Fic: All That Is And Used To Be 2/9 (Supernatural; Dean/Castiel, NC-17)
Title: All That Is And Used To Be
Author: misachan
Artist: ifyouask
Fandom/Genre: Supernatural (Romance/Drama)
Pairing(s): Dean/Castiel, Sam/Jess
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2908
Warnings: Descriptions of violence, explicit sex, shameless wingkink. Brief allusions to events through S8.
Summary: Dean never even knew anyone was living in the old estate outside of town until its mysterious occupant contracts his shop for a very specific job: a custom piano bench with grooves cut into the back. He finds Castiel and his terms to be eccentric with a capital E but the money is too good to turn down and anyway, Dean can't help indulging his curiosity about the guy and his secretive, isolated life.
There are secrets that will not stay hidden and stories that refuse to be forgotten. Especially when they happen to involve Dean Winchester and the angel Castiel.
*
Dean almost didn't show up at the job site the next morning. He never had managed to get back to sleep and just walking around felt like slogging through mud, and that was even without the details of that dream sitting behind his eyes like an insistent heckler. It wasn't so much that the dream had been about a guy...okay, there was maybe a little bit to that if he was going to be honest but it wasn't just that. The much bigger issue was that having that kind of dream about someone he was going to have to see every day was just awkward as hell. Dean had slept with clients before and it always turned out bad; this had the potential to be a major windfall but if he was going to screw it up he'd rather do it by backing out than by thinking with his dick. Again.
But he'd already taken the money. Dean finally decided that he'd drive back out there and give it one day. That should be enough to tell him if that dream had just been some weird brain misfire or something he'd actually have to look out for, and if worse came to worst he could just give back the money and make a referral. And even with giving himself that pep talk the whole way to the edge of town and down that long road to the wrought iron gate Dean's palms were still sweating when he pressed the button on the intercom. A few seconds passed, long enough that Dean started to wonder if the thing was broken, then he heard Castiel's scratchy voice over the speaker. “Yes?”
Dean could swear it was like he'd never used the damn thing before. “You want me to start work you've gotta let me in first.”
“Oh.” He almost sounded surprised. “Of course.”
Dean heard a metallic creak, then the gate slowly opened inwards. “Man, the things people spend money on,” Dean said under his breath, rolling up the window and stepping on the gas. He parked his car in the covered garage - it was practically as big as the house itself - and Dean let himself stroll around for a few minutes. Castiel's car collection was even prettier than his art collection, full of beautiful muscle cars and immaculate old roadsters, all gleaming like they were new from the factory. It almost made Dean feel a little sad after a while, the thought of all these cars sitting there like museum pieces with no one to drive them. “Maybe if I ask nice Cas'll let me take you for a spin, huh girl?” he said, running one hand along the trim of a gorgeous old Firebird. It was one thing to keep a painting hanging on a wall but a good car was meant to be used.
Dean found Castiel waiting for him in the shop when he finally managed to tear himself away. “I was beginning to think you'd reconsidered.”
“Yeah, sorry. Your car collection was calling to me.”
That seemed to mollify him. “Does it meet your approval?”
“They're pretty, don't get me wrong but I always felt like cars that nice were meant to be driven, not just looked at.”
Castiel's expression closed and Dean knew insulting the boss on the first day probably wasn't the best idea he'd ever had. But hell, it was true and he'd say it again. Then to his surprise Castiel looked down at the floor, his brows furrowing almost like he was embarrassed. “I don't...actually know how.”
“Seriously? My old man started me learning how to drive when I was twelve.”
There was almost something rueful in the twist of Castiel's lips now. “Teaching me that wasn't very high on my father's list of priorities.”
This was all getting dangerously close to weird personal spaces and Dean knew he should be backing all the way up. Fuck, though, that was one of the saddest things Dean had ever heard. “I could teach you,” he said, feeling himself flush bright red when Castiel's head snapped up in surprise. Dean didn't even know why the hell he'd said that. “Taught my brother,” he said, shrugging to make it seem like no big deal. “Shouldn't take too long.”
