#glassesdeannetwork

They get through Thanksgiving but Dean asks to go home the next day. The house is quiet as they bring their bags down the stairs, everyone aching to say something, to comfort the man they call son or brother, but they know better. 

Dean’s goodbyes are hallow and he walks out the door first, leaving Cas alone.

Mary steps toward him, kisses his cheek. “Take care of our boy.”

They don’t talk much once they get home. Dean dives into bed and Cas calls the doctor, booking an appointment. He gives Dean the space he needs, only disturbing him when it’s time for dinner. Dean doesn’t respond, doesn’t stir at all. Cas bites his lip, wants to say more, thinks better of it.

“I’ll be out here if you need me.”

He sleeps on the couch that night.

The doctor has no good news in the morning. Dean’s hit his limit. There’s no point in prescribing more glasses because his vision is going to dramatically decline each day. 

“How long?” Dean asks gruffly.

The doctor’s smile is thin. “I’d say about a month.”

It’s somehow quieter when they get home, like they’re barely even breathing. Cas was to say something, wants to promise assurances he doesn’t really know. He wants to touch Dean and hold him but it’s like every time it comes close, Dean moves away. 

He goes into their bedroom. The door closes quietly but still makes Cas flinch like a clap of thunder. He sits on the couch, head in his hands, feeling lost and alone.

It’s maybe been a half hour when he hears a thump in the bedroom. Cas comes out of the kitchen, eyeing the door suspiciously. When there’s no other sound he goes to turn around but stops as something crashes. There’s another smash like glass breaking and then something hitting the wall and Cas runs, pushing through the door and a photo frame hits his stomach, making him grunt.

Dean stands in the middle of the mess, dropping the lamp in his hand as he stares in Cas’s direction. “Cas? Oh god, did I- are you-? I-I-”

“It’s okay,” Cas says but Dean starts shaking, shoulders heaving as he bursts into tears.

Cas hurries forward, catching Dean just as he starts to sink, and Cas carries them both to the floor. 

“I can’t see. Cas, I can’t see. It’s gone.”

He doesn’t know what to say, can’t find the words to soothe Dean’s sobs. So he just holds him, gathers Dean as close to his chest as he can and rocks them back and forth. 

He doesn’t know how long it goes on but at some point Cas drags Dean out of the mess and onto the bed. They lie on their sides, bodies curled toward one another and Cas runs his fingers through Dean’s hair, feels Dean drawing patterns on his hip.

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” Dean whispers.

Cas hums. “It was just a picture frame.”

“No, not just the picture frame,” Dean says and tilts his head back, looking Cas in the eyes. “I’m sorry for icing you out. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Cas lets his hand drift over Dean’s face, stroking his cheek, running across his lips. “You’re scared, Dean. It’s okay.”

“But you- you don’t deserve...” Dean’s eyes pinch shut and he sucks in a deep breath. “You deserve better.”

Cas bites his lip, fingers walking up the bridge of Dean’s nose to brush his eyelashes. “How can I do better than the best?”

Dean opens his eyes and Cas thinks he sees tears in them again, a depth of hope Dean doesn’t want to dare believe in and a fear Cas can read perfectly clear.

“I’m not going anywhere, Dean,” Cas whispers. “I’m always going to be right here.”

They don’t go anywhere for Christmas, just lock themselves away in their tiny apartment. Cas can’t help asking if Dean is sure the days leading up to it, because his vision gets darker every day and it wouldn’t be a bad idea to see his parents one last time.

Dean says Cas is the only thing he wants to see. 

They wrap each other’s presents with their eyes closed and Cas strings white lights all throughout the apartment because Dean likes the way they blur together. He says it makes Cas look like an angel.

When they go to bed Christmas night, Dean asks Cas to leave the lights on and makes him face Dean as he lies down. Cas goes along with it but it’s hard not to want to cover his face with the way Dean just stares at him, never saying a word. 

“What are you doing?” Cas finally asks, smiling awkwardly.

