Fic: Terms Of Service (Supernatural AU; Dean/Castiel, Explicit) 2/5
Title: Terms Of Service ( Art Masterpost)
Author: misachan
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Warnings: Character death, dubcon, explicit sex
Word Count: 4110
Summary: Winchester Auto Body has seen better days. With their father gone and Sam away at school it's all on Dean to keep the place afloat - so it's hard for him to admit he's failing. Bills are piling up and creditors are calling but Dean knows that if he could just push a little bit harder, find a few more hours in the day he could turn it around. In fact, there's a restoration job in the shop right now that would go a long way toward solving his problems. Unfortunately, the due date is the next morning and Dean knows there's not a chance in hell of him finishing on time.
But when he wakes up the next morning the car is perfect. This becomes a pattern, Dean waking up in the morning to find work he'd left undone finished overnight until his curiosity gets the better of him; he stakes out the shop one night and finally discovers the identity of his mysterious assistant: a beautiful, winged - and naked - elf calling himself Castiel. As the two of them start working together the curiosity turns to fascination and finally to something more but there are words Castiel can't say and choices he can't make - not without consequences Dean can't understand. An AU based on the fairy tale "The Elves And The Shoemaker."
*
In Dean's own defense, he'd been planning on getting a security system forever. It made clients feel better knowing that their babies were being left in a secure shop (Dean had heard of more than one guy who set up dummy cameras to get that confidence without having to foot the bill) and installing a system would drop him down an insurance bracket. He just hadn't been able to scrape together the money until now, but with business picking up there was no real reason to keep putting things off.
So there were plenty of good reasons to set up cameras in the shop that had nothing to do with getting a glimpse of his night owl friend. Dean told himself that story all through the installation, and that he paid extra so the guys would install everything in one day was just because he wanted to minimize how long he'd have to deal with technicians stomping all over his shop and disturbing his stuff. Didn't have anything at all to do with the worry that if the job was left overnight his mysterious helper would take one look and realize what Dean was up to.
Dean told himself a lot of little fairy stories over that day. He didn't get anything done besides supervising the work and getting in everyone's way. It kept him from second guessing himself, because every time he looked at those cameras he had the worry he was killing the golden goose crept up his spine. Maybe he shouldn't be looking at this too closely. Things were actually going right for a change, the smart thing would be to just be happy with that and stop trying to create problems.
Every time that worry was about to overwhelm him he took those two little notes out of his pocket. Whoever this was, he or she hadn't needed to write anything back to him. It could have stayed a mystery, there was no reason for Mystery Whatever to even give confirmation of their existence at all. Let Dean continue to wonder if he was going crazy, sleepwalking through his shop and leaving notes for himself.
The only explanation Dean could come up with was that whoever this was wanted Dean to know who they were. Dean may have been the first to reach out, but his silent partner reached right back.
That first night Dean didn't sleep at all, too wound up wondering what was being recorded on that camera. The following morning he got up with the sun and took the tape out of the camera, rushing back to the house review it.
The fiction that the cameras had ever been about anything but catching his helpful intruder fell apart as he watched. The recording was perfectly normal until midnight; once the time clicked over to 12:00 there was a second of distortion and Dean leaned forward, his heart pounding against his ribs. Then the distortion cleared though Dean saw nothing, just the shop exactly as it had been at 11:59. He was just about to turn off the recording in disgust when he noticed something strange up at the corner of the screen.
One of the wrenches moved on its own. Dean felt his mouth hang open as machinery turned on and tools began floating in midair like they'd been possessed. He paused the picture, advanced frame by frame, but that revealed nothing; the hood of the Firebird popped open as if the car had decided it needed some air and Dean started to re-evaluate the idea that he might actually be going crazy after all.
He watched the surreal scene for a few more minutes before he finally spotted something even stranger - whatever was in the shop must have passed in front of the lights and cast a shadow on the wall. Dean knew shadows weren't the most accurate way to measure things but the shadow looked enormous, taking up the entire wall. As Dean watched, though, Dean also thought it looked human shaped, the width of the shoulders and lines of movement making Dean think it might even be man-shaped.
But not just human shaped. Dean could make out curved shapes coming from what Dean took to be its shoulders, shadows that looked almost like fins, or....
Dean leaned forward a little more, looking at the soft edges of those shadows as opposed to the more solid lines of the body, and at the way they flared out when the transmission started sparking.
Or like wings.
Dean sat for the rest of the day watching that recording, those strange shadows and hovering tools, until the recording stopped itself. Dean continued to sit in the dark room for a while afterward, remembering the way those shadows had flared out and wondering.
***
The supply closet was a tighter squeeze than Dean had expected. Short of hunkering down in the Firebird's backseat it was the only real hiding place in the shop though, and Dean endured the cramps in his shoulders and fought the urge to check his watch for the hundredth time. It had seemed like the only way when he'd come up with the plan, such as it was: whoever it was skulking around in his shop at night, he didn't show up on cameras, like some vampire from a bad B-movie. He was solid though, he cast shadows, and if Dean spent one more night not knowing exactly what was going on in his shop he thought he really would crack up.