“Would you add that to your fee?”
“Man, I'd do it just for a chance to get into one of those cars.”
“Would you like one? We can make that a bonus.”
Dean wondered what it would be like to be so rich he could just give away classic cars to people he'd just met. “Wouldn't want to make my baby jealous,” he finally said. “Noticed you didn't have any like her in there.”
“I've never found one I cared for,” he said, just dismissive enough to get Dean's hackles up. No one insulted his car, he didn't care how many zeroes were on their bank statements.
“She'll out perform anything you've got rusting away.”
“Perhaps that's the one I've been looking for, then.”
There was something almost sly in the sideways look Castiel gave him that Dean got a kick out of. He wondered when was the last time Castiel had let himself break out of his shell like this,awkward attempts at banter and all. “You don't have that much money. God doesn't have that much money.”
Castiel seemed pleased with that answer but turned away, trailing his fingertips against the top of the worktable. “I shouldn't be distracting you,” he said. “I'm sure you want to get started.” He was out of the room before Dean could say a word in response, like he was having trouble even looking at Dean. Dean shook his head as he got to laying out his tools and tried to figure out what he might have said to get that kind of reaction. Eventually when all he could up with was “Man, that guy is strange,” he stopped trying and went to work, measuring out the pieces that would become the seat of the bench and the legs over the next few days. He felt a little giddy getting to work with such nice stuff; lots of wealthy clients tried to chintz out on materials but Cas hadn't even blinked. Dean let himself indulge in another “Man, that must be nice,” moment before shaking it off and putting his goggles on. His father had taught him that it didn't matter what a job was or who it was for, you either put one hundred percent of yourself into it or you didn't even bother, and the last thing Dean needed was for his old man's ghost to show up in his dreams that night and start lecturing him.
And anyway, he'd spotted the shadow in the hallway. If Cas was going to lurk around and supervise, Dean certainly didn't want him to think he wasn't getting all the effort he'd paid for.
***
This went on without Dean commenting on it for the next few days. And actually Dean didn't mind it all that much; it was a little uncomfortable, Cas just watching him on and off as he worked - but he was the client and at least he was quiet about it. And Dean never got the feeling he was being inspected, like Castiel was waiting to catch him screwing up. Cas was just quietly watching and while Dean supposed it was a little exasperating he never really worked up the urge to tell Cas to knock it off.
Usually, anyway. Today Dean had forgotten his belt sander, his shoulders ached from hunching over the work bench and his hand was getting stiff from hand carving all of this detail. His nerves were a little shot and every little thing had the potential to set him off; Dean knew that if he didn't do something he was going to blow his temper at his lurking, eavesdropping client and that would just be bad for his business. Sam would never stop making fun of him. “Hey,” Dean said, finally setting the dowel down and raking one hand through his hair. “I know you're standing around out there, c'mere for a second.”
Castiel took a sideways step into the door frame, looking equally embarrassed and annoyed that Dean had caught him. “I didn't think you knew I was there.”
“Yeah, you're not nearly as sneaky as you think you are,” Dean said, trying to flex some of the ache out of his hand. “Hold this straight. If you're not going to let me bring along any assistants you're going to have to volunteer for the job.”
Castiel held the piece of wood like he was very concerned it might catch fire. “I...I don't know how useful I can be....”
“It's not hard, you just have to hold it. My hand's cramping up and I don't want to risk anything slipping.” Castiel nodded, getting a firmer grip. Without thinking Dean reached over and adjusted his grip, saying, “A little lower,” before feeling Castiel tense up. Dean froze for an instant then slowly moved his hand away, trying to keep the eye contact steady. “You okay?” Castiel nodded once, way too quickly; forget okay, the guy looked like he was on the verge of a full-on panic attack. “I shouldn't have done that---”
“You didn't do anything wrong,” Castiel said, closing his eyes for a moment as he visibly pulled himself together. “I apologize. I'm out of practice.”
