![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Bury Me
Hey, I FINISHED SOMETHING :D This started as an undertaker AU and quickly became a schmoopy domestic romcomish AU, so be forewarned and stuff.
Bury Me
R | Dean/Castiel, mentions of Sam/Jess | ~4,700 words
(AU) Not that he would have it any other way for his little brother, but they're the undertaker's kids. Normal people tend to keep away.
The Morrison's third pallbearer never shows up for his grandmother's funeral, thus promoting his younger brother to the second spot on the left, and Dean to the last on the right, at just the angle that none of the family members can see his face from the steps of the funeral home.
Like always, Dean's petrified with the thought that he's going to trip down the flat, wide steps that he's gone up and down more times than he can actually remember. The embarrassment for the family and the extended embarrassment to his dad make his palms feels sweaty and his neck feel cold.
He makes it down the steps with no problem and helps Cas -- who gives him a subtle nod during the brief second they face each other -- slide the casket into the hearse. He backs away as Cas climbs back into the driver's seat, and blends with the crowd of people heading back to their cars, all marked with vibrant orange flags. Dean smiles a little to himself -- biting his lip so no one sees -- imagining Sam walking around to every car, cigarette clamped belligerently between his front teeth, sticking flags on their hoods.
Someone passing by calls it a beautiful ceremony.
___
After the woman is buried Dean has the rest of the day off. Working with one of four funeral homes in a tiny ass town means he has a lot of those. He relaxing out on the back steps -- the ones where the bodies are taken down to the basement from, not the big ones out front that people can see -- still in his monkey suit, sans tie.
Sam's sprawled out next to him, his shirt too tight and his hoodie too big, his jeans peppered with holes the size of quarters. He's chain smoking again, like he always does on flag duty.
"That shit'll kill you," Dean reminds him, not really expecting it to make a difference.
"Then stop buying them for me," Sam says, his words colored grey and mellow with smoke. That would be smart, but even if Sam can get them from somewhere else, at least Dean knows about it.
Their dad calls this Sam's rebellious phase, but Dean calls it Sam's weary phase. His brother -- at the ripe old age of fourteen -- is tired of bullshit. He's sweeping all the bullshit under the rug, or out the door or whatever fucking metaphor works here, and all Dean can do is hope that he's not part of it.
So he buys Sam a pack of cigarettes every week.
Dean slips his finger into the knot of his tie and tugs it loose, freeing up his neck and stretching his legs. Sam blows out a formless cloud of smoke and scowls.
"I can't do it," Sam says, handing Dean his cigarette. Dean takes a short puff, leaving it between Sam's fingers, and blows a neat ring in the air.
"You gotta do it different," Dean says unhelpfully. Sam scowls at him and puffs out another shapeless blob.
"Thanks," Sam grunts.
They relax into a comfortable silence.
___
When Dean finally comes inside after helping Sam hide all his cigarette butts, Cas has gotten back from the cemetery and is sitting on the couch Bobby keeps out for guests. He has a tall, blue can of beer in one hand.
"Bobby'll kill you if you get anything on the couch," Dean says, sitting next to him. Cas nods and passes the beer in his direction. He drinks a deep, quick sip and hands it back. It's a ritual of theirs. Dean watches Sam smoke like a teenaged chimney and teases him about how it's going to stunt his growth, then comes in and indirectly kisses Cas with alcohol, which is the only way he's been able to think of this since he was sixteen and twelve year old Sammy thought that was just the funniest thing.
"The daughter called it a beautiful ceremony," Dean informs him.
"How did your dad take that?" Cas asks, as Dean hands the beer back.
"Haven't told him," Dean grunts.
Cas sips sagely, and Dean takes it as disappointment.
___
Dean has to drive Sam and his dad back to their house -- far on the other side of town -- because dad found Cas' stash of alcohol. It would've lasted Cas a month, but dad demolished half of it in a few hours. He's a quiet, sullen drunk, so at least he's easy to manage.
Dean felt so bad he slipped some money into Cas' coat pocket. He knows Cas wouldn't accept it face to face, so he's not giving him a chance to give it back.
The radio's up, talk radio, because Sam and Dad can never agree on the station.
Dad sits in the front seat, glaring out the window and Sam's in the back, chewing on the cuffs of his hoodie. They'd never believe Dean if he pointed out just how alike they look right now, so he keeps it to himself.
When they finally get there dad heads straight for the basement to sleep it off and Sam loiters in the living room, checking his messages. Kid's got a few million friends, and Dean has to wonder how the hell that happened. Not that he would have it any other way for his little brother, but they're the undertaker's kids. Normal people tend to keep away. Dean's probably a lot closer to Sam, Cas and dad's business partners -- Bobby Singer and Cas' dad, the ex-pastor Jim -- than anyone his own age.
Which, now that he thinks about it, is pretty pathetic.
"Can you take me to Jess' house?" Sam asks, politely. Dean sighs, scrubs his face, and generally gives Sammy a hard time before agreeing. Sam takes his violin with him, but it's not like Dean doesn't know Jess is his girlfriend.
"Have fun practicing," Dean singsongs as Sam gets out of the car. Sam scowls and Jess -- who's always been a spunky little shit -- grins from ear to ear, the slightest tinge of a blush on her cheeks.
Dean likes her.
___
Dean hates waking up to the distinct sense of someone watching him, but unfortunately it happens a lot. Cas is sitting in Sam's desk chair and staring at him. He doesn't think anyone that didn't know him would be able to tell, but Cas is totally smirking.
"Good morning, Dean," he says, his voice low and rumbling. Dean has the feeling Cas practices that voice/face combination in the mirror just to freak him out.
" 'Sup, dickface?" Dean yawns, throwing a pillow at Cas' head. Cas catches it pretty handily, but that's okay, because Dean's mostly still asleep. He'll have better aim at noon.
"It's Tuesday," Cas reminds him.