As clear as this course of action had seemed when he'd closed himself in the closet, Dean started to feel pretty ridiculous as the minutes ticked by. Here he was, hunched over in a closet waiting to ambush some invisible thing who just appeared in his place every night and fixed cars while Dean slept. The feeling that he was asking the gift horse to open wide came over him again and Dean tried to think about what he'd do if him jumping out did scare off whoever this was. The business was finally getting back to being in the black and here he was, trying to ruin everything.
But he had to know. This had gone on too long and Dean couldn't hold out for one more day.
He checked his watch again just as the time clicked over to midnight and heard a soft fluttering sound he couldn't identify. Through the cracks around door he saw the shop lights click on but when he tried to peer through the cracks his vantage point didn't show him anything, although he could hear the scrape of metal against metal as the work started.
Well. Dean guessed it was time to go big or go home. He swung open the cabinet door and stepped out, keeping his movements quiet. The Firebird's hood was up and Dean couldn't see who was behind it - nothing but a quick flash of white. "Hey," Dean said after a few long seconds. "Who the hell are you?"
Dean heard a clatter of dropped tools as whoever was under the hood dove for cover behind the car, absolutely the last reaction Dean would have expected. "Hey," he said again, approaching the Firebird slowly. "It's okay." He saw the curve of what were unmistakably white wings come up into view and Dean stepped closer, his hands up to show they were empty. "No one's gonna hurt you, you can come out."
Finally after a few tense minutes Dean saw a head of messy dark hair peek up over the front fender, wary blue eyes watching Dean and his lips twisted into a rueful frown as those white wings curled over his shoulders. "You're not supposed to see me," he said, his voice a soft, surprisingly deep rasp.
"Yeah, well. Not knowing what was going on in my own shop was driving me nuts." The stranger's gaze dropped, as if he had to cede that point. "I'm Dean."
The other man's lips twitched up for a moment. "I know your name, Dean." He stood up and Dean took a surprised step back; he'd assumed at first that he'd just been shirtless, which would make sense considering the wings, but Dean could see now that he was absolutely stark naked. And didn't seem at all self-conscious about it. "My name is Castiel."
Dean didn't know where to look. "Um. Okay," he said, trying to force himself to stop blushing through sheer force of will. He supposed the face was safe, at least; Castiel's skin was almost inhumanely pale, like the moon at night, but he had incongruous dark stubble along his jaw. His ears tapered off to delicate points Dean couldn't stop staring at. "So, what's with the...." Dean trailed off, gesturing at his own ears.
Castiel tilted his head to the side, as if it took him a second to figure out what Dean was getting at. "I'm an elf."
Like that was a perfectly reasonable thing to say. "An...elf." Dean took another good look at him. "Elves have wings."
"Of course we do." As if Dean was the one spouting the crazy talk. Castiel picked up a screwdriver from the floor and moved to lean back under the open hood.
Dean couldn't keep the question back any more. "Why are you naked?"
Castiel glanced back at him over the hood of the car, his brows furrowed. "Because you haven't given me anything to wear."
"Oh. I mean, do you want me to...?"
"Not if you want me to finish this."
Dean nodded. Okay, that didn't make much sense but he had a naked winged elf in his shop poking at the transmission of a classic Firebird. The definition of "making sense" was going to have to do some adjusting. "Okay, but...I mean, do you want me to turn up the heat or something? The shop's kept kind of cold...."
"The cold doesn't bother me."
Dean supposed that made sense if these things walked around naked all time. "Do you guys not feel it?"
"Why would not being bothered by temperature mean I didn't feel?"
Dean saw the wings bristle as he said that, like he'd been annoyed by the question. He hoped Castiel never took up poker because those wings were the biggest tell Dean had ever seen. "How do you keep those from getting tangled in things?"
Castiel looked up at the wings, letting out a soft sigh. "They do manage to get in the way more often than I'd like."
Castiel went back to work and Dean moved to a better vantage point, leaning against the wall and watching him for a few quiet minutes. Castiel flinched back as something sparked and Dean grinned. "The transmission's a bitch, huh."
The wings folded back as he looked back up at Dean, that rueful twist back to his lips. "It has been vexing."
Dean let a few more minutes go by before working up the nerve to speak again. "So what's the deal with all this, Cas?"
Castiel looked up again. "You were in need," he said, and Dean was surprised at how glad he was that he hadn't corrected the name. "I was sent to assist you and now I'm bound to your service."
Dean didn't think he liked the way that sounded at all. "Wait. You mean you're being forced to come here?"
Castiel's head tilted to the side again, as if he didn't understand that question at all. "This is the purpose I was created for, Dean. What else would I do?"
"So what's the deal, here?" Dean said, pushing that aside. "How long will you be coming around?"
"I'm bound to you until you no long require the assistance or until you dismiss me."
"You want me to dismiss you?" He tried to ignore how his stomach dropped at that thought.