“Out of practice with what?”
“People.” He shook his head. “Show me what to do.”
Dean walked him through the steps, waiting for Cas to nod his understanding and absolutely not touching him. And he wasn't a bad assistant, all things considered; he listened at least, which was more than Dean could say for some of the guys he'd hired over the years. “So when did you move into this old place? I'm surprised I didn't hear about it, someone buying it must have been a big deal.”
The expression on Castiel's face was almost a smile, almost but not quite and Dean didn't like it at all. “I've lived in this city longer than you have. Or just outside of it, anyway.”
“Bullshit.” Cas just looked up at him, one eyebrow raised. “Okay fine, maybe not but you didn't live here.”
“I remember where I've lived, Dean.”
“But we used to tell ghost stories about this place. We'd dare the younger kids to sneak in and spend the night on Halloween.”
That brought out a real smile on Castiel's face, if a fleeting one. “People still do. I make sure to leave the gate and doors unlocked.”
“Dude, c'mon. My brother Sam did that once, I know the place was vacant then.”
Castiel leaned against the work bench for a moment, crossing his arms. “I think I remember that,” he said, his brow furrowed in thought. “He and two other boys. I kept the lights off and turned them off whenever the clock struck the half hour, first one room, then two, until all the lights in the wing were off except the one in the room they were in. When the clock struck again I shut everything off and two of them ran. Sam was the only one who stayed the entire night that year. ” He looked right at Dean, that sly look back in his eyes. “Does that sound familiar, or am I thinking of the wrong Halloween?”
Dean actually felt a little queasy, because that sounded exactly like the story Sam had come home with that morning. “Why didn't you tell them to get the hell out?”
Castiel shrugged. “They enjoyed themselves and it was harmless. There are worse things that can happen on Halloween.”
“Yeah, but we only did that stuff because we didn't think anyone lived here.”
“I didn't want anyone to know I lived here, so that worked out for everyone.”
“Weren't your parents pissed, though?” Castiel looked away and Dean immediately wished he could take that one back. “Fuck. I'm sorry.”
“It's more of an estrangement and don't be, I'm not.” He let out a long breath. “I wanted to be left alone and letting most people believe I was a ghost in an empty museum piece accomplished that nicely. And I have plenty of resources to make sure anyone else can stay away.”
“Then why am I here?”
Castiel looked down at the half-constructed bench. “Because I needed this built and couldn't do it myself.”
And that almost made sense, except.... “So why just not commission it out and have it delivered? Why the stipulation that I have to do everything here.” Castiel didn't answer and he didn't look at Dean. “You look like you're about the same age as me, give or take. How come I never saw you at school, or even just around?”
“I was educated elsewhere,” he said, a faintly bitter inflection to the words.
Dean was sure he didn't want the answer to his next question. “How long has it been since you've been out of this house, Cas?”
Castiel didn't say anything for a few long, long moments, which Dean took as good of an answer as any. He'd turned away to try to let the awkward moment settle when Castiel spoke up again, his voice dry as gravel. “Why did you call me that?”
Dean winced. He hadn't even realized that had slipped out. “Sorry. I won't again.”
“I didn't....” Castiel shook his head again. “If I make you uncomfortable I'll free you from the work site provision.”
“Dude. Did I say I was uncomfortable? I've got no problems being here. And at this point it would be a huge pain in the ass to transfer everything to my shop anyway. Okay?” Castiel nodded, looking like he was starting to get his equilibrium back. “You're right though, you're definitely out of practice.”
“I'm not sure I was ever actually in practice,” Castiel said, the almost rueful tone in his voice letting Dean know they'd made it out of that rough patch. “Tell me about your family. Your brother.”
Dean grinned, “Yeah, what a brat he is. He's out in California.”
“How did your parents meet?”
“Huh?”
“I'm very curious.”
Dean shrugged. “Sometime before my dad went off to 'Nam. It's funny, they always said they couldn't stand each other at first and then a few months go by and they can't stay away from each other.”
