AN: I have used the history from seasons 1-5 of Supernatural in this story. But I have also added my own original twist to it all. This AU will not entirely stick to the canon of the show.

***Major character Death***

Castiel picked up the apple pie that was still cooling on his kitchen counter. The incredible smell of the crusty dessert filled the entire house, shaping a smile on his face. Over the years, Castiel had gotten truly good at baking—well, at playing the role he'd always wanted to have.

He was almost out of the house when he realized he was still wearing his blue apron. Yeah, like that would make a great first impression.

Castiel set down the pie back on the counter and removed his apron, setting it over a chair at the dinner table. At this point, his mouth was already watering. He should have made two pies instead of one. Maybe later.

After closing his door, Castiel walked across his lawn, crossed the driveway to his right, eyeing the classic black car occupying the space—at least his new neighbors had good taste—and walked up the front steps to the green house. He maneuvered the pie to his left hand, cleared his throat, and knocked on the door.

Nervously, Castiel shifted on his feet, chewing on his lower lip as he waited. This had been a constant tradition of his. Every time someone moved into the neighborhood, Castiel baked them a pie. It was what he had seen on TV so many times, he figured it was customary. But then, it just became his thing. Everyone loved his pies. He had made many friends through his pies.

He stood motionless when he heard the chains being unlocked on the other side of the door. He counted at least three. These guys sure are paranoid.

Wesson Street was usually calm and uneventful. Everyone knew each other, so there was no reason to have so many precautions. Castiel looked behind him, noting the pieces of wood on his neighbors' lawn. They were planning on building a fence, too. Unbelievable.

A tall—no, that was an understatement. An enormous skyscraper would be a better description—man opened the door. He had dark, wavy hair, down to his shoulders, long sideburns, strong cheekbones, and broad shoulders. His eyes were luminous and green, like his house. Castiel had to look up to meet his eyes. I have never felt so tiny in my entire life.

"Hi," the man said, cracking a wide, friendly smile. "I know, I'm tall. I hit this growth spurt around sixteen, and I haven't looked back since."

Castiel laughed, but then stopped himself, hoping that he hadn't offended his new neighbor. "I'm Castiel Novak. I live right next door. I thought I'd come and welcome you to the neighborhood."

"Oh, yeah, come in," the man said, opening the door wider and stepping back. Castiel noticed he was barefoot. And he was wearing a plaid shirt. He could always tell a lot about a person by the type of shirts they wore. Castiel was currently wearing a black Henley. He felt that translated to being a nice person. Plaid, on the other hand, meant trouble. Why couldn't a person stick to a single color? "My name's Sam, by the way. Sam Winchester." Sam closed the door behind Cas, locking all of the chains back into place.

The inside of the house was a mess. There were boxes everywhere, and no place to sit. It smelled of fresh paint, and Castiel was grateful when Sam opened a window.

Castiel smiled, lifting up his apple pie. "It's good to meet you, Sam Winchester."

"Is this for me?" Sam asked, signaling the pie.

"Yeah, it's apple. I hope you like it." Sam took the pie in his hands, glancing at it intently. "Is something wrong?" Castiel asked.

"No, no, nothing's wrong." Sam lifted his eyes, assuring Castiel with a small grin. "I'm sure my brother will love this."

"You live with your brother?" So they're not a couple. Interesting.

Sam nodded, making a beeline to the kitchen. Somehow, his long legs had formed a pathway around the boxes, so Castiel followed him, intrigued by the sudden turn of events. "Yeah, he's taking a shower right now. He should be out any minute." Sam set down the pie on the counter, turning back to Castiel. "He's going to freak when he sees this pie."

That didn't sound like a positive reaction. "Why would he do that?"

Sam ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head in defeat. "Well, it's sort of a long, depressing story. I don't want to keep you. I'm sorry, I should shut up now."

Castiel swallowed hard. He couldn't comfort this human if he didn't know the full story. A few years ago, he would have been able to read his thoughts, to know what he wasn't telling. It was absurd to think about the past, when he couldn't do anything to change it. Besides, he liked his new life. He liked the role he chose for himself.

"Do I smell something good out there?" a deep voice called from the hallway. And then Castiel saw him. One second, his face was dark, rotted, melting as if it had been burned, and the next, his face was young, handsome, and filled with freckles. Castiel held back a gasp, instead focusing on the fact that the man was wearing nothing but a towel around his hips to cover his dripping body. His green eyes were the only resemblance he shared with Sam. "Well, I didn't know we had company, Sammy. Very good-looking company."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, this is Castiel, our next door neighbor. Castiel, meet Dean, my brother."

