Chapter Text
They aren’t dating.
That’s what Dean finds himself saying over and over, with various levels of embarrassment and/or irritation depending on who’s doing the asking. He’s lost count at this point, having gone through Sam, Mom, Jo, Isaac, Victor, Ellen... It’s understandable that they’d have seen the tentative reforging of a friendship between him and Cas and jump to the obvious conclusion, but no. They’re not dating.
“Why not?” Jo had asked. “You obviously like him, and from what you say it sounds like he likes you back, so what’s the problem?”
Sam had immediately gone squinty-eyed and worried. “It’s not Dad, is it? Is he still giving you a hard time about what happened with the team? Oh my god. Don’t worry, we’ll totally figure something out – hey, what’s wrong with you, I just want to help!”
Pamela had brushed past Dean in between classes. “Any time you boys want to liven things up, I’d be happy to help. Welcome to the Rainbow Express, tiger.”
Crowley had cornered Dean at the lockers, whispering, “Cassy likes a particular brand of lube, I can get some for you for—” though he’d cut himself off when Dean threatened to deck him.
Then there’s Mom. She remembers Cas from back then, how he’d used to come by the house all polite and friendly despite being a weirdo. She remembers when that changed, though she’d never said anything to Dean about it outright.
This time she’d gone, “Do whatever makes you happy, Dean,” which is the best and the worst thing she could’ve said. It’s pretty similar to what she’d told him after he’d gotten into that fight at school – the first he’d had in ages – though she’d waited until Dad was done reaming him out and then pulled him aside afterward for the hug and the platitude.
Do whatever makes you happy. Which sounds simple except that he really can’t say he’s happy about the questions and the assumptions and sly gazes whenever anyone thinks he’s not looking. He can ignore most of them, sure – Bela’s snide comments get an eyeroll at most – but, dammit, it’s like he’s standing in the middle of a falling house of cards and doesn’t know whether to be terrified or relieved, so how the hell can he give anyone answers he doesn’t have for himself?
There’s Cas, though.
Cas, who smiles at him now, who goes to and from school with him whenever they can, who opens the door for him without question whenever Dean drops by his house.
“You okay?” Cas asks, after one such long day. They’re in his den, the TV on to some stupid show and the room smelling like cigarettes despite Cas’ spraying it with air freshener. Their homework (mostly Cas’ homework, really) is spread out on the low table and they’re sitting on the floor together, because this is what they do now.
“Yeah,” Dean answers, “It’s nothing, it’s just...” Cas is watching him closely, listening, and good god Dean hasn’t had this for so long he can barely remember what it’s like to not have to lie. “I’m tired. My suspension’s under review and I don’t know whether I want to fight it or not.”
Cas frowns. He takes out a piece of paper and puts a pencil to it in drawing a table with a column each for Pros and Cons. He’s frowning, like this means more to him than homework or TV or those stupid things he smokes.
“You don’t have to...” Dean starts.
“Maybe.” Cas puts his pencil down once the table’s done and turns his full attention to Dean. “But I want to. If you’d let me.”
Dean hesitates. Of course he does, half of the stuff rattling around his head is because of Cas and he doesn’t him to get the wrong idea, like this is his fault or whatever. It’s just that Dean thought he knew who he was and what he wanted, and now he doesn’t know a freaking thing.
The best Dean can come up with is, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Cas looks confused, and Dean does his damned best not to think about kissing him because he’s been so very good about that so far. “About football?” Cas ventures.
“That, too.” Dean shrugs helplessly. “About a lot of things but, yeah. I mean. I don’t want to be drag, we’re supposed to be studying, I know that’s important—”
“You’re more important.” Cas says it like it’s no big deal, like they’d not been barely acknowledging each other’s orbits until a few weeks ago. After a moment Cas flushes a little and drops his gaze self-consciously. “You are. If I can help you with anything, I’d be glad.”
That’s what they’ve been doing, isn’t it? Slowly but steadily carving new places for each other in their lives inch by inch, story by story, one day a time, because if there are few worthwhile things that belong to Dean, this would be one of them.
“Okay,” Dean says, “We can start with the Pros, I guess.” Cas nods and moves closer to his side, ready to listen and challenge and commiserate. They’re getting better at that; Cas hadn’t turned away when Dean told him about the teammates he’s sorry to have left behind, and Dean hadn’t blinked when Cas told him about how guilty he feels about where he currently stands with Anna, among a long list of other things.
They do this for each other now.
But they’re not dating.