Moving On
January 12 - the day the Hogwarts Express would ferry students back up to Hogwarts after a long holiday of good food, good drink, and good music.
Dean woke up that morning with a firm knot in his stomach. He’d packed the night before, but that wasn’t the reason for his uneasiness. It was the last day of the holidays, and he still hadn’t heard back from Castiel.
Dean avoided thinking about it as he helped Bobby and Sam load up the truck for the long drive to Kings Cross. He’d miss home, same as he always did. He’d miss the dogs, the fields, the access to dozens of beat-up Muggle cars to tinker with… but Hogwarts had other excellent things to distract Dean with; like constant access to a Quidditch pitch and his friends. Bobby, Sam, and Dean all squashed into the front of Bobby’s truck and pulled out of the drive.
It took a good few hours to get to Kings Cross. In that time, the sun had risen and the world had slowly begun to wake up.
Kings Cross was as busy as usual when the three of them stepped onto the platform. Dean had exchanged owls with Charlie and Benny; he knew where he’d meet them; between carriages 12 and 13. And that’s where he found them. Charlie squealed at the sight of him and flung herself into his arms, Benny following suit shortly after. The three of them clung to each other with laughter.
Sam had a similar reunion with his friends a few meters away, Kevin, Garth and Eileen all throwing themselves at the younger Winchester.
‘How was your break?’ Charlie gushed as Benny asked, ‘You got my pies, right? Did you like ’em?’
‘It was great - and they were great, Benny. Thank you so much, both of you. Your gifts were amazing. And Charlie! You did so well in getting your Auror Training Offer!’ He beamed at his friend. Charlie had gotten the offer halfway through the holidays - it stung just a little to know Dean was yet to hear back, but not enough to distract from him being happy for his friend.
He was about to say more when a group caught his eye just past Charlie. It was a large group, solemn and tall. Six men lined up and one woman, getting hugged one by one by…
‘Cas,’ Dean mumbled, his arm going limp and sliding off of Charlie’s shoulder.
It was Castiel with his family.
Chuck was the last to be hugged, his hands on Castiel’s shoulders as they drew apart. He looked up and over, catching Dean’s eye with a severe, sad expression. Castiel followed his gaze, his eyes landing on Dean through the crowd, and Dean felt his heart jump into his throat. He stepped forward, past Charlie and Benny. He wasn’t sure - maybe Castiel had thrown away the letter. But then… Castiel pressed his lips together, the smallest of smiles reluctantly ghosting across his lips. He was stood there, in one of his brother’s hand-me-down robes, wearing his old Pride of Portree, holey and garish sweater, and Dean… Merlin’s beard. He looked like home.
Dean wasn’t sure when he started walking - and he definitely wasn’t sure when he started running either. All he knew was that he was pushing past every single person in his way. He scrambled through the crowd, trying to keep sight of the Novaks, even as they disappeared behind a bustling family of four. Dean stepped around the family and into the space where Castiel - was.
Dean blinked, his mouth drying up. Castiel was gone. He looked around, searching for a sign of the Novak - any of them - but there was nothing.
Charlie reappeared at Dean’s side in that moment, her expression sad. ‘Maybe he didn’t see you,’ she offered unhelpfully, to which Dean nodded even though it wasn’t true. Numb.
Castiel hadn’t replied to the letter. Dean remembered that ugly pit in his stomach when Zeppelin had arrived a few days later, nothing in his beak, no note attached to his claw. Uselessly, Dean started had started hoping Zeppelin had sent it to the wrong address. But he knew that couldn’t be the case - if that was the case, then maybe Cas wouldn’t have turned tail at the station. Maybe he’d have wanted to hear from Dean, too.
Dean tried to ignore the heavy weight in his gut as he traveled back up to Hogwarts with his friends. He tried to engage, tried to laugh with Benny and Charlie about something or other, tried to be an active member of the group. But it was impossible.
He could feel Benny’s gaze on his throughout the entire Returning Feast. He knew he wasn’t smiling in time with the conversation, and that his laughs were falling flat. He knew he looked distracted because he couldn’t help but glance down the table, hoping to see Castiel somewhere amidst the crowd.
It was with this in mind, that caused Dean to not be surprised when Benny caught his elbow on their way up to the Common Room that first night back.