"Pleasure," Castiel said, trying to look anywhere but at Dean. He is a demon. An abomination. Is Sam aware of this?

But Dean stepped closer, and then he stopped a couple feet away from Castiel, his hand stretched out in front of him. "Mighty pleasure."

Against his better judgment, Castiel shook Dean's hand. His grip was hard and strong. Of course. He had the powers of Hell.

"Dean, Castiel brought us a pie."

Dean tugged on Castiel's hand, pulling him into his wet arms. A hug? A hug! From a demon. That was perhaps Castiel's lowest point in his entire existence. But Dean's arms held him close and tight, without any prejudice. And Castiel knew that if he was aware of Dean's true form, Dean was surely aware of Castiel's. Dean laughed close to Castiel's ear, sending an involuntary shiver through his body.

Finally, Dean pulled back, releasing Castiel. He laughed good-naturedly, pushing back some of Castiel's hair that had fallen forward. His hair needed a trim pretty soon, or it would start looking like Sam's. "Thanks for the pie, Cas." Dean winked, laughing again before heading back where he came from.

Castiel blinked at the empty hallway, hearing a door open and close somewhere in the house. He took notice of the physical impact that hug with Dean had caused him. Castiel's heart was definitely beating faster than normal, his palms, they were so sweaty he had to rub them against his jeans. His throat was suddenly dry, and so were his lips. He licked them quickly, turning back to Sam.

Sam frowned, slightly uncomfortable. "Excuse him; my brother's very…honest."

"Honest," Castiel repeated. Yeah, not the right word. Sam's brother was a demon. What did that make Sam? The victim? Sooner or later, Dean would strike. It was in his nature to bring disaster to those around him. Especially if he sensed a threat. Not that Castiel had any grace left in him, but if he did, he would use it to smite Dean.

Castiel had chicken drumsticks baking in the oven, white rice cooking on the stove, and black tea boiling in the kettle. He put down his cell phone, setting it on speaker, as he set the table for one.

"What exactly do you mean, Castiel?" Anna asked over the line.

Once he found the right placemat for the day of the week—Thursday—Castiel searched for the utensils he would need for this particular meal. "My neighbor may or may not be planning on killing his brother, not to mention the entire neighborhood."

"And how did you come to that conclusion?" Anna's tired tone was a clear indication of her skepticism. Castiel couldn't blame her.

"I just have a feeling about him," Castiel said. He knew he shouldn't be telling this to anyone, not even Anna, but he couldn't keep it to himself. Anna was his closest friend, and he told her practically everything. Well, aside from the fact that he was a former angel, but now he was wingless, graceless, and ordinarily human. In simpler terms, Castiel was a fallen angel.

"You have feelings for him?" Anna teased.

"No. Not feelings. A feeling," Castiel said, to make things crystal clear to his friend. "You know how sometimes I have a sixth sense about things? I'm usually right about my predictions. I know how to avoid danger, and Dean Winchester, he's complete danger." Castiel still had his doubts about Sam, but he couldn't trust him either. Not yet.

"Okay, Castiel, I think you need to calm down," Anna said, patiently. "I'm sure this Dean person isn't going to sneak into your house at night trying to murder you with an axe. From what you're telling me, it just sounds like he's into you."

Castiel nearly choked at that. "I would never be with a man like Dean Winchester."

Anna chuckled. "Relax, man, I was joking. I know you're not that easy. Give it time. And if you do end up dead, then it'll be on me."

"Thanks a lot, Anna," Castiel said, letting out a long breath. The smell of the rice distracted him enough to get back to work. He turned off the stove and the oven, leaning against the sink.

"Bye, Castiel. I'll see you tomorrow for lunch."

"Of course. Goodbye, Anna."

The phone call ended, but Castiel remained where he stood, listening to the kettle announcing that his tea was ready. He enjoyed cold tea, so he would have to wait a little longer to drink it. He wasn't hungry anymore, anyway. There was a strange sensation at the pit of his stomach, but he couldn't name it.

Castiel put the tea in the fridge for cooling, and went to sit on a black leather couch in his living room. There was nothing entertaining on TV, which was ironic, considering that every show was made for entertainment, even the informatory ones.

That was when his bell rang.

Castiel wasn't expecting anyone, but he couldn't deny that having an unexpected visitor would be nice. Eating alone was his least favorite pastime.

Immediately, Castiel regretted that thought. His visitor was none other than Dean Winchester, and his army of freckles.

