I posted this story over a year ago but I'm now returning to it. Here is a revised version of the first chapter that I hope you will enjoy before reading the newly written second chapter. Please let me know what you think.
Dean walked along the main road, his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket as his eyes glanced about for a decent watering hole. He had passed a couple of bar & grill type establishments but the thought of hanging out in a chain restaurant made him cringe. The sun was shining but there was a bit of chill in the air. The cold breeze felt good against the back of his neck, made him feel awake. The early evening might even have been pleasant if it weren't for Sammy intruding in on his thoughts, the lines of his face bent into an angry glare, his cheeks flushed red with frustration.
You gotta stop doing this, Dean!
They had talked since that night, smoothed everything over with a couple of "sorry"s and "I didn't mean it"s. Dean had smiled and clapped Sam on the shoulder, wishing him well on his trip to California.
"Meet a hot babe and don't let her know that your older brother is better looking than you," he'd said as they gave each other a goodbye hug.
Sam laughed and nodded, "Sure, jerk."
"Bitch."
The corner of Dean's mouth lifted with the memory, but it quickly faded back into a frown. He knew that the fight wasn't resolved. They had glossed over it in the usual Winchester fashion, shoving down the actual problem just to stop the fight in the present moment. But it would be back. It always came back to bite them in the ass. Also in the Winchester fashion.
Dean took a turn into the next little bar on the road. "General's Pub". It wasn't exactly what he was looking for, a little bit too populated for his taste, but he needed a drink and he needed a drink now. To his immense relief, there weren't too many people seated at the bar and as he claimed a stool of his own, the bartender came immediately for his order. He was in his 30's, clean-shaven with black hair and an earring. Eh, not bad.
"Give me your best beer on tap," Dean grunted, focusing his thoughts back on what he was there for. He watched as the bartender nodded and got to work, pulling the beer tap and letting the liquid pour into into a glass with an efficiency probably achieved by years of practice. Dean gave a small 'thanks' as the glass was placed in front of him.
"I'll start a tab?" the man offered. Dean nodded.
As he took the first gulp, the drink giving him a kind of pleasure it seemed only alcohol could give him these days, he heard the bartender greeting people as they walked through the door.
"Novak! Good to see ya!" He heard a couple of voices tossing greetings back and forth. He could almost hear the Cheers theme song playing in his head.
"Where everybody knows your name," he sung under his breath, his level of annoyance rising. He was going to have to vacate soon, there were too many people for his current state of mind. It seemed that this was a local bar that Dean was intruding on. Though, he supposed he was a local now. The key to his new apartment resting in his pocket said that much.
He was taking another sip when the sound of the stool next to him scraping against the floor alerted him that he was about to have his space invaded. He was almost in the mood to turn to this mystery person and tell them to fuck right the fuck off but when he actually did turn his head…
Well, what to focus on first? There were the bluest eyes Dean had ever seen, of course, looking straight at him, making his face go warm and his body freeze up. Then there was this smile that went from ear to ear, wide and toothy. Throw in the tousled dark brown hair that looked as if it existed only to have hands in it and Dean was rendered speechless.
"Hello," the gorgeous stranger said, voice much deeper than Dean would have expected.
Dean moved his mouth to reply and found no words for what felt like forever before finally choking out a short, "Hi." He wanted to smack himself in the head for how stupid it sounded. "Uh...hey," he added. Sure, why not, make it worse.
Dean didn't understand how it was possible, but the stranger's toothy grin grew even wider as he lifted his hand to call for the bartender. Embarrassed, Dean looked down at his drink, trying his hardest to focus on the condensation on the glass rather than on his idiotic social skill in this moment.
"So, where are you from?" the deep voice asked once the bartender had served him his drink.
It's just some guy trying to be friendly, Dean, you need to chill the fuck out.
Mentally, he took a deep breath and tried to ground himself. "What makes you think I'm not from here?" he replied, swallowing down his sudden awkwardness and sounding a million times smoother than he had at first.
Thaaaaat's it.
"I just haven't ever seen you around, that's all."
"And you, what? Know everyone in town?" Now he was starting to sound like a little bit of a snarky asshole, but the reply surprised him.
"Yes, that sounds about right."
Dean arched his eyebrow, skeptical. The stranger laughed as he pulled at the blue tie of the suit that Dean had just realized he was wearing.
"I'm Castiel Novak," he said, reaching towards Dean for the obligatory nice-to-meet-you hand shake. Dean shook his hand, noting the way their skin slid against one another's, but let out a bark of laughter mid-shake. There was no way he was letting that one slide by him.
"Castiel?" he inquired, overemphasizing the syllables to make it clear the name was ridiculous to say.
