With and Without (Destiel)

Chapter 17: This Couldn't Be Happening

I have to say, that last chapter was really fun to write [Thanks again, Katie :)] And now Dean has finally gotten around to his feelings. Well, hope you like. The next chapter is gonna be a long one, don't worry.

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        Fuck. This could not be happening. But Dean’s thoughts betrayed him and images of Cas’ wondrous blue eyes, his smile, the muscles visible even underneath the trench coat flashed through his mind. How Dean was always happy when Cas was around, how he was utterly at ease; he could smile, he could laugh all because of damned Castiel. Dean fucking liked him, and the revelation made him slightly sick to the stomach (and that partly was because of the butterflies that had created a nest there).

        There was no way in hell this was happening. It had to be all part of that crazy dream. Dean didn’t have crushes on people – he was twenty-two, for Pete’s sake, and Dean had one night stands, none of that dating nonsense. Except… Now that Dean thought about it, he remembered those times recently when he hadn’t been interested in any of the people that threw themselves at him. He had thought it was because of the depression, but that obviously wasn’t just the case.

        Dean banged his head against the mirror. He was in such deep shit. His new found likeness of Cas brought so many issues. First of all, there was indeed the fact that Cas was very much male, but that wasn’t as big of a revelation as Dean imagined it would be. Dean had denied it in the past, but he knew that his bisexuality was something real, and Cas was floating around in his mind to prove it. So that was probably the least of his problems.

        But besides that, Cas would be leaving all too soon. It pained Dean to think of that – and ache formed in his chest. Cas would leave and how was he fucking going to deal with that?

        And the biggest issue of all – Cas didn’t like him. He couldn’t. Dean was so screwed in the head – he had depression, he harmed himself, he just felt not good enough for Cas, who happened to be a damn savior to strangers. Plus Dean didn’t want to ruin the friendship he had gained from him, because he would surely lose that if he did anything about his crush on Cas.

        And that’s why Dean honestly felt like barbecuing the butterflies in his stomach, roasting them into crispy insects.

        “Dean?”

        Sam’s voice registered and Dean stopped, realizing he had somehow made his way into the kitchen, muttering under his breath.

        “Yeah, Sammy?”

        Sam frowned. “Why on earth are you murmuring angrily about getting revenge on butterflies?”

        Dean scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. “S’nothing, Sam.”

        “Oh, really? Then what was that about when I saw you running like a madman into the bathroom?”

        Dean fell silent, trying to find something that would help direct the conversation elsewhere. His eyes fell on an object of cloth draped over a chair. The words on it read, “Kiss the Cook.”

        He made some sort of noise between a snort and a cry. Apparently, his unconscious mind was compiled of truths that were about more than just himself. That apron, he remembered… Dean had seen it on Sam right before he had gone to pick Cas up, who had looked fantastic in every sense of the word, and Dean had wished to lean in then taste Cas’ mouth as it formed the words “Hello Dean.”

        “I KNEW IT!”

        Dean bolted upright and jabbed his elbow into the counter painfully, hissing as his funny bone made contact with the solid material.

        He glared at Sam, who looked like Christmas had come early. The eighteen year-old’s face was composed of an ear-splitting, maniac grin. “I knew it!” he danced gleefully.

        “What… are you talking about?” Dean managed. No, Sam couldn’t have…

        “You really need to learn to not voice your thoughts aloud, Dean! I knew you had a thing for Cas!”

        Fuck. He had. Dean ducked his head, rubbing his hands across his eyes. Sam, in the background, latched onto his phone.

        “I knew it, I knew it… I so called that…” Sam set the phone down and did a very ungraceful spin (the moose was very much an uncoordinated ballerina).

        “Shut up!” Dean’s voice cracked, face flaming red and freckles visible.

        “You should have heard yourself. ‘Oh, how I wanted to kiss him…’” The youngest Winchester gushed.

        “Shut up Sam before I buy you a clown for your nineteenth birthday!”

        Sam scowled. “You’re no fun.”

        “Yeah, well, deal with it. And don’t go around telling people this, okay? I don’t need to lose a friend. He’s leaving soon, anyways.” Dean’s voice trailed off towards the end. Sam, in response, shrugged.

        “Whatever you say, Dean. But in case you hadn’t already noticed, I already invited Cas over for another sleep over.”

        Dean froze. “Son of a bitch!” he cursed.