(no subject)
Title: The Babysitter
Author: nileflood
Fandom: Supernatural
Warnings: PG-13; under-age Dean (he's 17) with adult-Castiel, under-age drinking
Pairings: Dean/Castiel, mentions of John/Kate
Summary: The word is out around town that the Winchester kids are a baby-sitters worst nightmare, and it's impossible for John to find anyone to take care of his boys before Poker Night. At his wit's end, Bobby puts him in touch with a strange man who looks like an accountant. He's apparently a tutor, but John doesn't care as long as he watches Sam and Adam on Friday night.
Author's Notes: Written for bellacatbee to help her recover from her cold
There were very few babysitters who would dare come back to the Winchester household. If it wasn’t Dean’s refusal to help out in anyway (because, he said, he was too old for a sitter, and he could look after his brothers better than anyone) or because he hit on every girl that stepped over the threshold. Or it was because they ended up in the middle of a prank war, or because Adam geeked out at them or Sam blew something up with the chemistry set he’d got at Christmas or because more than one of those things happened in the space of two hours. No sane woman would put herself through that, no matter how much they wanted the cash.
In fact, john Winchester knew there was probably some internet chat-thingy out there, somewhere their local babysitters all got together and discussed their work and there were probably warnings to those who had never sat the Winchester boys before. In short, his boys had earned themselves a reputation that had effectively killed John’s social life.
But there was no way he was giving up Poker Night. He might have resigned himself to hardly ever going out to see Kate, or even driving up to the Roadhouse, he might have completely given up on the idea of fishing trips with Bobby but there were some things that a man could not give up without losing part of himself. Poker Night was where John Winchester drew the line.
He started looking for a sitter a week before hand. But his advert in the paper got no reply, and the hurriedly written note on the local notice board only got one call, and as soon as he answered the phone Winchester- the girl was clearly backtracking- saying she couldn’t do the date even before John had given it to her.
In the end he was desperate, completely desperate, enough to call Bobby and say that he might not make it-not if he he couldn’t find someone to watch Sammy and Adam- when Bobby muttered he might now someone who would put up with the boys for the night. He hung up then, promising to call back. And he did, with a number. Not a regular sitter, but someone trustworthy that he knew, someone that would be happy to do a favour and John jumped at the chance. True, it was sort of weird to be calling a sitter, and not be called, but Bobby’s information was always good. It was more than worth a try.
A man with a husky voice answered the phone, probably the sitter’s boyfriend or husband, John guessed. “Can I speak to... Cas?”
“Castiel Novak speaking.” The man said, and then pressed on as John did his double-take, clearly a little perturbed by the silence on the line. “How is it I can help you?”
It was enough to jerk John back into reality, out of his moment of confusion and he cleared his throat. “I’m John Winchester. Bobby Singer told me to give you a call. He... I was hoping you could watch my two sons for me, on Friday-Saturday night. They’re thirteen and seven.”
Castiel paused. “I do not child-mind very often. Mostly I tutor...” He said it as if he was weary, and for a moment John groaned inwardly. Even Bobby’s contacts had heard of the Winchester tribe of out-of-control children and were trying to back out. “But I would be happy to help you. Should I send over some references? I can email them to you.”
References? John had never taken references for sitters before. He just discussed money and times and house-rules and let them get on with it. Then again, most of his sitters were female high-school seniors earning a bit of extra money before college. “References would be good. You’ll... have to use my son’s email address. I don’t have one but he’ll... yeah, send it over.”
Everything checked out. John did his own homework, called some of the people on the list, all of whom seemed perfectly happy with Castiel Novak. True he wasn’t a teenage girl, or a professional nanny or something, but that didn’t seem to be a problem. So on Friday night, at seven o’clock on the dot, a strange car pulled up outside the Winchester house. It was battered, nowhere near as loved as John’s own car, but somehow it seemed to suit the man that climbed out. It was a beige colour, and Castiel Novak was certainly... a beige sort of man. It wasn’t just the trench-coat, but it was the plain cheap suit and the five-o’clock-shadow and the crooked tie that just seemed to was the man out. But when John greeted him, he didn’t seem tired or malicious, only... plain. Sort of non-descript. That was just fine though. He was a sitter, he was there, and John had two crates of beer in the boot of the Impala and he had to get across town to Bobby’s place.
He ran through the last couple of instructions, shouted for Sam and Adam to come downstairs and say hi, and then he was out the door. Sure, he was a little worried that a night with the Winchester boys would scar the man emotionally; he didn’t seem the sort that really could deal with troublemakers, but that wasn’t John’s problem. John’s problem would be Crowley, and whether or not the slimy Brit would be cheating again.
***
Castiel watched the man head out the door with a slight sense of foreboding. But the house was nice, the neighbourhood was good, even if it wasn’t the best, and the boys he had been sent to watch did not seem complete horrors. True, he hadn’t yet met them, but from his experience, the children who were not screaming and shouting and running all over the house didn’t tend to be troublesome.
