Archive of Our Own

There is something comforting in the smell that greets Castiel every morning when he unlocks the door to his shop, the Secondhand Angel Bookstore. In reality, it is the smell of worn bindings, dust, and yellowing pages, but it holds the promise of new adventures.

It is the juxtaposition of the new and the old that has always captivated Castiel, the idea that though one person may have read a book a dozen times, learned every facet of the characters, that a different person can follow, pick up the same book, and experience the same story in a unique way. People were just as different as the stories and information held inside the myriad of books, if less consistent.

The process of cataloging books may have been tedious, but Castiel would never tire of his job because it gave him the opportunity to experience the world from a never-ending array of perspectives. He entertained each new point of view in his mind for a while, like rolling wine over and around his tongue while he decided whether it was worth swallowing. There were books he appreciated for their style, even if he decided against the philosophies it expounded--and every book had a philosophy, even if it hid it behind monsters or romance--, but there were some that wove their way into his consciousness, becoming part of the very fabric of his being.

The eclectic bookshop had a bit of everything. Castiel discriminated only against the books that held absolutely no value, those which could have been bound with empty pages for all of the impact they left. However, if Castiel could imagine that the book had the power to touch even one person, he would add it to his stock.

Humans are interesting, but he can never guess what they are thinking or predict what they'll do next. When someone picked up an abused copy of a generic crime novel and smiled as though reuniting with an old lover, Castiel would just attribute the reaction to the ineffability of the human race and ring up the book.

Though Secondhand Angel is in Lawrence rather than a larger city like New York, it is close enough to Kansas University for Castiel to get a steady stream of students looking for a discount on books. Some students he sees only once, but he has somehow ended up with some regulars, though they cycle in and out every few years.

Castiel is dusting the front counter when the bell rings to announce the arrival of a customer. The man enters the bookshop cautiously, as though he expects to be kicked out or attacked by one of the dusty, old books. In the diagonal slant of morning light coming in through the windows, Castiel is struck by the intensity of the green of his eyes, the kind of rich viridian more common in springtime meadows than under a dark set of eyelashes. The man is wearing a plaid shirt and jeans that have been faded and worn by actual work rather than in a foreign factory, and there is a faint shadow on his jaw that offsets the delicate beauty of his eyes.

“Uh, hello?” The man’s voice is rough and deep, but oddly pleasant to Castiel’s ears.

Blinking, the shopkeeper realizes that he has been staring. “Hello,” he greets. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, I’m looking for a book.”

Castiel waits, but more information does not seem to be forthcoming. “Is there a specific kind of book for which you are looking?”

The man shrugs. “I don’t know. Just a book. It’s for my brother.”

“Ah. Is there a certain genre your brother prefers?”

Looking flustered, the man says, “Look, I have no clue. Just give me a book that everyone likes.”

“There is no such thing as a book that everyone likes. If there was, it likely would be so bland as to make it not worth reading. I have everything here from poetry to classics to crime dramas. How do you want your brother to feel after reading this book? Perhaps that is a better way to decide.”

The man shrugs. “Happy, I guess. He could do with a distraction, and I don’t want it to make him more upset.”

Castiel turns and heads immediately towards the third aisle, leaving the customer to trail after him hesitantly. After ten years as the owner and sole employee of Secondhand Angel, Castiel has the small store memorized, and quickly finds what he is looking for. The copy is slightly battered, and was obviously well-loved by its last owner, but the story is intact. He hands the book to the man. “I would recommend this.”

With a frown, the man looks at the pastel cover. “Is this a chick book?”

Clenching his jaw, Castiel says, “The Secret Life of Bees is about women, yes. However, that is no reason not to purchase it. As you may have noticed, interesting things happen to both sexes. If everyone only read books about their exact demographic, they would never learn anything new.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist. Besides, my brother is basically a chick, so this might work.”

“If you doubt my selection, you are free to browse,” Castiel says, walking back to the register without waiting for a response.

When he arrives, he finds that he has been followed again by the customer. “No, this is fine,” he says, setting the book on the counter and handing Castiel his credit card.

Castiel rings up the book and swipes the card, glancing at the name before handing it back. “Have a nice day, Mr. Winchester,” he says automatically.

“Dean,” the man corrects with a smile.

Slightly confused, Castiel says, “Have a nice day, Dean.”

“Thanks, uh…”

When Dean scans Castiel’s suit and trench coat in the tell-tale manner of someone searching for a name tag, he says, “My name is Castiel.”

“Wow.” Castiel narrows his eyes, and Dean quickly adds, “I mean, it’s an interesting name.”

Stiffly, Castiel explains, “My parents were very religious. My siblings and I are all named after angels. Castiel is a variation of Cassiel, the angel of Thursdays.”

“There’s an angel for Thursdays?” he replies incredulously.

Castiel hands him his book and receipt insistently. “If you are finished mocking my name…”

“I wasn’t…. Uh, sorry. I’ll see you later. Maybe,” Dean says, accepting the book. Collecting himself, he adds, “Bye, Cas.”

“It’s Castiel. Goodbye, Dean.”

When the customer finally leaves, Castiel allows himself to sigh. There was a reason he didn’t wear a nametag. His siblings had occasionally chided him for his straightforward attitude, since allegedly sales were better when the salesperson was practically saccharine, but Castiel didn’t think he needed to be worried about any further business from Dean Winchester.

--

It is yet another testament to Castiel’s lacking people skills that he is shocked when he finds Dean Winchester entering his store three days later, just before closing. He had been so certain that after their last encounter, the man would have actively avoided Castiel’s shop, but here he is.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel greets as soon as he finishes ringing up another customer, a middle-aged woman who had gone straight towards the John Grisham section upon entering the store.

Dean approaches the counter and says, “Sam—my brother— loved the book. You really know your stuff.”

"I'm glad he enjoyed it," Castiel says shortly. When Dean just smiles at him, he prompts, "May I help you?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'd like another book. Same goal as the last one. Maybe something funny. Any recommendations?"

"Of course." When Castiel retrieves A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and gave it to Dean, he adds coolly, "Do you have any comments to make on this cover?"

"I think we got off on the wrong foot," Dean says instead. "I was a bit... stressed the last time I came in. I had just gotten off a 24-hour shift and wasn't in the best mood. Could we start over?"

"Where do you work that you had a 24-hour shift?" Castiel inquires. "Are you in the medical field?"

"I'm a firefighter," Dean tells him. "You know, saving people, dowsing things."

"That's very interesting," Castiel says because he believes that is the response for which Dean is waiting with that cocky grin on his face. Despite his casual mockery of everything from one of Castiel's favorite books to his name, Dean truly was remarkably beautiful. Castiel was surprised that he continued to notice Dean's appearance, since he could not remember the last time he had been physically attracted to someone for more than an instant after they opened their mouths.

"Well, don't fall over yourself in your enthusiasm," Dean replies drily.

"I won't. That will be four dollars and forty-two cents. Tell your brother the price of the book once he finishes it," Castiel says. "It is a joke."

"Yeah, you're a regular laugh riot," Dean says.

Castiel has heard enough similar statements to recognize the sarcasm. "Are you certain you would not like a book for yourself? As I said, I have all types here."

"I'm not big on reading," Dean says. "Plus, I don't get much time."

"Do you not have down-time between calls at the station?"

"Well, yeah, but I always find something to do," Dean explains. "What could you recommend for me, anyway? I don't do feel-good stuff, and this looks a bit too childish for me," he adds, gesturing to the giant thumbs-up on the cover of the Douglas Adams novel.

Castiel observes Dean silently for a moment, and then retrieves another book from his dystopian literature shelf. "I would not recommend this to your brother, because I do not believe readers feel better after reading it, but you may enjoy it."

"Slaughterhouse Five?" Dean questions, staring at the book like he's intimidated by the stack of paper. "This isn’t exactly beginner-stuff, is it?"

"You shouldn't read books based on whether they are considered a classic, but whether they appeal to you on an emotional level. I believe Kurt Vonnegut is a better fit for you than someone like Sue Monk Kidd, if you're interested." Castiel checked the back of the book and added, "It's only two dollars. I get students attempting to sell me their old copies of Vonnegut often, so I have a large supply."

"Why not?" Dean says after a moment's contemplation and then hands Castiel his credit card. "I'll give it a shot." As Castiel swipes his card, he adds, "Is that something you do a lot? Talk to someone twice and then recommend a book for them?"

Castiel shakes his head. "I'm not always the best at reading people."

"But you think you know me?"

Tilting his head to the side, Castiel says, "No. You seem... too complex for me to understand, even if you act like you're not. That is why I think you will like the book."

Dean accepts the books and card, but his eyes don't waver from Castiel. "You're a weird guy, you know that?"

"You are far from the first to tell me that," Castiel says with a hint of a self-deprecating smile. He doesn't care what people think of him, but it has never been pleasant to know that he is so obviously different from his peers.

"I like it," Dean assures him with a wink. "See you later, Cas."

Castiel watches him leave, as though he'll gain some insight into Dean Winchester if he just stares hard enough, but no revelations are forthcoming. Complex, indeed.

--

Castiel is re-reading Paradise Lost, pen in hand to record any new insights he gains, when he is interrupted by a knock on the door. It is nine in the evening, so there is a very short list of who may be disturbing him. Part of him considers pretending as though he did not hear so that he can once again read about Lucifer's manipulation of Uriel, but his enjoyment of the poem is spoiled by the idea that it might actually be Lucifer at the door.

As he approaches the door, Castiel idly wonders if his brother has ever read Milton's work, or whether his charming yet underhanded approach to life is something that evolved naturally. His ongoing feud with Michael has certainly reached a level parallel to the biblical war between them.

However, it is not Lucifer or one of his other siblings at the door. "Evening, my dear," Balthazar greets, pushing his way inside.

"Hello, Balthazar," Castiel greets, not bothering to ask why he was there. The platters in his hands are self-explanatory. "What did you make today?"

"Salmon with mushroom risotto. Your diet needs classing up," he says, setting the food on the table with the ease of someone who is completely comfortable in their surroundings. He is at Castiel's apartment often enough for it to practically be his second home.

"I know. You say that every time you show up," Castiel says drily.

"I'll stop saying once it stops being true," Balthazar scolds. He sprawls onto a seat, waiting for Castiel to get the plates and silverware as usual. Balthazar has a sort of sleazy charm that infuses his every action. He pairs his sleek black suit jacket with a gray vee-neck, looking casually stylish. He had barged into Castiel's life as soon as he had moved into the same apartment building. Once he had decided that he liked Castiel, their friendship had progressed automatically.

Castiel didn't know why Balthazar had decided to make an antisocial bookstore owner like him his friend, but he had grown fond of Balthazar's wicked sense of human and sharp tongue, and couldn't imagine his life without his sarcastic friend.

Castiel brings a bottle of wine of the table, a half-empty red that was left over from Balthazar's last visit. Now that there is food on the table, Castiel realizes that he's barely eaten that day. Leaving the shop during the middle of the day to eat fast food by himself was never appealing, so he kept a box of cereal bars stored under the register.

"Restaurants can't compare to your food," Castiel says, spearing a piece of salmon onto his plate and using a spoon to add some risotto as well.

"Don't I know it," Balthazar says. "What's the point of living without good food and sex, right?"

"Well..." Castiel shakes his head and drops the subject, taking a bite of the salmon. The fish is glazed in some sort of brown sugar and balsamic mixture that enhances the flavor enough to make Castiel forget that salmon is not his favorite protein.

Balthazar, however, does not take the hint to stop talking. It is not an unusual occurrence. "I'm not saying you don't live, Cassie. I'm just saying I'd rather kill myself that be celibate and eat fast food all the time." His tone is so matter-of-fact that Castiel can almost overlook the insult.

"That's not..." Castiel rolls his eyes. "Just because I don't go around having sex with everything that wears enough leather doesn't mean I couldn't have sex."

Balthazar just smirks. "Cassie, I've never even seen you look twice at someone, much less take them back to your apartment for a little tête-à-tête." He waves a hand dismissively. "You know I don't care. As long as you're happy."

Castiel hesitates, staring at his food, and then says, "But what if I did?"

"What if you did what?"

"What if I did...notice someone?"

Balthazar raises his eyebrows. "And who exactly has caught your eye?"

Castiel shrugs. "I'm not even sure what's happening. He's... well, he seemed like an ass, but then he wasn't so awful, but he has these eyes. They're...astounding."

"Tell me more," Balthazar prods, taking a sip of his wine.

"But I barely know him. I just know his name, that he had a brother--younger, likes to read-- and is a firefighter. He also winks too much."

"He's probably flirting with you," Balthazar confides.

"He didn't seem gay," Castiel says hesitantly.

Balthazar rolls his eyes. "And you have the world's best gay-dar? Please, you thought Gabriel and I were just friends."

"Please don't remind me about that," Castiel groans.

"It's not like I was trying to become your brother-in-law. It was just sex."

"You're tormenting me on purpose," Castiel decides. "So how do I know if Dean's interested? How do I know if I'm interested ?"

"He's interested if he keeps showing up, winking, and smiling. You should be able to tell by how he talks to you. If he's overly familiar, it's probably flirting."

"He calls me 'Cas,'" he volunteers. "But he may have just forgotten my name."

"Not if you've been reminding him your real name every second like you do whenever I call you nicknames," Balthazar points out. "And you know you'll like him because you'll like him."

"That makes no sense."

"I've never had your problem. I get the tingles down low, I have sex. It's straight-forward. But listen, only do what you want. If he pushes for sex and you don't want it, you can say no. If you want sex, go for it unless he says no. It's easy."

"People are so complicated," Castiel groans.

"That's why we drink wine," Balthazar advises, topping off Castiel's glass.

After that, they talked about Balthazar's job at the local pawn shop, which was quickly gaining international notoriety for its rare and unique items that Castiel's friend traveled the world to find. Castiel was relatively certain that not everything Balthazar acquired was done so legally, but Castiel never inquired.

Even once their second wine bottle was empty, they continued chatting at Castiel's kitchen table. There were not many people Castiel could endure for very long, but in weekly doses Balthazar was quite enjoyable.

"See, this was fun!" Balthazar says, sipping the last bit of his wine and sitting up straighter. "But I refuse to only see you once a week. You can't just wait for me to show up at your door."

"I'm sorry," Castiel says. "It just slips my mind to..."

"Have friends? I've noticed," Balthazar replies, but there is no heat in his words. "You'll just have to come out with me on Friday night to make up for it."

"You know I don't like clubs," Castiel says. The pounding music does nothing for Castiel, and Balthazar has the irritating habit of leaving him alone in favor of dancing with some scantily-clad stranger. "Can't we just stay in?"