"I know, I know, I'm coming." Dean stretches and slides out from under his covers, shivering when the cold air hits his bare chest.
Every Tuesday since Dean dropped out of school has been grocery day with Cas. Basically, Cas gets Dean up at some ungodly hour and drags his ass to the store, along with the list of shit Dad and Sam are out of, then they spend an hour or two price hunting with a pack of old ladies. And every damn time Cas manages to stop Dean from dying of boredom, which is just about the only thing he has to look forward to on Tuesdays.
Sam's still at Jess' -- technically, he's there to hang out with Jess' brother, but Dean knows better than that -- and Dean doesn't even bother to tell Cas to get out while he scrounges through his drawers for clean clothes. God knows the guy's come in here more than a few times when Dean was sleeping in the buff.
"I have coupons for Chef Boyardee," Cas tells him while he's slipping on a pair of slightly grungy but still totally wearable jeans.
"Awesome, Sam's been jonesing for ravioli." He is such a fucking housewife. Cas hands him a clump of paper and he hastily shoves them in his back pocket, probably crumpling them to hell and back, which would just mean going through Justine's line, since she's the only one that puts up with his rumpled coupons any more.
___
Cas' car -- the one that's actually his, even though Dean wouldn't hate going to the grocery store in the hearse, because that thing fits a fuckload of bags in the back and prevents traffic -- is what Dean likes to call a shitmobile. The Shitmobile, really. It's busted down more times than Dean can count, and Cas is pretty damn lucky that Dean and his dad are so good with cars, or it wouldn't be running at all. Dean hates riding in it, but Dad won't let him take out the Impala when he's sober enough to drive it.
Dean crawls into the front seat, wincing as the springs start to dig into his ass from under the worn out cushion.
"Dude, you need a new car," Dean says, not for the first time.
"So I'm told," Cas says, taking Dean's tape out from the glovebox and popping it into the player. He keeps it in Cas' car because Cas has shitty taste in music, and maybe he'll be able to pass some awesome off onto him through osmosis. The first few lines of Crazy Train come up as Cas pulls the Shitmobile out of the driveway.
"Any news?" Dean asks, propping his knees up on the dashboard.
"Michael wrote," Cas says softly. The sound of his voice makes Dean's insides twist up.
"What did the fuckup say?"
Cas grits his teeth -- he still can't stand it when Dean talks about his brother like that, he knows, but he just can't help himself. Mike fucking deserves it. "He's in South Africa. On a mission."
"Nice," Dean says, biting down a handful of malaria remarks that would just make Cas worry more than anything else.
"Yeah," Cas says. "He likes it there."
Dean bets if he read that letter he wouldn't see one word about missing Cas or their father. If he sees Mike again he's gonna punch him in the neck.
"That's good, I guess," Dean says, carefully staring out the window. Cas' hand, curled lightly into a fist, thumps his leg. Soft, to let him know Cas isn't mad. Dean takes it before Cas can withdraw his hand. His fingers fit all the way around Cas' skinny wrist. He traces the tiny scar on the back of Cas' hand where he burned himself on the edge of a stove.
"We're here," Cas says, parking the Shitmobile.
___
After picking up Sam and making him put all the groceries away, Dean and Cas have a Batman marathon. Dean has to use Cas' lap as a footrest in order to stop him from helping Sam out -- Cas is a little brother, not a big one.
"The Joker or the Penguin?" Dean asks casually, flipping through his and Sam's joint DVD collection. Cas shrugs out of low appreciation for villains, so Dean picks Batman and Robin just because he knows Arnold Schwarzenegger pisses him off. And Batgirl is hot.
"Why are we watching this?" Cas asks in his trying not to be a pain voice.
"Because," Deans says.
"I'm done, asshole," Sam screeches from the kitchen. He hears Sam clop upstairs and knows to expect violin noises any second now. Dean is filled with geeky joy from the second he hears the opening lines, but Cas falls asleep before anything really cool happens.
"Hey, Cas," Dean says quietly, more to himself. "You're missing all the good stuff."
In his sleep Cas sighs and squirms a bit in Dean's direction -- that's pretty much what would've happened if he was awake, go figure -- and slowly topples towards him, coming to a stop with his head resting on Dean's ribs.
Dean rolls his eyes, turns the volume down on the TV and tries to breathe smoothly.
___
Sam's still playing by the time Cas leaves, and Dean goes upstairs to crash in his room. There's nothing like being slept on to make you realize just how tired you are, and at the same time make you too self conscious to be able to sleep.
Sam's in the middle of a song Dean's heard before, eyes closed in concentration, cigarette smoking in the meticulously cleaned ashtray next to Sam's knee. It's nice, and Dean listens to him as he settles onto his bed.
"So," Sam says, letting the song fade off his bow. "When are you going to tell Cas you're in love with him?"
"Never," Dean says, his voice muffled by his pillow. They've had this conversation before. He's not in love, he has a crush. He's slightly gay for his best friend, it's embarrassing and makes him a cliché on a stick.
"I could tell him for you," Sam suggests blandly.
"I'm not twelve, Sam," Dean says.
"And you're not getting any younger," Sam adds.
"And your voice isn't getting any deeper," Dean snaps.
"Ooo, burn," Sam hisses. Dean can tell he's raised the cigarette to his mouth and is puffing away angrily. "It's not like he'd be mad, or anything."
"No, Sam," Dean says, turning to face him. He's not budging on this.
"You should at least come out to him," Sam says, blowing smoke out his nose like a relationship dragon. "He's your friend."
"I'm not gay," Dean protests weakly.
"Bi then. And he won't care. Gabriel's gay and Cas still loves him."
"Gabe's gay?" Dean asks incredulously.
"So's Liberace, Dean."
"Shut up," Dean says, letting his face fall back into the pillow.
___
Jim calls them the next day while Dad's at work. Dean's brain starts throwing up scenarios, each worse than the last; Dad hurt himself with the embalming equipment, Bobby fell down the stairs, Cas got into a car accident.