Castiel chuckled, letting go of Dean's hand with a shrug.
"Trust me, I've grown used to that reaction."
"Hippie parents?" Dean inquired with some amusement.
"Try ultra religious, conservative, business types."
Dean looked Castiel up and down.
"Following your old man's foot steps?" he asked, arching a brow at Castiel's suit and tie ensemble.
The dark-haired man sighed, reaching a hand up to loosen the tie around his neck as if it were choking him.
"Not by choice," he said with a grimace. Dean gave a nod and couldn't help but notice just how expressive this man was. Three little words, but so much emotion behind each and every one. Dean didn't know this guy's story, didn't know him at all, but he could sense the cage that he was living in. The worst part of all of it was that he could relate.
"I feel ya," Dean muttered under his breath as flashes of his father's face flitted through his brain. The silence that followed had a real weight to it and Dean was certain the conversation was done.
Well, there goes that.
He lifted his glass once more to his lips, taking a generous gulp of the dark brown liquid.
Then, surprising Dean, Castiel coughed, took a final swig of whatever he was drinking, and shook off the heavy silence covering the both of them with a smile.
"So if you're new, I'm guessing you aren't too familiar with the town?"
Dean shook his head, gesturing around the room.
"Not at all, I just randomly walked in here off the street. Just looking around to see, uh, what's up," he said lamely.
"Well, mystery man, I know the place pretty well so if you ever want a little tour," at this, he paused, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket and taking a pen from the bar, "please don't hesitate to call me."
Castiel placed the piece of paper next to where Dean's hand lay on the bar and smiled that brilliant smile once again. Then, he threw some cash down for his drink and grabbed a tan trench coat from the chair behind him.
"You're not even going to ask me what my name is?" Dean asked, folding the piece of paper into his hand like it was a precious jewel.
"I figured you'd tell me if you wanted to. What is your name, mystery man?" Castiel's eyes sparkled with amusement.
Dean hesitated, wondering why it was so important to him for this random stranger to know his name. He contemplated for a brief moment simply telling the man a fake name.
"Dean," he confessed.
"Hello, Dean," Castiel said, reaching out to shake his hand once more.
And suddenly Dean knew exactly why it was so important: the smile on his face was genuine for once.
"Hey, Sammy how's Californ-I-A?" Dean said into his cellphone. It started ringing as soon as he had opened the door to his apartment, and since he'd ignored Sam's last few calls he figured he should probably answer this time.
He wanted to smile at his little (well, younger, definitely not little) brother's voice but the tone carried something distinctly familiar to Dean and he knew this conversation was going to end badly.
"Uh, warm. Still. It's still like 90 degrees here, can you believe it?" Sam asked incredulously.
"Yeah, that's California for you. You get all settled in?" Dean inquired, throwing his keys on the kitchen counter and shrugging his jacket off of his shoulders.
"Yeah, I still need to go get a few things for school but it looks like I'll be set for when it starts."
Dean plopped himself down on the couch he managed to lug up the stairs two days ago.
"What about you? Settled?" Sammy's voice questioned from all the way out on the west coast.
Dean knew what Sam was really asking, and the anger started bubbling up to the surface once again. He could almost taste the tension forming, just as he had that night they fought two weeks ago.
"I'm fine, Sam," Dean grunted.
"Can we not sit here and pretend like everything was okay, is okay?"
Dean could picture Sam's face like it was right in front of him. Eyebrows raised and furrowed, lips pursed, skin flushed with anger and annoyance. Well, Dean could be angry too.
"I said, I'm fine," he repeated.
"Oh yeah?" Sam huffed, "When was your last drink, Dean?"
The buzz Dean got from his drinks at General's Pub was wearing off now. He knew it would never last this conversation. He stood, preparing for a battle.
"You wanna back off, Sammy?" he heard the defensiveness in his voice and cursed the way he could be so transparent. But really, he hadn't had much to drink, at least not compared to normal. Not to mention it was only 10 PM, not an unreasonable time to come home.
Sam ignored him completely.
"I'm sure you're just getting back from some seedy bar, that's why I haven't been able to get a hold of you and that's exactly the problem Dean. You have a drinkin-"
"You better not be about to say what I think you are, Sam," Dean interrupted, seething.
"What? That you have a drinking problem?" his younger brother accused. "Should I remind you of how you weren't coming home until 4 in the morning, completely useless to the world? Or about how I was worried you crashed and were lying in a ditch? How about losing your job?"
Dean tried to interrupt but Sam kept going.
"Spending all your money, losing all your friends, pushing Bobby away. What about what you did to Jo, Dean? If you don't stop the path you're on you're going to end up just like-"
"Shut. Up." Dean breathed heavily into the phone which he gripped so tightly in his hand it was surprising that it still held its shape.
