Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

~~

August 20, 2004

the school counselor says I gotta start keepin this journal. So yea. Um I don't really know how to start this. My name is dean, I guess. Im fifteen next week.

I like cars and Star Wars. I live with my dad and my brother sammy, he's 11.

so I guess that's it for now.

uh. signing off, I guess.

~~

Castiel looks down at the faded old notebook. It has a ninja turtle sticker on the front and,

“PROPERTY OF DEAN W.

DO NOT READ”,

Written in big block letters with marker.

He sets it back in the box it came out of, full of school notebooks and textbooks. He pushes the box away and grabs the next one, which seems to be full of clothes.

There are a surprising amount of boxes up here in this attic, and Castiel wonders if the previous owners meant to leave them. He'll have to call Helen later and find out.

The majority of the boxes have the name Dean written on the sides, but some of them say Sammy, Castiel hasn't opened any of those yet.

He feels weird going through these boxes, like he's peeking into someone's life where he has no right to, and he feels even weirder about accidentally reading some kid's journal.

He sighs and pushes the box of clothes away, he shouldn't be looking through these, they aren’t his.

Finally he gets up and climbs back down the stairs that lead from the attic to the garage. They fold up, but he leaves them down in the hopes that it will help air the area out.

The house is empty with Claire at school, there are still boxes everywhere waiting to be unpacked. Castiel starts to unpack one, but he finds himself feeling anxious and unable to focus.

Finally, he gives up and calls Helen, the woman who owned the house before him. She'd told him that she's a stay-at-home mom, so hopefully she'll be free.

“Hello?” Comes Helen's tinny voice over the speaker.

“Oh, um, hello Helen. This is Castiel. Collins. I, um, I bought your house?”

Castiel hears Helen laugh on the other end. “Yeah, I know who you are, hun. Is everything alright?”

“I think so.” He answers, “It's just- there are a bunch of boxes in the attic. I wasn't sure if they belonged to you, if you left them by accident...”

There's a long silence on the other end of the phone. “Not sure I know which boxes you're talking about. What was in them?”

“Well I only looked in a couple. One was mostly schoolbooks, the other was clothes. They have names on the sides. Dean and Sammy?”

Helen lets out a breath. “Oh, those boxes. Yeah, those aren't ours.”

“Oh.” Says Castiel, unsure where to go from here, “Should I throw them out?”

“That's up to you, hon.” Helen says, Castiel can hear children shouting in the background. “We only kept them for so long because, well, we thought somebody might come back for them.”

The way she says it gives Castiel pause, and he can't help asking, “What do you mean?”

“Well, I don't know. Maybe I shouldn't tell you this.” She thinks for a moment, “Aw, what the hell? It was years ago. Those kids are probably grown and gone now anyway.”

“What happened?” Castiel asks, genuinely curious now.

“Well I didn't live here then, I'm from Fort Wells, you know it?”

“Uh, I’ve never been.”

“Oh, well, beautiful area. Very pretty. Anyway, I didn't live here. But the neighbor told me- Mrs. Gilman, she told me that it was two boys and a dad that lived there. Young boys, middle school maybe? Maybe high-school, I don't know. I think the mom had recently died.” Helen takes a breath, “Anyway, the dad was a real nut, apparently. Real backward, you know? Always leaving the house at weird hours. Something happened eventually and the guy ended up in prison, the kids got put into foster care and had to leave a bunch of stuff behind. Never felt right getting rid of it, you know?”

“Wow.” Says Castiel, “I had no idea.”

“Those poor kids, right?”

“Yeah...”

They chat for a while longer, but Castiel is preoccupied the entire time. Now he feels even weirder about having gone through those boxes, but at the same time the new information sort of makes him want to learn more.

Once he feels like he can get away without seeming rude he tells Helen goodbye, and just like that he's alone with his thoughts once again.

“You're acting weird again.” Claire says at dinner.

“No, I’m not.” Castiel protests, “I'm... am I?”

Claire cracks a smile. “Just a little. You okay?”

Castiel takes a deep breath. “Yes. Just feeling restless.”

Claire stabs at the green beans on her plate. “When do you start work?”

“Monday. I have a whole week.”

“You make that sound like such a bad thing.”

“I'd almost rather be working. I hate being in an empty house.”

Claire rolls her eyes. “What are you going to do when I go off to college?”

Castiel waves her off. “I don't even want to think about that.”

“I'm eighteen in two years, Dad. That's not that long.”

“Ugh, don't remind me.”

“You'll be fine.”

Castiel frowns and decides to quickly change the subject before things get too heavy. “How was school?”

Claire shrugs. “Could'a been better, could'a been worse.”

“Have you made any friends?”

“Maybe. There's this girl named Alex who's pretty cool.”

Castiel nods. “Good. You can bring her by some night if you want.”

“C'mon Dad, I just met her. Be cool.”

“Yes, alright, sorry.”

~~

August 23, 2004

got a week's worth of detention for fighting again today and then when I got home dad grounded me. Not like I go out anywhere anyway. I don't even have any friends here. This sucks. I dont get why we moved here anyway. Mom wouldn't have liked it here.

August 24, 2004

I lied. Mom would have loved it here. She would have been at the park all the time looking at the flowers. And would have been friends with all of our neighbors. I don't know any of our neighbors and dad doesn't either. He doesn't talk to them, and I think they're scared of him. I would be too.

Sammys doin okay though. He's a smart kid. Already made a couple friends and everything. If sammys okay, than I'll be okay too.

~~

Castiel can't help it, now that he knows that something happened to those kids... he wants to know more about it. He's only read two more of the journal entries though, and they're so short that he may as well have only read a half of one.

He has a difficult time reading it sometimes though, not because of the content, because of the handwriting. In the fashion of a typical teenage boy, Dean's handwriting is almost illegible.

Later, he's outside pulling weeds in the overgrown flower beds when he hears a friendly voice call out,

“Hi there, neighbor!”

Castiel looks up to find a small, chipper white-haired old lady leaning over his fence.

“Oh, um, hello!” Castiel replies. He stands and pulls off his gardening gloves, tosses them to the porch, and goes to the fence.

He holds out his hand to the old woman. “Castiel Collins.” He introduces himself. “I'm your new neighbor.”

The woman takes his hand and shakes it vigorously. “I figured as much.” She tells him. “I'm Annie Gilman and I've lived here for fifty-three years. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Fifty-three years,” Castiel marvels. “That's...”

“It's a long damn time, is what it is.” Says Annie. “It's a good neighborhood, though. Good for raising young'uns. You have any?”

“I have a daughter, Claire, she's sixteen.”

Annie gives a low whistle and shakes her head. “Sixteen. I don't don't envy you.”

Castiel ducks his head and chuckles. “No, she's a good kid.” He tells Annie, “She's been having a bit of a hard time lately but... she's a good kid.”

“Are you married?” Annie asks.

“Divorced.”

“So what brings you to Lazarus Falls, then?”

“Just... needed a change of scenery.” Castiel tells her, a smile tight on his lips.

Annie gives him a long, speculative look. “Don't mind me, dear.” She says after a moment, “I'm just a nosy old biddy.”

“No, no. I don't mind at all. It's nice having someone to talk to.” Castiel tells her, and then, “Actually, I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

“Go ahead.”

“Well, um. I guess the family that lived here before the Hortons left a bunch of stuff in the attic and I just... I'm a little curious about them. Did you know them?”

Annie purses her lips and nods. “Winchesters.” She says slowly, “That John, I tell ya, sometimes I wondered if he didn't have a little bit of the devil in him.”

“John was... the father? Right?” Castiel guesses.

“If you could call him that. Not fit to care for a goldfish, in my opinion.” She stops, hesitates, but Castiel gives her a nod of encouragement, he wants to know more.

Annie leans forward over the fence a little more, conspiratorially. “He was always coming and going at weird hours.” She tells Castiel, “Usually so drunk I could tell from over there.” She nods at her porch. “And there was always so much yelling when he was home, I was constantly afraid he was hitting those boys, awful temper he had. And sometimes he'd leave and his car would be gone for days at a time. Sometimes a week. I tried going over there a few times when he was gone, to talk to the boys, but they would insist that he was home even though I knew he wasn't.”

“I heard he... might have gone to jail?”

Annie nods vehemently. “Prison. That temper finally got the best of him and he killed somebody. I don't know the details. Social services turned up one day and took the boys. I'm not surprised they left a lot of stuff, I think they only took a couple suitcases with them.”

“Wow.” Castiel says, taking it all in, “Do you know what happened to them?”

“No idea.” Says Annie, “Haven’t seen them since.”

~~

September 3, 2004

I finally made a friend! Her name is charlie bradbury and she's really cool. She likes Star Wars as much as I do, and she kicked Lance Kenner in the balls for making fun of my glasses. She got detention, but I have detention again too anyway, so we can still hang out.

I feel like things are finally getting better, maybe I won't hate it as much as I thought I would.

Sammy's getting straight A's already,he's such a nerd. Maybe I should have him help me with my homework, haha. He wants to bring his friends over, but I told him dad wouldn't like that. I mean, dad will get mad if he comes home and sammy's gone, but it would be even worse if he came home and someone else was here. I feel bad about it, but those are the rules.

September 4, 2004

I dreamed about mom again. Is it bad that i'm almost glad?

That's a lie, I am glad. I miss her so much, but sometimes I forget what she smelled like, or what shade her hair was. I don't want to forget

I don't want to forget

I don't want to forget

her hair was gold, like sunlight, or wheat maybe. She smelled like cinnamon. She was the best mom in the entire world, and im not going to forget her, no matter what.

September 6, 2004

Dad's been gone for three days and I don't know where he is. I don't know what to do. The bills are piling up on the kitchen table and I don't know how to make dinner. Yesterday I made mac and cheese, so that's probably what i'll make again tonight. We only have a couple more boxes though, so I really really hope dad gets back soon.

I almost told Mr. Fitzgerald, the school counselor, about it. But if I do that they might take us away and they'll separate me and sammy. I can't let them do that. Anyway, what if dad comes back and we're gone? He'd be so upset.

I'll wait it out. It'll be okay. I'm sure dad will come back.

~~

Castiel can't help himself. He's up in the attic again, going through the boxes and reading the journal. It makes him feel a bit dirty, but it's also fascinating in the way a train-wreck might be. It's horrible, but he can't help but keep reading. He wants to know what happened. He wants to know how it ended.

He's aware that the journal won't hold all the answers. It's still here, in this box, so the boy obviously didn't take it with him. That means it's unfinished, it only holds a small portion of the story, but he has to know anyway.

Castiel is feeling better today, not so anxious. He's finding it easier to stay focused, and so he starts unpacking the kitchen. It's going well until he finds the red plates.