Dean was a little ashamed at how relieved he was that Castiel didn't seem to think much of the idea either. "Have I done something wrong?" he asked, blue eyes flooded with alarm.
"No! No, you've been great."
"Are you dissatisfied with my work? Could I do something better?"
"Cas, seriously, no. Hate to say it, but I think you're better at this than I am."
"Then why would you ask me that?"
Dean ran his tongue over his lips. "I'm glad for the help, don't get me wrong, but I don't want a slave either."
Castiel just gave him that confused look again. "If you dismissed me I would be bound to someone else."
Dean didn't much like the idea of that, either. "Would you rather work for someone else?"
Castiel stroked his fingertips against the Firebird's hood. "I don't like to leave work unfinished."
Dean could identify with that. "You want some help?"
Castiel shook his head. "I'm supposed to do this alone."
"Yeah, well, I'm not supposed to see you and we're talking right now."
Castiel sighed, his wings folding back in frustration again. "I have rules I have to follow, Dean."
Dean just raised an eyebrow at him. "How about I work on adjusting that front wheel alignment while you poke at the transmission some more? Or is it a hard and fast rule that I can't work on something in my own shop while you're here?"
Castiel frowned, drumming his fingers against the hood as he pondered that. "I suppose that's not explicitly forbidden."
"Cool." Dean got out the tire iron and waved Castiel back as he jacked up the car enough to get off the wheels. "How'd you learn to do all this, anyway? They have tech schools over in elf-land?"
Castiel's lips quirked up again at that. "I know what I'm required to know. I've done many things over the centuries. Taken in harvests, cobbled shoes. I spent two months in Medieval France blowing glass when the artisan who owned the shop took ill with the plague. There's a cathedral in Germany where over half the stained-glass windows were crafted by my hands. I even spent half a year illuminating manuscripts. The monk I served took me for an angel when he saw me and wouldn't be dissuaded." Dean grinned at the flash of annoyance on Castiel's face. "Many things over the centuries. I've been a cooper more times than I care to remember."
"Coopers...make barrels, right?"
Castiel nodded. "It's incredibly tedious."
Dean got a kick out of hearing this seemingly immortal thing bitch about work like any normal Joe. "Hey, the whiskey drinkers of the world salute you."
Castiel buffed a smudge off of the Firebird's hood. "I enjoy this kind of work," he said softly. "Restoring something that's been neglected to its former beauty. I find it very satisfying."
It was like finding a kindred spirit. "I hear you there." When he crouched along the other side of the car to get the second wheel off he was close enough for long pin feathers of Castiel's wing to brush against his arm. "I'm pretty sure I was two months from losing the shop before you came by," he said, not looking up. "So thanks for that."
Dean wondered if Castiel knew his wing was touching Dean. "Is your business secure now?"
Dean nodded. "Yeah. Getting there, anyway."
He looked up to see a satisfied glint in Castiel's eye. "Good."
Dean decided to press his luck and reached his arm up, just enough to intentionally brush against those white feathers. He saw Castiel's hand grip tight around the screwdriver he was holding and knew he had definitely felt that. And even better, he didn't move the wing away. Dean took his time with the wheel, not wanting to break this strange spell started by that chance contact, the silence stretching so long he startled when Castiel spoke again. "People rarely try to communicate with me. And I've never had someone try to accommodate me before."
"Yeah. I saw you had a hard time replying to that second note."
Castiel blushing was kind of awesome. "I couldn't find the right words."
"Thanks is always good."
Castiel was quite for a few seconds, like he couldn't quite find those words, either. "Thank you."
Dean wondered if he was just imagining that Castiel had intentionally brushed his wing against Dean's arm. "You're welcome, Cas."
They worked together for the next few hours in peaceful quiet. Dean didn't even notice the time passing until he heard that strange flutter of wings; he looked up to find Castiel gone, the first light of dawn streaming through the shop windows.
***
The next day at midnight Dean was waiting with two six-packs of beers when Castiel fluttered into the shop. He got a kick out of the flash of surprise on Cas' face, wondering how often something so old managed to get surprised. "Dean," he said, his wings flaring out. "I...I didn't expect you."
Dean held up one of the six packs. "It against any of those rules of yours to have a beer while you work?"
Castiel did that head tilt Dean was starting to like seeing a lot. "I don't believe so."
"Good," he said, tossing one of the cans to Cas. "Let that settle before you open it."
Castiel nodded, placing it on one of the counters before crouching beside the car. "Why did you stay up?"
Dean shrugged. "Felt like it. Couldn't sleep. Does it matter?" In truth, the harsh light of day had made Dean start to wonder if any of the previous night had ever really happened. He'd even started to call Sam to see what he thought before realizing he had no idea how to start explaining this. "Am I bugging you?"
It actually looked like Castiel took a second to consider that. "No," he finally said. "As long as you allow me to work."