"We'll go to a bar. You just need to get out of the house. Maybe if you met some people every once in a while, you wouldn't be blindsided every time a hottie walks into your shop," Balthazar says. "Now, you clean those and you can drop them off at my place when you come over Friday before we go out."

"You came here. Why should I be the one to clean?" Castiel questions as usual.

He receives the usual response. "The chef doesn't have to clean. Next time you cook, I'll clean."

Castiel hadn't touched an oven in more than three years. "Fine. But I reserve the right to leave on Friday as early as I want. I still have to open the shop Saturday morning."

"You have to stay at least an hour," Balthazar bargains, already standing up and preparing to leave. Despite the full bottle of wine he has consumed, he is still generally steady on his feet.

“Goodbye, Balthazar,” Castiel insists, making the other man laugh before he heads back to his own apartment.

Despite Balthazar’s self-proclaimed status as a sex expert, their conversation had not helped clear up Castiel’s confused thoughts about Dean Winchester. Shaking his head, he decides to put the green-eyed man from his mind.

--

Four days later, the bell over the shop rings nearly first thing in the morning, announcing Dean Winchester's entrance. "Hello, Dean," Castiel greets. The man is just as attractive as Castiel remembers, those bright green eyes as vivid as ever.

"Hey, Cas," he greets, leaning his elbows on the tall counter and looking at Castiel. "I finished that book you recommended."

"Already?"

"It was only, like, two hundred pages," Dean points out, grinning. "Besides, I couldn't come back until I finished it."

"I wouldn't have cared if you hadn't," Castiel insists, but he feels a bit warm over the fact that Dean had put in so much effort to please him. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Yeah, actually," Dean replies. "He really makes you think, you know? Even if he covers it in all that supernatural shit about aliens and stuff."

"He does blend reality and surreality well," Castiel agrees, smiling. It feels good to talk like this, especially to Dean, who is still leaning over the counter with sparkling eyes. "I'm glad you liked it."

"Well, maybe you read people better than you think," Dean says with a shrug. "Also, my brother's insisting on any sequels to the alien book you gave him. My brother's a weird guy, though. He read me some quotes, and it was probably some of the craziest shit I've ever heard."

"'You're turning into a penguin. Stop it,'" Castiel quotes drily. "It is a cult classic. It is certainly not my favorite, but I have read almost all of the books in here at least once. And your brother will be happy to know that there are sequels, though I only have the second and fifth in stock now. I'm sure Barnes and Noble will have it if you..."

"I guess I'll just have to come back when you get it in, then," Dean says.

From then on, Dean is a regular customer of Secondhand Angel Bookshop. Castiel sees him at least once a week, but it is often every other day. Every time Dean enters the shop, whether he's in a good mood or bad, whether he liked Castiel's most recent recommendation or loathed it, he brightens up the entire place with his presence.

It is not because Dean is always smiling. Some days, the man appears to have the weight of the world on his shoulders, and his eyes have the bone-deep weariness that was more common on the battlefield than in Lawrence, Kansas.

Rather, it is as though Castiel can see Dean's spirit, which remains simply good no matter Dean's current state. There is something about Dean that makes Castiel want to shield him from the world, to help him find a place where he can set down his responsibilities and be happy for a while.

Of course, Castiel can't do that. Even if Castiel hadn't learned long ago that he is hopeless at interpersonal relations, Dean would never accept offered help.

Instead, the shop owner just makes sure he is always available when Dean enters the store with new book recommendations for Dean and his brother.

When someone comes in to sell books, Castiel finds himself considering first whether either Winchester would enjoy each offering, rather than considering its overall value.

He is too attached. He should not be relying on random encounters with a basic stranger to brighten his day. Despite Balthazar's insistence that Dean had to like him to waste so much money on his books, there is simply no chance that Dean is as invested in their brief meetings as Castiel is. Some week, Dean is not going to walk through the doors of Secondhand Angel, and Castiel is never going to see him again.

For now, though, he'll take what he can get.

One evening after closing, Castiel is cleaning up the shop for the evening when he hears a single knock on the wooden door.

Surprised, Castiel goes to the door and opens it, seeing Dean's retreating back illuminated by the orange glow of the street lamps. "Dean?" he calls, confused.

The other man turned around, face half in shadow. "You're closed," he says simply, gesturing to the hours beside the door.

Without hesitating, Castiel says, "Come in."

Dean follows along, and it is obvious the moment Castiel catches a glimpse of his face that something is very wrong. Dean stays close to the entrance, looking tense, and there is a dark sadness in his eyes.

Emotions have never been his strongpoint, but he's willing to try if there is a chance he can banish that haunted look from Dean's face. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," he replies shortly.

"You don't appear to be fine." Castiel takes a hesitant step closer and puts a hand on Dean's shoulder. The other man leans slightly into the touch, making Castiel prompt, "What happened?"

"You know I'm a fireman, right?" Dean asks, and his voice is raw.

"Yes," Castiel says, brow furrowed.

"We lost someone tonight. I lost 'em."

"I'm so sorry," Castiel says, tightening his grip on Dean's shoulder. Feeling lost, Castiel adds, "Is there some way I can help?"

Dean shrugs, just a barely-there movement of his shoulders that Castiel feels through his jacket sleeve. "Can I just stay here for a while?"

"Excuse me?" Castiel questions.

"Are you going to make me say it? I just don't really want to be alone, okay?"

"And you want my company?"

"Uh, yeah? If you're up for it. Maybe it's weird or something, I don't know." Dean looks like he is barely remaining on his feet, simply overwhelmed with exhaustion and grief.

Castiel has no idea why Dean chose to come to his shop, but he finds he wants to do what he can to support the other man.

"Of course you can stay here," Castiel says.

"Thanks," Dean says. Castiel gestures to a pair of old, leather armchairs that are tucked behind the cash registers, which Dean usually overlooks in favor of leaning on the counter when he talks to Castiel. Tonight, however, Castiel doesn't think Dean should be on his feet. The fact that Dean heads to the chairs without protest supports his opinion.

Castiel resumes dusting the bookshelf he had ended with. Dean does not seem to notice the silence, simply sitting and staring blankly ahead. It is not the first time Castiel has seen this sort of shell-shocked look, and is going to give Dean room to breathe.

As he cleans, he is attuned to Dean's breathing, which slowly steadies out as time goes on. When Dean sounds calm, Castiel puts away his cleaning supplies and takes the chair beside Dean. He waits quietly for Dean to decide the type of conversation he needs right now.

The other man tenses slightly when Castiel joins him, but he doesn't leave. Dean stares unwaveringly at the bookshelf in front of them, obviously not seeing anything. When he finally speaks, his voice is gruff and uneven. "By the time we got to the scene, it was too late. The mom and one kid got out, but the other kid was already in bed... She must not have heard the fire alarm go off. The dad had gone in after her, but got hit by a falling wall. I went in anyway, though the house was completely up in flames by then. I couldn't save her."

Castiel shakes his head. "It wasn't your fault."

"If I had just been faster..." Dean says.

"You can't save everyone, Dean."

Dean finally looks at Castiel, his expression distraught. "Why not? Why is it so damn hard to save people?"

"Because sometimes the world is a difficult place to live in. People always die."

"'So it goes.'"

"But think of all the people you've saved," Castiel insists. "I have no doubt you tried your best, maybe even beyond your abilities, to save everyone you've encountered. If they still died, then it was just God's will."

"My mom used to tell me and Sam that angels were watching over us. She died in a fire when I was four years old."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Castiel tells him.

"If there's a God, why would he let her die? Let my dad die in another fire, one he was trying to fight, twenty years later? Why let me become a firefighter if it was going to be an endless cycle of death? Or does he just hope I'm going to go out like my parents?"

"I don't have all the answers. If I did, I wouldn't need faith." Castiel shakes his head. If there is one thing that he had learned over the years when people realized that he had once gone to seminary school, was named after an angel, and had faith, it is that, somehow, he is expected to know God's will simply because he believes in its existence. "God's plan is just as ineffable to those of faith as it is to those without. We just know it is there. No matter what you believe, you have to know that it is not your fault when someone you try to save dies."

Dean takes a shaky breath and continues, "She was just a kid, and he was an FBI agent. A good guy. This shouldn't have happened."

Castiel considers reminding Dean again of the good he has done in the world, to remind him that the lives he has saved were just as valuable as the lives he didn't, but Dean is determined to shoulder the responsibility for the whole world.

"Of course not," Castiel says. "Death rarely has anything to do with justice."

"Yeah, I've noticed. You're right, I guess," Dean mutters. "Look, I'm sorry I just dumped all this on you. You should already be home by now."

Castiel shakes his head. "I'd much prefer to be here with you," he tells him. "I'm only sorry that I am not better support. Was Sam not available?"

"Not right now," Dean says. "This is the first place I thought of to go. I don't know why."

"No matter the reason, I'm glad you did. You are always welcome here, Dean."

"I guess I should get out of your hair," Dean mutters, standing up.

"Is there someone waiting for you?" Castiel inquired, rising as well.

Dean shakes his head. "I live alone. It's fine, though. It's been that way for a while."

"I have a couch that you can sleep on, if you'd like. I know it can be... difficult to be alone after something like this happens," Castiel offers.

Dean gives a short huff that is the sad parody of a laugh. "You've had someone's life in your hands and then watched them die?"

A pain blooms his chest when he thinks about it. "Yes."

"Oh. Sorry, man," Dean apologizes awkwardly, averting his gaze. "Uh, the couch sounds good. If the offer's still open."

"Of course it is," Castiel assures him. "It's in walking distance."

"I'm not leaving my baby on the street all night. Does it have a garage, or at least a parking lot?"

When Castiel replies in the affirmative, Castiel locks up the bookshop and get in Dean's car. It is sleek and black, perfectly polished despite being clearly old. It is parked unevenly on the curb, confirming just how unsteady Dean had been when he had arrived at Secondhand Angel earlier. Though Dean's eyes are still shadowed, he proudly declares that it is a '67 Chevy Impala, which is apparently supposed to be impressive. Castiel lets Dean regale him with a series of numbers and machine parts that distinguish the car as unique, only interrupting with directions towards his apartment complex.

Once they arrive, Castiel is suddenly struck with a sense of nervousness as he lets Dean into his apartment. It is not that he regrets letting Dean sleep over, since he obviously needed the comfort, but Castiel is embarrassed by the small size and cluttered nature of his space. There is rarely a reason to clean, since the only people who come by are Balthazar and the Novak family, none of whom warn him far enough in advance for him to make any sort of effort at straightening up anyway.

"I apologize for the mess," Castiel says as he watches Dean examine the living room. There are days' worth of newspapers stacked on the table, as well as a few empty boxes of take-out. Nothing has acquired a strange smell yet, but it is clearly cluttered. The living room is small, with only the couch, a few bookshelves, and a small, slim television that Gabriel had purchased for him.

"No prob. You should see my place," Dean says, smiling.

"I would like that," Castiel says before considering that Dean means that solely as a turn of phrase.

Dean just laughs quietly and turns back to Castiel. "Thanks for this."

"It is not a problem. Would you like me to find you something to use as pajamas? Also, I believe I have a pack of extra toothbrushes somewhere."

"I scrubbed up pretty thoroughly back at the station," Dean tells him, "and I can just sleep in my boxers if that doesn't squick you out or anything."

"My brother Gabriel sleeps naked, so I doubt you'll be able to surprise me," Castiel says dryly.

"Naked on that couch?" Dean asks, pointing.

"I'll give you fresh sheets," Castiel assures him. "I certainly wouldn't use that couch if he had slept on the cushions."

Dean laughs again. "Deal."

"Would you like to go to sleep now? I can stay awake as long as you'd like me to. I rarely sleep," Castiel admits.

"I got off early from my 24-hour shift because of tonight, but I've been up since five. Do you mind if I just crash?"

"Please do," Castiel says, retrieving fresh sheets from the small linen closet at the edge of the living room. Handing them to Dean, he adds, "I'll be just down the hall. Please let me know if you need anything."

"Sure," Dean says, already moving to set up the couch.

"I mean it, Dean. I asked you to come here so you could feel safe, not so you could be just as upset in a different location. If I'm asleep, you can wake me up."

Dean's head is bowed and he doesn't look back at Castiel as he replies softly, "Thanks, man."

"Goodnight, Dean."

"'Night, Cas."

Castiel nods solemnly and then retreats to his room. He picks up Dante's Inferno from his bedside table, but the words ring too true tonight, so he replaces it after only a few pages. Sometimes he is awed how a writer from the Italian Renaissance can still affect Castiel's thoughts after so many passed centuries, but he supposes that men have been considering the nature of hell, payment, and punishment for far longer than that. Usually, it is an intellectual as well as emotional exercise to parse Dante's dense language, which is difficult even after translation, but images of fire, pain, and death are too raw for him tonight.

Instead, he turns off his lights and closes his eyes, hoping for sleep to take him quickly.

--

When Castiel enters his cramped kitchen early the next morning, he is surprised to find Dean standing over his stove, wearing only a shirt and his boxers despite the October chill that has seeped into his apartment. Forcing himself not to linger on the sight of Dean's muscular thighs and calves, Castiel clears his throat. "Hello, Dean."

"Hey, Cas. You do realize that your fridge is practically empty, right?"

"I don't cook much," Castiel says, approaching the stove and sniffing the air. Immediately, he turns to the pot of coffee on the counter, but asks, "Where did you find bacon?"

"Back of the freezer. It was a bit freezer-burnt, but easily salvaged. Besides, bacon is hard to get wrong," Dean explains, flipping the meat in the sizzling pan.

Pouring himself a mug of the coffee and adding a packet of sugar, he hesitantly asks, "Did you sleep well?"

"Surprisingly, yeah," Dean says. "I don't think I opened my eyes the entire night. Trust me when I tell you that that's saying something."

"I'm glad to hear it," Castiel says. In contrast, he had slept less than three hours throughout the night. At least he hadn't had any nightmares that he could remember, and if he had, they had been quiet enough not to wake his guest.

Dean looks beautiful in Castiel's kitchen. He is comfortable despite the fact he is in his bookshop owner's apartment, and is cooking the eggs and bacon with the rapid, practiced ease of someone who has done it many times before.

Part of Castiel had expected to regret letting Dean stay because prolonged company normally makes him feel itchy in his own skin, but Dean, if anything, makes him feel more settled.

"You didn't have to do this," Castiel tells him, hovering by the stove with his coffee mug.

Dean shrugs. "It's been a while since I've had a reason to cook, and you deserve it. Plus, I'm hungry."

Castiel just shakes his head. "I didn't do anything I didn't want to do. You're the one who deserves something special after last night."

"This isn't the context I usually hear that in," Dean replies with a cheeky grin. At Castiel's blank look, he just rolls his eyes. "Just help me find some plates and then we can eat."