Instead he gets five words.
"Michael's coming home. Tell Sam."
___
Cas manages to avoid Dean until Friday, through another two funerals and more phone calls than Dean can count. It's too bad for him that Dean catches Mike on his way from the airport to Jim's.
Mike's driving a shitty rental car and stares serenely at Dean when he raps on the window of it. He hears the click of the door unlocking and climbs in.
"Haven't seen you in a while, Dean," Mike remarks, gliding the car forward as the light turns.
"Same to you, Mikey," Dean says, just to watch him flinch. "How the hell are you?"
"I'm good."
"Haven't seen you in months, man. You gotta do better than good," Dean laughs. He kind of wonders if Mike can tell it's all fake.
"I enjoyed myself. I spread the word of God," Mike says simply.
"Good for you."
They pull up in front of Jim's house and Cas opens the door almost as soon as they pull in the driveway, with this hopeful expression that makes Dean think he was just waiting by the window for Mike to show up this whole time. He has to bite the inside of his lip hard to stop himself from hitting something.
"Michael. Dean," Cas says somewhat nonchalantly, stepping out of the house.
"Hello, little brother," Mike answers, pulling Cas into the most awkward hug Dean has ever seen in his life. He doesn't seem to quite know where to put his hands, and Cas just looks sad. Like he doesn't know what to do with this so he's just hanging on for dear life.
Dean shouldn't be here.
"So, I'll see you around then," he barks, interrupting them. He climbs out of the car and starts walking in the direction of his house. He glances into the back seat and Mike only has one bag with him, a heavy duffle. There's no way he's staying long.
Nobody stops him as he leaves.
___
Tuesday passes and there's not a word from Cas.
___
He has Sam call them from Jess' phone later, since their home number keeps getting ignored. Sam gives him a horrible status report.
"They're doing good; Mike's staying for two weeks; Cas didn't say anything about you."
"Thanks, Sammy," Dean says glumly. Sam sighs and pats Dean's shoulder in a way that simultaneously makes him feel pathetic and loved.
___
No one tells him when Mike leaves again, but Dean knows. Cas' shoulders have a little extra slump in them and everyone -- even Dad, who's more in the bottle than out these days -- is gentler towards him.
He's back on the couch after jobs, a beer in one hand. Dean doesn't say anything -- he doesn't know what he could say -- but he thinks Cas gets it. Or, he hopes anyway. He hates long, gushing emotions but he thinks Cas needs that right now. Just rip the top off everything he's bottling up and get better.
Mike's his hero. And Mike keeps leaving him.
Dean silently accepts the can when it's passed to him.
___
Tuesday morning Dean sneaks into Cas' room after letting himself in with the spare key Jim keeps under the rug in case Gabe shows up in the middle of the night again. Cas is such a light sleeper Dean's afraid the click of the doorknob will wake him up, but it doesn't. The room is shockingly neat other than the bed. Cas seems to have kicked all the covers off him his sleep and lies huddled up in his shorts, curled around himself for warmth.
Dean feels the annoying urge to tuck him in, so he divebombs the bed. Cas bounces half a foot in the air and lands on top of Dean.
"Morning, sleepy!" Dean cackles. Cas smacks him in the face with a pillow.
"Out, Winchester," Cas growls, rolling away from him.
"But it's Tuesday," Dean whines, following him. He wraps his arms around Cas and squeezes, laughing when Cas squirms against him.
"Dean," Cas protests. Dean crushes them together, grinning. Cas squirms again, trying to pull his arms out of Dean's grip. They're slotted together from neck to knee and Dean is so winning.
"What?" Dean asks obnoxiously, his lips brushing the back of Cas' neck. His friend goes stock still and breathes out, ragged and harsh. Dean's leg nudges between Cas' and feels Cas' dick hard against his thigh.
"Let go," Cas says shakily. "Please."
Dean jumps back like he's been burned, nearly rolling Cas off the bed. "Yeah, sorry, man."
Dean scrambles into the hallway, not meeting Cas' eyes. He waits and tells himself that all Cas is doing is getting dressed, and not anything else. He hears a bitten off groan and digs his fingernails into his palms, willing his mind blank.
It doesn't work.
He's hard enough to pound nails by the time Cas comes out, dressed and tucking a wad of coupons into his pocket.
___
If Cas reaches past him one more time with that innocent look on his face to grab something off a shelf Dean is going to come in his pants. There's no two ways to it, it's going to happen. Dean parks their cart and tries not to watch as Cas bends over to study the lower shelves.
This is torture. The way Cas' shirt rides up, exposing a long strip of skin across his lower back is slowly killing him.
"... Dean?" Cas says, staring at him so Dean knows he probably just missed an entire conversation.
"What?" Dean snaps, examining spices and trying not to look guilty.
"Chicken soup or tomato? They're both on sale," Cas asks dryly.
"Surprise me."
"Dean," Cas sighs, dropping a can of whatever into their cart. "Are things weird now?"
"Nope," Dean answers stubbornly, moving down the shelves. He's so not paying attention to whatever's in front of him that it all just looks like a multicolored blur. His hearing sharpens, and he can hear the creak of cart wheels in aisles near this one, and the slow beep of the cash registers. He feels Cas step closer, and breathe across the back of Dean's neck.
"I..." Cas says softly, his hand moving up to touch Dean's side, just above the curve of his hip, his hand warm through the thin material of Dean's shirt.
Dean jerks away, grabbing something in front of him and blindly throwing it in the cart. "We're not talking about it," he snaps.
___
Sam smacks him upside the head.
"What the hell did you do?" he demands.
"I don't know," Dean says, tugging on a clump of Sam's hair. "What was that for?"
"Cas, you freak," Sam says, punching Dean in the arm.
"What about him?"
"I know you did something."
Dean sighs. "You lost me, dude."
"He was all mopey when you got back, asshole, and then he practically ran home."
