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Chapter Text

"Ms. Bradbury." Castiel walks in, addressing the red-haired woman sitting at her desk, scribbling away notes for him to use later. Although the times were developing and the town was dry, the need for a lawyer would never cease.

Charlie, or Ms.Bradbury, looks up, giving Castiel a warm smile before standing up. Her red hair is twisted into a neat bun as a signature blush crosses her face. She smooths out her wide, puffy-looking dress before she allows her lips to part.

"Castiel, must you refrain from simply calling me Charlie?" She tilts her head to the side before Castiel lifts a hand and gently places a peck. She rolls her eyes before sitting back down and raising an eyebrow, expecting an answer. He smiles, letting out a faux sigh of irritation.

"Charlie, I must remain a gentleman if I am will myself against the externally praised temptations of alcohol. To fight an enemy, you must practice strict discipline." He gives a wink before Charlie laughs. 

"The Lord certainly spared me by making women my aim of pleasure. I would've fallen for that charm many eons ago if not." She sits back down, dusting off her shoulder and looking through her glasses, eyes quickly returning to the task she was first working on.

Castiel was an avid, passionate lawyer who fought for the prohibition cause. It was a passion that developed from his distaste for alcohol and the sorts of wretchedness it self-invited. His father, Lucifer, is someone he believes was appropriately named after suffering decades of abuse at his hands, all because of the ridiculous fate of just having to try alcohol. It subverted his father's mind, because Castiel had to slowly watch him become evil and demonic, losing any light and conscience of his soul. It was a the worst knowing it was also his father, under the influence, who killed his mother.

Alcohol was a liquid enemy and one he was determined to drain from the hands and thirsty, desperate mouths of those around him. So, he took on the cases, fighting in court and although it took time, he certainly left an impression as the townsfolk managed to spread word about their Castiel Novak, someone they saw as a true angel and not just a namesake. If he stepped foot outside, the people were eager to give him a smile and a compliment, unmistakably complimented by a true story of their healing.

"Oh dear boy," an old woman walks up, holding her husband folded arm for support. "You saved my son and his dear little family. The Lord has blessed you with a name from his own fruit. A true angel you are." It was the one thing that always stuck with Castiel. His name became a beacon of representation. An angel.

So, Castiel Novak was a lawyer. And an angel, he supposes. An angelic lawyer, he further supposes.

"G-Get off of me Alastair." Dean chokes a bit before pushing the man, gruff with painfully scratching hairs back. The man smiles with a wicked glint before letting up, stuffing his manhood back inside his pants.

"Dean, my, you are a filthy man. These current times," he speaks before ending the word with a sigh, "do not allow for the demand of someone so promiscuous. Yet, here you are. Taking my... spindle for a ride." Alastair cackles before haphazardly shoving his shirt back into his suit pants. Dean is still frozen on the bed, naked and shivering, questioning why he damned himself into debt when Alastair was a man he could crush within seconds. He looks up, fear in his eyes before covering himself with the sheets. Alastair walks around the bed, trailing an unmoving Dean like prey before grabbing his chin and whispering his ears with a strangely grating voice.

"Dean, I only stopped because I deserved it. You-" Alastair pulls at his face and Dean winces, eyelashes fluttering. "You deserve what I give, gentleman." And with that, Alastair simply opens the crooked door to the dusty and buzzing hallway before tipping his hat. Stricken with fear, disgust, and regret, Dean flutters his eyelids before letting tears stream down his face, questioning how his life got to this point. 

Of course, knows how things got to this point. He knows why he's in this place and it's all because of his dad. His dad drank himself to an emotional death, abusing his mom and little brother, Samuel. As he grew up, Dean lost his pride in carrying the Winchester name, but once push came to shove, he remembered it's three against one. His mother, brother, and himself were all Winchesters, and capable enough to go give the name it's due glory. Of course, his mother is gone because of an accident. John is still alive but Dean refuses to think of that to be so. Every time he wonders how his father might be doing, he can smell the alcohol the man always carried on him. 

The worse part is that John sold Dean for sex. This wasn't his first rodeo with Alastair, oh no. It started when he was fresh out of puberty at 13, sitting in the living room listening to his father say he can help you out as long as you pay me and poor Dean was eager to make himself useful, prove his father's insults wrong. And it did work, but it came at cost for Dean. He still bore the taste and scars of Alastair's hands and now, nine years later, he is in yet the same position.

Alastair owned most of the liquor shops and bars in the greater region and if anything, was an impossible enemy to defeat. Any lawyers that tried to fight against him, any protesters, were simply found and shot. His desire for unfairness was dashingly, embarrassingly obvious at times, as evidenced by his own volition to simply shoot people in broad daylight and walk away. He had his henchmen do his work for him, clicking their heels away with their stallions, angrily eyeing the townspeople. Dean, compared to the regular folk, was in a much worse position. Once he turned 18, he basically became a slave for Alastair, yielding very little power on his own. The man still paid John hefty money which Dean supposed he used to drink his liver to failure, but Dean got some money too. As long as he could eat and sleep, the main seem all to worth it.

Castiel is frustrated, bunching his hair up in frustration. This Alastair guy has been the thorn in his side because up until now, his fights and cases have all been with the meek and unstable liquor shop owners who, if Castiel had encountered with a fashionable gun, would put up a fight for about 5 minutes before closing shop and running away. However, Castiel didn't want to create enemies through becoming a criminal of his own sorts. Hell, if he wanted to make some enemies, at least he'd do it rightfully. Legally.

Flipping through the newspapers and pages sprawled across his table, he realizes his fight needs to go out further. He needs to find himself the will to travel a few towns over to Hays County, where the devil himself strode with unchecked and exuberant power. He heard of Alastair far too many times for his liking and he knew the more he won his legal battles, the closer he'd be getting. Eventually it would be a face-off between the angel and Alastair, so Castiel figured it's better to walk right in and start his fight.

"Are you still going, Castiel?" Charlie fearfully looks into the room, afraid of the consequences that he may incur in trying to face Alastair himself. Castiel looks up, blinking his eyes before attempting to ease her worries with a delicate smile.

"Charlie, I need to go. I would've had to go at some point and I feel confident enough I can defeat this man." Castiel bends his head down, missing Charlie's smile at his finally casual address using her name. "If I must, I might even let go of my ethics that have guided me thus far if it means I can defeat Alastair. The people need to know he is drinking them to their death." He looks up and wonders if he's incorrect in assuming there is a flash of pride in Charlie's face, quickly refocusing as she walks over and around his desk.

"Mr. Novak, if there is anything I can do, I will. I will always be here for my dear friend and companion. Shall I help you organize your clothes and such?" He stares at her face, freckles and red hair accompanying her eager expression. Soon enough, a smile appears on his face. 

"No Charlie. In fact I've already packed. If there is anything you can do, you can find yourself a wonderful woman in the time I'm gone and keep yourself happy." Castiel smile before opening a drawer to his right and pulling out a thick, wide envelope. Smoothing out the flap to keep it secure, he hands it to Charlie who's eyes widen upon feeling the outside of it. She shakes her head, saying a no no no but Castiel silences her.

"$500. For everything you've done so far. I will be back. You're a secondary member on my bank account so if you need more, take what you must. Understood?" The lawyer stares at Charlie, wiping away a few of her tears before hugging her, bringing her into rest a few kisses to her forehead. Charlie nods, gulping down her attempt to fight the money he gives. 

"You'll always be an angel Castiel." Charlie returns a kiss to Castiel's cheek before quickly walking away. "I'll be on my way home now. I'll see you tomorrow at 6 when you leave Castiel!" Castiel is turned around, taking out a few needed supplies before he bends to the side, watching the dress rush out the door. He smiles, knowing Charlie would care more than less that he hadn't responded. Now, it was time was him to re-focus and prepare himself for the, perhaps, greatest fight for prohibition yet.

If Alastair really wanted to make things easy, Castiel was only 3-4 days away. Take a few henchmen and horses, supplies enough to survive, and they could kill him off far too easily. However, democracy was working its best and he knew killing Castiel was simply foolish. He was willing to take the hit for a few of his businesses because he knew (thought) he had the money to bounce back quite easily. Castiel knew that Alastair knew all of this, or else he would've been dead. It's a breath of fresh air to be able to live, but it didn't matter to Castiel much. Whatever he could do, he would do. And that's as simple as that.

Instead of letting death come to his doorstep, then, Castiel took the fight with him to Hays County instead. It was a peaceful few days, getting to stop by in small towns and meet familiar faces while others were new. His cause was well-known of, so it was no surprise to him that many people came to say a quick hello.

Hays County, though, it seemed different. The air felt tight and the sky was duller than usual. The townspeople simply stared at Castiel like he was an outsider and at first, the lawyer thought something was wrong with him. He kept a close eye and then realized, everyone was looking each other the same way too. It seemed as thought the air was simply not one of a trusting kind. There was a disservice being done to the people of this town, so much so that they couldn't trust those walking beside them. Castiel figured it wasn't too much to assume that crimes walked far too easily amongst the regular people and that he too, had to keep his guard up.

The other striking thing about Hays County is that alcohol reeks. Although the air is open as ever, the liquor pervaded the atmosphere and it took everything for Castiel to stop himself from vomiting. Slow strides through the town showed a shop for cigars, then alcohol, then this and then that. This place clearly ran heavily on the emphasis of fashionable drugs, something he wasn't too surprised to see. It was Alastair's town after all. 

But right now, his focus was to find his place of stay, check-in, and recuperate. The trip here drained him, enough that he almost would accept a drink but...

Now why would he do that?

Castiel ignores the scent of the town's atmosphere before coming up to a building, wood dark and seemingly breaking apart before pushing the doors which unfortunately fall down instead of opening. To his further surprise, everyone inside refuses to turn a head. Right, so this is a normal occurrence then. Not knowing what to do, Castiel walks atop the doors and steps onto the actual floor before clearing his throat and quickly setting the door-turned-wooden-planks back into their place. A woman turns around then, dark red hair similar to Charlie's but much older, sporting a mischievous look on her face.

"Hello darling." Her eyes are sharp, eyebrows thin but reasonably suiting her features. He takes note of her long, slender fingers before his eyes snap up at her giving a cough. "I said hello darling." She leans over the counter and Castiel stutters, but eventually responds.

"H-Hello. Sorry, it was not my intention to break your door at all." Castiel rubs a hand on the back of his neck before quickly adding onto his sentence. "I-I have a room here." He steps forward and the woman, seemingly satisfied with his admittance, stands back before licking her fingers and turning a few pages on her desk.

"Name, handsome?" She doesn't look up, but her use of pet names makes Castiel smile. The tension in his shoulders ease as he shakes his head before letting out a sigh. Let's see how far his fame has spread.

"Castiel. Castiel Novak." He says simply and of course, her fingers freeze. She looks up, a smile curving up on her face before she slams her book closed, making Castiel jump a bit. The woman stands up, keeping her eyes trained on Castiel before grabbing a key and using one finger to motion him to follow.

"So you're the handsome angel this town hates talking about." Her back is now turned to Castiel as she walks down the creaking hallways. Confusion makes Castiel lag a bit, but finally he responds.

"I'm not an angel. Just a lawyer. And I wouldn't be all that surprised, I suppose." He doesn't know what else to say. For all he knows, this woman could be Alastair's right hand and he'd be quoting death a lot faster than he expects. She stops walking and turns around before reaching her hand out. 

"Rowena." She states her name matter-of-factly but he catches her darting her eyes around before stepping closer. "I'm a town favorite and one of Alastair's too, but I'm only as a good of friend to him as he is to himself." Castiel gives a tiny smirk, an innocent one, but enough to acknowledge what he's saying. Perhaps, he can trust her. She smiles once again before turning around and likewise, they walk up the steps, Castiel catching his shoe slipping into small holes.

"This is your room!" Rowena opens the door and thankfully, it looks worlds better than the entire town. The bed is neatly made and it smells divine. Before Castiel can even ask the question, Rowena speaks up. "I know what you're thinking, and you're correct! I had this room specially done for you as a token of appreciation. But of course, it does come with an extra price." She winks, before standing in the door way and allowing Castiel to take in the landscape. He turns around at her comment, furrowing his eyebrows.

"How much do you mean by extra, Ms.-" "Rowena. I despise the prefixes and please, it's a meager $20 per day." She smirks and suddenly, all his original comfort with her dissipates. 

"Rowena, I don't recall asking for the anything extra, much less paying for it." He tries his hardest not to grit his words out, but it's a bit tough and it only seems to egg her on.

"I would think you're a bit nicer. I can always get you a room that smells like alcohol. Not so sure you would like it." Her smile is devious and Castiel nearly throws a fit before she breaks into laughter, doubling over herself. Castiel feels himself run through all five stages of grief before Rowena brings her self back up, delicately resting a hand over her right breast.

"Oh, poor boy. I wouldn't do that to you. God, I do love watching your face all confused and helpless!" She walks over and gives a fleeting touch of her finger to his nose before resting the key on a table and giving a wink. "I'll give a discount if you remind me the night before you leave. Until then, make yourself at home angel." With a play of her fingers, she closes the door and Castiel has to stay in his spot, staring into the space before dropping his bags and flopping onto the bed. He fresh sheets make him realize that even if it was an extra $20 per night, hell, he may not have cared.

"Dean!" Samuel, or Sam, runs into the bar through the back door and into a supplies closet. The time is sharp noon, when Dean usually gets his break and makes time to talk to his little brother. As usual, the two are huddled up and talking to each other. Dean attempts to shush his brother, knowing that talking too loud would get them both in trouble, but it seems something exciting is rattling his little brother's nerves.

"Dear God, Sam, what's up with you t'day?" Dean's hair is neatly slicked back, wearing suspenders with his outfit and toothpick getting gnawed between his teeth. Sam makes himself comfortable before quietly clapping his hands.

"Oh, Dean! Y'know Castiel, right? The lawyer from a few towns over?" Sam's smile is immeasurably beaming with joy and anticipation which Dean can't help but return. The name rings a bell so he takes a few moments to scan his memory before his aha moment washes over. Dean nods, now confused why his brother would bring him up. Sam then mirrors him nodding before grabbing Dean's shoulder.

"Dean he's in Hays County! I swear! I thought I saw 'm walking into Rowena's place earlier and when I was talking a trot over to drop of something f'her, she told me the man's in town. T-They he's 'n angel Dean. Maybe he can give Alastair a run for his money." Sam would be jumping through the roof if he wasn't sitting down or cramped into the tiny closet, but no heed. Dean's eyes go wide before he's shaking his head in disbelief.

"Hays County? Why would the man c'mere? Thought he swore never to?" Dean asks his brother innocently and Sam simply shrugs his shoulders.

"Couldn't tell ya Dean. Man I wonder what's g'nna happen. Might the see the buildings to ashes Dean there's g'nna be fights goin' on!" Sam shakes his brother who scoffs before rolling his eyes. 

"Sammy, when'd he come by-" "DEAN! DEAN WINCHESTER!" A voice comes booming from a few ways from the door and Sam nearly smashes his head trying to get out of the closet before Dean practically scoops him out and hauls him near the exit. "We're talking about this over dinner!" Sam slams the door shut after half-whispering and Dean would've let out a cuss if it wasn't for Alastair coming down the hallway, grabbing him by his collar. Dean can anticipate what's coming in, only glad his brother got out in time.

"Y'take too long for these damn breaks. Come out here. We got a customer I need you for." Alastair doesn't even spare a glance before marching out of the room and releasing Dean's collar, leaving him a bit shaken but quickly returning to smoothen out his outfit and hair. Normally, Dean would feel upset and scared because being needed for a customer meant sex. He was a doll, a toy used to the sake of Alastair's business but whatever brought to the money.

Whatever.

Dean messily cleans his shoes, hoping to give them as much sparkle as the time would allow before he's stepping through the hallway again, opening to the door to an eerily quiet and frozen bar. His eyes dart around, trying to find the source and he's almost 99% sure he finds it when a certain blue-eyed man has every pair of eyes in the bar on him.

Suddenly, the newspaper pictures all come flooding back into his mind. Castiel. The angel. The lawyer. Dean's breath in caught in his throat as he take a few moments, raking his eyes over the man's suit, impeccably clean and neatly folded beneath his long, caramel colored coat and hat, expertly paired together. He's sitting at the leisure of his space, quietly reading a book and ignoring the silent drama he has started. Dean feels fearful, knowing Castiel and his track record would make him worthy of exile in any place Alastair is within two miles of.

Alastair grumbles before grabbing Dean's arm, pulling him from behind the counter and over to the table where Castiel is sitting. His heart is pounding as he mentally (and physically) prepared himself to talk to the man who looks like he came straight from a dream. The chairs screech against the floor distastefully as Alastair pulls Dean's out too before pushing him down and sitting down himself, throwing a nasty look at the poor man before refocusing on Castiel. As though on purpose, Castiel flips a page and skims a few more words before slowly raising his head and letting out a sigh.

"Can I help you?" Castiel asks the question with authority, almost as though Alastair's place is actually his. The domineering, refreshing tone in his voice is almost like oxygen Dean is desperate to breathe in, but he doesn't move, refusing to give away his giddiness. Alastair seems to be irked by this comment, contorting his features for just a second before letting out a wicked laugh. 

"You have the audacity to walk in'a my bar and ask me that, Novak. But allow me the honor of being the bigger person 'ere. How can I help you, Novak?" Alastair leans forward, crossing one leg over the other and waiting for Castiel to respond, watching as his face stays just as neutral as ever. His stability strikes Dean as he watches with hidden intent, but one so strong that he's sure Castiel could look over into his eyes and realize Dean is in love with him already.

Dean stays still.

"I've got to eat, Alastair. Not here for a fight if I'm quite honest." Castiel tilts his head to the side, staring directly back at Alastair and Dean feels his heart break a bit. It's typical, that Dean is ignored until Alastair introduces him. He's not sure if something about his stance indicates he's submissive to Alastair and a worthless add-on, or if people are simply too selfish to ask question because no-one has had the guts to stand up to Alastair, even if it from a place of genuine curiosity.

Alastair laughs in response to Castiel's statement and Dean sits quietly, peacefully trying to avoid any conflicts before Castiel dares and looks over into Dean's eyes. Dean's heart swells as his lips part, almost desperate to speak but with Alastair next to him, he doesn't dare to make a move. His lips go back into a thin line and Castiel seems to take note before looking away.

But he doesn't stop.

"Who's this?" Castiel addresses Alastair as though Dean is his subordinate and Dean's not sure if he should be offended or thankful. Did Castiel realize Alastair exercised an unfair amount of control over Dean or was Castiel like every other man he expected to meet?

"Just a pretty thing of mine. Tell him your name doll." Well, alright. Alastair never referred to Dean in this way always cutting to the point and saying "name" to shorten the conversation. If they showed interest, he'd just hand them a key and stare at Dean until the boy followed the next customer to their room and provided them with...services.

"D-Dean-" "DON'T STUTTER DAMNIT." And there it is. Dean knew Alastair wouldn't be able to stop his anger and here it is. Those sweet nothings didn't last for long, Dean thinks. Dean turns to look at Alastair in his eyes, feeling a strange sense of courage. He knows its wrong but he can't help it, appreciating how Alastair seems to twitch in discomfort at such a subtle show of rebellion. 

And with that, Dean turns to Castiel, staring into his ocean-blue eyes before saying his name with a perfect cadence. And unexpectedly, reaching a hand out.

"Dean Winchester. It's a pleasure to meet you Mr.Novak." Dean can feel the inside of slowly shaking, like his resolve is quite literally shaking from inside to out. But it's reinforced because Castiel gives an absolutely beautiful smile, his eyes crinkling as his hand cups Dean's.

"Likewise, Dean." This entire time, Alastair is staring holes into Dean, unsure of what to do. After Castiel and Dean shake hands, they retract, quietly yet with a comfortable amount of satisfaction. Castiel shifts his eyes, looking back at Alastair and saying "I like him."

Dean keeps his head down. Normally he'd take offense, but something in the inflection of Castiel's words tells Dean the lawyer knows exactly what he's doing.

Alastair is still at a loss of words, but he slams a key on the table. 

"If it means it'll get you out of m' f'ckin town, use him as you'd like." Alastair grits his words out before turning to looking at Dean and pointing a finger. "You are going to get it from me. My office as soon as..." Alastair gives a hard stare at Castiel before looking back at Dean with distaste. "This man is finished with you." The man gets up, stomping away into the back as Dean turns and lifts his head up slightly, staring at the key and praying Castiel wouldn't take it. That key unlocked only sacrifice for Dean.

Castiel clears his throats before ticking his head up, indicating for Dean to stand up. He does, hands lightly shaking before Castiel takes the keys and stands in front of Dean before.

"Just do what I tell you, Dean. It'll be okay." Castiel's breath tickles against Dean's ear before they make their way into the room.

Chapter Text

The door rapidly closes as Dean, confused, watches Castiel hurry himself down onto the bed, hunched over like he's in a haste. Dean's got a good idea and half the brain to assume that Castiel doesn't actually want sex and perhaps, is so flustered because he doesn't know how else to conceal to Alastair that they were doing anything but. It's happened a few times where Alastair is sitting right outside of the door, checking to make sure his customers are fully satisfied with Dean's work.

Castiel rubs his hands together, quietly breathing as Dean awkwardly stands in the corner. He's not sure if the lawyer feels the same, but oh, the discomfort really creeps on Dean. He doesn't like getting fucked by every man that wants to suck up to Alastair or the other way around, but for all these years, it's all he's known. Anything that deviates from that makes Dean scared because now, it requires him to be Dean. Now Dean needs to use his own thinking rather than following the control of someone else's and it's a part of him that has been locked away for so long, the mere thought inspires the urge to stick what he's always done: sex.

"Dean." Castiel says his name quietly and well, Dean isn't too sure of what to say. Instead, he opts to stare at the man on the bed, still incredulous at why he seems to be freaking out so much. His thoughts are swept away by reality when he watches Castiel push back and lean against the headboard, crossing his legs with his shoes off. Manners, Dean notes. It's hard to make eye-contact as he cranes his neck away, suddenly interested in the corners of the rooms he's memorized by now.

In his periphery, Dean can see that the lawyer is hanging his head-back, breathing out as though he is relieved and can finally relax. It seems to register late that he hasn't given an answer, so Castiel pulls his head up before looking Dean square in the eyes. "Dean?" The question comes out half-breathy and strangely voiced, yet there is a demand in its undertone that he can't ignore.

Dean looks up, then, feeling his hands shake slightly as he looks Castiel in the eyes, intimated by the intensity of their blue. 

"Come over and sit next to me, please." Castiel doesn't say much other than patting the bed a few times and somehow, Dean manages to convince himself for a long three seconds that it's just dust and the man didn't ask him to sit on the bed. Nevertheless, he walks over before quietly sitting down and smoothing the sheets out, keeping his head trained anywhere but Castiel. The two now sit parallel to each other with Dean mirroring Castiel's habit of taking his shoes off. It's something Dean did anyway but it was heartwarming to see someone do the same. 

Neither of the men talk for a few moments and of course, the irritation comes itching at Dean again because this is not as sexually compromising as he'd expect it to be. Castiel should've made him sit in his lap or at least lie down on the bed but he's doing none of that and if anything, maintaining proper distance between them as though Dean is someone worthy of respect. The realization makes his heart beat more prominently, a fuzzy warmth spreading across his skin.

If respect felt so good, what did love feel like?

"If you want me to make you feel good, sir, you could just say it. No need to beat 'round the busy, y'know?" Dean spits the words out and surprises himself with the spite laced between them. He figures it's because Castiel's kindness poses itself as a threat and show of pity. Dean, the handsome and young prostitute who has been banged so many times that the powerful lawyer believes he deserves a break before getting it again. The thoughts flower into worse: who was Castiel, really? Was this some sort of fight for superiority.

Castiel doesn't say anything, still staring ahead into the expanse of the room and it gnaws at Dean.

"God-damnnit. You want something or what?" He couldn't care less about his tone and finally, finally, Castiel turns his head to the side with an unreadable expression which still makes Dean cower a bit and bite his tongue.

"I need your help." Castiel speaks simply and Dean furrows his eyebrows, confused if this was yet another eloquent way of asking for sex or just a genuine request for something other than that. Dean nods slowly before turning his head to the side, something the sparks a sigh in Castiel.

The lawyer gets up before repositioning himself at the foot of the bed, leaning against a bedpost and angling himself diagonal to Dean, whose legs are still outstretched. There's still plenty of space, but the informality of the moments makes Dean blush, finding himself with his head bent down to hide his feelings. But, Dean still owes Castiel an answer, so he opts to do so with a question.

"Why me?" Is all Dean says, genuinely wondering why Castiel would look to someone like himself to help him with his, what Sam calls, big lawyer stuff. Castiel is educated and dignified, someone who should be with anyone but a person like Dean.

"I figured with how ingrained you appear to be with Alastair's operation, along with knowing him and his associates quite intimately, you-" Castiel stops himself in his tracks, internally cursing himself for such a distasteful choice of words. Of course, Dean's eyes fall a bit when he misunderstands Castiel the way anyone would.

"That's the most eloquently I've been called a prostitute-" 'I assure you that was not my intention, Dean. I-" And in a sense, the hesitation was making Castiel's case worsen because with every passing second, it seemed like that's what Castiel meant and in proportion, Dean was starting to believe that. He figures at some point, that's what his life would add up to.

"Dean, the reason I am asking you for help might be partially obvious or not. I'm not sure. I'm a Prohibition lawyer but it's because my father was an alcoholic. He killed my mother and because of that, I've become estranged from my older brother, Gabriel. My family has been torn apart because of alcohol, Dean. I didn't want to see that happen to others because I witnessed first hand that alcohol and drugs destroy people and when you destroy people, you also destroy love. Without any love in this world, our lives are practically useless. When I said that you are intimately involved, I meant that you move closely with the logistics and have an idea of what kind of deals Alastair makes. It's a word that can be used under differ nuances and I didn't realize it's emphasized connotation would show its face." Castiel seems to grow increasingly calm withe very word he speaks, which is encouraged by the calmness Dean seems to naturally flow into his face, so the lawyer continues. 

"I am asking you for help because Alastair is my greatest fight yet and unexpectedly, I happened to meet you. I see you as a person worthy of respect, which is why I am asking. I'm asking, though, not just for my own benefit, but because you deserve a chance to escape this man if you so choose." Castiel ends his words and waits for Dean to respond.