Castiel does so and then settles across the breakfast table from Dean Winchester.

Dean doesn't mention the previous night's fire. The smile on his face is more genuine than the one he had worn then, a little less plastic, but Castiel can now see behind the mask. Dean Winchester is the kind of person who smiles through his pain, and Castiel refuses to take away that layer of defense. If Dean needs to joke around and make breakfast, Castiel will not be the person to dash the smile from his face.

"It's been too long since I've eaten a real breakfast," Castiel muses as he scrapes his plate clean.

"Do you only eat take-out and cereal bars?" Dean asks, gesturing the his nearly-empty cabinets.

"I have a friend, Balthazar, who brings me lunch or makes me dinner sometimes, but he's never up early enough for breakfast," Castiel tells him.

"Oh," Dean says, glancing up at Castiel. "So this Baltha-whatever... Is he your boyfriend?"

Amused, Castiel shook his head. "Definitely not. I don't believe Balthazar has been in a committed relationship in his entire life."

“What about you? Do you have a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend? I’m not assuming you’re gay or anything, just asking,” Dean says.

“I’ve never been in any kind of relationship,” Castiel admits. “I never really had time for it.” Hesitating, he asks, “And you?”

“Single,” Dean replies immediately. “Not many people want to date someone who works such weird hours, even if he’s a fireman.”

“People often can’t see good things even when they are directly in front of them,” Castiel says, meeting Dean’s eyes solemnly. Then, checking the clock, he sighs. “I need to open the shop.”

“I’ll drive you,” Dean offers immediately.

When they pull up in front of Secondhand Angel, Dean puts the old car in park. “Do you take a lunch break?”

“Not usually,” Castiel replies. “Why?”

“I just know this really great place, if you’re up for it. You could use some real food, and I could use the company. It’s always more fun to eat with someone, you know?”

“I’d enjoy that,” Castiel says, a smile quirking up the corners of his lips.

--

“Hello, baby brother,” a voices announces in time with the jangling of the door chime.

Castiel looks up, though he recognizes the cheerful voice immediately. “Hello, Gabriel.”

“Did you miss me?” he asks, swaggering up to the counter. He doesn’t even pretend to be interested in purchasing a book. According to Gabriel, Castiel should be delighted to set aside working in favor of talking to his brother.

“Not particularly,” Castiel tells him, thinking back over the past several weeks. “It hasn’t been that long since you’ve been here.”

Gabriel gasps dramatically. “It’s been at least a month. Your heart should ache every moment I’m out of your sight,” he insists, leaning on the counter.

It is strange to see Gabriel in the spot that has quickly become Dean’s in Castiel’s mind, but he pushes that thought out of his head. After last night, the firefighter has been in Castiel’s thoughts even more than usual, distracting him. “Of course,” Castiel replies wryly. “What do you want today?”

“I don’t want anything,” Gabriel assures him. “Maybe I just wanted to see your face.”

“Oh,” Castiel says.

“So what’s been going on in your life?” he asks.

"Nothing of importance," Castiel says, waving to a young college student as she entered the store.

"Oh really?" Gabriel says knowingly. "That's not what Balthazar said."

"You talk to Balthazar about me?" Castiel asks, blinking.

"Sometimes. We're still friends, you know. We just don't fuck anymore."

Castiel tilts his head to the side. "You still like him."

"Yeah, that's what I just said."

"You know what I mean, and now you're deflecting," Castiel says.

"You little sneak," Gabriel declares, sounding proud. "You're deflecting by talking about me deflecting. It's a double deflection! Deflectception. I've been rubbing off on you."

"It could have been Lucifer's influence," Castiel points out. "Now be quiet and let me take this customer."

The college student, sporting a KU sweatshirt and a beanie with a sorority monogram, is purchasing a stack of psychology books that Castiel knew were required from a course that started several months earlier. It’s almost November, so the girl must be rushing to do her coursework. However, this isn't the latest a student had come in to attempt to catch up on an entire semester's worth of reading.

Gabriel gives the girl a flirty smile as she checks out, charming her into agreeing to come back to the store next semester as well. Castiel will never understand how his brother got along with everyone that he met-- at least all of those he tried to get along with. For a man with as much charisma as Gabriel, he seems to get pleasure in annoying people.

As soon as the student is gone, Gabriel looks back at Castiel with raised eyebrows. "What?" Castiel asks.

"I heard rumors of a boy," Gabriel prompts, retrieving a lollipop from the pocket of his jeans. "Sooo?"

"So?" Castiel says.

"Don't play dumb. I can always tell when you're screwing with me and when you're actually having all of society's unspoken rules fly over your head," Gabriel scolds. "You can't trick a trickster."

Sighing, Castiel admits, "His name is Dean. He comes by the shop a few times a week. He's... interesting."

"Have you taken him back to your place yet?" Gabriel asks with a lascivious wink and twirl of his lollipop. When Castiel hesitates, the lollipop nearly falls out of Gabriel's mouth. "No way!"

"Not for sex," Castiel tells him quickly. "He just needed a place to sleep last night."

"Sure, that's what they all say. How was he?"

"He slept on the couch, Gabriel," Castiel tells him shortly. "Then made breakfast and left."

"Oh, he made breakfast, did he? And you didn't even have to put out first? You need to keep this guy," his brother tells him solemnly.

"He's not mine to keep," Castiel says stiffly.

"He obviously likes you. Are you seeing him again soon? How often does he come by the shop?"

Castiel hesitates and then admits, "We're going to lunch today."

Gabriel practically crows. "He's totally into you! And look, you're having actual emotions. This is awesome!"

"I don't even know if he likes me. You know how I am at reading people," Castiel complains.

"Then take my advice; he likes you. Have you had the 'are you single?' conversation yet? Unless he doesn't care if you're already attached."

"We did, technically," Castiel says. "He thought Balthazar was my boyfriend. When I said he wasn't, he admitted he was single too."

"Is he hot?"

"Gabriel," Castiel scolds.

"Well, is he?"

Castiel nods once. "I think he's the most beautiful man I've ever seen."

He immediately regrets his words when Gabriel sighs and swoons melodramatically over the countertop. "You've got it bad, bro."

"I said this to Balthazar too; I have no clue what I'm doing."

"Just pay more attention next time he's around," Gabriel advises.

"I pay attention to everything he does," Castiel protests.

"I can't tell if that's cute or creepy," Gabriel replies pensively. "I just mean, look at his actions with an open mind. Think about what they'd mean if he was into you."

"Fine," Castiel agrees. "But I will not be happy if I end up making a fool of myself because you think it would be funny. And it's 'were into you,' not was."

"Grammar Nazi. I'm not trying to sabotage you. Why would you even think that?"

"We lived in the same house for more than fifteen years when I was growing up," Castiel reminds him.

"Yeah, but I actually want you to be happy this time," Gabriel points out. "Just give it a shot, all right?"

--

Dean is leaning against the side of his car when Castiel flips the sign to closed, adjusts the small clock declaring when he'll return, and locks up the shop.

In the noon light, Dean looks more handsome than ever. He was meant to be outdoors. Castiel finds that he can't wait until spring so he can see if Dean's eyes really match young grass. "Hello, Dean."

"Hey, Cas. Long time, no see."

"It's only been five hours," Castiel points out.

Dean just laughs. "I guess it just feels like longer. Come on. I'm in the mood for pie."

"I've only ever had pumpkin pie. My sister forgot to add eggs to it," Castiel tells him thoughtfully. "Maybe we can find another flavor for today."

"I know just the place."

The small 24-hour diner is not far from Castiel's shop, though he had never been there before. Dean waves at a waitress who recognizes him and approaches their table. "Hi, Dean," she greets. "Who's this?"

"Hey, Jo. This is Cas. He owns that bookshop up the street, Secondhand Angel."

"Oh, the one you keep talking about?" Jo asks with a wide grin. "Hi, Cas. It's nice to finally meet you."

Castiel gave Dean a surprised glance. Gabriel's words ring in his ears. Maybe this was what he meant. Dean had talked about Castiel?

"It is nice to meet you as well," Castiel says.

"Oh, he's polite," Jo says, raising impressed eyebrows. "So what can I get for you boys?"

They both order burgers and then fall into conversation. Castiel had been vaguely worried that Dean would have decided that he regretted letting Castiel see his vulnerability the night before, but he is unchanged. If anything, there is more affection in his eyes when he looks at Castiel.

Castiel wonders if it is obvious how he hangs on every one of Dean's words. He has been accused of having a difficult face to read, and part of him hopes that remains so.

"So how did you end up owning a bookshop?" Dean asks as they eat. The food here is surprisingly delicious, but Castiel has always had a weak spot for a good burger.

“It’s a long story,” Castiel says hesitantly.

Dean just grins. “I’d like to hear it anyway.” When Castiel remains silent, Dean’ s smile falls. “Unless you don’t want to talk about it.”

“No, I can,” Castiel says, though it is difficult to find the words. He likes Dean’s company, and doesn’t want his past to drive the other man away, but he can’t deny Dean’s request. “My family was very religious, as I’ve mentioned. My siblings and I were all named after angels. Uriel, Gabriel, Michael, and Lucifer.”

“Lucifer? I thought he was the Devil.”

“He was a fallen angel first,” Castiel tells him. “The name isn’t entirely incongruous, though. Lucifer has never been one for rules. While my siblings followed their own paths, I decided to do as my father asked and attend seminary school.” He pauses to take a sip of his drink, and then continues, “I was there for a year, but then left. My father was less than happy.”

“Why?” Dean asks.

“Why did I leave or why was my father mad? They both have the same answer, I suppose. I decided that my personal beliefs differed rather dramatically from the Catholic tradition. I had my first homosexual encounter during those years, and could not believe that God would condemn me for the desires he instilled in me.” Castiel sighs. “The Church can be rather close-minded. So, for that matter, can my father. I haven’t spoken to him since then.”

“My dad was always kind of like that, too. He practically disowned Sam when he went off to Stanford. He died before they could ever make up, though.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. From your stories, Sam sounds like a good person.”

“He is,” Dean agrees with a sad smile. “So you went from seminary school to bookshop owner?”

“Not quite. I decided to enlist. I wanted to make a difference, and since I couldn’t do it through religion, I thought I could do it by spreading peace. I realized later, of course, that war tends to instigate more violence rather than less.”

Dean’s eyebrows are nearly touching his hairline in his surprise. “You were a soldier?”

“Corporal Castiel Novak, Third Infantry Division, B Company. I was stationed in Baghdad.”

“Wow. I wouldn’t have guessed,” Dean says contemplatively.

Castiel continues quickly, unwilling to spend any more time discussing his time at war. “After my second tour, I decided to come here, since most of my siblings live nearby. I purchased Secondhand Angel and that’s where I’ve stayed. I needed the quiet.”

“I can imagine,” Dean says, and Castiel believes him. Dean may not have served overseas, but he knows the struggle of being in a life-or-death situation on a near-constant basis.

Jo returns to the table to collect their plates. “Let me guess. You boys want some pie for dessert.”

“Dean has informed me that I have to try it,” Castiel agrees solemnly.

“Yeah, can we have a cherry and a pecan? Cas, you want ice cream?”

Castiel shrugs. “You can decide.”

“Make the pecan a-la-mode,” Dean finishes. “Thanks, Jo.”

When the two plates of pie arrive at the table, Castiel raises his eyebrows at the size of the slices. Dean smirks. “This is what happens when you’re friends with the owner,” Dean says proudly. “I’ve known Ellen and Jo for years. They’re good people. Now, c’mon. Try it. I wanna see you take your first bite of real pie.”

Dean’s words send a strange thrill through Castiel, and he feels overly warm. Ignoring that sensation, he uses a spoon to scoop some of the pecan pie and vanilla ice cream. His eyes open wide when it hits his tongue, the mix of warm and cold, slick and gooey, overwhelm his senses with taste and texture. Blinking, Castiel looks over at Dean. “That was delicious.”

“Told you,” Dean says, winking at him.

Castiel listens to Dean tell him about The Roadhouse and its owners as they finish their dessert. It is interesting to hear about the family that Dean has found despite having only one remaining living relative. It has never been easy for Castiel to become close to people, and he can’t imagine being able to find something like Dean has found. Dean may have occasionally gruff, but clearly there were others who could see his brilliant soul and were just as attracted to Dean as Castiel was.

He finally understands the dilemma of a moth being drawn to a flame, knowing that the warmth and beauty were going to be worth any consequences. Castiel just hopes he will not be burned.

They pay and drive back to Secondhand Angel just as Castiel’s lunch hour ends. When they park out front, Castiel turns to Dean. “Thank you. I had fun,” he tells him.

“Me too,” Dean says. “Listen, Cas, I—Maybe I’m completely reading this wrong and you’re going to hate me, but…”

Castiel’s brow furrows. They had been having a good time at lunch, but Dean now looks frustrated. “Dean?” he prompts, trying to mask his sudden worry.

“Screw it,” Dean says and leans forward. Suddenly, Castiel finds Dean’s lips on his. For a moment, he freezes, but then kisses back.

Dean is all warmth and energy, and Castiel is unable to do anything but respond with equal passion. Dean slides across the seat closer to Castiel, hands in Castiel’s hair and body pressed against him. Castiel has been kissed before, but nothing like this. His constantly whirring mind grinds to a halt until all he can feel, smell, taste, and think of is Dean.

When they finally break apart, Dean searches Castiel’s face with curious eyes. Whatever he sees makes him smile. “I’ve been dying to do that all day. No one should look that sexy eating.”

“I’ve been thinking about it, too,” Castiel confesses.

They lean forward at the same time for another kiss, but this one is sweeter than the last one, more of an affirmation than a declaration. Dean has callouses on his fingers, but he uses them to sweep gently across Castiel’s cheek as he grasps his jaw gently.

When they break apart, Castiel looks at the dashboard clock and sighs. “I have to open back up the shop.”

“I’ve got to go, too. I picked a bad time to do this,” Dean agrees. He hesitates, and then quickly says, “But this isn’t it, right? You want… something with me, right? I’ve never done this with a man before, but I want to try.”

Castiel narrows his eyes in thought. “You’ve never had sex with a man?”

“No, not that. Well, also that, but… I’ve never been in a relationship with a man.”

Castiel can’t stop the smile that blooms on his lips. “But you want one with me?”

Dean nods and kisses him again, as if the skill of his tongue and the press of his lips is going to sway Castiel’s decision. “Yes.”

Castiel chuckles and Dean draws back, looking cautious and hurt.

Quickly, Castiel shakes his head and brushes another kiss across Dean’s full lips. “I want it, too. I was just thinking of the people who are going to say ‘I told you so’ when they find out. It seems like everyone except for me knew where this was going.”