"Not my fault," Dean says, leaning back into the couch and waiting for Sam to go away so he can watch his movie in peace.
"I knew it," Sam says, lighting up. "It's always your fault."
"Bite me."
"Go apologize." Dean stares at the TV and Sam kicks him in the shin. "I mean it. Soon, or you might not get the chance."
"What?"
Sam stares at him for a whole minute. "He didn't tell you that he got into a school by where Anna lives and he's going to move in with her?"
"No," Dean spits.
"... well, he is."
___
Dean ends up working the phones -- usually Bobby's or Cas' job, because they have deeper voices and a hell of a lot more patience than Dean -- and ends up wishing he could reach through the line and strangle the guy refusing to sell him flowers for the funeral tomorrow. Cas waits at the door, poking his head in and knocking softly n the frame. Dean waves distractedly at him, frowning at the base of the phone. Cas shakes his head, but waits. Flower guy starts to haggle, finally, but Dean is just so done with him that he puts him on hold.
"Hello," Cas says, and Dean knows he has bad news. Cas always gets awkward when he has bad news.
"If you're about to tell me about moving I already know," Dean says. He hasn't gotten up and his desk is like an ocean of fake oak between them. The hold light on the base of the phone blinks.
"Oh," Cas says, stepping in. "I was going to tell you that today's my last day. Working here."
"Fun," Dean says, still staring at the blinking orange hold light.
"I wanted to say goodbye."
"Bye, Cas."
Cas' cheek dimples inwards -- he's biting it, he's pissed -- and he reaches over and hangs up the phone. The hold light goes off.
"What the fuck did you do that for?" Dean spits. "It took me like an hour just to get that guy to talk to me."
"I'm going to miss you, Dean," Cas says solemnly.
"Yeah, I'll miss you too," Dean says.
"You will," Cas agrees.
Dean glares at him. "Don't get all Confucius on me and just say what you fucking mean."
"You already know," Cas says unhelpfully. He takes Dean's hand and squeezes, then leaves before Dean can get a good grip on him.
___
Dad sends Dean out to pick up lunch, in the Impala. That's weird enough as it is, but there are two wrapped macadamia nut cookies sitting on the front seat with a folded over sheet of notebook paper. It's a note in Sam's handwriting telling him not to be a dumbass. The cookies are the kind from the grocery store that dad used to buy them when they were little and craving sugar.
"Subtle," Dean chuckles, climbing into the car and putting the cookies carefully in his shirt pocket.
___
The Shitmobile is the only car parked in the driveway of Cas' house, so Dean guesses that Jim's out actually getting lunch for everyone at work. He doesn't deserve to have such good friends.
Dean lets himself in with the spare key, now hiding under the water bowl Jim keeps out for the orangey neighbor's cat in the summer time. Cas smiles at him from the living room, surrounded piles of suitcases and clothes.
"I never knew how much crap you had," Dean says.
"Neither did I."
Dean digs the cookies out of his pocket and hands them both to Cas. He likes to eat things in even numbers.
"How thoughtful," Cas says dryly.
"They're from Sam."
Cas nods and peels the wrapper off the first one, and Dean sits down on the couch, pushing a mountain of plain t-shirts out of his way.
"Need help?"
Cas shakes his head, chewing. He packs everything neatly, folding and tucking everything into his bags so they fit. He packs like Mike, who fit an entire fucking closet in one duffel bag the first time he left home to go join the Peace Corps or whatever. Gabe just threw all his shit in his trunk and drove off, and then it turned out that it wasn't his car he left with.
Anna had everyone drive to the airport with her to say goodbye, and it still sucked, but it was a clean kind of suck, where you knew she wasn't coming back, but she wasn't like, dying either. That's probably how Cas'll do it, so his dad and Sam and Dean can all hug him and be sappy. And then in a few years Sam might do the same, only then it'll just be Dean.
"Congrats," Dean says. "College man."
"Thanks."
"Must be nice to get away," Dean says bitterly, staring at his shoes.
"It is," Cas answers quietly. Dean's chest is tight, the tips of his fingers are numb. "But not the way you think."
"How do I think, Cas?" Dean grits out.
"I don't want to leave you. I want to leave here." He plops onto the couch next to Dean -- a thoughtless movement like Dean's never seen him make -- and sighs.
"What's so bad about here?"
Cas shifts uncomfortably. "Nothing."
"Then why go?" Dean asks.
"Nothing's good here," Cas says simply. He takes a rather solemn bite of his cookie. Dean laughs a little, punching Cas lightly in the shoulder, and Cas wrinkles his nose at Dean in response.
"It's home," Dean says.
"I'll visit."
"Doesn't count."
"Sam says you have a crush on me," Cas says casually, wiping crumbs off his bottom lip.
"I hate that kid," Dean growls.
"Were you going to tell me?" Cas asks. Dean doesn't really have to answer, they both know he wasn't. Cas breaks off a piece of his remaining cookie and hands it to Dean, who takes it even though he doesn't like macadamia nuts. They munch in silence for a minute, until Cas leans over and kisses him, pressing him back into the couch.
"I'm going to miss you," he repeats.
"Got it, Yoda," Dean says, rolling his eyes. Then he kisses the smile off Cas' annoying face.
___
Cas actually does drag them all to the airport with him. He hugs his dad, and Sam -- who is kind of crying, but Dean'll let this one slide. Dean kisses Cas until Sam throws a candy wrapper at the back of his head.
And only then do they let Cas go. Dean checks for about the millionth time that he still has Cas' new cell number and Anna's address in his pocket, along with a handwritten and signed promise that he'll be home for a visit before Thanksgiving that he was only half joking about needing before Cas got on the plane.
___
Cas calls at three in the morning, and Dean picks it up on the second ring.
"Just landed?" he asks.
"Yes. Go to sleep, I'll be here in the morning."
"I don't know if I believe you," Dean teases.
