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Where are you?
Cas‘ voice is muffled and tired, and he gives Dean the name of a town he’s never heard of before.
Can I come?
Cas says yes, of course. Of course he does.
It’s a three hour drive and Dean doesn’t remember a single thing about it when he turns right into the parking lot of the crappy motel. It started raining a while back. The patter grows loud as soon as he cuts the engine. The wipers stop and the water forms a solid barrier on the windshield, blurring the outside into something surreal.
He gets out and leaves his duffel in the trunk. The curtains are drawn in Cas’ room, but the lights are on and bleed sick yellow light down into the puddles on the pavement.
He should move, but his feet won’t comply.
Raindrops pinch his scalp like needles before they pour into his collar. “I am your mother but I am not just a mom”. No one ever taught him about the difference.
The door opens to the familiar cutout of Cas’ silhouette. Dean, Cas says, and Dean follows the low voice like a beacon. Cas draws him in, always.
And then he stands inside, and Cas gets a towel from the bathroom, peels him out of the jacket, helps him out of his boots, tells him to sit on the bed. Cas dries his hair and it’s so gentle that Dean scrambles for a good reason to make him stop, because his skin is paperthin and he’s not sure how he’s supposed to keep himself together right now.
What happened, Cas asks, quiet.
She went behind our backs and I feel stupid for expecting more, Dean thinks, but he doesn’t say that. It hits too close to what they’ve been through.
Cas’ hand rests on his shoulder and he covers it with his own.
Thank you, Dean murmurs, and Cas asks for what.
For choosing me, I guess. He leans his head to the side then, to Cas’ stomach and Cas’ hand stays on his shoulder for a long time before he lifts it and touches the crown of Dean’s head, so light he wouldn’t feel it he wasn’t so hyperaware of everything Cas does.
He takes a trembling breath. I should go.
Cas’ fingers card through his still damp hair. You should stay and rest. Dean doesn’t fight him on it when Cas bends to the side and lifts the covers. He crawls into bed and presses his face into the pillow so Cas can’t see him. Would you…?, he murmurs and his blood boils with shame because it sounds so needy and pathetic.
He hears the rusting of clothes and then Cas slips into bed behind him, a long line of warmth and comfort, and before he can talk himself out of it, Dean grabs back for Cas’ hand and pulls it over his own body until Cas has to shuffle closer. Cas’ arm is heavy on his side and their hands clasp together over his heart.
The nagging suspicion, his guilt for even being suspicious, all of that comes rushing back –
“I love you.” Had that been part of the play?
Tell me again?
Cas doesn’t hesitate. I love you, he whispers against Dean’s neck.
Cas sounds so honest and so sure. Dean’s lids grow heavy and he feels warm with the knowledge that, even if he can’t quite believe him yet, he can ask again tomorrow.