“Trying to memorize your eyes,” Dean says. “Don’t want to forget that blue.”

Dean goes completely dark two days after Christmas. It a solemn day but they spend it together, always touching, always assuring one another even if they aren’t talking.

The mood brightens little by little as the days pass and it’s Dean who begs Cas to go out for New Years. 

Cas doesn’t deny being more than a little nervous about it. What if they lose track of each other? What if some drunks get too rowdy and hurt Dean somehow? But Dean assures him all will be fine; he has no intention of taking his hands off Cas the entire night.

They decide to celebrate at one of their local spots, snag a table close to one of the speakers so Dean can hear the countdown playing on the TV. A few friends stop by to greet them. Dean can tell who most of them are by voice but there a few who he has to ask Cas about once they’ve walked away. He doesn’t tell anyone about his vision, doesn’t want their awkward sympathy or drunken pity. 

He just wants to drink a few beers and kiss his boyfriend at midnight. 

Five minutes to the drop, the bar starts to quiet down, attention shifting to the television. 

“You know, this isn’t so bad,” Dean says.

Cas arches a brow, sensing a joke. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s all mostly auditory anyway. Just listening to music, the countdown. Then you kiss someone. Say ‘happy New Year.’ I’m really not missing much.”

Cas nods, thinks for a minute. “What about the fireworks?”

Dean snorts and waves his hand dismissively. “I’m not six, Cas. I can deal without fireworks.”

Cas leans in to kiss his cheek and Dean can feel the curve of his smile. 

The bartender screams for everyone to be quiet as the countdown starts and the bar practically shakes as all the guests start yelling the numbers.

Ten... nine... eight... seven...

Cas’s mouth moves to Dean’s ear and he shivers as Cas whispers, “I love you, Dean.”

Six... five... four...

Dean swallows and scoots as close as he can, hand coming up to cup Cas’s jaw.

Three... two...

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

One.

Their lips touch, sliding together perfectly and Dean can taste Cas’s beer, can feel Cas’s hand clutching his shoulder, can hear the crowd around them hollering and clapping as something booms down the street; far away explosions that incite cheers and Cas grips him tighter, bites his lip, strokes his neck.

Finally, when Cas rolled off of him and stumbled to the bathroom, Dean’s upstairs brain tuned back in.

Hey, dumbass, it said, don’t you think it’s actually a really terrible idea to have sex with your roommate and your best friend?

Why yes, brain, that does sound like a bad idea. Except that that was the best sex he’s ever had in addition to Cas being the best person Dean has ever known. Okay, so Cas is a bit of a slob and he’s so quirky sometimes and he’s a runner, which is just weird, but he’s a good guy. Would climb a tree to save a cat or drop his own bags to help an elderly lady carry hers. And Dean really wants to keep having sex with him.

So Dean doesn’t question their new arrangement. They haven’t really discussed it since that first day when a freshly-showered Cas flopped down on the couch next to Dean and asked him how he felt about spanking.

This led to an in-depth discussion of boundaries and what exactly they wanted from each other in the bedroom. Which is all well and good, except that it makes their sexy time a bedroom-only activity and now Dean is having some serious feelings-related issues outside of the aforementioned bedroom.

Granted, these issues aren’t precisely new. Dean has been wrestling internally with telling Cas that he’s halfway in love with him for a solid two years now, but when Dean fucks it up is he going to lose his roommate and his best friend, too? On the other hand, is he going to spend the rest of his life pining over Castiel Novak? That’s a firm maybe at this point. So, no, feelings-related issues aren’t new.

There is something that is new, however, and that is the dark hickey Dean has just spotted on Cas’s hip bone and the fact that Dean is currently losing his goddamn mind over it.

It’s just a hickey, right? Nothing too horrible. The problem is that Dean knows for a fact he didn’t put it there—not that Dean doesn’t love Cas’s hips, but it’s not exactly a spot he’s inclined to leave a hickey—so that means that someone else put it there and Dean’s going to be sick.