He eased off his coat, hanging it over the banister and glancing about. The kitchen was at the end of the entrance hall, the living room through that arch, and the TV had been left on. He had marking to do, and doing it now would probably be best, but he was not going to leave the TV on unnecessarily, it was wasteful.
Castiel didn’t expect there to be a young man sat on the sofa sipping a beer. He wasn’t a child, not at all, but he wasn’t a man yet. On the cusp really, but from his pose he clearly thought he was already there. The only issue was that he hadn’t been told there would be anyone else in the house, and that put him on his guard. At least the young man hadn’t seen him yet, his attention still on the medical drama on the screen. That was what he assumed it was, although the flash of cleavage across the screen did make him wonder, and feel more than a little uncomfortable.
“What are you watching?”
That made the other turn his head, sitting up from his lounging position, his feet suddenly off the coffee table. When his eyes moved over the man who’d addressed him though, the young man seemed to wonder why he’d bothered. “Doctor Sexy, duh.”
Castiel had no idea what that was, he didn’t watch television himself, and he wasn’t going to try to pretend. “And is that suitable for your age-group?”
“It’s not a porno, if that’s what you mean.” Came the reply, and the young man set down the beer-can and got to his feet. He was a good inch taller than Castiel, who had never thought of himself as short. “I’m Dean. You must be the babysitter.” He looked him up, and down, and then gave a cocky grin, “You’re not exactly what I was expecting.”
Exactly what was meant by that Castiel didn’t find out, as it was at that moment as two younger boys appeared, coming down the stairs like a herd of elephants on roller-skates. One, a smaller, thinner boy with short hair and wide eyes landed with a thump on the bottom step just as Castiel and Dean arrived out of the living room, another boy, tall with unkempt long hair jumping over his fallen brother.
“Running down stairs is never appropriate, boys.” Castiel said, although it was probably not the best way to introduce himself. “I am Castiel Novak and I will be looking after you this evening while your father is out. You may call me Castiel or Mr Novak, whichever you prefer.”
“Castiel?” The smaller of the two said, picking himself up, “What if the building was on fire?”
“Then you would certainly not run. You would fall, endangering others, or injuring yourself. You walk calmly following the safest route out of the building. Have you not done fire-drills at school, Adam?”
Adam made a face, not answering but Dean laughed, grinning. “Well, Mr Novak, that certainly told them.” And then he was striding off, back to his show. Castiel tried to pay him no mind, but he found himself watching the retreating figure until he was once more slumped down on the sofa.
“Dad would have got Dean to watch us. But he gets bored and goes out most of the time. Or would have done, if Dad hadn’t taken the car.” Sam explained, Adam already having headed back upstairs. Despite his initial impression of the boy- inspired by his wild hair and too-short trousers (clearly he’d just had a growth spurt) but Sam was, thankfully, well spoken and apparently thoughtful. “Dad said he’d left money for pizza. But can we have Thai instead?”
Castiel made a face. Perhaps the boys were allowed a treat, as their father was out and this was the first meeting with a new child-minder, something to sweeten the deal and make them feel a little better. But Castiel doubted that. There were a pile of well-thumbed take-away menus on the hall table by the phone, and that made Castiel wonder how much of their diet consisted of pizza and tacos and burgers. It wasn’t healthy.
“Why don’t we make something tonight?” He asked, and from the living room, even over the noise of Doctor Sexy, Castiel heard Dean snort derisively. Sam however, seemed keener.
***
Sam was working on his homework, balancing the textbook on his knee, tongue between his teeth as he wrote. He looked like such a dork. But Dean had promised not to be a jerk to his brothers that evening, and John had promised him the use of the Impala for a whole weekend if he got no negative reports back. So at the end of Doctor Sexy, Dean had to go find himself some other entertainment. Shutting himself in his room with a copy of Busty Asian Beauties was one possibility, but it didn’t really appeal all that much. Not when there was the noise of pots and pans in the kitchen, and a new babysitter to annoy.
Maybe John thought that Dean wouldn’t tease a guy. Maybe he thought Castiel was too old for Dean to bother with. But neither of those two things were true. Castiel was a dude, but a dude who looked after kids and made supper and who had insisted Dean use a glass and a coaster. He wasn’t a guy like John, or Bobby, or any of the other men that Dean really knew. He was... interesting.
Very interesting. Although Dean wasn’t about to say so out loud. He moved into the kitchen, leaning against the fridge as Castiel chopped vegetables at the counter. He was wearing a look of intense concentration, his blue eyes almost fierce and Dean found himself focusing on the expression on the man’s face as he worked. It was warm, it had been all day, all week, and Castiel was still in that button-up and those suit-slacks, a skillet on the highest heat by his elbow. It was no wonder the man looked warm, his mouth open slightly, lips parted and red and slightly wet. Dean was feeling a little warm too.
It wasn’t that Dean meant to notice those things. Sure, he usually checked out the girl sitters his dad hired, not just boobs and butt but eyes and mouth and hands and the rest. And maybe he gets some confused feelings about Doctor Sexy, and maybe he likes looking over the other guys on the football team. Maybe he’s done more than that before, but that’s his own business. He just didn’t think his attention would focus in on the same points on this guy who was, what, thirty?