“You talk about me?”

“Of course. Unless you don’t want me to?” This is all very confusing, despite how happy Castiel feels. How is he supposed to know what to do with this situation? He’s never even attempted to pursue a relationship before. There has been no one who has captured his interest to make it worth the effort, but for Dean’s sake he wishes he had at least some experience.

“It’s not you, it’s just… You can tell whoever you want. Just let me tell my friends on my own time,” Dean says.

“Dean, I wouldn’t go back to The Roadhouse just to tell everyone that we are starting a relationship,” Castiel points out.

“I know, I know,” Dean says. “Look, you get back to work. I’ll see you later. I have another 24-hour shift starting at seven tomorrow morning, so I can’t do much tonight, but if you’re free for a few hours we could… I don’t know, watch a movie or something.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Then I’ll see you tonight,” Dean replies. There is a smile on Dean’s face that appears brighter than the sun, and Castiel cannot get over the fact that it was he who put it there.

--

Castiel is just finishing his rapid-fire cleaning of his apartment when there is a knock at the door. He opens it to find Dean outside, a stack of DVDs in his hands.

“Hello,” Castiel says breathlessly.

“Hey,” Dean says. Their eyes lock for a long moment. The confident grin on Dean’s face fades to a more sincere smile, and it gratifies Castiel to see that Dean is just as nervous as he is. “I brought movies.”

“I ordered Chinese,” Castiel tells him.

“Then we’re all set.” Dean enters the apartment, but Castiel stops him before he can go straight to the couch. One hand on Dean’s hip and the other on his shoulder, Castiel leans up for a kiss. Dean smiles into the kiss, wrapping his free hand around Castiel.

When they break apart, Castiel feels so much lighter, as though Dean had kissed the uncertainty right out of him. They share another smile, and then Dean holds up the DVDs. “I brought Jurassic Park and Lord of the Rings. You can pick."

"I've never seen Jurassic Park," Castiel admits.

"But you've seen Lord of the Rings? How can you hit one classic and not the other?" Dean demands with a playful huff.

"The Lord of the Rings is based on a classic series by the father of the epic fantasy genre," Castiel points out. "Michael Crichton is simply--"

"I'm going to stop you right there before I feel obligated to defend Jurassic Park's honor," Dean says, putting the disk into Castiel's high-tech television. "Get ready to learn the awesome that is dinosaur cloning."

Castiel furrows his brows. "That seems like a terrible idea."

"Oh, it is," Dean assures him, settling on the couch next to him.

Castiel hands him a carton of chicken fried rice, and they lean back to enjoy the movie.

Dean provides a near constant commentary of the movie, and Castiel enjoys Dean's reactions more than he enjoys the movie itself.

When Dean puts his arm over Castiel's shoulders, Castiel immediately leans into the warmth.

When they finish the movie, Castiel feels warm and happy. He hadn't quite realized he wasn't really happy until he now suddenly could identify the feeling of contentment inside him.

It seems only natural to turn lazily in Dean's arms and kiss him once more. It starts out as a peck, a simple meeting of mouths, but suddenly hands are exploring each other's bodies as thoroughly as their tongues explore each other's mouths.

Castiel leans forward, chasing the sensation, until he finds himself lying on top of Dean on the plush couch. Dean is shifting his hips under Castiel's in a tortuously slow rhythm that makes Castiel's heart race. When they pause for a breath, Dean looks up at him with those green eyes that had captured Castiel from his start and full lips that have been kissed red.

There is lust in his gaze, but more importantly there's affection and trust.

Dean smirks up at him as Castiel continues to stare, but his gaze is searching Castiel's face, darting from his lips to his eyes in rapid succession with a hint of uncertainty. "Do you want this?" Dean asks.

Castiel clears his throat, but his voice is still gravelly and deep. He doesn't want Dean to leave just because Castiel is suddenly hesitating. "Yes."

Somehow, despite all of the people who have told Castiel that he is unreadable, Dean seems to have no such obstacle. "We don't have to do everything tonight."

"The longer we wait, the more time you have..." Castiel cuts himself off. He's rarely this emotionally vulnerable because he's rarely this emotional, and he can't quite parse through his conflicting feelings.

"I'm not changing my mind," Dean says.

"Dean," Castiel reprimands. "Humans have the tendency to change their minds at an alarming rate. You've never even dated a man before. What if you don't like it?"

"Cas, I've only had two serious girlfriends in my entire life, and the longest of those only lasted a year."

"Are you trying to comfort me?" Castiel asks, moving away so that he is sitting beside Dean rather than hovering over him. "If so, you're not doing a very good job."

"What I'm saying is that I've never really tried dating before. With Cassie and Lisa, I just sort of fell into it. We had sex and then we decided to date, not the other way around. But with you, I know that I want to try."

"Why?" Castiel asks quietly. The question has been in the back of his mind since their lunch together.

"Because you don't put up with my shit. Because you're smart. Because you have read thousands of books but you can't get the simplest television reference. Because you've been there for me when almost no one has," Dean tells him, sitting up as well. "I don't trust people this fast. Ever. But I feel... comfortable around you. I don't want to lose that."

"I don't think I've ever connected with someone the way I have with you. Most of the people I talk to are my siblings. I can talk to you and not feel like it's a chore. It makes me happy," Castiel admits.

"Me too," Dean said, and then his head fell to rest on Castiel's shoulder. "God, you're turning me into such a girl."

Castiel chuckled softly. "I am rarely this open about my emotions, either."

"Let's take this slow then, all right? I want you to be different from the other people I've slept with, and falling into bed the first night is exactly what I've always done. Plus, if I'm your first boyfriend, I want to do this right."

"Okay, Dean," Castiel says.

"I should go now to get some sleep. I start another full day shift at seven tomorrow morning."

Despite Dean's reassurances, Castiel remains slightly stiff. Dean is leaving now because Castiel couldn't make him stay.

"Are you free on Thursday? Once I wake up, I'll want to see you."

Hiding his smile, Castiel says, "I can take another lunch break, and then I'll be free after work. I'd like to see you, too."

"Great," Dean says and then gives him a short, sweet kiss. "I'll see you then."

--

Castiel makes the innocent mistake of mentioning to Gabriel that he and Dean are going to lunch on Thursday.

Only one minute before Dean is supposed to come and pick him up for lunch, Gabriel strolls into the bookshop.

"Gabriel, why are you here? I told you I'm closing for lunch," Castiel reminds him, raising his eyebrows.

"With a bookshop owner and a fireman's salary, there's no way you two can go somewhere nice. I booked reservations at The Grill. If you agree to come along, I'll pay."

The Grill was one of the nicest restaurants in Lawrence. For Castiel, who happily subsisted on take-out and burgers, it was a splurge he only indulged in if someone else offered to pay, something Gabriel clearly knows.

"You want to have lunch with me and Dean? You realize we are dating, correct?"

Gabriel just shrugs. "I realize that he's your first boyfriend in forever. Literally. It's your family's right to torment both of you."

Castiel is unimpressed. "I don't think that's how it works. Also, what do you mean the--"

"Hey, Cas," Dean greets, entering the bookstore with a smile directed only at Castiel.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel replies. He wonders how long they would need to date until Castiel stopped being left speechless every time he saw Dean's eyes.

"God, you two are sickening," Gabriel notes cheerfully.

Dean shoots Gabriel a glare, and Castiel sighs. "Dean, this is my brother, Gabriel. He is being deliberately confrontational."

"Hey, I'm not being confrontational. Just pointing out what's obvious to everyone in a hundred-mile radius." Gabriel shrugs. "You're just in time though. I was just telling Castiel that you two should come have lunch with me."

"And I was saying that that was a terrible idea," Castiel says, narrowing his eyes at his brother.

"Dean's not afraid of meeting your family, is he?" Gabriel turns to Dean with wide, innocent eyes. "You'd have to meet us eventually anyway. Unless you weren't planning on sticking around that long."

"Gabriel, Dean doesn't have to--"

"I'm not afraid," Dean interrupts, jaw clenched.

Castiel can't help rolling his eyes. "Dean, Gabriel is--"

"Perfect! Then let's go."

Since Castiel couldn't talk reason into either of them, he put on his coat and got into Dean's Impala so they could meet Gabriel at the restaurant.

"You really don't have to do this," Castiel repeats as they drive.

Beside him, Dean shrugs. "It's just your brother. I know a thing or two about weird families."

"You haven't met mine," Castiel tells him.

"My mom was killed in a fire when I was four, and my dad spent the rest of his life as a firefighter to try to save as many other people as possible, and tried to make my brother and I both become firefighters too."

"Did your brother?" Castiel asks quietly.

"Nah, he hopped the first flight to Stanford on the pre-law track. But trust me, he's far from perfect. I don't even want to get into that."

"I'm sorry about your parents," Castiel tells him. That's the thing to say, but Castiel truly is. He wishes that Dean had had a perfect childhood, rather than one surrounded by flames and ashes.

Dean just shakes his head. "Not your fault."

"Of course not," Castiel replies, tilting his head. "But I am sad for you nonetheless."

"Well, thanks," Dean says, putting a hand on Castiel's thigh. "Anyway, I'm sure I can survive your brother for an hour, especially if I'm getting good food out of it. I've heard this place is awesome."

--

Castiel knows something strange was going on as soon as the hostess confirmed that they are there with the Novak party. As they approach the table, his worries are confirmed. Gabriel is already seated at the large round table, and Uriel is at his side. His slight sneer is obvious even in the dim lighting of the restaurant, and he is wearing his usual business suit, which means Gabriel dragged him out of work to come here.

"Uriel," Castiel greets. "This is a surprise."

Uriel looks up at him calmly, clearly unfazed. "Hi, Castiel. Is this Dean?"

"That's me," Dean says, shaking her hand.

"This isn't what we agreed to," Castiel says stiffly, glaring at Gabriel.

"Well, you wouldn't have agreed if I'd said we were all going to be here. You're boring like that," Gabriel says.

Castiel does a quick count of the chairs and sighs. "Damn it."

Dean turns to him with wide eyes. "I don't think I've heard you cuss before."

Castiel shrugs at Dean and then glares at Gabriel. "Really?"

"Just be glad that Michael's out of town or he'd be meeting the entire gang," Gabriel says. "Now sit down."

Castiel does so, but he feels more tense than he has in a long time. This relationship he has with Dean is so new, so fragile and uncertain, that he can only imagine the dozens of ways his family may scare Dean away. Surely Dean had potential partners who didn't come with a group of such nosy siblings.

Dean obviously sees Castiel's tension, because he leans over to him. "Relax. It'll be fine."

"Oh, and Satan has finally arrived," Gabriel declares, making Dean's head snap around.

"Because that is still as funny now as the first time you said it thirty years ago," a voice says dryly as the last local member of the Novak family sits down at the table.

Castiel turns to Lucifer. "Hello, Lucifer. Why are you here?"

"Gabriel invited me," he replied lazily. "Besides, why should everyone else get to meet the new beau without me?"

Feeling anger roil inside him, Castiel hisses, "I know what you're trying to do."

Lucifer doesn't even attempt to deny it. "We're just looking out for you, baby bro." He turns to Dean with a charming smile. "Hello. I'm Lucifer."

Castiel is glad that he's mentioned his brother before because Dean doesn't even flinch. "Nice to meet you." Of course, since it's Dean, he adds anyway, "Let's hope you don't live up to your namesake."

"Oh, he does," Uriel mutters.

Luckily, the waiter then approaches and takes their drink orders. Lucifer orders a bottle of red for the table, despite Uriel's snippy comments about the poor quality of the label he had ordered.

"So what do you do, Dean?" Lucifer asks, smiling at the man.

"I'm a firefighter," Dean replies.

"Oh, how plebeian," Uriel comments.

Gabriel jumps in before Castiel or Dean can turn on Uriel. "Wow, I bet that gets you a lot of pussy."

"Gabriel," Castiel scolds.

"I guess..." Dean says at the same time but then trails off when he is speared by three curious looks.

"That's a dangerous career path, isn't it?" Lucifer says contemplatively. "Accidents happen all the time in that field."

"Dangerous ones," Uriel adds.

Dean raises his eyebrows, obviously torn between amusement and anger. "Is that some kind of threat?"

"Should it be?" Lucifer asks idly.

"Of course it's not," Gabriel interrupts with a grin. "Like we would need to do something like that. Did Castiel tell you what we do for a living?"

"No," Dean says cautiously.

"I'm Vice President of advertising. For Nestlé. All of Nestlé. Do you know how many companies Nestlé owns?"

"...A lot?" Dean says with a shrug.

"I make millions a year. And I'm just a small fry at this table. Luci's a lawyer. He owns the biggest firm in Kansas City. Uriel's a brain surgeon at the University of Kansas Hospital, the best in the state."

"That's so interesting," Dean says with a sardonic grin. "Tell me more."

"Castiel is our little brother, and if anything happens to him, we'll be less than pleased," Uriel says, dour expression unmoving.

Lucifer grins. "I like you, Dean. I'd hate for something to happen to you. It's very easy for people with a lot of money to make other people lose all of theirs. And we both know you need that money for something. What was it? Something about your brother..."

"What the hell?" Dean snarls, smile vanishing. "What did you tell them, Cas?"

Castiel tilts his head. "You've barely told me anything about Sam," he reminds him. "Lucifer, what are you—"

Dean turns back to Lucifer with a glare. "You don't threaten my little brother."

"I won't if you won't," Lucifer replies smoothly. The waiter comes back with their wine, and Lucifer accepts it calmly. "Wine, anyone?"

Dean looks about one second away from lunging over the table at Lucifer.

"You're all being absurd," Castiel says, glowering at his trio of brothers. "I am perfectly capable of looking after myself."

"Cassy hasn't ever been very interested in...anyone," Gabriel tells Dean, blithely ignoring Castiel. "He's not going to be your little gay experiment. I know how these things work. Castiel is a good guy. You're a man-whore."

"That's not—" Dean protests, but Lucifer cuts him off.

"I've looked into you, Dean Winchester. I'll know if you're lying," Lucifer tells him with an easy smile.

"I'm not saying I've never slept around," Dean snaps. "I'm saying that, first of all, I don't have to prove myself to you sons of bitches, but second, I'm not going to hurt Cas, all right? I know what you're trying to pull here, but you're wasting your time. The fact that I'm here at all, meeting his freaking family on what is basically our first date, shows that he's important to me."

"I sort of kidnapped you," Gabriel reminds him.

"You don't think that if Cas were anyone else, I wouldn't have turned tail and bailed the second you showed up in his shop today?" Dean challenges. "But, luckily, I like Cas more than I'm freaked out by you guys, so you're going to have to suck it up."