‘Dean,’ he said, seriously. His eyes found Dean’s, pulling him to a stop. ‘Don’t do this again, man.’
Dean clenched his jaw. ‘Do what?’ he muttered, stubbornly.
‘Tear yourself apart again. No way am I watchin’ you go through another term like the last one. Promise me, man. Promise me you won’t kill yourself in getting Castiel to -’ He caught himself, shutting his mouth quickly and Dean’s eye glinted in challenge.
‘Getting him to what?’ Dean prompted. ‘Getting him to care?’
‘Getting him to grow up,’ Benny amended. ‘Just don’t run yourself into the ground. Okay? Promise me you’ll do what’s right for you, this term and if that means movin’ on from Cas, then…’
Dean hated it. He hated the suggestion. It caused a metallic taste to rise in his mouth - because, no. Benny was wrong. He’d got it all twisted. April wasn’t on the scene anymore, so Castiel could be his friend again. He would be Dean’s friend again. It didn’t make any sense that that wouldn’t be the case.
‘Just drop it,’ Dean mumbled, shrugging his arm from Benny’s grip. ‘I don’t wanna talk about it with you.’
‘I’m not gonna watch you mess yourself up for him, Dean. It ain’t fair on you.’
Dean swallowed, his jaw set. ‘Then look away,’ he muttered.
Benny didn’t understand. Why would he? Dean didn’t understand it either. He didn’t understand why Castiel hadn’t replied to his letter, or why their friendship had completely destroyed itself last term and wasn't recovering now, and he couldn’t understand why he had this unshaken faith that Castiel still cared about him, despite everything. He had to hold onto that.
He sat in the Dormitory with Charlie later that evening, his head in her lap as she carded her fingers through his hair. It was a familiar touch, one that Dean melted into. He felt the Dormitory go quiet before he registered it, and his body tensed.
At first, he didn’t understand the silence, but then he sat up and realized the trigger. It was Castiel. He was standing by the Portrait Hole, his face pale as all eyes landed on him. It was the first time Dean had seen him properly in months - because the train station hadn’t been a good enough glance. Now, though, Dean could see the way Castiel’s clothes hung from his frame. He looked tired. He looked entirely strung out. Not one part of his being looked happy.
‘What’s he doing here?’ someone piped up from the back of the Common Room.
‘I can’t believe they’re letting him walk around like he’s normal,’ someone else said in a loud whisper.
‘No way can they expect me to sleep in the same Castle as a criminal.’
The hushed voices filled the room and Dean stood up, his blood pumping in his ears as he glared at all the wide-eyed starers.
‘Leave him alone,’ he said brutishly, hearing the authoritative Head Boy voice in his own words. ‘Cas has the exact same right to be here as any of us do, and any stupid bullying will be reported immediately. Clear?’
He glared around the room, lifting his eyebrows at the owlish First Years and unimpressed Second, Third, Fourth, Whatever Years that were blinking at him. ‘Anyone else got a problem?’
The Common Room was silent. Painfully so.
Castiel sucked in a slow breath by the Portrait Hole and glanced at Dean before he was resolutely crossing the room and heading for the Boy’s Dormitory. Dean didn’t even think about it. He immediately rocked back on his heels and hurried after Castiel, finding him on the staircase. He caught Castiel’s arm. Please, he thought. Please look at me.
‘Cas,’ he mumbled. ‘They don’t know what they’re talking about, okay?’
Castiel pulled his arm free, stopping short on the stairs and turning around to face Dean. His expression was unreadable, but his voice was steady as he spoke. He didn’t meet Dean’s eyes.
‘I don’t need you to defend me, Dean,’ he said firmly. ‘I don’t want you to.’
‘Cas, I…’
Dean didn’t have the words. He didn’t have the strength, either. It was like Benny said - how long would he keep on tearing himself apart for Castiel? He swallowed against the lump in his throat and sank back on his heels, taking half a step back down the staircase in surrender.
Above him, Castiel’s jaw tightened. He paused for a beat, and then he turned and left. The air was colder in his absence.
‘I don’t get it,’ Dean told Charlie when he returned. ‘I don’t know what the hell is wrong with him.’