Good looking for thirty though.
“Can I help you, Dean?”
“No. I was just watching you.” He replied, and then grinned, stepping a little closer. “I was enjoying it.”
Castiel blushed. Dean hadn’t ever seen a grown man blush. It made the grin stretch a little wider, and that was clearly when Castiel noticed what was going on. The blush grew even redder, and then Castiel turned away, tipping the vegetables into the skillet and trying not to look at Dean anymore.
“I’m only cooking. It is hardly interesting.”
“I agree. The cooking is boring. You are worth watching.” And he stepped closer again, right into Castiel’s personal space, so close that he could smell the fresh o-zone smell that must have been his cologne or something, could feel the heat of the stove prickling up against his arm. Castiel tried to back up again, bumping into the corner of the counter.
“Dean, I am trying to prepare a meal for your brothers and if you do not leave me be it will burn and-“ Castiel said, blushing again, although he stopped speaking when Dean found the stove control and turned the gas off.
“No one’s gonna get burned, Cas.” He said, voice a little deeper, glancing up and down Castiel’s frame. Maybe with a girl he would have been more subtle. But most sitters were a little worldlier than Castiel Novak. “This must be boring for you. Why don’t you send Sam and Adam to bed early?”
That made Cas swallow. Dean thought he looked, momentarily, interested. At least, his eyes flickered downwards, to where his hips and Dean’s were only an inch or so apart.
Then there were hands on his chest, over his pectorals and Dean liked that touch, the shot of fire that went down his spine and stirred his cock. He thought Castiel wanted it, but he didn’t expect the man to be that forward. Apart from the hands didn’t move, didn’t pull him in, but rather, they pushed him away. Gentle, but insistent. “Dean. This is highly inappropriate. I am here to look after yours brothers, not entertain your appetites.”
***
Dean stepped away then, a confused look on his handsome features. He was aesthetic, Castiel was not unaware of that, and in a few more years Dean would be a fine young man, one who hopefully would have got over his urge to bed whoever he came into contact with. But in the meantime, Castiel meant what he had said. He was not a character in pornography, ready and willing to be seduced. He was there to look after Dean’s siblings, and he would do that. To encourage Dean’s misplaced and all-too-sudden advances was wrong, fundamentally, and Castiel meant to put a stop to it sooner, rather than later.
The sudden loss of warmth felt horrible, but Castiel knew that was merely his body reacting. It had been a long time. Castiel was no animal however, he did not need to jump at whatever opportunity for intimacy presented itself. And he would not.
“Yeah...” Dean was saying. He wasn’t running away though, which Castiel had expected. He had imagined that Dean would stomp off and try and pretend that it had never happened, the rejection of his advances. But he didn’t. He seemed to... accept what Castiel had said. That was rare, and Castiel... found himself appreciating it. “Sorry. You’re right. Er... I... I don’t know how to cook. But I’ll help. I’ll find some plates or something.”
“You can’t cook?” Castiel replied, a little surprised, although he didn’t know why. It made sense; Dean wasn’t exactly the domestic type. “Then we’ll teach you. It’s just egg-fried rice, but it’s a good starting point.”
It was a good starting point. Easy and quick and something Dean could make himself or his brothers and they had most of the ingredients about in the cupboards and the icebox. Dean didn’t really need to be taught either, he was a smart boy, good with his hands and logical, he just needed to be told what needed to be thrown in the pan when, and he got on with it. It was Castiel that found the plates and laid the table and put a pitcher of water out. The Dean standing attentively at the stove was certainly not the same Dean who had, only an hour or so before, been sat slurping beer in front of the TV.
“I think I may have judged you too harshly, Dean...” Castiel began, as he set down the four plates and tidied away the bits of eggshell. He didn’t get the opportunity to go on though, because at that point Adam put his head around the door. He was covered in what Castiel supposed was flour, although it might have been talc, his hair stood up in every direction. It wasn’t coming off, at least, and the boy did look ravenous. “Smells good and we’re hungry. Can we eat now?” He asked, just as Dean began piling food onto plates.
Castiel wanted to let the boy get changed, but Adam’s stomach rumbled noisily. He gestured Adam in and within a heart-beat both Adam and Sam crashed into the kitchen, cutlery clattering as they ate like condemned men, making appreciative noises. Castiel ate far more slowly, a forkful after measured forkful, until he paused, the sensation of eyes on him.
He should have known it was Dean; the other two were too interested in their suppers. He was more surprised by the look he was getting. There was something smouldering in there somewhere, but Dean seemed more... pleased with him than anything, as if somehow Castiel had proved himself. Castiel of course had nothing to prove but he returned the smile all the same.
Dean did the washing up afterwards. Castiel was grateful for that, because Adam had apparently been conducting experiments in the upstairs bathroom with floor and water and the mixture covered the tiled walls and the bath-tub. He had no choice but to hose both boy and bath down. At least there was no carpet for it to have tried into was his mantra as Adam splashed about and soaked Castiel’s shirt. It was impossible to be mad though when Adam grinned so widely.