The red plates were Meg's idea. It was her favorite color, and she wanted those plates. It didn't matter that the set cost more than Castiel made in a paycheck, it only mattered that she wanted them. Castiel remembers telling her that they couldn't afford the set, and he remembers the resulting fight. They had been young then, and Castiel hadn't known that not all couples constantly fought. He thought it was normal, back then. Of course his wife would scream herself hoarse over a set of plates, of course she would say that Castiel didn't really love her if he wouldn't buy them for her. That was how marriage was, wasn't it?

Castiel takes the whole set of plates and puts them into a box, then he takes the box and puts it on the front porch. He can't even stand to have the damn things in the house, polluting the air.

When Claire gets home from school she drops her bag in the hall and comes into the kitchen to slump into a chair at the table next to her father.

“How come there's a box of plates on the porch?” She asks.

“They remind me of your mother.”

“Should we smash 'em?”

Castiel smiles. “Well they're worth about 700 dollars so we probably shouldn't. I'd like to try and sell them, or at least give them away.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Claire demands, sitting up straight.

“Language!” Castiel berates her.

“Are you telling me that we've been sitting on 700 dollars worth of plates this whole time?” She asks disbelievingly, ignoring him.

Castiel shrugs. “They've been boxed up for a while.”

“I could get a new cell-phone with that kind of money! I could get new clothes! I could get-”

“Okay, alright, let's not get ahead of ourselves. I'll try and sell them, okay? We'll see what happens.”

“You should try selling them on ebay.”

“I don't know how to work ebay.” Castiel grumbles.

“Oh my god, are you kidding me? It's so simple a monkey could do it. Okay, come on, I'll show you.”

~~

September 14, 2004

so dad's back. He came back about a week ago, I guess I didn't write that down. I havn't really had much of a chance, things have been so weird. Dad's drunk, been drunk since he got back. I don't know where he's getting all the booze, since he never seems to leave the house to get more. Maybe he goes while we're at school, but I think that's when he sleeps so I don't know. I havn't seen him go to work since he got back either, so I don't know if he still has a job or what. I don't know what we'll do if he lost his job.

September 15, 2004

I asked dad if he still had his job. Boy, he didn't like that much. Yelled so loud I thought the neighbors were gonna call the cops. But today after school me and sammy went by the Garage and told dad's boss that he broke his leg and that's why he hasn't been in. i'm not sure if he believed me or not, but he says if dad shows up at work tomorrow he can still have his job, so that's something. I don't know how i'm going to convince dad to go to work, but i'll have to. I'll figure something out.

September 16, 2004

well I got dad up for work today. It was shit and I had to go to school with a black eye because of it but at least dad went to work. Sammy's pissed at him though, and I keep having to break up fights between the two of them. I wish they wouldn't fight, but sammy's stubborn as hell and it's gonna get him hurt one of these days. I worry about it. Dad's pretty strong and I don't want sammy to get hurt, but he just keeps picking fights all the time. What if they get into a fight and i'm not there?

I just wish they wouldn't fight. Mom never liked arguing either. Maybe i'm like mom. Dad says I have her eyes.

I like the thought of being like mom, is that bad? I don't know. I feel like dad would say that it's bad, but he thinks lots of things are bad. Mom was good. Maybe it's not such a bad thing if i'm like her.

Tucked into this page of the notebook is a picture of a blond woman, smiling and beautiful. She has kind eyes.

September 29, 2004

Well, it's official, I can never let my dad meet charlie.

Not because she's not cool, because she is. She's way cool, she's my best friend. But she likes girls, and dad hates that. He says a lot of awful things about gay people, and I don't want him saying awful things about charlie. She's cool, and she's my friend, and so what if she likes girls? What does it matter? I don't get why it makes dad so mad. Or two guys, why does that upset him so much? I don't understand it.

I told sam though, and he says dad's just an asshole. How did he get to be so smart at 11?

sam says I should join the LGBT club at school to support charlie, and I think it would be cool, but I don't know. What if dad finds out? His head would probably explode.

I dont think mom would mind. I think mom would like charlie, and I don't think she'd care that charlie likes girls. So why does dad care so much?

Maybe sam's right. Maybe he's just an asshole.

Below this entry, there's a little picture, drawn in pen. It depicts a stick-man who's head has exploded. There's a little arrow pointing to it, and a note that says “dad”.

~~

Unpacking is a lot harder than Castiel remembers from previous moves. It seems like he's just acquired more and more junk over the years. He's got the kitchen done, his bedroom, the bathroom, and the laundry room. Everything else is still a wreck. He hasn't even checked on Claire's room, but he can guess at the state it's in.

He keeps finding things that remind him of Meg, and those things are steadily becoming a pile of boxes in the garage. Castiel might try to sell them, or he might just end up giving them to the Goodwill, he's not sure yet. There's certain things he can stand to look at, and certain things he can't. Claire is better at it than he is, somehow. She breezes through any possessions of her mother's with a look of contempt on her face, but says nothing of it.

She's so strong, Castiel thinks often, so much stronger than he is. He's so proud of her.

There's a library just about six blocks down from their new place, and Castiel goes the first chance that he gets. It's been so long since he's lived close to a library. He eagerly gets a library card, and spends the day just exploring the place. It's fairly big and pretty well stocked.

Castiel finds himself drawn toward the microfilm, and for a long time he just looks over old local newspapers, especially from 2004. He's inexplicably disappointed when he doesn't come across anything about the Winchesters.

~~

October 4, 2004

sammy told me today that he wants to go to Stanford. For law. Trust him to pick the most expensive school possible, right? I want him to go though.

Maybe he can get a scholarship. He gets good enough grades I think he could probably do it. If anybody can, it'll be him. He's the smartest kid I know. Miles smarter than me and i'm older. His journal probably has perfect grammar and punctuation and everything.

Law school. If he did it, he could really make something of himself. I want him to be able to. I want him to be able to get nice food and new clothes and a nice house.

But I also don't want him to leave. I know it's selfish, I know it is, but I don't want to be left on my own. Maybe I can move there with him and live nearby. I don't know how much apartments cost. Probably a lot. But im sure i'll figure something out, gotta keep sammy safe.

October 6, 2004

I have more friends now. I made them through charlie, but it seems like they like me, so that's cool. Gilda is really nice, she's charlie's girlfriend. And ash is cool, he's as smart as sammy. We all went to the roller rink yesterday and charlie paid for my skates which was super cool of her. I don't think i'll go again though, because when I got back dad and sam were in a fight again.

I also met aaron, he's nice. He's in the LGBT club, but I don't know if he's gay or what. Im not in the club, but sometimes I go and hang out with charlie when she's there. I don't think dad will find out about it. It's probably okay.

I think I might hang out with aaron more, he invited me to the movies saturday and he said he'll pay and his mom can drive us. I don't know if i'll go because I don't want to leave dad and sam alone,but I really want to go. Aaron is really nice and he always smells like juicy fruit gum and-

At this point, there are several lines of text that have been scribbled out with a heavy-handed dark pen.

October 7, 2004

I got detention again. Dad is gonna be so mad. But Collin was being a real asshole, he said a bunch of really nasty stuff about charlie and gilda, and what was I supposed to do, not punch him?

Maybe dad wont find out anyway though. He left for work yesterday and he hasn't come back yet. He might be gone for a week again, who knows?

I don't know if i'm relieved or not. He wont be here to yell at me or sammy, but he might actually lose his job this time. I don't know.

October 9, 2004

Dad came back. He didn't lose his job thankfully.

But that's not best thing that happened this week. Today something else happened.

I went to the movies with Aaron and we saw Taxi which was pretty good but that's not the best part. We were sitting in the back and halfway through the movie Aaron held my hand. We held hands the rest of the time, and mine got kind of sweaty but it was really nice. Aaron's hands are soft. I thought I just liked girls before, but I really like aaron, so maybe I like boys too. Or maybe I just like aaron, I don't know.

October 11, 2004

AARON KISSED ME. We were walking home from school together because his house is on the way to mine and when we got to his house he just kissed me right there. On the mouth.

I mean, i've kissed girls. But i've never kissed a boy before. Aaron is a really good kisser AND he tastes like juicy fruit gum.

He asked me if I wanted to be his boyfriend, and I said yes.

I said yes.

How weird is that? I have a boyfriend.

I never would have thought it. It sounds nice though.

Aaron is my boyfriend.

At this point in the notebook, there's a huge chunk of pages missing. Ripped out, by the look of it. In fact, it's the entire rest of the year. In the pages after, no more mention is made of Aaron.

~~

“I kind of want to find him.” Castiel says to Claire, after admitting to going through the boxes upstairs and reading the journal.

Claire frowns at him. “What did you say his name was?”

“Dean Winchester.” Castiel has been keeping the boxes and the journal a secret. For what reason, he can't say. “I just, I have no idea how to even begin to look for him.”

Claire is frowning at her phone now, and Castiel thinks she must have already moved on from the conversation, until she looks back up and says, “Is this him?”

She turns her phone toward him, and he's greeted with a facebook profile.

It says "Dean Winchester", and the picture is of a very handsome man with sandy brown hair and glasses. His eyes are green, and very kind.

“I don't know, maybe.” Castiel says, holding his breath and taking the phone from Claire's hand. He scrolls through the profile, but he doesn't actually know much about the Dean Winchester that lived here before, so he can't be sure. But then he's scrolling through the about section and, under “family” there's one Samuel Winchester.

“It is him.” Castiel breathes. “How... how did you do that?”

Claire rolls her eyes. “It's so easy to find people on the internet it's not even funny. Plus, he's still living here in town.”

At this, Castiel jerks his eyes away from the phone screen to his daughter. “What? How do you know that? It doesn't say that on here!”

This time, Claire laughs. “I've seen him!” She says. “He owns a bookstore in town. It's on Main Street. Seriously, have you been out of the house at all?”

“I've been to work.” Castiel says, a little petulantly.

Claire sighs. “You should try getting out more, you might even meet some people.”

At this, Castiel hands Claire her phone back. “I know.” He says. “I just...”

Claire reaches out and touches his elbow, “Not everybody is mom.” She says softly. “There are good people out there.”

Castiel gives a dry laugh and scrubs a hand over his face. “So I’ve heard.”

“You gonna go to the bookstore?” Claire asks.

“Maybe.” Castiel takes a deep breath and then lets it out.

“I think you should.” Claire tells him. “Give the guy his stuff back. It'll make you feel better.”

“Maybe you're right.”

“I'm always right.” Says Claire.

Castiel laughs, “You're a brat.”

Claire sticks her tongue out at him.

Chapter Text

~~

February 7, 2005

I'm thinking of asking Lisa Braedon to the Valentines dance. She's been really nice to me and she smells pretty good. She's really good at math too and she said she'd help me with my algebra so I dont fail. She's not-

Here, a whole paragraph of writing is scribbled out, covered over thickly. Some of the ink on this page is smudged, like it may have gotten wet.