Castiel clears his throat. "Thank you, Dean," he says, trying not to notice that his voice sounds slightly unsteady. "Now, I'm not sure why you all are trying to sabotage this, but you need to stop. I like Dean."

Uriel sighs. "But Castiel, you don't know everything about--"

"What you are forgetting is that I've known Dean for months. Anything he hasn't told me yet, I know enough to trust that he has a reason," Castiel says firmly. "Now, unless you will agree to stop threatening Dean, we will be continuing our lunch elsewhere."

It's Gabriel who nods. "Fine. As long as we're all clear."

“I think you've been plenty clear," Castiel snaps.

"It's fine, Cas. God knows I've done worse for my brother," Dean says, adding in a pointed glare at Lucifer.

"Don't take the Lord's name in vain," Uriel mutters, but there's not much heat in it.

With the posturing and threats out of the way, the conversation moves on. It is mostly Gabriel and Lucifer vying to be the center of attention with Uriel glaring on, but that gives Castiel and Dean a chance to lean close and have their own side conversation.

When they finally leave the restaurant, part of Castiel is surprised when Dean offers to drive him back to the bookstore. Castiel wouldn't have blamed him if he had hopped into the Impala and driven away forever.

Once they are in the safety of Dean's car with the engine on and rock music thumping, Dean turns to Castiel and says, "Your family is a bunch of dicks."

"I tried to warn you," Castiel reminds him.

"You must have gotten all the awesome genes," Dean says with a shrug.

Castiel isn't so sure, since he ended up owning a second-hand bookshop while his brothers compete to see who can own the world, but he appreciates the sentiment. "I'm glad you think so."

Dean laughs and flashes Castiel a warm smile, and Castiel knows that his family will not succeed in scaring this man away.

--

Castiel is bored, sunburned, and slightly nauseated. “I thought you said this would be fun,” he grumbles.

Dean, who is lounging behind him at the other end of the small canoe, says, “Yep.” His voice is lazy and warm.

Castiel shifts uncomfortably, adjusting his grip on the fishing pole in his hands. “This is not fun.”

That morning, Dean had shown up at Castiel’s apartment and dragged him away for a date, staying secretive but promising that Castiel would enjoy it. In the past two weeks of dating, Castiel had yet to find a time when Dean’s company was not enough to delight him, so he agreed easily.

Clinton Lake is only a twenty minute drive from the center of Lawrence. The state park looks beautiful despite the chill of the mid-September morning. The sunlight falling through the leafy overhead as they walked had kept them warm while they listened to the trill of songbirds.

However, the fishing poles in Dean’s hands were enough for Castiel to have a foreboding feeling about what was to come.

Now, two hours later, they are still sitting in their rented canoe in one of the smaller bays of the lake. Though their poles have been the water nearly that entire time, there has yet to be any sign of any sort of fish.

“Are we doing something wrong?” Castiel asks, looking over his shoulder at Dean.

Dean glances over at him and smiles. “You can’t fish wrong.”

“Clearly you can,” Castiel protests. “We haven’t caught any fish.”

“That’s not what fishing’s about,” Dean explains. “Look how gorgeous the lake is.”

Castiel sighs. “I’ve been staring at it for hours.”

“C’mon, don’t you like just relaxing?”

Adjusting the floppy hat that Dean had forced him to wear, Castiel says, “This is not relaxing.”

With a heavy sigh, Dean tucks his fishing pole against the side of the boat so that it will remain in place while he stands and makes his way over to Castiel. The small canoe rocks dangerously with every step he takes, but Dean seems completely at ease. Dean slides into place behind Castiel on his small bench, making Castiel scoot forward so that Dean can put his legs on either side of Castiel’s and press against his back. “You’re all tense,” Dean says as his arms slide around Castiel’s waist.

“You made the boat rock,” Castiel chides.

“We’re not going to flip,” Dean promises him, speaking the words directly into his ear. He reaches forward and grabs the fishing pole from Castiel’s hand, maneuvering it so that it is trapped by the bench and the edge of the boat. “Just relax.”

Dean’s warm presence behind him makes Castiel feel steadier. He can almost ignore the way the boat moves with the waves under them. Still, he remains stiff. Any movement he makes could unbalance the canoe.

“Still not seeing it?” Dean asks behind him.

Castiel shrugs. “I’m sorry.”

“You win some, you lose some,” Dean says easily. “But I think I can still salvage the date.”

Skeptical, Castiel says nothing.

Suddenly, there is a puff of warm breath on his neck before Dean’s lips press against it, moving in a steady, sensual pattern that mimics the swaying of the boat. His teeth graze the skin of his neck, making Castiel moan slightly and tip his head sideways to allow Dean further access. He has never considered his neck to be an erogenous zone, but the way Dean is tracing his way up and down is making Castiel’s heart pound.

“Is it working?” Dean asks softly against his skin.

It takes Castiel a long moment to process the question. “Yes.” His voice comes out thick and sated.

“See? It’s not all bad out here,” Dean chuckles before returning to his ministrations.

They don’t return to the shore for another hour.

Castiel doesn’t mind.

--

From then on, Castiel and Dean were together almost any time they were both free. With Castiel's long hours at his shop and Dean's sporadic shifts, it still wasn't as often as either of them would have liked, but they do what they can.

Castiel's regular customers have noticed that he closes for lunch now, but most seemed to share the sentiment that Castiel had always worked too much before.

Castiel feels comfortable in Dean's presence. For once he prefers to have someone's company to being alone. He finally understands why people put so much time and effort into finding a significant other.

They've yet to spend the night together, but the occasional heated make-out sessions they've had in Castiel's apartment or in the back of the Impala have been extremely memorable.

It was amazing the fire emotional intimacy added to physical intimacy.

They have been dating for nearly a month when Dean arrives for their lunch date looking more on edge than Castiel had seen him since the night of the fire which had killed the Hendrickson family.

"Dean?" Castiel asks, immediately concerned. "Are you all right?"

The store is luckily already empty, so Castiel quickly flips the sign to closed and turns to Dean expectantly.

Dean is pacing, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "Listen, there's something I've been meaning to tell you."

"All right," Castiel replies uncertainly.

"Not in like a "we need to talk," kind of way, but there's something I want you to know."

Castiel frowns. "I don't understand."

"Right. Okay, you know my brother, Sam?"

"Not personally..."

"Yeah, that's the whole point. I want you to meet him."

Castiel smiles. "You want me to meet your brother?" Dean talks about Sam all of the time, but he has always been like a shadowy figure in the background of their conversations, like he is someone Dean thinks about all the time, even if he only tells Castiel the basic facts and childhood stories about him. "I'd love to."

"Yeah?" Dean asks, looking surprised, but quickly hiding it.

"Yes. I know he's very important to you," Castiel explains.

"I haven't told you everything, though. I don't know how to explain." Dean paces one more step and then turns to Castiel. "Can I just show you? Do you trust me?"

"Of course."

Dean fidgets the entire drive to their unnamed destination. It would not be obvious to someone who did not know him, but the tapping of Dean's fingers on the steering wheel and the way he constantly skips tracks on his tapes tells Castiel that he is nervous.

They drive a bit outside the city, enough to where Castiel does not recognize the roads. Finally, they pull up in front of a small building that looks too large to be a house but too small to be a hotel, with a sign in front that reads "Bobby's House."

Castiel turns to Dean and stares at him, knowing an answer will be forthcoming. Dean is gripping the steering wheel tightly, and Castiel can see the muscle in his jaw clenching.

"When Sam was at Stanford, he had a girlfriend. Her name was Jess. She died in a fire in their apartment while Sam was out. It feels like fire has been haunting my family for my entire life."

Castiel remains silent, letting Dean tell the story as he needs.

"I told Sam to come home, to take a break, but he insisted he could finish school." Dean gave a short, bitter laugh. "That was when he met Ruby. She showed him all sorts of ways to forget the pain. Booze. Pot. Eventually, codeine. Sam was always such a good kid. He just...went off the rails for a while."

Dean sighs. "I found out when he ran his car into a street sign and he almost ended up in the hospital. Ruby had stopped him from calling an ambulance so they wouldn't get caught with a DUI and illegal substances, but Sam called me completely out of it the day after it happened.

"He was on the track for law school. Suddenly, he was flunking out and taking more codeine than they give surgery patients. I told him that he could either come back home and get into rehab, or I'd stop paying for Stanford.

"I don't think he would have gone for it if Ruby hadn't gotten arrested that week. She tried to drag him down with her, but they couldn't pin him with enough to arrest him. He came here and I found Bobby's House. Bobby actually used to be a friend of my dad’s, and we got lucky that he let Sam stay there for half-price. At this point, Sam’s already been there for two months."

"That's why you were in my shop that first day," Castiel deduces.

Dean nods. "I thought maybe having some books with him would give him something positive to focus on. I visit him all the time, but with my work and their visiting hours, it's not as often as I'd like."

"And you pay for his rehab," Castiel says slowly. "That's what Lucifer meant when he said you needed money. I'm going to kill him." Clenching his fists, Castiel marveled at his brother's sheer audacity. If he had thought that Castiel would allow a threat like that to happen, even if Dean did hurt Castiel, then Lucifer was in for a surprise.

"Like I told him-- I'd do anything for my little brother. I told Ruby that if she ever contacted him again, I'd kill her. I wasn't exaggerating. I would do it in a heartbeat to keep him safe. Your brother will look after your safety, and I'll look after mine."

Castiel ignores that, already making a mental reminder to call Lucifer later. "And now you're letting me meet him?"

"He wouldn't drop it. He really wants to meet you after I told him about us," Dean says with a shrug.

"If you don't..."

Dean shook his head. "I do. You're both... important to me."

"Then let's go."

As they walk into the facility, Dean continues to talk to Castiel. "I promise, he's really a great kid. Don't tell him I told you all that stuff about him. You'll like him. You can geek out about your books, or whatever. Don't, you know, judge him based on what I told you."

Castiel stops in front of the empty check-in desk and turns to Dean. "What you've told me is that your brother, whom you love very much, has been through a difficult patch lately. I am happy that you two have such a strong bond, and I'm glad that he's working towards recovery. I couldn't judge him for drug use. I'm in no position to judge anyone."

Dean looks confused by that, but is interrupted from questioning him by the arrival of a woman in casual clothing, but with a name-tag that labels her as a therapist. "Hey, Dean," she greets with a grin. "Hey, Cas."

"Hello," Castiel says, raising his eyebrows. "Have we met?"

"Nah, I'm just psychic. I'm Pamela."

"She's also a liar. I mentioned that I was going to bring you along soon," Dean informs him.

"You're all he and Sam have talked about for weeks," Pamela says brightly.

When Castiel glances at Dean, it’s to see a pained expression on his face, but his ears are bright red. “Yeah, yeah, enough gossiping. Can we go see Sam?”

“Sure thing. He just got out of his therapy session, so he’s probably in his room. You know the way. If you can’t find him, just holler, okay?”

“Thanks,” Dean says. As they walk down the hallway, which is painted with warm yellows and greens rather than a hospital shade of white, Dean explains, “The patients are on lock-down from leaving the building, but they can go pretty much anywhere inside. They’re all here because they agreed to be here, so it’s not like a prison, or something. The owner, Bobby, had his own addiction after his wife died, so he gets what it’s like.” They stop in front of a door and Dean hesitates. “Are you sure you want to still meet him.”

Castiel nods without hesitation.

Dean knocks on the door. “You here, bitch?”

Castiel can hear footsteps as Sam approaches the door. "Hold your horses, jerk."

The door opens to reveal a man who is so tall and broad that he fills the entire doorframe. He has long brown hair and a bright smile that makes it easy to overlook the fact that he is built like a professional athlete.

"Hey, Dean," he says, grabbing his brother for a hug. Despite Dean's grumbled protests, Castiel sees him hug back.

Stepping back, Sam turns to Castiel. "Hi, I'm Sam. You must be
Cas."

"That's me," Castiel greets. He is startled when Sam engulfs him in a hug as well.

"Let him go, you're going to break him," Dean protests immediately, making Sam step back.

Though Castiel rarely is comfortable with physical contact, Sam's easy affection is endearing. "It's nice to meet you," Castiel tells him when he realizes the younger Winchester has adopted a slightly guilty look after Dean's admonitions.

"It's good to meet you, too. Come on in!"

The room is small, but not as small as Castiel might have expected. Like the rest of Bobby's House, the room has a welcoming atmosphere. In addition to the bed and a personal bathroom, there is a couch in front of a television and a bookshelf stacked with familiar, worn covers.

"You kept them all," Castiel marvels, approaching the shelf.

"And I've read most of them more than once," Sam tells him. "I was surprised by how much I liked them, especially since it was Dean bringing them around."

"Well, I let Cas recommend some of them," Dean says.

"All of them," Castiel corrects with a small smirk. "I do believe you were frightened the first day you set foot in my store."

"That's because he was a bookstore-virgin," Sam confides with a laugh.

"You've only known each other for two minutes! You can't conspire against me yet!" Dean protests, but there is a smile that is cannot quite repress on his lips.

"Since you're here, I actually wanted to ask you about what you thought about The Book Thief. No one else I know has read it, but it's one of those I can't stop thinking about, you know?"

Castiel nods, and they quickly get into a discussion about the book while Dean sits back and lets them talk. Dean's brother is quieter than Dean, approaching the conversation with soft earnestness that Dean only gets when they're alone.

It is obvious that Sam is highly intelligent and well-read, demonstrating his book-smarts in contrast to his brother's tendency towards street smarts.

The book discussions Castiel has had with Dean were about the plot and the meaning, always connecting even the most absurd literature to reality, while Sam often focuses on the language itself. He picks up on literary allusions with ease and can summon more at the blink of an eye.

It is clear that he misses the scholastic setting of Stanford.

After they have discussed several of the most recent books Dean has purchased for him, Sam grins. "Thanks for indulging me. I don't really get a chance to talk books around here, and Dean won't read any of the stuff I have. Hell, I don't remember the last time he picked up a book," Sam says.

"He finished Fahrenheit 451 last week," Castiel informs him.

Sam gives his brother an incredulous look. "Really?"

"He's read all of the books I've suggested to him," Castiel says, confused by Sam's surprise.

Dean looks embarrassed. "You can shut up now, Cas."

Startled and hurt, Castiel snaps his mouth closed. This was why he didn't have conversations when he could avoid it. He never knew when he made a mistake, even though it was apparently glaringly obvious to everyone around him.

"Shit, Cas, I mean..."

Sam interrupts with a roll of his eyes. "Ignore him, Cas. He's just embarrassed that he's been reading books just because you asked him to. I've been trying to get him to do it for years."