"Hey, that's what we're here for, right?" Dean picked up his tools and started banging out the dents in the driver's side door and Castiel promptly went back to focusing on his task like Dean wasn't there. Which Dean didn't really mind, since it gave him the chance to take a good long look. The shock of finding Castiel in his shop the night before had made it hard to focus on anything other than Holy shit but now Dean took a careful inventory, watching the muscles move under Castiel's skin as he worked. He was the only person Dean had ever met who the shop lights actually flattered, that pale skin almost glowing under the florescent lights, a faintly inhuman luminescence. Dean liked the way the bright white feathers contrasted against that skin and the dark of his hair, casting shadows over his face that brought out the blue of his eyes.
Dean knew he was staring and had a hard time forcing himself to stop. "Hey, Cas," he said, trying to make himself focus on something else. "How many people have gotten a look at you over the years?"
Castiel frowned, tapping his wrench against the car. "A handful," he finally said. "Most people I serve are content to accept their good fortune."
Dean didn't miss the accusatory slant to the words, although he didn't think Cas was actually upset. "If most people can't be bothered to find out what's going on under their own roof they don't deserve any kind of help." He didn't add that it seemed like a waste for Castiel to look like that with no one to appreciate it. "What kind of a reaction do you get?"
"It varies. As I said, the monk began singing hosannas."
"You didn't act like you expected that from me. I ambushed you and you hit the deck."
Castiel's expression went distant in a way Dean didn't like. "Not everyone has a...positive reaction. I've learned to be cautious."
"How many times have you had people take swings at you?"
"Not many. Still, one person coming at you with a sword is more than enough. And I haven't enjoyed how common personal firearms have become over the past two centuries."
All Dean had to do was imagine how his father would have reacted to finding someone he didn't know in his shop past dark to guess how that would go. "And then after that you'd have to come right back and work for them again, huh."
Castiel shrugged. "As I said, it's rare that anyone sees me at all, let alone attempts violence."
"Still don't like it."
Castile quirked an eyebrow at Dean. "You're very concerned for my welfare."
"You saved my business. I'd be the biggest dick in the world if I wasn't."
"It's never happened before."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Then you've worked for a lot of dicks over the years, Cas." Castiel didn't answer and Dean satisfied himself with watching those long fingers of his work. "Can't get over how you don't get dirty. I work a full day and I'm covered in oil."
Castiel almost smiled at that. "My nature does have a few advantages." Dean saw him take a breath, like he'd been about to say something and thought better about it. "Could you come over here and hold this aside?" he asked after a few more minutes went by, not looking at Dean. "It's...my view is obstructed."
There was a quaver in his voice that made Dean wonder if that had been a risky question. "You sure that's okay?"
Castiel shrugged, an attempt to be casual that failed miserably. "It's no different than using a tool to hold it back," he said, almost like he was trying to convince himself.
If Cas was good with it Dean sure as hell had no objections. "Sure." Dean walked over and moved aside the part Castiel indicated; he stayed quiet when Castiel moved his hand over another inch, even though he didn't think that was really necessary for Castiel to see.
"There," Castiel said, that faint quaver back in his voice. "Just like that."
Dean focused on keeping his eyes fixed on the engine; Cas felt like he ran a few degrees warmer than a human and all Dean could think about was that he was close enough to feel that body heat, close enough to hear him breathing. There wasn't room for the two of them to stand in front of the car without touching, especially with the wings; Castiel had to curl his left wing around Dean to fit and each inadvertent touch felt like a tiny jolt of electricity. Dean couldn't remember the last time just standing next to someone could get him hard like this.
It felt like a thousand years passed before Castiel finally said, "All right. You can let go," that low rasp in his voice hitting Dean low in his stomach. Dean let go and backed away, afraid that if he even looked at Castiel what he'd just been thinking about would be all over his face.
"Cool," he said, wiping his hands on a rag and looking at the floor. "I'm gonna head up to bed, okay Cas? You call me if you need anything, okay?"
Castiel nodded, his eyes locked on his work - although Dean thought he saw them glance his way just as he turned toward the door. The thought that Cas might be checking him out when he thought Dean wasn't looking just the way Dean did the same got Dean so hard it hurt.
Once he got back to his bedroom he stripped down and dropped to the bed, his mind full of those long fingers and white wings and the way that pale skin glowed under the shop lights. He stroked up his shaft as he imagined grabbing thick handfuls of those feathers, imagined Castiel's body arching up under his, those hands he couldn't stop staring at clenching into Dean's sheets. He pumped his fist up and down as he thought about those blue eyes going wide, that voice that had already gotten into Dean's dreams breaking on Dean's name, the low, deep moans he'd let out as Dean pushed him beyond words, right before that inhuman self-control broke and Dean made him scream, made him shake and howl as the climax rushed through him.
Dean felt his head snap back as his own orgasm hit, sending sensation through his legs and up his spine. He lay there limp and spent for a few minutes; he'd never come that hard by himself, had never even come close.
Dean closed his eyes and tried to think of anything but the beautiful, naked thing only yards away in his shop and how fucking over his head in all this he already was.