February 10, 2005

I think theres something wrong with dad. He's been acting weird. Weirder than usual. Hes drunk, yeah, but thats not all. It's like he's not really here even when he is. I dont know how to explain it really. Hes just always twitchy and I dont think he sees us. I kind of wish he'd leave just for a few days so I can study for my history test without worrying he's gonna do something crazy.

I think he lost his job because he hasnt gone in like two weeks. I dont know how he's paying the bills or if he even is at all.

~~

“Did you know that Dean Winchester was still here in Lazarus Falls?” Castiel asks Annie Gilman the next time he sees her in her yard. She told him that she hadn't seen Dean since he got picked up by social services, but how could she miss him if he has a bookstore in the middle of town?

Mrs. Gilman frowns at him. “Of course he's not.” She says surely. “I'd know.”

“He is. He owns a bookstore.”

Annie looks like he's speaking a whole other language. “Of course he isn't,” She says again, less sure this time, “You must be mistaken.”

Castiel looks at her, and decides that this is a time to keep his mouth shut. She seems to be honestly distressed, and Castiel doesn't want to upset her further.

“I suppose so.” He tells her, “It must have been someone else.”

He changes the subject, and they chitchat, but she seems distracted for the rest of the conversation. When he bids her goodbye he can't help but feel guilty, although he's not quite sure why.

-o-

Castiel stands looking up at the storefront. It's a quaint brick space along the main street, boxed in by a coffee shop on one side and a small FedEx on the other. It has a large window on each side of the little glass door, and a hand painted sign above the door that reads, “Reaper, Used Books”.

Castiel takes a deep breath. This is the farthest he's been outside the house in months. He lets his breath out. Mustering up all the courage he has and doing his best to ignore the anxiety curdling his stomach, he shoulders his way into the store.

The inside is just as quaint as the outside, the small space is well used and the smell of old books puts Castiel immediately at ease. There are several overstuffed chairs by each window, and shoulder-height bookshelves running along in neat lines. The checkout counter is against the back wall, with a doorway behind it. No one is in sight.

Castiel re-adjusts the box in his arms and makes his way to the counter.

“Um, hello?” He says, after standing there alone for several moments.

There's a thump and a rustle from somewhere beyond the doorway, and then someone rushes out. He's as tall as Castiel, with tousled blond hair, glasses perched crookedly on his nose.

“I am so sorry,” He says, moving next to the register, “I just stepped in the back for a minute to check something and I didn't hear you come in.”

“Oh... that's alright.” Castiel tells him, heart pounding in his chest.

“So how can I help you?”

“Um...” Castiel clutches the box harder. Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe this is out of line. But he's here, and he has this box. “Are you... Dean Winchester?”

“Uh, yeah.” Dean says, looking slightly uncertain now.

“My- um, my name is Castiel Collins. I just moved into 216 East Sycamore Street, I think you used to live there?”

“... Uh, yeah.” Dean is frowning now.

“It's just,” Castiel shifts the box in his arms, “I found some things I think are yours and I thought... you might want them back.”

Dean shakes his head and takes a half-step back. “I... don't. Thanks, but you can just throw them away.”

“Okay- but, wait.” Castiel sets the box on the counter and opens it, he rifles through until he finds the picture of Dean's mother, “What about this?”

Dean pauses, reaches out for the photo. He grasps it carefully by the corner and holds it close to his face.

“Oh,” He breathes, face contorting into an expression that Castiel doesn't quite know how to read. He looks overcome, “Mom.”

He looks at the picture for a long time, and Castiel just stands there, unsure what to do.

Finally, Dean sets the photo reverently on the counter. “I, uh-” He clears his throat and starts again, “I didn't think I’d ever see this again. It's the only picture I had of her.”

Castiel keeps his mouth shut. He's aware that he has an unfair advantage in this situation, he knows a lot of personal things about this man, and Dean knows nothing about him. It feels wrong. It almost feels like lying.

“Man, I-” Dean blinks, “This is really... this means a lot. I can't tell you-” He rubs a hand quickly over his face. “You just have no idea.”

“It's no problem.” Castiel says, giving Dean a nervous smile. “That box is mostly textbooks. There's more though, I didn't look in all of them. I brought them in case you wanted them. They're in my trunk.”

Dean looks at him for a second, then laughs softly. “Yeah, okay.” He says.

Dean and Castiel look down at the boxes in Castiel's trunk. Dean has reached toward toward a box a few times, but always pulls back before actually opening it.

“Sorry.” He says after a minute. “Just- this stuff is kinda... from a sort of terrible time in my life.”

He gives a sheepish smile and runs a hand through his hair, but Castiel just shakes his head.

“It's okay.”

“Maybe I can just take them inside and open them later...” Dean muses.

“I'll help you carry them.”

They carry all the boxes inside and into the back room, which turns out to be part break-room and part overstock. When they've carried in the last one, Dean sighs and puts his hands on his hips.

“How can I thank you?” He asks.

“There's no need.”

“No, I- I want to do something for you. That picture- you don't know what it means to me. You don't know what you did for me today.”

“I also brought you a bunch of terrible memories, remember?”

“This is worth it.” Dean reaches out and touches the picture where it sits on the counter.

“I'm glad.” Castiel says, and he means it. He feels good about this, about doing this. He did something good for someone else.

“Have you eaten?”

“Huh?”

“Dinner, have you eaten dinner?”

“Um, well, no.”

“You have someplace else to be?”

“Well,” Castiel says slowly, “my daughter will be home alone.”

“Bring her!” Dean says brightly, “I'll treat you both to dinner.”

Castiel smiles, touched. “That's really not necessary.”

“Hey,” Dean reaches out and puts a tentative hand on Castiel's shoulder, “I mean it. I want to do this.”

“Well... alright.”

“Alright?”

“Alright. Where- where did you want to go?”

“My family actually owns a bar and grill over on Diamond Avenue. Roadhouse, you heard of it?”

Castiel shakes his head, but he's still stuck on the first part of Dean's sentence. “Your... family?” Does he mean his father who Castiel thought was in prison? His younger brother who wanted to go to Stanford? Some other unknown relative? Castiel is confused, but he can't ask without revealing that he knows way too much about Dean's past.

“Yeah, my family.” Dean answers, clearing nothing up, “What do you say we meet at six?”

“Oh, yes, that sounds alright.”

“See you then!”

“Um, yes. I'll, uh, I’ll see you then.”

“Claire, do you want to go to dinner with me and Dean Winchester?”

Claire freezes where she's putting her shoes on in the hall. “Uh... I was actually gonna go hang out with Alex...”

“Maybe she could come.” Castiel suggests.

“You're not serious.” Claire says, looking horrified.

Castiel shakes his head in exasperation. “I suppose not. You don't want to come, then?”

“Nah, you have fun though.”

“I'll bring you home some fries.”

“Only if they're seasoned.” Claire demands.

Castiel sees Dean as soon as he walks through the doors of The Roadhouse Bar and Grill, because Dean stands up next to his booth at the side of the building and waves until Castiel notices him.

When he reaches Dean, Castiel tells him, “My daughter didn't want to come, apparently I'm not as cool as I used to be.”

Dean snorts as they sit, across from each other, the old vinyl seats giving way comfortably beneath them. “How old is she?”

“Sixteen.” Castiel says on a sigh.

“Ah, yep, that's a fun age. And by fun, I mean pure hell.”

Castiel tilts his head a little as he looks at Dean. “Do you have children?”

“Nah, but I basically raised my brother, so,” He shrugs.

Castiel keeps his face neutral, trying to assemble the pieces of Dean's life with what little information he has. He comes up empty.

The waitress comes to take their drink order and Dean chats amicably with her for a moment before she leaves. He's smiling happily, one elbow resting on the table, when Castiel asks,

“Are you married?”

Dean shakes his head. “How old do you think I am?”

“Mid-twenties?” Castiel guesses, frowning.

“Twenty-seven. Which, I don't know, maybe closing in on thirty is the time to get on that, but it just seems young to me, you know? I've got plenty of time.”

“I wish I’d had that kind of thought process when I was young.” Castiel admits, “Instead, I got married at eighteen.”

“Oh, well, it works for some people.” Dean backtracks.

“Oh, no. It didn't work for us.” Castiel assures him quickly, “We've been separated for about ten years. We finally got divorced last year.”

“Oh, damn. I'm sorry, dude.” Dean leans forward a little and pushes his glasses back into place from where they've slid down the bridge of his nose.

Castiel shrugs. “It was for the best. We should have never gotten married. But, I suppose if we hadn't then I wouldn't have Claire, so there was some good in it.”

“Is Claire your daughter?”

“Yes, she's...” He thinks for a moment, “Here, I have some picture of her on my phone, let me just,”

Castiel flips through the pictures on his phone until he finds some of Claire, and he turns his phone to show Dean.

“There she is on our visit to the Grand Canyon, and here's a picture of her about to go on her first date. Um, here's the two of us at the beach-”

“That's a pretty good one.” Dean interjects, smiling at the picture of Castiel and Claire in their bathing suits, sunburned, making faces at the camera.

Castiel looks at it and he can't help but smile too, the memories associated with that particular picture always bring him happiness.

“We flew kites.” He tells Dean, “And we walked along the beach for two hours looking for shells and we got very sunburned.”

“Sounds like a good time.”

“It was.” Castiel sighs contentedly. “That was before I became Embarrassing Dad.”

“Of course.” Dean says with with a little half smile.

When the waitress comes back to take their order Dean and Castiel both order burgers, and Dean tells him that it's a good choice. When their food comes, Castiel agrees wholeheartedly. He's excited to have found a place with such good food in this new city.

About forty-five minutes into their dinner a middle aged woman comes up to their table and frowns at Dean, crossing her hands over her chest.

“Dean Winchester, did you think you could come in here and not say hello to me?”

Dean gives her an exasperated look. “You know I wouldn't do that, ma. I just got caught up talking.” He gestures to Castiel, who is more confused than ever at this point, as he'd been under the impression that Dean's mother was deceased. Also, this woman looks nothing like the picture of Dean's mother that was tucked into the journal.

“And who is this?” Dean's mother wonders, looking Castiel over with a critical eye.

“This is Castiel, he's a friend.” Dean tells her, not mentioning the box, the picture, or the fact that Castiel lives in his old house. “Castiel, this is Ellen.”

“It's nice to meet you.” Castiel says warmly, despite his confusion.

“Any friend of Dean's is a friend of ours.” Ellen tells him, giving his hand a squeeze. “I'll leave you alone, but you'd better come see me before you leave, hear me?” She points a finger at Dean.