Sam had settled himself down with a book by the time Adam was ready for bed, silently and intently soaking in whatever it was. He murmured his goodnight as Adam curled himself up in the blanket, and Castiel left them to it as he switched off the light, the only glow in the room from Sam’s reading lamp.
He turned as the door shut, Dean stood there behind him. “Most of the time they kick and scream at bedtime. Adam more than Sam. Wants to stay up with the grown-ups.” He muttered, before smiling and adding, “Must be the lack of additives in his dinner.”
There was something in the air at that moment, some sort of tension had melted away. There wasn’t any light in the hall-way, just the glow from the lights on the stairs and the bathroom, and it threw their shadows in strange patterns across the walls. Castiel could feel himself blushing again as Dean stepped closer again, but he didn’t try to pull away.
“I wanted to thank you, for the meal. It was really good.” Dean was saying, although Castiel didn’t know why. Dean had done the hard bit, had actually cooked it all. Castiel had just chopped vegetables and microwaved rice but...
But it was hard to think, never mind say any of that with Dean so close. He smelt good, like the kitchen and water and engine oil and leather, smells that alone Castiel didn’t like, found unpleasantly earthy but on Dean they worked. They smelt deep, real. He was still too young, far too young and Castiel was too old but Dean was leaning down, his hand moving to curl his fingers in the dark hair at the nape of Castiel’s neck...
And Castiel closed his eyes. It was wrong, and he knew it but once, just once, he was going to do something he knew wasn’t exactly good. But it was completely right.
The kiss didn’t come though. He wanted it, but instead of Dean’s mouth on his there was a sudden noise of surprise and a laugh.
“Cas, you’re soaking wet.” Dean said, quieting himself down again, glancing towards his brother’s rooms. “Come on. You can borrow one of my shirts.”
Castiel wasn’t given time to protest, simply led to another door, one covered in a Metallica poster. He knew of Metallica, vaguely, but not enough to even try to make conversation. Dean didn’t seem to care anyway, leaving Cas stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, on the small area of the floor that was free from piles of magazines of cars and music and... naked women. Castiel didn’t know what he’d expected, but he didn’t expect Dean to go to his closet and pull out a shirt. A t-shirt, in truth, held out to him. It was dark, and probably had once had some sort of design that had peeled and faded over time. Castiel didn’t mind though, because the way Dean looked at him now made his stomach flip. He’d never felt the desire to recapture his youth, to return to his adolescence or try to be a young man again, but now, suddenly, he wished he was younger.
He wasn’t about to strip out of his shirt, soaked as it was, in front of Dean. He simply couldn’t. He could imagine Dean, lithe and well-muscled, toned and god-like, like some Greek hero. Castiel wasn’t like that. He just held the t-shirt, thumbs smoothing over the soft cotton as Dean stood there. Hopeful. It took a moment before he seemed to get the message.
“I’ll... meet you downstairs.” He said, and disappeared, shutting the door with a faint click behind him. Castiel waited a moment longer, until he heard footsteps going down the stairs. Then he pulled off the shirt, finding a hanger to put it on and let it dry somewhere out of the way. He didn’t stop or pause to glance over Dean’s things, to flick through the journal on the desk or open the drawers. His brother may have done, but Gabriel had always been less than honest. He left the room exactly as he found it, and went down to join Dean in the living room.
“Cas? There’s a Doctor Sexy re-run on... would you like to watch it with me?” Dean asked, sitting up straight on the sofa, one arm curled around its back. Castiel was about to say no, remembering the amount of flesh he’d seen before but... but he found he couldn’t say no.
“I’d love to, Dean.” And with that he settled next to the green-eyed man, getting comfortable and focusing on the TV. He watched, for a few minutes, and then, quietly, but with no small amount of embarrassment, cleared his throat. “Dean, I have no idea what’s going on.” He admitted, expecting some sort of rebuke for interrupting.
But Dean only smiled. “Well, this is only the second season, so not much has happened. But that’s Natasha, she was going to marry Hugo before it turned out that Hugo and Colette, that’s Colette, had been having an affair before Hugo’s divorce...”
***
It was gone 3am when John arrived home. He could have stayed out later, but eventually the guilt would have driven him back home. He knew it wasn’t fair, that he shouldn’t leave a man like Castiel Novak with the Winchester boys. The man would have a breakdown and end up a sobering mess. Besides, Crowley was winning again and John hated to see the man win anything.
He let himself in, unlocking the front door and shrugging off his coat. There was the faint hum of the television from the living room, not static as there generally was when someone had left it on, but the soft murmur of voices, a group in scrubs and doctor’s coats standing around a nurse’s station.
“Dammit, Dean...” He sighed, wondering where the remote was this time. He glanced about, and then his eyes fell on the couch. Dean was there, as usual, his head slumped to one side. Resting, in fact, on the shoulder of Castiel Novak, also happily asleep.
John shook his head. He didn’t have the heart to wake them, they could untangle themselves in the morning.
