after a storm (destiel)

Part Five

The afternoon is awkward. Dean can't stop his mind replaying the shower: the size and weight of Cas's hand on his shoulder, that he cried out Dean's name at his climax. Cas prepares sandwiches for the three of them as if nothing has changed: crunchy peanut butter with apricot jam, cut along the diagonal. There is a plate of sandwiches in the middle of the kitchen table. Dean doesn't care much for the taste but eats two: an excuse to keep his mouth full and avoid having to speak.

The plate empties. When Sam mentions that he could use a hand with research, Cas volunteers. Dean studies an interesting scuff mark, leaving him with a free afternoon.

He elects to get some air, speeding an hour north into Nebraska on the pretense of a supply run. Weather's mild and the road isn't crowded. He keeps her at eighty and lets the wind whip through the car. The stereo is off. Dean is lulled by the hypnotic sounds of the road. Baby holds him up.

The drive clears his head. He stops at an auto body shop for a few quarts of oil and new filters. He grabs a cold beer by himself and gets a six-pack to go-an ale out of Philadelphia with a smart label, some fool boxing with the devil. He snorts and sets the beer in the trunk before heading south.

He files away the location of a pet store he passes on the drive home toward Kansas.

At the table in the war room, Cas and Sam are flanked by foot-high piles of dusty books. The air holds a potpourri of dust and aged paper. The scent grows stronger as Dean descends, keys held one hand and beer in the other. Sam's attention breaks long enough for him to raise an eyebrow as Dean tromps downstairs, but he's spared the usual inquisition.

Sam nods toward an empty chair. Dean rolls his eyes but sits down across from Cas, opening a beer on the edge of the table. He feigns interest in the book on top of the nearest stack. The crinkle of paper between his fingers is oddly soothing, but he's distracted by Cas's hands, his delicate handling of the book, the tight line of his lips when he's thinking. Dean follows the line as it twists and pulls apart, forming words that Cas speaks only to himself.

Cas's hair is getting long. It's begun to curl at his neck. Dean ought to give him a haircut or maybe take him somewhere to get it done properly. Cas would look sharp with his hair clipped short on the sides and in back. Maybe the stylist would work a little product into it, mess up the front a little. Cas always looked good like that.

Sam pointedly clears his throat.

"What?" Dean snaps. Cas lifts his head. Sam watches him for a moment, his expression flirting with pity.

Dean floods his mouth with beer, picks up the chair, and scoots two feet away. Cas becomes obscured by a column of books. Satisfied, Dean plants both elbows on the table and gets to work, occasionally jotting notes with an unreliable pen. The line skips. He shakes it to help the ink flow, aware the Sam is watching him.

He gives the pen two more shakes and lifts his head.

It isn't Sam looking back at him. Dean shivers. He forces his eyes down.

Kevin calls at five in the morning to say he's ready to come back to Kansas. He says he's making progress but going stir-crazy being restricted to the same motel room day after day, having to invent excuses every time someone knocks on the door.

"I'm out of clean towels, Dean." Kevin's tone is waspish. "The towel I used this morning was soggy. Do you know how much bacteria a towel can hold?"

Dean agrees to come get him.

Cas raises his eyes when Dean, dressed for the road and palming the keys, announces he'll be back by dinner. He doesn't offer to come along. Dean doesn't ask him to. He waves to Sammy while avoiding Cas's face and says he'll let them know when he's on his way back.