Sam faltered, going silent for a moment. They both sat quiet, still.
After a few minutes a softer, gentler voice came from the earpiece of the cell phone.
"What else is it, Dean? What else could it be?"
A click sounded and Sam was gone.
Dean threw the phone across the room. He felt angry, sure, he usually felt angry. What Sam had said pissed him off to a point where he wanted to punch a hole into the wall of his new apartment. But…
That quiet voice, that voice that reminded Dean of the kid Sammy, the one that looked up to his brother and was cared for by that brother, that only made Dean feel guilty. It shoved anger out of the way and painted his insides with despair.
He hadn't let Sam finish but he'd known what he was going to say.
"You're going to end up just like dad."
The thought felt like a knife through his belly.
The worst part of all of it was that he had the same suspicion; he was turning into John Winchester. Good ol' dependable John Winchester who'd let his sons live alone for weeks at a time while he went out for booze. The John Winchester who was so angry at the world that he would take it out on his older son. The thought made him want to curl in on himself and retreat into the dark recesses of the booze in his cabinet.
He walked to his kitchen, heading for that particular dark recess. Clearly, getting buzzed wasn't enough. He uncapped the bottle of whisky he'd stowed away in there and stared at it for a long moment. He imagined the sweet burn of the liquid running down his throat, resting in his gut. He imagined the world going a bit fuzzy, softer around the edges. So much more tolerable than reality with its sharp lines and hard surfaces. He prepared to take a gulp but noticed the tiny folded up piece of paper sitting on his counter. He paused, holding the bottle mid-air.
"Well, mystery man, I know the place pretty well so if you ever want a little tour please don't hesitate to call me."
Dean remembered the wide grin, the kind eyes. He felt the heavy weight pressing down on his brain lift ever so slightly, and sighed.
He put the bottle down and went to retrieve his phone instead.
That first time they had met to 'tour' the town, Dean thought maybe he'd jumped the gun in calling Castiel, finding the man's sudden change from open and smiling to quiet and reserved unsettling. The first time they met the dark haired man had smiled brightly, immediately introduced himself, and was as friendly as a person could be. Their second meeting was a bit different.
Right away Dean got the feeling that Castiel was moody. He'd smiled and greeted Dean with the familiar hand shake when they found each other at the casual restaurant Castiel had chosen, but it wasn't the same smile. Before, light had practically radiated from Castiel's face, from his eyes, from his entire body and that was the lion's share of the reason Dean found the nerve to call the man. Now, it was dull somehow, a bit forced. Not fake. Dean got the impression that Castiel was the type of person who couldn't be fake even if he wanted to and recalling the emotion in his face and voice as he spoke about his parents affirmed that to Dean.
The entire afternoon had followed in the same manner as that initial moment. Sure, they'd talked about where Dean moved from, a little bit about Sammy and his decision to go to school in California, and they ate a delicious lunch of perfectly created sandwiches and iced tea. Had they been business associates, meeting because they needed to discuss important financial matters, everything would be considered to be going smoothly.
But they weren't business associates.
They moved on from the restaurant, walking into the downtown area, Castiel pointing to this building and that, letting Dean know which were good eating establishments and which were likely to give a person food poisoning.
As they approached a giant building, Castiel's mood got darker. The lines in his face became sharp, his body stiff.
"That's my family's building," he'd said, motioning briefly before speedily walking away, eager to get it behind him.
Dean marveled at it for a minute in awe. It was huge, towering above the rest of the buildings like a lord above his peasants. When he turned to ask Castiel what his family even did, the man was gone. A few moments of searching and he spotted the tousled dark hair and the tan trench coat much further down the road and jogged to catch up.
The bad vibes radiated from Castiel, and Dean thought better than to ask about his family.
When he'd gotten back to his apartment in the early evening, he figured that that was probably the last time he would see Castiel. They'd shook hands once again (Dean feeling a shiver run through his body at the feel of Castiel's skin against his once more, despite the awkwardness of their time together), and said a quick goodbye.
He probably regrets giving his number to the new guy in town, went out because of a sense of obligation, and won't ever make contact again, Dean had thought.
And frankly, Dean had understood. Not only was the guy stunning, but it looked like he had some money and power on his side as well. No one like that would want to hang out with Dean Winchester.
As soon as he got back to his apartment, he opened the bottle of whiskey he'd capped before calling Castiel, and drank until blackness enveloped him.
A few days later, Dean felt the distinct sensation of his cell phone vibrating in his pocket. With the lingering headache of his lovely hangover, coupled with another day of unsuccessful job hunting and his annoyance at his brother's timing (he'd just taken a giant bite of his burger), he pulled the phone out of his pocket and answered with a "Wha' you want, bitch?" He felt some of the food spray from his mouth.
