed her on his way to his room. “It's just a shame he's trying so hard to keep his distances.”
“Yeah, the rich have it so hard,” he muttered with more weariness than spite as he climbed the stairs. But he had a feeling that with Castiel, it just might be the case.
- - -
A/N: A little calm before the storm. Lol, Pam, Jo and Chuck are so random.
Part 4
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