“Yeah, I got it.”

Ellen gives him one last look before moving away from the table.

“So that's my mom.” Dean says on a huff.

“You... don't really look alike.” Castiel edges.

Some of the smile falls from Dean's face, and Castiel regrets his words. He regrets them so much.

“She's uh, not my biological mom.” Dean admits. “Foster mom.”

“Ah.” Castiel sighs. There it is, the missing piece of the puzzle. Everything clicks neatly into place, but he still regrets his prying. The touch of sadness at the corners of Dean's eyes is making him a little nauseous. “Do they serve alcohol here?” He asks, in a frantic attempt to change the subject.

To his surprise, Dean grins again, all traces of sadness leaving his face. “You bet your ass they do.”

The Roadhouse does, indeed, serve alcohol. A fact that Dean and Castiel take swift and sure advantage of. Dean's foster sister Jo is manning the bar and she's been giving them a discount on drinks too, which is good in some ways and not in others.

Castiel is just about drunk, sipping a rum and coke though a straw and watching Dean attentively as he tells a childhood story. Something about Halloween, his brother jumping off the roof because he was dressed as Batman and thought he could fly.

It's too much, Castiel can't keep his mouth shut anymore. He likes Dean. He's nice and funny and interesting, When he laughs the corners of his eyes get all crinkly, and it makes Castiel want to protect him. He feels like he's lying, though. The guilt on his stomach like a weight. So he says it.

“I read your journal.” He blurts as soon as Dean finishes his story.

He watches as the grin falls from Dean's face. Dean purses his lips and looks down at the table. “You... read my journal.”

“I'm so sorry! It- it was an accident at first, and then I thought what's the harm? "

“But then you met me.”

“Yeah, and I’m sorry. I know it's not fair.”

“That's really not cool, man.” Dean huffs.

“I know.”

“You just- you can't go around reading teenager's journals. That's like a major breach of privacy.”

“Yeah, I just- I guess I thought, it was so long ago. And I didn't think I’d ever meet you in person, so...”

Dean looks caught somewhere between angry and mortified, he rubs a hand roughly over his face. “That's fucked up.” He says, “This is fucked up. There was some really personal stuff in there. And now you know it and-”

“I know.” Castiel interrupts, “We're out of balance. I'm sorry.”

Dean takes a deep breath, puts his hands on the table, and pushes himself to his feet.

“I've gotta piss, I'll be right back.”

He walks toward the bathrooms, posture stiff. Castiel sits there at their table wringing his hands, hoping to heaven that he didn't just ruin everything. He just met Dean, and he may have already screwed things up. The thought makes him more sick to his stomach than he already was.

When Dean comes back he slides into his side of the booth, plants his palms on the table, and takes a deep breath.

“Okay,” He says, “Here's the deal: you're pretty cool, I don't think you realized it would be such a big deal. I'm still pissed, but I get it. You find a kid's journal from years and years ago and you don't see the harm in flipping through it. I get that.”

“... Really?” Castiel asks, disbelief bleeding through his tone.

“Yeah. I mean- it's still shitty, but I know you probably didn't mean anything by it.”

“I didn't.” Castiel rushes to assure him. “I just make a lot of dumb decisions.”

Dean shakes his head at that, but there's the hint of a smile at the edge of his mouth. “Okay. How about this? Tell me something private about yourself.”

Castiel freezes, fingers stilling on the perspiring glass in front of him. Something private?

Castiel thinks, trying to figure out what's appropriate. He doesn't want to share anything private, but it's only fair.

“Okay.” Castiel says after a long time, he opens his mouth and closes it again. He takes a breath and tries to still his shaking hands. He's just drunk enough that he might be able to tell this story, “I'm going to tell you something I’ve never told anybody. Besides my therapist.”

Dean sits up a little, curious.

“I... “ Castiel looks away and takes another moment to calm himself, “There was, I mean- the, um, the reason I got divorced was because my wife, Meg, was... abusive.” He's staring at the table, at where he's tearing a napkin into as many tiny pieces as he possibly can.

“I haven’t told anyone.” Castiel continues, “But my therapist says that I should try and admit it, so... I guess this is where I start.”

“Aw, man,” Dean says, getting up. He comes over to Castiel's side of the booth. “Alright, scoot over.” He says.

Castiel scoots over and let's Dean slide into the seat behind him. Dean sways tipsily and wraps an arm around Castiel's shoulders. “Alright, it's okay, you wanna talk about it?”

Castiel shrugs. “You... believe me?”

“Yeah man, 'course I believe you. Why would you lie about that?”

“I dunno, I just...” Castiel rubs the back of his neck. He continues to stare down at the table, feeling mildly sick to his stomach.

Dean gives Castiel's shoulders a squeeze. “How long have you been in therapy?” Dean asks.

“Not long.” Castiel admits, “Just since I got divorced last year. I had to get a new one when we moved here, too.”

“Nothin' to be ashamed of.” Dean tells him gently.

Castiel finally turns his head to look up at Dean, and finds him looking back, kindness and understanding the only clear emotions in his eyes.

“Claire doesn't know.” Castiel tells him, “Well, she knows some of it, but she doesn't know the extent of it.”

Dean nods, his hand rubbing Castiel's arm gently. He smells faintly of woodsy cologne, and it has Castiel leaning into him. Before he knows it, he's spilling his guts.

“We got married right out of high-school.” Castiel tells Dean, “And I loved her, I really did. I think she loved me too, at first, at least. I don't if something changed or... if that was how she always was and she was just good at hiding it. Anyway, she didn't like my family, and she didn't like my friends. She wanted to move as soon as we got married and, you know, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

“It was hard though, no friends, no support system. I was in a strange new place and she didn't like me to go out with any new people I met. At first she said it was because she wanted us to spend time together, but after a while she started accusing me of cheating if I went out at all.

There was a point, not too long after we got married, when I realized that maybe I'd made a mistake. But then she was pregnant with Claire...”

Dean nods, understanding. “You didn't want to leave her pregnant.”

“Yeah. And then for a while everybody said that the mood swings were just pregnancy hormones. After Claire was born everybody said that they were just postpartum depression. Things just got worse and worse though.”

Castiel goes silent for a while, and Dean says,

“You don't have to tell me this if you're not comfortable with.”

“It's kinda nice.” Castiel admits, “You're a good listener. I haven’t had somebody just let me talk like this for... a really long time.”

“Any time.” Dean tells him.

“Well, when Claire was about two I found out that my wife had been blocking calls from my friends and relatives back home, not giving me messages from them, telling them that I didn't want to talk to them. Things like that. I had no idea they'd even been trying to get into touch.

“She started accusing me of wanting to abandon her and Claire, she said I didn't love her. She said a lot of things. Um, at that point she started getting, really openly mean. Just, insults all the time, you know? I'm ugly, I’m stupid, I’m worthless, etc.”

Dean opens his mouth like he's going to say something, but then closes it.

“I, um, I made contact with an ex that had come into town and Meg was convinced that I was cheating. So that's when she decided that we should split up. We still lived together and everything, the only thing that changed was that she would go out and hook up with people. But god forbid I even call my mother, you know?”

“So... what made you finally leave?” Dean asks, watching Castiel intently.

“Things got physical.” Castiel says quietly, taking his hands off of the table and pressing them together between his knees. “My parents were in a car wreck. I only heard about it because my sister somehow got a hold of Claire, and she told me. Meg wouldn't let me go to their funeral, and I shouted at her. She threw a frying pan at me. It didn't really hurt that much, but I guess it was sort of, I don't know, a catalyst I guess. After that, any time she got mad she'd throw things, she'd break things.

“And then, um... she hit Claire. She'd never- protecting Claire was the one thing I did right, and then all of a sudden I couldn't anymore. So that was it. That was the end.”

Dean's hand is rubbing his arm again, a soothing touch to jar him out of unpleasant memories.

“You did good.” Dean tells him.

Castiel shakes his head. “I should have left sooner. I should have known. I should have left as soon as she started getting physical.”

“Hey,” Dean says, pressing his unoccupied hand to Castiel's chest, “You did your best. And it's in the past. It's no good to keep beating yourself up about it. And I know all about that, okay? I'm like the king of feeling guilty.”

Despite himself, Castiel grins. “Oh, you're the king?”

“I'm really good at it. Seriously though, you can't keep blaming yourself.”

“I just don't know how to let things go.”

“You'll get there.” Dean pats Castiel's chest, and removes his hand. Castiel misses the warmth, but he's beginning to sober up a bit now and he realizes that they're probably touching too much for a couple of guys who just met today.

Dean keeps his arm around Castiel for a while, it's a grounding weight for the man, who feels raw and exposed.

Eventually they get and go, but not before saying goodbye to Dean's mother, who hugs them both. By the time they get to the parking lot they're both sober, and Dean walks all the way to Castiel's car with him.

“Hey, um, it was fun talking to you tonight.” He says.

Castiel casts him a disbelieving look. “I practically cried on you. And I told you that I'd read your childhood journal.”

Dean shrugs. “I liked talking to you. It was nice.”

“Hmm.”

“So, here,” Dean pulls out his phone, “Can I give you my number? In case you want to talk again, or if you just have, I don't know, questions about the house or anything?”

“Alright.” Says Castiel, pulling out his own phone.

They exchange numbers, and then Dean stands there with his hands in his pockets for some time.

“So, yeah.” He says, finally, “You can call me, or text me, any time.”

“Well, you can do the same.”

He smiles, and Dean smiles back at him.

“Oh my god, why are you home so late?” Claire asks loudly as Castiel tries to sneak past her room.

Castiel, who knows that he won't be winning this argument, goes immediately on the defensive. “Why are you still awake? You have school in the morning.”

Claire climbs out of her bed and stalks over to her open doorway. “So what? You have work in the morning. Why do I have to be asleep if you don't?”

“Because you're still growing and you need your rest.”

Claire squints and sniffs, then she leans in and sniffs his shirt more. “Oh my god.” She says, “Why do you smell like alcohol and strange cologne?” She gasps, “Were you on a date?”

Castiel rolls his eyes, but he can feel heat rising in his cheeks. “No, it wasn't a date. I went to dinner with Dean Winchester and we had a few drinks.”

“And he was rubbing all over you?” Claire asks, a smirk growing on her face.

“No, he put his arm around me because- because I was telling him about your mother.”

Claire immediately sobers, all mirth erased from her features. “You… told him?”

Castiel nods. “The cliff notes, anyway.”

“Whoa. That's… weird.”

“I know.”

“You just met him.”

“Yes.”

“And you're just- you're just telling him?”

“I... I wanted to put us on even ground, because I knew so much of his personal life. And he was a really good listener.”

Claire looks at her father for several long moments, before stepping forward and wrapping her arms around him, strange smells and all.