“I find that very interesting.”
“That's...kind of weird.”
“I didn't mean...,” Castiel said, visibly flailing for a change in topic. “You and your brother seem close.”
“Yeah,” Dean said, leaning back against the counter. “Always us against the world in a way, y'know?” Dean winced. “Nah, probably you don't.”
“Why 'against the world'?”
Dean shook his head. “Don't know, really. I mean, Mom and Dad didn't have the perfect marriage or anything, but it's not like anything bad ever really happened. It just felt normal that way.” He wished he'd brought some beers. “Sam's got this girl he's been with since college, so she's practically family. Sam even bought a ring for her but he keeps chickening out when it comes time to pop the question.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Hell if I know, I've gotten on his case about it often enough. He said he gets a bad feeling when he thinks about it, like something bad's going to happen.”
That seemed to bother Castiel for reasons Dean couldn't fathom. “Can we continue the lesson?”
Dean grinned at that; throwing in a little Woodshop 101 would make the job take longer but not by too much, and he'd always gotten a kick out of seeing rich guys getting their hands dirty. “Hey,” he said, after a few quiet minutes. “Sorry I used to throw rocks at your windows when I was a kid. I wouldn't have done it if I'd known anyone lived here.”
“Windows are easily fixed.” The corners of his lips tipped up. “I still have some of the rocks.”
Dean wondered if Castiel had them displayed somewhere, maybe next to some more ridiculously expensive paintings. After letting a few more minutes pass Dean carefully reached out to adjust his grip again, deliberately this time and going slowly enough that Castiel could pull away if he wanted to.
That he didn't made Dean's heart pound; he couldn't remember the last time just touching someone had gotten under his skin like this, not even as a teenager, and didn't know what was up with him. He held the contact a few seconds longer than necessary and for the rest of the day kept noticing Castiel's hands, long slim fingers. He tried not to think about what he'd like Castiel to do with those fingers and knew what he'd be dreaming about that night.
*
- On To Chapter 3 -
- Back To Masterpost -
- Back To Chapter 1 -
Author: misachan
Artist: ifyouask
Fandom/Genre: Supernatural (Romance/Drama)
Pairing(s): Dean/Castiel, Sam/Jess
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2908
Warnings: Descriptions of violence, explicit sex, shameless wingkink. Brief allusions to events through S8.
Summary: Dean never even knew anyone was living in the old estate outside of town until its mysterious occupant contracts his shop for a very specific job: a custom piano bench with grooves cut into the back. He finds Castiel and his terms to be eccentric with a capital E but the money is too good to turn down and anyway, Dean can't help indulging his curiosity about the guy and his secretive, isolated life.
There are secrets that will not stay hidden and stories that refuse to be forgotten. Especially when they happen to involve Dean Winchester and the angel Castiel.
*
Dean almost didn't show up at the job site the next morning. He never had managed to get back to sleep and just walking around felt like slogging through mud, and that was even without the details of that dream sitting behind his eyes like an insistent heckler. It wasn't so much that the dream had been about a guy...okay, there was maybe a little bit to that if he was going to be honest but it wasn't just that. The much bigger issue was that having that kind of dream about someone he was going to have to see every day was just awkward as hell. Dean had slept with clients before and it always turned out bad; this had the potential to be a major windfall but if he was going to screw it up he'd rather do it by backing out than by thinking with his dick. Again.
But he'd already taken the money. Dean finally decided that he'd drive back out there and give it one day. That should be enough to tell him if that dream had just been some weird brain misfire or something he'd actually have to look out for, and if worse came to worst he could just give back the money and make a referral. And even with giving himself that pep talk the whole way to the edge of town and down that long road to the wrought iron gate Dean's palms were still sweating when he pressed the button on the intercom. A few seconds passed, long enough that Dean started to wonder if the thing was broken, then he heard Castiel's scratchy voice over the speaker. “Yes?”
Dean could swear it was like he'd never used the damn thing before. “You want me to start work you've gotta let me in first.”
