Starstruck II: Saruman's Curse

Changing Dynamics Pt 4 (Basketball Team AU)

Cas rang the doorbell to Dean's house, already regretting listening to Charlie. Just as he was getting ready to say "fuck it" and run away, Sam answered the door.

"Oh man, it's about time," Sam said. "Come on in."

Cas followed Sam into the house, not sure if he should say anything.

"Dean's been upstairs in his room since Saturday. He told our parents he couldn't go to school because he's ill, which is dumb. Homosexuality's not an illness."

"He's gay?" Cas asked, a bit dumfounded.

"I mean, at least a bit. You notice things about a person when you've lived with and grown up with them."

"A bit gay?"

"Cas, just go upstairs. You know where his room is. Just don't break him or anything. He's bad at accepting things."

"Right. Thanks."

Cas looked up the stairs as if they would take him into Hell. Which was stupid, because if he was going into Hell, the stairs would be going down. But since they're going up, they would have to lead to the exact opposite, which could be symbolic and a bit foreshadowy. But that's up to interpretation.

Anyways, Cas looked up the stairs as if they would take him into Hell. Climbing up the stairs felt like he was climbing a big ass mountain. He hoped his pounding heart and shortness of breath had to do with nerves, because the only other option was that he got winded while climbing the stairs, and he refused to accept that.

Cas took a deep breath- to calm him, not because he was out of breath- and knocked on Dean's bedroom door.

"Noooo," was the reply that came from within.

"No?" Cas asked through the door.

"Go away Sam, I don't want any of your damn soup."

"I don't have any soup."

Dean paused, as if thinking. "You're not Sam."

"Can I come in?"

When Dean didn't respond, Cas decided to assume that meant yes. Cas opened the door to Dean's room, to see Dean, cocooned in several blankets, sitting in bed and leaning against the wall, with his laptop opened on his lap and a pile of Kleenex on the floor near the bed. The pile of Kleenex was next to the garbage can, which was full of more Kleenex. It appeared as though Dean was watching a nature documentary on whales.

"Are the whales making you emotional?" Cas asked in reference to the Kleenex.

"No," Dean answered, defensively.

"Are you actually sick?"

"No. Maybe. It's definitely nothing a doctor could fix."

"Well, a psychologist, maybe. And not fix, just help you make sense of. Because there's nothing to fix."

"What?"

"Can I sit down?"

Dean closed his laptop, placed it on the ground, brought his legs to his chest, and gestured to the- now empty- foot of the bed. Cas took a seat, trying to pretend this wasn't the most awkward thing he had ever done.

Cas ran his hand through his hair. "So... soup?"

"Yeah. Sam keeps trying to make soup; it's for his culinary class. He's not very good at it."