“I'm proud of you.” She says.

Castiel looks down at her blond head and frowns. “Why in the world would you say that?”

“You're making friends.” Claire explains, “You're opening up.”

“Okay, who's the parent here?” Castiel teases.

“It's hard to tell sometimes.”

“I think it's time for you to go to bed.”

-o-

To his great surprise, Castiel finds himself actually texting Dean. It takes a week and a half and no small amount of goading from Claire, but he finally does it. He texts Dean one evening and gets a response right away.

They go out to eat again, to another restaurant this time. Things don't get so deep as they did before, and Castiel has a very good time. Dean walks him back to his car again afterward and there's something slightly awkward about their goodbye, like Dean isn't quite sure how to handle it.

Castiel finds himself straying into the bookstore more and more, usually just after he's gotten off work. He buys books sometimes, but mostly he likes to talk to Dean. The man is not at all what he's used to; he's soft spoken and kind, prone to gentle touches and tender smiles. He has this little habit of pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his ring finger that always makes Castiel smile, although he's not quite sure why.

They go out to eat again, and again, and soon it becomes a regular occurrence. Claire is always invited, but she never comes, until the day Dean invites them to his house.

“I have to meet him.” Claire says to her father. “Especially if you're going to be spending so much time with him.”

“Are you worried about me?” Castiel asks, touched.

“Of course I’m worried about you!” Claire frowns, “You're a mess! And- and what if he's a bad influence? What if...” She trails off.

Castiel reaches out to put a hand on her shoulder, and she looks up at him with worry plain in her expression.

“What are you worried about?”

Claire looks away. “What if he hurts you?”

“Sweetheart,” Castiel pulls his daughter to his chest and wraps his arms around her, “I'll be careful, I promise.”

Claire buries her face in his chest, and they stand there until it's time to go.

Dean's apartment is conveniently located above the bookstore. There's a narrow, rickety staircase at the back of the building that leads up to it. At the top of the stairs is a small landing that Castiel and Claire stop at to knock on the door.

Dean answers the door with a flowery pink apron over his jeans and dark red shirt. The long sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows, showing off the corded muscles of his arms. He's smiling bright and he has flour in his hair.

“Cas!” He says happily, “And you must be Claire!”

“Hi.” Claire says, taking his offered hand and shaking it, eying him skeptically all the time.

“Your dad talks about you all the time.” Dean tells Claire in a loud whisper.

Claire raises an eyebrow at Castiel, then says, “Yeah, he pretty much talks about you nonstop too.”

“Ha,” Says Castiel, feeling like it's time to step in, “Very funny, Claire. I brought wine.”

“That's for me.” Claire says dryly.

“It most certainly is not.”

Dean smiles at them both. “Well I hope you like pizza! I made it from scratch.”

“Ooh, that sounds good.”

Claire perks up. “From scratch?”

“It's just coming out of the oven. Come on, I’ll give you a quick tour.”

Dean's apartment is small. It consists of a living room, a small kitchen, a bathroom and a bedroom. Dean seems perfectly happy here, though, and gives them the tour with pride in his voice.

“You guys can get comfortable in the living room and I’ll be right in with the pizza.” Dean tells his guests.

One large television is mounted on the wall of Dean's living room with a shelf of movies beneath it. There's one small couch, one recliner, and a coffee table in the middle of the floor. Claire quickly claims the recliner, leaving Dean and Castiel to share the couch. It's not a tight fit, but once Dean takes off his apron and joins them Castiel can't seem to keep his eyes on the television. His gaze keeps straying to Dean; to his muscly arms, his thick thighs, his freckly face. He finds himself drawn to the vision that Dean makes over and over again, despite his best efforts.

Castiel and Dean drink the wine and Claire has Pepsi, everyone loves the pizza. To Castiel's amazement, Claire and Dean get along. Dean is being his usual kind self and Claire is being polite and the two of them are even having whole conversations.

There's something very surreal about having these two parts of his life collide, these two people who mean so much to him – because Castiel is willing to admit that he cares for Dean – getting along brings him no small amount of happiness.

Eventually the night ends. Castiel has had a little too much to drink to be driving, so Claire volunteers to drive them home.

“Or you could just stay here tonight.” She says.

Castiel gives her a look. “And I'm sure the house would be burned down by tomorrow morning.”

Claire gives him the finger, and Castiel is too busy chastising her to see the fondness in Dean's gaze as he watches him. As they go to leave, Dean catches Castiel gently by the elbow.

“Thanks for coming over, Cas.” He says.

Castiel smiles at him, big and toothy and slightly tipsy. “Thanks for inviting us. I like your apartment.”

“I like Claire,” Dean tells him, “She's a good kid.”

Castiel looks at him, at his sweet freckled nose and his wide, kind eyes, and he feels a little overwhelmed with affection. Dean is genuinely good man, and the fact that he gets along with Claire means more to Castiel than he can really express.

Before he can think too much about it, before he can talk himself out of it, Castiel leans forward very quickly and kisses Dean on his stubbly cheek.

When he pulls back, Dean ducks his head, but he's smiling and there's a blush creeping up his neck, so Castiel thinks it's probably okay.

“Goodnight, Dean.” He says.

“Night, Cas.” Dean says. He stands at his door and watches until they drive away.

Chapter Text

It has been a very long time since Castiel Collins has had a best friend; an embarrassingly long time, if asked. Not since high-school, probably. He's had acquaintances since, sure, but it's hard to make friends when your spouse barely lets you leave the house. After, well, things were hard. Things are hard. It's hard to open up, it's hard to share yourself when you don't really know who you are.

It's something that Castiel says to Dean after knowing him a few months. Not quite so eloquent as that, maybe. His exact words had been,

“Am I even any fun? How do I know? I don't even know what I like!”

“You're fun.” Dean assures him, smile pulling at the edges of his mouth.

“Don't laugh at me.” Castiel warns, “I just don't know. What do I like, do I like Nascar? Do I like home renovation shows? Do I like building little model airplanes? What if I’m the kind of person who builds model airplanes?”

“Why don't you just buy a model airplane kit and find out?”

“But then what if I hate it? Then I’m stuck with a dumb model plane that I don't even want!”

“Alright, alright,” Dean soothes, reaching out to put his hand on Castiel's arm, “Take a breath.”

Castiel does, willing himself to stop panicking, and Dean's hand moves to his shoulder.

“We'll find out.” Dean continues.

“What?”

“We'll find out what you like, okay? You and me. We'll go to... classes or something.”

“Classes?” Castiel asks incredulously.

“Yeah, you know, like the kind they teach at the community center. Like decoupage or something.”

“What... is decoupage?”

Dean shrugs. “Dunno, but it sounds like a class, right?”

“I guess.”

“So, what do you think? You in?”

And how can he say no to that, really? Dean is offering himself and his time to help Castiel figure himself out. He's willing to go to a community center and do whatever “decoupage” is, for Castiel.

“Okay.” Castiel agrees, smiling, because for the first time since high-school he has a best friend.

Decoupage, as it turns out, is gluing paper cutouts to other things, usually furniture, and sealing it with varnish. It's interesting, but probably not something Castiel would do again. Dean seems to seriously regret suggesting decoupage, and on the whole it's mostly a bust. They do get flirted with heavily by the middle-aged women in the class though, and Dean's face turns a wonderful pink color that Castiel can't help but find charming.

“Well we're never fucking doing that again!” Dean gripes as they leave, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and scrubbing at his flushed cheeks.

“Aw, they'll be so disappointed!” Castiel laughs.

“You asshole, you were encouraging them!”

“I was doing no such thing.” Castiel manages with a barely straight face.

“You're a bastard, you know that?”

The next Saturday, they try oil painting, which Dean is fair at.

“You're good at all this artsy stuff,” Castiel complains, “It's completely unfair.”

Dean snorts and continues to paint his mountain. “Your, uh, big eye looks pretty good too.”

“It's a lake!” Castiel snaps.

“Hey, what do you mean, “this artsy stuff”, I wasn't even any good at that decoupage.”

“Well yeah but, you know, you can paint and you like books.”

“Books aren't artsy, you nerd!”

“Well, I mean, maybe.”

“Mm, no. Nope. Not at all.”

“Whatever.” Castiel huffs, “I'm still mad at you for being better at this than me.”

“Oh my god, I’ve made friends with a fourteen-year-old. And here I thought you were super old.”

“Thirty-four is not old.”

It's at this point that the painting instructor shushes them. It lasts about thirty seconds before they're talking again.

“You're like seven years older than me.” Dean points out, “That's kind of old.”

“It's not that big a difference, my parents were eleven years apart.” Castiel tells him, not quite sure why he's using his parents as a reference, and not willing to think about it.

“Yeah, okay, it's not that big a difference now, because once you get to a certain age it's all kind of the same really.”

“Not really.”

“Anyway, it would have mattered if we had been friends when we were kids. When you were ten I would have been three, and I don't feel like ten-year-old Cas would have been hanging out with a three-year-old.”

Castiel laughs, “What point are you trying to make here?”

“Oh, uh...” Dean frowns, “I don't know, I forgot.”

The clogging class is a little embarrassing for both of them, but a lot fun. Castiel almost can't believe himself for trying these things out, for doing new things and meeting new people, for even getting out of the house. It's worth it to spend the time with Dean, to see him laugh and move and sweat, to talk to him, to discover new things with him.

He learns more about Dean, too. More about his childhood, usually when they go out to eat after their weekly community classes.

Castiel has been trying to sneakily determine what Dean's father went to prison for, and he's failing. Dean seems to have seen through his clumsy ruse though and, with a sigh, just tells him.

“He killed a guy.”

“Oh.” Castiel sits back in his booth, unsure what to say now.

“Turns out he was involved in a bunch of drug shit. I don't know the details, honestly, I never bothered to find out. That probably sounds bad but... after everything...” He shakes his head.

“No, no. Of course it doesn't sound bad, Dean. That's...” He starts to reach out over the table to where Dean's hands are folded together next to his glass of sweet tea, but then stops himself at the last minute. His hands end up awkwardly in the middle of the table, but Dean doesn't seem to notice.

“It was just- it was really fuckin' weird, you know? He'd been getting weirder and weirder and then one day he just up and left and didn't come back. We were there for a month by ourselves before CPS showed up.” Dean goes silent, looking pensive, “It was just really surreal, you know? One minute we're doing our normal thing and the next there's a bunch of adults at the door saying, “get your stuff and come with us now”. Just weird.” Dean shifts forward a little, putting his hands a little closer to the center of the table, and Castiel's eyes are drawn to them.

“Did they separate you and your brother?” He asks, thinking of Dean's journal. Thinking of, “they might take us away and they'll separate me and sammy. I can't let them do that.”