Dean wasn't half naked any longer. Now he wore dark jeans, a white shirt, and a brown leather jacket. And as soon as their eyes met, Dean smirked. "Mind if I come in?" he asked, already making his way inside. Castiel opened his mouth to protest, but Dean wasn't listening. He was a demon, after all. Resigned, Castiel shut the door. He gathered his courage and stood a little taller. "You got a nice place, Cas. You live alone, huh?"

Castiel furrowed his brow. "What do you want?"

"You're cooking?" Dean said, walking into the kitchen. He lifted the lid from the pan, closing his eyes and sniffing loudly. "That rice smells good."

Castiel stood at his table, holding onto the back of a chair. He still knew how to exorcise a demon the old fashioned way. "I was about to have dinner."

Dean nodded, turning to the single placemat on the table. "Alone?"

"Yeah, I think we established that I live alone." Castiel made eye-contact, despite that fact that he had just made himself sound more vulnerable.

"Cas," Dean said with a smile. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were afraid of me."

"Why would I be afraid of you?"

Dean shrugged. "Maybe because I'm a demon, and you are—used to be—an angel."

"Then you should know I am capable of sending you back to Hell."

"Do we really need the threats, handsome?" Dean approached Castiel, smiling smugly. "I'm not here to threaten, much less hurt, you. I'm here for an entirely different reason."

Castiel lifted his chin defiantly. "What?"

"Dude, that pie you brought us, it was fantastic." Dean laughed, and even when he stopped laughing, he was still smiling. "Was it store-bought or homemade?"

"Homemade," Castiel said slowly, confused. He tilted his head to the side.

Dean whistled, surprised. "You have a gift, Cas. I'm not ashamed to admit that I already finished the whole thing. Sam was able to steal a piece from me while I was changing, but he was lucky he didn't get in my way while I was eating the rest. There's no telling what I would have done to him."

"You would hurt your own blood over pie?" Castiel asked, astounded. This was exactly what he feared.

Dean waved away his worries. "I wouldn't cause permanent damage. A broken bone or two would do."

Castiel glared at him in silence.

"Kidding," Dean said, clearing his throat.

Castiel shook his head. "I find that hard to believe, considering what you are."

"You're just like all of them, aren't you?" Dean said, sounding disappointed. "I mean, I thought you would understand. You're not an angel anymore."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Sorry about your wings." Dean quirked up one side of his mouth. "How did it happen?"

Castiel chuckled humorlessly. "I'm not going to sit here and talk about my personal life with a demon."

"You don't have to sit. We can lie down." Dean smirked, again.

"Are you truly hitting on me? What gave you the idea that you would ever have a chance with me?" Castiel realized that he sounded way too dignified, but honestly, this was a demon.

Dean pulled out a chair from the dinner table, the one Castiel had set for himself, and sat down. "In your eyes, that's all there is to me, isn't there? Just that I'm a demon. You don't care what I do for a living, or what my future goals are, or that I love my brother and I would die for him in a heartbeat."

Castiel couldn't deny that he felt a bit guilty for judging Dean so fast, but he still couldn't accept that a demon was sitting at his table, trying to convince him that there was more to him than what he was. Castiel couldn't accept that. Dean was a demon—end of story.

"You're very pretty, but it's a shame you're such an ass." Dean sighed. "I just came here to ask if you knew where I could take a few cake decorating classes. I've been looking into baking, but I don't have a clue what to do with the cakes once they're out of the oven. And I make some really incredible cupcakes, let me tell you. Cupcakes are easier to decorate than cakes."

"This is so bizarre," Castiel said. "I need to sit down."

"Please," Dean said, signaling the chair beside him. "It's your house."

Castiel sat down, placing his hands on the table. They were sweaty again, so he hid them on his lap underneath the table. There were so many thoughts making his head spin, and he didn't know where to start. He was aware of Dean staring at him, waiting for him to speak, but Castiel was rendered speechless this time.

"Maybe you'll feel better once I tell you that Sam knows about me," Dean said, scooting his chair closer to Castiel. "He and I, we're trying to build a new life here in Kansas. We're from this town. We thought that maybe if we went back home, we would be okay. That's all we want from life now, to be okay."

Castiel glanced at Dean, staring into the green of his eyes. Dean sounded so sincere, and he had this soft, unwavering voice that proved his honesty. It could all be a trick, but a really good one.

"Alright, Dean, for the sake of this conversation, let's pretend I believe you," Castiel said. He couldn't believe what he was about to say, but crazier things had happened. "Would you like to stay for dinner? I made another pie."

Dean smiled a smile so radiant that it filled the room with light. Castiel was delirious. "You don't have to ask me twice, Cas. Give me two slices."