Charlie looked sad. ‘I have no idea how he’s feeling,’ she said evenly. ‘He’s got about eight years’ worth of detentions to catch up on, too, this term. I can’t imagine that’s a great feeling for anyone.’
Dean’s stomach twisted in guilt at that reminder. ‘I should turn myself in,’ he said decisively. ‘It should be me doing those detentions, not Cas. He’s got enough on his plate.’
‘No,’ Charlie said firmly. ‘Cas has made his choice. We have to respect that. And you… you gotta lighten up this term, alright? And start trying to…’ She held her hand out, searching for the word with a wince. ‘Move on,’ she offered eventually.
Move on.
That night, he lay in his bed and thought about Castiel in the bed a foot away from him. How could he move on from Castiel? Especially when Castiel was in the worst period of his life. Maybe, he was pushing everyone away - and he was pushing Dean away - but he just needed someone to stay holding the torch for him. Hoping that caring enough would pull him back from the edge.
Cas, Dean thought as hard as he could, projecting it to the front of his mind. Talk to me man. I’m right here.
He thought it every night their first week back, even as he fell into a fitful sleep.
January was an awful month of avoidance, awkwardness, and a stark refusal to make eye contact. Castiel was barely around, too wrapped up with his apprenticeship, Wizard Chess, detentions, and his general insistence on hiding from the world. But when he was around, it was as though Dean wasn’t even there at all. Castiel barely acknowledged him. Dean thought he might throw himself off the Astronomy Tower soon enough if things didn’t start to improve. Any hope he’d had of things improving after the end of the last term had been completely obliterated.
He didn’t even celebrate his birthday on a joint day with Benny this year, as they had done every year before. Benny was too wound up by the Ravenclaw-Gryffindor game that happened to be on the same day. It was a bad game. They’d lost only by the Snitch, and Benny hadn’t slept right since. It was hard - trying to help out all of his friends whilst they each seemed to be dropping like flies under the weight of their own problems.
Dean spent the beginning of February distracting himself by helping Charlie with her new romance - Gilda. She wanted to invite Gilda to Slughorn’s Valentine’s Dance and had also been encouraging Dean to push the boat out in the romance world as well. Dean had ignored that but tried to put aside his personal grievances to help his friend out.
‘You know, you’re a pretty good catch, Charlie,’ he told Charlie as they sat in The Three Broomsticks, nursing a butterbeer each. It was early February, the air cold, and the fire warm in the pub. ‘I really don’t think you gotta worry. Just - write it in a note,’ he gestured with his hands, ‘fold it up, slide it on over to her. I’ll bet you a Galleon she’ll say yes there an’ then.’
Charlie looked skeptical. ‘But last time… last time I spent a whole term fawning over a girl who isn’t even gay.’
‘Now we don’t know that.’ Dean raised an eyebrow. ‘Dorothy could be bi. She might just be dating Gordon Walker, for some unbeknownst reason.’
‘That’s worse to think about,’ Charlie said petulantly. ‘I’d rather she be straight than be bi and actively choosing to date a guy as awful as Gordon Walker instead of a girl like me.’
Dean grimaced. ‘Yeah. Okay. Fair enough take, that.’
They drained their beers in sync and Dean sniffed, looking back at the crowded table where Gilda was sat. ‘Here’s an idea,’ he said, ‘how about I ask a girl out at that table, warm up the crowd a little bit, and ease you in?’
Charlie looked incredibly unsure. ‘Dean…’ she began, but Dean brushed it off, already getting up out of his seat.
He grabbed Charlie by the elbow and began to steer them both over to the table. The beer had upped his courage. What did he have to lose, anyway? Dean wasn’t exactly shy for confidence. And it helped that he didn’t care one bit about rejection from any of those girls - the stakes were nonexistent.
He strolled up to the table with the ease of man who rarely gets turned down, and smiled at the girls sat at the table.
‘Good afternoon, ladies,’ he greeted smoothly. ‘How you doing today?’
He was met with silence.
Unperturbed, Dean pressed on. He reached inside his jacket pocket for a pen and paper. ‘Listen, my friend and I-’ he jerked a thumb at Charlie, ‘-are going to Slughorn’s Valentine’s Dance. And I just wondered if I could give you our names? If you wanted to go with us.’
