Chalk & Chainmail

Chapter 8

Giving Cas time was incredibly difficult for Dean. He had no idea what 'time to think' actually meant, but because he was just as bad at trying to talk about things as Cas was, he didn't approach the subject again in fear of blowing out the small flicker of a relationship they had built. So instead, Dean sat. And wondered. And waited. It wasn't until a few nights after their escapades in the library that his waiting paid off.

After sending Dean a text message, Castiel paced back and forth in his room running his hands through his hair and smoothing them over his clothes. He'd tried to scrub as much chalk residue off his fingers as possible and the water had turned nearly black underneath his hands, but there were still faint traces of chalk under his fingernails and in the creases of his skin. He hoped Dean wouldn't notice. When his phone buzzed again with a text from Dean saying, Here, Castiel made his way clumsily down the stairs, through the front door and out to Dean's car that was idling in the driveway.  

"Hey, Cas," Dean greeted as Castiel slid into the passenger side seat.

"Hello, Dean."

"Where we going?"

Castiel hesitated, resting his palms on his knees and studying them intently. "I didn't have a specific place in mind," he admitted, "somewhere private, maybe?"

Dean smiled at him suggestively. "You gonna buy me a drink first?" he asked.

Castiel furrowed his brow, "We're not old enough to drink, Dean, and you most certainly shouldn't be drinking while driving."

"It was a joke, Cas," Dean explained as he pulled out of the driveway.

"Teenage drinking is not a joke, Dean," Castiel scolded. Dean chuckled and shook his head.

Dean drove them to the park they'd frequented during the summer they had spent together as kids.  After having tugged a blanket out of the trunk of the Impala, Dean lead the way to a spot of grass and flung the blanket out in front of them as he lowered it to the ground. He lay down with his hands on his chest and looked up at the stars.

Cas remained standing.

After a beat, Dean propped himself up on his elbows and eyed the other boy. "Dude, you look like an Ood standing there staring at me like that. Come sit down."  

"Do I even want to know what an Ood is?" Castiel asked as he edged himself onto the blanket and laid down a somewhat safe distance away from Dean.

"They're these creepy alien guys on Doctor Who that just kind of stare at people. Not that you're a creepy alien guy—" Dean tried to explain, "You know what? Forget it." He lay back down, focusing on the stars again.

They lay there in companionable silence for a few minutes before Dean felt the brush of Castiel's fingers against his own and then smiled to himself as Cas tangled them together, squeezing a little as if to remind Dean he was there.

"I miss you, Dean," Castiel said quietly after a few moments had passed. Dean looked over at him.

"I'm right here, Cas."

"No, I mean, when I'm not with you, I miss you.  All these years that we haven't spoken to one another, I've missed you. Every day. That's why I draw you so often. It's the only way I've known how to hold on to you."

Dean rolled onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow and studied Castiel. He looked sad, and lost, and confused. Dean wanted to soothe it all out of him and replace it with a calming balm that would make him happier. He reached out—slowly in case his touch was unwelcome—and fit his hand beneath Castiel's ear, his thumb resting on the other boy's jaw, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of Cas's neck. "Like I said before, I'm not going anywhere, Cas," he told him gently, "I'm here for as long as you want me. I always have been."