It's stupid, but Dean feels anger bubble up. Help. The word tastes bitter in his mouth because it never had meaning when he asked for it. No-one paid attention to 13-year old Dean screaming for help when Alastair first laid his hands on him and even in subsequent years. It was bold, Dean though, that Castiel thought he could just waltz in and save his life. The lawyer was only an angel insofar of his name, not as a person.

Dean snorts before responding. "Apology accepted sir but this is my life. Not sure what makes you feel so high and mighty in thinking you could save me." He rolls his eyes, desperately trying to keep up a facade of being a man who can take what his life is up until this point but that mask crumbles to ashes when he looks directly into Castiel's eyes and suddenly the room feels very hot.

"How much does Alastair pay you Dean?" Castiel's jaw is strained, bones protruding handsomely as Dean watched him clench and unclench with something he could best describe as impatience. Dean swallows hard before answering in a meek voice.

"Ten an hour. What's it to you, sir?" This time, Dean remains reserved, answering what he's asked.

Castiel smirks.

"I'll give you twenty-five an hour starting tomorrow. Five days a week. If you agree to my proposition which we can speak in about in greater detail later, then you'll be given twenty-five an hour. How does that sound?" Castiel starts rubbing his hands and Dean recognizes that the man must be feeling nervous, perhaps worried that Dean may misunderstand his offer but instead, the boy is shocked. Dean's lips part at the question as he shamelessly replays the question in his head.

How does that sound?

Well, that sounds stupendous to Dean.

"T-Twenty-five? Sir, I'm really not worth that much." Dean visibly cringes, wanting to do everything he can to convince the lawyer that it's all a waste, despite knowing he'd do anything to escape Alastair.

Castiel gets up and it catches Dean by surprise, a feeling that quickly turns into fear when he realizes he may have pushed the boundary too far. Instead, Castiel walks over and sets himself down at the end of the bed where Dean's legs are facing, gently placing a hand on Dean's calf. That spot burns, Dean thinks, but deliciously so because there's an inherent trust he's managed to place in this man. Sex doesn't even come to Dean's mind until he forces that thought upon himself, one that falls off of his conscience like snowflake melting in sweltering heat.

"Dean, you know better than to say that." Castiel speaks directly but there's an ambiguous invitation in it too, giving him a chance to answer in a non-self depricating manner and it's a moment that makes Dean realize he's rarely gotten second chances in his life.

So he takes it.

"I guess it's a noble thing you're doin'. Whatever I can do to help, I'll do it. Plus the pay is pretty convincing if I am to be honest... sir." Dean tacks the name at the end convincing himself it sounds just right and he's not sure what part, but after he's done talking, Castiel smiles before retracting his hand and letting Dean hang his legs over the bed, watching as he scooted closer.

It was a courageous thing on Dean's part to move so close that there was now less than two inches of space between their shoulders, but Dean didn't think he should care. Castiel, on the other hand, seemed to have expected this, only allowing his expression to brighten and shoulders to sag. Castiel felt comfortable and so did Dean, so he figures it's only fair to open up to.

"Been doing this since I was thirteen. My dad is an alcoholic and was always desperate for the next bottle, so when he met Alastair, they struck a deal that they'd sell me in exchange for my dad getting free alcohol. H-He knew that Alastair would be, y'know, rapin' me 'n all but he never cared. I always went back home in shape and since Sam didn't know, it was kept pretty under the radar. Sometimes I'd walk in with bruises and Sam would run up to me, askin' what happened and swearin' he'd beat up Alastair for overworkin' me but he never knew what was actually goin' on. Never told 'm and he still doesn't know. Mom died in an accident when I was ten so when dad got too abusive, we just left the house and he didn't care. We stuck to this place 'cause Alastair was the only one givin' me money and eventually, Sam found some work around here too." Dean stops, wanting to guage Castiel's interest and to his hidden delight, the lawyer seemed intrigued and almost proud to listen to Dean. It wasn't the time to question, so he continues talking.

"We pay our rent. I come here in the morning and go home in time for dinner and 'n the meanwhile I just do what Alastair asks. It's a life I've gotten real used to, y'know?" Dean stops and gives a charming, genuine smile while looking at Castiel's eyes. The lawyer returns the gesture, taking the liberty to clasp Dean's hand.

"Dean, I hope you understand how honored I am that you trusted me with all of this. I don't know what it's like to be in that position," Castiel pauses, seemingly gathering his words before continuing. "But I have the resources and the money to help you out of it. As long as you can give me the information I need, I will continue to be there for you and your brother. You can ask me at anytime to increase the pay if you nee-" "NO!" Dean nearly jumps to his feet but calms himself before he has a breakdown.

"No no no no NO sir, no need. I want to make honest money and only the money you want to give me. Sam 'n I have gotten this far right? We'll be okay. More than enough sir, more than enough already." Dean smiles before nervously patting his down. Castiel seems a bit confused, but overall glad Dean is feeling okay. As reassurance, Dean hesitantly reaches out and holds Castiel's hand, the one which had just held his.

"You're a good man Cas." The nickname slips naturally and Castiel, or Cas, doesn't seem to quite notice, instead nodding in appreciation.

"You're a fine man yourself Dean. In more ways than one." Cas winks and Dean blushes, wondering if it had the implications he thought it did, erasing the thoughts when Cas reluctantly helped himself up.

Dean watches as Cas straightened out his coat, wearing his hat that had been long discarded to cover the messy hair he expertly hid underneath of it. Almost as though he felt Dean's stare, Cas turns around, giving a smile before stepping closer to Dean.

"Are you alright Dean?" Cas boldly, yet gently places to fingers below Dean's chin, tilting his head up slightly so their eyes can meet. Dean's neck strains but he keeps his head up, desperate to take in as much as he can of this man in the moment.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Dean shoots back jokingly, his voice coming out a bit strained with a hint of 'brat', just to eat away at the lawyer's conscience but what he doesn't expect is Cas's eyes darkening, head cocking to the side, and his grip tightening just the perfect amount.

"I asked you a question Dean. Are you alright?" Cas asks his question with equal sweetness but this time, there's more stability in his tone that very deliciously threatens Dean.

Dean smiles.

"I-I'm alright sir. Thanks for askin'." And with that, Cas steps away and grabs the keys on the other side of the bed. It's frustrating, Dean thinks, that such a kind man has to leave. Dean thinks he deserves more time, after everything he'd gone through, to share this moment with a man like Castiel but he figures the coming days will make his life better.

Cas freezes at the door, hand tightening around the door knob without opening it, and Dean worries he might've done something wrong.

"Cas? I mean Mr.Novak?" Dean quickly corrects himself, painfully aware he's been using 'Cas' without really asking the man if he was okay with it.

Castiel turns around, a somber look on his face while raking his eyes over Dean with concern and fear swimming in his eyes.

"Alastair said he'd be having at you after this and I-" Castiel pauses and Dean immediately jumps in.

"Oh C-Mr.Novak, don't worry yourself. I'm pretty used it and I'll be alright to help you out by tomorrow!" Dean says his words with innocence and excitement, as if he wasn't the victim ina ll of this, prompting Castiel's expression to turn to one of serious pondering.

Castiel lets go of the door knob but stays in his place, turning his entire body to face Dean.

"Mr. Winchester, I will remind you that before my deal, your needs are more important. The last thing I'd want is for you to pay a greater price for my sake. I'll make sure of it that Alastair doesn't lay his hands on you." Castiel doesn't give Dean the time to finish his sentence before opening the door and stepping out, leaving Dean to sit there, thoughtless with his mouth gaping.

Now, if he'll be damned, he'd say Castiel sounded like one hell of a gentleman. Snapping him out of his thoughts, Castiel sticks his head back in through the door. Dean makes a confused noise and that's when the lawyer speaks up.

"And by the way, Dean, I prefer Cas. Adieu." And with that, the door clicks shut and Dean can finally lay back on the bed, still processing the events that just took place.

Crack.

The door swings open and before Dean can even orient himself, two hands grab his collar. Dean is slow to wake up but the texture and callous, along with the stench of alcohol scream Alastair.

"You done something bitch." A low voice grumbles next to Dean's ear and the dramatics give him time to open his eyes which only confirm his thoughts.

Drifting his eyes over in half of  a daze, Alastair's furrowed eyebrows and widened eyes nearly make Dean jump out of his skin, prompting him to angle and kick Alastair to the ground, satisfied watching as the man keened over himself on the floor, grabbing his stomach and yelling out handfuls of profanities. It's a satisfying sight which Dean was only able to enjoy knowing Cas was fully supporting him now.

Dean freezes afterwards, not knowing what to do because he couldn't just walk out but no matter what he did, he knew the end result would be Alastair beating him to pulp, so resigned, Dean sits on the bed praying the pain won't last for too long. Much to his surprise though, Alastair simply stands up and dusts himself off, granted his expression doesn't change much. Without letting his face giving away his surprise and satisfaction, Dean watches and waits quietly for Alastair to makes the next move. It's wonderful watching the man curl and uncurl his fists, stopped by something Dean can't place before he speaks.

"That bastard wants you to stay in shape. Apparently you sucked his cock far better than you did with mine, so I'll be sparing you Winchester." Alastair lets out a primal growl which makes Dean both cringe and question how much longer he had to stay in this room. But before Alastair left the room, he turns around, much the same as Castiel had did.

"Someday I'll kill that fucker and soon enough, it'll be you too if you keep up the attitude. Your pay is cut to seven." The door slams closed but Dean doesn't really care. He doesn't flinch or hide under the covers like he would have before. Instead, Dean grabs a towel from under the nightstand table beside the bed and wipes his face before picking up his suit jacket and making his way down the stairs, happily making his way home to eat dinner with Sam.

"You're real happy. Spring in your step much, Dean?" Sam is an inquisitive and curious young man, Dean thinks, and he knew nothing would cross Sam. A frown, a beat of silence, anything. Most of the time it was frustrating to constantly air his dirty laundry in front of Sam but he knew the kid came from a good place. Dean nods, humming away as he made dinner.

Sam furrows his eyebrows while hesitantly smiling. "Tell me what's goin' on?" He asks, half-demanding and half-expecting an answer which Dean seems more than privy to tell.

"Well, Alastair cut my pay." Dean sighs it out while smiling and despite his back facing Sam, he knows his little brother can hear the joy in his words which contradict each other. It doesn't strike Dean that perhaps, it would've better to start with telling Sam that he's going to be one of those cowboys being a spy making $25 an hour starting tomorrow, so he just keeps making dinner, ignoring the silence from Sam.

Soon enough, Dean hears a slam on the table, which prompts him to turn around, not letting the satisfaction of today's events leave his face. Unlike him, Sam looks like he's ready to pull both of their hair out. He stomps over, easily towering over his brother before shouting at Dean.

"Dean." Sam sternly says his brother's name, confused why the older Winchester is sharing the same sentiment of worry that he is. Dean is busy trying to add the finishing touches to their meal, back to humming away and basking in today's events but it only irks Sam more.

"DEAN!" And this does the trick, as Dean turns around and his smile drops to horror when he sees the tears running down Sam's face. Setting down the pan at the right angle, Dean drops the towel and places his hands on Sam's shoulder, shaking his brother to redirect his focus.

"Hey Sam. Sam. Look at me, it's alright." Dean furrows his eyebrows, cursing at himself for being so lackadaisical in his words. "Sorry Sam. Didn't finish my sentence and got to excited. Let me get your dinner and I'll explain everything?" Dean gently asks Sam who seems to calm down a bit, but still worked up knowing there would be less money coming in.

With that, Dean guides his brother to a chair, ruffling his hair before walking back and serving them both with two plates, sitting down right-angled to his brother at the table.

"Sam, y'don't need to worry. I'm workin' for Mr.Novak now and he's paying me $25 an hour for five days a week. Doesn't matter if Al cut my pay, brother, we're gonna be rich." Dean lets out a giggle watching Sam go through five stages of... something good.

"Y-You mean the Mr.Novak? C-Castiel Novak? Oh man. Oh man!" And there, Dean sees it. An innocent, wonderful joy that Dean can't help but enjoy every time it makes its way across his brother's face. Sam practically throws himself into a bone-crushing hug with Dean which he only returns, pressing a kiss to his brother's cheek.

"The Mr.Novak, Sammy. The Mr.Novak." Dean looks at his food when he repeats his words, blushing when he recounts what happens in the few moments before Castiel had left. Sam doesn't notice, far too busy digging too hard into his food and daydreaming about his favorite lawyer.

"Dean, we're going to be rich. You really mean it, huh?" Sam smiles gently while staring at Dean, who only laughs before cutting some of his food up and giving to his brother. 

"Sure thing Sammy. If you want, you can cut down some of your hours with Rowe-" A harsh rapping at the door interrupts their conversation which prompt the brothers to share a look before Dean is grabbing their gun, stepping cautiously towards the door. It was well into the night and the only time late-night visits were made were from the sheriff or the people they caught: troublemakers. He knows that anyone who wanted to cause trouble would've already made their way inside, the door playing a performative role in protecting the boys but nonetheless, Dean approaches with caution.

Taking a deep breath in, Dean swings the open door while simultaneously cocking his gun. 

"Whoa there boy!" A sweet voice comes booming from the other side and Dean immediately retracts, dropping his gun before pulling the voice inside.

Rowena.

"S-Shit sorry Rowena. Didn't think you'd come so late." The woman's finger gently make their way to his back and instantly, Dean is sinking into her embrace before Sam comes running over to envelope the two of them into his arms.

"Sweet boys. I apologize if I scared you, although this might give me a good laugh." Rowena steps inside and Dean rolls his eyes, locking the door while grabbing the gun to put it back in place. Sam is over to the cupboards in an instant, serving Rowena some of their dinner.

Rowena had owned another hotel down the street, different from the one Cas was staying in, where she'd made a provision to give away an entire room for the boys as long as they paid rent. She was generous enough to cut the rent in half too, making it much easier for the boys to afford everything else and save up on the side.

"No worries Ro. What brings ya here so late?" Dean looks at Sam to indicate that Rowena should be served, but he's already on it, prompting Rowena to look at Sam to.

"Sammy, sweetheart, I won't be staying for dinner. I'm only here to deliver a package from a certain... Cas." Her smirk is far too mischevious and Dean blushes, making Sam part his lips.

"Dean?" He smiles while staring at the older Winchester who is already opening his hands to accept the brown and neatly folded envelope, hope surging when he feels a thick stack moving around inside. Rowena has a glint in her eyes, adoring Dean's surprise.

"I'm not a looker or a cheater but my pretty fingers there just may be a good bunch of money inside. I suggest you keep this carefully." Rowena smiles but Dean suddenly gets worried. If Rowena knew he was getting money, would she increase the rent? Unknowingly, Dean starts bites his lips which she notices.

"Darling, I won't increase your rent if you're worried. You boys are practically sons to me. I'd never do such a thing. Like I say, if you ever want to pay less you can always a-" "Never Rowena. You're too kind and I-I guess I was worried about that but I should've known better." Dean is quick to cut her off, smiling as she knowingly tilts her head and presses a kiss to his and Sam's foreheads. 

"You boys are angels. Sam, you've been doing great. I was thinking of increasing your pay to ten." Rowena smiles and watches both boys widen their eyes.

Silence doesn't do enough justice in showing how shocked they are.

"So...?" Rowena waits, knowing a huge, sweaty hug is a few seconds away.

And there it comes.

Dean and Sam practically engulf her, thanking her a million times over until she pushes away, jokingly making a disgusted face. 

"I suppose you boys better finish dinner and take a nice shower. Lord." There's no bite in her words as she turns and walks away, opening the door.

"Bye Rowena!" The brothers bid her in unison and she simply tips her hat before sending a flying kiss and taking her leave.

As soon as the door closes, the brothers practically grab each other, hugging tight and crying because this was the happiest they'd ever been in such a long time. Now, the chance to find happiness was closer because of Cas and now even Rowena.

"I'm gonna work twice as hard Dean. I mean it." Sam lets out a sigh of satisfaction before sitting down and dragging Dean with him, leaving Dean with a smile as they opened the envelope and counted away at the money.

Dean is in awe, seeing the absolute stack of money which had to be well over $50, he figured, but before the two could go on with counting, they see a small paper stuck inside. The brothers share a look before Sam is nudging Dean in the side, idiotically smirking while Dean rolls his eyes again, opening the paper to read a neatly written, bordering cursive note. 

Dean Winchester,

It's me, Castiel. I hope Rowena made clear of that rather than dropping the package mysteriously as I'm inclined to believe she would. Inside is about $500, an amount I felt comfortable to give once I spoke to Rowena and inquired about how much you both work, especially your younger brother Sam. I would be delighted to meet him, if you will, and please tell him that I have requested Rowena to allow him time off. I didn't tell her how much money I gave you both, but I figured it would cover for a well-deserved break for your brother.

Dean, as for you, we discussed an idea and tomorrow I will be sure to meet with you. Early morning when the town's rooster crows, meet me behind Rowena's Stay. I look forward to to seeing you.

Convey my well wishes to your brother.

Castiel Novak. or Cas. Whichever you prefer.

Dean notes that Cas is specifically underlined, which unexpectedly brings a grin to his face.

"Man if Castiel would adopt me..." Sam offhandedly comments while staring at the stack of money and Dean nearly slaps him.

"Bastard. Castiel is just a few years older than me. That would be stranger than the ghosts that haunt our graveyard!" Dean practically shouts and Sam can't help but topple over in laughter, thoroughly enjoying himself.

"Yeah well I'm sure Cas wouldn't mind having the two of us 'round. Maybe specifically you." Sam's grin widens and Dean isn't sure if he should kick him out for telling the truth or being far cheekier than he can handle. But, given the state of affairs, Dean lets it slide and instead watches Sammy run around, holding the money like a caricature.

This was something he could get used to. In fact, this was something Dean wanted to get used to.

Chapter Text

“Aw shit.” Dean nearly bangs his head on the headboard when he hears the rooster crow, making him wonder how society was going to put up with this ever-loving pest into the future because it really was hard to tolerate.

Nevertheless, Castiel’s letter thrusts to the forward of his mind, making him jump out of bed and throw on a decent outfit, similar to what he wore the first time the pair met, before he brushed his teeth and made his way into the kitchen.

Of course, Sam was already there. Dean sighs, because this boy and his stomach…

“Dean! Off to meet…Cas…right?” Sam giggles and winks and this time, Dean doesn’t find it too irritating but rather endearing.

“That’s true little brother.” Dean is getting ready to make breakfast before he realizes two bowls are already on the table, filled with food. He turns and smiles, feeling pride surge into his chest.

“Sammy, ya made this for us?” Dean was so preoccupied with thinking about his meeting with Castiel that the smells of porridge, mixed in with brown sugar, a very eccentric and rare taste he’d been given to try, was permeating the air.

“Well, no, I made it for you. Didn’t brush my teeth yet so I figured I’d make myself useful ‘cause you’ve got extra work with the Mr.Novak. Made you one with and without brown sugar, although…” Sam stares at the bowls he set down, suddenly confused. “I forget which one is which Dean. Sorry.” His looks become forlorn, like he genuinely messed something up and Dean is quick to step in.

“Sammy, you’re always enough for me and generally too, don’t you ever forget, yeah? You’re the best little brother ever. I’m sure it tastes great. Let me try?” Sam’s grip tightens around his brother’s waist and he’s left with no choice but to give a kiss to his shoulder and ruffle his hair.

“Alright. Alright.” Sam moves away reluctantly before sitting down, bouncing his knee in anticipation.

Dean sits down, taking a spoon to his lips and instantly he realizes that he’s eaten the one with brown sugar. Immediate contact with his tongue, and the flavor is bursting throughout his mouth, a welcome change he realizes could’ve been used for the two of them before. He practically moans, making Sam’s smile brighten.

“That good Dean?” Sam asks softly, blushing.

Dean puts the spoon down before trying the other bowl, which also happens to be the same.

“Sammy, it’s so good I think the other magically turned into brown sugar porridge too.” Dean smirks before Sam’s face turns white.

“Oh man. I guess I mixed ‘em up and made it all brown sugar. At least it tastes good.” Sam stares at Dean who waits a few seconds before toppling in laughter, slapping his little brother’s shoulder.

Dean quickly eats, noting the minutes that have likely passed by before serving a fresh bowl for Sam and keeping it on the stove. He looks back and Sam’s already winking and walking away.

“Brushing my teeth. Go to work! I’ll get my own breakfast.” Sam yells and Dean would’ve normally scolded him, but today, he doesn’t care.

So Dean? Dean does just that.

Empty.

Dean hurriedly looks around the back of Rowena’s Stay, which is strikingly dirty and clean at the same time, two words he never thought he’d put into one sentence. Nevertheless, he looks around, slowly daring to open a door or two inside. Even if Rowena had caught him, it wouldn’t even be a crime. Hell, she’s their landlady!

But Dean is absolutely sure enough time has passed and suddenly, Sam’s porridge comes to his throat. Maybe he shouldn’t have eaten for so long, but if he indulged in that thought, then it meant discrediting Sam’s food, which he didn’t want to do.

Dean figures he took too long to get ready, then.

“Dean Winchester.” Dean whips his head to the side and instantly breaks out into a smile. There he is, the Castiel Novak, saying his full name. Castiel seems to be matching his fervor, also giving a bright smile despite the day barely breaking dawn.

“Cas! I-I’m really sorry I was late. Was eating breakfast my brother made a-and it was so good!” Dean stops himself from rambling and it makes Castiel have a hearty laugh.

“Dean, that’s good to hear, but you realize I was also late right? I was a bit foolish in telling you to come as soon as the rooster crows, considering we only wake up but… we don’t wake up ready for a gala, now do we?” Cas smirks and Dean nods, letting out a giggle before Cas cocks his head to the side.

“Come inside, we can discuss the details in my room.” That’s an intimate gesture, Dean thinks, but he knows he shouldn’t get so worked up considering how they spent a significant amount of time together in Alastair’s bar rooms discussing their childhood trauma, but maybe it’s the residual joy from the previous day that makes him feel all giddy.

Dean bites back a smile, seeing how Rowena’s Stay is similarly creaky like the place where he and Sam live. Typical, he thinks, while moving to train his eyes on Castiel who is making his way up the steps. The overcoat he’s wearing this time, something akin to a trench coat, flows majestically. It’s the usual one most men in the town wear, but it looks different on Castiel. A noble lawyer that is demanding yet kind.

There was something rich about who Castiel was as a person that drove Dean to the edge of the line that separated admiration from attraction. He only met the man yesterday, but Castiel held himself together so well. There was an ease that reminded him of what it was like to woo the girls in his younger days.

This time, it was a very handsome man doing it back to him.

“You’re staring Mr.Winchester.” Castiel is smiling and Dean snaps out of his thoughts, realizing that they got to the very top of the staircase and he probably was staring at Castiel’s back the entire time, not realizing the lawyer even turned around. “You’re going to fall down the steps, so I suggest you take a few steps forward instead of back.” Cas is smirking, likely realizing the effect he had on Dean.

Dean blushes hard, following Cas down the hallway until a rackety door opens to a well-kept and clean room, one that smells quite divine.

“Y-You can just call me Dean.” He’s folded his arm, standing in a far corner of Cas’s room as not to pervade his comfortable atmosphere. Cas turns around, raising a single eyebrow before taking his trench coat off, something that makes Dean swallow so hard he’s sure someone outside of the room would’ve heard him.

“I enjoy teasing you, Dean.” Cas is simple in his choice words, yet that succinct statement seems to make the blood rush where it shouldn’t, instantly making Dean accept the chair the lawyer pushes his way. He gives Dean another look, waiting to see if he has anything to say, but he’s at a loss of words, wordlessly staring back to wait for Cas’s move.

Castiel gives a subtle nod before pulling out a stack of papers.

“Here is just a random pile of all my cases in the news. I’m not so organized myself, which many people find quite hard to believe, so I use the newspapers to keep myself abreast with my own work.” Castiel smiles, a glint of humor in his eyes. “It certainly catches people off guard.” Dean takes the pile as Cas points it in his direction, skimming the words to get a grasp of Cas’s work.

“This is real impressive work Cas. But why show me?” Dean asks.

“Many of these are interviews that I had partaken in, answering questions about why and how I completed these cases. I figured it would help you narrow down what details to look for when you were observing Alastair – it’s certainly easier than listening to me talk for hours about them. You would probably have to take notes on things that are already sufficiently written in this clippings. Is that alright with you?” Cas cocks his head to the side, expecting Dean to answer, who simply nods.

I’d listen to him talk for however long he wanted to.

Dean doesn’t let it show, but it takes an effort to stop his thoughts from drifting into much more romantic territory.

“Perfectly alright. Although, there’s one problem.” Dean lets out a sigh before looking into Cas’s now confused, hooded eyes. He finds it quite adorable.

“I’m not sure I can read these without my brother trying to rob me of ‘em. The kid’s obsessed with you.” Dean lets out a laugh and Cas’s expression changes in less than a blink of an eye.

“Samuel Winchester is obsessed with me?” Cas animatedly points to himself and it sets off Dean to laugh more, making the lawyer smile. “I find myself honored yet again to be in likings of yet another Winchester.”

“Sure thing boss. Kid’s 4 years younger than me so he’s 18. Say, why don’t you come by for dinner tomorrow?” The invitation is casual, slipping Dean’s mind and lips before he can reconsider and now that it’s out, he waits for an answer.

Cas, without any hesitation, says yes.

“I would be delighted. Would you like me to bring any food over for you boys? You can also give me an update on what you find tomorrow, then.” Boys. It makes Dean cringe, feeling like a child because he certainly had thoughts like a man when he dreamed about Cas, but he ignores them.

“Sure thing, but it’s my invitation for you, which means I’ll be makin’ dinner for us. All you need to do is walk your pretty legs over and sit in our house.” Dean speaks before realizing what he just said, making doe eyes from nerves.

Cas squints his eyes a bit before humming in affirmation.

“You just made that offer much more tempting, as if I hadn’t said yes already.” Cas smiles and Dean lets out a breath he’s holding, nodding his head while still blushing.

Thanks to the peak of sunlight coming through, he can tell that Cas was blushing too.

“Now, there anythin’ else I ought-a know about this deal? Seems too easy for me.” Dean taps his fingers on the papers, thinking about whether he had any other questions.

“For now, I’ll only ask of you…observations. Give me any names, nicknames included, along with any numbers that represent tangible deals. Whatever you can remember, please bring back.” Cas finishes his sentence before popping out an oh and going on.