“Only for a couple of days.” Dean assures him, “They got us hooked up with the Harvelles pretty fast. We were really, really lucky, actually. If I’m being totally honest here, it was the best thing that could have happened to us.”

Castiel watches him, nods, and then he takes a breath and stretches his hand out a little more to set his fingers atop Dean's. His heart is beating hard in his chest, but Dean just looks down at their hands for a moment, gives his fingers a wiggle, and continues.

“The Harvelles actually, you know, took care of us. Made sure we ate and got to school.” He frowns down at their hands, whispers, “First time in my life I felt like I maybe had a future.”

“Is it wrong if I say I’m glad?” Castiel asks, tentatively.

Dean looks up at him and gives a dry chuckle, “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“I don't think it's wrong.” Castiel says quietly, “It's not wrong to want the best for yourself and your brother.”

Dean looks at him for a long time, their fingers twined together atop the table. “Thanks, Cas.” He says after a while.

Castiel shakes his head and looks away, but Dean's gaze is heavy on him the rest of the night.

One Saturday when they're feeling especially bold, hopped up on too much coffee and the chill of autumn in the air, Dean and Castiel sign up for a belly-dancing class. Somehow, Claire finds out and she and Alex show up at the Community Center to make fun of them. Castiel suspects that Dean might have texted her, because at some point they've exchanged phone numbers, but he can't be sure as he doesn't have any proof. In any case the two girls sit in the corner cackling while Claire's father learns to dance, which would probably put Castiel out more, but it's good to see her so happy. He'd do this all day if it kept that smile on her face and that sparkle in her eye.

Belly dancing turns out to be very physically taxing, and Castiel almost forgets to be embarrassed because all of his concentration is going into learning how to move. He's not so single-minded that he doesn't get distracted by Dean though, at the way he moves his hips. Castiel can't help his mind going to very personal places at the sight of it, but he banishes the thoughts from his mind because now is not the time or the place.

“That was fun!” Dean declares afterward, as the four of them walk along main-street looking for someplace to eat, “We should do that one again. Maybe every week.”

Castiel frowns, but before he can object Alex speaks up from behind them.

“You could be a professional dancer or something!”

“Yeah,” Claire agrees, “You were actually pretty good, unlike Dad, who looked like he was having a seizure.”

“You better watch it, young lady.” Says Castiel.

Dean grins and then reaches out to swing an arm around Castiel's shoulders, “You did fine, Cas.” He says, “We'll learn together. If you want to go, I mean.”

“Of course I’ll go.” Castiel agrees, “It was a lot of fun.”

“Oh my god.” Says Alex.

They end up in a little cafe, they slide into a booth with Castiel and Dean on one side and Claire and Alex on the other. Castiel finds he enjoys sitting next to Dean, as apposed to across from him which is how they usually sit when they go out together. He's very aware of Dean's heat, so close to him, of the place where their knees touch just under the table. He finds the conversation going on around him surprisingly hard to follow, he's so preoccupied with the smell of Dean, cologne and hand soap. The girls have to repeat themselves several times when talking to him, and Claire is squinting at him suspiciously after it happens twice.

“You seem distracted.” She says after their food comes. Castiel has just missed the waiter asking him multiple times if he wanted a re-fill on his soda, because he was too busy listening to Dean laugh about something Alex said. He'd been looking at the curve of Dean's neck, the crinkles next to his eyes, can anyone really blame him for not paying attention to anything else?

Castiel fakes a yawn, “I'm a little tired.” He lies.

“Hmm.” Says Claire, clearly not buying it.

Pottery class, at the very least, sees Castiel as the better artist. Although that could be mostly due to the fact that Dean keeps making clay penises instead of the bowls that they're supposed to be working on. Dean keeps snickering like a middle-schooler, which gets Castiel going, and then they're both laughing like idiots. Dean has clay smudged all over his nose and the bridge of his glasses, and when he tries to wipe it off with a clay covered finger, it just makes things worse.

“Come here.” Castiel tells him, laughing, “I'll get it.”

Dean grins and leans toward him. He looks younger when he smiles, eyes sparkling, lips full.

It gives Castiel pause for a moment, just a second, his beauty. It stops him almost physically, pulling a breath involuntarily from his body. Time stutters, then starts again, and Castiel has to quickly get a hold of himself before he can lean forward and wipe away the damp clay from Dean's skin.

“You okay?” Dean asks, eyebrows scrunching.

“Oh, um, yes.” Castiel realizes his thumb is lingering on Dean's cheekbone. He pulls back. “Sorry. Indigestion.”

Dean smiles and nods and they go back to their work, but Castiel can't shake the itch under his skin. He can't escape the feeling of pressure building, of something growing. It's almost like a storm, the wind howling, higher and higher, and there's nothing at all to be done about it.

The Chair Recovery course provides an excellent time to talk. It's fairly simple, slow paced, and the instructor doesn't mind background noise.

Castiel and Dean have both brought chairs from their respective kitchens, though Dean's looks significantly newer.

“Can I ask you something?” Castiel wonders.

“Course, what's up?”

“Do you remember the old woman who lived next door when you were a kid? Annie Gilman?”

Dean thinks for a moment. “Yeah, I remember her.”

“She didn't believe me when I told her that you were still in town.”

“I believe that.” Dean says, “Me and Sam pretty much dropped off the face of the earth for a while after Dad was arrested.”

“You still lived in town though, right?”

“Yeah, but once we moved in with the Harvelles we moved across town, new school district so we switched schools. And for a while we used “Harvelle” as our last name to avoid some of Dad's “friends” that he owed money, and, well, we didn't really want the kids at school to know we were related to him.. So yeah, Mrs. Gilman probably thought we were dead, huh?”

“She had no idea.”

“She was okay, you know? Kinda nosy, but she was probably right to be. Maybe I should go say hi.”

“You could... say hi when you come over?”

Dean stops what he's doing to look at Castiel curiously. “Are you inviting me over? I've never been to your house before.”

“Yes you have, you used to live there!”

“I mean I’ve never been over when you've lived there. I've never been to your home, you know?”

“I suppose not. I should have invited you a long time ago.”

Dean ducks his head, shaking it slightly. “Doesn't matter.” He says.

“No, I should have. I guess I thought you might not want to go back.”

Dean frowns, thinks for a moment. “It was a long time ago, and I'm an adult.”

“Right, you're right.” Castiel agrees.

Dean looks away, then back again. He smiles and slaps Castiel on the shoulder. “When do you want me over?”

“Oh, um. Do you want to come for dinner tomorrow? I can make... burgers? Or um, something else? I don't-”

“Cas,” Dean stops him, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze, “Burgers are fine. Whatever you feel like making is fine. You know I’m not picky.”

Castiel does know, and the thought of the fact gives him warmth. He knows Dean, he knows him well. He's proud of it, although he'll never admit it.

“I'll make something good.” He promises.

Castiel is not a good cook. Despite much effort and practice, despite the shelf on his bookshelf so full of cookbooks that it's starting to bough under the weight, despite the fact that he's been cooking for Claire for a little less than half of his life, Castiel can't seem to cook anything that tastes good. Adequacy is what he strives for in the kitchen, to make something edible is a great accomplishment.

On the upside, Claire has never been a picky eater. If it's edible, she'll eat it, even if it doesn't taste good.

So, when Claire immediately spits out the coleslaw that Castiel has her taste, it's not a good sign.

“Did you pour the entire shaker of pepper in there or what?” She asks, wiping her tongue with a napkin.

“I didn't put that much in.” Castiel says, not pouting at all.

“Well whatever you did, it was the wrong thing to do.”

Castiel huffs. “What about the burgers?”

Claire shakes her head. “I'd eat 'em, but I wouldn't serve them to Dean if you're trying to get into his pants, they're burnt as hell.”

Castiel drops his spatula and makes a startled, strangled yelp. “Claire Elizabeth Collins! You- I don't know what you're- what you're talking about! I cannot believe- I mean, the idea- you had just better watch it, young lady!”

Claire raises both her eyebrows and gives him a look, unimpressed. “Mmkay.” She says.

They stare at each other for several long moments. “So um... is any of it edible?”

Claire sighs, shaking her head. “Sorry, but asparagus should not be that color.”

Castiel droops, rubbing a hand over his face. “I just want dinner to be nice.”

“You should order pizza.” Claire says, frowning at half-chewed food in her napkin.

They order pizza. One large meat-lovers and one large ham and pepperoni. When Dean arrives he spends a good twenty minutes talking to Mrs. Gilman over the fence.

When he finally comes in, he's looking very pleased.

“So,” He says, stretching his arms over his head, “Burgers?”

Claire scoffs. “No way, Dad burnt the piss out of 'em.”

“Why did you even bother trying to cook?” Asks Alex, sitting next to Claire at the kitchen table. She's around enough to have been subjected to Castiel's cooking, and she does not care for it.

“I- I just- I.” He breaks off, exhaling, “I thought I could do it.”

“He couldn't.” Claire says cheerfully, “We ordered pizza.”

Dean laughs as he walks into the kitchen, shrugging off his jacket. He tosses it over a chair with a familiarity that has Castiel's heart constricting in his chest.

“Pizza sounds great.” He says. He sits down at the table across from the girls, looking up toward Castiel, “You gonna eat, Cas?”

Castiel smiles and sits down beside him.

As they eat, their knees brush under the table. Castiel incredibly aware of Dean, of his heat so close, of his breath, of his smell.

Claire and Alex are no help at all.

“So, Dean,” Claire says, shifting their conversation very suddenly away from movies and television, “What are you into?”

“Huh?” Dean squints curiously.

“You know, girls? Guys? Other? What are you into?”

“Claire!” Castiel chastises, “This is not dinner conversation.”

Claire takes a big bite of pizza and shrugs. “'s just pizza.” She says with a full mouth, “'nd sexuality is natural, Dad, why isn't it dinner conversation?”

Castiel frowns, feeling himself flush, “I- I just don't think we need to be having this conversation.”

Claire rolls her eyes and looks at Alex, who does the same. They both look at Dean, as if to say, we're waiting.

Dean looks down at his hands, clears his throat, and reaches up to adjust his glasses. “I, um-” He stops, wets his lips, “I consider myself bisexual.” He says quietly, “I hope that doesn't, uh, change your opinion of me, but-”

He's definitely addressing Castiel, the way he's turned very subtlety toward him, head tilted, but it's Claire who interrupts him.

“Psh,” She says, waving her hand, “It's 2016, man, nobody here's gonna judge for being bi. Even Dad likes guys.” She gestures to Castiel.

Castiel drops his fork and stares in stunned silence at his only daughter. His sexuality is not something he's ever discussed with her. It never came up. He hasn't dated anyone since her mother.