-On To Part 3-
-Back To Masterpost-
-Back To Part 1-
Author: misachan
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Warnings: Character death, dubcon, explicit sex
Word Count: 4110
Summary: Winchester Auto Body has seen better days. With their father gone and Sam away at school it's all on Dean to keep the place afloat - so it's hard for him to admit he's failing. Bills are piling up and creditors are calling but Dean knows that if he could just push a little bit harder, find a few more hours in the day he could turn it around. In fact, there's a restoration job in the shop right now that would go a long way toward solving his problems. Unfortunately, the due date is the next morning and Dean knows there's not a chance in hell of him finishing on time.
But when he wakes up the next morning the car is perfect. This becomes a pattern, Dean waking up in the morning to find work he'd left undone finished overnight until his curiosity gets the better of him; he stakes out the shop one night and finally discovers the identity of his mysterious assistant: a beautiful, winged - and naked - elf calling himself Castiel. As the two of them start working together the curiosity turns to fascination and finally to something more but there are words Castiel can't say and choices he can't make - not without consequences Dean can't understand. An AU based on the fairy tale "The Elves And The Shoemaker."
*
In Dean's own defense, he'd been planning on getting a security system forever. It made clients feel better knowing that their babies were being left in a secure shop (Dean had heard of more than one guy who set up dummy cameras to get that confidence without having to foot the bill) and installing a system would drop him down an insurance bracket. He just hadn't been able to scrape together the money until now, but with business picking up there was no real reason to keep putting things off.
So there were plenty of good reasons to set up cameras in the shop that had nothing to do with getting a glimpse of his night owl friend. Dean told himself that story all through the installation, and that he paid extra so the guys would install everything in one day was just because he wanted to minimize how long he'd have to deal with technicians stomping all over his shop and disturbing his stuff. Didn't have anything at all to do with the worry that if the job was left overnight his mysterious helper would take one look and realize what Dean was up to.
Dean told himself a lot of little fairy stories over that day. He didn't get anything done besides supervising the work and getting in everyone's way. It kept him from second guessing himself, because every time he looked at those cameras he had the worry he was killing the golden goose crept up his spine. Maybe he shouldn't be looking at this too closely. Things were actually going right for a change, the smart thing would be to just be happy with that and stop trying to create problems.
Every time that worry was about to overwhelm him he took those two little notes out of his pocket. Whoever this was, he or she hadn't needed to write anything back to him. It could have stayed a mystery, there was no reason for Mystery Whatever to even give confirmation of their existence at all. Let Dean continue to wonder if he was going crazy, sleepwalking through his shop and leaving notes for himself.
The only explanation Dean could come up with was that whoever this was wanted Dean to know who they were. Dean may have been the first to reach out, but his silent partner reached right back.
That first night Dean didn't sleep at all, too wound up wondering what was being recorded on that camera. The following morning he got up with the sun and took the tape out of the camera, rushing back to the house review it.
The fiction that the cameras had ever been about anything but catching his helpful intruder fell apart as he watched. The recording was perfectly normal until midnight; once the time clicked over to 12:00 there was a second of distortion and Dean leaned forward, his heart pounding against his ribs. Then the distortion cleared though Dean saw nothing, just the shop exactly as it had been at 11:59. He was just about to turn off the recording in disgust when he noticed something strange up at the corner of the screen.
One of the wrenches moved on its own. Dean felt his mouth hang open as machinery turned on and tools began floating in midair like they'd been possessed. He paused the picture, advanced frame by frame, but that revealed nothing; the hood of the Firebird popped open as if the car had decided it needed some air and Dean started to re-evaluate the idea that he might actually be going crazy after all.
He watched the surreal scene for a few more minutes before he finally spotted something even stranger - whatever was in the shop must have passed in front of the lights and cast a shadow on the wall. Dean knew shadows weren't the most accurate way to measure things but the shadow looked enormous, taking up the entire wall. As Dean watched, though, Dean also thought it looked human shaped, the width of the shoulders and lines of movement making Dean think it might even be man-shaped.
But not just human shaped. Dean could make out curved shapes coming from what Dean took to be its shoulders, shadows that looked almost like fins, or....
Dean leaned forward a little more, looking at the soft edges of those shadows as opposed to the more solid lines of the body, and at the way they flared out when the transmission started sparking.
Or like wings.
Dean sat for the rest of the day watching that recording, those strange shadows and hovering tools, until the recording stopped itself. Dean continued to sit in the dark room for a while afterward, remembering the way those shadows had flared out and wondering.
***
The supply closet was a tighter squeeze than Dean had expected. Short of hunkering down in the Firebird's backseat it was the only real hiding place in the shop though, and Dean endured the cramps in his shoulders and fought the urge to check his watch for the hundredth time. It had seemed like the only way when he'd come up with the plan, such as it was: whoever it was skulking around in his shop at night, he didn't show up on cameras, like some vampire from a bad B-movie. He was solid though, he cast shadows, and if Dean spent one more night not knowing exactly what was going on in his shop he thought he really would crack up.
