Here there be whump

Dean inches closer, shuffling forward, slow and slow and steady, until he’s so close that Cas can feel his breath on his neck. For a second Cas is afraid that he’s done something wrong, and they are going to have a repeat performance of what had happened this morning. But Dean doesn’t sink down to his knees. Instead, he tucks his head into Cas’s neck, resting his head on his shoulder. The rest of his body stays still, arms limp by his sides. Uncertain of what he is supposed to do, they stand there in that awkward position for a few moments, before Cas, hazarding a guess, lifts his arms to circle the other boy. He pulls Dean tighter against his chest, and Dean melts.

“Is it…” the boy starts, voice rough and quiet. “Is it enough?”

Cas glances down at the open palm in front of him.

“For…what?” He asks.

“Food?” The boy says hopefully. “Or. Or. Anything?”

Cas bites his lip.

The amount of coin the boy is offering is pitiful, not enough to buy even an apple at the market, much less a hearty bowl of the stew he has bubbling back in the kitchen. […] They idea of someone taking advantage of someone already in such a wretched situation is so upsetting that Cas has taken the coins from the boy before he knows what he’s doing.

“Go sit down by the fire,” Cas tells the boy. “I’ll bring you a bowl of stew.”

‘Cause I still act like an orphan I guess And my hard heart breaks to confess That even while you hold me as I cry on the floor I still don’t know how to be yours . x.