“Dean, I also expect you to tell me how your day goes with Alastair. I want to know every insult he might hurl or anytime he lays a hand on you. The latter is something I can safely assume he will not do, but in any case, I’d like all of the details. Your safety is now my highest concern. If there’s anything I can do for your brother too, please let me know. Those you love, I love too. This, if anything, is non-negotiable. I expect nothing but the truth coming from your beautiful lips Dean. Alright?” Cas has a tiny smirk drawn on his face and the compliment makes Dean freeze, legs tightening as he stares at the man across from him.

He remembers what happened the day before, when Cas had held his chin and demanded an answer and as much as he wanted to give one, he couldn’t. With a simple jumble of words, Castiel Novak had rendered Dean Winchester speechless.

“Dean?” Cas has a bite in his tone, one that is suave but demanding. Dean is still staring, but lets his eyes swivel before looking back into the blue again.

“Sorry. Yes sir.” Dean gives a small smile and it seems to satisfy Cas.

“Alright then. My pretty legs for your beautiful lips. Seems like a fair exchange to me… unless you have any other questions, you’re free to leave. Is there anything else I can do for you Dean?” Cas uncrosses his legs, slightly manspreading which sends unholy thoughts to Dean’s head.

Well fuck.

“I-I-I n-no I don’t think so I think I’ll get on with readin’ and whatnot and makin’ it b-b- I-“ Dean gulps hard, trying his level best to not stare at Castiel’s legs, the man only making it harder but spreading out more.

He gives in, giving one glance down before looking back at Cas, who has a single eyebrow raised.

Dean gulps, staying silent, watching as Cas gets up and towers over him just like the day before.

“Answer my question Dean. It’s a good skill to have.” Cas isn’t mean, but both understanding and stern in his tone. His fingers, though, don’t hold his chin, but his eyes certainly hold Dean’s attention.

Breathing out shamelessly, Dean whispers a quiet no, nothing else, licking his lips almost imagining Cas’s on his.

But instead, Cas gently places his hand on the side of Dean’s neck, rubbing a few circles before bending down to whisper back into his ear.

“Good boy.” And with that, Cas tips his hat and walks out of the room, allowing Dean to assume he can do the same.

And for the first time, he wants to be roughed up by Castiel. In anyway the lawyer deems appropriate.

Dean had to sneak into his house, thankful that Sam was snoring away, to hide the newspapers. He didn’t have the time to read them now, so he made sure he could keep them safely before tip-toeing out.

There was a sustained change with Alastair not using Dean for the sake of preserving him for Castiel, as he had put it, and instead gave him an earful of insults that Dean got so used to it was like a fly buzzing around his ear. Alastair had assigned a handful of typical tasks - cleaning, serving food and drinks, taking care of some money books - nothing out of the ordinary except for the fact that Dean wasn't being slutted out, a new phrase he heard when Alastair had talked his ear off.

Dean specifically told Sam not to visit him today, just so that he could work that extra time and make the money since his pay had decreased, which Sam had protested against but nonetheless stood firm on because in part, making more money was important - it wasn't right to singularly ride off of Cas's money, but also, he had a facade to maintain: Dean, the weak and poor boy desperate to appease Alastair in any manner possible. The forced but better treatment made Dean wonder what exactly the lawyer had said to put Al in his place, thankful that the lawyer stepped foot into this town.

Dean had mentally taken note of some things Alastair had going on for the day, quietly repeating names and numbers that he could note down after work, but he knew this was not sustainable. Dean would have to find a way to keep track of these things which led him to the general store after work.

The air, despite smelling the same, felt different to Dean because now, he had an extra degree of freedom he could practice along with it. The turn of events complimented him rather providing him with an abundance of resistance, something he was enjoying for as long as he could have it.

"Heya Jody." The bells ring as Dean open the door to the inviting smells and scents of the general store. He didn't really memorize the name, always calling if Jody's General which irked her because she insisted it was a 'team effort' on account of the entire community keeping it alive.

"Hello there Dean." A beat passes. "What's put a spring in your step, young man?" Jody smiles, her voice motherly as ever, curious about what has gotten into Dean.

Dean doesn't answer, just turning his head back to give a wink before strolling over the to the dusty corner where a few ink bottles, pens, and books were laying around. 

"I need a book!" Dean yells out from across the store and Jody just gives a confused expression before responding. "Alright Dean. I hope you find what you need!" 

There isn't much to look at, until Dean accidentally knocks over a wooden stand and an entire shelf of blank leatherbacks appear before him, looking like gold and if anything, second to Castiel's surprise stack of cash from yesterday. There's a lot to think about for Dean, because he needs to find something small and portable where he can quickly takes notes. The only issue was finding ink which led him to call Jody over.

"Jody!" Dean is facing the book while calling her name, but regardless, she hears, walking over.

Dean turns around while holding four or five books of his interest. Her eyebrows raise as she inspects his position, taking note of his cheeky smile.

"I need a pen that can last me a few hours Jo. Somethin' that'll always have some ink ready when I need it." Dean nearly falls over before Jody's hand is on his back, dragging a chair which he happily plops down into.

Jody sighs before re-setting the fallen stand, making sure it sits a few inches to the side so Dean can still look at her selection. She trots over to the opposing corner, pulling out two neatly organized boxes and opening them up in front of him. The boxes are covered in velvet, something which makes Dean's mouth drool just looking at the opulence.

"These are some special pens that I have, imported from Hungary. Not sure why but a friend of mine had suggested I keep these in case someone was interested and this town didn't have the richest gals or guys, so I always kept 'em in the corner here. But seein' you stroll in here all interested makes me think you need something just as special." Jody unveils multiple layers of neatly wrapped pens, all a combination of varying colors which look like candy.

"How much for these pens Jo?" Dean bites his lips, feeling worry bubble up because he didn't want to waste the money he just earned. Jody seems to read his expression before answering.

"I'd normally put these for fifteen a piece, but I'll give it to you for ten." She doesn't wait a moment before adding another layer. "I've got s'more real special pens in the second box which are twenty, but I'll give 'em for fifteen.

Dean feels his heart swell with appreciation before giving his verdict instantly. 

"I'll take three. One of these and two of the extra special pens." Dean's smile practically erupts across his face and Jody, naturally so, is quite surprised.

"Well then...Why don't you pick your favorite 'n I'll get the extra special ones ready for you to look at? And also, I'll give you a few bottles of free ink. Got too many of 'em lyin' around." Jody sounds like she's grumbling to herself, which makes Dean laugh as he gets to scanning through the colors.

The pens are sleek and bright in their sheen, but the one that caught Dean’s eyes was a marbled green – a mixture of light and dark shades – adorned with a gold paper clasp and tip. He didn’t have favorite colors because everything in the town was so lifeless, but if there was any color that was his favorite, it would’ve been that of his eyes: green.

So, Dean picks it up for himself to use and just in time, Jody walks over with another similar looking box, covered in a slightly lighter shade of blue velvet.

“These aren’t much differ’nt sweetheart. Just gold dipped for the tip. I suppose it’s quick money making and I’ll be real honest, I doubt it’s true.” Jody laughs lightly, the two share a brief lock of crinkled eyes, before Dean is delicately inspecting the pens in this collection, handing the first green pen to Jody.

“Can you ring me up for this one first Jo? I’ll be right up with two more.” Dean doesn’t look up, instead digging away at the other designs before choosing a white, red, and blue beautifully blended together for Sam, still deciding what would Cas.

“Of course sweetheart!” Jody responds from a distance, leaving Dean to his exploration.

He didn’t know much about Cas’s favorite colors, which made this harder, but he knew whatever he chose had to look rich. It had to scream or rather, bellow with money because it just suited Castiel so well.

It was getting increasingly difficult until Dean let out a gasp.

There it was, a navy blue and white marbled pen with it’s gold plated tip and coincidentally, the letter ‘C’ engraved on the in-built paper clip. It makes Dean buzz with excitement because this is exactly what he’s looking for, but he didn’t know. The blue complimented Cas’s eyes while the gold added a touch of fame and bedazzle…

Dean places the box down before walking up the front, happily displaying the two pens he picked out.

“Sweetheart, the book is just $2 but all three pens combined are $40. You sure of buyin’ these? Don’t forget the ink is free.” Jody raises an eyebrow, seemingly conflicted but Dean knew she was like him, trying to get by. It didn’t need a second thought, but nonetheless, Dean took a few moments to look at the items sprawled before him.

“I’m real sure Jo. I’ll take ‘em.” Dean is quick to drag out his stack of cash while Jody is busy neatly wrapping them.

“Which of these is a gift kid?” Jody smiles and Dean gives confused smile back.

“How do you know Jo? Never told you nothin’!” Dean leans over the counter, making a pout which Jo rolls her eyes at, handing him a thick, pastel colored back with everything inside.

A lack of answer isn’t surprising, as Dean hands her a generous $50 which Jody tries to protest, but Dean already has his eyes closed, shaking his head side to side.

“Keep it Jo. Besides, ‘m too tired to count exact change.” Dean smiles before grabbing the bag and walking towards the front of the store.

“Dean!” Jo calls after him just before he can leave the shop, making him turn on his heels, with a smile of course.

“You want to know how I know the last two pens you bought were the gifts?” Jody is walking towards him, wiping her hands with a towel. Dean turns around, eventually nodding slow.

“Sure do.” Dean crosses his arms, careful to keep the bag secure in his hands.

“Kid, when you do something good, it’s always meant for someone else other than you.” Jody stares at him for a second with an unreadable expression, still maintaining a smile before walking away leaving Dean feeling conflicted.

It’s true. And perhaps, Dean should do something about it this time.

And so, Dean’s left with a smile and something to think about while walking home feeling happier than he’s ever been.

Chapter Text

Dean is thankful Sammy had taken the vacation time Castiel had requested Rowena give him, or else it wouldn't have been possible to open their door at the same Dean usually does and find his little brother sleeping instead of chomping away at whatever food they had in the kitchen. In fact, the boy is in deep sleep which worries Dean, because Sammy's back is contorted at an... educating angle to say the least and he wonders if some humans are a little too flexible for their own good. Nevertheless, a smile dons his face when he sees the plate of food gently covered with a rusty bowl, kept carefully so Dean could eat when he comes back. The sight, however, makes him feel equally sad. He's always been used to eating with Sam, but this implies the kid ate already. Shaking of the remnants of the twinge, Dean quietly takes the plate of food and tiptoes into their small workroom, a space that took extreme convincing from Rowena to build.

After lighting the lantern, Dean sets down everything from the day: notebook, pens, and most importantly, Castiel's newspaper clippings. Despite the inviting smell of Sammy's dinner, he can't help but note how the clippings smell like Castiel. A warmth crawls along Dean’s skin, a stark contrast to the temperature in the room. Slowly, Dean uses his fingers to space the thin clippings across the table, skimming over the words printed on each page. He notes how some of the ink has been dispersed, dried but likely messy from water droplets falling on it. The lack of uniformity in Castiel’s means of cutting, and sometimes, the obvious tears made Castiel more human. Through word of mouth, Dean only knows the man to be serious and professional, but the small details he noticed made Castiel more normal. It once again occurred to him that Castiel was a different person and wasn’t really supposed to talk to someone like Dean.

That wasn’t going to change much at hand, Dean thinks, so he brings his focus back to the clippings. To start out, Dean takes the smallest clipping. This is one Castiel has torn on all sides with his printed picture partially ripped, but the small paragraph summarizing his accomplishment is perfect readable.

Castiel Novak, the New York born lawyer, finds himself in the stirring pot of alcohol manufacturers and consumer alike. The well-known alcohol mogul who goes by Crowley, spoke his last few words before being dragged to jail.

Dean pauses before reading more. First, it suddenly makes sense about why Castiel never spoke with an accent – he never had one! The man was from New York, which led Dean to wonder what it was like. Perhaps, richer? Better roads? Maybe the buildings there had windows that weren’t always breaking every time a fight broke out. Or, fights never broke out? Seeing Castiel’s demeanor, Dean wondered if everyone there was kinder and more educated. It makes him smile, because he remembers Sammy off-handedly mentioning how he wanted to go to New York to study law: “I reckon Jesus would hafta drag me up North for that to ever happen!”

Despite wanting to read more, Dean’s eyes are stuck on that name. Crowley. He never paid much attention to the names of Alastair’s clients, but for some reason, this one wouldn’t leave him. Unwilling to waste his time, Dean unscrews a bottle of ink whilst opening his journal, writing down that single name.

Crowley. ?

The question mark, Dean figures, would be an indication that he would have to look into this name. Dean was usually aware of the big leagues in Alastair’s repository of manufacturers’ and deal makers, so he figures this is what’s bothering him. Closing the book, Dean goes back to reading the rest of the clipping.

I’m gonna catch the man no matter what! He don’  think I can but who said I oughta be outta jail to keep up my business!

Ouch, Dean thinks. That’s a huge risk Castiel is running, knowing how ruthless Alastair is with his henchmen against people that dare say something wrong about him. If a deal goes wrong, even on his account, he’s no stranger to seeing blood spattered across the walls, something Dean is always with cleaning up. Thankfully, he hasn’t encountered any bodies but he wonders if that’s because someone does that for him.

The rest of the clipping goes over details about the scene at Crowley’s arrest, something Dean is barely interested in. Skimming the rest of the papers, Dean grabs another clipping after glimpses of more intriguing words. Running through the first two paragraphs, Dean realizes that it’s more of an interview.

“Mr. Novak, how do you gather the proof to bring down these criminals?”

“Many times I go into these things alone. I start small and with my influence, I manage to weave my through these business dealings. I can’t reveal more or else that would be dangerous, now wouldn’t it?”

Dean feels a blush on his face. He can almost imagine how Castiel would be saying it. The tone, inflection, and look on his face. There’s a certain authority Dean cannot deny in Castiel’s words. It takes a slap to his own face for him to snap out of his dreamy image of Castiel.

“Sammy? What’re you-“

“Oh shit Dean. Are these from Mr. Novak. Oh man, oh man!” And the next thing Dean knows, the once neat and well-kept clippings are being crushed by Sam’s fingers, or as Dean calls them, beanstalks.

“Sammy!” Dean practically jumps up, tackling his brother to the ground before snatching the papers out of his hand, and hearing one generously tear.

“Samuel!” Dean nearly shouts but its mangled with another “Dean!” which Sam yells at the same time. Both boys stare at each other before Dean shakes himself off, squeezing the papers in his hand. He looks down to see the younger Winchester left with what he assumes is the torn page from the clippings.

“Dean ya idiot you t-“ “We both tore it ‘ey? Pro’lly wouldn’t’ve happened if you’d been patient! I need these for Novak’s job for me!” Dean is half-upset and entirely overwhelmed by how adorable Sam looks, desperate to grab his hands on the news clippings. Dean takes his silence as the moment to un-crumple the pages and smoothen them out, spacing them out on the desk and using some of their old books to press weight.

“Sorry Dean. Didn’t think too much.” Sam is rubbing his hand on the back of his neck, happily sitting on the floor before Dean lets out a sigh and extends his hand out.

“It’s alright. Just read them when I’m not using them alright?” Dean can already see the mischievous smile growing at the corners, so he quickly adds onto his question. “And I mean after they’ve been straightened out, ya bonehead.” Dean uses his finger knuckles to knock on Sam’s forehead before blowing the candle out of the lantern and walking out of the room. Sam follows closely while holding the older Winchester’s forgotten plate of food.

Seems like his study time will have to continue tomorrow, Dean thinks before he turns to get his plate, only to see Sam holding it for him.

“Jee. Thanks kiddo.” Dean grabs the plate before ruffling Sam’s hair and sitting down to eat.

Sam keeps quiet but grows increasingly fidgety, something Dean notes as he’s eating. He’s inclined to ask but keeps the entertainment for himself. He’s used to seeing Sam like this several times and every time, it ends up with Sam practically pouring his thoughts out in a badly made word salad.

The comfortable silence (at least with Dean) is filled with Dean quietly thinking about Castiel. He knows he should be focusing more on the task the lawyer trusted him with, but the lawyer himself is all Dean can think about. Castiel’s poise and decorum aren’t lost on him, but the small hints and teases he gave before makes Dean’s stomach churn. It’s filthy, in a sense, for him to indulge because Castiel is at least 10 years older than him. Hell, Dean is 19 which means this guy is at least 29. But maybe age is just a number and maybe he’s projecting – maybe Castiel is just 25 but makes himself appear to be more mature. It’s true that Castiel certainly looks older but it’s the fact that he’s a lawyer that driving him to wonder give the 10 year age gap. To be as successful as Castiel, you need to have experience, right?

“Dean!” Dean turns his head around to an incredulous and nervous Sammy who looks like is on the verge of delivering another slap.

“I was ‘bout to slap you again. Where are you even thinkin’?” Sam is still bouncing his leg but before Dean can get answer again, the predicted word salad comes out.

“Can I pretty pretty please meet Mr. Novak? I have so many question because I’ve got some books where I underlined some law stuff and I also was wondering if he had more clippings. Do you think he’d show me his files or something? Since he’s from New York maybe he’s got connections to schools there DEAN he’s gotta come over for dinner—”

“Samuel Winchester.” Dean doesn’t adopt any anger in his tone, but rather says his little brother’s name while smiling. Sam looks up at with puppy eyes, unintentional, but something Dean nevertheless falls for.

“You’ve gotta go one at a time kid. One at a time.” For extra emphasis, Dean holds up his index fingers while mouthing the word one for the third time. Sam laughs nervously before calming himself down. The older Winchester quietly watches, scraping the last of his food aside before tilting his head and resting it on his palm, elbow digging into the table below him.

“Listen, Dean, y’know how much I want to study law and there’s little chance I’m gonna be able to do it anywhere ‘round ‘ere. Mr. Novak’s from New York a-and I was thinkin’ I could ask him some questions about, I d’know applications and what it’s like to live there.” Sam doesn’t seem to be finished, but Dean takes time to process what his little brother said. Every word sinks in and he feels something ugly rearing its head.

Sam, aware of the implications of what he said, tries to correct himself.

“I-I don’t want to leave you Dean but sometimes, I-I feel real stuck in this place. Maybe you’d come with me a-and we’d start a new life there. Away from Dad and the legacy ‘n all that he’s left behind.” Sam is bouncing his leg again and Dean feels torn between keeping his anger and being rational.

Dean knows it but he still goes through the entire process – the freezing of his body, then thoughts, and then his entire rationality. If Sam is gone, that’s it. He has no family. He’d be an orphan – even thought their dad was alive, it was Dean who stepped as a mother and father figure to take care of Sam but what no-one knew was how much Dean saw Sam as a parent. Without Sam here with him, Dean would be left alone. He knew that at some point, Cas would be done with his job in Hays County and move onto the next big case, taking down all the bad guys and Dean would be left getting… fucked… for the lack of better words, like the prostitute he’s been since he was 13 years old.

The small bit of rationality left in him alerts him to the fact that it is nobody’s fault but Dean’s own for keeping the truth of his job, or the entire detail surrounding it, from Sam. At the same time, Sam is only 16, soon to be 17. There’s no way in hell Dean was going to open up about what was going on and how for six years, he’s been slutted out to Alastair’s clients, much less being one for Alastair himself.

Dean knows it’s not his fault. He knows his dad is to blame for the constant abuse he’s endured. He knows it’s because of his dad that he’s been used for underage sex that he never wanted to have. But he doesn’t have to be religious to drown in that nasty pool of self doubt, convincing himself with greater vigor that everything that’s happened in his life is because of his own doing.

He's not sure how much time passes while he’s thinking through all of this, but Dean finds himself staring into Sam’s eyes. with a cloud of inertia freezing his thoughts. Even though Sam has already been crying with tears obviously leaving streaks on his face, he doesn’t notice. Dean feels it: a cloud of inertia obscuring his thoughts.

And because of that, he speaks without another beat of hesitation.

“So you want to leave me the way Dad left us?” Dean doesn’t realize until those words escape his mouth that he’s been crying, after which he sees Sam has been doing the same. What he does realize is the weight of his words and the justification that his little brother had in punching him square in the jaw before cursing Dean out and slamming the door to their room.

Dean stares at the table in front of him before digging his hands into the uneven surface, uncaring of the splinters. Today, he knew he’d be sleeping on the couch.

_

“Work.” An elbow digs into the side of Dean’s head, which makes him nearly grab his gun fastened into his jeans, but he realizes who it is after the familiar smell of brown sugar oatmeal fills his nostrils.

Sam.

Guilt comes in waves as Dean pauses lifting his head halfway. How was he supposed to face the kid, especially when Sam was probably right next to him? But before Dean can wallow anymore in his self pity, he hears Sam speak again.

“I’m leavin’ for work.” Sam is standing a decent distance from the table in his clothes, white and spotless. Dean blinks before gulping audibly and nodding, having nothing else to say in the moment. Staring at the same spot his younger brother was just standing, Dean listens to their front door slam shut. Letting out a breath, Dean wonders how his day could worse, especially seeing that his brother still made his special breakfast despite giving the most out-of-his-ass treatment he possibly could.

Begrudgingly, Dean gets up from the chair before brushing his teeth and pointedly ensuring he doesn’t look at himself in the mirror at any point before he leaves their flat. Dean remembers Sam asking if Castiel could come over for dinner and it was just his luck, he thought, that Castiel was AND is coming over, but it took him less than five minutes last night to again screw any chance of surprising Sam with the good news.

Today is the day Castiel is supposed to be coming over for dinner but he's screwed it all up and he has less than half a day to figure it all out again.

_

“Dean! Get us a few extra glasses of Kansas Ale! And make it damn fast, y’hear me?” Alastair screams at Dean atop all of the clamor in around the bar, but Dean’s gotten used to filtering out all the noise so he can listen to what matters, which is unfortunately, mostly Alastair.

Dean should, but doesn’t give any affirmation. Instead, he just grabs four glasses from the shelves beneath the main bar surface, dragging the Kansas Ale from the bartender next to him using far too much force because they didn’t forcefully beaten and screwed over for making a mistake, risking a glance over his shoulder.

As much as he tries, the clinking of ice among everyone’s chatter makes it harder for Dean to listen in on Alastair’s conversation. Without getting distracted, Dean finishes up the drinks before grabbing a tray and whisking them atop the wood, quickly making his way to their table.

“Your drinks.” Dean mutters under his breath, keeping quiet the way, Alastair consistently demanded he do. One by one, Dean allows the cool ice from the glasses calm the nerves building up inside of him. The touch is effervescent, lasting for less than a second and with time quickly passing, he ditches the idea of shitting around the bar floor to try and listen in on their conversation.

He would rather not be there.

Dean doesn’t dare lift his head up to look at Alastair, much less encouraged than two days ago when he glared at him directly in his eyes, so he walks away but is stopped by a calloused hand gripping his forearm.

“Aren’t ya supposed to ask if we need anything else boy?” Dean keeps his head down but moves his eyes a bit upwards, taking note of, surprisingly, a woman holding his arm after turning around. She’s much older, closer to Rowena’s age but has orange and hazel eyes, sharp features. Taking the silence as an invitation, Dean lifts his head up slightly and notices everyone in the bar is quiet, staring at Dean and he instantly wishes the wood, which already creaks, to give out under him and swallow him whole.

Quickly, Dean averts his gaze to Alastair who seems to be entertained. He realizes this is a moment where no matter what goes wrong, Dean’s going to be punished because he exists for Alastair’s pleasure and uninhibited abuse.

Dean chooses to look at her chin, keeping his line of sight lower as usual.

“I-I’m sorry ma’am. Is there anything else I can get for this table?” Dean is surprised by how well he can stabilize his voice, minus the stuttering at first. The woman’s grip tightens and without any warning, Dean finds himself being pushed into the bar counter a few steps behind them.

It’s the woman, entire body stuck onto his and in the processing of freezing up, Dean stays there despite have more than enough strength to push her off. Fear creeps through his body as he realizes the men sitting at the table are her henchmen which means he’s utterly fucked if he doesn’t move in the next five seconds.

But they take three.

Within exactly three seconds, Dean is painfully pinned to the counter, arms awkwardly twisted back onto the wood below him. Despite his increasing thrashing, nothing happens which leads him to almost kick the woman smirking in front of him.

“What are ya idiots lookin’ at? Go back y’business!” Alastair bands the counter next to Dean which seems to the drink, because the bar goes back to its usual clamor, leaving Dean, Alastair, the mysterious woman, and her henchmen locked into an uncomfortable intimate circle.

“Y’ want him for tonight?” Alastair comes up next to the woman, whispering into her ear loud enough for everyone in this strangely tight circle around Dean to hear. Dean nearly rolls his eyes because of course Alastair wants to keep this low-key.

“Absolutely. Seems like a fight I can deal with Al.” Her hand finds Dean’s chest, and he can swear vomit is at the top of his throat. Dean’s found himself quickly getting to used to the way Castiel respects him and any threat of being forced under someone else is met with an immediate physical rejection. But left without any choice, Dean continues to breathe heavily as the woman’s hand drags down his body.

“We got the point Amara.” Alastair grabs her hand before sharply taking it off of Dean. Momentarily, she seems offended but within a second, her expression to one of ‘so you’re keeping this a secret’ which makes Dean even more annoyed and disgusted. With a grimace of a smile, the woman – Amara – snaps her fingers and Dean finds himself being dragged away to the stairs before a voice at the entrance of Alastair’s bar finds brings unspoken comfort to Dean.

Castiel Novak.

“What’s going on here, Alastair?” There he is, Castiel Novak, in all his glory which is highlighted with a dark chocolate colored overcoat, trousers, and a painfully opulent, yet simple, cowboy hat. If Dean knew better, he would totally stop himself from wishing that the men pinning Dean down were Castiel instead.

Dean takes the liberty of averting his gaze to Alastair, who is rolling his eyes into oblivion before moving his glare to be pointed towards Amara.

With a snap of her fingers, Dean is dropped right onto his ass and it takes all his pain tolerance plus a strong ability to withhold his wonderful catalog of curse words to not scream out the possibility his tailbone is bruised.

“What the hell do you want Novak?” Dean can tell Alastair wants to grab Cas, probably punch him more, given the way his fists keep clenching and unclenching. Castiel, however, in all his glory remains unmoved by Alastair’s personality.

“Just wondering why anyone has their hands on the poor boy right now.” Castiel’s eyes flicker towards Dean and Dean reads a flash of regret, which he figures is because Cas is having to refer to him in a less-than-desirable manner. Dean ignores the disappointment that blooms in his gut, opting to deliver an it’s okay as best as he can with a slightly smile and crinkle of his eyes.

