Dean Winchester Is A Gay Virgin (Destiel)

Chapter 10: Chapter 5: Dean

Leaving the restaurant, Dean and Cas meander to their cars and stand between them. Cas's remarkable blue eyes are always trained on Dean, looking right at him, seeing right through him and all his bullshit masks.

It suddenly occurs to Dean that he has done a terrible job of pretending he's straight. It's like he forgot he had to pretend at all.

And it's the happiest he's ever been.

Maybe he should just stop pretending completely.

But today is not the day for that.

"So..." Dean begins, unable to say what he really wants, which is, "I want to lick your collarbone," or "Please, drag your nails down my back so hard that the guys ask about it in the locker room tomorrow," or "It's really nice outside today, let's go lay on the grass and look at clouds together all day."

"So," Cas replies, smirking at him as though he can read his mind. "Do you have work?"

"Yeah, in a few hours." Dean doesn't want this to end, this reprieve from his shell, from all his masks, from the closet he's lived in his entire life. "Do you... want to go for a walk, maybe?"

Cas's face lights up. "I'd love to."

***

If Dean is going to stop pretending, if he's going to embrace who he is and open himself up to the world, he needs to learn how, so he asks Cas about what it was like for him to come out.

"It's a long story," Cas replies. "And not a happy one. Are you sure you want to hear it?"

"Yeah. I mean, if you want to tell it. I want to, yeah. Hear it, that is," Dean stammers.

Of course, the fucker lays the accent on thick, his rolling, deep voice reverberating down Dean's body straight to his dick. He doesn't know what it is or how Cas does it, but it's absolutely killing Dean. "When I was a child, I had a best friend named Afanasy Bugayev, but everyone called him Alfie..."

Castiel is a magnificent storyteller, and Dean falls into the story with him, in his schoolhouse as a child meeting Alfie for the first time, in his little home where he shared a room with his two older brothers, in the cupboard he was constantly thrown into. Dean grows up with him, revels in his victories, but more often wants to console him in his defeats.

He keeps his hands in his pockets as they walk.

Because even though Cas is baring his soul to him, today just isn't the day.

When Castiel finishes his story, a bubble rises in Dean's throat and his eyes well up. He works hard to keep it all down, to keep his voice even as he takes a deep, shaking breath, and says, "Holy shit." He doesn't know what else to say, so he mimics Cas's comforting words as best he can. "Um. Thank you. For sharing that with me. That was... intense."

"Any time," Cas replies, staring off toward the cityscape across the river.

Dean hopes Castiel can read between the lines when he adds, "And I'm sorry that happened to you. No one deserves that." He hopes Cas knows that he understands his pain. He just gets Cas, and he thinks Cas gets him. They get each other like no one else seems to.

Which is why, when Castiel gently places his hand on top of Dean's, Dean turns his palm up so that their fingers can intertwine, and then rests his cheek against Cas's head, which is leaning on his shoulder.

Dean has had enough shit in his life to be able to appreciate small moments for exactly what they are: seconds of blissful perfection that must all come to an end eventually, but are available to reach back into when he needs them most, on those lonely nights when he feels so far away from everyone and everything, like he's drowning, suffocating in the dark room he locks himself into because he's too damn afraid to see the light.