He ends up going to the bathroom, actually, but he doesn’t throw up. Instead, he leans his arms against the counter and takes deep breaths. Then, he flushes the toilet and splashes a little water on his face. He looks at himself in the mirror.

This is fine, he lies, you’re fine. It’s not a big deal that Cas is getting some on the side. It’s not like he made you some vow of fidelity. Why would he? A good roll in the hay and a half-decent roommate and that’s all. You’re not good for anything else and Cas would be certifiably crazy to think otherwise.

After that rousing pep talk, Dean goes back to the kitchen and avoids looking at Cas as much as he can.

He’s not very successful, mind you, but he tries.

He does insist that Cas puts a shirt on if he wants to cook, which is a small victory. Cas is craving scrambled eggs but he’s not so good at watching the pan so Dean takes over after a little while and they both end up with a nice plate of egg. Cas likes ketchup with his while Dean just uses a bit of salt and pepper. Cas talks at length about his stupid thesis and his stupid undergrads and he hooks his ankle around Dean’s under the table, and Dean tries to remember to breathe.

After suffering through breakfast, Dean plops himself down on the couch with the intent to spend the entire day on Netflix. Maybe he’ll take a break to hit the grocery store and grab some more junk food. And whiskey. Maybe tequila, too.

But Cas ends up deciding to stay home rather than hole up in the library, which means nature documentaries and talking about the universe. It’s the sort of thing that Dean loves to do with Cas on a normal day, but today is not a normal day.

Today, Cas is wearing a physical reminder that Dean is not anyone special, that Cas is bright and handsome and so damn good in bed it’s a small wonder there haven’t been any indicators before this. Seriously, Cas has probably been hooking up with some other friends of his this whole time.

Maybe they’re not even his other friends, Dean thinks with growing horror. What if Cas is dating someone? What if there’s someone that Cas takes out to restaurants and the movies, someone whose hand he holds when they talk together in little cafes, when they go to art museums and concerts together? What if Dean is Cas’s dirty little secret?

Frankly, he wouldn’t be surprised. But it still fucking hurts to consider the possibility.

Maybe he shouldn’t be so upset about it. Really, if they’re not doing enough to keep Cas satisfied, then what else can Dean do but reap the benefits? Surely, if Cas had a problem, he wouldn’t have turned to Dean that morning with a devilish smirk and wrapped a hand around his morning wood. He’d been so comfortable and into it. So, if Cas wants Dean, even just on the side, then why would Dean fight that? He should be grateful to get anything from Cas, not questioning it.

He’s so distracted by his internal crisis that he doesn’t notice Cas has stopped watching the movie to watch him. Then, Cas leaves over and presses pause on Raiders of the Lost Ark.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas?”

Cas huffs a small laugh. “What’s up with you?” Dean shifts uncomfortably.

“Nothing, man. Why, what’s up with you?” He turns to look at Cas, who squints at him.

“Don’t pull that with me,” he says. “I know when something’s wrong with you. You’re easy to figure out.”

Or just easy, Dean thinks miserably, his mind still conjuring images of Cas’s picture perfect partner and how confused and devastated they would feel to find out that Cas sleeps with him sometimes. Fairly often, actually, he thinks with a sort of smugness mixed with guilt. Jesus, he needs to get a grip.

“Cas, I’m fine,” he insists. “Can we just get back to the movie already?” Cas looks deeply unimpressed with his avoidance, lips pursed and brow furrowed as if he can glare hard enough to see inside Dean’s head. Dean really hopes that that isn’t possible otherwise he’d be fucked, and not in the fun way.

But he relents and clicks play, allowing them both to settle into silence once more. It’s not a comfortable one, though, it’s tense with nervous energy and a sort of inexplicable sadness.

Dean thinks he’s going to die when Cas needs to stretch, raising his arms up over his head and arching his back with a little groan. The action pulls up his t-shirt to reveal his belly button and hips, that fucking hickey staring Dean right in the face. He swallows harshly.