“Do you want to get drunk? Maybe live a day in your daddy’s life?” Alastair smirks and finally, Dean sees it. A twitch in Cas’s eye. That was a low blow, knowing that Cas’s dad was responsible for killing his mom – it makes Dean want to forget it all and deliver a few quality punches of his own but he knows how short-sighted and ridiculous that would be.

“No, Alastair. I was here to talk to you. I know you hate talking to me so if it helps, I can pay for Dean in exchange.” Castiel speaks without a hint of inhibition and for a few seconds, Dean wants the floor to swallow him again. It’s hard so hard to take this outwardly. In fact, it might’ve hurt less if anyone else had said this to him. But after Castiel had shown him so much love, the switch up changed. Dean looks at Castiel’s eyes, wondering if that same emotion would flash in eyes again but unfortunately, the lawyer is busy boring his eyes into Alastair.

“Is this going to be an everyday thin-“ “Excuse me, Alastair, but did you forget I’m standing here and that I called dibs on the boy first?” Dean watches Amara skim her hand down Alastair’s back which makes him blush (how disgusting, Dean thinks) but what he doesn’t expect is how Castiel reacts.

“How much are you paying Amara?” Castiel speaks, venom dripping in his words.

“Oh dear, now hasn’t it been a long time since I heard my name coming from your beautiful lips Castiel.” Amara’s eyebrow is raised with an irritating smirk, at least for Dean, which only seems to infuriate Castiel further.

As a side note, Dean finds an angry Castiel Novak to be extremely attractive.

“Have you still not learned how to answer questions after all these years Amara?” How does Castiel know her name? Dean finds this striking, probably because it’s a woman in a place of power but something in the way Amara addressed him strikes him differently.

Unlike Amara, Cas doesn’t even try to fake any affection, speaking directly to her façade.

Dean also finds that attractive, which he realizes is becoming a problem because his thoughts keep drifting from the situation at hand. Realizing he’s been sitting on the floor the entire time, he quietly moves to get up.

“Sit down Dean.” Alastair glares at Dean, turning his back even to make his point known. Awkwardly with his leg in the air, Dean sets it back onto the floor before Cas speaks.

“Stand up Dean. Don’t listen to this…” Dean wishes he could speak and say short fat-ass but for the lack of authority, he again keeps quiet.

Dean stands up without any hesitation. Amara and Alastair stare at Dean, shock alike.

“Dean, upstairs. Now.” Castiel speaks with finality before using his eyes to direct him up the stairs. He should be insulted but knowing the actual truth of the situation, Dean makes his way up to the room they last used, shaking as he grabbed the key from his pocket.

Not long after sitting on the bed, Dean hears footsteps at the front of the door.

“Mr. Winchester.” Castiel looks slightly out of breath, his cowboy hanging over the back of his neck. His hair is messy, tufts of hair perfectly out of place which takes Dean aback.

“C-Castiel.” Dean stutters from nervousness before Castiel finishes the rest of the sentence.

“I believe we have to talk about a few things.” With which, Castiel closes the door and drags a chair that sits right in front of Dean.

Well, there go a few hours of his seven-dollars-per-hour pay for today.

_

Chapter Text

The present landscape was Dean sitting on the bed, no differently than he did the first time he and Castiel had sat in the room, with Castiel sitting slightly closer to Dean as though the two had natural ease with each other. 

That's exactly what Dean wanted with Castiel, considering the unholy thoughts he had every time Castiel did something remotely human, but there was so much the two didn't know about each other. Dean's best option was to stay reserved and pray things would unfold mildly in the direction he wanted them to.

"We do have to talk." Dean speaks neutrally, clasping his hands together, legs slightly spread apart. No teasing, Dean thinks, because this is serious. When he looks at Castiel's face, that's (luckily) the same feeling he gets. The lawyer is quietly looking around the room, seemingly lost in his thoughts. There's frustration speckled on his face, something Dean isn't used to given how poised he normally he keeps himself. Feeling guilty for placing the burden on Cas to start the conversation, Dean speaks again.

"I'm real sorry for everythin' that happened out there. Good thing you stepped in." Dean unclasps his hands, placing them beside his hip on either side of the bed. Spreading his leg out a bit more, he makes himself comfortable which is helpfully supplied by a smile that appears on Cas's face.

"Don't apologize. I'm glad I was there at the right time, but it leads me to ask what would've happened if I wasn't there." Castiel's smile becomes a tight-lipped expression, one that Dean seems to read as half-regret. Normally, it's an insensitive question -- Castiel is far too knowledgeable to know what would happen. So Dean fires back with a question himself, testing Cas's intention.

"I'd think you can figure that out Mr.Novak." Dean speaks with a bite in his tone, something edging close to spite which he doesn't mean, but he figures the position he's in allows him the right to speak that way and get away with it.

Castiel's expression softens, surprisingly. Stretching out his facial muscles for a quick second, he speaks.

"I know it seems like a stupid question and perhaps, it is. I can assume you would've been thrown into a room similar to this and..." Dean watches the man swallow hard, trying to find his words. A few uncomfortable seconds pass which drives Dean to blurt the word out himself.

"Fucked."

"Abused."

Castiel and Dean speak at the same time, and Dean swears that he sees anger strike across the lawyer's face. It's quickly replaced with disappointment, making Dean's own heart break.

"Abused, Dean. But I suppose I'm asking for what happens to you in all of this. Do you fight back or can you? What do they say to you? I-I'm sorry if this seems too personal to ask. It's just that I-" And Dean hears it. A crack in Cas's voice. Is he getting emotional? Dean asks himself the question while desperately convincing himself that he's hearing things -- there's no chance in hell the Castiel Novak gives a damn that he's raped on a daily basis. Keeping his words at bay, Dean looks down at his lap, fidgeting with his fingers. In his peripheral vision, he can see Castiel's lip part and close repeatedly, seemingly lost for how to explain himself.

"It's been two days since I met you Dean. I have found myself quickly disliking the idea of seeing you hurt. I care about you, as though you are my family and I am willing to do anything for y- to help you. And your brother." Castiel's breathing has picked up, something Dean notes after lifting his head up to look at the lawyer. He once again takes note of how blue and icy his eyes are, yet fascinated by how warm they look. Dean quietly wishes he could be the only one looking into them.

It's confusing for Dean. Here is an objectively random man who waltzed in one day, trying to take on one of the largest bar owners in the region telling the local prostitute he cares. It's new to Dean and mostly uncomfortable because he feels like there are chapters being skipped. Isn't Castiel supposed to despise him first? Maybe fuck him a few times and then feel some pity before offering Dean this opportunity. Dean is torn between being rational and paranoid -- he knows his life is everything but his fault, but if this is all he's used to, isn't staying close to experience better? Whether he knew or not, Dean realized that Castiel was forcing him to open up. Forcing in a... good way because the Winchester knows this is exactly what he needs. But how is he supposed to trust this man? After all, Castiel is here on a mission and won't look back. Dean is a very small part of his life.

The correction towards the end of Castiel's sentence, though, doesn't go unnoticed by Dean.

"If y'put it that way. A-Amara? I think that's 'er name. She had her henchmen so I'd 've been dragged up and thrown into the room. I used to fight back when I was 13 or 14 but now, I don' put up much of a fight. Jus' go along with it and close m' eyes. I respond and I-I even fake the sounds. I do what makes sense in the moment and wait until they're gone to cry. My role in the process is limited to bein' used Mr.Novak." Dean lets out a bitter laugh after he's finished speaking. "Don' matter who comes. Whether they have henchmen or not, it's either me involuntarily going up the steps or involuntarily being dragged up those steps. It's a disappointing turn of events to listen to. Depressing even for me to think about but it's what I've gotten used to isn't it?" Dean finishes speaking before realizing his eyes are glossy, owing to Castiel's figure looking watery.

"What's it to you Mr.Novak? I'll always be a-a-" Dean's voice trails of as he speaks, reduced to a whisper, "prostitute." The Winchester lets more tears flow from his face, expression remaining unchanged. He can't help but lift up a hand and massage his forehead, the increasing pound of his emotional agony making his body shut down.

He doesn't notice the sound of the chair creaking. He doesn't notice the hand on his shoulder. He certainly doesn't notice the single finger under his chin until he's, clear as day, staring at Castiel Novak, who's towering over him.

Dean is no stranger to love and he would've called this moment to be domestic if it were the two of them in a more romantic spot. The popular boy at school is about to kiss the shy girl who sits in the corner every day. The girl who refuses to accept his roses.

Except Dean is a man and a prostitute.

"It breaks my heart," Castiel starts speaking, slowly trailing the finger under Dean's chin up to the joint of his ear, jaw, and neck meeting, "to hear you refer to yourself that way Dean. It pulls at my heartstrings when you think if yourself as less than what you are." Dean feels the man place a light, but airy pressure at the point and instantly, Dean's lips fall apart.

Dean ignores the thought that Castiel is trying to take advantage of Dean's situation for his own satisfaction.

Dropping his finger, Castiel holds a hand up to Dean's suddenly-wide-eyed expression to assure him everything is okay.

"Dean, everything that happened thus far is a consequence of a man who never learned to love you. Your father forced this life upon you and I know my words will do nothing to quell what I suppose is a void he’s managed to crack open inside of you. There is very little I can do no matter how much money I give you or comfort I extend. But you should know that the way you stand to support and love your brother shows that no matter what happens here, there is a part of you that no-one can take away from you. There is a Dean Winchester that very few people know about and I, for one, am honored you have let me in so close. Whether you've told others or not, whether I'm the first or not, the weight of your life and the secrets it holds will always be valuable in me admiring who you are." Dean is shocked at this point, allowing his lips to unceremoniously fall into an 'O' even though it's not the prettiest sight ever, but Castiel adds on more.

"You are not a prostitute. You are a victim. But you don't live like you're a victim and that's what strikes me Dean. You live vivaciously with what is in front of you. Ironically, you seem to miss that point yourself." Castiel's hand is now cupping his face and Dean realizes he should have some meaningful to respond with but instead,

"What does ironically mean?" Before he can think, Dean says probably the most unromantic and empathetic thing he can in that moment. Luckily, Castiel smiles and sits himself down next to Dean.

"Ironic means when something happens contrary to what is expected. For example, you experience as much good as you can despite your situation, but ironically," Dean quickly takes note of adorable Castiel sounds and looks (that eyebrow raise) explaining something he knows well, "you don't recognize that fact yourself. You inspire me and your brother without inspiring yourself. If that isn't ironic then I'm not sure what is." Castiel gives a full teeth smile and Dean has to look away to hide his blush, mildly registering that Castiel may figure out why.

"I-" Dean tries again, forcing the wheels in his brain to turn because there are so many words that Castiel said before explaining the meaning of this word 'ironic', whose definition he barely paid attention to but somehow, got the gist of. Gulping, Dean wonders if Castiel would take the liberty to force Dean to turn his head and face Castiel himself. Take the burden of Dean's responsibility. But Dean knows Castiel won't. The man is far too cordial and respectful to do so.

He's correct. It's perhaps two minutes of pure silence that passes before Dean is turning his head himself and looking Castiel directly into his inquisitive, ocean-blue eyes.

"'M not used to so many...words. Good words. Like the stuff you just told me. But I can say that I really 'ppreciate it. Just not used to it." Dean quickly finds himself staring at the two inches of bed space between his own legs and Castiel's. But it doesn't stop him from speaking, feeling like a small part of his hesitation has been chipped away by Castiel's words. "I've gotten used to a certain way of life Mr.Novak--"

"Cas."

Dean looks up and smiles, something that feels new to him. It's natural and flowing directly from his soul, Dean thinks, because it's been a while. It's touching to him that Castiel remembers. 

Your wish is my command. So Dean continues.

"I-I've gotten used to a certain way of life Cas. Nobody except for you know about what I've gone through. Sam is too young to know and even if he's old enough, I don't think he'd see me to same. I mean that in a bad way." Dean watches Castiel's lip twitch, probably in an urge to correct Dean for yet another self-depricating prediction. But he holds his tongue, figuring this is the one of the few times (if not the first) that Dean is talking about his feelings.

“I’ve accepted this as m’life. If it means that I can help you in the process, then I’ll do everythin’ I can. Don’t you worry.” Dean looks up and sees Castiel, sadly, looking like he’d kill someone.

“Why don’t you leave Dean? A few towns over. Maybe start your life all over again. I figure it’d do you and Sam some good.” Castiel cocks his head to the side, squinting his ocean-blue eyes.

Aish, this man is really interested in Dean, isn’t he? It feels romantic to Dean – two inches away from each other while sitting on a bed (where Dean would like do some unspeakable things with Castiel) pouring their hearts out, especially when Cas is talking to him like he’s professing his undying wish to have emotional sex.

Dean shakes his head to the side, realizing that he’s going completely off course.

“No?” Castiel mistakes this for Dean’s answer, making him shake his head again.

“No- No I don’t mean that. I meant-“ Dean would normally slap himself across the face, but that would make him look like an idiot, so he opts to take in a deep breath before talking.

“I’ve everything I need here. Rowena cuts the rent for our flat. I’ve been making…money,” Dean accentuates this with a questionable head tilt, widening his eyes in slight irritation, “and Sam’s doing just fine. We’ve no guarantee that the next town over’s got work for us. Plus, it’s over three hours away. I can’t risk taking a day off of work.” Dean is keeping a lot out of his answer, like how he doesn’t give a shit about everything he just said and actually wants to find and meet John Winchester again and give him a piece of his own mind. Dean is also keeping out the fact that his mother grave is a few miles outside of this town and he dutifully visits it every weekend, so going farther away means he can’t talk to her. He can’t spend those precious hours crying away and talking to the tombstone, like a child sobbing in their mother’s arms.

Castiel is in the same position.

“You’re telling me you’d rather stay and take what Alastair gives you?” Blunt, Dean thinks. He practically winces and feels that anger rearing its head. It practically destroyed his relationship with Sam yesterday and it was about to show itself again.

After everything, it was Dean’s right to keep that answer to himself.

“Perhaps I’m used to the pain Castiel. Depression does that to people.” Dean speaks with a bite in his voice, edging on spite, but he doesn’t care. He can probably get away with it.

“I don’t believe you.” Castiel speaks with that same finality and Dean has to ignore the heat sears through his body to focus on remaining angry at the lawyer.

Dean could tell the truth. It’s always there because Cas has extended that freedom without saying anything. But he doesn’t want the pity. He doesn’t need Castiel’s ‘sorry’ because he’s gotten this far without it. He should say it to Cas, the arrogant man who dare call out Dean for his bullshit.

Dean knows what he said is bullshit.

“You shouldn’t. I’m lying.” Dean, idiotically smiles.

Castiel, thankfully, smiles back.

“And what should I do with that information, Dean?” Castiel crinkles his eyes with a hint of curiosity in his eyes. It sends heat creeping through Dean’s body, leading him to whisper his answer.

“Wait. Until I decide it’s right to tell you.” Dean feels a rebellious burn clasp his being, warming him up. It’s like a switch is flicked ‘on’ in his brain, because he can’t help but indulge in the innuendos Cas seems to be giving him.

Castiel’s features soften.

“As you wish.” The lawyer ever-so-slightly moves back, giving Dean space on the bed.

The two stare at each other, blinking in comfortable silence without making any moves. The tension is simmering and Dean could swear it could lead to something but there was still too much unknown.

“How old are you?” Well shit, Dean thinks. That wasn’t subtle.

Castiel raises his eyebrows before giving an innocent, one-sided smile.

“I’m 27. People say I look slightly older, but I suppose it’s because I don’t smile much.” After saying this, Castiel gives a full smile again. All teeth and shine and it leaves Dean to gasp, because wow, he does look young. Dean thought this guy was in his mid-thirties but maybe the stress has got him stitching his eyebrows together constantly.

“Wow.” Dean is speechless, watching Castiel settle for a simpler smile as blush creeps on his cheeks. The Winchester can’t help but feel pride because he just made the Castiel Novak blush.

“You look way younger when you smile. Should probably stop mushin’ your eyebrows together all the time.” Dean snorts, before covering his mouth. Castiel rolls his eyes before taking a hand and rummaging through his pocket, taking out a paper and pen. He looks like he’s ready to note something down before he speaks.

“Dean, how old are you and Sam?” Dean smiles, noting how his heart rate speeds up. It’s breathtaking that Cas remembers to ask about Dean, much less Sam.

“Sammy’s 16 and I’m 20.” Dean gives his best smile and Castiel lets an unreadable expression cross his face before winking back.

Dean prays that his simmering arousal doesn’t take too much hold on him. But Cas doesn’t help much, especially with what he does next.

Castiel doesn’t respond other than giving note, going back to flipping through his papers before finding a blank side. In haste, Cas rounds his lips on the lid of the pen before dragging it off with a satisfying one-slide move. Using his tongue to drop it the side, Castiel immediately gets to writing a few words down. It happens too quickly for Dean to say that it was on purpose, so to make the situation easier to comprehend, Dean figures it’s his own fault for being a whore, and this time, in a good way.

Dean is desperate to touch his cheeks because he feels very very hot, but Cas looks up at Dean again and he swears there’s a smug and irritating look on the lawyer’s face which defies his seconds-ago hypothesis and has to ignore, as if he isn’t on the edge of popping a boner.

DEAN.

Dean remembers the way Sam slapped his face yesterday and somehow, that does the trick in calming his body down. To move the moment forward, Dean quickly retrieves his notebook.

“I’ve been taking notes. Pretty broken but I can let you know if you’d like.” Dean opens the notebook to the first page before turning it around and handing it to Castiel, who furrows his eyebrows and looks through the words.

“I apologize, but the handwriting is a bit messy. Just tell m-“ And with that Dean grabs the book before mumbling out a few ‘sorry about that’ and ‘I’ll do better next time’ phrases, using his own pen to cross and re-write everything he noted down. He sees Castiel about to move forward and comfort him but Dean is quick to speak up.

“I-It’s fine. I’m always working and I haven’t been takin’ lunch breaks so I’m usually scribblin’ all ‘o this down. Just give me a moment ‘n I’ll explain everything.” Dean gives a nervous smile, which Castiel simply mirrors with more confidence before sitting quietly.

After a few minutes, Dean has his own points rewritten in a neat column, thankful the ink hasn’t yet run out. He’ll have to thank Jody for those ink bottles and possibly recommend she put a price on them because they are good quality bottles of ink.

“First thing I’ve down is something I found in this wooden box we have in the storage room behind the bar counter. Y’know, Alastair usually doesn’t let us go back there but we ran out of glasses ‘cause there was a fight. Y’know a shit ton that were broken and I had to pick up the pieces! They were in their tiny overcoats all like ‘GET O’ER ‘ERE YA-‘” Dean is cut off by Castiel gently smiling.

“Dean, I think you’re rambling. As much as I’d like to listen to how that fight went, I would appreciate the details of what you wrote down.” He seems to be fighting the urge to laugh and Dean immediately stammers, scrambling to get his information correct.

“Sh-Shit sorry Cas. Yeah, yeah so I wrote down the name uhhh-“ Dean takes a moment to reorient himself before speaking again.

Deep breath in. Exhale out.

“Alright so I actually found Amara’s name. Didn’t know who she or them was – thought it could be a man ‘cause I ain’t ever heard the name Amara ‘round these parts. Anyways, I scribbled a few words here, but there was a note written under it. Some’ like ‘meeting soon to reconfirm third party source’ and the only thing it said was PX18. Only identification I could find.” Dean finishes talking, confidence increasing as he recalled the details. It was true, just after the fight had broken out and he had finished cleaning the glass off of the floor, Alastair had given him the keys to the storage and room and told him to find the glasses quick. It was filled with cobwebs but nonetheless, Dean had managed to find the glasses. Idiot of a boss, Dean had thought, because a crack in the wall allowed some light to come through, passing right through the columns of glasses stacked on the shelf. Dean almost walked away until he couldn’t help but look into the intricate designs playing with his vision, watery in their nature because they were hiding behind the shot glasses. Careful to not create food-fight-but-this-time-it’s-Dean situation, Dean had carefully maneuvered his hand inside to pull the box out. Turns out it was one he saw before and unfortunately, knew how to open.

The box was imported from India. It wasn’t the usual lid or lock and push box, but rather carefully crafted wooden angles that fit beautifully into each other. Frustratingly, Alastair had send many letters to and from the artist himself trying to figure out how to open the box, until he had unknowingly did in front of Dean once and only once. He’d justified it by saying Dean you are far too stupid but just in case, don’t look and of course, Dean watched. He watched where every finger went and looked. Listened. Each bullet, some covered in blood and some not, being dropped into the box one by one. Before Alastair could catch him, Dean had covered his eyes, lying in the bed half naked.

It's not the most pleasant memory but it filled his time while Castiel took note of everything Dean had seen.

“Dean, make sure you look at things once and tell me. I don’t need you to putting yourself in danger more than once just because I need the information.” Castiel is still noting some things down, drawing arrow for what Dean assumes are extra questions he has about the detail he was just given.

“Who said I didn’t?” Dean furrows his eyebrows, looking at Castiel still furiously writing things down. Dean wonders what the hell could justify almost an entire paragraph on his page.

But then Castiel looks up.

“You looked once and got all of this information?” Castiel doesn’t sound judgmental, but rather curious with a drop of healthy skepticism.

“Yeah?” Dean isn’t really sure why it matters, but sure, whatever the man says.

Castiel seems like he’s ready to say a lot, but stays quiet.

“What else do you have written down Dean?” Dean relaxes his face before shrugging and reading out some random numbers from Alastair’s sale book alongside the names from the check-in book the bar has.

“The bar uses a check-in book. Every customer ‘s gotta write their name down before coming inside, even if it’s a private meeting. Alastair says it keeps him safe which makes a lot of sense. I’d do the same with everyone that comes in to fuck me so I could tear their dicks off aft-“ Dean stops himself when he realizes he’s rambling again and Castiel doesn’t seem to know what to say.

“Sorry. T-That’s everything I have for today.” Dean clears his throat before speaking up. “Are you still coming over for dinner tonight?” Dean knows stuff with Sam isn’t cleared up, but the best he can do is this one pre-planned surprise.

Castiel sighs, shoving his papers into his pocket. He clicks the lid for his pen closed before giving Dean a warm smile.

“Of course. I’ve arranged for some food even though you said not to, but I wasn’t sure if it was still on for today. What time should I be over?” Castiel asks, a glint of excitement in his eyes.

“7:30. It gets fairly dark by then and no-one will see you walkin’ over from Rowena’s Stay. I s’pose Alastair has got some eyes watching you but he’s pretty lazy.” Dean supplies the information, hoping its helpful. “I’d be in some shit if you didn’t come over, y’know?” Dean laughs, leading Castiel to inquire why.

The lawyer doesn’t speak, but rather smiles while creasing his eyebrows.

“I got into a fight with Sam yesterday – said some things I shouldn’t have and I haven’t made it up to him. He’s been dying to meet you y’know, so I was hoping today would be a great way to make it up to him.” Dean smiles, a sad one, conveying his fear of what happened with Sam wordlessly.

Castiel opens his mouth, looking like he’s thinking.

“I’m happy to come over. I’m very much looking forward it, you know, bringing my ‘pretty legs’ to your humble abode. And I'm thrilled at the prospect of meeting Sam.” Castiel winks again and Dean has to physically stop himself from looking away again. Unsure of what to say, Dean just nods.

“We’re done here?” A little more subtle Winchester, Dean thinks to himself. It’s a bit reflexive and he’s thinking Castiel has caught onto that. Without taking offense, Castiel nods, getting up and reaching his hand back to grab his cowboy hat.

Dean lets out a breath. Now that this is over.

“Dean, I forgot. You should unbutton your shirt.” Castiel is standing at the door and Dean looks at him with what he’d describe as raccoon eyes.

“What?” Dean is too confused to be offended so Castiel does the honors.

“Shi- Excuse me, Dean. That’s not what I meant. I-“ Castiel hastily opens the door, looking left and right before shutting it closed and rushing back to sit on the back.

Did Castiel almost curse? Dean nearly laughs but stops himself, trying to focus on what’s going on.

“Alastair is under the impression that every time I come in here with you, we engage in-“ Castiel clears his throat, “-intercourse. Obviously, I’m not interested in that—”

“Obviously?” Dean asks his question before he can stop himself and now, obviously, covers his mouth with both hands.

Subtle just went out the window.

“I-“ Castiel seems to be a loss of words too. “Not obvious I- You- Alright.” Castiel pins his fingers into the rounds of his eyes, pressing on the bridge of his nose. “You’re a fine young man Dean. But I’d never do that to you. We need to make an impression as if we have been, engaging in such—”

“—activities.” Dean finishes his sentence, mentally giving a pat on his own back for saying something useful and not not-subtle. Castiel nods and stares.

So, Dean now had to unbutton his shirt in front of the lawyer he’s incredibly attracted to. And has an inkling to think is also attracted to Dean.

“U-Um should I j-just—” Dean start to unbutton and Castiel is looking every where but, meeting Dean’s eyes before flitting them to Dean’s fingers, which are practically suffocating the edges of his shirt.

“J-Just a few Dean I-“ Castiel clears his throat and crosses his legs, looking away before looking back at Dean with a seemingly refreshed expression.

“Just a few Dean.” Castiel’s voice is shaking, but it’s much more confident than before. Dean could just quickly unbutton them, but the devious part of him says it’s his turn to do the teasing. Up until this point, he hasn’t really laid a hand on the lawyer so what’s the harm in keeping it up, while simultaneously driving the older man mad?

It’s wrong, but Dean is desperate. And intrigued.

“Okay Mr.Novak.” So Dean finishes the first button, making sure he pushes the edges of his shirt as open as possible. In doing so, he allows his collarbone to show, exposed for Castiel to see. Dean makes sure to trail one index fingers down the now barely showing part of his chest before skillfully and slowly removing the second button. Castiel’s breath clearly hitches, blue eyes staring daggers into Dean’s skin, and for a second, Dean thinks if that idiom came true, he’d let it happen.

The blood would look good, slowly making it’s way down his abdomen.

But Dean, being the tease he is, doesn’t stop. Taking his entire hand, Dean pushes it through his shirt, caressing his pectoral muscles and breathing in before exhaling out, complimenting the action with a sound that falls between a moan and whimper. Using his left hand to grab the next button, he uses one hand to undo the third.

“Is this good enough, Mr.Novak?” Dean accentuates this by lying back on the bedframe, letting the hard wood dig into his back as he watches Castiel eyes quickly return to his own. The lawyer is visibly nervous, gulping down and doing so audibly.