There was silence. And then, ‘Which one of us are you asking?’
It was a redheaded girl, her eyes challenging. Dean pressed his lips together tightly and watched as the girls around the table sat back and folded their arms, shooting him a look. He tried desperately to remember which one was Gilda, and hoped to God he wasn’t going to pick the wrong one. He swallowed.
‘Well,’ he said with an awkward, breathy chuckle. ‘Well, I was going to ask you,’ he said, looking directly at the redheaded girl. He tried to remember her name. She was a Sixth Year, he knew that. Lily, maybe? Could be Lucy.
The table erupted with giggles then, and Dean kicked himself internally. ‘Lily’s got her eye on someone else,’ a blonde girl said, as Dean’s smile became forced, sarcastic even. ‘It’s sweet of you to ask. I’m not sure she’d have said yes, anyway.’
‘Be nice, Henny,’ Lily chastised. She looked at Dean almost sympathetically. ‘They’re right, though. I already said yes to a guy last week. So did Henrietta.’
Dean swallowed and puffed out his cheeks. ‘Darn it, there goes my shot,’ he said with an exaggerated sigh. He grabbed Charlie then and dragged her forward from where she’d been half-hiding behind him, trying to not be associated with his idiocy. ‘Anyone able to keep my good friend, Charlie, from looking like a loner with me?’ he asked cheerily.
There was an awkward silence that stretched for almost a decade. And then, ‘Charlie,’ one of the girls smiled as if recognizing at last who was standing before them. ‘Oh, Charlie. From the Chess Team!’
Charlie went bright red. ‘That’s me, ha,’ she huffed awkwardly. ‘Hi, Gilda.’
Gilda beamed. ‘I’ll go with you,’ she said with a bright nod. ‘Of course, I’ll go with you.’
‘Really?’
Gilda laughed as the table exploded with giddiness. ‘Yes, really!’ and her eyes lit up as she said it.
The walk back to Hogwarts comprised of Charlie swinging off Dean’s arm excitedly, bouncing her every other step, and singing periodically at the top of her voice.
‘Dean, I’m in love!’ she squealed as she splashed into a puddle. ‘I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love!’
And Dean laughed right with her, thrilled for his friend, but reminding her every step of the way that he owed her a Galleon.
He couldn’t help but feel the tiniest stab of sadness that it was just him now, out of Charlie and Benny, who didn’t have anyone. Who couldn’t get the one person they wanted the most to talk to him, let alone go to a dance with him. Dean tried to ignore the bitterness in the back of his chest and focus only on how good this was for Charlie - how happy she would be.
The day of the Valentine's Dance came sooner rather than later.
Benny was going with Andrea (they had solidified their romance over the Christmas holidays by trading owls back and forth), Charlie with Gilda, and Dean with… himself. He didn’t know if Castiel was going with anyone - hell, he didn’t even know if Castiel was going, and he wasn’t sure why he even tried keeping up with the other boy anymore. Castiel had made it clear he didn’t want to be friends. They slept in the same room every night and pretended the other didn’t exist. Castiel ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner as far away from Dean as possible. He spent every waking moment, frankly, avoiding Dean entirely.
And so, here Dean was, at the dance. By himself. Surrounded by obnoxious love-heart shaped decorations and floating cupids.
He smiled at something Charlie said, holding a drink of elven wine in his hand. A boy came by with a plate full of finger food and Dean stocked up on the goods, nodding along at Andrea, Gilda, and Charlie’s conversation. Benny had been pulled into a long, no doubt draining, chat with Slughorn himself.
‘So how are things going?’ Charlie asked Andrea excitedly. She waggled her eyebrows. ‘You know. Between you two.’
Andrea laughed lightly, a hand coming to rest on Charlie’s arm. ‘Honestly, wonderful,’ she breathed. She had a glossy, winning smile. Thick, curly hair. Benny had scored. ‘I mean - I thought he’d be a total brute, like all the other Quidditch boys. And maybe he is, to you guys. But to me he’s…’ She shook her head.
‘A right Prince Charming, I’ll bet,’ Dean smirked, finishing the sentence for her. He knew Benny well enough after all these years. His friend was a romantic man deep down.