Silence, and then a "I, uhh...I'm sorry?"
Dean was living inside of his own body and wasn't faced directly at a mirror so he couldn't see the expression on his own face but he sure could imagine it. He must have looked like his eyes were popping out of his skull, and he immediately started to choke on his food because it wasn't Sammy on the other side of the phone.
"Are you okay?" he heard the deep, coarse voice ask through the sound of his own loud hacking cough, the phone falling beside him on the couch.
When he finally stopped choking on his food, he put the phone back up to his ear and said "Hey", as if he hadn't just answered the phone sounding like he was dying.
"Did I call at a bad time?" Castiel asked politely.
"I...um, no. I just, that's what I uh, call my brother," Dean let out a nervous laugh, realizing he probably sounded like a weirdo.
"You call your brother bitch?" Castiel's inquiry sounded like a mixture between confusion and amusement, the curse sounding bizarre coming from his mouth.
"Yeah, we just...do...that," Dean answered lamely. He rolled his eyes at the sound of his own voice. Was it really any wonder why Castiel hadn't wanted to hang out with him? Except…
Wait, what?
Castiel laughed. "Well I suppose I understand the relationship between siblings can be rather complex, though I wonder how my brother would react to that particular nickname."
Dean barely heard him. Instead, he was quickly re-living the events from a few days before, when Castiel had all but brushed him away. As Castiel chuckled at a joke he must have made while Dean was lost in thought, Dean once again blurted into the phone.
"Why are you calling?"
The other end of the line went silent. For a moment Dean thought Castiel might have hung up on him, which would make a lot of sense since Dean just asked a rude question in a very rude way, but glancing at the screen he saw they were both still on the line. He was about to hit himself in the forehead but stopped himself, realizing that he had every right to be rude. Hadn't Castiel been rude to him? Treated him like some kind of weird social charity case? As if Dean had been the one asking to hang out! Castiel had practically forced his number into Dean's hand, not the other way around.
Just as Dean was about to start ranting and raving, the deep voice sounded once again.
"Well, I called to apologize, Dean," he said solemnly.
Dean's body relaxed.
"I'm sure you noticed I wasn't in the best of moods on Saturday and to be honest I wasn't at all like myself," Castiel sighed, and Dean could picture him reaching to loosen the tie around his neck, stress outlining his body.
"Remember what I said about my parents?" Dean made an affirmative noise and Castiel continued, "Well, they were being even more themselves than usual. They gave me some news that I wasn't exactly thrilled with and I let it affect me more than I should have. So, I'm very sorry."
Dean blinked, surprised once more by this stranger. Not only by the apology which was genuine almost to a fault, but the way it had been delivered. During the silence, Dean had figured Castiel was doing a bit of stalling, or that maybe he just didn't know what to say. He understood now that Castiel was actually just a thoughtful person, refusing to blurt things out like Dean had, and instead letting his thoughts come to him so he could frame them in the right way to express himself. Business man, indeed.
"I know it isn't the best excuse in the world," Castiel continued, "and I'm sure you were less than impressed with the time we had, but I would like to have a do over."
Dean hesitated. "Do over?"
"If you're willing to, yes."
The apology was so sincere and the request made so earnestly that Dean could hardly help himself.
"Yeah, okay, yeah."
"You Make Me Smile"
Some kind of light
at the end
When touching
the edge of her skin
Once so hard to speak
Now so easy to play around
Catching your eye you know
That eye that slapped you in your face
calls you a puppy
Well how do you say
I was hypnotized
Hypnotized
My words, they pour
Like children to the playground
Children to the playground
You make me smile
There's some kind of light at the end
Stoned, forgetful, and then
I'm drinking what used to be sin
And touching the edge of her skin
And could you be the one that's not afraid
To look me in the eye
I swear I would collapse
If I would tell how I think you fell
From the sky
My words, they pour
Like children to the playground
Children to the playground
You make me smile
There's some kind of light at the end
Stoned, forgetful, and then
I'm drinking what used to be sin
And touching the edge of her skin
There's some kind of light at the end
Stoned, forgetful, and then
I'm drinking what used to be sin
And touching the edge of her skin
It's the feeling I get
My palms with sweat
Like some kind of daydream
I'll never forget
I'm stuck in this spin
Why does it begin
By touching the edge of her skin
There's some kind of light at the end
Stoned, forgetful, and then
I'm drinking what used to be sin
And touching the edge of her skin
There's some kind of light at the end
Stoned, forgetful, and then
I'm drinking what used to be sin
And touching the edge of her skin