“That’s fine Dean.” Castiel responds with a level voice and Dean nearly frowns. He’s going to have to step it up.

“Are you sure? I can do an extra button if you’d like.” Dean removes his right before using his index finger to trail it down his sternum and down his toned abdomen, before riding it right over this shirt, swiftly down his leg and eventually, reaching the lawyer’s kneecap.

Castiel stares at him like he’s ready to pounce, and Dean has to credit the older man with an incredulous ability to practice restraint, but he was determined to make a break. A crack. Even if it was small.

“Don’t you need to unbutton a few too?” Dean’s voice start to become breathy, unsure of whether this is right or wrong. It’s new territory and he thinks this is probably the first he’s touching Castiel with a sexually motivated volition of his own.

“I do Mr.Winchester.” And with that, Castiel is grabbing Dean’s arm, a haste Dean internally smiles at. This is exactly what he wanted to see – desire oozing through in his rough gesture, Dean can’t help but lean forward, slightly towering over Castiel as the lawyer guides his hand onto his chest.

Castiel leans forward, pressing harder onto Dean’s hand.

“I could definitely use some help, but for today, I’ll do it myself.” Castiel smirks before slowly dragging Dean’s finger down his chest and back over his kneecap, resting it in Dean’s lap before letting go. The lawyer then stands up, clearing his throat before, indeed, unbuttoning his shirt. Staring at the mans chest, Dean realizes this man is probably hiding a lot, but doesn't care because he looks divine in his eyes. Like an angel.

The look Cas gives Dean makes the boy shiver – it’s not suggestive, but it certainly sends a warning and Dean isn’t sure what to make of it, other than the fact he's made some progress.

Castiel steps close before leaning down to whisper in Dean’s ear, leading Dean to freeze up and breathe heavy, uncaring about whether Castiel hears.

“Ruffle your hair a bit. I’ll see you at 7:30, Mr.Winchester.” And with that, long strides Castiel to the door where he turns around to give a wink before opening and closing the door.

Dean, the ever-willing disciple does exactly as Castiel says, ruffling his own hair before falling back on the bed and letting out a groan.

Chapter Text

The walk home was making Dean increasingly uncomfortable. He has to face Sam (assuming the kid was even willing to come home) knowing that nothing has been resolved and without enough time to sort his shit out, Castiel is coming over. At the same time, Dean can’t find Sam saying that his surprise is tacky – Sam had been talking about Castiel far before the man stepped foot into the town.

Ignoring the uneven roads, Dean makes, what feels like, a trek home back to their flat. Walking up the steps, Dean is wary of the creaks before standing in front of their door. Hand on the doorknob, he turns it.

The couch and kitchen are empty. If Sam’s home, the only other place he could be is their bedroom (where they both slept because there’s only one) or small “so-called” work room which is big enough for one and half person, so Dean quietly walks over to the small corner room, peeking his head in. When he sees that Sam isn’t there, he takes in a deep breath before opening the door.

Quiet and dreaming away, Sam is sprawled on the bed, taking up more space than there is in the first place. Knee-jerk habits make Dean smile and the Winchester wants nothing more than to walk up and leave a kiss on his hair, but fearing the kid may wake up and throw a punch or two stops him.

Or maybe it’s not the punches. It’s not physical. Dean is willing to suffer consequences no matter what he does – hell he’s spent a decent majority of his life living in consequences for a mistake he never mad.

He’ll have to give John Winchester a piece of his mind if they ever meet again.

Dean is stuck in a dilemma because as peaceful Sam looks, Castiel is coming over in…

Shit.

Dean knew by the time he came home there would be no more than 45 minutes until Castiel came over, but it was worse. The clock was showing 7:12pm.

Without second thought, Dean walks back into the room before gently tapping and shaking Sam’s shoulder. Tightening his muscles, Dean prepares for any limb of Sam’s to come flying into his face.

“Sammy. Wake up.” Dean is afraid but doesn’t let it show in the way he addresses Sam, maintaining the same affection he always does.

Sam is slow, but eventually stirs awake. Dean can tell the kid is really tired, with eye circles slowly starting to form under his eyes. He figures it’s because he’s working extra hard now that he’s been paid extra, and as much as Dean wants to be an older brother and berate him, he knows he’d do the same.

“Whattimeisitughhhhhhhhhh-“ It’s rare, but sometimes Sam will be deep in his sleep that he can barely orient himself. Sam rubs his eyes, uncaring that his question is unanswered before blinking and squinting at Dean’s face.

To Dean’s pleasant surprise, Sam gives him a tiny smile before yawning out and speaking softly.

“What’s up Dean?” Dean nearly falls back on the bed. If theatrics were allowed then Dean would make a hole in the floor and fall through it. Suddenly postponing the dinner seems like a much more appetizing idea.

“Uh- Aren’t-cha gonna slap me or somethin’?” Dean gets straight to the point, temporarily forgetting that he has less than 18 minutes until Castiel comes over.

Sam tilts his head to the side before making an ‘O’, seemingly understanding the context of Dean’s question. With a breathy laugh, Sam speaks.

“I should Dean. But that’s something you’d do and sometimes, there are parts of you I wouldn’t wanna take after. Y’told me yourself to not follow in your footsteps. Did ya not?” Sam’s expression is neutral and Dean allows himself to feel like his heart just got dunked in ice before cooling his head off.

“Y-Yeah I-“ “So I’m gonna be the bigger person ‘ere. Still hurt by what you said and I… I don’t know Dean. Sometimes I look at you and I see Dad and it scares me.” Sam pointedly looks into Dean’s eyes when he says this and Dean nearly feels tears escape his eyes. There’s no denying that his eyes are glossy, but he can’t break down. He can’t cry when he’s facing the truth.

“You know that’s the last thing I want Sammy. You’re all I’ve got.” Dean’s voice cracks when he speaks. He knows it won’t reverse the wrong he’s done, but at least it’s genuine. Dean rarely ever says things like things – deep, meaningful, from the string that weave his soul together.

“I know Dean. You’re I’ve got but then you go about doin’ shit like this—” Dean would’ve slapped him for the curse word but he can’t. He doesn’t care either. “—and I don’t know who you are. Jus’ want my brother to be happy, y’know?” Sam looks down at the bed when he speaks, and Dean can tell the kid close to letting a dam break.

“I’m sorry kid.” Dean wants to say a lot. He wants to tell Sam that he’s been raped since he was 13 and that if Sam leaves, he feels like his last bit of sanity will vanish. He wants to tell Sam that he’s constantly eaten away by the desire to get revenge on their father. He wants to tell Sam that Mary is gone and Dean thinks that’s the most unfair thing. Dean wants to tell Sam that accepting the two of them are orphans is the most ugly and bitter truth in the world.

But Dean doesn’t know how to do it. He doesn’t know how to translate his thoughts. So he just says he’s sorry. Because he is and for now, it’ll stop the trickle of blood he’s punctured into his relationship with Sam.

“It’s not okay Dean, but I can’t stay mad at you forever can I? That doesn’t mean the conversation is over.” Sam sniffles a bit before looking up at Dean again, which makes Dean shift his eyes to the side. He knows exactly what Sam is talking about – leaving for New York.

“I kno-“ A knock at the door makes them both jump at which moment, Dean grabs his hair before trying to get up, tripping over himself and toppling onto Sam instead.

“SHIT! Wrong way!” Dean uses Sam’s stomach as support to prop himself, stifling laughter when the younger Winchester nearly vomits at the pressure. Before he can say anything, Dean is already making his way into the kitchen and placing plates and utensils on the wood. He’s too focused to process his younger brother’s footsteps quickly treading behind him.

“D-Dean do I need to get the gun or-“ “Are you insane? You want to kill Castiel Novak?” Dean forget that he himself unceremoniously forgot to remind Sam that his idol and savior (and Dean’s too, but he won’t say it) Castiel Novak is coming over, but it’s most un-subtley implied in his retort.

Sam’s eyes widen as he watches Dean scrambling around the kitchen

“M-Mr.Novak.” Sam says the lawyer’s name before looking down at his dress. Mud stains, streaks, and dust is all over him. He looks back up at Dean only to see Dean is already throwing a question his way.

“Do we have food?” Dean is desperate, both like he’s about to cry and scream into a void. Sam looks around, before shaking his head.

“I-Uh-W-We don’t Dean. Shit!” And now it’s Sam’s to turn but they both freeze when the knocking comes again.

Shit, Dean thinks. “Give us a minute!” Dean yells in the direction of the door before taking in a deep breath and pushing Sam into their bedroom, half-scream/whispering wear something decent you dick and slamming the door shut.

Dean forget that he needs to change clothes too, so he runs into the bedroom with Sam and it doesn’t take long for whispers to turn into a fight to try and get out of the bedroom first.

_

Castiel is anxious, holding a few bags of food in his hands. He doesn’t mind waiting, but he’s worried. He doesn’t know much about the Winchester boys but he felt obliged to get them dinner – not so much from pity, but from gratitude. It’s not standard because what Dean had said before was true; Castiel was the guest which means the brothers were responsible for serving him dinner. Yet, as true as it was, what Dean didn’t know was the feelings Castiel had after learning about Dean. Sam was a natural extension, but since Castiel knew about Dean and especially after the very particular feelings he was having, he couldn’t bare to come empty-handed. Dean had changed made Castiel smile after a long time because the lawyer found himself constantly giggling and blushing when he was alone, a stark contrast to his life for many of the previous years.

Shifting from one leg to another, Castiel waits. He’s knocked twice and to his humor, he can hear the boys running around and nearly shouting at each other. He can’t tell what they’re saying, but it makes him smile. For a second, he thinks boys before realizing he’s acting like one himself, all lovey-dovey and bringing dinner over for them.

In the back of his mind, he’s hoping they haven’t gotten anything ready because this was food he’d made with significant care, using some of his mother’s recipes. He wouldn’t admit this in front of them, but for the brothers, he thought it was something they deserved.

After the second knock, Castiel found himself waiting at the door for another five minutes. Castiel should be angry but the tell-tale sign of footsteps rebounding all over their flat lets him know that he will be attended to in due time.

The door flies open, making Castiel take a few steps back.

“Cas!” Castiel smiles when he sees Dean, partly out of breath, but beaming. His pearly smile takes the lawyer for a ‘five stages of grief but make it love’ roller coaster before he snaps out of it and steps forward to return the hug that Dean isn’t leaving him much choice to participate in. Not that he’s complaining.

“Dean Winchester!” Castiel laughs before repeating Dean’s name, giving a few pats on his back. Letting his hands loosen their grip on the man’s shoulders, Castiel looks into Dean’s eyes for the first time. The already dark sky isn’t helpful, but the small lantern Dean has put next to their feet shines a ray of light directly into Dean’s eyes. It’s an alluring sight to take in – green eyes, defined jaw-line, bright skin – and Castiel finds himself feeling 18 like he’s looking at the love of his life again.

“C-Castiel.” Of course, Dean is stuttering. If this was any different, Castiel would’ve taken the chance to grab Dean’s neatly folded collar and slam him against the door, kissing his breath away so he could hear the younger man stutter even more.

But now wasn’t the time.

“That’s my name.” Castiel smiles before his peripheral vision catches another figure standing to the far corner away from them. Upon inquisition (which just involved him lifting his head), Castiel realizes it’s probably Sam Winchester.

But to his embarrassment, Sam is staring at them both with an eyebrow that could reach the sky with a little more encouragement. It’s a painfully innocent and knowing expression at the same time which makes Castiel curse himself mentally. Dean seems to notice because he turns around and looks at Sam, at which point both men let go of each other.

“Cas, uh, this is my little brother Sam. Samuel Winchester in full. He’s been dyin’ to meet you I-“

“DEAN!” Sam’s expression has changed within a second, Castiel notes, because now he’s blushing furiously. His eyes are looking every where but Castiel while he’s desperately trying to smoothen out his hair.

“Sam Winchester. It’s an honor to meet you young man.” Castiel steps forward before going in for a hug with the kid. Castiel cant tell is surprises Sam, because he’s frozen and slightly shaking, before nearly slapping his arms around the lawyer. Thankfully, Castiel has his overcoat or else it would’ve given a sting.

“I-It’s an honor to meet me?” Sam looks Castiel with puppy eyes after they step apart and Castiel gives a smile before nodding. He notices Dean giving an affectionate smile to Sam in his peripheral vision.

“Of course.” Castiel answers and it only seems to make Sam more starstruck, so he takes the responsibility of motioning towards his food.

“So, I brought us a dollop of food. I hope you two don’t mind.” Castiel has one foot outside the door with other awkwardly placed inside which leads the brothers to look at each other before nodding their heads and directing Castiel inside.

Castiel looks around, taking the fine details of their flat which makes him feel… comfortable. At home. It’s overall dim, which he’s sure would change every time daylight came around. The wood is dark, contributing to a velvety ambience in the place. He can tell it’s not the richest place ever – the windows are cracked with dirt on the sharp edges alongside the fractures wood in the floor poking up. If he wasn’t careful, he voluntarily stab his foot. Nevertheless, the place is spotless. Their loveseat is losing its leather covering but there isn’t a single external mark on it. The dining table is lighter gray-caramel mix which is spotless. The cabinets, albeit for the one or two slightly falling off of their hinges, look smooth and well-kept.

“Our place isn’t the best.” Dean hangs his head down a bit before looking at Castiel and giving a sad smile. Sam nods from the side and Castiel puts the food he brought down on the table addressing them both.

“Don’t be ridiculous. All I see is how well you two are keeping this place. There is only so much you can do to fix broken wood. The two of you seem to give it its luster. A fairly consistent and permeating one at that.” Castiel gives a once-over of the entire flat before looking at Dean and then Sam.

Sam tries to hold back his smile but he can’t help but beam, flickering his eyes over to Dean whose already giving him a knowing smile. Castiel can’t help but allow a pang of sadness blossom in his stomach; he has, or at least a brother. He wondered often times where Gabriel might be but chances were that he was happy in another place, probably wanting nothing to do with Castiel.

“W-We actually don’t have food.” Dean pulls a chair out for Castiel sit which he gladly accepts before ushering the two boys to sit down.

“At least we have lemonade in the fridge. Mr. Novak, would you like some?” Sam is clearly trying to stabilize his voice, because the lawyer can see the boy tightening his knuckles into a fist, likely digging his nails into his palm. Castiel swiftly nods, not wanting to discomfort them further.

“Did you make it Sam?” The boy’s back is turned to Castiel but while bending down to retrieve the pitcher from the fridge, he yells back a yes sir to which Castiel turns to smile at Dean, who is already staring nervous daggers into the lawyer.

Before Castiel can put a hand on Dean’s, Sam has already walked back to the table and place the pitcher down before grabbing Castiel’s empty glass and pouring in the lemonade. He’s pleasantly surprised by the smell that infiltrates the air despite sitting a decent distance away from Sam.

“It smells wonderful already my goodness.” Castiel can’t place a finger on it, but something about the scent makes him feel wonderfully nostalgic, as though some forgotten memory is trying to find its way back to his conscience.

“Just wait until you taste it. It Sam’s own recipe and no matter how many times I ask, he won’t tell me the secret ingredient.” Dean rolls his eyes when Sam sticks his tongue out. The younger Winchester pours himself a glass before passing Castiel glass over to Dean who gives it the lawyer.

“Idiot. What ‘bout mine?” Dean is already halfway to standing up before Sam sits down and pulls pitcher close to him.

“Since my secret ingredient’s got your panties in a twist, why don’t-cha lay off on drinkin’ it?” Castiel lets out a strangled noise in the process of stifling his laughter which seems to fuel Dean more before he’s full-body leaning across the table and grabbing the pitcher from Sam’s distracted fingers.

“HEY!” Sam throws his hands up in the air which is in vain because Dean has poured himself a glass before taking a huge gulp.

“You can still conquer the world with your panties in a twist Sam Winchester. Don’t-cha worry ‘bout me.” Dean seem to be humored by his own joke, but Castiel doesn’t hold back his laughter.

Sam gives up, laughing with the two of them before he points out Castiel has drank any, making the lawyer jump.

“Mr. Novak—” “Castiel, or Cas. Please.” Sam smiles at the quick correction, before pulling his fist and mumbling a quiet yess. “You didn’t drink any of the lemonade yet.” Sam’s eyes fall a bit and Castiel bites the inside of his mouth.

“I got distracted by the two of you bickering, forgive me.” Castiel immediately takes the glass to his lips, downing a gulp of the lemonade before widening his eyes.

This isn’t any normal lemonade. Hell, it’s like lemonade-flavored ambrosia. Castiel immediately finds Sam, looking directly into his eyes before giving a playful smile.

“So are you going to spill the secret ingredient or do I need to search this entire town?” It’s a rhetorical question because, yes, Castiel would love to know but the boy is entitled to his superpower.

“Flowers.” Sam’s eyes go wide with a furious blush and he answers like it’s a reflex. Castiel chokes on his drink while Dean sends his gulp blown straight into Sam’s face. It takes a second for Castiel to orient himself before he realizes Sam is covered in a previously mouthful of lemonade, courtesy of Dean.

Castiel isn’t sure if he should laugh or move his chair back two inches because Sam looks very angry, but within seconds, his fear disappears. The boy quietly stands up before staring Dean down and retreating into a further in the back, which assumes is a bathroom or bedroom. Dean slowly turns his neck back to look at Castiel before bursting out into laughter.

“Oh man did y’see Sam’s face I—” Dean can’t seem to stop his laugh and Castiel is only pleased the longer the younger man continues. It’s an irresistible charm Castiel believes that Dean has – the way his lips curl when smiling, the way his eyes crinkle at that moment of absolute joy, the way his green eyes shine even when there isn’t sun around – Castiel believes Dean is nothing short of a masterpiece.

“I did.” Castiel realizes his own voice comes out quite breathy and to his satisfaction, Dean hears it too.

“Y-You’re staring.” Dean states this simply, blush again creeping onto his cheeks. God, the things Castiel would do kiss him into tomorrow, he thinks.

“So are you Dean.” Castiel uses the vulnerability of the man across from him to regain control of the situation. Involuntarily, Castiel finds himself leaning in, as does Dean, like they’re both curious. What are they hiding from each other, Castiel wonders? He can feels his face shifting on a microscopic level, unknowingly responding to every thought he has. And after being a lawyer for nearly seven years, Dean’s slow-closing eyelids and barely-parting lips are a story too easy to read.

They fail to hear the footsteps approaching.

“Sorry for the delay. I’m star—” Sam stops talking and to account for realization, reaction time, and the correction of facial expression and too-obvious eye-sex, Castiel and Dean both move back at the same time before shifting their glance to the younger Winchester. Even snapped out of their stupor, Castiel can’t help but stare at Dean’s jawline – sharp, yet handsome and soft, like God himself had done the honors and drawing his fingers upon the man just before he was placed on this planet.

“Sam. Good to see you in non-lemonade clothes indeed,” Castiel breaks the particular silence, noticing how Dean turns to look at him with residual desperation – makes the lawyer think that Dean didn’t want Sam to interrupt them. But he ignores the look for now, smiling up at Sam whose already changed his expression to one of genuine happiness.

Castiel thinks he needs to be more subtle, but perhaps, the possibility that others might know invites the chance whatever air is running like a live-wire between them might become something more. It would… precipitate into something beautiful, dare he say.

“Yeah. I’m starving. Hate to be direct but your food smells too good Mr.Novak,” Sam speaks and before Castiel can stand, “Dean will serve it, don’t worry.” He states with finality and after Dean just rolls his eyes before standing up and opening the bag.

“I’ll do anything for my dear brother.” Dean looks like about he’s about to add something else, but Castiel realizes it’s better he didn’t. They’re already being pretty forward for having met less than a week.

“Right and I was born yesterday.” Sam pointedly looks Dean in the eye and gives a smirk, which prompts Dean to place his hand preemptively on the lemonade pitcher which Castiel feels need to step in for.

“Let’s eat. Might settle your rebellious spirits for a bit.” Castiel gives an unthreatening glare to the brothers, who settle down as Dean pulls all of the jars out. In different sizes, Castiel had brought over several dishes.

“What’s for dinner?” Dean asks offhandedly while taking all the items out of the bag.

“Well, it’s quite a menu to be honest. I have some toast with mushrooms as starts and as our main meal, I made some potato soup, chili with tofu, and lastly, dessert is a surprise.” Castiel winked at Sam who was staring at him with puppy eyes, and the lawyer could tell he was starving.

If it wasn’t the hunger getting to him too, Castiel could’ve sworn he heard Dean mimicking him – “Dessert is a surprise” – but it occurred to him that maybe he’s thinking more about Dean than he should be right now.

Dean places each jar neatly in the order that Castiel explains. While digging his hand inside, Castiel figures that Dean touches the dessert box, and since unfamiliar in shape, shoots Castiel a knowing look.

“That’s dessert.” Castiel smiles before grabbing the first jar. “Alright, get your pl-“

“I’m serving, remember?” Dean gives Castiel a cheeky smile before extending his hand to grab the jar, making brief contact with his fingers.

Perhaps it’s the extensive novel connection which makes Castiel force himself to think that electric feelings is cliché, but for the first time, he understands what it’s really like. The lawyer doesn’t look at Dean to see if he felt the same, opting to tame his increasing desire for the younger man.

Using a fork, Dean neatly places stacked mushroom and toast pieces on Castiel’s plate first, putting two as a starter. After serving himself, he nearly pushes the jar to Sam indirectly telling him to serve himself, but it seems like he quickly changes his mind.

Of course, Sam’s facial expressions are a major factor in changing his decision.

Castiel, quietly looking around, realizes that Sam is two seconds away from drooling over the smell.

“This smells so good. What other tricks you’ve got hidden under ya sleeve Mr.Novak?” Sam is still staring at the food, a meagre two toast pieces, but Castiel understands. A mother’s recipe never fails.

“I don’t have tricks. Just skills that never see the light of day because there’s no reason to use them.” Castiel leans on his open palm looking at Sam while the rest of his body is facing the opposite direction.

“You should cook more often. For us, if that’s okay. But I mean that generally—mmm.” Sam’s conspicuous desire for more fo Castiel’s food is cut off by the first bite of the toast. Dean lets out a snicker while Castiel watches, adoration in eyes while staring at the kid. He notices the eye circles and slowly developing callouses on his finger, making his heart warm knowing he’s enjoying the food.

“Hold your horses baby brother. I’m ‘boutta serve potato soup and chili.” Dean looks at Sam while opening the next two jars but his head is already leaning back into the chair, chewing and savoring the food.

“This ish shthe best food I’ve evr ea-en oh my gooshnesh.” That’s the best Castiel would spell it out if he had to and it only makes him smile further.

“It’s that good?” Castiel asks again and Sam bends forward, straightening his position again before profusely nodding.

“It’s not good, ‘s incredibly Mr.Novak. Where’dya learn to cook like this?” Sam’s looking at him with inquisitive eyes.

Castiel’s heart gets caught in his throat. Telling the truth means talking about his mother and how she was killed, which means talking about alcohol and how he lost the only brother he has.

But he knew the kid wanted to be a lawyer. More than that, he knew Dean was hiding things. Perhaps taking the first to be an open book would coax Dean to do the same.

Taking the leap of faith, Castiel answers.

“My mom taught me how to cook – in short, these are her recipes.” Castiel answers short, choosing to answer only if Sam asks. Dean seems to still temporarily, giving a cursory glance in Castiel’s direction before he serves the last of the chili.

Letting out a sigh, Dean takes a bite of the toast, letting out a similar groan of pleasure.

Castiel ignores the small blossom of pleasure he derives from it.

“This is incredible Cas. Oh god.” The last part feels a bit exaggerated and Castiel isn’t sure if that’s strategic innuendo, but for his selfish pleasure, he assumes it is. Glancing at Sam’s face gives him confirmation that’s exactly what it is.

To distract from the once again building pleasure, Sam starts asking questions.

“It’s sweet that ya learnt from your mom-“ “Sam.” Dean lets out a harsh warning which Sam is quick to respond to.

“Jeez Dean I’m not-“ “Just let it go.” Dean is quick to stop him again before Castiel steps in.

“Dean, don’t worry about it.” Castiel gives him a warm smile which cautiously, Dean nods to. Sam, still confused, asks his next question.

“D-Did something happen?” Sam’s voice is feeble and Castiel can see Dean’s knuckles turning white around the spoon he’s holding, but Castiel is quick to answer.

“My dad killed my mother and it was something I had shared with Dean, which is why he was quick to stop you. But I don’t have an issue talking to you both about it.” Castiel ignores the ball growing in this throat, trying to stop the tears from sheer determination to be as transparent as possible.

Sam stops chewing, letting his lips part before remembering he’s eating Castiel’s chili. After he’s over the initial shock, Sam slowly chews again and swallows down his food.

The silence is comfortable, albeit for the twinge of sadness from Castiel’s confession.

“Can I ask why?” Sam asks with uncertainty, which makes Dean shoot his brother a look. Castiel nods his head in a comforting tilt before looking into Sam’s eyes and suddenly, he sees how young he is. Castiel knows the boys lost their own mother, which means opening could give them some sense of familiarity and comfort.

“Alcohol. Whatever drove my father to kill my mother has driven me to become a lawyer advocating against it.” Castiel takes a deep breath, feeling the familiar sorrow grip his heart with suffocating pressure. Closing his eyes, the lawyer takes a deep breath before he feels Dean’s hand atop his own.

Castiel lifts his head up and gives a warm look in Dean’s direction, who seems to get the message, retracting his hand before keeping his focus on the lawyer.

“I’m so-“ “It’s alright Sam. Don’t apologize for a second.” Castiel looks at Sam and smiles. “Dean told me you’re real passionate about being a lawyer which means at some point, I have to tell you my story. It’s something I look back with much sorrow but after seeing how far I’ve come with it, I feel a significant source of pride whilst feeling eternally humble.” Sam seems to smile, a twinkle in his eyes appearing while Dean stares at him, a look that Castiel would call love eyes.

Sam nods, processing the information before Castiel takes the liberty to continue.