Andrea’s smile just widened. A blush colored her cheeks. ‘But anyway, what about you? Is there anyone who’s caught your eye lately?’
Dean swallowed, his neck warming at the question. He could feel Charlie’s eyes on him, carefully. He shook his head. ‘Nope,’ he mumbled a little too casually - even Dean knew it sounded forced. ‘No. Not anyone. Right now.’
Andrea gave him a sympathetic smile. ‘The right girl will show up in no time,’ she assured him, reaching to squeeze his arm too. ‘In fact, I’ve got a friend. You ought to meet her, she’s lovely - and she’s here tonight-’
‘-I don’t think I-’ Dean began, as Charlie gasped, ‘That sounds amazing, Andrea!’
Dean’s voice was drowned out. He knew Charlie was only trying to help. And maybe he should do her a good favour and go along with it for once instead of being awkward, and grumpy, miserable and bitter.
And that’s how Dean found himself dragged into the center of the room, where all the soppy, pathetic couples were slow dancing. And here he was, with his hands carefully placed at the waist of a beautiful Hufflepuff girl called Esmerelda. She was stunning. Her eyes blinked up at him as she chat about something or other. Dean couldn’t dance. He could barely concentrate. She was stunning, but he felt sick. Touching her made his head feel hot and his skin crawl. It was wrong. All of it.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said suddenly, interrupting whatever Esmerelda was saying about her Divinity class. ‘I’m sorry. I really have to go - uh, use the bathroom. I’ll be right back.’
Without another word, Dean ducked back into the crowd. He searched for the exit, but Charlie and Benny were stood too close to it with their dates. He didn’t want to have to explain himself. So he did the next best (reasonable) thing - he skirted around a couple making out and ran to the windows. The curtains were ceiling to floor, a thick material. Dean swung the curtain back and tucked himself into the gap between curtain, wall, and window.
He leaned against the wall, checking nobody caught him - until he froze. There was an arm pressed against his side. Dean looked to his right and nearly jumped straight back into the party.
It was Cas.
Castiel blinked at him, mutual surprise hidden behind his eyes. His mouth was pressed into a thin line, and he pressed a finger to his lips when Dean opened his mouth to blurt something. Dean’s heart thundered in his chest, the confusion of the situation causing his brain to whir, working overtime.
Extending a hand to the curtain Castiel whispered, ‘Muffiliato,’ and the noise on the other side dimmed. Dean let out a breath, realizing they could speak without worry now.
‘I’m sorry, I…’ he started, awkwardness laced into his every word. He cleared his throat. Body tense. He hadn’t been within six feet of Castiel in months, let alone pressed up against him like he was now. ‘I didn’t realize anyone was back here.’
Castiel nodded curtly and pressed his hands to his sides, staring straight ahead at the curtain wall resolutely.
‘It’s quite alright,’ he said quietly. ‘I suspect we’re not the first people to seek shelter behind these curtains.’
Dean nodded, clenching his jaw as he looked at the curtains himself, managing to find a small gap. He could barely see through it, to the other side. He breathed through his nose, in. Out. In. Out. He tried not to think about how weird it was that he was stood here with Castiel, after everything that had - and hadn’t - happened between them.
‘What’re you doing back here?’ he asked Castiel at last. ‘I didn’t even know you’d be at the dance tonight.’
He regrets it as soon as he’s said it. Like he ought to know what Castiel’s evening plans were. Like they were still friends - like anything at the very end of last term had happened.
At the statement, Castiel looked at him. His expression was blank, carefully plain.
‘What are you doing back here?’ he returned simply. Challengingly.
Dean drew himself to his full height and jut out his chin. He wasn’t deterred. ‘I’m here because dancing sucks ass, and I needed some air.’
‘Some air you’re getting, behind a curtain,’ Castiel pointed out. Dean shifted awkwardly.
‘Did you hide back here just to spy on people?’ he spat. Bitter.
Castiel clenched his jaw. ‘I also happened to need some space,’ he said tersely.
‘Some space you’re getting, back here.’