As clear as this course of action had seemed when he'd closed himself in the closet, Dean started to feel pretty ridiculous as the minutes ticked by. Here he was, hunched over in a closet waiting to ambush some invisible thing who just appeared in his place every night and fixed cars while Dean slept. The feeling that he was asking the gift horse to open wide came over him again and Dean tried to think about what he'd do if him jumping out did scare off whoever this was. The business was finally getting back to being in the black and here he was, trying to ruin everything.
But he had to know. This had gone on too long and Dean couldn't hold out for one more day.
He checked his watch again just as the time clicked over to midnight and heard a soft fluttering sound he couldn't identify. Through the cracks around door he saw the shop lights click on but when he tried to peer through the cracks his vantage point didn't show him anything, although he could hear the scrape of metal against metal as the work started.
Well. Dean guessed it was time to go big or go home. He swung open the cabinet door and stepped out, keeping his movements quiet. The Firebird's hood was up and Dean couldn't see who was behind it - nothing but a quick flash of white. "Hey," Dean said after a few long seconds. "Who the hell are you?"
Dean heard a clatter of dropped tools as whoever was under the hood dove for cover behind the car, absolutely the last reaction Dean would have expected. "Hey," he said again, approaching the Firebird slowly. "It's okay." He saw the curve of what were unmistakably white wings come up into view and Dean stepped closer, his hands up to show they were empty. "No one's gonna hurt you, you can come out."
Finally after a few tense minutes Dean saw a head of messy dark hair peek up over the front fender, wary blue eyes watching Dean and his lips twisted into a rueful frown as those white wings curled over his shoulders. "You're not supposed to see me," he said, his voice a soft, surprisingly deep rasp.
"Yeah, well. Not knowing what was going on in my own shop was driving me nuts." The stranger's gaze dropped, as if he had to cede that point. "I'm Dean."
The other man's lips twitched up for a moment. "I know your name, Dean." He stood up and Dean took a surprised step back; he'd assumed at first that he'd just been shirtless, which would make sense considering the wings, but Dean could see now that he was absolutely stark naked. And didn't seem at all self-conscious about it. "My name is Castiel."
Dean didn't know where to look. "Um. Okay," he said, trying to force himself to stop blushing through sheer force of will. He supposed the face was safe, at least; Castiel's skin was almost inhumanely pale, like the moon at night, but he had incongruous dark stubble along his jaw. His ears tapered off to delicate points Dean couldn't stop staring at. "So, what's with the...." Dean trailed off, gesturing at his own ears.
Castiel tilted his head to the side, as if it took him a second to figure out what Dean was getting at. "I'm an elf."
Like that was a perfectly reasonable thing to say. "An...elf." Dean took another good look at him. "Elves have wings."
"Of course we do." As if Dean was the one spouting the crazy talk. Castiel picked up a screwdriver from the floor and moved to lean back under the open hood.
Dean couldn't keep the question back any more. "Why are you naked?"
Castiel glanced back at him over the hood of the car, his brows furrowed. "Because you haven't given me anything to wear."
"Oh. I mean, do you want me to...?"
"Not if you want me to finish this."
Dean nodded. Okay, that didn't make much sense but he had a naked winged elf in his shop poking at the transmission of a classic Firebird. The definition of "making sense" was going to have to do some adjusting. "Okay, but...I mean, do you want me to turn up the heat or something? The shop's kept kind of cold...."
"The cold doesn't bother me."
Dean supposed that made sense if these things walked around naked all time. "Do you guys not feel it?"
"Why would not being bothered by temperature mean I didn't feel?"
Dean saw the wings bristle as he said that, like he'd been annoyed by the question. He hoped Castiel never took up poker because those wings were the biggest tell Dean had ever seen. "How do you keep those from getting tangled in things?"
Castiel looked up at the wings, letting out a soft sigh. "They do manage to get in the way more often than I'd like."
Castiel went back to work and Dean moved to a better vantage point, leaning against the wall and watching him for a few quiet minutes. Castiel flinched back as something sparked and Dean grinned. "The transmission's a bitch, huh."
The wings folded back as he looked back up at Dean, that rueful twist back to his lips. "It has been vexing."
Dean let a few more minutes go by before working up the nerve to speak again. "So what's the deal with all this, Cas?"
Castiel looked up again. "You were in need," he said, and Dean was surprised at how glad he was that he hadn't corrected the name. "I was sent to assist you and now I'm bound to your service."
Dean didn't think he liked the way that sounded at all. "Wait. You mean you're being forced to come here?"
Castiel's head tilted to the side again, as if he didn't understand that question at all. "This is the purpose I was created for, Dean. What else would I do?"
"So what's the deal, here?" Dean said, pushing that aside. "How long will you be coming around?"
"I'm bound to you until you no long require the assistance or until you dismiss me."
"You want me to dismiss you?" He tried to ignore how his stomach dropped at that thought.