“My father was abusive to begin with, and when he drank alcohol, he took on this devilish personality that none of us knew. By the time I turned 14, I was aware of how much he hurt our mother – he used to hit me. In times where it was feasible, my older brother, Gabriel, used to protect me. But just a year later, my dad was inconsolably angry over the smallest thing my mother had done. She turned and looked at us before telling us to go into our rooms. Gabe was 17, but we were terrified and listened. Even though my brother tried to intervene, my mother said she’d never forgive my brother if I was left alone. There was a silent promise they made with each other, between which my life laid. The shouts and screams were all there, and through it all, Gabriel closed my ears telling me everything would be okay. He promised we’d bake his apple pie recipe which he knew I loved. I was stable. Not sane, but stable. We sat like that for hours until we heard the most gut-piercing scream. We knew it was our mother, and I remember how my heart dropped. it was like I couldn’t breathe and that if I did, the reality I knew would crumble to pieces. Gabe ran to the door and tried to open but it was locked. We had no way of getting out. Panicking, I remember watching the blood drain from his face before he took 10 steps back and rammed himself into the door. I had started crying already and screamed when I heard the wood snap. By the time I looked up, he’d left through the hole made in the door and that’s when I heard him sobbing. I was on my knees, jumping through the space before I scrambled over and I saw my mother. Dead in her own pool of blood. A day after, Gabriel ran away and never back. My father escaped. I was an orphan, and I still am.” Castiel lets out a sob, allowing his voice crack towards the end, the flashbacks tearing away at his mask.

After 13 years, this was the first time Castiel had truly shared the reason behind being a lawyer. The blood, gore, abuse, and insanity was something he’d learned to mask in order to pursue a higher need – others. Perhaps, he thinks between his tears, he’s forgotten about himself in this process.

“I-I sincerely apologize for speaking this way I-“ “You have no idea how much it means to us Castiel.” It’s Dean talking, the inflection in his voice that Castiel finds familiar from the few conversation they’d had with each other. After swiftly wiping away his tears, he looks up to see Dean with glossy eyes. Turning his head, he realizes Sam is smiling with tears falling down his face.

“It means so so much to us that you shared it Cas. Hell, ya saved us. You’re like family now.” Dean smiles before he stands up and wraps Castiel in a tight hug. Despite the awkward hug, the vulnerability makes Castiel welcome Dean’s arms, feeling even better when Sam does the same.

“I just got to know Mr.Novak and I think I like you already. A lot.” Sam sniffles, talking between his hiccups and the sentiment becomes so overwhelming that Castiel can’t help but smile.

“It’s Cas, but okay.” Rolling his eyes with a fake threat, the three of them share a laugh before the brothers let go, retreating to their seats.

“Do you feel better Cas?” Sam is the first to speak up, looking at Castiel with kind eyes.

“It’s strange. It’s my first time speaking about this in 13 years, as in this much detail.” Castiel laughs. “But it certainly feels better.” He looks up, smiling at the younger Winchester who returns it back.

“We appreciate it so much because we know, in some part, what it’s like. The alcohol and the pain. But Cas, that doesn’t seem like something you should ever, y’know, try to hide. You’re doing more than enough for us, so if we can do anythin’ for you, best believe we will.” Dean smiles and straightens his back, as though he’s trying to show how confident he is. Castiel feels genuine happiness bloom in his heart. Like the 15 year old self that deserved more from life was finally getting it back, at least, in some part.

“This is a terribly huge responsibility to place on the two of you. I spoke with intention of explaining why I got into law but I ended up using you both as my therapists. I still stand on my apology.” Castiel still feels guilty, but the understanding with which the brothers are listening to him makes him feel a bit better about everything.

“You can’t do that to us Cas. Not when you don’t know how fast we’ve had to grown up. We’ve gone through some shit and you know I suffer at Al- all times. So does Sam.” Dean is quick to change his sentence, something Castiel makes note of.

“We all have something to anchor us remind we are creatures that experience. Sharing it certainly makes us feel better, because when we do, we realize the person next to us isn’t all that different.” Castiel speaks vaguely, speaking to both brothers but deep down, he knows exactly who he’s speaking to. He ignores the smile Dean gives him from the side in order to keep his intentions hidden.

“You’re a good person Mr.Novak. And you’ve certainly inspired me to continue what I’m doin’ don’t you worry.” Sam reaches a hand across the detail which Castiel is quick to hold before giving a few taps and letting go.

“I think you’ll be a fair lawyer Samuel Winchester.” Castiel smiles, which grows wider when Sam starts to blush.

“You know my full name?” Sam asks and Castiel has to bite back a laugh, opting to nod instead.

“Duh. Told him myself.” Dean winks at Sam who rolls his eyes before looking back at Castiel. The bickering is really something.

“Now, why don’t we lighten the atmosphere. Dessert?” Castiel stands up, reaching into the bag before he drags out a box and flips open the box.

Apple pie. Shit, Castiel thinks, he forgot it’s pie. And that it’s apple pie.

Of course, he obviously remembers it’s his brother’s recipe.

With significant grace, neither brother says a word. No eye contact, so secret language. Just individual, personal recognitions which they keep to themselves and for that, Castiel is incredibly thankful.

_

“Cas. The food was real amazing. Can’t thank ya enough and I can’t apologize enough. We’re sorry dinner wasn’t ready.” Dean hangs his head again and Castiel can’t help but laugh before rolling his eyes.

“If I was any upset, this conversation and dinner wouldn’t have gone so far.” Castiel gets up, ready to wear his overcoat before Dean practically screeches.

“WAIT. Wait. Hold on.” With a jolt, Castiel turns around to see Sam equally spooked, but before he can look at Dean’s seat, he realizes that Dean has already turned the corner of their flat to attend to this important matter.

“You have any idea?” Castiel asks Sam, who turns to him with an amused look.

“I have no idea. Dean’s full of surprises.” Sam snickers before looking back towards their others rooms, waiting for Dean to appear.

Sure enough, Dean’s holding a an old bag with something in it, piquing both their interests. Castiel and Sam share a glance before Dean starts talking.

“So. Ever since Castiel gave me this opportunity to help him out, I didn’t know how to repay it. When I went to Jody’s to buy a book and pen to take notes durin’ the day, I decided I’d spend a little extra. It’s stupid because I’m giftin’ you somethin’ with your own money Castiel,” Dean looks at Castiel with slight disappointment in his voice before continuing, “but I’m hopeful that the thought’s gonna count. Hope it means somethin’ to you both because they felt right.” Dean lets out a deep breath before pushing forward two boxes, one a light blue color while the other is an off-white shade, both with golden ribbons keeping them together.

Castiel’s cursory thank you gets stuck far down in his body because something is so raw about Dean’s gift. Hell, he hasn’t even opened it yet and yet, it’s like he knows it will be perfect. He doesn’t give a damn is Dean used the money he gave because as soon as Castiel handed it over, it was now theirs.

Castiel gently holds the box, noting that it’s a bit heavy but not so much – he couldn’t guess in the slightest what it could possibly be but he figures that he and Sam got the same gift. Sam and Castiel both look at Dean who nods his head, motioning for them to open the box.

Slowly pulling at the ribbon, Castiel removes the box’s lid before letting out a song of shock. A pen.

But it wasn’t just a pen. No. Instead the outside was covered in stunning navy blue, one that briefly reminded him of the color of his own eyes. The pure white provided space for a beautiful contrast that nearly takes his breath away. Slowly turning the pen, Castiel can’t help but light up at the paper-clip, which has the tiniest C carved into it. As if it’s porcelain, he delicately takes the cap off before looking at the tip, which he was convinced was real, pure gold.

Even if it wasn’t, he didn’t give a damn. He was willing to believe in fool’s gold if it was Dean handing it to him.

“Dean this is—” Castiel finds himself at loss of words, “—beautiful.” Looking up, he notices the younger man is already staring into his eyes, gleaming at the compliment.

“Yeah Dean. This is real neat.” Sam is gripping the pen close, already walking over to give him a hug. At 16, Castiel notices that the kid nearly Dean’s height, which means he’ll be overtaking him in no time. The moment is warm and pleasant, something Castiel enjoys as though it’s him and his brother doing the same.

“I’m glad you both like it.” Dean gives them both a smile before Castiel stands up, walking over to embrace Dean. That’s when he realizes the younger man is an inch or two taller than him, but it doesn’t change the dynamic that they have. Castiel dives right, clasping his arm around Dean’s back before splaying his palm across the small of his back and mid-riff, pulling him in tight. Dean gasps before resting his cheek on Castiel’s shoulder.

“I-I didn’t think it mattered this much Cas.” Dean and Castiel pull away before Castiel gives his right shoulder a light pat.

“It means more than you think it does Dean.” Castiel looks over at Sam who is smiling at them both. “The two of you have made my dinner, much less my day and week incredibly special. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.” Castiel looks back at Dean before pulling away and walking over to Sam, giving him an all-encompassing hug.

“You’re welcome Mr.Novak.” Sam takes a few steps back before retrieving the pitcher and holding it out.

“You wanna take this home? It’s pretty easy for me to make. If you’d like I can come deliver it fresh?” Sam tilts his head and without a doubt, Castiel nods.

“I’d love that Sam-“ “I can be your delivery man.” Dean turns around after placing the dishes in the sink. Sam looks surprised, looking at Castiel.

Well, Dean Winchester, that wasn’t subtle, thinks Castiel.

“I- I don’t have a preference. I’d love to see Sam too.” Castiel gives a neutral answer which doesn’t seem to make Dean too happy.

“How about we alternate?” Sam provides a compromise which seems to satiate Dean’s needs.

“Alright.” Dean turns around and starts washing the dishes.

“Both of you feel free to keep the extra food.” Castiel looks at his watch before taking a few steps back, pitcher in his hand. “I’ll be holding you to the lemonade promise.” Castiel gives a Sam a cheeky grin, which makes the kid way too happy.

“I’m glad we’re able to give ya at least one send-off gift or somethin’.” Sam snorts and Dean lets out a giggle before turning around and walking towards Castiel. Eventually, both brothers are showing Castiel out of the door.

“Thanks for comin’ over Cas.” Dean gives a light smile to which Castiel returns, giving a discreet head nod.

“Of course. Dean, Sam, thank you for such a wonderful dinner. Sleep tight.” Castiel retreats down the steps, waving bye to them both. The wood is just as creaky, reminding him of his room as he makes his way down, happy with the way the dinner made him feel.

Hearing the door close, Castiel stops and looks back. A tug of some sort, one he can’t put a word too, which is rare because the lawyer usually has an answer to most things he finds himself questioning. Staring at the closed door, Castiel tries his best to deny it.

He can’t help but want to see Dean again. Despite knowing the two are probably cleaning the table where the three of them ate or simply getting ready for bed, Castiel remains undeterred. He wonders how long he’d have to wait without a result. Leaning back against the banister, the lawyer is stuck in a dilemma. He can’t stop staring at the door until he realizes he is, at which point he looks away, until he can’t.

He needs Dean. Without thinking, he pulls out Dean's pen staring at the narrow window panels next to their door. Parting his lips, he places his lips on the cap before biting down with his teeth, pulling away as slowly as possible. Using his other hand to pull it out of his mouth, Castiel then takes the pen between his index and middle fingers, twisting it any and all directions. Mindlessly, he runs the gold tip down his neck, across his collarbone, and right along his lips before blinking quickly, seemingly snapped out of his daze before capping the pen.

Castiel decides it’s enough. Heavy with disappointment and some guilt, Castiel retreats down the steps, walking away with a head full of possible distractions that will make him forget Dean’s emerald eyes.

If only he knew those same eyes had turned off the flat lights, staring at him through the window the entire time, savoring Castiel's mindless sensuality in the angelic cast of the moon’s rays.

Chapter Text

 “F-Fuck.”

Dean practically ran to their bedroom as soon as he saw Castiel make his way down the rest of the steps. The man didn’t have to take a single piece of clothing off to make such a complex and sensual appeal. Dean didn’t know if it was his aroused, drunken stupor or just a heavily biased perspective, but he started to think that Cas was gifted.

And now, Dean is laying on the bed, breathing heavily, anchoring his hands to the corners of the mattress. It’s so wrong, he thinks, digging his fingers into the sheets because he refused to move his hands and do the unthinkable. He couldn’t get the image out of his mind, wondering what it would’ve been like if Castiel had drawn that pen further down his body and unbuttoned his shirt while walking up the stairs. ‘Cause then, Dean would’ve opened the door.

And Castiel would be there, standing right in front of him. He’d have to tilt his head up a bit to look at Dean, but his blue eyes would overcompensate for what he lacked in height. The lawyer would then take the liberty of shrugging his overcoat off before using a hand, dragging his palm up and around Dean’s body to gain a cursory picture of what his body was like in the dark. Dean would take a deep breath in, leaning his head back before the exhale gives away close he is to Castiel, leading the older man to grab his hair, yanking his head back before digging his teeth into Dean’s neck. And Dean would savor it, grabbing at Castiel like he was a drug, inhaling and exhaling so intensely while groaning sweet nothing that it would fuel him on more.

Taking the sounds as encouragement, Castiel would start walking backwards while holding Dean’s chin between two fingers, shoving his tongue down the Winchester’s throat, making the younger man so weak in his knees that they wouldn’t make it half-way to the bedroom before Dean is on his knees. That’s when Castiel would coo at him before bending down to his level, whispering for Dean to take his shirt off. The gravel in his voice would send chills down his body until it reached his-

“F-Fuck.”

Dean moans quietly, opening his eyes before looking down, realizing he’s extremely turned on. His erection is fighting against the tight restraint of the trousers he’s had on since the dinner ended.

Practically watering at his mouth at the sheer imagination, Dean realizes there’s no point in trying to fight it. Dean wriggles in the bed, taking his pants off before throwing them into a far corner of the room. Immediately palming himself, Dean lets out a needy cry, breathing in quickly to hold his sounds back. Licking his lips, Dean quietly moans Castiel’s name, wondering would it be like if the lawyer acted on his hidden urges to pin the Winchester to the bed and fuck him like he was never hurt before.

-

“You’re trainin’ a new hire. She’s a pretty one too.” Dean turns around to see Alastair smirking, leaning against the counter as he raises an eyebrow, seemingly to test and see if Dean would share the excited sentiment.

Dean keeps his face as neutral as he stares back at Alastair and answers robotically.

“Sure thing.” He mumbles before turning back to do his work, ignoring the scoff behind him which makes him tense up until the footsteps recede into the distance. Loosening his shoulders, Dean goes back to stocking the wine bottles, humming away at a few old songs he heard Sam singing.

Finished with cleaning the counter, Dean sighs, allowing the thought of perhaps moving away from this town to enter his mind. He’s tired of monotony. Perhaps this wouldn’t all be so bad if he had other interests. Sam was a smart kid, always reading books and setting a future for himself. Dean was different. Like his father said, he was always different in a bad way.

Dean mutters a few curses before forcing himself to keep those thoughts in the back of his mind, turning around before he bumps into someone, nearly flying back into the customers who were drinking at the bar. Grabbing the wooden counter, Dean helps himself up before shaking his head and giving out a few apologies before his features contort into confusion.

It’s a young girl, with dark brown hair and eyes that remind him a lot of Sam. She’s wearing a simple lace dress that trails all the way down to her shoes where she’s wearing worn out boots. Soon enough, Dean looks at her face to see that she’s on the verge of tears, covering her mouth. Dean immediately kneels on the floor to comfort her.

“Hey, you’re alright kid.” Dean looks around to see if she’s injured, and luckily, she seems to be okay. “Y’hurt?” Dean asks softly, quietly happy that her widened eyes seem to close to a normal size.

“N-No sir.” The girl shakes her head before looking down at her lap, making Dean’s heart break.

“Y’ don’t need to call me sir. My name’s Dean.” Dean gives her his signature smile, something he did only when he chose to, before holding a hand out. Hesitantly, she places her palm in his, allowing Dean to pull her weight up. Looking at her, he figures she’s no older than 15 or 16.

“R-Ruby.” She stammers and Dean can tell she’s real nervous. Hell, her palms are getting sweaty while Dean feels like he’s cruising a breeze.

“Ruby.” Dean takes a deep breath in, realizing this was who Alastair was talking about. “Y’ the new hire ‘ere?” Dean tilts his head, praying that her answer would be no. He prayed that she was just lost and wandered in without thinking because she was a kid and a kid didn’t belong in a bar, especially near a man like Alastair.

Ruby stares up at him, giving him a face that in a sad, sickening way, he recognized. He didn’t have to know where she came from or how her mom looked or what her favorite dinner was. It was those eyes. How devoid yet depressing they seemed to be. The hopelessness she carried even though she was so young. The diminished happiness around her told him everything he had to know.

“I’ll take that as a yes then.” Dean looks to the side, a strange feeling of guilt rising in his gut. He never spoke to any other employee here because he never had to. They were all much older and had nothing to do with him. He knew that after being trained, Ruby would be left on her own. At least, that’s what was supposed to happen to her. Nobody held emotional attachments to anyone else. It was a matter of business. If you were young, nobody cared. If you were old, nobody cared. You could be whoever you wanted to as long as you did was Alastair asked of you.

In Dean’s case, doing what Alastair asked of him meant being everything but himself.

“I’m,” Dean starts talking, hesitating when he sees the fear in her face, “—the one who’s gonna be trainin’ you here. Showin’ the ropes-“ “Don’t want ropes sir. Please.” Dean furrows his eyebrows, noticing how she bites on her nails and looks like she’s about to cry right after she says that.

And it only takes a few moments before Dean feels the color being drained from his face, like someone had sucked the soul of him. That’s when he feels that void growing on the inside because he knew exactly what she was talking about.

Perhaps, it was not the memory, but rather the damning, disgusting truth that the girl standing in front of him.

But before Dean could ask her anything, he saw a familiar figure, of course, creeping up behind her.

“Dean, I see you’ve met our new little thing.” Alastair smirks, running his fingers through Ruby’s hair. Dean feels his hairs stand up as he’s curling his fists, steeling himself with painfully deep breaths. “Ruby, aren’t you a good little girl?” Looking down at her face, Dean watches her freeze, staring into Dean’s eyes like she was ready to sell her soul to the devil if it meant Alastair would stop. There was fear being heavily concealed by betrayal and numbness in her eyes, a combination of hell that he knew far too well.

“I did meet our new hire. Whose name is Ruby.” A sudden protectiveness overtakes Dean as he looks up at Alastair, looking directly into his eyes to speak. There wasn’t a chance Dean was going to let this go farther than it already has. It was imperative to him that he knew everything he could about Ruby and if it meant bringing her home with him, he’d do just that.

“Right.” Alastair seems to grind his teeth a bit before retracting his hand, giving a push to Ruby who nearly almost falls onto Dean. With quick thinking, Dean has his arms wrapped around her, holding her tight as he stares daggers into Alastair, who without a second thought, walks back to his clients sitting on the main bar floor.

Staring at the floor, Dean closes his eyes as he feels Ruby shaking. It’s like she’s unsure of whether it’s okay to hold onto Dean or she should be letting go. She had no trust, only fear. She was nothing short of an animal even though she didn’t deserve to be.

“Let’s get you to work.” It feels impossible, like someone is tearing his heart into half. But Dean does what he thinks is right, putting up a show as though he’s as heartless as everyone else that works and drinks there. He knows that if he shows any affection and care towards Ruby, her life would be worse. He pushes her up, making sure she can stand before turning the other direction and talking away the details of making a drink.

But Dean has to ignore the way her hands are still trembling. The way her eyes are looking everywhere but Dean. The way she’s shifting her weight every time she stands.

He has to ignore the fact that her hands were far too small to hold a regular sized wine glass, much less the entire bottle itself.

It makes him wonder that when he goes home, he would now be a criminal knowing what would happen to Ruby behind the bar’s dark and closed doors.

-

“Dean?” Sam’s voice rings in his ear as he looks up from his plate, which is when he realizes he hasn’t eaten any food. “You’re not lookin’ alright.” His little brother’s features are etched with worry, something Dean hated seeing on him. But Dean wasn’t about to talk about Ruby and then his own past, two things that were inexplicably

“Don’t worry kid. I’m s’posed to be takin’ care of you.” Dean gives him a smile, which he figure ends up looking more like a grimace because Sam’s expression worsens.

“I hate when y’do that. Push me away like I’m a kid.” Sam looks back down at his plate, mumbling the words loud enough for Dean to hear.

“’Cause you are one.” Dean digs into the mashed potatoes, mouth full of food as he lifelessly chews away.

“Yeah well I’m guessing you’ve realized I’m smarter than you’re average kid. Or have y’not figured that out yet?” Sam makes a point of this, his voice a bit harsher as he digs the fork hard enough that it clashes with the plate.

Dean looks up, blinking at his brother who refuses to look at him.

“Sure have. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna treat you like some doctor that cure me. Hell this town’s doctor tells his patients to drink. Think I’m gonna trust you?” Dean regrets his words the moment they escape his mouth and for a second, he thinks it’s going to turn into I-Want-To-Go-To-New-York part two.

“Dean, I ain’t you town doctor. I’m your damn brother. You’re sayin’ you have but I don’t think so. You don’t think I know you’re hidin’ shit from me? That you’ve got things you want to do but you realize sayin’ ‘em out loud might make you look stupid?” Sam laughs, still looking at his plate. “You’re one stupid jerk Dean. Stupid, stupid jerk. If you wanna make yourself look half as tough as you do, I’d start with getting rid of the bruises I’ve been seeing around your entire body for the last five years of m’life.” Sam looks Dean directly in the eyes and for the moment, Dean feels like someone has ripped his clothes off and thrown him into cold water.

“We have the same mom and pop, Dean. That means whatever you’ve gone through at their hands, I’ve gone through the same. Don’t take me to be young and dumb Dean. I’ve grown up fast, somethin’ that’s happened entirely against my will.” Sam’s voice shakes but he doesn’t let it crack, taking a deep breath before finishing the rest of his food.

Dean doesn’t say anything for a while, eating his own food while glancing in Sam’s direction every now and then. By mistake, their eyes meet and Dean notices that the first time it happens, Sam slows down his eating.

Like he’s expecting Dean to say something.

Dean eats quietly, allowing the infrequent tapping of their utensils against the plate interrupt the eerie silence between them.

The older Winchester watches, seeing how long it would take Sam to get angry and leave. Perhaps, throw his food in the sink and stomp away. Dean knew that’s what he’d do. But no matter how long he watched, Sam ate a small bite at a time, serving himself more food than he would normally eat.

“I—” Dean starts like he’d say something and for a moment, he feels proud. At least he’s started something because before, he wouldn’t even do that.

Sam slows his chewing.

“I—” Dean starts again, finding it harder to continue but after a hard, forced swallow, he speaks.

“There are things I’m keeping from you.” Dean lets out a deep breath he doesn’t realize he’s holding.

“Okay.” Sam says it like he knows, but he’s waiting for Dean to spill the rest.

“And—” Dean gulps, “—it’s hard for me to say it out loud.” He can feel his fingers shaking as he grip his spoon tight.

“I know.” Sam speaks again in a soft, guiding voice which Dean has to blink and process before responding to.

“I know I push you away. I won’t stop. But I promise you that- that- someday you’ll know what goes on inside o’me. You’ll know Dean Winchester for the man he truly is. ‘Cause—” Dean stops again, questioning if he really has to say the next part or not,

“’Cause everythin’ I’ve been hiding have been these ugly truths. Someday you’ll know ‘em. It just won’t be t-today.” Dean doesn’t know where the apprehension is coming from, especially so much of it that he’s stammering in front of his brother that’s four years younger than him.

Sam stands up, plate empty that he places in the sink, while Dean stares at the back of Sam’s head, confused and partially humiliated.

“It took you 7 years to say that Dean.” Sam turns around before looking at Dean again with an expression that almost made him feel 13 again, like he was a young kid being scolded by his mother. “I know it all started when you turned 13. Just don’t take that long to talk about what’s really goin’ on. It’s real easy to feel like you’ve accomplished a lot when you really haven’t. Love you Dean.” Sam turns around, half-yelling out the last part leaving Dean to stare at his plate and wonder about his life like he always has, but with a painfully new set of eyes.

Dean snaps out of his thinking when he hears Sam yell out again.

“Check the work room! Mr.Novak left ya a letter!” And with that, he shuts the bedroom door. Dean immediately stands up, putting his plate in the sink before straightening out the table and walking over to their work room to see, lo and behold, a small envelope with the name Dean neatly penned.

He wonders if Castiel used the pen that Dean had gifted to him.

Without sitting down, Dean grabs the envelope, swiftly digging a finger under the folded flap. Wincing at the small tear he makes on the far corner, Dean pulls the letter out before letting his eyes dart quickly to read what Castiel had wrote.

Dean,

I realized we hadn’t established the clearest manner of speaking to each other. I’m hoping to meet you every other day.

We can make that everyday if you’d like.

Castiel

Another thing! I’ll be coming around for your brother’s wonderful lemonade tomorrow at lunch, so do tell him. I’ll come to see you right after at Alastair’s bar.

Castiel (again).

Dean lets out a laugh before staring up at the ceiling, blushing when he remembers his ministrations from this morning. Akin to what Sam said, Dean is kind to himself in admitting that Castiel had found a way into his heart.

His eyes keep skimming over the line we can make that everyday if you’d like.

We can make that everyday if you’d like

We can make that everyday if you’d like.

We can make that everyday if you’d like.

Dean would be a fool to say no.

-

“They’re in the top right corner of the right-most cabinet in the right side of the kitchen!” Sam is yelling from their bedroom while getting dressed. Turns out the both of them overslept and they’re late to work, which means that Castiel’s lemonade was hanging over their heads like a haunting ghoul. There was no way either of them were willing to miss out giving him his lemonade, so Dean had insisted on helping Sam put the ingredients together.

As of now, Sam was making that a bit hard.

“Do you want to add another right to that before I shove a cut lemon right up your arse kid?” Dean snorts before opening every single cabinet that was in the kitchen because he had no clue which cabinet was “right most in the right side of the kitchen.”

“I know you’re opening every damn cabinet. Gonna break ‘em all some day.” Sam’s voice sounds a bit closer, probably standing outside of the bedroom while wearing the second leg of his pants, something Dean realized was a bad habit of his. Instead of turning around, Dean rolls his eyes before finding the box.

“Here. Your damn flowers.” Dean holds them by two fingers, the bag dangling as he stuck a tongue out.

“Dean Winchester you asshole. You better play nice if you want your lover boy to get m’damn lemonade.” Sam crosses his arms, sporting a serious face before Dean cackles.

And cackles hard.

Because Sam’s pants fell down.

“Suck it bitch.” Dean walks over, slapping Sam’s shoulder which Sam tries, but fails to return. Placing the bag of flowers next to him, Dean walks over to get ready. The time is almost 30 minutes past his starting time, but he’s not too afraid. Folding the shirt collars, Dean takes no more than another five minutes to walk out the door.

“Will you be home in time to give Cas his lemonade?” Dean absentmindedly asks while he’s serving himself oatmeal from the day before.