They glared at each other then, inches between their faces. It had been so long since Dean had seen the other boy up close. What was once easy conversation was tense, awkward - awful. But he could see Castiel’s eyes now. They were full of pain. The squint of his eyes, the sharp edge of his jaw, the softness of his lips… Dean sucked in a breath and looked away. He hated that he’d broken first, but it was too much to be so close and yet so far all at once.
‘Did I do something,’ Dean asked at last, burning a hole into the ground as he glared down at his feet. ‘To upset you, I mean. Did I do something?’
There was a long pause. ‘Dean.’
Dean scrunched his nose. ‘Because it sure as hell feels like it, man.’
Castiel was silent. When Dean looked back up the other boy looked conflicted - his eyebrows were tense, his eyes searching, and his mouth almost parted. ‘I need air,’ he said finally. ‘Real air. Come.’ It was both a question and a demand.
He extended his hand and Dean, with hesitance, offered his arm. Castiel’s hand wrapped around the crook of his elbow and the strangest sensation spread through Dean - like an egg had been cracked on his head. Slippery coolness spread through his body and he watched, looking down, as his chest disappeared. Then his legs. Then his feet.
‘Woah,’ he breathed, even now finding it hard to suppress how cool he found magic sometimes.
Castiel didn’t pause for his admiration. He tugged Dean out from the curtains and through the crowd, side-stepping bodies from every direction, both of them invisible, both clinging to each other. It felt like all or nothing. Once, there was no Cas. And now, here he was. Holding onto Dean’s arm. They were pushing through crowds, invisible.
And then suddenly, someone hissed in pain. Dean had trodden on someone’s foot.
‘Now - go!’ Dean cried, pushing Castiel in front of him as the dancefloor split apart, horrified by the silent yell.
They ran. Dean didn’t know which of them started running first but suddenly they both were. They leaped out of Slughorn’s Office and into the corridor beyond, then to the end of that corridor, too. They kept going. Kept running. Out of breath, with Dean grabbing onto the hem of what he thought was Castiel’s sleeve, finding it hard to tell where the other boy was in relation to him. They ran down the spiral stairs. Through another hallway. And out - into the Clocktower Courtyard.
It was raining. Dean panted, catching his breath, as he watched the silhouette of Castiel outlined by the rain.
He laughed, then. Really laughed. Bent over. Hands on his knees. And Castiel was smiling as he dissolved back into sight, as though the rain was washing him clean - his hands materializing first, then his arms, his chest, his neck, shoulders, head. All of him. Dean could see his own hands now, too, and he marveled at the way they appeared, pressed against his knees, knuckles white from the cold.
‘God,’ he mumbled, straightening up. ‘I’ve not laughed like that in…’ His voice trailed off. He swallowed.
And now they were back to where they had been. That tense, silence.
Castiel swallowed visibly, pushing his hands into his pockets. The rain caused his hair to flatten against his forehead, the water trickling down his cheeks. He looked miserable. Dean could still hear the music from Slughorn’s Office, playing from a window two stories above, the light through the window warm, dry, inviting. But they were here, in the coolness of the Courtyard, with nothing to say to each other.
Dean was the first to speak.
‘I sent you a letter,’ he mumbled, voice wrecked.
Castiel looked down, not meeting Dean’s eyes. ‘I know.’
‘You know?’ Dean clenched his teeth. ‘And you never… you never replied.’
Castiel nodded. Still looking down.
‘What did I do? Tell me straight. You owe me that.’
Castiel laughed, unamused. He sniffed and looked up, leveling his gaze with Dean. ‘You did nothing,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s me.’
It was the most honest either of them had been with each other in months, but Dean wanted to tear it all apart.
‘Bullshit,’ he insisted. ‘That’s the stupid crap they say in the Muggle movies. It’s not you, it's me. Tell me the truth, Cas.’
‘That is the truth,’ Castiel said adamantly. When Dean said nothing, he carried on. ‘I needed - I tried… I am doing my part.’ He almost glared at Dean then. ‘I'm doing my part in - in keeping you safe. I need you to let me do that.’
Dean blinks. It’s not at all what he’d expected Castiel to say, and it knocks the breath straight out of him. His eyebrows knotted together and he looked at Castiel, completely dazed.
‘What are you talkin’ about?’ he mumbled.