Author: nileflood
Fandom: Supernatural
Warnings: PG-13; under-age Dean (he's 17) with adult-Castiel, under-age drinking
Pairings: Dean/Castiel, mentions of John/Kate
Summary: The word is out around town that the Winchester kids are a baby-sitters worst nightmare, and it's impossible for John to find anyone to take care of his boys before Poker Night. At his wit's end, Bobby puts him in touch with a strange man who looks like an accountant. He's apparently a tutor, but John doesn't care as long as he watches Sam and Adam on Friday night.
Author's Notes: Written for bellacatbee to help her recover from her cold
There were very few babysitters who would dare come back to the Winchester household. If it wasn’t Dean’s refusal to help out in anyway (because, he said, he was too old for a sitter, and he could look after his brothers better than anyone) or because he hit on every girl that stepped over the threshold. Or it was because they ended up in the middle of a prank war, or because Adam geeked out at them or Sam blew something up with the chemistry set he’d got at Christmas or because more than one of those things happened in the space of two hours. No sane woman would put herself through that, no matter how much they wanted the cash.
In fact, john Winchester knew there was probably some internet chat-thingy out there, somewhere their local babysitters all got together and discussed their work and there were probably warnings to those who had never sat the Winchester boys before. In short, his boys had earned themselves a reputation that had effectively killed John’s social life.
But there was no way he was giving up Poker Night. He might have resigned himself to hardly ever going out to see Kate, or even driving up to the Roadhouse, he might have completely given up on the idea of fishing trips with Bobby but there were some things that a man could not give up without losing part of himself. Poker Night was where John Winchester drew the line.
He started looking for a sitter a week before hand. But his advert in the paper got no reply, and the hurriedly written note on the local notice board only got one call, and as soon as he answered the phone Winchester- the girl was clearly backtracking- saying she couldn’t do the date even before John had given it to her.
In the end he was desperate, completely desperate, enough to call Bobby and say that he might not make it-not if he he couldn’t find someone to watch Sammy and Adam- when Bobby muttered he might now someone who would put up with the boys for the night. He hung up then, promising to call back. And he did, with a number. Not a regular sitter, but someone trustworthy that he knew, someone that would be happy to do a favour and John jumped at the chance. True, it was sort of weird to be calling a sitter, and not be called, but Bobby’s information was always good. It was more than worth a try.
A man with a husky voice answered the phone, probably the sitter’s boyfriend or husband, John guessed. “Can I speak to... Cas?”
“Castiel Novak speaking.” The man said, and then pressed on as John did his double-take, clearly a little perturbed by the silence on the line. “How is it I can help you?”
It was enough to jerk John back into reality, out of his moment of confusion and he cleared his throat. “I’m John Winchester. Bobby Singer told me to give you a call. He... I was hoping you could watch my two sons for me, on Friday-Saturday night. They’re thirteen and seven.”
Castiel paused. “I do not child-mind very often. Mostly I tutor...” He said it as if he was weary, and for a moment John groaned inwardly. Even Bobby’s contacts had heard of the Winchester tribe of out-of-control children and were trying to back out. “But I would be happy to help you. Should I send over some references? I can email them to you.”
References? John had never taken references for sitters before. He just discussed money and times and house-rules and let them get on with it. Then again, most of his sitters were female high-school seniors earning a bit of extra money before college. “References would be good. You’ll... have to use my son’s email address. I don’t have one but he’ll... yeah, send it over.”
Everything checked out. John did his own homework, called some of the people on the list, all of whom seemed perfectly happy with Castiel Novak. True he wasn’t a teenage girl, or a professional nanny or something, but that didn’t seem to be a problem. So on Friday night, at seven o’clock on the dot, a strange car pulled up outside the Winchester house. It was battered, nowhere near as loved as John’s own car, but somehow it seemed to suit the man that climbed out. It was a beige colour, and Castiel Novak was certainly... a beige sort of man. It wasn’t just the trench-coat, but it was the plain cheap suit and the five-o’clock-shadow and the crooked tie that just seemed to was the man out. But when John greeted him, he didn’t seem tired or malicious, only... plain. Sort of non-descript. That was just fine though. He was a sitter, he was there, and John had two crates of beer in the boot of the Impala and he had to get across town to Bobby’s place.
He ran through the last couple of instructions, shouted for Sam and Adam to come downstairs and say hi, and then he was out the door. Sure, he was a little worried that a night with the Winchester boys would scar the man emotionally; he didn’t seem the sort that really could deal with troublemakers, but that wasn’t John’s problem. John’s problem would be Crowley, and whether or not the slimy Brit would be cheating again.
***
Castiel watched the man head out the door with a slight sense of foreboding. But the house was nice, the neighbourhood was good, even if it wasn’t the best, and the boys he had been sent to watch did not seem complete horrors. True, he hadn’t yet met them, but from his experience, the children who were not screaming and shouting and running all over the house didn’t tend to be troublesome.