Castiel gives Dean an assessing look, making him flush and avert his eyes. "I didn't read them just because he wanted me to," Dean says defensively. "They were good books."

"He was trying to impress you," Sam says with a sage nod. "Wow, he must really like you."

Castiel has been on the other side of this conversation enough to realize that Sam is trying to tease his older brother. "It worked."

There is a knock on the door before Dean can respond. It opens without waiting for someone to answer it, revealing an older man with a beard and a baseball cap.

"Bobby," Dean greets with a smile.

"Hey, boy. How are you doing?" Bobby replies with gruff affection.

"Doing good," Dean replies.

“And your brother?” Bobby asks, looking at Sam.

The large man grins at Bobby. “I’m good.” Gesturing to Castiel, he adds, "Bobby, this is Cas."

"The one Dean keeps talking about?" Bobby asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Like Pamela didn't send you here to get the scoop on him," Dean replies, crossing his arms.

"'Course not. You think I care?" Bobby says, but Dean looks unconvinced.

Castiel nods solemnly to Bobby. "It is nice to meet you."

"What do you think?" Bobby asks Sam, raising his eyebrows.

"He seems like a good guy," Sam replies as though Dean and Castiel are no longer in the room. "Dean seems happy."

"I'm right here," Dean grumbles.

"If there's one thing I've learned over my long life, it's that Winchesters are inept at making the right decisions for themselves," Bobby says gruffly.

Dean and Sam exchange guilty looks, but don't refute that.

“Can I have a word, son?” Bobby asks Castiel, moving towards the door without waiting for an answer.

Almost growling, Dean says, “Bobby…”

Castiel shakes his head at Dean. “It is fine. Keep talking with Sam,” he assures him before following Bobby to the hallway outside. After his brother’s verbal assault on Dean, Castiel can certainly survive any conversation Dean’s family subjects him to.

When they stop and Bobby turns to face him, the older man is silent, eyes sweeping over Castiel in an assessing manner. Castiel, however, is unbothered by silence, and takes the opportunity to stare back. Bobby does not look like the type of person who would run a rehabilitation center for drug and alcohol addicts. He appears to be the type of person who would be more comfortable with a can of beer in his hand than a person who has dedicated his time to inspiring other people’s lives. Unlike Pamela, he does not even wear a nametag that designates him as having any sort of affiliation with the clinic.

There had been a softness in his eyes when he had addressed Sam and Dean that made Castiel see that he has a kind soul beneath the gruff surface. However, that softness is gone as he watches Castiel now.

“So you’re Cas,” Bobby says.

Unsure if it is rhetorical since they have just been introduced, he confirms, “Castiel Novak.”

“And you own a bookstore.”

“Yes,” Castiel replies, unsure how Bobby managed to make the fact that Castiel owns a bookstore seem like an insult. Perhaps it was the skepticism in his words, as though he doesn’t believe that Castiel is who he says.

“And you’re dating Dean.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Remembering when he had faced the same question from his brothers, Castiel replies, “I like Dean. He is kind and interesting, and I enjoy his company.”

“I know what he is,” Bobby barks, making Castiel raise his eyebrows. “I’m asking why he picked you. You’re the first person that boy’s brought to meet his family ever, except during the occasional late night or early morning walk of shame. And you’re a guy.”

Castiel frowns. “Dean’s choices are his own,” he replies, confused. “I’m simply glad that he returns my affections, whatever his reasons.”

“He acts like he’s tough, and hell if he ain’t, but he doesn’t need a pretty boy bookworm manipulating him. He doesn’t love lightly, so I don’t know what you’ve done to get his attention, but he’s not a toy. You don’t get to show him off to your snooty friends just because he’s got callouses,” Bobby says.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Castiel replies stiffly. “I have not been… manipulating Dean into caring for me.” He doesn’t refute that his friends are snooty. Balthazar and Gabriel may have been promiscuous, but they are surprisingly judgmental despite the glass houses they live in.

“That had better be true,” Bobby replies, crossing his arms, “because if you hurt him, you will not like the consequences.”

Castiel had been prepared for some sort of request for Castiel to respect Dean, but the intimations that Castiel has been trying to hurt him are unacceptable. “If you’re trying to intimidate me, it will not work,” Castiel tells him coolly. “I have faced far more terrifying things than you.”

“Really?” Bobby mutters, giving Castiel another assessing look.

However, Castiel is not finished speaking. Meeting Bobby’s gaze levelly, he continues, “I accept your protectiveness of Dean because you love him, but if I treat him well—which I will—it is because of my love, not your threats.”

Castiel hasn’t said this before, that he loves Dean, but there is no other word for it. It feels natural on his tongue, like the word was created to describe the burning yet soothing sensation he feels for the firefighter.

“You’re awfully ballsy for a librarian,” Bobby muses. The words appear to mean something different to Bobby than they do to Castiel, because he then claps Castiel on the shoulder and says, “I can see why he likes you.”

Castiel does not know what to say, so he simply continues to stare at the old man.

Shaking his head, he continues, “I should have stopped expecting the predictable from those boys a long time ago. Now come on, I should get you back in there before your boy comes looking for you.”

When they re-enter Sam’s room, Dean shoots Castiel a concerned look, but Castiel simply shrugs. He has no clue what has just happened between him and Bobby. For a while, the four of them stand together, allowing Bobby and the two Winchesters to catch up while Castiel watches on fondly. Though he is hesitant about Bobby, Castiel feels a surprisingly strong affection towards Sam already. Dean obviously cares an immense amount for his brother, and anyone with a bond such as that with Dean is automatically in Castiel’s affections.

When Bobby asks Dean to come by his office to discuss something neither of them will specify, Castiel is unruffled when Dean asks him to remain with Sam.

For a few moments when the other two are gone, there is silence in the room, but then Sam speaks, “I’m glad I got to meet you, Cas.”

“As am I,” Castiel says. “I can see why your brother speaks so highly of you.”

“Yeah, well, he likes to leave out the bad parts,” Sam said, a blush rising to his cheeks. “I’m sorry you had to come… here to see me.”

“I do not know why you and Dean continue to say that,” Castiel says, brow furrowed. “I have no problem with coming here.”

“A lot of people aren’t very comfortable with rehab clinics,” Sam suggests cautiously, as though Castiel had not noticed where they were and was worried he was going to scare him off. “Did Dean tell you about me?”

“I know the essentials,” Castiel confirms.

Sam looks at him with wary, sympathetic eyes. “Most guys wouldn’t be too thrilled to come meet the psycho little brother of a guy they’ve only been dating for a month or two.”

“You’re not a psycho,” Castiel protests. “You were traumatized.”

Sam huffs a self-deprecating laugh that Castiel hates to hear from his mouth. Perhaps it is a Winchester trait to doubt oneself to the point of absurdity. He knows that Dean wants him and Sam to get along, but Castiel finds he wants to lessen Sam’s burden for Sam’s sake as well. Meeting Sam’s eyes, he says, “Did Dean tell you that I was in the military?”

“Just in passing. You were in Afghanistan?”

Castiel nods. “During my second tour, I was… not well. Seeing so much death, causing so much death… it has a less than stabilizing effect on people. I received an injury while I was there. It was not enough to send me home, but I was in a deal of emotional and physical pain. I became addicted to morphine. It took a full-scale intervention on the part of my older brother Gabriel for me to submit to rehabilitation.”

“Dean didn’t tell me that,” Sam says softly.

“I haven’t mentioned it to Dean yet.”

“Why not?”

“I was not myself during that period. I do not believe that the story has much influence on my current self, and do not want to burden Dean with unnecessary information. In addition, I find it… difficult to speak of my time in the war.” Castiel feels stiff and uncomfortable, like he is standing at attention under Sam’s kind gaze. “However, I wanted you to know that I understand, in a way, what you have gone through. And I do not judge you, Sam Winchester.”

To Castiel’s alarm, there are tears in Sam’s eyes. He is more alarmed when Sam stands up and wraps Castiel into an even more overwhelming hug than their first. Unsure whether or not to hug back, he stands still, but he finds that he is enjoys the gesture once he gets over his surprise. “Thanks, Cas,” Sam says softly, stepping back.

“Aw man, did he hug you again? Sorry, Cas,” Dean says, entering the room. “If you two need some alone time, just say the word. Don’t want to interrupt the chick flick moment. If you’re trying to steal my man, though, I’ll have to kick your ass.”

“He’s all yours,” Sam says with a laugh, though Castiel is not sure if the comment is meant for him or Dean.

“Well, we’ve got to bounce. This has already been a two-hour lunch break for Cas,” Dean says.

Castiel checks his watch in surprise. Indeed, they have been at Bobby’s House for almost an hour and a half already. “It was nice to meet you, Sam,” Castiel tells him.

“You too, man. Make Dean bring you back some time, all right?” Sam says before turning to Dean. “Treat him right, okay?” he says as he hugs his brother again.

“Aren’t you supposed to be saying that to Cas?” Dean grumbles, returning the hug for a brief moment before stepping back.

Sam shrugs. “I think you’re the one we need to worry about here,” he says with a smirk.

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

As they leave Bobby’s House, Castiel decides that he is never going to understand sibling relationships. However, the Winchesters seem happy with their casual insults, so Castiel does not question it out loud. Instead, he asks, "How much more time will Sam be here?"

"Four months," Dean sighs. "Like I said, he was hooked pretty bad, but maybe he'll be able to go back to school next fall. Maybe he’ll stick around here and go to KU instead of flying back to Stanford though."

"That would be great," Castiel says firmly. “I think he would do well, and I believe the proximity would make you both happy.”

Dean huffs, but there is obvious affection in his eyes. “Yeah, I don’t know if I’ll ever get rid of him.”

--

That night, Dean invites Castiel to visit his apartment. Dean had avoided having Castiel over, citing the small size of the apartment, but he said that he wanted to show Castiel something.

When Castiel enters the small apartment across town, having borrowed Balthazar’s car to get there, he is greeted by a blend of rich smells that make his eyes widen. Dean, who had greeted him at the door, grins at him. “Hungry?” he asks.

In answer, Castiel’s stomach growls. “You cooked?” he confirms, raising his eyebrows.

“I thought you could do with a home-cooked meal that wasn’t made by that pretentious ass you keep talking about,” Dean replies, leading Castiel into the kitchen.

"Balthazar isn't that bad," Castiel protests, but didn't press the subject. "You made lasagna?"

Dean nods. "I used to make it for Sam. It's pretty easy and it's good for filling up hungry teenagers. Normally when Sam's around, he makes me add a side salad, but lettuce is for pussies."

Castiel smiles and takes the seat Dean offered him. "This is still healthier than most of the meals I eat," he reminds him. "And definitely better-tasting."

"You haven't even tried it yet," Dean points out as he takes the pasta dish out of the oven.

"I have faith in you," Castiel says easily.

Sliding the lasagna onto the table, Dean just shakes his head. "You're awfully quick to put your faith in things."

"Or perhaps I am just a good judge of character," Castiel suggests.

"I don't know what you see in me, but I'm not complaining," Dean says after staring at Castiel for a long moment. "Grab some lasagna. I'm not your wife; I'm not going to serve it to you."

They chat easily over the meal. Now that Castiel finally knows about Sam's rehabilitation, Dean slips his brother into the conversation more often, making Castiel wonder how many times Dean had deliberately avoided mentioning his brother, just to prevent any uncomfortable questions.

Castiel is glad that Dean feels comfortable opening up to him. He hasn't ever told Castiel that he loves him, and in fact rarely verbally acknowledges their relationship, but the affection is there in his eyes whenever he looks at Castiel, even more so when he doesn't realize Castiel is looking back.

Dean could not possibly feel as strongly about Castiel as Castiel feels for him, but he finds himself largely unaffected by that thought. As long as Dean is here, looking so content in Castiel's company, Castiel can suppress his desire to feel those three words roll across his tongue and to hear them repeated by Dean.

This is Castiel's first relationship, but he is confident in his own emotions. There's no need for comparison; what he feels for Dean is real. Castiel will not ask Dean for more than he is willing to give, but will bask in everything he receives.

His brothers have teased him his whole life about his inability to enjoy life, but they are wrong. Castiel rarely wastes his time on things that do not interest, and so spends much of his time wrapped up in his books, but now that he has found something that grabs his interest, he wants to indulge.

Once they have finished dinner and have moved into the living room to pick a movie, Castiel finds his gaze lingering on Dean's lips. Finally, he can't resist, and leans forward to capture them with his own.

Dean responds immediately, hand moving to the back of Castiel's head to control the angle of the kiss. When Dean licks his way into Castiel's mouth, Castiel moans into the kiss, pulling Dean closer.

His hands find the hem of Dean's shirt and slip under, tracing up his stomach and then brushing against his nipples. Dean pulls back slightly so he can yank the cotton shirt over his head and return to kissing, pushing Castiel's trench coat off his shoulders as quickly as possible.

Castiel shifts his hips, trying to find some alleviation for the growing pressure, and then gasps when his groin brushes against Dean's and a bolt of pleasure rushes through him.

Dean pushes him back so that he is lying on the couch and slides a leg between Castiel's, so that his thigh is pressed directly against Castiel's arousal. Their kiss turns sloppy as Castiel grinds up against him, thinking only of Dean and the search for release.

Breathless, Dean suggests, "Bed?"

Not hesitating, Castiel nods, though it is almost painful to separate from Dean long enough to get off the couch. Their short trip to Dean's bedroom is lengthened by long pauses to grope and kiss and shed more clothing, neither of them able to keep their hands off the other.

Finally, they make it to Dean's bed, though at this point, they are kissing as they walk and are down to their boxers, with Castiel letting Dean guide him backwards until they tumble onto the navy comforter.

Dean gives him a lengthy kiss before slowly making his way down Castiel's body, pausing over the areas that make Castiel sigh or groan.

Dean has long since discovered the sensitivity of the base of his neck, but they discover that Castiel's eyes slip closed in pleasure when Dean licks his hipbone. The other man remains there for too long, so close to the center of Castiel's aching need but much too far. If the smirk on Dean's lips when he glances up at Castiel is anything to go by, he knows Castiel is on the verge of begging. Dean's smirk grows as he slides Castiel's boxers off.

Once the fabric barrier is gone, dean presses a kiss to Castiel's inner thigh before moving to his other hipbone.

"Dean," Castiel says. It is supposed to be a warning, but comes out breathy and needy.

Raising his eyebrows, Dean meets his gaze for a moment before kissing a hot trail to the base of Castiel's course curls and then stopping there.

"Dean, please," Castiel insists.

"Tell me what you want, babe," Dean replies calmly.

"Dean, I need... I need you. Your mouth. Anything. On me," Castiel says brokenly, having to search for each word.

