It's In Your Eyes

Military Straight

Castiel's POV -

Something soft and warm presses up against my cheek and I roll into it, crushing closer and inhaling. In this waking moment it's bliss to just breath in the earthy, paper and ink and sugar scent of Dean's hand before I become aware enough to realise. It's Dean's hand.

I pull away and shift away, blushing furiously. He looks a little startled, then smiles down at me with the softest tip up of his lips. It's so perfect I want to wake up every day to that look.

But then again I want to be able to pull him down to my mouth and kiss those very lips as my world settles around me for another day with him by my side. And that will never happen. Dean doesn't swing that way. When will my brain just accept it's foolhardy to hope for impossible things. Like this. Like school here being bearable. Like my parents accepting and loving me unconditionally the way parents are supposed to do.

And I'm back here, stuck on this never ending loop of depression, the hateful glares of my mother and father seared onto the inside of my brain forever. Cursed that they will always claw their way to the forefront of my thoughts wherever I think I'm happy then realise I'm not. Just a final blow. One last shuddering blow to punctuate the realisation. A cherry atop this pathetic crap-cake of an attempt at normality.

And now I've been too quiet for too long and Dean's starring at me like there's something wrong. Something seriously wrong. Like, more wrong than things are.

"What's up?" I ask, trying on my best casual voice. It just comes out even more gravely, rough and low than usual. I clear my through, surprised to see Dean look almost pained when I speak and shift a little on his seat.

"Uh..." It's his turn to be dumb, gazing back at me, till I hoist myself up and tilt my head at him questioningly. "You- um. You can leave now... I came to help you."

Dean recomposes himself, standing and brushing down his shirt. He's still angled away from me but I don't question it. I don't question anything.
I just scramble out of the other side of the bed and stretch, feeling freedom so close already. Hospitals and hospital beds are like a prison. They seem to be constantly telling you you might die right there under those crackly, white, too sterile to be normal bed covers. I don't ever want to die in a hospital bed. It has to be in a bed in a place I call home...

If I have one by then...

If I ever have one.

My vision swirls and some hands catch me under my arms as I lean over too far to the left. Dean smirks down at me and I heat up again. Whether it's the embarrassment or just him being so close, holding onto me, I don't know. I do know that if he hadn't caught me, I'd have been fine, lying on the hospital bed again.

But he caught me.

Dean's POV -

Okay. I'm still holding him.

I still have my hands under his arms. He's so still, just gazing back up at me.

It feels so odd, like it has before. I'm tingling all over like millions of tiny pinpricks and it feels to good to just curl my fists up in his cotton-soft T-shirt, and just hold my position perfectly.

It feels like that time, that morning, after that first night on the roof. Everything's still a bit fuzzy from that memory, but Cas had turned up with a bloodied hand shortly after. And I still don't know what was going on inside me. Or him.

I think Charlie knows better than I do even... The looks she's been giving me lately.

And my hands are still holding him up.

And the way he's looking at me- What do you do with a look like that? How are you supposed to react? I may not know what I'm feeling or thinking or doing. But something seems to be clicking. Like that little metal detector Sammy bought me for my tenth birthday. It would just go crazy, buzzing when it got close to anything made of metal. Whenever it found exactly what it was looking for.

So close to him now, and all my mind is stuck on, all that is ticking over and over in my head is, 'He's not just some guy. He's not. He's more. He's different.' And the thing my brain is so reluctant to accept, from years of conditioning from my military-taught father, yet too incapable of denying is... The other thing.

Is it bad that I don't want to move back? I want to move forward. I do. Move in even more than I am. And I'm already too close to him for it to be socially acceptable. For it to be fair on him. For it to be completely heterosexual... Or at all.

I can feel his fucking breath on my mouth. Little, hot puffs of air that are anything but even or steady. Breath. Another one. And another.

And I'm standing straight, military straight, in front of him again. But a good few steps away. And he looking a little startled. Maybe even a little hurt, or confused. Or embarrassed. So I scramble to start gathering his things, making a point of smiling back at him.

It takes a moment for his body to relax again, he's been so still in my grip, and so tense. He picks up that big, leather book of his, wrapping his arms around it and hugging it to his chest when he realises there's nothing left to take with him.

No one interrupted us. No one walked in to bring me back to my 'senses'. It had all been me, realising maybe that I'm getting confused by his bluer than blue eyes and devilishly sinful eyelashes that any girl would kill for. He's easily more beautiful than any female I've ever had an eye for.

So why should it register in my mind as wrong or unnatural to follow any urges I may have towards this boy?

Boy, that's it. That's all I need to think to realise. To understand how messed up I am. I can't stomach the thought of thinking this way about another guy because I can't stomach the thought of my dad looking down his nose at me. Just because he can't stomach the thought.

And that's messed up.

I may have pulled away just now, but it was my father holding my shoulders and guiding me.

I don't want him here, in my head, telling me what to do. I never have. And yet he has always found a way to dominate my opinions and everything about me.

And now Cas is looking at me, waiting for me to walk ahead of him, out and back to the dorms. Instead I turn and wait, until he's beside me, so we can walk up together, not letting what just happened do any damage. I may be too confused about what that even was, or what it meant. And I don't analyse my feelings, ever, for as long as I can remember, so why start now. But why should I lose one of the best friends I've ever had.

I need to stop being so inconsiderate of his emotions while I work through this thing. So I smile over at him as he matches my stride, and gives me this knowing look, which is so understanding it hits me like a wave. I just ignore the fact I'm drowning in said wave, and break the silence.

"So, you hungry?"