Dean was a little ashamed at how relieved he was that Castiel didn't seem to think much of the idea either. "Have I done something wrong?" he asked, blue eyes flooded with alarm.
"No! No, you've been great."
"Are you dissatisfied with my work? Could I do something better?"
"Cas, seriously, no. Hate to say it, but I think you're better at this than I am."
"Then why would you ask me that?"
Dean ran his tongue over his lips. "I'm glad for the help, don't get me wrong, but I don't want a slave either."
Castiel just gave him that confused look again. "If you dismissed me I would be bound to someone else."
Dean didn't much like the idea of that, either. "Would you rather work for someone else?"
Castiel stroked his fingertips against the Firebird's hood. "I don't like to leave work unfinished."
Dean could identify with that. "You want some help?"
Castiel shook his head. "I'm supposed to do this alone."
"Yeah, well, I'm not supposed to see you and we're talking right now."
Castiel sighed, his wings folding back in frustration again. "I have rules I have to follow, Dean."
Dean just raised an eyebrow at him. "How about I work on adjusting that front wheel alignment while you poke at the transmission some more? Or is it a hard and fast rule that I can't work on something in my own shop while you're here?"
Castiel frowned, drumming his fingers against the hood as he pondered that. "I suppose that's not explicitly forbidden."
"Cool." Dean got out the tire iron and waved Castiel back as he jacked up the car enough to get off the wheels. "How'd you learn to do all this, anyway? They have tech schools over in elf-land?"
Castiel's lips quirked up again at that. "I know what I'm required to know. I've done many things over the centuries. Taken in harvests, cobbled shoes. I spent two months in Medieval France blowing glass when the artisan who owned the shop took ill with the plague. There's a cathedral in Germany where over half the stained-glass windows were crafted by my hands. I even spent half a year illuminating manuscripts. The monk I served took me for an angel when he saw me and wouldn't be dissuaded." Dean grinned at the flash of annoyance on Castiel's face. "Many things over the centuries. I've been a cooper more times than I care to remember."
"Coopers...make barrels, right?"
Castiel nodded. "It's incredibly tedious."
Dean got a kick out of hearing this seemingly immortal thing bitch about work like any normal Joe. "Hey, the whiskey drinkers of the world salute you."
Castiel buffed a smudge off of the Firebird's hood. "I enjoy this kind of work," he said softly. "Restoring something that's been neglected to its former beauty. I find it very satisfying."
It was like finding a kindred spirit. "I hear you there." When he crouched along the other side of the car to get the second wheel off he was close enough for long pin feathers of Castiel's wing to brush against his arm. "I'm pretty sure I was two months from losing the shop before you came by," he said, not looking up. "So thanks for that."
Dean wondered if Castiel knew his wing was touching Dean. "Is your business secure now?"
Dean nodded. "Yeah. Getting there, anyway."
He looked up to see a satisfied glint in Castiel's eye. "Good."
Dean decided to press his luck and reached his arm up, just enough to intentionally brush against those white feathers. He saw Castiel's hand grip tight around the screwdriver he was holding and knew he had definitely felt that. And even better, he didn't move the wing away. Dean took his time with the wheel, not wanting to break this strange spell started by that chance contact, the silence stretching so long he startled when Castiel spoke again. "People rarely try to communicate with me. And I've never had someone try to accommodate me before."
"Yeah. I saw you had a hard time replying to that second note."
Castiel blushing was kind of awesome. "I couldn't find the right words."
"Thanks is always good."
Castiel was quite for a few seconds, like he couldn't quite find those words, either. "Thank you."
Dean wondered if he was just imagining that Castiel had intentionally brushed his wing against Dean's arm. "You're welcome, Cas."
They worked together for the next few hours in peaceful quiet. Dean didn't even notice the time passing until he heard that strange flutter of wings; he looked up to find Castiel gone, the first light of dawn streaming through the shop windows.
***
The next day at midnight Dean was waiting with two six-packs of beers when Castiel fluttered into the shop. He got a kick out of the flash of surprise on Cas' face, wondering how often something so old managed to get surprised. "Dean," he said, his wings flaring out. "I...I didn't expect you."
Dean held up one of the six packs. "It against any of those rules of yours to have a beer while you work?"
Castiel did that head tilt Dean was starting to like seeing a lot. "I don't believe so."
"Good," he said, tossing one of the cans to Cas. "Let that settle before you open it."
Castiel nodded, placing it on one of the counters before crouching beside the car. "Why did you stay up?"
Dean shrugged. "Felt like it. Couldn't sleep. Does it matter?" In truth, the harsh light of day had made Dean start to wonder if any of the previous night had ever really happened. He'd even started to call Sam to see what he thought before realizing he had no idea how to start explaining this. "Am I bugging you?"
It actually looked like Castiel took a second to consider that. "No," he finally said. "As long as you allow me to work."