Language usually comes so easily for Castiel, but his brain is full of heat and electricity and Dean.

Luckily, Dean understands and licks up his shaft playfully before swallowing him partway down, his hand moving to cover the difference.

The heat enveloping him is stunning, but what makes his hips stutter upward is glancing down to find Dean's eyes locked on his. He could never have imagined that first day in his bookshop when he had been first floored by those eyes that he would one day have Dean like this and have those eyes watching him like that, with pupils blown so wide with lust that the iris is just a thin rim of green.

Dean is enthusiastic and thorough, adding swipes and swirls of his tongue that leave Castiel completely absorbed in the building pleasure.

"Dean, Dean, Dean," Castiel groans, the word becoming a mantra on his lips.

When the pleasure crests, Castiel throws back his head and lets it wash over him. Though Castiel had not possessed the presence of mind to warn him, Dean determinedly swallows, drawing every last shred of pleasure from Castiel.

Panting, Castiel can find no words to express the magnitude of his feelings.

Dean slides back up his body and lays halfway on top of him so that Castiel can feel that Dean's own arousal is still hard. Kissing Castiel's neck gently, he says, "I've never given a blowjob, but I've had my fair share. What did you think?"

Castiel manages a groan and then mutters, "I'll inform you once I regain feeling."

Dean looks smug, but Castiel thinks he has earned it. "You regretting never trying this before. You could have been doing this for years."

"The best part was that it was you," Castiel tells him simply. "Though obviously the act was extremely pleasurable."

Looking up at him through seductively lowered lashes, Dean grins. "Since you're awake enough to have your vocabulary back, do you wanna try it?"

Castiel needs only to imagine having Dean writhing with pleasure underneath him to suddenly regain the ability to move. He flips them over and silences Dean's chuckle by removing his boxers and taking Dean into his mouth.

Though the sensation is new and strange, Castiel finds it enjoyable, especially the way even the slightest movement can draw a moan from the man beneath him. Dean rarely shows any vulnerability, but he comes apart tonight for Castiel.

"God, Cas, your fucking mouth," Dean pants, trying to thrust up into Castiel's mouth.

To maintain control of Dean's pleasure, Castiel uses an arm drapes over Dean's hips to keep him in place while he explores this new part of Dean's body.

"Cas, I'm about to--" Dean gasps.

Castiel pulls his head up and uses his hand to bring Dean to completion, determined to watch Dean as he unravels. "Let me see you come," he asks, his own voice gravelly and wrecked.

At his words, Dean arches and comes, his warm seed coating Castiel's hands.

After wiping his hand lazily on the pair of his discarded boxers which still rested on the bed, Castiel moves up to kiss Dean again. There is a sated look in Dean's eyes, and it thrills Castiel to know that he put it there.

"Come here," Dean says, wrapping an arm around his waist.

Castiel leans back into him, sighing with contentment.

Dean grumbles into Castiel's neck, "This isn't snuggling."

"Of course not," Castiel replies indulgently.

Huffing, Dean says, "We're just collapsing together in manly exhaustion." Castiel can feel the smile on Dean's lips when he presses a kiss to Castiel's neck.

Castiel drifts to sleep, feeling warm and content.

--

He had always been warned about the heat of the desert. However, it was impossible for anyone to convey just how sweltering it is to run outside when it is 115 degrees Fahrenheit while dressed in full battle gear. The armor that promises to keep him alive feels like it is slowly killing him.

Hell has always been described as hot, and he wonders if this is what they meant, or if there is a way for it to be even worse. Hell is a place of blood and pain and heat. Some days in the middle of battle, Castiel wonders if he’s dead, and this is his eternity.

It is hard to think, hard to breathe, but he has to keep moving. The rattle of machine gun fire is the only thing louder than his own heartbeat as he darts for cover.

The Humvee is now on fire, and there is no way his squad will be able to use it to get to safety. They are pinned in this deserted street by unseen enemies, and Castiel is going to die in the middle of this desert.

Using the burning Humvee as a shield even as he ponders the likelihood of the gas tank catching fire and causing an explosion, Castiel aims for one of the sniper nests and fires a quick spray of bullets. There are people watching him, waiting to kill him for no reason except the uniform he wears.

Even as his thoughts take on an edge of panic, Castiel's body is following orders. He sees someone go down, the splatter of red blood bright against the pale sand, and he darts out from behind the car so he can drag the other soldier to safety.

When he gets closer, he realizes that it's Sergeant Anna Milton, and she's already dead.

“Anna!” he shouts even though he knows she can’t hear him.

Her eyes are empty and she is still despite the chaos around them.

He pulls her back to safety anyway, hearing bullets spray sand as they hit the ground beside him. Her form is heavy, so heavy that he finally understands the meaning of the term ‘dead weight.’ When they get behind the burning car, his eyesight is blurred even beyond what could be attributed to the sand, sweat, and adrenaline. Anna had been a friend.

Though he wants to mourn, he can’t take a break from the action, can’t take even a moment to breathe. Fingers clenching on his gun, he stands back up.

From then on, it was just explosions and screams and blood. And that heat. That sweltering, oppressive heat.

“Cas!”

Castiel is contained, unable to escape, so he thrashes desperately for an escape. If he’s been taken captive, he won’t submit easily. If he’s been injured, he needs to be able to get up and see, even if he’s lost a limb or his skin. Either way, it’s dark and warm and he can’t breathe.

“Cas, it’s just a dream! You’re here, you’re safe. It’s me, Dean,” a voice is saying in a low, frantic voice.

Panting, Castiel opens his eyes, but it’s still dark and he can’t see anything.

“We’re in my apartment. You’re safe.”

There’s someone next to him. The breathing is too close for comfort, and Castiel reacts without thinking. With one fluid movement, he has the other person pinned down, moving his forearm to press hard against the man’s throat. Castiel blinks, trying to make out the face in the darkness.

“Cas?” the man croaks with his remaining air, his voice barely managing to escape his lips.

Suddenly, the blur of features and the voice connect in Castiel’s mind and he jerks backwards. “Dean,” he says, voice almost breaking. “Dean, I…”

"You okay?" Dean asks, sitting up slowly and rubbing at his neck. His voice is still raw from the attack. Castiel could have killed him.

"I should be asking you that. Dean, I apologize. I... It was..."

Dean just shakes his head, barely visible in the dim light. "Was it a nightmare? Flashback? Because I know what that's like."

Castiel let out a ragged sigh, trying to control his breathing. "Yes, it was. It's been months since I've had one. I thought, maybe, they were gone."

"You were sleeping in a weird place and you just lost your virginity. Maybe it messed up your brain," Dean suggests. Cautiously, he slides closer to Castiel on the bed. "Can I...?"

"I'm not going to attack you again," Castiel promises fervently.

Dean pulls Castiel into an embrace. "I'm awful at comforting people or whatever, but if you want to talk, I'm here."

Castiel stiffens at the contact, afraid despite his own words that he might hurt Dean again, but Dean doesn't let go. "It was... War is terrible. You hear that all the time, you've read the books, you think you know. But you can't, not until you're in those tents, not until you've seen the blood on the sand."

Dean holds him tighter, giving him the strength to continue, "I can't forget it. I don't think I ever will. I'm so much better than I was, Dean. When I first got back, it was... Sam might have already told you, but I was addicted to pain killers. I just needed something to make my brain just stop. I just kept seeing it all, over and over, every night. It's so much messier than in the movies. Nothing prepares you for that kind of gore. You're a firefighter, you've seen some of it."

Dean nods, a motion Castiel feels more than sees. "Not as much as you, but yes."

"Sometimes I can still smell it. The blood, the gunpowder, the sand, the burning..." Castiel's head falls to his chest. "I can never redeem myself."

"It was a war."

"I killed other humans. I killed people just because they were born in another country. I was raised to believe certain things, they were raised to believe others. But when I signed up, I still thought I was doing the right thing. I was wrong."

"It's not your fault, Cas," Dean murmurs. "You were a soldier."

"Just following orders," Castiel has heard the quote a thousand times. It has been used to excuse his actions, but then used to condemn entire nations. "There are no excuses. But I have been able to not think about it. The bookstore is calm. There's no blood there. And with you... I can focus on the present. But on nights like this, all I want is the oblivion of the drugs. Sometimes it’s just as bad as the first day I tried to quit."

"You saved people," Dean says firmly.

"And killed them. Sometimes, you can't outrun your ghosts. I fought a war in Hell, and I am not sure I will ever leave." Castiel leans into Dean. "You know the guilt, the pain of not being able to save people," he says, remembering Dean's devastation over the Hendrickson fire those months ago. "How would you feel if you had pulled the trigger?"

It is difficult to keep his breathing steady, and his voice wavers with the effort. "Why am I here with you, happy, after what I did? Why am I not paying?"

"You shouldn't have to. Still, I think your own brain is making sure you're paying anyway," Dean points out. "I understand now."

"What do you mean?" Castiel questions.

"All those people who told me to stop blaming myself. It's hard to watch someone else do it."

"I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean sighs and rubs his hand up Castiel's back. "That's not what I mean."

"I'm sorry," Castiel says again, not sure if he's speaking to Dean or the memory of Anna, Samandriel, and dozens of other faces of friends and foes who died instead of him.

Something inside of him begs to sob, to have some physical release of the re-opened emotional wound, but he cannot. The tears will not come.

Feeling raw and empty at once, he allows Dean to pull him back down to the bed. He realizes that he is repeating that he is sorry and that Dean is saying something in response, but he cannot make out the words. The arms around him and the deep vibrations from Dean's chest soothe his body if not his mind. He doesn't know how long it takes, but sleep eventually overwhelms him, as it always does in the end.

--

A few hours later, Castiel awakes in the dark feeling as though someone has dragged a cheese grater over his body both inside and out, but his skin is as whole as ever. Dean's arm is around his waist, but Castiel can only think of the events of the night and wonder why Dean is still there.

Then again, it is Dean's bed. Where would he have to go to escape from the man who had tried to strangle him during the night?

It is rare for Castiel to experience mortification this intensely. Perhaps he's simply never cared so much about someone else's opinion.

After their first sexual encounter, he had tried to kill Dean, and then burdened him with everything that had happened to him before and after Afghanistan. With Dean's obvious reluctance to introduce Castiel to Sam, was there any chance he would be willing to stay in a relationship with an ex-addict?

He can't imagine facing Dean in the sunlight and seeing disdain in those eyes Castiel loves so much.

Moving carefully so as not to wake Dean, Castiel slips from the unfamiliar bed and tracks down his scattered clothing. He gets dressed with quick efficiency and then calls a cab, leaving Dean to continue sleeping alone.

--

Castiel is barely able to focus during work that day. His customers are forced to repeat their inquiries multiple times, and it seems as though he cannot remember where anything belongs.

There is no sign of Dean, neither in person or from his cell phone, and Castiel doesn't know if he's relieved or disappointed.

When he gets back to his empty apartment after closing the store for the night, he realizes immediately that sitting alone is not the best plan to help him forget about his night with Dean. He pulls out his phone and texts Balthazar. I WOULD LIKE TO GET DRUNK

Boy probs? Balthazar replies a few moments later.

EXTREMELY DRUNK

Ill buy out the nearest liquor store ;D

Almost an hour later, Balthazar arrives with his arms full of brown bags full of both bottles and food. Setting everything onto the living room table in front of Castiel's couch, he asks, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Castiel shakes his head. "I can't."

Unfazed, Balthazar pulls out a pair of glass tumblers. "Then let's do this."

It takes time for the alcohol to affect Castiel. He drinks steadily while Balthazar fills the time with lighthearted stories.

The buzz hits him after an hour, and by the second hour his mind feels as though it is slightly disconnected to his body and his past. He laughs at what Balthazar is saying. "I believe it is douze."

"Ah yes. Then, it was a ménage-a-douze," Balthazar says with a dramatic flourish of his hand.

"That sounds very unlikely," Castiel says, taking another sip of his bourbon. "I'm not sure that's physically possible."

"Because you would know," Balthazar said sarcastically.

Castiel has a sudden vivid recollection of his activities with Dean last night before the flashback incident and feels a blush creep over his cheeks. Alcohol always reduces his control over his own facial expressions.

Balthazar gapes at him. "Details! You have to tell me everything. When did it happen? I thought you promised to call me at least the morning after," he scolds.

Castiel rolls his eyes. "I agreed to no such thing. It's none of your business."

"Was it good?"

"Very."

"All the way or just getting off?" Balthazar asks shamelessly.

"We used our mouths and… why am I telling you this?" Castiel says, looking down at himself as though he could find the answer written on his clothing.

Balthazar winks at him. "Because I got you drunk, just like you asked. And since you asked me instead of just doing it on your own, that gives me full permission to take advantage of your state and ask you all sorts of questions."

"I don't think that is how taking advantage is supposed to work," Castiel says.

"I could just ravish you, but first of all, I like my partners consenting enthusiastically, and secondly, I think your fireman would have my balls on a skewer."

"I will never stop being surprised at the color of your language,” Castiel notes before adding, “And he’s not ‘my fireman.’”

Balthazar sighs. “I hate being right. Troubles with the boy?”

Castiel nods and takes a large gulp of his drink. He had thought that the alcohol would soothe his discomfort, but his emotions feel deeper now. “We slept at his apartment last night after… you know.”

“The blowjobs.”

Flinching slightly at the blunt discussion of something so intimate, he agrees, “Yes. That.”

“So, what, you slept together and then he dumped you?”

“I had a nightmare,” Castiel says cautiously. “A flashback. About Afghanistan.” Balthazar does not know everything that happened in the war, but Castiel knows he has mentioned it at various times, usually while he had impaired judgment. After taking another drink of bourbon, he adds quietly, “I almost killed him.”

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” Balthazar says. "Are you okay?" Balthazar asks.

"I almost killed Dean," Castiel says. "I shouldn't be okay."

"Did he tell you that? He's a bastard, Castiel. Whatever you did, you weren't in your right mind. It wasn't your fault," Balthazar insists. His voice is relatively steady, making Castiel wonder how much less Balthazar's had to drink than him.

Castiel sighs. "He'll be better off without me. Dean can do so much better than a secondhand bookshop owner with PTSD," he says.

"No," Balthazar replies solemnly. "He really can't."

They drink far past midnight, since Castiel is reluctant to sleep and Balthazar is reluctant to leave him on his own. Finally, they pass out on the couch. Balthazar sprawls along the cushions, but Castiel tucks himself in a corner, terrified of hurting Balthazar like he hurt Dean.

When there is a flurry of knocking at the door, it takes a while for Castiel to open his eyes. There is a mild hangover pounding at the back of his head, which means he must have been spectacularly inebriated last night.