"I promise," Cas says.
"Okay. 'Night."
"Good night, Dean."
~fin
Bury Me
R | Dean/Castiel, mentions of Sam/Jess | ~4,700 words
(AU) Not that he would have it any other way for his little brother, but they're the undertaker's kids. Normal people tend to keep away.
The Morrison's third pallbearer never shows up for his grandmother's funeral, thus promoting his younger brother to the second spot on the left, and Dean to the last on the right, at just the angle that none of the family members can see his face from the steps of the funeral home.
Like always, Dean's petrified with the thought that he's going to trip down the flat, wide steps that he's gone up and down more times than he can actually remember. The embarrassment for the family and the extended embarrassment to his dad make his palms feels sweaty and his neck feel cold.
He makes it down the steps with no problem and helps Cas -- who gives him a subtle nod during the brief second they face each other -- slide the casket into the hearse. He backs away as Cas climbs back into the driver's seat, and blends with the crowd of people heading back to their cars, all marked with vibrant orange flags. Dean smiles a little to himself -- biting his lip so no one sees -- imagining Sam walking around to every car, cigarette clamped belligerently between his front teeth, sticking flags on their hoods.
Someone passing by calls it a beautiful ceremony.
___
After the woman is buried Dean has the rest of the day off. Working with one of four funeral homes in a tiny ass town means he has a lot of those. He relaxing out on the back steps -- the ones where the bodies are taken down to the basement from, not the big ones out front that people can see -- still in his monkey suit, sans tie.
Sam's sprawled out next to him, his shirt too tight and his hoodie too big, his jeans peppered with holes the size of quarters. He's chain smoking again, like he always does on flag duty.
"That shit'll kill you," Dean reminds him, not really expecting it to make a difference.
"Then stop buying them for me," Sam says, his words colored grey and mellow with smoke. That would be smart, but even if Sam can get them from somewhere else, at least Dean knows about it.
Their dad calls this Sam's rebellious phase, but Dean calls it Sam's weary phase. His brother -- at the ripe old age of fourteen -- is tired of bullshit. He's sweeping all the bullshit under the rug, or out the door or whatever fucking metaphor works here, and all Dean can do is hope that he's not part of it.
So he buys Sam a pack of cigarettes every week.
Dean slips his finger into the knot of his tie and tugs it loose, freeing up his neck and stretching his legs. Sam blows out a formless cloud of smoke and scowls.
"I can't do it," Sam says, handing Dean his cigarette. Dean takes a short puff, leaving it between Sam's fingers, and blows a neat ring in the air.
"You gotta do it different," Dean says unhelpfully. Sam scowls at him and puffs out another shapeless blob.
"Thanks," Sam grunts.
They relax into a comfortable silence.
___
When Dean finally comes inside after helping Sam hide all his cigarette butts, Cas has gotten back from the cemetery and is sitting on the couch Bobby keeps out for guests. He has a tall, blue can of beer in one hand.
"Bobby'll kill you if you get anything on the couch," Dean says, sitting next to him. Cas nods and passes the beer in his direction. He drinks a deep, quick sip and hands it back. It's a ritual of theirs. Dean watches Sam smoke like a teenaged chimney and teases him about how it's going to stunt his growth, then comes in and indirectly kisses Cas with alcohol, which is the only way he's been able to think of this since he was sixteen and twelve year old Sammy thought that was just the funniest thing.
"The daughter called it a beautiful ceremony," Dean informs him.
"How did your dad take that?" Cas asks, as Dean hands the beer back.
"Haven't told him," Dean grunts.
Cas sips sagely, and Dean takes it as disappointment.
___
Dean has to drive Sam and his dad back to their house -- far on the other side of town -- because dad found Cas' stash of alcohol. It would've lasted Cas a month, but dad demolished half of it in a few hours. He's a quiet, sullen drunk, so at least he's easy to manage.
Dean felt so bad he slipped some money into Cas' coat pocket. He knows Cas wouldn't accept it face to face, so he's not giving him a chance to give it back.
The radio's up, talk radio, because Sam and Dad can never agree on the station.
Dad sits in the front seat, glaring out the window and Sam's in the back, chewing on the cuffs of his hoodie. They'd never believe Dean if he pointed out just how alike they look right now, so he keeps it to himself.
When they finally get there dad heads straight for the basement to sleep it off and Sam loiters in the living room, checking his messages. Kid's got a few million friends, and Dean has to wonder how the hell that happened. Not that he would have it any other way for his little brother, but they're the undertaker's kids. Normal people tend to keep away. Dean's probably a lot closer to Sam, Cas and dad's business partners -- Bobby Singer and Cas' dad, the ex-pastor Jim -- than anyone his own age.
Which, now that he thinks about it, is pretty pathetic.
"Can you take me to Jess' house?" Sam asks, politely. Dean sighs, scrubs his face, and generally gives Sammy a hard time before agreeing. Sam takes his violin with him, but it's not like Dean doesn't know Jess is his girlfriend.
"Have fun practicing," Dean singsongs as Sam gets out of the car. Sam scowls and Jess -- who's always been a spunky little shit -- grins from ear to ear, the slightest tinge of a blush on her cheeks.
Dean likes her.
___
Dean hates waking up to the distinct sense of someone watching him, but unfortunately it happens a lot. Cas is sitting in Sam's desk chair and staring at him. He doesn't think anyone that didn't know him would be able to tell, but Cas is totally smirking.
"Good morning, Dean," he says, his voice low and rumbling. Dean has the feeling Cas practices that voice/face combination in the mirror just to freak him out.
" 'Sup, dickface?" Dean yawns, throwing a pillow at Cas' head. Cas catches it pretty handily, but that's okay, because Dean's mostly still asleep. He'll have better aim at noon.
"It's Tuesday," Cas reminds him.
"I know, I know, I'm coming." Dean stretches and slides out from under his covers, shivering when the cold air hits his bare chest.