Eventually, the movie ends, and they transition to watching bad television. Cas gets out his phone to play games while Dean flips through the channels. It’s comfortable, except that Dean cannot keep his mind off of whoever had their mouth on Cas’s body.

It shouldn’t hurt this much, but it does. Their arrangement wasn’t meant to last, Dean knows that logically, but he’s nevertheless hoped that maybe one of those orgasms would open Cas’s eyes to the possibility of something else, something with more romance than he’d ever admit to desiring.

Things come to a head at dinnertime, with Cas standing by the fridge and holding a jar of tomato sauce in his hand and frowning at it like it’s withholding the secrets of the universe. And Dean loves him. Oh God, how he loves him.

“I love—. Wait, shit. Uh,” he stammers. “It’s just—Cas, I can’t do this anymore.”

Cas looks at him with wide eyes. “What?”

“I can’t—” He gestures uselessly between them. “This doesn’t work for me. I thought I could do it but I can’t anymore, I’m not strong enough. You’re great, Cas, you’re so great and that’s the whole problem really. You’re perfect and I can’t stand only being yours when we’re horny and—and I can’t be your side piece, Cas. I saw the hickey, okay?” He points to Cas’s hip and Cas opens his mouth but Dean cuts him off, he has to get this all off of his chest right now before he chickens out. “And I tried to convince myself it would be okay, that just having any of you would be enough, but it ain’t. I—I want all of you, y’know? But I know you would never want that, and it’s just—just tearing me up inside thinking about it, thinking about never having you again, but I had to—I dunno, I felt like I had to say something, I guess. Can’t do this anymore.” Dean’s breathing hard by the end of his little rant as if he’d run a full marathon, his face and his body hot with shame. He’s tense and ready to flee, wondering if Cas will be so uncomfortable he’ll want to leave right away or if he’ll ask Dean to pack his bags. Either way, this is going to end badly.

He dares to glance up at Cas, wanting to search his expression for clues, when he notices something is off.

Cas is smiling, wide and gummy. This is Dean’s favorite smile and it’s so rare; why is Cas smiling like that and why right now?

Still holding the fucking tomato sauce, Cas takes two careful steps toward Dean, close enough to touch.

“This bruise is from when I walked into the table last night but, yes, I like you, too.”

The little gears in Dean’s brain refuse to turn and process this information. “Huh?”

“I want the same things you do, Dean,” Cas says. He takes another step forward, his smile becoming a bit shy. “I want all of you, too.” The way his eyelashes are fluttering gently makes Dean’s heart trip over itself. “I…sort of thought we were in a good place? I mean, I really didn’t want to push you into a relationship you didn’t want. I just thought we would talk about it eventually.” Cas laughs. “I guess we’re doing that now.”

Dean has yet to form any words. He’s feeling a bit shocked and off-kilter at the moment. He does, however, take a half step toward Cas and reach out to grab the hem of his shirt. He squints at Cas’s hip and thinks, yeah, that’s definitely a bruise and not the sexy kind. Huh.

“Dean?” He looks up at Cas, who’s biting his lip. “Say something?”

What could he possibly say at this moment? How could he respond to being offered everything he’s ever wanted in the form of his gorgeous roommate and best friend? He takes another step, bringing them chest to chest in their cramped kitchen. Then, he raises both hands in order to cup Cas’s cheek, to nudge his bitten lower lip with his thumb, and to push his fingers into that dark, messy hair.

“I’m the luckiest son of a gun alive,” he finally says, drawing Cas even closer. “Not sure what I did to deserve this, but I ain’t gonna question it.”

Cas rolls his eyes before he leans forward to kiss Dean’s jaw. “You’re pretty dense for an honors student, did you know that?”

“Dense and blind, apparently.”

“I’ll forgive you,” Cas says, taking Dean’s hands in his own and stepping back. “I’ll forgive you if you come back to bed with me right now and don’t get up for a while.”