He eased off his coat, hanging it over the banister and glancing about. The kitchen was at the end of the entrance hall, the living room through that arch, and the TV had been left on. He had marking to do, and doing it now would probably be best, but he was not going to leave the TV on unnecessarily, it was wasteful.
Castiel didn’t expect there to be a young man sat on the sofa sipping a beer. He wasn’t a child, not at all, but he wasn’t a man yet. On the cusp really, but from his pose he clearly thought he was already there. The only issue was that he hadn’t been told there would be anyone else in the house, and that put him on his guard. At least the young man hadn’t seen him yet, his attention still on the medical drama on the screen. That was what he assumed it was, although the flash of cleavage across the screen did make him wonder, and feel more than a little uncomfortable.
“What are you watching?”
That made the other turn his head, sitting up from his lounging position, his feet suddenly off the coffee table. When his eyes moved over the man who’d addressed him though, the young man seemed to wonder why he’d bothered. “Doctor Sexy, duh.”
Castiel had no idea what that was, he didn’t watch television himself, and he wasn’t going to try to pretend. “And is that suitable for your age-group?”
“It’s not a porno, if that’s what you mean.” Came the reply, and the young man set down the beer-can and got to his feet. He was a good inch taller than Castiel, who had never thought of himself as short. “I’m Dean. You must be the babysitter.” He looked him up, and down, and then gave a cocky grin, “You’re not exactly what I was expecting.”
Exactly what was meant by that Castiel didn’t find out, as it was at that moment as two younger boys appeared, coming down the stairs like a herd of elephants on roller-skates. One, a smaller, thinner boy with short hair and wide eyes landed with a thump on the bottom step just as Castiel and Dean arrived out of the living room, another boy, tall with unkempt long hair jumping over his fallen brother.
“Running down stairs is never appropriate, boys.” Castiel said, although it was probably not the best way to introduce himself. “I am Castiel Novak and I will be looking after you this evening while your father is out. You may call me Castiel or Mr Novak, whichever you prefer.”
“Castiel?” The smaller of the two said, picking himself up, “What if the building was on fire?”
“Then you would certainly not run. You would fall, endangering others, or injuring yourself. You walk calmly following the safest route out of the building. Have you not done fire-drills at school, Adam?”
Adam made a face, not answering but Dean laughed, grinning. “Well, Mr Novak, that certainly told them.” And then he was striding off, back to his show. Castiel tried to pay him no mind, but he found himself watching the retreating figure until he was once more slumped down on the sofa.
“Dad would have got Dean to watch us. But he gets bored and goes out most of the time. Or would have done, if Dad hadn’t taken the car.” Sam explained, Adam already having headed back upstairs. Despite his initial impression of the boy- inspired by his wild hair and too-short trousers (clearly he’d just had a growth spurt) but Sam was, thankfully, well spoken and apparently thoughtful. “Dad said he’d left money for pizza. But can we have Thai instead?”
Castiel made a face. Perhaps the boys were allowed a treat, as their father was out and this was the first meeting with a new child-minder, something to sweeten the deal and make them feel a little better. But Castiel doubted that. There were a pile of well-thumbed take-away menus on the hall table by the phone, and that made Castiel wonder how much of their diet consisted of pizza and tacos and burgers. It wasn’t healthy.
“Why don’t we make something tonight?” He asked, and from the living room, even over the noise of Doctor Sexy, Castiel heard Dean snort derisively. Sam however, seemed keener.
***
Sam was working on his homework, balancing the textbook on his knee, tongue between his teeth as he wrote. He looked like such a dork. But Dean had promised not to be a jerk to his brothers that evening, and John had promised him the use of the Impala for a whole weekend if he got no negative reports back. So at the end of Doctor Sexy, Dean had to go find himself some other entertainment. Shutting himself in his room with a copy of Busty Asian Beauties was one possibility, but it didn’t really appeal all that much. Not when there was the noise of pots and pans in the kitchen, and a new babysitter to annoy.
Maybe John thought that Dean wouldn’t tease a guy. Maybe he thought Castiel was too old for Dean to bother with. But neither of those two things were true. Castiel was a dude, but a dude who looked after kids and made supper and who had insisted Dean use a glass and a coaster. He wasn’t a guy like John, or Bobby, or any of the other men that Dean really knew. He was... interesting.
Very interesting. Although Dean wasn’t about to say so out loud. He moved into the kitchen, leaning against the fridge as Castiel chopped vegetables at the counter. He was wearing a look of intense concentration, his blue eyes almost fierce and Dean found himself focusing on the expression on the man’s face as he worked. It was warm, it had been all day, all week, and Castiel was still in that button-up and those suit-slacks, a skillet on the highest heat by his elbow. It was no wonder the man looked warm, his mouth open slightly, lips parted and red and slightly wet. Dean was feeling a little warm too.
It wasn’t that Dean meant to notice those things. Sure, he usually checked out the girl sitters his dad hired, not just boobs and butt but eyes and mouth and hands and the rest. And maybe he gets some confused feelings about Doctor Sexy, and maybe he likes looking over the other guys on the football team. Maybe he’s done more than that before, but that’s his own business. He just didn’t think his attention would focus in on the same points on this guy who was, what, thirty?
