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Dean’s too excited to be invited to Charlie’s party to remember to ask who else will be there. He regrets his short-sightedness when he walks into her house. It seems as though the entire population of their high school is located in her living room and Dean recognizes no one. 

An all-too familiar anxiety settles in his bones. He should be used to this by now; he’s been the new kid at school too many times to count. He and Sam hardly believed Dad when he said they were settling permanently in Pontiac, Illinois, but three weeks in and Dad hasn’t made noises of moving yet. Which is fine, but having a permanent mailing address means Dean actually has to make friends. Sam, the little freak, already has a host of buddies attached to him by the end of his first day (it’s not weird that Dean watches his little brother from across the cafeteria, all right, he’s just being a good brother and making sure Sam is fitting in), but Dean remains woefully unattached. 

Enter Charlie Bradbury, tech genius and actual human ray of sunshine. Seeing Dean’s pathetic attempts at creating lasting connections, Charlie had taken him under her proverbial wing and introduced him to her impressively wide circle of friends.  

Dorothy, Kevin, Jo, Benny, Gilda, Victor, Hannah, Inias, Anna, Gabriel--the names and faces flew past him. Only one stuck. 

Castiel. 

Dean knows he stares when Charlie introduces Castiel, but who could blame him? With those big blue eyes, sharp jaw, and a voice that sounds like he’s been gargling gravel even at seventeen, Dean’s willing to bet a lot of people stare at Castiel. It’s too bad that Castiel doesn’t seem interested in making the slightest overture at friendliness. He’s not rude but also not interested. Every time Dean tries to start a conversation, Castiel answers him in as few words as possible before making an excuse to leave. Dean’s fairly certain his last one was I have to clean the gutters. And Dean’s not stupid, he can take a hint (even if takes him about five times to figure it out). Castiel’s not interested in being friends (or anything more god forbid). 

Which is fine. Dean has plenty of friends. 

Too bad he can’t find any of them at this party. 

He forces his way through the crowd, ignoring the elbows and red solo cups thrown his way. The music (some awful Top 40 pop crap) blares, and Dean makes a note to take over the speakers at Charlie’s next party. 

Dean would love to give Charlie shit about it now, but he can’t find her anywhere. He makes his way from the living room into the kitchen and still finds no sign of his friends. The door to the back porch calls to him like a siren song and Dean slips outside before anyone ever has a chance to notice he’s gone. 

Dean closes the door behind him, thankfully shutting out most of the noise and the godawful music. Outside, it’s not nearly as humid, less so when a cool breeze drifts by. Dean sighs in relief as the sweat cools on the back of his neck. It’s only then he realizes he’s not alone. 

Sitting on a bench at the edge of the patio, illuminated by the weak glow of a porch-light, sits Castiel.  Dean’s mouth goes dry as he watches Castiel take a deep sip from his solo cup, throat working as he swallows. It’s only when Castiel lowers the cup that he catches sight of Dean. He sputters on his last swallow, coughing as his lungs reject whatever liquid he just tried to give them. 

“Dean,” he finally rasps, carelessly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I didn’t...I didn’t think you would be here.” 

Amazingly, Dean feels disappointed. “Why? Did you think that I was too lame for this?”  

Castiel blinks. “No,” he says, surprise in his voice. “I thought...weren’t you going out with Anna tonight?” 

Dean vaguely remembers Anna hinting that she and a few of her friends were headed out to see a band downtown, but it hadn’t sounded like his scene. He does think that Castiel might have been standing in the background of that conversation, but he hadn’t thought the other boy was paying attention. 

“No. I mean, she asked, but...no.” 

“Oh. Well, all right then.” There’s something pleased in Castiel’s eyes as he ducks his head. Dean thinks he catches a hint of a smile. 

“Wait,” he says, feeling like he got this whole thing very wrong. “Were you...Cas, were you jealous?” 

“No,” Castiel says, a little too quickly. “You can do whatever you like.” He punctuates the statement with another drink, swift and furious. 

Dean walks over to the bench Cas is sitting on. He sits down and notes the quick dart of Castiel’s eyes to the minimal distance separating them. “So why aren’t you inside?” Castiel finally asks, his eyes on the few stars visible from the suburbs. 

Dean shrugs. “’S too hot in there. I don’t know anyone. Shitty music.” A disheartening thought strikes. “Why? Do you want me to leave you alone?” 

“No!” Cas answers a little too quickly. “I mean...no. Stay. Please. I like talking to you.” 

Dean scoffs. “Dude, you’ve said like...three full sentences to me. Kind of takes more than that to have a conversation.” 

“I’ve said more,” Cas protests. When Dean levels a stare at him, he relents. “You’re...very distracting sometimes.” Cas’ eyes flick down to Dean’s lips. “All the time,” he amends, his own tongue dabbing at his lower lip. 

Warmth blooms in Dean’s chest. “Cas...do you...” He grins for a moment as a world of new possibilities opens up to him. “Do you like me?” 

“We don’t have to make a big deal out of this.” Cas draws his knees up to his chest, obviously resigned. “I mean, I’d appreciate it--”

“Hold up,” Dean interrupts. It looks like he and Cas are going to have to get a hell of a lot better at this communication thing; they both misread this situation so badly. “What if I want to make a big deal about it?” Cas looks towards him, his forehead creased in obvious misery, and Dean sighs in frustration. “Not like that, I just mean...Look, can I hold your hand?” 

The skin of the back of Dean’s neck prickles with a blush (amazing how much of an idiot Cas turns him into), but it’s worth it for the look of slowly dawning realization on Cas’ face. Even better is when Cas stretches out his hand, palm up towards Dean. 

Dean’s hand slides overtop Cas’ before his fingers lace smoothly between Cas’. He wraps his fingers onto the back of Cas’ hand, something pleased jangling in him at the look of their clasped hands. 

“I thought you kind of hated me,” Dean breathes, transfixed by Cas’ palm, dry and warm, against his. 

“No,” Cas agrees, his own voice faint. His thumb presses daringly into Dean’s skin. “Quite the opposite.” 

“Oh.” Dean grins and Cas matches his expression, his lips spreading in a wide, gummy smile. Inside his chest, his heart performs a series of Olympic worthy somersaults. Somewhere, a choir sings a hallelujah chorus. “Well, that’s good I guess. ‘Cause I really like you.” 

They stay there, ignoring the music and sounds from within the house, their hands clasped together on Dean’s lap, and watch the stars late into the night. 

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