“Excuse me?” He says finally, “What are- how did you-”

“I found the porn on your computer.” She says with yet another dismissive eye-roll, “You labeled it “work files”, I mean come on. You sell pens. What kind of work files could you have? I'm not stupid.”

Beside her, Alex clutches her sides and laughs. “Oh my god.”

Castiel puts a hand over his mouth, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath in through his nose. He doesn't say anything. Beside him, Dean is silent as well, and Castiel is so mortified he thinks he might throw up.

“I... have to... use the restroom.” Castiel lies. He stands up so quickly that he almost knocks his chair over backward, and walks as quickly as he can out of the room. He doesn't actually have to use the bathroom, but he goes in anyway and locks the door behind him.

He takes a moment to lean against the sink and try to collect himself. It helps some, but when he looks at himself in the mirror his whole face is still bright red.

He takes another deep breath and tries to think about this. It's just porn, he tells himself. He's an adult, adults sometimes look at porn. Nothing to be ashamed of. And, alright, it was gay porn. Okay, his daughter knows he likes men and outed him at the dinner table. Worse things have happened, right? Surely, worse things have happened. So Castiel can't think of any of them, but he's sure they exist.

Anyway, Dean... Dean is bisexual. That's... interesting information. Not that it means anything. But, maybe it could? No, no of course not. But now it's a possibility in way it wasn't before. Now-

Castiel stops himself. He splashes water on his face, takes two more deep breaths, and stands up straight. Everything is fine, he is an adult.

Of course, he'd suspected before that Dean might like men, he'd written about dating a boy in high-school after all. But there has been a part of Castiel worried that maybe the trend hadn't followed him into adulthood for some reason. Now he knows.

When he goes back out, no one is in the kitchen. They've relocated to the living room, and Claire is turning on some movie.

“Come watch a movie with us, Dad!” She says, like everything is fine and normal.

“Alright.” Castiel says, maybe a little quieter than normal, but he thinks he's fairly convincing.

But then, there's another issue. In the living room is one small loveseat and two small EZ chairs, one on each side of the loveseat, turned inward toward the tv. Dean is seated on one half of the loveseat while Claire and Alex have each claimed an EZ chair.

Castiel swallows. “Do you girls not want the loveseat?” He asks.

Claire frowns at him. “Why would we want the loveseat? Ours recline.”

“Well, I just thought, friends like to sit next to each other.”

“You and Dean are friends.” Alex points out.

“True.” Castiel agrees, wishing he were almost anywhere else in the world at this moment. He carefully, silently, goes to the loveseat and sits next to Dean.

He looks straight ahead, keeps his hands clasped tightly on his lap, and tries his best to keep his eyes on the television. He's having a horrible time concentrating though, halfway through the movie he couldn't explain any of the plot if asked. It's just that Dean is right there, and he smells really good and he likes guys. Maybe he could like Castiel.

It's not a thought that he's seriously entertaining, though. Not something he's really thinking about.

And then... and then...

Dean leans back into the couch, uncrossing his legs and making himself more comfortable. He raises his arms above his head, stretching, and when they come back down, one settles casually over Castiel's shoulders.

Castiel, already tense, freezes further. He looks at Dean, and finds the man looking back at him with a small, hesitant smile on his lips. He raises a brow in silent question, and Castiel makes a choice.

He nods, once, very slightly, and lets himself slowly relax back into the couch and Dean's arm.

There's no more movement during the movie, the two of them both sit still and stare forward. Castiel can feel the warmth of Dean's arm through his shirt, he doesn't fidget.

Eventually the movie ends and the spell is broken, the girls go upstairs and the men are left to clean the kitchen. They pick up discarded paper plates and rogue pepperonis in silence. It's an odd silence, not quite awkward, but not easy like it usually is either. There's a tense undercurrent, and it makes Castiel anxious.

He dumps the plates in the trash, thinking that he can't stand this much longer, and when he turns, Dean is there.

He's right there, hands finding Castiel's hips to keep him steady, Castiel's hands land on Dean's chest.

“Oh!” Castiel exclaims in surprise.

“Sorry!” Dean laughs, “Didn't mean to scare you.”

Castiel laughs too, breathy. His fingers curl where they lay. “It's okay.” He says.

He expects Dean to step away now, but it doesn't happen. Dean stays there, looking at Castiel, hands holding Castiel in place. He opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it. He wets his lips. He leans forward.

Castiel's breathing is rough, he can't seem to catch his breath, and his heart is pounding in his chest. How many things might this be mistaken for? He can't think of anything else it might be. A kiss.

Dean's mouth lands softly on Castiel's cheekbone, then on his cheek. He pulls back the smallest bit and looks Castiel in the eye, their mouths a hairs-width apart.

The brush of Dean's nose against his has Castiel smiling, feeling light, his chest is warm.

Dean's doesn't close the scant distance between them though, he stays still. He's still looking at Castiel, eyes soft.

“Dean?” Castiel whispers, unsure of what exactly he's asking, or why.

Dean doesn't say anything, but brushes Castiel's nose again with his own. Then he realizes, very suddenly, that Dean is waiting. He's waiting on Castiel to move forward, to close the space between them, to make that last move.

It's terrifying, to be the one to move, and for the longest moment Castiel is completely unsure whether or not he can do it. He's a grown man, he's been married before, he knows what Dean is waiting for, that they both want it, but still he's afraid. Of what, he can't say.

It's the brush of Dean's thumb against his hip that finally breaks through, gives him the push he needs. He tilts his chin up, and it's all that's needed to bring their lips together.

Dean's lips are soft, gentle. They move over Castiel's reverently, slowly, just finding their shape.

It's been a long time since Castiel has kissed another person, longer than he'd like to admit, and it's been even longer since he's kissed someone and enjoyed it. Dean doesn't kiss the way Meg kissed, she was always rough, bruising force and teeth, nails digging painfully into his neck. This... this is a whole other animal.

Dean, gently, takes a step forward to press Castiel back into the counter, hands still steady on Castiel's hips. His tongue teases Castiel's bottom lip, then the top, and Castiel raises his arms to loop around Dean's neck as he opens his mouth and meets Dean's tongue with his own.

Dean tilts his head, deepening the kiss, and Castiel's skin tingles. A shiver runs through his whole body, goosebumps raise on his arms. One of Dean's hands runs up Castiel's side, and he feels it like fire. Dean's touches burn, but in the best way, he wants more, he wants to be touched everywhere.

Castiel gasps into Dean's mouth, and he's dizzy, his skin is buzzing, he feels drunk. Dunk on kissing, like he's a hormonal teenager.

He gasps again, and he pulls back, pressing a hand against Dean's chest. He presses a hand to his mouth, partially to dry the wetness on his lips, partially so that Dean won't kiss him again.

“Dean, I-” Castiel starts, then stops.

Dean's hand comes up to touch his wrist. “You're shaking.” He says.

“I- I’m sorry.” Castiel says, lowering his hand.

“No, no it's alright. I'm sorry, I thought you wanted...”

“I did!” Castiel rushes to assure him. “I did, it's just...” He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them again Dean is still there, looking at him kindly, “Dean, it's been... a long time since- since I’ve been in a relationship. I mean- I know I only got divorced a year ago, but I- I don't really count the last years of my marriage as a relationship. It was more like... house arrest.

“Meg was my first serious relationship. So, since high-school. I haven’t felt safe in a relationship since high-school. I haven’t-” He purses his lips and turns his head away, “I haven’t been with anyone, intimately, in about ten years, not even my wife. And I’ve never- I’ve never been with a man.”

Dean's hands are gentle on his shoulders. “Hey, hey, it's alright.”

“I don't know what you want out of this, if you- if you even want anything, but I don't know how to give it to you. I don't know how to do this, I don't know-”

“Cas, Cas, it's okay,” Dean's arms come around him, pull him close, he kisses Castiel's temple and his lips linger there, “Look, I’m not- I don't expect anything from you, okay? I just really, really wanted to kiss you.” He smiles, “And I really like you, you're one of the coolest guys I know. But this doesn't have to be anything you don't want. This is up to you, alright? It's one-hundred percent in your hands, and I don't want you to feel anxious about it. I'm not in a hurry.”

Castiel looks at him, and he can't detect even the hint of a lie, of frustration, of anything besides affection and patience. He nods.

Dean nods back, mimicking the movement, and he smiles. “You okay?” He asks, hands rubbing down Castiel's biceps.

“I'm okay.” Castiel confirms.

They stand there in the kitchen, Dean holding Castiel, until they hear the girls coming back downstairs and they break apart. When Dean leaves, Castiel kisses him on the cheek, and Dean seems pleased.

Somehow things change and, yet, they stay the same. Dean and Castiel take a class at the Community Center called You Can Play The Ukelele which Castiel and Dean are both quite bad at, but they have a great time. Castiel is just plain bad, he's never been able to play an instrument and he doesn't start now. Dean's hands are just too damn big for the small instrument, and Castiel laughs himself horse watching him try to play it.

After the class they go out to eat and, at the end of the night, Castiel kisses Dean on the mouth. It's more chaste than their previous kiss, but no less affecting.

They take yet another dance class, this time it's Dancing With a Partner. It's ballroom dancing, and they learn dances like The Swing, Foxtrot, and the Waltz. It gives Castiel another chance to get close to Dean, to touch him without it being overly sexual. It's sort of like testing the water, just a little. The heat between them is definitely still there, Castiel just needs a little more time to process it.

It's difficult, because he definitely wants to be with Dean. He absolutely wants to kiss him and touch him and, well, just about everything, but it's terrifying. The only real relationship he's ever had was sixteen years of hell. He's not eager to jump headfirst into another one, no matter how much he trusts the other man.

He does trust Dean, though. He's patient and kind, soft spoken, funny, smart, and not exactly hard on the eyes. These past months he's been a soothing balm on Castiel's battered soul. A best friend, a confidant, could he be something else as well? A partner?

Castiel likes the idea of it, of being shoulder-to-shoulder with someone he trusts. Knowing that someone has his back. Is that what real love is? What it's supposed to be?

Castiel hopes he gets the chance to find out.

Castiel is picking up Dean for their Rag Rugs class because Dean's car is in the shop. He takes the stairs up to Dean's apartment two at a time and knocks on his door enthusiastically. He's more than a little surprised when the door isn't opened by Dean, but by someone else.

He's enormous, head higher than the doorway, with long, shaggy brown hair and a scruffy chin. When he sees Castiel, his face breaks into an absolutely angelic smile.

“You must be Castiel.” He says, extending his hand, “I've heard so much about you!”

“Ah, yes.” Castiel confirms warily. He takes the strangers hand and gives it a shake.

“I'm Sam.” The stranger elaborates.

“Oh!” Castiel feels like an idiot, “Hello! Yes, i've- i've heard a lot about you as well!”