Good looking for thirty though.
“Can I help you, Dean?”
“No. I was just watching you.” He replied, and then grinned, stepping a little closer. “I was enjoying it.”
Castiel blushed. Dean hadn’t ever seen a grown man blush. It made the grin stretch a little wider, and that was clearly when Castiel noticed what was going on. The blush grew even redder, and then Castiel turned away, tipping the vegetables into the skillet and trying not to look at Dean anymore.
“I’m only cooking. It is hardly interesting.”
“I agree. The cooking is boring. You are worth watching.” And he stepped closer again, right into Castiel’s personal space, so close that he could smell the fresh o-zone smell that must have been his cologne or something, could feel the heat of the stove prickling up against his arm. Castiel tried to back up again, bumping into the corner of the counter.
“Dean, I am trying to prepare a meal for your brothers and if you do not leave me be it will burn and-“ Castiel said, blushing again, although he stopped speaking when Dean found the stove control and turned the gas off.
“No one’s gonna get burned, Cas.” He said, voice a little deeper, glancing up and down Castiel’s frame. Maybe with a girl he would have been more subtle. But most sitters were a little worldlier than Castiel Novak. “This must be boring for you. Why don’t you send Sam and Adam to bed early?”
That made Cas swallow. Dean thought he looked, momentarily, interested. At least, his eyes flickered downwards, to where his hips and Dean’s were only an inch or so apart.
Then there were hands on his chest, over his pectorals and Dean liked that touch, the shot of fire that went down his spine and stirred his cock. He thought Castiel wanted it, but he didn’t expect the man to be that forward. Apart from the hands didn’t move, didn’t pull him in, but rather, they pushed him away. Gentle, but insistent. “Dean. This is highly inappropriate. I am here to look after yours brothers, not entertain your appetites.”
***
Dean stepped away then, a confused look on his handsome features. He was aesthetic, Castiel was not unaware of that, and in a few more years Dean would be a fine young man, one who hopefully would have got over his urge to bed whoever he came into contact with. But in the meantime, Castiel meant what he had said. He was not a character in pornography, ready and willing to be seduced. He was there to look after Dean’s siblings, and he would do that. To encourage Dean’s misplaced and all-too-sudden advances was wrong, fundamentally, and Castiel meant to put a stop to it sooner, rather than later.
The sudden loss of warmth felt horrible, but Castiel knew that was merely his body reacting. It had been a long time. Castiel was no animal however, he did not need to jump at whatever opportunity for intimacy presented itself. And he would not.
“Yeah...” Dean was saying. He wasn’t running away though, which Castiel had expected. He had imagined that Dean would stomp off and try and pretend that it had never happened, the rejection of his advances. But he didn’t. He seemed to... accept what Castiel had said. That was rare, and Castiel... found himself appreciating it. “Sorry. You’re right. Er... I... I don’t know how to cook. But I’ll help. I’ll find some plates or something.”
“You can’t cook?” Castiel replied, a little surprised, although he didn’t know why. It made sense; Dean wasn’t exactly the domestic type. “Then we’ll teach you. It’s just egg-fried rice, but it’s a good starting point.”
It was a good starting point. Easy and quick and something Dean could make himself or his brothers and they had most of the ingredients about in the cupboards and the icebox. Dean didn’t really need to be taught either, he was a smart boy, good with his hands and logical, he just needed to be told what needed to be thrown in the pan when, and he got on with it. It was Castiel that found the plates and laid the table and put a pitcher of water out. The Dean standing attentively at the stove was certainly not the same Dean who had, only an hour or so before, been sat slurping beer in front of the TV.
“I think I may have judged you too harshly, Dean...” Castiel began, as he set down the four plates and tidied away the bits of eggshell. He didn’t get the opportunity to go on though, because at that point Adam put his head around the door. He was covered in what Castiel supposed was flour, although it might have been talc, his hair stood up in every direction. It wasn’t coming off, at least, and the boy did look ravenous. “Smells good and we’re hungry. Can we eat now?” He asked, just as Dean began piling food onto plates.
Castiel wanted to let the boy get changed, but Adam’s stomach rumbled noisily. He gestured Adam in and within a heart-beat both Adam and Sam crashed into the kitchen, cutlery clattering as they ate like condemned men, making appreciative noises. Castiel ate far more slowly, a forkful after measured forkful, until he paused, the sensation of eyes on him.
He should have known it was Dean; the other two were too interested in their suppers. He was more surprised by the look he was getting. There was something smouldering in there somewhere, but Dean seemed more... pleased with him than anything, as if somehow Castiel had proved himself. Castiel of course had nothing to prove but he returned the smile all the same.
Dean did the washing up afterwards. Castiel was grateful for that, because Adam had apparently been conducting experiments in the upstairs bathroom with floor and water and the mixture covered the tiled walls and the bath-tub. He had no choice but to hose both boy and bath down. At least there was no carpet for it to have tried into was his mantra as Adam splashed about and soaked Castiel’s shirt. It was impossible to be mad though when Adam grinned so widely.