“Oh.” He almost sounded surprised. “Of course.”
Dean heard a metallic creak, then the gate slowly opened inwards. “Man, the things people spend money on,” Dean said under his breath, rolling up the window and stepping on the gas. He parked his car in the covered garage - it was practically as big as the house itself - and Dean let himself stroll around for a few minutes. Castiel's car collection was even prettier than his art collection, full of beautiful muscle cars and immaculate old roadsters, all gleaming like they were new from the factory. It almost made Dean feel a little sad after a while, the thought of all these cars sitting there like museum pieces with no one to drive them. “Maybe if I ask nice Cas'll let me take you for a spin, huh girl?” he said, running one hand along the trim of a gorgeous old Firebird. It was one thing to keep a painting hanging on a wall but a good car was meant to be used.
Dean found Castiel waiting for him in the shop when he finally managed to tear himself away. “I was beginning to think you'd reconsidered.”
“Yeah, sorry. Your car collection was calling to me.”
That seemed to mollify him. “Does it meet your approval?”
“They're pretty, don't get me wrong but I always felt like cars that nice were meant to be driven, not just looked at.”
Castiel's expression closed and Dean knew insulting the boss on the first day probably wasn't the best idea he'd ever had. But hell, it was true and he'd say it again. Then to his surprise Castiel looked down at the floor, his brows furrowing almost like he was embarrassed. “I don't...actually know how.”
“Seriously? My old man started me learning how to drive when I was twelve.”
There was almost something rueful in the twist of Castiel's lips now. “Teaching me that wasn't very high on my father's list of priorities.”
This was all getting dangerously close to weird personal spaces and Dean knew he should be backing all the way up. Fuck, though, that was one of the saddest things Dean had ever heard. “I could teach you,” he said, feeling himself flush bright red when Castiel's head snapped up in surprise. Dean didn't even know why the hell he'd said that. “Taught my brother,” he said, shrugging to make it seem like no big deal. “Shouldn't take too long.”
“Would you add that to your fee?”
“Man, I'd do it just for a chance to get into one of those cars.”
“Would you like one? We can make that a bonus.”
Dean wondered what it would be like to be so rich he could just give away classic cars to people he'd just met. “Wouldn't want to make my baby jealous,” he finally said. “Noticed you didn't have any like her in there.”
“I've never found one I cared for,” he said, just dismissive enough to get Dean's hackles up. No one insulted his car, he didn't care how many zeroes were on their bank statements.
“She'll out perform anything you've got rusting away.”
“Perhaps that's the one I've been looking for, then.”
There was something almost sly in the sideways look Castiel gave him that Dean got a kick out of. He wondered when was the last time Castiel had let himself break out of his shell like this,awkward attempts at banter and all. “You don't have that much money. God doesn't have that much money.”
Castiel seemed pleased with that answer but turned away, trailing his fingertips against the top of the worktable. “I shouldn't be distracting you,” he said. “I'm sure you want to get started.” He was out of the room before Dean could say a word in response, like he was having trouble even looking at Dean. Dean shook his head as he got to laying out his tools and tried to figure out what he might have said to get that kind of reaction. Eventually when all he could up with was “Man, that guy is strange,” he stopped trying and went to work, measuring out the pieces that would become the seat of the bench and the legs over the next few days. He felt a little giddy getting to work with such nice stuff; lots of wealthy clients tried to chintz out on materials but Cas hadn't even blinked. Dean let himself indulge in another “Man, that must be nice,” moment before shaking it off and putting his goggles on. His father had taught him that it didn't matter what a job was or who it was for, you either put one hundred percent of yourself into it or you didn't even bother, and the last thing Dean needed was for his old man's ghost to show up in his dreams that night and start lecturing him.
And anyway, he'd spotted the shadow in the hallway. If Cas was going to lurk around and supervise, Dean certainly didn't want him to think he wasn't getting all the effort he'd paid for.