Every Tuesday since Dean dropped out of school has been grocery day with Cas. Basically, Cas gets Dean up at some ungodly hour and drags his ass to the store, along with the list of shit Dad and Sam are out of, then they spend an hour or two price hunting with a pack of old ladies. And every damn time Cas manages to stop Dean from dying of boredom, which is just about the only thing he has to look forward to on Tuesdays.
Sam's still at Jess' -- technically, he's there to hang out with Jess' brother, but Dean knows better than that -- and Dean doesn't even bother to tell Cas to get out while he scrounges through his drawers for clean clothes. God knows the guy's come in here more than a few times when Dean was sleeping in the buff.
"I have coupons for Chef Boyardee," Cas tells him while he's slipping on a pair of slightly grungy but still totally wearable jeans.
"Awesome, Sam's been jonesing for ravioli." He is such a fucking housewife. Cas hands him a clump of paper and he hastily shoves them in his back pocket, probably crumpling them to hell and back, which would just mean going through Justine's line, since she's the only one that puts up with his rumpled coupons any more.
___
Cas' car -- the one that's actually his, even though Dean wouldn't hate going to the grocery store in the hearse, because that thing fits a fuckload of bags in the back and prevents traffic -- is what Dean likes to call a shitmobile. The Shitmobile, really. It's busted down more times than Dean can count, and Cas is pretty damn lucky that Dean and his dad are so good with cars, or it wouldn't be running at all. Dean hates riding in it, but Dad won't let him take out the Impala when he's sober enough to drive it.
Dean crawls into the front seat, wincing as the springs start to dig into his ass from under the worn out cushion.
"Dude, you need a new car," Dean says, not for the first time.
"So I'm told," Cas says, taking Dean's tape out from the glovebox and popping it into the player. He keeps it in Cas' car because Cas has shitty taste in music, and maybe he'll be able to pass some awesome off onto him through osmosis. The first few lines of Crazy Train come up as Cas pulls the Shitmobile out of the driveway.
"Any news?" Dean asks, propping his knees up on the dashboard.
"Michael wrote," Cas says softly. The sound of his voice makes Dean's insides twist up.
"What did the fuckup say?"
Cas grits his teeth -- he still can't stand it when Dean talks about his brother like that, he knows, but he just can't help himself. Mike fucking deserves it. "He's in South Africa. On a mission."
"Nice," Dean says, biting down a handful of malaria remarks that would just make Cas worry more than anything else.
"Yeah," Cas says. "He likes it there."
Dean bets if he read that letter he wouldn't see one word about missing Cas or their father. If he sees Mike again he's gonna punch him in the neck.
"That's good, I guess," Dean says, carefully staring out the window. Cas' hand, curled lightly into a fist, thumps his leg. Soft, to let him know Cas isn't mad. Dean takes it before Cas can withdraw his hand. His fingers fit all the way around Cas' skinny wrist. He traces the tiny scar on the back of Cas' hand where he burned himself on the edge of a stove.
"We're here," Cas says, parking the Shitmobile.
___
After picking up Sam and making him put all the groceries away, Dean and Cas have a Batman marathon. Dean has to use Cas' lap as a footrest in order to stop him from helping Sam out -- Cas is a little brother, not a big one.
"The Joker or the Penguin?" Dean asks casually, flipping through his and Sam's joint DVD collection. Cas shrugs out of low appreciation for villains, so Dean picks Batman and Robin just because he knows Arnold Schwarzenegger pisses him off. And Batgirl is hot.
"Why are we watching this?" Cas asks in his trying not to be a pain voice.
"Because," Deans says.
"I'm done, asshole," Sam screeches from the kitchen. He hears Sam clop upstairs and knows to expect violin noises any second now. Dean is filled with geeky joy from the second he hears the opening lines, but Cas falls asleep before anything really cool happens.
"Hey, Cas," Dean says quietly, more to himself. "You're missing all the good stuff."
In his sleep Cas sighs and squirms a bit in Dean's direction -- that's pretty much what would've happened if he was awake, go figure -- and slowly topples towards him, coming to a stop with his head resting on Dean's ribs.
Dean rolls his eyes, turns the volume down on the TV and tries to breathe smoothly.
___
Sam's still playing by the time Cas leaves, and Dean goes upstairs to crash in his room. There's nothing like being slept on to make you realize just how tired you are, and at the same time make you too self conscious to be able to sleep.
Sam's in the middle of a song Dean's heard before, eyes closed in concentration, cigarette smoking in the meticulously cleaned ashtray next to Sam's knee. It's nice, and Dean listens to him as he settles onto his bed.
"So," Sam says, letting the song fade off his bow. "When are you going to tell Cas you're in love with him?"
"Never," Dean says, his voice muffled by his pillow. They've had this conversation before. He's not in love, he has a crush. He's slightly gay for his best friend, it's embarrassing and makes him a cliché on a stick.
"I could tell him for you," Sam suggests blandly.
"I'm not twelve, Sam," Dean says.
"And you're not getting any younger," Sam adds.
"And your voice isn't getting any deeper," Dean snaps.
"Ooo, burn," Sam hisses. Dean can tell he's raised the cigarette to his mouth and is puffing away angrily. "It's not like he'd be mad, or anything."
"No, Sam," Dean says, turning to face him. He's not budging on this.
"You should at least come out to him," Sam says, blowing smoke out his nose like a relationship dragon. "He's your friend."
"I'm not gay," Dean protests weakly.
"Bi then. And he won't care. Gabriel's gay and Cas still loves him."
"Gabe's gay?" Dean asks incredulously.
"So's Liberace, Dean."
"Shut up," Dean says, letting his face fall back into the pillow.
___
Jim calls them the next day while Dad's at work. Dean's brain starts throwing up scenarios, each worse than the last; Dad hurt himself with the embalming equipment, Bobby fell down the stairs, Cas got into a car accident.
Instead he gets five words.
