Work Text:
“It’s like riding a bike, Dean,” Sam says. “You never forget how.”
Dean rolls his eyes. He’s pretty sure that isn’t true, but he doesn’t know enough about ice skating to contest it, so instead, he says, “I haven’t skated in a million years, Sam.”
“Me neither,” Cas chimes in, helpfully.
“Cas has a point,” Sam says, then jabs an accusing finger at Dean. “But you’re exaggerating.”
“Okay, fine,” Dean allows. “But it was still three decades and at least that many apocalypses ago.”
“Dean,” Sam sighs. “C’mon.”
He doesn’t have the heart to tell Sam he’s never been skating. That all the money he was able to scrape together for school field trips had, in the end, only been enough for them to send Sam.
Which is why they end up going to the nearest skating rink anyway, in spite of Dean’s objections: because Dean has never had the heart to tell Sam no.
Dean is, predictably, awful at it.
Sam is flying around the rink, laughing in delight like he’s eight years old again. Even Cas is steadily making his way across the ice, the rather surprised beneficiary of what Dean presumes is Jimmy’s muscle memory.
But Dean can’t skate to save his life, apparently. He makes it all of five wobbly feet from the helpful support of the wall before he pitches forward onto the ice, scraping up his palms in the process. He takes a deep breath that stutters on the exhale. His throat feels tight, suddenly, and his eyes seem to be doing their best to sting as badly as his hands.
Stop it, he tells himself, and as soon as he finishes the thought, someone is flying past him and straight into the wall.
Dean looks up from the ice just in time to see Cas falling to his ass with an oof.
“Oh shit,” Sam says, coming to a smooth stop between them. He’s doing an admirable job of stifling his laughter. “You guys okay?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says, only letting Sam help him as far as the safety and support of the wall. “Like riding a bike my ass.”
Sam shrugs guiltily, then moves to help pull Cas up from the floor. He says, “You guys wanna stop, or…?”
Cas catches Dean’s eye for a moment. Dean isn’t sure what he reads there, but next thing he knows, Cas is saying, “I think we’ll take a break for a little, Sam. You go have fun. We’ll be fine.”
Sam shrugs again. “All right,” he says. “Lemme know if you change your minds.”
Sam takes off across the ice, and Dean takes that as his cue to stumble his way back to the door leading to the safety of non-slippery ground. Cas trails behind him as he makes his way to a table, sitting down heavily. He kind of just wants to be left alone to mope, but as soon as he puts his head in his hands, he winces and pulls back. His palms are covered in fine cuts and still stinging. His knees seem to be joining the party, too, a slow burn spreading across his skin where he’s sure it’s been rubbed raw against the inside of his jeans. He opens his mouth to complain about it only to find that he’s alone at the table. Sam is still out on the ice and Cas has, apparently, wandered off to God knows where. Figures.
Dean is just starting to feel good and sorry for himself when Cas reappears with two steaming cups. He takes a seat across from Dean and passes one over. “Hot chocolate,” he explains.
“Thanks,” Dean mutters sullenly. It’s too hot to drink yet, but when he wraps his hands around the cup, the warmth does wonders for his stinging hands. Dean closes his eyes for a moment, clears his throat, and tries again. “Thanks,” he repeats, more sincerely.
Cas hmms an acknowledgement, and then they sit in companionable silence, Dean staring down at the steam rising off the top of the hot chocolate.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Dean says, eventually.
“It was no trouble,” Cas says. “They’re selling it just over there, right past the--”
“You know I’m not talking about the hot chocolate,” Dean interrupts. When Cas doesn’t argue, Dean continues, “You didn’t have to fake it just for my sake. You and Sam were having fun. You didn’t have to stop.” He squeezes his eyes shut. It feels stupid to say thanks for not leaving me to be pathetic all by myself, so he doesn’t. “Just. I dunno. Sorry.”
There is a long, terrifying moment of silence, and then Dean startles at a warm touch to the backs of his hands. His eyes fly open, and he finds himself looking down at Cas’ hands wrapped around his own. When he looks up, Cas’ smile is so soft and warm that the comforting heat spreading through Dean’s hands starts making its way through the rest of his body.
“It’s all right,” Cas says, low and sincere. “It was a pleasure to fall for you.”
Later, Cas and Sam will teach Dean how to skate. He’ll figure out how to balance just right, how to move his feet just so in order to propel himself across the ice. He’ll hold one of Cas’ hands in his own as he takes his first tentative lap around the rink.
For now, though, he sits with Cas’ hands carefully wrapped around his own as he tries to work up the courage to lean across the table and kiss him before his hot chocolate gets cold.