***
This went on without Dean commenting on it for the next few days. And actually Dean didn't mind it all that much; it was a little uncomfortable, Cas just watching him on and off as he worked - but he was the client and at least he was quiet about it. And Dean never got the feeling he was being inspected, like Castiel was waiting to catch him screwing up. Cas was just quietly watching and while Dean supposed it was a little exasperating he never really worked up the urge to tell Cas to knock it off.
Usually, anyway. Today Dean had forgotten his belt sander, his shoulders ached from hunching over the work bench and his hand was getting stiff from hand carving all of this detail. His nerves were a little shot and every little thing had the potential to set him off; Dean knew that if he didn't do something he was going to blow his temper at his lurking, eavesdropping client and that would just be bad for his business. Sam would never stop making fun of him. “Hey,” Dean said, finally setting the dowel down and raking one hand through his hair. “I know you're standing around out there, c'mere for a second.”
Castiel took a sideways step into the door frame, looking equally embarrassed and annoyed that Dean had caught him. “I didn't think you knew I was there.”
“Yeah, you're not nearly as sneaky as you think you are,” Dean said, trying to flex some of the ache out of his hand. “Hold this straight. If you're not going to let me bring along any assistants you're going to have to volunteer for the job.”
Castiel held the piece of wood like he was very concerned it might catch fire. “I...I don't know how useful I can be....”
“It's not hard, you just have to hold it. My hand's cramping up and I don't want to risk anything slipping.” Castiel nodded, getting a firmer grip. Without thinking Dean reached over and adjusted his grip, saying, “A little lower,” before feeling Castiel tense up. Dean froze for an instant then slowly moved his hand away, trying to keep the eye contact steady. “You okay?” Castiel nodded once, way too quickly; forget okay, the guy looked like he was on the verge of a full-on panic attack. “I shouldn't have done that---”
“You didn't do anything wrong,” Castiel said, closing his eyes for a moment as he visibly pulled himself together. “I apologize. I'm out of practice.”
“Out of practice with what?”
“People.” He shook his head. “Show me what to do.”
Dean walked him through the steps, waiting for Cas to nod his understanding and absolutely not touching him. And he wasn't a bad assistant, all things considered; he listened at least, which was more than Dean could say for some of the guys he'd hired over the years. “So when did you move into this old place? I'm surprised I didn't hear about it, someone buying it must have been a big deal.”
The expression on Castiel's face was almost a smile, almost but not quite and Dean didn't like it at all. “I've lived in this city longer than you have. Or just outside of it, anyway.”
“Bullshit.” Cas just looked up at him, one eyebrow raised. “Okay fine, maybe not but you didn't live here.”
“I remember where I've lived, Dean.”
“But we used to tell ghost stories about this place. We'd dare the younger kids to sneak in and spend the night on Halloween.”
That brought out a real smile on Castiel's face, if a fleeting one. “People still do. I make sure to leave the gate and doors unlocked.”
“Dude, c'mon. My brother Sam did that once, I know the place was vacant then.”
Castiel leaned against the work bench for a moment, crossing his arms. “I think I remember that,” he said, his brow furrowed in thought. “He and two other boys. I kept the lights off and turned them off whenever the clock struck the half hour, first one room, then two, until all the lights in the wing were off except the one in the room they were in. When the clock struck again I shut everything off and two of them ran. Sam was the only one who stayed the entire night that year. ” He looked right at Dean, that sly look back in his eyes. “Does that sound familiar, or am I thinking of the wrong Halloween?”
Dean actually felt a little queasy, because that sounded exactly like the story Sam had come home with that morning. “Why didn't you tell them to get the hell out?”
Castiel shrugged. “They enjoyed themselves and it was harmless. There are worse things that can happen on Halloween.”
“Yeah, but we only did that stuff because we didn't think anyone lived here.”
“I didn't want anyone to know I lived here, so that worked out for everyone.”
“Weren't your parents pissed, though?” Castiel looked away and Dean immediately wished he could take that one back. “Fuck. I'm sorry.”