"Michael's coming home. Tell Sam."
___
Cas manages to avoid Dean until Friday, through another two funerals and more phone calls than Dean can count. It's too bad for him that Dean catches Mike on his way from the airport to Jim's.
Mike's driving a shitty rental car and stares serenely at Dean when he raps on the window of it. He hears the click of the door unlocking and climbs in.
"Haven't seen you in a while, Dean," Mike remarks, gliding the car forward as the light turns.
"Same to you, Mikey," Dean says, just to watch him flinch. "How the hell are you?"
"I'm good."
"Haven't seen you in months, man. You gotta do better than good," Dean laughs. He kind of wonders if Mike can tell it's all fake.
"I enjoyed myself. I spread the word of God," Mike says simply.
"Good for you."
They pull up in front of Jim's house and Cas opens the door almost as soon as they pull in the driveway, with this hopeful expression that makes Dean think he was just waiting by the window for Mike to show up this whole time. He has to bite the inside of his lip hard to stop himself from hitting something.
"Michael. Dean," Cas says somewhat nonchalantly, stepping out of the house.
"Hello, little brother," Mike answers, pulling Cas into the most awkward hug Dean has ever seen in his life. He doesn't seem to quite know where to put his hands, and Cas just looks sad. Like he doesn't know what to do with this so he's just hanging on for dear life.
Dean shouldn't be here.
"So, I'll see you around then," he barks, interrupting them. He climbs out of the car and starts walking in the direction of his house. He glances into the back seat and Mike only has one bag with him, a heavy duffle. There's no way he's staying long.
Nobody stops him as he leaves.
___
Tuesday passes and there's not a word from Cas.
___
He has Sam call them from Jess' phone later, since their home number keeps getting ignored. Sam gives him a horrible status report.
"They're doing good; Mike's staying for two weeks; Cas didn't say anything about you."
"Thanks, Sammy," Dean says glumly. Sam sighs and pats Dean's shoulder in a way that simultaneously makes him feel pathetic and loved.
___
No one tells him when Mike leaves again, but Dean knows. Cas' shoulders have a little extra slump in them and everyone -- even Dad, who's more in the bottle than out these days -- is gentler towards him.
He's back on the couch after jobs, a beer in one hand. Dean doesn't say anything -- he doesn't know what he could say -- but he thinks Cas gets it. Or, he hopes anyway. He hates long, gushing emotions but he thinks Cas needs that right now. Just rip the top off everything he's bottling up and get better.
Mike's his hero. And Mike keeps leaving him.
Dean silently accepts the can when it's passed to him.
___
Tuesday morning Dean sneaks into Cas' room after letting himself in with the spare key Jim keeps under the rug in case Gabe shows up in the middle of the night again. Cas is such a light sleeper Dean's afraid the click of the doorknob will wake him up, but it doesn't. The room is shockingly neat other than the bed. Cas seems to have kicked all the covers off him his sleep and lies huddled up in his shorts, curled around himself for warmth.
Dean feels the annoying urge to tuck him in, so he divebombs the bed. Cas bounces half a foot in the air and lands on top of Dean.
"Morning, sleepy!" Dean cackles. Cas smacks him in the face with a pillow.
"Out, Winchester," Cas growls, rolling away from him.
"But it's Tuesday," Dean whines, following him. He wraps his arms around Cas and squeezes, laughing when Cas squirms against him.
"Dean," Cas protests. Dean crushes them together, grinning. Cas squirms again, trying to pull his arms out of Dean's grip. They're slotted together from neck to knee and Dean is so winning.
"What?" Dean asks obnoxiously, his lips brushing the back of Cas' neck. His friend goes stock still and breathes out, ragged and harsh. Dean's leg nudges between Cas' and feels Cas' dick hard against his thigh.
"Let go," Cas says shakily. "Please."
Dean jumps back like he's been burned, nearly rolling Cas off the bed. "Yeah, sorry, man."
Dean scrambles into the hallway, not meeting Cas' eyes. He waits and tells himself that all Cas is doing is getting dressed, and not anything else. He hears a bitten off groan and digs his fingernails into his palms, willing his mind blank.
It doesn't work.
He's hard enough to pound nails by the time Cas comes out, dressed and tucking a wad of coupons into his pocket.
___
If Cas reaches past him one more time with that innocent look on his face to grab something off a shelf Dean is going to come in his pants. There's no two ways to it, it's going to happen. Dean parks their cart and tries not to watch as Cas bends over to study the lower shelves.
This is torture. The way Cas' shirt rides up, exposing a long strip of skin across his lower back is slowly killing him.
"... Dean?" Cas says, staring at him so Dean knows he probably just missed an entire conversation.
"What?" Dean snaps, examining spices and trying not to look guilty.
"Chicken soup or tomato? They're both on sale," Cas asks dryly.
"Surprise me."
"Dean," Cas sighs, dropping a can of whatever into their cart. "Are things weird now?"
"Nope," Dean answers stubbornly, moving down the shelves. He's so not paying attention to whatever's in front of him that it all just looks like a multicolored blur. His hearing sharpens, and he can hear the creak of cart wheels in aisles near this one, and the slow beep of the cash registers. He feels Cas step closer, and breathe across the back of Dean's neck.
"I..." Cas says softly, his hand moving up to touch Dean's side, just above the curve of his hip, his hand warm through the thin material of Dean's shirt.
Dean jerks away, grabbing something in front of him and blindly throwing it in the cart. "We're not talking about it," he snaps.
___
Sam smacks him upside the head.
"What the hell did you do?" he demands.
"I don't know," Dean says, tugging on a clump of Sam's hair. "What was that for?"
"Cas, you freak," Sam says, punching Dean in the arm.
"What about him?"
"I know you did something."
Dean sighs. "You lost me, dude."
"He was all mopey when you got back, asshole, and then he practically ran home."
"Not my fault," Dean says, leaning back into the couch and waiting for Sam to go away so he can watch his movie in peace.