"Hey, that's what we're here for, right?" Dean picked up his tools and started banging out the dents in the driver's side door and Castiel promptly went back to focusing on his task like Dean wasn't there. Which Dean didn't really mind, since it gave him the chance to take a good long look. The shock of finding Castiel in his shop the night before had made it hard to focus on anything other than Holy shit but now Dean took a careful inventory, watching the muscles move under Castiel's skin as he worked. He was the only person Dean had ever met who the shop lights actually flattered, that pale skin almost glowing under the florescent lights, a faintly inhuman luminescence. Dean liked the way the bright white feathers contrasted against that skin and the dark of his hair, casting shadows over his face that brought out the blue of his eyes.
Dean knew he was staring and had a hard time forcing himself to stop. "Hey, Cas," he said, trying to make himself focus on something else. "How many people have gotten a look at you over the years?"
Castiel frowned, tapping his wrench against the car. "A handful," he finally said. "Most people I serve are content to accept their good fortune."
Dean didn't miss the accusatory slant to the words, although he didn't think Cas was actually upset. "If most people can't be bothered to find out what's going on under their own roof they don't deserve any kind of help." He didn't add that it seemed like a waste for Castiel to look like that with no one to appreciate it. "What kind of a reaction do you get?"
"It varies. As I said, the monk began singing hosannas."
"You didn't act like you expected that from me. I ambushed you and you hit the deck."
Castiel's expression went distant in a way Dean didn't like. "Not everyone has a...positive reaction. I've learned to be cautious."
"How many times have you had people take swings at you?"
"Not many. Still, one person coming at you with a sword is more than enough. And I haven't enjoyed how common personal firearms have become over the past two centuries."
All Dean had to do was imagine how his father would have reacted to finding someone he didn't know in his shop past dark to guess how that would go. "And then after that you'd have to come right back and work for them again, huh."
Castiel shrugged. "As I said, it's rare that anyone sees me at all, let alone attempts violence."
"Still don't like it."
Castile quirked an eyebrow at Dean. "You're very concerned for my welfare."
"You saved my business. I'd be the biggest dick in the world if I wasn't."
"It's never happened before."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Then you've worked for a lot of dicks over the years, Cas." Castiel didn't answer and Dean satisfied himself with watching those long fingers of his work. "Can't get over how you don't get dirty. I work a full day and I'm covered in oil."
Castiel almost smiled at that. "My nature does have a few advantages." Dean saw him take a breath, like he'd been about to say something and thought better about it. "Could you come over here and hold this aside?" he asked after a few more minutes went by, not looking at Dean. "It's...my view is obstructed."
There was a quaver in his voice that made Dean wonder if that had been a risky question. "You sure that's okay?"
Castiel shrugged, an attempt to be casual that failed miserably. "It's no different than using a tool to hold it back," he said, almost like he was trying to convince himself.
If Cas was good with it Dean sure as hell had no objections. "Sure." Dean walked over and moved aside the part Castiel indicated; he stayed quiet when Castiel moved his hand over another inch, even though he didn't think that was really necessary for Castiel to see.
"There," Castiel said, that faint quaver back in his voice. "Just like that."
Dean focused on keeping his eyes fixed on the engine; Cas felt like he ran a few degrees warmer than a human and all Dean could think about was that he was close enough to feel that body heat, close enough to hear him breathing. There wasn't room for the two of them to stand in front of the car without touching, especially with the wings; Castiel had to curl his left wing around Dean to fit and each inadvertent touch felt like a tiny jolt of electricity. Dean couldn't remember the last time just standing next to someone could get him hard like this.
It felt like a thousand years passed before Castiel finally said, "All right. You can let go," that low rasp in his voice hitting Dean low in his stomach. Dean let go and backed away, afraid that if he even looked at Castiel what he'd just been thinking about would be all over his face.
"Cool," he said, wiping his hands on a rag and looking at the floor. "I'm gonna head up to bed, okay Cas? You call me if you need anything, okay?"
Castiel nodded, his eyes locked on his work - although Dean thought he saw them glance his way just as he turned toward the door. The thought that Cas might be checking him out when he thought Dean wasn't looking just the way Dean did the same got Dean so hard it hurt.
Once he got back to his bedroom he stripped down and dropped to the bed, his mind full of those long fingers and white wings and the way that pale skin glowed under the shop lights. He stroked up his shaft as he imagined grabbing thick handfuls of those feathers, imagined Castiel's body arching up under his, those hands he couldn't stop staring at clenching into Dean's sheets. He pumped his fist up and down as he thought about those blue eyes going wide, that voice that had already gotten into Dean's dreams breaking on Dean's name, the low, deep moans he'd let out as Dean pushed him beyond words, right before that inhuman self-control broke and Dean made him scream, made him shake and howl as the climax rushed through him.
Dean felt his head snap back as his own orgasm hit, sending sensation through his legs and up his spine. He lay there limp and spent for a few minutes; he'd never come that hard by himself, had never even come close.
Dean closed his eyes and tried to think of anything but the beautiful, naked thing only yards away in his shop and how fucking over his head in all this he already was.
-On To Part 3-
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