“It's more of an estrangement and don't be, I'm not.” He let out a long breath. “I wanted to be left alone and letting most people believe I was a ghost in an empty museum piece accomplished that nicely. And I have plenty of resources to make sure anyone else can stay away.”
“Then why am I here?”
Castiel looked down at the half-constructed bench. “Because I needed this built and couldn't do it myself.”
And that almost made sense, except.... “So why just not commission it out and have it delivered? Why the stipulation that I have to do everything here.” Castiel didn't answer and he didn't look at Dean. “You look like you're about the same age as me, give or take. How come I never saw you at school, or even just around?”
“I was educated elsewhere,” he said, a faintly bitter inflection to the words.
Dean was sure he didn't want the answer to his next question. “How long has it been since you've been out of this house, Cas?”
Castiel didn't say anything for a few long, long moments, which Dean took as good of an answer as any. He'd turned away to try to let the awkward moment settle when Castiel spoke up again, his voice dry as gravel. “Why did you call me that?”
Dean winced. He hadn't even realized that had slipped out. “Sorry. I won't again.”
“I didn't....” Castiel shook his head again. “If I make you uncomfortable I'll free you from the work site provision.”
“Dude. Did I say I was uncomfortable? I've got no problems being here. And at this point it would be a huge pain in the ass to transfer everything to my shop anyway. Okay?” Castiel nodded, looking like he was starting to get his equilibrium back. “You're right though, you're definitely out of practice.”
“I'm not sure I was ever actually in practice,” Castiel said, the almost rueful tone in his voice letting Dean know they'd made it out of that rough patch. “Tell me about your family. Your brother.”
Dean grinned, “Yeah, what a brat he is. He's out in California.”
“How did your parents meet?”
“Huh?”
“I'm very curious.”
Dean shrugged. “Sometime before my dad went off to 'Nam. It's funny, they always said they couldn't stand each other at first and then a few months go by and they can't stay away from each other.”
“I find that very interesting.”
“That's...kind of weird.”
“I didn't mean...,” Castiel said, visibly flailing for a change in topic. “You and your brother seem close.”
“Yeah,” Dean said, leaning back against the counter. “Always us against the world in a way, y'know?” Dean winced. “Nah, probably you don't.”
“Why 'against the world'?”
Dean shook his head. “Don't know, really. I mean, Mom and Dad didn't have the perfect marriage or anything, but it's not like anything bad ever really happened. It just felt normal that way.” He wished he'd brought some beers. “Sam's got this girl he's been with since college, so she's practically family. Sam even bought a ring for her but he keeps chickening out when it comes time to pop the question.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Hell if I know, I've gotten on his case about it often enough. He said he gets a bad feeling when he thinks about it, like something bad's going to happen.”
That seemed to bother Castiel for reasons Dean couldn't fathom. “Can we continue the lesson?”
Dean grinned at that; throwing in a little Woodshop 101 would make the job take longer but not by too much, and he'd always gotten a kick out of seeing rich guys getting their hands dirty. “Hey,” he said, after a few quiet minutes. “Sorry I used to throw rocks at your windows when I was a kid. I wouldn't have done it if I'd known anyone lived here.”
“Windows are easily fixed.” The corners of his lips tipped up. “I still have some of the rocks.”
Dean wondered if Castiel had them displayed somewhere, maybe next to some more ridiculously expensive paintings. After letting a few more minutes pass Dean carefully reached out to adjust his grip again, deliberately this time and going slowly enough that Castiel could pull away if he wanted to.
That he didn't made Dean's heart pound; he couldn't remember the last time just touching someone had gotten under his skin like this, not even as a teenager, and didn't know what was up with him. He held the contact a few seconds longer than necessary and for the rest of the day kept noticing Castiel's hands, long slim fingers. He tried not to think about what he'd like Castiel to do with those fingers and knew what he'd be dreaming about that night.
*
- On To Chapter 3 -
- Back To Masterpost -
- Back To Chapter 1 -