Castiel looked torn. The rain had soaked his clothes, his shirt so wet that his skin was visible through the thin fabric. He shook his head, as though struggling to find the words.
‘Can’t you see?’ he said eventually, his voice ruined. ‘I’m doing this for you, Dean. I’m doing it to protect you.’ At Dean’s blank look, he pressed on. ‘I’ve seen how this ends - I see it every night. Okay? It ends bloody. And I’m not… I’m not good luck, Dean. I’m not. Maybe it escaped your notice, but my brother is Death Eater. Even being associated with me is dangerous. He would kill you in a heartbeat - he’d kill you.’
The weight of it hits Dean square in the chest. He’s been so stupid. This whole time, he’s been thinking of childish, immature reasons Castiel might have changed over the past six months. Maybe he’d grown up. Maybe he’d stopped caring. A thousand maybes. But this was bigger than Dean. It was bigger than them. Castiel was standing opposite him, soaked through in the rain, and he looked scared.
‘That’s why I haven’t been talking to you,’ he said, the words quieter now. Ruined. ‘It’s why I didn’t answer your letter. It’s why I - it’s why I’ve been avoiding you. Because I can’t afford to put you in danger, and I don’t deserve your kindness, or your forgiveness, or your friendship. And I don’t want it. Because I’m more trouble than I am worth. With Nicodemus out there - it’s too dangerous. He wants me for my powers and he’ll do whatever it takes for me to join him. Even if it means hurting the people I care about. And I am not worth that. I am not worth your safety being at risk, and I will not have you getting dragged into danger because of me.’
The world tilts around Dean. It’s the most they’ve said to each other in months, but all of it was wrong. This wasn’t how it was meant to be.
He shook his head, aware that his eyes were stinging and his chest was tightening with some unknown pain. Something he couldn’t pinpoint. An ache, like no else. He remembered Castiel’s words last term. Trying to get over you.
There were a hundred things he wanted to say. He wanted to take Castiel’s hand, grab it, pull him close. Tell him I didn’t want to dance with Esmerelda tonight. I wanted you. You don’t have to get over me. I couldn’t ever let you go. Why would you get over me? Don’t do that - don’t you do that. But he was frozen to the spot. Frozen by the fact that he had all of those thoughts or feelings, let alone could ever say them out loud.
‘You asked,’ Castiel said, almost coldly.
‘Cas…’
But Castiel was turning around. He was walking back into the warmth of the castle, his robes drenched, his hair soaked. Dean grabbed his arm.
‘No, Cas,’ he began.
He couldn’t leave it like this. Castiel paused and looked at him. Dean opened his mouth. Closed it. He let his hand fall limply to his side.
‘Cas - please,’ Dean said before he could stop himself. ‘Please don’t push us all away. You don’t have to do this all on your own.’
It wasn’t what he’d wanted to say. Nowhere near what he’d wanted to say. Everything was in his head, in his heart, but caught in his mouth. Don’t forget me. Don’t leave me. I need you. I need you.
Castiel looked at him, his expression stony - detached. His hands clenched at his side.
‘What if I love you?’ he blurted out. Desperate.
It wasn’t what he’d meant to say. It was nowhere near what he’d meant to say. But it caused Castiel to tense up, shock flitting across his face. It was progress. It hurt to talk about, but if it’s what it took to get Castiel to listen, then Dean would do it. What if I love you? What then, you asshole? Dean wanted to push him, tell him to fix this mess, to find a way of being someone Dean couldn’t love, or find a way of building a world in which it was easy for them to love each other.
‘Did you ever get over me?’ he continued, his heart pounding in his chest. ‘Last term. You said you tried, but you never said if you succeeded.’
‘Dean.’
‘Humour me, man. Did you?’
Castiel looked over, meeting Dean’s eye. He looked so tired - so worn and weathered. They’d been back and forth on this hell ride for near enough a decade. Why was it so complicated? Benny and Andrea would hold hands at breakfast, but Dean and Castiel had to go through this hell because they liked each other? He knew they liked each other. He had no idea how long he’d known it, but it was a fact. Same way the sky’s blue.
‘Don’t ask me that,’ Castiel said at last, tearing his gaze away. A muscle in his jaw popped. ‘You’re being cruel.’