Sam had settled himself down with a book by the time Adam was ready for bed, silently and intently soaking in whatever it was. He murmured his goodnight as Adam curled himself up in the blanket, and Castiel left them to it as he switched off the light, the only glow in the room from Sam’s reading lamp.
He turned as the door shut, Dean stood there behind him. “Most of the time they kick and scream at bedtime. Adam more than Sam. Wants to stay up with the grown-ups.” He muttered, before smiling and adding, “Must be the lack of additives in his dinner.”
There was something in the air at that moment, some sort of tension had melted away. There wasn’t any light in the hall-way, just the glow from the lights on the stairs and the bathroom, and it threw their shadows in strange patterns across the walls. Castiel could feel himself blushing again as Dean stepped closer again, but he didn’t try to pull away.
“I wanted to thank you, for the meal. It was really good.” Dean was saying, although Castiel didn’t know why. Dean had done the hard bit, had actually cooked it all. Castiel had just chopped vegetables and microwaved rice but...
But it was hard to think, never mind say any of that with Dean so close. He smelt good, like the kitchen and water and engine oil and leather, smells that alone Castiel didn’t like, found unpleasantly earthy but on Dean they worked. They smelt deep, real. He was still too young, far too young and Castiel was too old but Dean was leaning down, his hand moving to curl his fingers in the dark hair at the nape of Castiel’s neck...
And Castiel closed his eyes. It was wrong, and he knew it but once, just once, he was going to do something he knew wasn’t exactly good. But it was completely right.
The kiss didn’t come though. He wanted it, but instead of Dean’s mouth on his there was a sudden noise of surprise and a laugh.
“Cas, you’re soaking wet.” Dean said, quieting himself down again, glancing towards his brother’s rooms. “Come on. You can borrow one of my shirts.”
Castiel wasn’t given time to protest, simply led to another door, one covered in a Metallica poster. He knew of Metallica, vaguely, but not enough to even try to make conversation. Dean didn’t seem to care anyway, leaving Cas stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, on the small area of the floor that was free from piles of magazines of cars and music and... naked women. Castiel didn’t know what he’d expected, but he didn’t expect Dean to go to his closet and pull out a shirt. A t-shirt, in truth, held out to him. It was dark, and probably had once had some sort of design that had peeled and faded over time. Castiel didn’t mind though, because the way Dean looked at him now made his stomach flip. He’d never felt the desire to recapture his youth, to return to his adolescence or try to be a young man again, but now, suddenly, he wished he was younger.
He wasn’t about to strip out of his shirt, soaked as it was, in front of Dean. He simply couldn’t. He could imagine Dean, lithe and well-muscled, toned and god-like, like some Greek hero. Castiel wasn’t like that. He just held the t-shirt, thumbs smoothing over the soft cotton as Dean stood there. Hopeful. It took a moment before he seemed to get the message.
“I’ll... meet you downstairs.” He said, and disappeared, shutting the door with a faint click behind him. Castiel waited a moment longer, until he heard footsteps going down the stairs. Then he pulled off the shirt, finding a hanger to put it on and let it dry somewhere out of the way. He didn’t stop or pause to glance over Dean’s things, to flick through the journal on the desk or open the drawers. His brother may have done, but Gabriel had always been less than honest. He left the room exactly as he found it, and went down to join Dean in the living room.
“Cas? There’s a Doctor Sexy re-run on... would you like to watch it with me?” Dean asked, sitting up straight on the sofa, one arm curled around its back. Castiel was about to say no, remembering the amount of flesh he’d seen before but... but he found he couldn’t say no.
“I’d love to, Dean.” And with that he settled next to the green-eyed man, getting comfortable and focusing on the TV. He watched, for a few minutes, and then, quietly, but with no small amount of embarrassment, cleared his throat. “Dean, I have no idea what’s going on.” He admitted, expecting some sort of rebuke for interrupting.
But Dean only smiled. “Well, this is only the second season, so not much has happened. But that’s Natasha, she was going to marry Hugo before it turned out that Hugo and Colette, that’s Colette, had been having an affair before Hugo’s divorce...”
***
It was gone 3am when John arrived home. He could have stayed out later, but eventually the guilt would have driven him back home. He knew it wasn’t fair, that he shouldn’t leave a man like Castiel Novak with the Winchester boys. The man would have a breakdown and end up a sobering mess. Besides, Crowley was winning again and John hated to see the man win anything.
He let himself in, unlocking the front door and shrugging off his coat. There was the faint hum of the television from the living room, not static as there generally was when someone had left it on, but the soft murmur of voices, a group in scrubs and doctor’s coats standing around a nurse’s station.
“Dammit, Dean...” He sighed, wondering where the remote was this time. He glanced about, and then his eyes fell on the couch. Dean was there, as usual, his head slumped to one side. Resting, in fact, on the shoulder of Castiel Novak, also happily asleep.
John shook his head. He didn’t have the heart to wake them, they could untangle themselves in the morning.