Sam laughs, the sound is deep but genuine, it makes Castiel want to smile too. “Come on in, Dean's in the bathroom.”

Castiel follows Sam in, depositing his messenger bag on the living room couch. “So are you here on break?”

Sam nods happily. “Came to spend Thanksgiving with my big brother.”

Castiel blinks. “Is it that time already?”

Sam laughs again. “Yeah, I know, holidays really sneak up on you.”

“They really do.” Castiel shakes his head in disbelief.

“So, Castiel,” Sam glances at the bathroom door and lowers his voice, “Please don't take any offense to this, but, um, are you and my brother dating?”

Castiel sputters, wishing now that he hadn't set his bag down so that he could have something to hold in front of him as a shield. “Ah, I mean- there's- not- not... as such.” He finally settles on, not quite meeting Sam's eye.

“But there is something going on? Because he talks about you, like, constantly.”

Castiel looks down at his hands. “We- we're just-” He looks at the bathroom door, still closed, and takes a deep breath, “I just got out of a very long, bad marriage and I have a sixteen-year-old daughter. We're just... figuring things out.”

Sam's face sobers, and he nods. “Dean's a good guy. He likes you a lot. I hope things work out.”

Castiel takes a steadying breath. “Me too.” He admits, “I care for Dean... a lot.”

It's only moments later when the door to the bathroom opens and Dean comes out, whistling and drying his hands on his pants.

“Hey, Cas!” He says, face lighting up, “You're early!”

Castiel shrugs, “I thought there'd be more traffic.”

“You met Sam?”

Sam smiles. “Yeah, I introduced myself.”

“Sam's here for Thanksgiving break!” Dean says happily.

Castiel nods. “So I’ve heard.”

They don't end up going to Rag Rug class. Instead the three of them stay at Dean's to watch movies and talk. From Sam, Castiel learns more about the Winchester's childhood, about going hungry, about Dean stealing food during the summer when their father was gone. Usually he tells Castiel these things when Dean leaves the room for a moment, because Dean doesn't seem to like remembering these darker parts of his past. Castiel doesn't blame him a bit.

Castiel hasn't had a proper Thanksgiving in a very, very long time. One with family and friends around the table, with mashed potatoes and turkey and cranberry sauce. Looking back, he's not sure Claire has ever had a real Thanksgiving. Previous Thanksgivings in the Collins house were always fraught with anxiety and worry. Would Meg get upset about something? Would she start screaming over the dishes in the sink? Would she get mad enough to throw things? Some Thanksgivings they would go out to eat, but they never bothered to cook.

Well, this year he's determined to give his daughter a traditional Thanksgiving. He gets the turkey a week in advance, as well as ingredients to make mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and sweet potato casserole.

He's under no delusions about his cooking though, and so he recruits Claire and Alex to help. Alex's foster family is alright, she says, but she feels like she's intruding on their Thanksgiving. She'd rather be with the Collinses. He invites Sam and Dean too, who have dinner with their family but promise to come over after.

So there they are, late in the evening, all five of them around Castiel's kitchen table. The turkey is a little overdone and the mashed potatoes are under-seasoned, but Dean brings pumpkin pie and Sam brings roasted brussels sprouts and it's just fine. They all go around the table and say what they're thankful for.

“I'm thankful for my first real Thanksgiving.” Claire says, surprisingly sincere, “I'm thankful we don't live with my mom anymore. And I’m thankful for my dad.” She stares down at her hands and doesn't meet Castiel eye, and he thinks he might cry from the flood of emotions welling up in his chest.

“I'm thankful for my foster family.” Alex goes next, “And I'm thankful that I made friends with Claire.” She nudges Claire with her shoulder, and they grin at each other.

“I'm thankful for this break from school.” Sam says, smiling, “And I'm thankful to see my brother.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but he goes next. “Uh, I'm thankful I got to see Sam. I'm thankful that the bookstore is doing well this year. And, um, I'm thankful for Cas.”

Castiel takes a deep breath and smiles at the people around the table. “I'm so thankful that I get to spend Thanksgiving with all of you, that we get to have a nice Thanksgiving. I'm thankful for my daughter Claire, who is a wonderful young woman, and I don't know where I'd be without her.” He reaches across the table and squeezes her hand, and she rolls her eyes but she doesn't pull away and her cheeks flush, “I'm thankful that she's found such a good friend in Alex. I'm thankful that Dean and Sam could be here with us, I'm thankful I met Dean, he's helped me a lot and he has become a very dear friend.”

It's quiet for a long moment before Sam says, “Way to show us all up, man.”

Everyone laughs, and they eat. Castiel finds him self overwhelmed again and again over the peacefulness of it, the kindness that everyone shows to each other, the fun that they have.

After dinner the girls and Sam go into the living room to put on a movie. Castiel stays in the kitchen to do the dishes, and Dean says, “I'll help.”

Castiel washes and Dean dries. They stand there, side-by-side at the sink, Castiel with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and it feels like something that he could do for the rest of his life. With Dean. He could do this with Dean for the rest of his life.

Very suddenly he can't hold it in anymore. He turns, water and soap on his arms, and he grabs Dean's arm. Dean, confused, turns to him, and finds himself abruptly being kissed.

Dean's hands are wet too, and covered in soap suds, but he grabs Castiel by the middle and hauls his closer. Castiel rakes his fingers though Dean's hair, and neither of them heed Castiel's soaked shirt or the suds currently dripping down the side of Dean's face.

Dean mouths at Castiel's chin, at his throat, he sucks at a place under Castiel's jaw that has the older man gasping and tilting his head back so that Dean can have better access. They make out in the kitchen like kids until Claire comes back in for a soda.

“Oh my god!” She yelps, hiding her eyes, “Ah! I did not want to see that!”

The adults untangle themselves sheepishly, both of them red with embarrassment. Castiel starts to say something to defend himself, before realizing that there's really nothing he can say that will help this situation. He closes his mouth and keeps it shut. Claire quickly gets her drink and leaves, and the two men go back to doing the dishes, much more rumpled than before.

The first time Castiel and Dean do anything more intimate than kiss, they're at Dean's apartment. They're watching Howl's Moving Castle, because Dean is enamored with Hayao Miyazaki. They start to kiss and, uninterrupted, things get heated.

Dean's hands rub up and down Castiel's sides, Castiel's hands are up in their favorite spot around Dean's neck. They've been kissing for a while, their breathing is fast, their skin is heated. Dean breaks away to kiss Castiel's ear.

“Cas,” He pants, “Can I- can I suck you off?”

“Huh?” Castiel blinks, a little slow on the uptake.

“I want to suck you off.” Dean says again.

“Um. Uh. Okay.” Says Castiel. He's nervous, it's been a long time since he's really done anything sexual, and he's never had a blowjob from a man. He wants it though, he wants anything Dean is willing to give him.

Dean smiles at him, and kisses him again. On the lips, at the corner of his mouth. He reaches down to undo Castiel's belt and his fly, and kisses him again as he does it.

“You sure you're okay with this?” He asks, “I don't want to push you.”

“No, no. It's okay.” Castiel wets his lips, “I- I want to. I mean, it's just been a while, you know?”

Dean nods and kisses him softly as he pulls Castiel's pants down around his thighs. His hands are gentle on Castiel's legs, his fingers warm as they wiggle Castiel's underwear down as well.

Castiel closes his eyes when Dean's hands wraps around his dick, the pressure of it is good, it's great. He moves along Castiel's chest, lifting his shirt out of the way as he descends to the floor between Castiel's legs. His lips leave damp spots that cool in the air.

His mouth on Castiel's thighs is beautiful, Castiel never thought he'd look down and see something so wonderful.

Dean shucks Castiel's pants the rest of the way off and presses his thick thighs apart to nuzzle at his groin, at his scratchy hair and his testicles and the base of his cock. He presses kisses there, slow and warm and not lacking tongue. He's treating it like it's something beautiful, but then that's the way he always treats Castiel. He licks up the shaft and over the head, sucking gently at the tip for several long moments before sucking Castiel down.

Castiel sighs at the heat, the suction, he leans his head back on the couch and lets himself breathe, lets himself feel good. It's not rough, it's not harsh, it's not fast. It's slow and sweet and everything that Castiel needs. Dean's hands are on his thigh and cradling his balls, sucking him and lapping at him and making contented humming noises in his throat.

Castiel's orgasm doesn't hit him out of nowhere, it grows on him, flows over him, he's gasping, coming into Dean's mouth.

When Dean pulls back he smiles up at Castiel, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth.

“Whadd'ya think?” He asks, grinning, “Good? I know it's probably super lame to ask, but I’m a sucker for praise, so,”

Castiel laughs, limp and a little sleepy suddenly. He reaches down to grab Dean by the shirt and pull him back up onto the couch. Dean goes easily, tucking into Castiel's side and pressing a wet kiss behind his ear.

“It was very, very good.” Castiel tells him, “Phenomenal, even.”

Dean snorts, but he doesn't argue. “I do my best.”

“What can I do for you?”

Dean shakes his head. “This was just for you.” He says, “I just wanted to.”

“I know. I know. But I want to too.”

Dean thumbs at Castiel's chin. “Whatever you feel like doing is fine.”

It ends up being a handjob, and not even a very good one. Castiel has never done this before, not with a man. He's fumbling, squeezing too hard and then not hard enough, not keeping up the rhythm.

Dean is patient though, and he smiles at Castiel and kisses him sweetly until he's finally able to get off.

Afterward, they continue watching movies, and then Dean makes them supper after a while, and Castiel doesn't worry about Claire because she's over at Alex's.

When he closes his eyes, Castiel can picture this as his life. Waking up with Dean; eating supper with Dean; holidays with Claire and Dean and Sam and probably Alex. He imagines all of this without fear, without anxiety, without worrying about what will go wrong. He looks at Dean across the little kitchen table, eating his sandwich, ketchup at the corner of his mouth, eyes bright behind his glasses. He sees his future.

He realizes, very suddenly, that this is what love is supposed to feel like. Meg, whatever he had with her before, was poison. He'd thought that was how things were supposed to be, but that's not the case at all. This, this clear, calm, protected feeling. This is how it's supposed to be. This is what he wants. This is who he wants.

“I love you.” He says, into the air between them.

Dean looks up, eyes wide, and finishes chewing his bite of food. Once he swallows, he smiles.

“I love you too.” He says.

Castiel sighs and closes his eyes, a breath of relief, and when he opens them he finds that Dean is still smiling. Still there, still smiling.

He reaches across the table and takes Castiel's hand. There's a bit of ketchup on his palm but Castiel doesn't mind. Dean traces the veins of Castiel's wrist, he looks at him.

“You want another grilled cheese?” Dean asks.

“That sounds good.” Says Castiel.