Unfortunately, all he has gained is a headache and a vague sense of nausea. The gaping hole in his chest from his shame is still raw and painful.

"Get the door," Balthazar mutters, kicking in Castiel's direction before burrowing his face into the couch.

Holding a hand to his head, Castiel walks to the door. The sun has only just peeked through the apartment window, bathing the apartment in a pale gray light. It is a Sunday morning, which meant Castiel isn’t required to open his shop until noon, and he isn’t expecting anyone to his apartment.

The door is nearly banging off its hinges, so when Castiel unlocks and opens it, it is with a snarl on his tongue. The anger quickly disappears when he finds Dean on the other side, dressed in a pair of soot-covered navy pants and a white shirt with the Lawrence Fire Department logo on it.

"Hello, Dean."

Though Castiel's anger is gone, Dean's is in full force. "Don't 'hello, Dean' me! What the hell, Cas?"

"I..."

There is a thud as Balthazar falls off the couch and stumbles towards the door, looking ruffled and languid after just waking up.

"Problem?" Balthazar asks with surprising venom considering how tired he looks.

Dean stabs his finger in Balthazar's direction. "Seriously, Cas? The next night? Or has this been going on the whole time?"

"That's Balthazar," Castiel says, uncertain what he is implying.

"Get out, you son of a bitch," Dean growls at Balthazar. "Cas and I need to talk."

"I don't think you two should be talking alone," Balthazar returns, glaring at the firefighter.

"It's fine," Castiel tells him. "Go home. I'll call you later."

"You sure, Cassie?"

Castiel nods, so with one last glare, Balthazar leaves the apartment.

The second the door shuts, Dean sneers, "Cassie? So what, that stuff you said about being a virgin wasn't true? Balthazar has been making you dinner and then fucking you for dessert?"

"I'm not having sex with Balthazar," Castiel informs him. "Listen, I understand why you're angry with me. Maybe you should come into the kitchen so we can--"

"Damn right I'm mad! Maybe you missed the memo, but you can't just slip out after sleeping with someone and not leave a note. I had no clue what happened to you, and then I had to drag myself to work for twenty-four fucking hours. I nearly got my head bashed in by a falling support beam because I kept thinking about you. You couldn't have sent me a text or something?"

Castiel hesitates. "I did not think we would be seeing each other again after last night."

Dean scowls at him. "Listen, man, I'm done being people's one-night-stand guy. I thought you were different. I thought... I mean, you... What, was the blowie just that terrible?"

"What? Dean, this isn't about the sex."

"Then what the hell is going on? You've got to give me something to go on here." Dean shakes his head and glances behind him at the door. "Are you breaking up with me? "

Castiel feels far out of his depth. It is as though Dean is speaking a foreign language for all Castiel comprehends. "I didn't think you'd want to see me anymore."

"Why?" Dean demands.

"I don't appreciate being mocked," Castiel says icily. "I'm talking about the flashback. I tried to kill you in your own bed last night! Don't pretend like you've forgotten."

Dean looks as though Castiel has punched him. "You thought I wouldn't want to see you just because you had a nightmare? What the hell do you think I am?"

"A reasonable human being? Dean, I let you believe that I'm just a, a bookshop owner with a boring life and annoying brothers. I never told you that I'm broken."

"We're a little broken, Cas," Dean points out. "It's not like I've never woken up after seeing my parents go up in flames. You think you're the only one with flashbacks?"

"But I killed people. I used to be a drug addict!"

Dean rolls his eyes. "Join the club. It seems like half the people I know are."

"That's what I mean, Dean. I was supposed to be the normal part of your life, a balance." Castiel can't stare into Dean's burning green eyes anymore, and his gaze drifts to the carpet. "I heard how you talked about Sam. I didn't want you to ever talk like that about me."

"Talk like what?"

"Like you're ashamed," Castiel explains.

Dean looks like he is considering strangling Castiel, which would perhaps be fair. "I'm not ashamed of Sam! I'm protective of him! I didn't want you near him if I thought you were going to act like it bothered you. That’s why I waited so long to introduce you."

"Dean..."

He takes a step closer. "I don't care that you have PTSD. I mean, I care, because I wish you hadn't gone through all that shit, but you came out of it still so strong and... kind. That makes you amazing, not something to be ashamed of."

"But you're so... Dean, you are the most amazing person I've ever met. You could have anyone."

"I told you I wanted you," Dean reminds him.

"I'm not going to hold you to that the rest of your life. This isn't your problem. I fell in love with you and got too attached. It hurt to walk away, but you're not as attached as I am, Dean. It's better for you if you leave."

Dean walks even closer, making Castiel step backwards until he ends up with his back pressed against the wall. Dean doesn't stop until less than an inch separates them. "How can you think I don't love you?" he asks quietly, his vulnerable voice a sharp contrast to his dominating actions.

"You've never said..."

"Neither have you. God, Cas, I took you to meet Sam. I've spent all of my free time with you for months, and you weren't even putting out. You're awkward and blunt and so beautiful and mine. And we're obviously terrible at communicating but I want to fix that because I want to have this. Have you. Broken or not."

"You love me?" Castiel asks, feeling as though his world has been shifted. Everything looks different now. Is 'love' what Castiel has been seeing in Dean's eyes all this time?

Dean presses forward, closing the space between their bodies, and smashes their lips together in a hot, desperate kiss. Pressed against the wall, everything Castiel can see and feel is Dean.

He bites on Castiel's bottom lip before laving it with his tongue. His hands come up to practically tear off the day-old shirt Castiel slept in, and Castiel shivers when his bare back meets the cold wall. He is warmed beyond minding, however, when Dean pulls back long enough to growl, "I love you," before capturing his lips again.

Castiel moves to pull his shirt over his head. "Did you come straight here from the station?" he asks as he begins to unbutton the unfamiliar pants.

"I told you. I was worried," Dean growls. "If I drag you into a bedroom now, will you still be there when I wake up?"

Castiel nods immediately.

"Jump up," Dean orders.

Though he is nonplussed, Castiel obediently jumps, allowing Dean to catch him. Castiel wraps his legs around Dean's hips and kisses him again. Dean holds onto Castiel's thighs in place as he walks them towards Castiel's bedroom, every new step bringing another rush of sweet friction between them.

There is something deeply arousing about Dean's ability to carry Castiel despite the fact that they are almost equal in height.

Finally, Dean sets Castiel onto the bed and settled on top of him, running his hands over Castiel's bare chest.

Castiel's headache is completely forgotten. All he can think about is getting Dean as close as possible.

"I want you," he says, grinding up against Dean. "I need you inside me."

"Lube?" he asks into Castiel's lips.

"In the drawer," Castiel tells him, grateful that Balthazar had convinced him weeks ago to plan ahead.

Castiel almost regrets telling Dean in the following minute during which Dean rummages for the tube. However, he forgets instantly when Dean returns. Dean kisses him so thoroughly that he is nearly distracted from noticing the slick finger slowly entering him.

The sensation is strange, but not painful, so Castiel focuses on Dean's tongue instead of the intrusive digit.

When Dean adds the second finger, however, Castiel can't help but to stop moving, focusing on the slight burn.

"Relax," Dean tells him softly as he gently moves his fingers.

Castiel focuses on breathing until Dean's fingers brush up against something inside him that turns the sensation from vague pain to intense pleasure almost immediately. Castiel's flagging arousal is hard again almost instantly as he gasps. "Dean!" he exclaims.

The other man smiles and deliberately twists his fingers again, making Castiel moan and grab on to Dean's shoulders tightly.

Dean continues twisting and thrusting his fingers until Castiel is desperate for more. "Dean," he growls, glaring at him. "I'm ready. Just hurry up."

"Bossy," Dean says with raised eyebrows, but his pupils are blown with lust and he is almost shaking as he pulls out his fingers and lines himself up. He pushes into Castiel slowly, filling him with a thicker heat than his fingers had been.

Castiel gasps at the feeling of being completely full, which edges on painful. Dean holds steady, waiting for Castiel to adjust. Finally, he rocks forward slightly, sending a flicker of pleasure through Castiel. "Oh," he says, surprised by the intensity of the sensation.

"Okay?" Dean asks, keeping his movements so gentle that they're almost teasing.

"Yes, yes," Castiel replies, wrapping his legs around Dean's waist to pull him even deeper.

Reassured, Dean begins thrusting in and out more fully, occasionally brushing against the spot inside Castiel that threatens to overwhelm him with pleasure.

"Dean, more," Castiel pleads shamelessly, unable to get enough of this sensation.

"Dammit, Cas, do you even know what you're doing to me?" Dean groans, leaning down for a swift, bruising kiss before picking up his pace.

Castiel thinks that the sensations cannot get any more intense, but then Dean slips his hand between them to grasp Castiel's erection and strokes it twice, and that's all it takes for him to feel his pleasure beginning to crest. "Dean," he says.

"Just let go, Cas. Come for me," Dean replies, and Castiel does just that.

His back arches with the force of the pleasure thrumming through him, so strong that he barely notices Dean's rhythm falter until he feels the warmth of Dean's release inside him.

Dean collapses on top of him, and Castiel loops an arm around him possessively. He feels deeply satisfied and doesn't want the moment to end.

Though Dean agrees and cuddles for a few minutes, still inside him, he finally says, "We're going to get stuck together if I don't clean us up."

"Is that supposed to be a deterrent?" Castiel questions, making Dean chuckle and press another kiss to his lips. Still, Dean pulls out and slips out of the bed, leaving Castiel feeling bereft, but returns with a warm washcloth.

His gentle ministrations feel indulgent, and Castiel allows himself to relax and be taken care of.

However, when Dean steps back again, Castiel requests, "Don't leave."

"I'm just tossing the towel back in the bathroom," Dean assures him before crawling back in bed. "Remember, I've been at work the past day. I'm ready to sleep for a week."

Castiel hums contemplatively. "More sex when you wake up?"

"Jesus Christ," Dean mutters. "If I could get it up, we'd be having more sex right now." He wraps an arm around Castiel's waist and curls up along his back. Castiel knew from the past few weeks that Dean enjoyed occasional cuddling, but their sessions on the couch were nothing compared to his post-coital affection.

Castiel presses back so he is flush with Dean's chest and sighs contentedly. "I love you, Dean Winchester," he proclaims softly.

"Love you too, Cas," Dean says into his neck. His voice is quiet and gentle, and moments later, he begins to snore.

Feeling warm and safe, it doesn't take Castiel long to follow.

--

Epilogue

"There's no need to be nervous," Castiel assures him.

Dean grunts. "I'm not nervous," he insists.

Castiel lays a hand over the fingers that are practically tattooing a pattern into the steering wheel. Dean flexes the fingers under Castiel's hold and then turns to look at him. "Maybe I'm a little nervous," he admits wryly.

The light turns green and Castiel removes his hand so that Dean can keep driving.

"Sam's been doing so well. There's no reason that a change in location will alter that. Besides, he'll be staying with us, and we'll look out for him," Castiel points out.

"I know," Dean grumbles.

When they finally pull up in front of Bobby's House, Dean practically jumps from the car, though Castiel follows at an only slightly more contained pace.

Bobby and Sam are waiting by the door, Sam's duffle bag and a box of extra belongings on the floor at their feet. Sam's smile when he sees them enter lights up the room.

Though part of him worries what a relapse on Sam's part would mean for Dean's emotional state, Castiel had faith that Sam will be able to continue moving forward with his life.

Dean steps forward and grabs Sam into a rough, tight embrace which leaves Sam teary-eyed and Dean trying to hide that he is proud enough to burst.

"You ready to blow this place?” Dean asks.

“So ready. Thanks for letting me come stay at your place,” Sam says with an embarrassed expression that looks out of place considering his bulk.

“Like I’d let you stay anywhere else. Besides, anywhere’s better than here. No offense, Bobby.”

"None taken," Bobby grunts. "But I better see you two again. As guests. Either of you check in, I'll have to kick your ass. But if you ever have a problem, you'd better come here. I'd better not here that you checked in somewhere else."

"So do you want us to come back here or not?" Sam teases, though his eyes are still bright and emotional.

"Dammit, boy, you know what I mean. Both of you just stay healthy, okay?" Bobby's voice is gruff, but he looks at Sam with pride and affection. "All three of you," he corrects, glancing at Castiel.

Surprised by the inclusion, Castiel wonders if Sam or Dean mentioned Castiel's own substance abuse to the man, but decides he doesn't mind either way. Bobby is family to the Winchesters, and Castiel thinks he is close to earning that status as well.

"Let's get your shit in the car," Dean says, bending over to heft one of the boxes. "What the hell is in these-- bricks?"

"Books," Sam replies. He shoots a smile at Castiel and adds, "You should be thanking me for liking to read. I'm basically responsible for you two, you know."

"It was all due to my looks and charms," Dean argues easily.

"'Charming' isn't the word I would have used to describe you after our first meeting," Castiel points out.

Rolling his eyes, Dean turns to haul the box out to the Impala. Castiel offers to help Sam with the remaining box, but the larger man simply puts his duffle bag over his shoulder and hefts the box easily into his hands. "Don't worry, Cas, I got it."

Feeling useless with his empty hands, Castiel follows Sam towards the car. "I'm sorry to intrude today."

"You're not intruding," Sam assures him easily.

Still, Castiel presses, "I understand that this is a family event."

Sam makes a motion with his shoulders that would be a shrug if he weren't weighed down by his duffle bag and the box. "You're family, Cas."

Stunned, Castiel halts in his tracks and watches Sam approach the Impala, where he trades a casual shoulder nudge with Dean before he sets his belongings in the trunk.

Dean crosses over to Castiel and peers at him with concern. "You okay, Cas?"

"I... yes," Castiel replies. He looks at Dean's familiar face: the tan skin, the faint freckles, the bright green eyes. To Castiel, Dean is his home.

For some reason, he had never considered that Dean might feel the same way. He knows Dean loves him, but he hasn't been able to imagine that Dean could feel the same intensity for him in return.

But for Dean, family means everything. If Dean has included Castiel in his life to the point that even Sam considers him family...

Castiel leans forward suddenly to capture Dean's lips with his own, the kiss passionate and deep. His words tend to hinder him in communicating no matter how eloquent he tries to be, so this time he lets his actions speak for him.

"Is this what it's going to be like at our apartment?" Sam complains loudly, making them break apart.

Castiel forces back a blush while Dean just chuckles. "Probably worse. You'll have to suck it up. You're stuck with us."

Us. Our apartment. After years of struggling with war and loneliness, Castiel finally has a place where he feels safe and loved. He feels settled deep inside, a sense of contentment that should be startling in its intensity, but only feels right.

Dean presses another kiss to his lips and then slides an arm around his waist as he turns to Sam and says, "Let's go home."