“Yeah. Rowena told me that Cas had asked her when my lunch break was so I’ll probably take it today and come home durin’ that time. That’s what I’ve to assume ‘cause he didn’t leave a time, did he?” Sam walks past him, opening the fridge to see if there’s anything else to eat.

“Nope. Nothing else to eat bitch.” Dean smirks before pushing an empty bowl and the leftover oatmeal towards Sam.

“Kinda got that jerk. Was lookin’ for more lemons ‘cause you left one in here.” Sam holds up a lemon before catapulting it in Dean’s direction. Lucky for quick reflexes, because Dean catches it before placing it on the kitchen table next to the rest of the ingredients.

“I’m leavin’ for work.” Dean talks with a mouthful while walking out the door.

“Use protection!” Sam shouts and Dean does a double take before popping his head back into the door.

“What did you just say?” Dean creases his eyebrows, crossing his arms.

“Use protection. Y’know, when you and Cas ban—”

Dean slams the door shut, ignoring the heat that has fiercely taken over his cheeks.

Dean has already spent the first few hours in the bar, the time just about crossing lunch. It took only took the first five minutes of working for him to remember Ruby. He’d already looked around but to no avail, because she simply wasn’t around. He would’ve gone upstairs to check the rooms but he didn’t have time or freedom. Alastair was with him the entire time.

But since the clock had just passed 12, Dean allowed himself to mentally relax. Castiel had probably made his way over to their flat, chatting away with Sam. It would probably be another hour, max two, until he was able to meet Cas. The thought itself reinvigorates Dean, as he starts working a bit faster than he usually does, as though time would accompany his speed.

Ignoring the usual clutter of the bar behind him, Dean moves into a small extension of the behind-the-counter work area for employees. Usually, Dean and others had to come here to unpack new supplies that came in. Most of the time, it was new shipments of whiskey or alcohol that everyone had very carefully place. Alastair kept a hawk-eye over everything that came in and went out. Dean had never made a mistake, choosing to do so first on account of his own belief in being sincere.

Walking over, Dean excuses himself as other employees are walking in and out. He sees that indeed, there are several new shipments that came in, some of which were already opened and being loaded into the bar’s wall. Looking at the time, Dean figures with nothing else to do, he might as well get to working.

Dean crouches down, knife in his mouth as he’s pulling at the coarse strings holding the package together. It’s tied together impossibly tight, something Dean had learned to expect despite Alastair himself was also frustrated with. Managing a grip, Dean slices the rope before removing the several layers of burlap. Almost through the layers, Dean grabs touches around to find the first lid of one of the bottles before pausing.

Curious, Dean pulls out a small, neatly stuck piece of paper.

PX18

Dean frowns. This is new. He’d never seen one of these papers before because Alastair usually removed all shipment information before employees could open the boxes. If there ever was information, it was usually on the outside too, not the inside.

Hearing footsteps, Dean quickly shoves the paper back inside the burlap, using the knife to cut away at the rest of the coverings inside, he acts like nothing has happened.

“DEAN!” Dean whips his head around to see Alastair standing at the foot of the doorway. “Been callin’ y’damn name since I was born.” Alastair walks over and Dean habitually flinches before standing tall.

“Yes sir?” Dean asks with a neutral tone, but does so hoping the drop of spite he added gets through.

Subtly.

“You’ll be trainin’ Ruby. I expect you to be focused and doin’ nothin’ else.” Alastair is surveying the room, back to Dean while he speaks.

“Yes sir.” Dean gives his normal answers, still standing where he is. Alastair turns around, giving Dean his signature look of disappointment. However, within seconds, it’s quickly replaced with something more devious and Dean is far too wary of it.

“Listen,” Alastair comes too close for comfort and Dean realizes he’s drunk, eyes twitching when speaking, “when you train Ruby, y’don’t ask her any questions. Just tell what to do, and she’ll do it. If I catch ya actin’ like some hero in her sad little story, I’ll see to the end of ya job here.” Alastair sneers, nearly tripping over himself which Dean doesn’t recognize. Rather he’s more focused on Alastair’s choice of words.

Sad little story.

Hero.

Don’t ask her any questions.

Why would he say that? Dean stares past Alastair’s shoulder, waiting for him to leave before letting out a deep breath. But before he can think twice, the door opens, and he sees Ruby.

But this time, something is wrong.

Chapter Text

Thankfully, the room that Dean is in is empty. But right now, Dean doesn’t care too much. His first instinct is to run over to the door’s entrance and embrace Ruby, who is standing there with dried tear streaks and shaky hands. She looks like hell – as though someone had utterly and painfully tore her from inside-out.

Dean grabs her forearm, pulling her inside before locking the door. Thankfully, if certain employees were unpacking more than one box, they were allowed to lock the door so that no-one came in and accidentally knocked the bottles over. Ruby seems to drag herself, neither resisting or cooperating, refusing to look up at Dean no matter what he tries to do. Eventually, she slides down to the ground, back against one of the highly-stacked packages and chooses to stare at the ground.

“Shit, Ruby.” Dean tries to cup her face and make her look up, but this time, she resists. Tightening her neck muscles, she refuses to let him do so which immediately makes him withdraw his hands.

I have to find another way, thinks Dean, letting out a sigh before placing his hands on his thighs.

Dean takes another look at her, seeing that she’s breathing easy now, but nevertheless, his thoughts are racing because first, he has limited time. The door can probably stay locked for another ten minutes before someone is calling foul play and telling Alastair, which would be the worst. Second, it was imperative that he understood what happened. Dean knows what happened, too well, but he had to hear her say it. Just a few words of an ugly truth and that was all Dean needed to protect her.

So that’s when he sits down and think about himself at her age, maybe 14 or 15, feeling numb and scared and completely helpless, wondering what would’ve helped. What someone, anyone should’ve done to notice the signs. Coax the truth. Protect him while not taking away the only lifeline for money that he had. Dean thinks about Castiel, and how the lawyer’s aid only worked out because Dean is 20 and not 14.

When nothing works, Dean decides to do what he’s never done even with those he held the closest.

He tells the utter and ugly truth.

“Is it alright if I sit next to you?” Dean is sitting diagonally from her when he’s asking, trying to get a look at her face. But without her lifting her head and giving an answer, it’s hard to gauge her feelings towards him.

It takes a few seconds, but eventually she looks up, lips quivering with fresh tears falling from the corners of her eyes.

“O-Okay.” Her answer sounds resigned, yet hopeful. As if she knows Dean won’t hurt her, but she assumes there’s not much he can do to help her. Dean’s breath hitches as he takes a moment to nod, slowly moving to sit next to her.

Dean leaves a few inches of space, something he felt was correct to respect her state. She doesn’t look at him, but stares forward at the spot he was once sitting. Quickly, the tears stopped but her expression is nonetheless devoid of any good emotions.

“Can I tell you something?” Dean smiles softly, holding his hand out for her to hold. She winces, moving back a bit but once Dean rests it on his knee, she seems to understand that he’s not a threat, slowly placing the back of her hand in his palm. There is significant uncertainty, but it’s an improvement from where they first began.

Slowly, Dean wraps his fingers around her hand, making sure he doesn’t place too much pressure. Ruby doesn’t move, but luckily, gives no resistance to suggest otherwise. After doing so, Dean takes his other free hand to place atop of their clasped palms.

“Y-Yes sir.” Ruby voice cracks and all Dean wants to do is cup her cheeks and give a kiss on her forehead, the same thing he used to when Sammy would cry as a kid. She sounds pained and utterly neglected, like the crudeness can’t help but spill out of her.

“Dean. Just call me Dean. Say it for me?” Dean squeezes his top hand a bit, motioning for her to look at him. She understands, glancing at his hand before looking up.

“Dean.” Ruby breathes it out and Dean smiles, another one of his signature toothy smiles appearing which makes the corners of her mouth lift up.

“Thank you.” Dean lightly touches his head to hers before taking a deep breath.

Here goes nothing? No. Dean hopes it will be something.

Here goes something.

“I started workin’ here when I was 13. Didn’t know the first thing about serving shots or drinkin’ alcohol. I saw m’dad getting’ real fuzzy with alcohol but apart from that, I didn’t know much else.” Dean looks at Ruby, who’s staring back at him, sniffling but intrigued. Taking that as a cue, he continues.

“Now, I assume Al’s been mean, right?” Dean raises an eyebrow and he can tell she’s defensive against saying anything, like she’ll get in trouble. Her hand starts to tremble which Dean takes the liberty of lightly squeezing as a gesture to relax.

Ruby stares at him. Lips quivering. Eyes begging for Dean to help her. She’s trying and trying until-

“Mhm.” A soft, quiet confirmation that makes Dean let out a sigh while simultaneously enraging him. Alright, Dean thinks, progress.

“Al, as soon as I joined. He started to touch me. Put ropes around my wrists. He did the same to you too right?” Dean looks at her, sympathy dripping from his eyes as much as he tries to stop it. Ruby looks at him, eyes widening before she nods her head with increasing intensity. On her own volition, she stops. Dean watches her as she then looks down at the hand Dean has wrapped in his own before looking back at Dean. Then she looks at her other hand, making an audible gulp.

Dean knows what she wants to do, but he doesn’t push.

Within a minute or so of staying quiet and looking around, Ruby hesitantly pulls the sleeves of the hand Dean is holding, exposing the horrifying bruises around her wrists.

Dean’s not even sure if he had it this bad, because she has healing gashes, which meant that the rope was either far too coarse or she had given a hell of a fight. She bled like hell, Dean thinks. He can smell an ointment that was spread around the wound, but Dean realizes it doesn’t matter because of her cuffed sleeves, meaning the fabric was constantly rubbing on the scars. Hell, some of them looked a few days old.

Dean looks at Ruby, a tear about to escape his eye. Ruby looks at him, lips pursing again before she slowly pulls her hand out. Dean allows, loosening his grip, before she pulls her sleeves back for the arm.

That’s when Dean remembers God exists and asks him for the utmost strength to not burn the entire bar and torture Alastair to the point he asks the same God why he was even put on this Earth.

Her hand is covered in not only healing gashes, but sickening to his stomach, he sees a brand, specifically a capital A with a sideways L attached. A logo. It’s not just written in pen or tattooed. No. It’s burned into her skin, like she was cattle. Why? Was it because she was a girl that was young and pretty and look innocent? Because she was innocent? Dean never ever thought he’d see this in his life. Ever.

That’s when Dean understood that none of his life was his fault. If he was going to blame himself for being raped for the past 7 years, then he should’ve had the guts to look Ruby in the eye and tell her it was all her fault.

It wasn’t. It didn’t matter who or why or anything, nobody deserved it.

Ruby. She was and is just a girl. Ruby. What a simple name, for a simple girl, living a simple life, until she was dragged into Alastair’s web of lies, deceit, torture, and sadism.

Dean didn’t know what to say other than stare at her arm and lets tears flow without inhibition. For the first time, Dean felt utterly bare and young. He felt 13, looking at Ruby, wondering what he and she both had done to deserve the life they’d been given.

And it was also in this moment he decided that it was only and only his body that would be hurt and that nobody, especially Ruby, were going to be put in harms way.

Ruby seems to notice the tears, and God forbid Dean’s heart break any further, because the poor girl takes that same, terribly abused arm before wiping away his tears and leaning closer to whisper.

“He hurt you too.”

And Dean had no choice but to look her in the eyes, swallow the rest of his sobs, before giving a nod and dragging her in for a hug that she not only accepted, but desperately needed.

-

Castiel looks around the bar, not seeing Dean at his usual spot around the bar. It never happened, but after all, he hadn’t seen Dean for more than a few days.

“Where’s Dean?” Castiel walks up to a woman working at the bar, who looks through her glasses before giving a snarky, attitude filled response.

“Would be damned if there was someone by his name workin’ here.” She has an irritatingly smug look on her face when she finally looks at Castiel properly. “You’re that lawyer that’s constantly pissin’ on alcohol, ain’t ya?” She smiles and Castiel has half the mind to acknowledge that she’s a woman just to avoid punching her.

“Sure thing. If it’s anything to you, then I can have you removed from this place once Alastair steps in. I don’t think you’d like that.” Castiel tilts his head to the side before letting his lips lift into a far too mischievous smirk, because he was willing to do anything to meet Dean. Besides, he made an appointment.

One that he didn’t really need Dean to confirm.

Muttering under her breath, Castiel smiles because that seems to have done the trick. She gives him one last look before walking away and behind a wall, perhaps trying to find Dean. Castiel taps his fingers, ignoring the judgmental looks that everyone gives.

It takes a while to find Dean, something that surprises Castiel because he’s usually busy on the floor. It prompts Castiel to walk around himself, peering around the accessible corners to see if Dean is there, but to no avail, walking back to his usual place.

“Mr. Novak.” Castiel whips his head around to look at Dean. He seems to be put together as always, but his eyes give away something to be wrong. Dean’s eyes are red and irritated, showing he clearly just cried. The closer he walks, the better he can see tear streaks and most of all, a look of pure dejection.

“Dean w—” “PX18.” Dean quietly speaks before adding on. “I can’t speak today. It’s best if you leave.” Castiel looks at him, confused before Dean is speaking louder.

“What can I help you with Mr. Novak?” Dean looks him straight in the eye but with something both menacing and regretful. Whatever it is, it’s telling Castiel to leave.

So Castiel does just that.

“Nothing. I suppose Alastair is too busy. I’ll be take my leave.” Castiel has to gulp down the intrusive thoughts making him wonder if his stunt on the steps from last night had been too much. He ignores the sneer the woman he had spoken to first gives him before wearing his cowboy hat again and turning on his heel, walking out of the bar.

Castiel hasn’t felt humiliated in a long while, something that he rarely had to feel anyways. He’d felt heart break and agony and pain and joy and… and many other things. But not humiliated. He figures that no-one experiences it often because the rarity of the feeling is what makes it burn.

Walking towards Rowena’s Stay, he’s forced to switch gears and lose his thoughts about Dean and what might have happened. Instead, he focuses on the one thing Dean had told him.

PX18.

It had come up before, he remembers, when he and Dean were sitting in one of Alastair’s rooms and Dean had pulled out the notebook he bought for the first time, showing him the quick scribbles he managed to note down. He hadn’t said it then but Dean’s actions had made him feel loved. It was something Castiel found stupid then and still did now, but it was like someone took his cause seriously. Although he never let it get to him, it was no lie that the lethargy around fighting for Prohibition drained him at times. It seems as though it was someone like Dean that needed to continue feeling passionate.

Castiel blushes, realizing he allowed his thoughts to drift into Dean-heavy territory.

PX18. PX18. If it came up a second time, then it’s significant. There weren’t many things that came up twice for Castiel and if they did, that means it was a piece of evidence. It’s a strange but helpful pattern Castiel used in prior cases to take down even the biggest of bars and shops, so this meant something.

But what? Hell, the P, the X, the 1, and the 8 could all mean something totally and entirely different and even be a guise for the real information he was looking for.

Without realizing he’s made it back, Castiel walks into Rowena’s Stay entrance before pushing down the front door, only to see Rowena herself standing at the other end.

“Rowena I assure you this will end as a two-time occurrence. I sincerely—” Castiel bends down, picking up the door before squeezing out the last word, “—apologize.”

Rowena stands at the other end, watching Castiel fumble with the door before he turns around, cowboy hat awkwardly in front of his face before staring back at her.

“Thank you for that. As long as you clean up your mess I don’t find myself feeling all that ire with you, Mr. Novak.” Rowena gives her typical mischievous smile, something that Castiel knows he can do nothing with but overthink.

So he does nothing at all. Blinking a few times, Castiel sets his hat correctly before walking towards the steps.

Until he walks back.

“Rowena?” Castiel stands a feet in front of the door, calling for the woman who stop mid-way through her walk back into what he assumes is a private employee room.

“Oh, yes?” Rowena calls back before speedily walking to the front, stopping in front of Castiel. “Yes, Novak-dearest? How may I be of assistance?” Rowena smiles and Castiel is quite sure what to do with it. At a loss of words, Castiel stares back before the questions comes stumbling back to the front of his brain.

“I had a question about something related to Alastair.” Castiel speaks with a neutral sense of confidence, hoping to get information from Rowena while not threaten her. He knew that some of her business came from Alastair too, meaning he had to tread carefully.

Her eyebrows raise before she’s tilting her head in interest.

“Oh, what’s this?” Rowena looks smug, but rather than seeming cruel, it strikes Castiel as rather childish. It’s like she’s excited to catch up on the newest town gossip.

“PX18. I do not know what it is about or what it may refer to, but does it seem familiar to you?” Castiel closes his eyes trying to make sure he remembers what Dean said correctly before re-opening them and looking at Rowena.

Rowena’s smirk has reduced a bit, but it is unrelenting in showing her childish intentions. Castiel wonders if his question has posed a dilemma for her.

“I’m afraid I cannot aid you there. I maintain significant distance with Alastair while remaining a good-standing business partner. It’s a delicate dance, as much as I wish I could aid you, I cannot. I… sincerely apologize.” Rowena ends her sentence with a forward bend, as though she’s extremely sorry and it makes Castiel laugh before he lets out a sigh.

“That’s completely fine Rowena. I knew it would be a stretch anyways. I sincerely… thank you.” Castiel tips his cowboy hat before turning his back, smiling when he hears Rowena’s giggle, wondering what PX18 might mean.

He wonders if he’s looking in the wrong place. But perhaps, he’s not looking deep enough.

-

“Alastair.” Dean says his name without hesitation. He’s waiting at the man’s personal room, one he had been inside of too often to pleasure clients who were dissatisfied with the technical terms of Al’s deals.

Dean had often been used as a dealbreaker.

Alastair turns his head around, hiding the rage before saying his name back.

“Dean. To what displeasure does your pitiable self give to me this time?” Alastair empty eyes stare at him, while simultaneously showing so much contempt that Dean feels himself cower.

Instantly, he reminds himself of Ruby’s condition, which makes him steel himself to the ground.

“I’m sure you know Al. Especially after Ruby.” Dean walk inside, shutting the door before dragging himself a chair and sitting across from Alastair. Like it’s new, Alastair’s eyes go wide at Dean’s newfound confidence.

“What’d she do Dean?” Alastair lets out a gritty laugh before leaning forward. “Did she suck your cock as well as she sucked mine?” He sits back, enjoying the way Dean’s face contort into disgust.

Dean quickly washes away the expressions on his face, unable to stop how his breathing has significantly picked up.

“Take me instead.” Dean speaks without letting his voice waver and Alastair looks like he nearly had a heart-attack.

“What did you say?” Alastair leans forward again, raising an eyebrow.

“I said, you fucking dick, instead of Ruby, take me.” Dean closes his fists and grits his words out, holding back at any urges to punch the man in front of him.

“Ah.” Alastair tips his head back before shaking it again. Dean watches in disgust, his heart beating rapidly against his chest.

“I knew you’d come back to your roots. You were the best Dean. The greatest. You brought in much of my money. Y’know, I brought Ruby the day after you. Got a nice de—” Alastair cuts himself off before clearing his throat. “She’s good girl.”

“She’s a girl. Not a good or a bad one. She’s an innocent fuckin’ girl.” Dean lets his words bite, but it doesn’t seem to have an impact. “Whatever it is, it’s me. You want to hurt her? You hurt me. You let her the fuck go.” Dean tightens his legs to stop himself from shaking because he know with everything that has happened so far, what he gets next is going to hurt him real bad.

“Dean Winchester.” Alastair laughs his name out before confirming the worst of Dean’s fears.

“Deal. But I’m gonna hurt you real bad.” Alastair’s smirk disappears and is replaced with a devilish stare, one that’s empty yet promising Dean a terrible threat.

One that Dean is most certainly willing to go through again.

And clearly, it doesn’t take Alastair another seconds before stands up, tears Dean’s shirt off, locks the door, and pulls the Winchester apart by the fibers Castiel had slowly been healing in him.

-

“Dean!” Sam runs over as soon as the door opens, something Dean is eternally grateful for because he can’t even spell his own four-lettered name at this point. His head is pounding and his body feels like a canvas that has been cruelly ripped apart.

“S-Sam—” Dean coughs and to his horror, there’s blood on the ground. Dean had always managed to keep blood hidden, something he took care of once he was alone. But today, Dean had no choice but to let everything spill.

The scariest part was he couldn’t call this a few punches. He couldn’t write it away the way he had for the past seven years.

“Shit. Dean. Get over here!” Sam half-yells, but drags Dean himself to their couch before awkwardly placing him down, trying to lift his legs. In a haze, Dean tries but fails to tighten his legs to help Sam. He gives up, leaving his little brother to do it all.

“I gotcha Dean don’t worry.” Sam sounds like he’s out of breath, but before Dean can say anything, he off in the kitchen, tumbling around the dishes and Dean has no choice to but to let his chest heave as he tries to catch his breath.

“Sammy, kid, I’m alright.” Dean coughs again, this time the blood making him choke. Might take that back, but for now, Dean is focused on recovering from the pain.

“I knew you were hiding shit from me.” Sam’s speaking through tears, but rather than sadness, it seems to be unadulterated ire flaming through his being. Dean looks up at him, blood spilling from his lips before groaning and turning on his back. He tries to refute, say something and defend himself but no need.

Sam holds a hand up, staring at Dean with a look of betrayal.

“Until you have the brains to tell me the truth, don’t bother saying a thing. If you think I can watch you bleeding your guts out and not take the toll of the ugly shit you hold inside, think again Dean.” Sam grabs Dean by the shoulders, hoisting him upwards so that he’s slanted a bit upwards, giving the older Winchester some room to breathe easily. Soon enough, there’s a pillow under his neck to a warm towel being placed on his forehead.

“I’m going to clean you up. You’ll probably rest through it, so it’s alright.” Sam stands in front of Dean and speaks neutrally before walking away, leaving Dean with am unending sense of guilt.

“Dean?” Sam is a bit farther across the room now. In a hoarse voice, Dean answers by also putting his hand up.

“Y-Yeah?” Dean coughs a bit, but it’s much tamer. He listens closely until he hears a sigh.

“Don’t forget that I’m a Winchester too.” Sam’s tone sounds disappointed, and Dean has no response to it, other than lowering his arm and allowing a tear to shed from his eye.

Chapter Text

“Where the fuck am I?” Dean raises his head, dumbfounded as the world around him looks like it’s spinning. He tries to raise his arm, but he’s forced to let it fall back down when pain courses through his pectoral muscles. He hears footsteps in the background, but he’s too distracted to pay attention.

“HELLO?” Dean coughs after yelling out, but doesn’t regret it because he’s both pissed and pain-pissed off and that’s not a good combination of states to be in.

Dean hears someone, presumably his brother, clear their throat before walking over to him. Without confirmation of who it is, Dean reflexively pushes himself up and upright against the coach before instant regret drowns him, due to the sudden stretch of his muscles.

“Dean.” Dean looks up only to see Sam staring at him with a displeased expression.

“O-Oh.” Dean gulps, wincing because even that hurts. He knows that if he looked in a mirror he probably looks like Hell’s posterchild.

“Yeah. Oh.” Sam widens his eyes when he repeats Dean’s expression, before nearly slamming a glass of lemonade on the table in front of him. “Drink.” Sam doesn’t say anything else before walking away.

Dean stares at the glass. Then he looks up at the windows and sure as shit, it’s a new day with sunlight so bright he wants to bury himself in a blanket and never wake up. Alastair’s beating was the worst he’d gotten in these 7 years and this time, their one-sided escapade (because Dean NEVER wanted it) was so rough, that he knew walking would be a struggle.

But sitting back wasn’t an option. If Dean even missed a single day, the chance that Ruby would be used as an alternative would increase. Dean’s own thoughts tasted bitter on his tongue – he was having to speak about himself and Ruby as flat and worthless objects.

Shakily, Dean grips the glass before downing it. Shit hit the fan for several reasons but as a means of grounding himself, he decides to mentally list it out.

Dean’s late for work. If he doesn’t go, then Ruby will be in trouble.

Dean feels like his limbs were torn apart and reattached to even try and go to work.

Sam has figured out 90% of Dean’s B.S. excuses and probably won’t talk to him unless it’s the truth coming out his mouth.

Dean ignored Castiel so suddenly that the lawyer probably things he did something wrong.

Groaning, Dean downs the lemonade faster before letting his head tip back. Gritting his teeth, he slowly moves his muscles to settle his body into a comfortable position before letting out a sigh and opening his eyes.

He didn’t have many options. Either he forced himself into work and came home, or he stayed. The constant in either situation was Sam. Despite knowing how dire their relationship is, Dean cannot find the wherewithal to open up and say the words. It’s like his mouth dried up the moment telling Sam the truth came up. The thought itself was enough to make Dean a coward.

Dean wonders how far his fear would pull him into the void his conscience existed in. In fact, Dean thinks, he’d probably choose to die if someone held him at gunpoint and demanded them to tell Sam the truth.

Even if that someone was Sam.

“Dean!” Sam’s voice comes like a shard of glass, snapping Dean out of his trance before he’s looking up.

“Y-Yeah?” Dean wants to furrow his eyebrows but it hurts, so he just stares blankly at Sam, who barely reacts to Dean wincing.

“Listen, if you choose to go to work, go. If you stay, fine. Either way, I’ll take care of ya however ya like. But until you’re willing to open up to me, I’ve no business talkin’ to you.” Dean is shocked. Whenever he was in this position before, Sam never let him go to work. Even for the most minor injuries, he remembers Sam grabbing his shirt and crying, begging him not to leave. Those were painful, helpless memories that starkly contrasted with the kid Dean was listening to now.

Sam watches, waiting for an answer but after several moments of Dean just moving his mouth, unsure of what to say, he scoffs and walks away.

Dean lets out a bitter laugh.

“Y-You’re –cough—not going to tell me t’stay?” Dean tilts his head back a bit farther so Sam can hear.

The receding footsteps stop, indicating Sam heard him.

“You don’t give a shit about what I think anyways.” And with that, a door behind him slams closed and Dean is left with an immense sense of guilt.

No matter which way Dean looked at him, Sam would be right. Tomorrow, Sam will be right. Yesterday, Sam was right.

Fear, though, was Dean’s most lethal weapon and with his silence, Dean just let it slice its dagger deeper inside.

-

Castiel is busy reading a novel that he managed to grab a copy of.