‘Because I don’t want you to,’ Dean pushed on, voice ringing out into the rain. ‘Get over me, I mean. I don’t want you to.’
‘Dean.’
‘No, I’m serious,’ he argued, the words catching. He was being braver than Dean ever thought he could be, but Charlie had told him - he likes you in a big way.
‘You can say that you’re protecting me by avoiding me and that you’re scared I’ll be in danger, but… all due respect, Cas, that’s a load of crap,’ Dean said, voice rough. His chest hurt. ‘I’m gonna be an Auror when I leave here. I’m gonna be throwing myself into the fire. If I’m in danger at any point, it’s because I’m choosing to be - not because of you causing me to be.’ He clenched his fists. ‘And - you have to know this - but to me, you’re worth all the trouble in the world. So, if you listened to me right now, you’d know that there’s nothing we can’t do together. And if Nicodemus wants to try and kill me - or hurt me to get to you, or somethin’, then let him. We’re stronger together than we are apart. You have to know that.’
Castiel swallowed, the force of it rippling in his throat. His eyes were wet. Dean couldn’t tell if it was the rain or something else. He’d born his whole heart and soul now. Put it right on the line - even more so than the letter. It was all there, for Castiel to take. Please, he begged silently. Please. Let it be enough. Let him take my hand, and we can make this right.
‘I can’t,’ Castiel said quietly, the words wretched as they left his lips.
Dean pressed his lips together, twisting his mouth to stop from doing god knows what. He didn’t know what he might do. He wanted to hit Cas, then. Wanted to push him up against a wall and yell at him, kiss him, scream at him. Anything. Anything to rid himself of the feelings that were pulsing through his veins. He wanted to tear his own skin off, claw out his eyes, tug out his hair, dissolve himself there and then into a pile of blood and bones - because he’d spent a lifetime loving Cas, and it was there, in the open, and it hadn’t been enough.
If it wasn’t April between them, then it was this. Or it was something else. There was always something. At some point, Dean would have to accept that maybe the problem wasn’t the situation. Maybe the problem was that Castiel couldn’t push himself to go that extra mile. To risk it all, the way Dean was willing to. He felt sick.
‘Right,’ Dean heard someone say. It took him a moment to register it was his own voice. Everything sounded far away, yet too close all at once. ‘Right.’
He took a step back, body tingling with the rawness of all he felt.
‘Dean,’ he heard Castiel say. ‘Dean, I…’
But it faded into background noise. Dean turned from Castiel, barely seeing anything as he walked out of the Courtyard numbly, the rain blurring his vision. Or maybe it was the tears. He wasn’t sure.
He didn’t go back to the party, or to the dormitory that night. He found himself floating through the Castle, feet taking him wherever they thought was best. Castiel didn’t come after him. Didn’t chase him, the way Dean would’ve chased Cas. He was pathetic. Benny was right - he was tearing himself apart. And for what?
He only realized he was in the Boat House when he was climbing into one of the boats that rested on the water, bobbing with the weight of Dean’s shaking body. And it was only when he was alone, completely, out of the rain but cold from the rainfall, that he allowed himself to truly cry.
He was shaking head to toe. Everything was close and itchy, yet he was entirely numb.
He settled in the boat and pulled his legs up close to his chest, his head slotting between his knees, and he cried harder than he’d ever cried before. He wanted someone to come and tell him everything would be okay - that he hadn’t just told Castiel how he felt and had it all come to nothing. That he hadn’t just lost everything in one fell swoop. He wished everything was different. He wished Castiel was happy and relaxed - that he didn’t have nightmares or visions. He wished he could hold Castiel’s hand and be loved in return, without judgment or fear. He wished, for the first time in his life, he wished he didn’t have magic. That none of them had magic. That Castiel was a Muggle, same as Dean, and there wasn’t a war going on with people who wanted to kill them because of their blood status or use them for their powers. He wished it were easy. That loving Castiel was enough to be loved back. That being brave and speaking the truth was enough to receive everything he felt in return.
But instead, Dean was alone in the Boathouse. Crying like a lost child. Remembering the look in Castiel’s eyes - the way he’d looked like his hands were tied. And he didn’t call for help, and nobody came. And he didn’t think he’d ever be the same again.