"I knew it," Sam says, lighting up. "It's always your fault."
"Bite me."
"Go apologize." Dean stares at the TV and Sam kicks him in the shin. "I mean it. Soon, or you might not get the chance."
"What?"
Sam stares at him for a whole minute. "He didn't tell you that he got into a school by where Anna lives and he's going to move in with her?"
"No," Dean spits.
"... well, he is."
___
Dean ends up working the phones -- usually Bobby's or Cas' job, because they have deeper voices and a hell of a lot more patience than Dean -- and ends up wishing he could reach through the line and strangle the guy refusing to sell him flowers for the funeral tomorrow. Cas waits at the door, poking his head in and knocking softly n the frame. Dean waves distractedly at him, frowning at the base of the phone. Cas shakes his head, but waits. Flower guy starts to haggle, finally, but Dean is just so done with him that he puts him on hold.
"Hello," Cas says, and Dean knows he has bad news. Cas always gets awkward when he has bad news.
"If you're about to tell me about moving I already know," Dean says. He hasn't gotten up and his desk is like an ocean of fake oak between them. The hold light on the base of the phone blinks.
"Oh," Cas says, stepping in. "I was going to tell you that today's my last day. Working here."
"Fun," Dean says, still staring at the blinking orange hold light.
"I wanted to say goodbye."
"Bye, Cas."
Cas' cheek dimples inwards -- he's biting it, he's pissed -- and he reaches over and hangs up the phone. The hold light goes off.
"What the fuck did you do that for?" Dean spits. "It took me like an hour just to get that guy to talk to me."
"I'm going to miss you, Dean," Cas says solemnly.
"Yeah, I'll miss you too," Dean says.
"You will," Cas agrees.
Dean glares at him. "Don't get all Confucius on me and just say what you fucking mean."
"You already know," Cas says unhelpfully. He takes Dean's hand and squeezes, then leaves before Dean can get a good grip on him.
___
Dad sends Dean out to pick up lunch, in the Impala. That's weird enough as it is, but there are two wrapped macadamia nut cookies sitting on the front seat with a folded over sheet of notebook paper. It's a note in Sam's handwriting telling him not to be a dumbass. The cookies are the kind from the grocery store that dad used to buy them when they were little and craving sugar.
"Subtle," Dean chuckles, climbing into the car and putting the cookies carefully in his shirt pocket.
___
The Shitmobile is the only car parked in the driveway of Cas' house, so Dean guesses that Jim's out actually getting lunch for everyone at work. He doesn't deserve to have such good friends.
Dean lets himself in with the spare key, now hiding under the water bowl Jim keeps out for the orangey neighbor's cat in the summer time. Cas smiles at him from the living room, surrounded piles of suitcases and clothes.
"I never knew how much crap you had," Dean says.
"Neither did I."
Dean digs the cookies out of his pocket and hands them both to Cas. He likes to eat things in even numbers.
"How thoughtful," Cas says dryly.
"They're from Sam."
Cas nods and peels the wrapper off the first one, and Dean sits down on the couch, pushing a mountain of plain t-shirts out of his way.
"Need help?"
Cas shakes his head, chewing. He packs everything neatly, folding and tucking everything into his bags so they fit. He packs like Mike, who fit an entire fucking closet in one duffel bag the first time he left home to go join the Peace Corps or whatever. Gabe just threw all his shit in his trunk and drove off, and then it turned out that it wasn't his car he left with.
Anna had everyone drive to the airport with her to say goodbye, and it still sucked, but it was a clean kind of suck, where you knew she wasn't coming back, but she wasn't like, dying either. That's probably how Cas'll do it, so his dad and Sam and Dean can all hug him and be sappy. And then in a few years Sam might do the same, only then it'll just be Dean.
"Congrats," Dean says. "College man."
"Thanks."
"Must be nice to get away," Dean says bitterly, staring at his shoes.
"It is," Cas answers quietly. Dean's chest is tight, the tips of his fingers are numb. "But not the way you think."
"How do I think, Cas?" Dean grits out.
"I don't want to leave you. I want to leave here." He plops onto the couch next to Dean -- a thoughtless movement like Dean's never seen him make -- and sighs.
"What's so bad about here?"
Cas shifts uncomfortably. "Nothing."
"Then why go?" Dean asks.
"Nothing's good here," Cas says simply. He takes a rather solemn bite of his cookie. Dean laughs a little, punching Cas lightly in the shoulder, and Cas wrinkles his nose at Dean in response.
"It's home," Dean says.
"I'll visit."
"Doesn't count."
"Sam says you have a crush on me," Cas says casually, wiping crumbs off his bottom lip.
"I hate that kid," Dean growls.
"Were you going to tell me?" Cas asks. Dean doesn't really have to answer, they both know he wasn't. Cas breaks off a piece of his remaining cookie and hands it to Dean, who takes it even though he doesn't like macadamia nuts. They munch in silence for a minute, until Cas leans over and kisses him, pressing him back into the couch.
"I'm going to miss you," he repeats.
"Got it, Yoda," Dean says, rolling his eyes. Then he kisses the smile off Cas' annoying face.
___
Cas actually does drag them all to the airport with him. He hugs his dad, and Sam -- who is kind of crying, but Dean'll let this one slide. Dean kisses Cas until Sam throws a candy wrapper at the back of his head.
And only then do they let Cas go. Dean checks for about the millionth time that he still has Cas' new cell number and Anna's address in his pocket, along with a handwritten and signed promise that he'll be home for a visit before Thanksgiving that he was only half joking about needing before Cas got on the plane.
___
Cas calls at three in the morning, and Dean picks it up on the second ring.
"Just landed?" he asks.
"Yes. Go to sleep, I'll be here in the morning."
"I don't know if I believe you," Dean teases.
"I promise," Cas says.
"Okay. 'Night."
"Good night, Dean."
~fin