Strange Brother by Blair Niles. It was an unassuming book, likely because such queer ideas were looked down upon. They were barely heard of and if they were, it was because of these books. He’s not sure how or why, but he had been drawn to the openness of love. Sexuality is non-linear, an abstraction that took Castiel’s mind off the linearity with which he always forced himself to operate with. It spoke to a sense of home within him, especially because it took place in New York.

A knock at the door distracts him.

Looking up, Castiel sighs before he places his book on the table. At the last minute, he stops the book from closing before placing a scrap of paper as a bookmark. He grabs his overcoat by habit, before realizing he’s in his hotel room.

Wow, this book really got a hold of him.

Castiel walks over and opens the door, before smiling because it’s Sam. Holding nothing. Which made sense because he gave Castiel some lemonade just the day before. Nevertheless, the lawyer found himself appreciating the company

“S—” “We need to talk.” Sam, unlike his nervous self that Castiel remembers from yesterday, invites himself in before taking his shoes off and dragging the single chair available in the room to sit down on. Castiel, taken aback by the suddenness of Sam’s actions, turns around and takes in a deep breath before focusing on the young Winchester staring daggers into him.

“So… talk.” Castiel doesn’t know what else to say, but he does know he’s feeling nervous. Why? He doesn’t know. Hell, it’s just Sam. A kid who is 16. But perhaps, it’s Dean. Maybe Dean saw Castiel. Told Sam about the stunt he pulled on the steps. Probably never wants to look at Castiel ever again.

Sam seems to catch himself threatening Castiel with his eyes because he immediately settles down, before breathing out a right.

“I don’t know what you have going on with Dean. I don’t care either. But Dean came home from work yesterday covered in bruises. He had a small cuts everywhere on him. Nail markings. The worst I’ve ever seen him. He collapsed on the couch after I dragged him there and coughed up blood. Now—” Sam clears his throat, not realizing how enraged and heartbroken Castiel was feeling, “—if there is something you know, I need you to tell me. For all my life Dean has hid the worst of him and all I’ve been left with are the scraps of Dean looking like he’s been torn to pieces. I’m tired of seeing my brother, the one who raised me out and away from the hell our dad created, suffering this way.” Sam stands up, staring at Castiel with fresh tears falling from his eyes.

Castiel wants nothing more than to walk over and embrace the kid, but he realizes that in a sense, he’s guilty. He knows exactly what’s going on with Dean and yet, here he is, dumbfounded. This was not just a secret, but it was a life that Dean was a part of. It wasn’t fair, no matter how cruel the circumstances, for Castiel to reveal this to Sam. It was Dean’s job, a responsibility that fell on the Winchester rather than on Castiel.

The lawyer realizes that the boy is putting him a tough spot.

“Sam—” “So you know.” Sam lets out a bitter laugh and Castiel reflexively shakes his head, trying to finish what he’s saying. “Just let me finish—” “NO. NO. I WON’T—” Sam cuts him off again and before he knows it, Castiel’s chair is broken to pieces with a loud bang. Castiel takes a step back, staring at the broken wood before looking up at Castiel.

“Y-You know what’s going on with my brother oh you do and you dare stand in front of me and—” Sam walks closer, closing in on Castiel, “—act like everything is okay and that I’ll just calm down with whatever explanation you give me.” Sam pushes a finger into Castiel’s chest. At his age, the kid is the same height as Castiel leaving him with about an equal challenge.

Castiel stares into Sam’s eyes before stepping to the side and back into a perpendicular wall.

“Stop.” Castiel says a single word, dipping his voice lower and it seems to take Sam by surprise. Within a few seconds, his anger seems to subside a bit before it dissolves into barely-there composure. Castiel nods slowly before motioning for Sam to sit on the bed, while the lawyer walked over to the front of the room before standing opposite of Sam, crossing his arms behind his back.

“Sam, I want you to listen to what I have to say. I understand your anger entirely, but you need to understand that the fight you are trying to have with me is something you need to have with Dean. I won’t tell what Dean is or is not going through. But with what I know, I have put my best foot forth to help him. By helping him, he is also able to help you. But there is significant information he is hiding from both of us. The capacity in which he is doing so? I truly do not know.” Castiel knows that everything he said is just a work-around. It's a difficult position that Sam had put him in but everything is said and done, he has done his due diligence, that too knowing everything had been going okay.

Now that Sam has told him Dean is injured, Castiel realizes that he has some work to do. The first day he had met Dean, he’d pulled Alastair aside and spoken the lowest he ever had. He didn’t insult Dean. He didn’t call him a slut or a prostitute or offer payment.

Rather, he promised a chance that he’d let Alastair off the hooks, as long as he got to spend time with Dean. He told Alastair that he enjoyed his time.

Castiel had been eloquent, as Dean had said it then, in telling Alastair that they fucked.

The lawyer knew that if Dean found out, he’d probably be disappointed. Castiel still held that guilt with him, but knowing Dean for such a short amount of time still changed him.

He’d speak any lie if it meant Dean would be okay.

Despite his words, Sam’s anger seems to return, but clearly the kid is holding back.

Well, not with his words.

“I’ll leave you with this Castiel. I don’t give a shit if you’re some high-ass lawyer from New-whatever city. You’re a man that has chosen to associate with my older brother who is clearly going through pain no-one deserves to. If you don’t tell me and I end up finding out that something even worse happens to him, I promise you, I’ll skin you alive.” Sam stands up again, body shaking and eye twitching.

“If you don’t tell me what’s going on, just know, that you’re enabling the abuse Dean seems to be taking. And I’ll never forgive you for it. I recommend you stay away from my brother since you can’t seem to stop yourself from ruining his life.” Sam speaks to him, voice cracking, but before Castiel can respond, the door opens and slams shut, leaving him alone.

Castiel is left feeling worse than ever, questioning whether it was right to even step foot in Dean’s life in the first place.

-

“Dean Winchester.” Castiel, unfortunately, is faced with speaking to the red-headed bitch that sneered at him just yesterday, who seems even more sickly pleased to the lawyer. He knows that for those unknowing of his and Dean’s situation see him as a lap-dog, eager for sex.

But he doesn’t care. Castiel didn’t come so far in his career by caring about what others had to say about him. If he had, he probably would’ve succumbed to the temptation of drinking alcohol before even considering to become a lawyer.

“He’ll be comin’ right up sweet-cheeks,” the woman bends over the counter before giving a condescending wink, “and probably right back.” She mumbles the end of her sentence loud enough for Castiel to hear, which considering the situation, makes him roll his eyes – something he rarely does.

Castiel looks around the bar and catches from ire eyes, ones that don’t want him there. It’s a simmering tension that seems to stay above the radar. No-one talks to him, no-one even offers a tissue, but his mere presence warrants far too many eyes for his comfort.

But no mind, because Castiel straightens up as soon as he sees Dean talking to the redhead, who is not so kindly informing him of Castiel’s presence. As soon as she moves out of the way, the lawyer’s heart drops.

Sam was right. He was bandages wrapped around his arms and a black eye that Dean tried to conceal. He’s limping across the floor while coughing into a handkerchief.

Castiel wonders if he’s still coughing blood.

On instinct, Castiel moves forward to console him but he bumps into the bar table, snapping back to reality before placing his arms down and shaking his head, adjusting his cowboy hat to cover up for what he just did.

Dean doesn’t seem to have seen Castiel because another customer calls him aside, asking for a drink. Their tone is angry, from what he can hear, and Dean is trying to reason with them, shooing them away with a hand.

Finally, Dean turns and looks at Castiel. His then neutral features take on a look of emptiness and guilt, as if Castiel is reminding him of bad memories. It’s a puzzling, devastating expression that the lawyer can barely stand to see on his face and one that makes him instantly feel out of place.

Like he’s supposed to leave.

Dean is nearly reaching the counter before a young girl appears. Castiel furrows his eyebrows – she looks young with dark, chocolate colored hair. His first thought is about why such a young girl is behind the bar counter, much less in a bar in the first place.

But then he remembers Dean. And his history. Being 13 and raped instead of having a childhood at home eating dinner and playing outside. Dean never knew what it was like to be a child and now, Castiel found it safe to assume Alastair four a new victim for this sadistic act.

Dean catches Castiel looking at her which seems to prompt him to grab her arm and drag her closer, she seems to nod and walk away, but not before looking back over her shoulder and looking at Castiel. She watches for but a second, her eyes moving to Dean as he approaches Castiel.

“Ca- Mr.Novak.” Dean gulps, and Castiel hears it. The lawyer realizes he and Sam probably don’t want to see him, although he doesn’t quite understand why. Sure, he can probably pinpoint the stair stunt as a possible reason but Sam’s lashout, the anger, the tension – nothing is making sense.

Castiel does a once-over of Dean, taking in the visible scars and bruises. Alastair definitely needed to get a piece of the lawyer’s mind.

“We need to—” Castiel is about to say ‘talk’ but he sees Alastair making his way over, “—talk.” The lawyer leans over the counter, tilting his head to the side and speaking with a barely there smirk.

Dean seems to catch onto what he’s doing, getting flustered, but he quickly replaces it with an empty look which Castiel has to quietly swallow, maintaining the façade on his face.

“Ah Novak. Lookin’ for this pretty boy again?” Before Castiel can as much think, Alastair is already slamming a key down in front of Castiel before shoving his shoulder into Dean’s back. Castiel uses his entire will to stop himself from reaching out and grabbing Dean’s shoulder, as the younger man is keening over in front of him before standing upright as best as he can. Dean looks over his shoulder, waiting until Alastair leaves to turn back to Castiel.

“Dean, what the hell is going on?” Castiel is impatient and can barely stop the growl in his voice. Dean stares at him, gulping again which the lawyer can tell is a diluted version of his entire reaction.

“It’s best if we don’t talk Cas-“ “I asked you a fucking question.” Castiel pounds his fist on the bar counter and luckily, it gets drained in between the chatter in the bar. Dean flinches and Castiel immediately retracts, mumbling an apology.

“I-I- just don’t know what’s going on. I haven’t gotten answers. Nor, have I gotten the chance to ask questions.” Castiel speaks quietly, eyes watering the longer he looks at Dean in such a painful state.

“Give the key back to Al and d-“ “We will talk. Now Dean.” Castiel pushes his luck. In fact, he would want nothing more than to respect Dean. But Dean isn’t just anyone. Dean is…

Dean. Castiel’s Dean.

A fierce sense of possessiveness, Castiel realizes, has blooming within him, slowly digging its roots into his subconscious mind. But the more he’s away from Dean, the more it slices him apart. Castiel needs to see Dean.

“Cas no—” “That wasn’t a question Dean.” Castiel thinks before he acts because right after he says that, he grabs Dean by collar before staring daggers into his eyes, making Dean’s eyes widen.

Suddenly, Dean pushes back.

“L-Let go.” Dean levels Castiel with an angry look before grabbing the key and stepping back, maintaining the stare before walking away and up the stairs.

Castiel simply follows.

Chapter Text

A less-than-ideal thud signals a slammed door.

That was Castiel.

Without sitting down, Castiel is staring at the younger man in front of him demanding an answer.

“What the hell is going on Dean?” Castiel’s voice is slightly breaking, pain seeping through his voice. He doesn’t know if it’s his stunt. He doesn’t know anything. All he’s gotten are sources of confusion and unfounded reasons to be blamed for everything that’s going on.

Dean turns around, uncrossing his arms before levelling Castiel with a look. It’s not threatening, or at least as threatening as the younger man wanted it to be. Instead, the longer Dean was looking at Castiel, the lawyer could tell his walls were breaking. There was something, some secret, that Dean wanted to let spill from his lips.

Parting his lips, Dean curls them again before letting out an exasperated sigh.

“You know I’ve gotta work. I can’t handle all’a this righ—” Castiel is stepping in front of him, practically shoving his face into Dean’s before the younger man’s voice dims out, nervous and shaky breaths leaving his lips.

“Let me tell you something Dean. I’m a man of respect. I don’t like pushing people past an edge. I don’t like forcing them to do something they don’t want to.” Castiel takes another step which forces Dean to tumble backwards. Trying to hold himself up, he fails because his back twitches, forcing him to lean back against the wall. Castiel stays where he is.

“But I am being forced to wring the truth here. I am unaware of what is going on. I fail to understand why you are suddenly so opposed to seeing me. I am confused about why your younger brother stormed into my room blaming me for what has happened to you which brings me to a very important point.” Castiel gulps before he’s stepping forward, caging Dean into the wall. He does it on purpose, leaning in before speaking directly into Dean’s ear.

“I told you to listen well. I told you that the premise of this role was to tell the truth.” Castiel turns his eyes a bit, watching the way the sweat was dripping down Dean’s forehead. The way he was taking in small breaths that were puffing his cheeks ever so slightly before he was exhaling. He was so inclined to just take all of his anger out and dig his tongue into Dean, punish him without the chance to breathe but Castiel knew better.

Much better.

“And yet here you are. Avoiding me. Looking at me like I’m a stranger. Bruises and cuts where they should not be. I would ask you what happened but I doubt you’ll answer me.” Castiel looks at Dean’s face to see guilt, a silent confirmation that the lawyer was right.

Castiel feels the regret seeping into his conscience, slowly wearing away at the newfound confidence he used to pull Dean into the space they were in.

Castiel looks down before stepping away.

“Was it what happened after the dinner?” Castiel knew he probably should’ve waited, but that was the single question that kept weighing heavy on his mind.

Dean eyes widen imperceptibly before he gulps.

“What do you mean?” Dean starts darting his eyes, something Castiel noticed he did when he was extremely nervous.

Castiel wants to give a glare, a warning to the younger man. Force the truth out of him.

But that’s when Castiel realizes who he’s becoming. Clouded in judgement. Shamefully driven by a corner of lust in him.

That when Castiel realizes that’s all Dean has ever gotten from Alastair’s hand. Lust. Pain. Manipulation. Objectification.

Dean is a canvas that was being torn apart, thread by thread.

So Castiel calms himself down before looking Dean in the eye before speaking.

“Holding the pen. On the stairs. Playing with it like a yo-yo between my fingers befo—” A knock on the door interrupts them.

It’s Alastair.

“DEAN! I don’t hear any sounds in there!” He sounds angry to Castiel but that’s when Dean’s eyes widen and Castiel understands.

It’s not anger. It’s doubt. Mistrust. A faint suspicion which Al would likely use to excuse more pain to inflict on Dean.

So Castiel looks away before looking Dean back in the eyes. He swears that Dean is preparing himself. Are they thinking the same thing?

The way Dean is wetting his lips.

The way Castiel finds himself letting his overcoat fall onto the chest he’s standing in front of.

The way Dean unbuttons the first few buttons of his white shirt.

And the way Castiel can’t stop himself from loosening the tie before throwing it to the ground.

Castiel is stuck, staring into the light that glimmers in Dean’s eyes. Questioning if this was really going to happen.

But Castiel blinks again and Dean is standing in front of him, eyes hastily taking in Castiel’s features. The lawyer is about to speak, asking Dean if he’s alright—

“I saw you.” Dean’s got his left hand splayed over the muscles of Castiel’s chest, the sudden contact making an involuntary moan bubble up from the lawyer’s searing core. Castiel breathes out, tipping his head back before lips are instantly attacking his neck. Castiel finds his fingers digging into Dean’s hair before they’re desperately finding their way under his shirt, desperate to cling onto something real. Tangible. Something that can no longer deny itself from being truly Dean.

The sound seems to fuel Dean, wh

Castiel doesn’t register until nearly a minute later that Dean is giving him love bites. The lawyer is cursing out, desperate to find footing because this is all coming to him as a shock.

And that’s when perceptible footsteps make their way away from the door, down the creaking steps of the bar.

And that’s when Dean pulls away, panting. It seems he must’ve done a number because Dean is staring at Castiel’s neck before his lips are quivering. Castiel takes a deep breath trying to make sense of what just happened, reaching his hands out to comfort Dean but he’s stepping backward, towards the door.

Not again.

Castiel stands up.

“Dean I—” “—need to go.” Dean stares at Castiel, eyes red and glossy. Castiel stills, unable to find the words to express his shock.

“I-I had to convince Alastair I’m—” Dean seems to almost choke on his words and Castiel tries to ignore how painful the admission is.

“I’m sorry Castiel.” A sharper sting. Dean just used his full name.

Dean opens the door before looking behind him. Castiel stares back, knowing his sadness must be showing too obviously.

“I was never upset with you.” Dean steps out, looking the same he did before. But Castiel?

He’s lost, sitting in a room upstairs of a bar he wants to destroy, surrounded by a few pieces of his clothing, after nearly kissing the man he’s hopelessly in love with.

It stung because Castiel really wanted to kiss him.

But Dean used Castiel the same way Dean’s been used.

Just this time, he took advantage of the lawyer’s genuine desire.

And Castiel knows that he has to lock his shame and walk away, trying his best to not use it against Dean.

-

Dean is lying the couch, a similar position to the one he was in the day before. It’s taking a lot – like Dean is having to take on a new personality just to forget what he did to Castiel. At least, he didn’t entirely take advantage because, god forbid his eyes work? The lawyer was unbuttoning his shirt. Taking his coat off. Dean isn’t stupid. Hell, he’s fascinated in part because somehow, they managed to establish that connection. Unspoken. They could looks each other in the eyes and quietly noticed and micromovements. The subtleties. The things that really mattered despite knowing so little about each other.

That was special. And Dean knew that today, he’d emotionally taken advantage of Castiel for a means to his own end. But there was no way he could tell the lawyer the truth. Ruby. The beatings. Trying to protect her. Dean has already done everything in his power to prevent even a single hand falling on Ruby.

It seemed that strangely enough, Alastair was a man of his word. At least with Dean. It’s something Dean refuses to take for granted. He takes the time to check in with Ruby and ask are you still being hurt which gladly, she’s been adorning a small smile to say no. Even when he pushes, she says no. She reassures Dean that she’s telling the truth. And perhaps, it’s true because Dean is back in the old life, taking the lustful beatings of complicit customers.

So Dean is at home again, lost in his thoughts, trying to orient himself and ignore the pain. His legs feel like they’ve been split open and his hands feel rough and sensitive. But the more he focuses on it, the more it hurts.

So he pretends nothing has happened.

.

.

.

Which would be a hell of a lot easier if he wasn’t burning up the moment he tried to sit up.

“Aw fuck. Sam. SAM!” Dean practically screams his little brother’s name, when he feels a hot wave swarm his sense, like light is flashing before his eyes, before his legs feel like jelly.

Footsteps come thundering from the bedroom.

“Dean!” Sam runs over and instantly puts his hands on Dean’s forehead. “Dean you are burning. This ain’t safe. Oh man.” The younger Winchester is clearly distressed and even in the moment, Dean can’t help but feel the guilt.

Dean thinks about what Castiel had said. How the lawyer was lost and confused and being pulled into the trenches of Dean’s screwed up life. It’s true. And even though Sam is his brother, in a cruel way, the poor boy was going through the same thing too.

Dean knew that Sam didn’t deserve it. He still knows.

But even if he wants to fix things now, he’s not in a place to do so.

In the haze of his thoughts, he barely registers the front door closing. Dean tries to turn and look, but his neck starts to kill him, delivering ruthless punches of pain throughout the column of his spine.

Dean wonders if he’s dying. Dean wonders if… if all his pain makes him worthless.

Dean wonders if his pain makes him more worthy of dying.

_

“Rowena!” Sam slams the door open to Rowena’s office, which is right next to the bar. He’d gone in there several times during his lunch break, a privilege he was afforded because he was well a kid and Rowena, for that reason, took a particular liking to him.

“Sam?” Rowena instantly stands up catching the Sam in her arms. He keens over, nearly wheezing as he gripped her table to the point his knuckles turned white.

Sam feels him self being manhandled into a seat, before her footsteps recede into the greater bar area. It’s nearly 7:30pm but luckily, Rowena closed her bar early on the weekends which worked to his advantage.

The younger Winchester stares up at the ceiling, wondering why this is happening to Dean. At this point, he’s figured 90% of it out. Dean isn’t going through something normal. His older brother. His. Dean Winchester, the man that Sam always looks up to, looks like he’s on the brink of dying. His everything. His mother. His father. Dean takes on every role just to make Sam smile, but the more he thinks about it, it all crumbles knowing Dean is withholding something agonizing.

“Samuel Winchester.” Rowena hurriedly walks into the room, handing him a glass of water which Sam downs. Without thinking, Sam tries to speak but Rowena hushes him, motioning for him to wait. “You’re only going to talk after you calm down. A jumble words is a waste of my time.” Rowena sits back down in her seat and despite his heart racing, Sam forces himself to sit still.

“It’s Dean. A-Alastair has done something to him. He’s gotten these cuts ‘n gashes and now he’s running a fever. He can barely walk or try ‘n sit up with crying his way back into the couch!” Sam notices his voice rising, but he barely cares.

Rowena’s expression slowly morphs into horror, her eyes refocusing and looking to the side woefully as she takes a deep breath.

Sam watches, getting increasingly irritated because now isn’t the time to grieve ot feel upset. She either helps or she doesn’t.

“Hello?” Sam would never speak that way but the urgency of the situation is demanding he step in. He knows Dean will probably try and push him away but he could care less. If he lost Dean in any capacity, Sam knows he’d be losing a part of himself too. “Did you hear me?”

It seems to work, because Rowena does turn around. There’s a distant, disconnected look in her eyes. Like knowing about Dean has thrusted her back into memories she doesn’t want to think about. And she does hold that look for a few seconds before she’s replaced with her usual, imperfectly stoic self.

“Let’s go.” Rowena stands up, walking into a backroom connected to the one Sam is sitting in. Sam wants to ask but he knows now isn’t the time.

_

Sam nearly breaks the front door and he can tell it’s gotten a reaction out of Dean, who still can’t sit up in the couch. It makes Sam’s blood run cold because this isn’t the Dean he knows. Dean was always invincible.

Walking over, he ignores the dirty shoes hanging over the armrest of the deteriorating couch. He immediately kneels, taking the soft towel Rowena hands him to clean off some excess blood he sees.

“Sit still idiot.” Sam grumbles under his breath, trying to maintain the pretense that he’s insanely pissed at his brother even though he’s deathly scared that any minute could be his last with the only person that’s stuck with him in his life. Dean, in all his misery, shoots him a threatening glare that Sam could give less of a shit about.

It’s certainly amusing, so Sam returns the best smile he could give.

“R-Rowena, the queen.” Dean chuckles weakly as Rowena lowers her hand atop of Dean’s. Sam watches as she gives it a light squeeze, turning away to get the warm salt bags.

“Rowena gave ‘em. Supposed to help the pain.” Luckily, Dean is sleeping straight on his back so he can directly place the bags on top of his shoulder and stomach, including any other areas Sam noticed his pain was bothering him.

Rowena immediately tightens her hand around Dean’s.

“Might want to hold tight boy. Salt bags can do a number on serious injuries.” Rowena gives a sad smile after watching Dean nod, before Sam is placing the first bag down on his right shoulder. Dean seems to stay true to his word because Rowena bends her head down before looking over at Sam.

“A fighter he is. My!” Rowena lets out a small, genuine laugh which, for some strange reason, makes Sam smile. Looking over, Dean is wheezing in pain, but he too is giving them a smile. Sam thinks it’s ridiculous, but for some reason it makes him hope that there’s a reason for him to hope that Dean will be just fine.

“Place the rest of the salt bags on him and give him these sugar balls.” Rowena turns to talk to Sam, but Sam feels a nudge in his side. Turning to the side, it’s Dean giving him a death glare. Rowena looks between the two of them before understanding.

“I apologize Dean. Sam’s going to place the rest of the salt bags on you and give you these sugar balls to suck on. And of course, the main thing is rest. I know you’ll be inclined to work so I’ll be telling Alastai—” “NO!” Dean nearly chokes on his words and before he can force himself upwards, Sam is already placing firm hands and gently holding him back.

And that’s when Dean breaks into incoherent sobs. Spewing words that Sam and Rowena can barely understand. Rowena looks around, feeling guilty even though it wasn’t her fault while Sam is trying to understand what he’s saying.

“J-Just take some rest Dean.” Sam runs his fingers through Dean’s hair before leaning down to whisper a few words. “I can’t stand to see you like this.” And with that, he leaves a soft kiss to his forehead before standing up and grabbing Rowena’s wrist to pull her aside. No later than 10 seconds and they both can hear snores from the couch.

Sam is about to start talking before Rowena shakes her head, motioning towards the door. Realizing it’s a good idea, Sam quietly opens the door before Rowena slowly closes it.

“Any supplies you ask me young man. Is that clear?” Rowena hugs herself as a light chill passes through the air.

Sam nods, pushing his hands into his pockets. The sight of Dean, weak and helpless against the cruelty of Alastair is pulling him to pieces.

“Why do you still stick by him Ro?” Sam asks before he can think, but he feels little regret after doing so. After all, he’s right.

Rowena stares at him, something between shock and regret.

“It is quite a difficult question to answer. But you’re right.” Rowena tips her head down before looking back at Sam, right in the eyes.

“This town is a paradox. It started at some point… how I don’t know. Business started thriving with drinks and gambling. Most people don’t bother because Hays County is a tough place to get by. In that time-line, I found my footing but in order to keep it, I had to forge a superficial relationship with Alastair.” Rowena’s eyes turns glassy but Sam can’t find it in him to care. Not after Alastair has nearly killed his brother.

There’s no way he’s excusing him. Did the money really matter so much to her?

“You could walk away now, right? Got all this money and-and influence. We’d move with you, probably.” Sam smiles to himself, thinking how Rowena had practically been a second mother to him and that in that case, they really would move with her. “But you could start fresh and cut Alastair off.” Sam becomes serious again, staring back at Rowena who simply shakes her head and the young Winchester can swear he feels his stomach drop.

“As lovely as that would be, I can’t. I—” Rowena looks over before shaking her head. “I need to go, but you ask me for help.” Her heels are clacking down the steps as she retreats, leaving Sam to watch with nothing but confusion and despair.

Sam can’t take his eyes off of Rowena as she looks at both sides of the road, whisking herself away from their conversation. It’s the horrid stench of betrayal that drives Sam to realize she’s not walking back to Rowena’s Stay.

He looks. The single lit window at the top floor of Alastair’s bar-house. He looks. And Rowena’s figure disappears.

He could go back inside.

But he can’t. Like this aching sense of revenge driving him to find the flaw. The betrayal. The one thing that would make the drowning sensation he’s floating in justified and correct.

He looks. The door opens. An unassuming figure slips inside as the bar’s single lantern briefly makes an appearance before the door shuts.

And single, lit-up room turns off.

And with it, Sam turns to go back inside too.