From Eden

Chapter One: Something Tragic

The sound of glass breaking filled the air around the house. The Texas heat crowded in on him, squeezing him as Castiel walked by, trying to keep to himself, cradling his precious books in his arms. There were a lot of books today. Most days, he only took home two, but he was doing research on a species of sea turtle and research required a heavier load. A feminine voice shouted, "FUCK YOU, DEAN WINCHESTER!"

Castiel tried to walk faster with his books, shuffling their weight so as not to drop them. It wasn't his fault that this Dean Wessminster person lived on a busy street and liked to have random fights with ladies with his windows open.

"THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THE IDEA, ANNA!" A man shouted back. "YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO FUCK ME! NOT SOME RANDOM-" Castiel cringed. More glass shattered. The words sounded all too familiar. He wanted nothing more than to be away from this house and its open windows and its screaming people. Someone knocked into him and caused him to drop his books. He huffed and turned to see who it was so he could glare at them, but they had already walked away, nothing but a retreating figure. Castiel stooped to pick up his things. He was right in front of the house now. He cringed again as he heard,

"HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE ME-."

"IT'S NOT AN ACCUSATION! IT IS THE TRUTH!"

"YOU BASTARD!" Castiel hurried to pick up his books, finally able to shove them into a tower in his arms. He started to walk hurriedly away but, as he took his first step, a solid wall of person slammed into him, knocking him backwards and causing his books to fall all about him. He landed several feet away on the curb, just barely catching himself so as not to smash his head into the ground. His glasses were knocked off, his satchel was thrown off of his shoulder, and his books, his precious books!

"DAMN IT!" Castiel shouted as he scurried to his knees and felt around for his glasses. He was sure his favorite tweed jacket was ripped and his pants were probably ruined from scuff marks.

"I'm so sorry, man! Here let me . . ." Glasses were placed gently onto his face, and the world was brought a bit more into focus, only a bit because the left glass was completely cracked.

"Damn it," Castiel breathed. The man who he was face to face with was bleeding from his temple, he looked red in the face and his grass green eyes had a wide, panicked feel to them.

"I'm sorry. I didn't see you. I was just trying to . . . I'm sorry!" He apologized again, crawling around on the ground to pick up all of Castiel's books. "I guess I'm just having an off day." The man had short blond hair. His nose was thin and freckles were splashed across his face. His lips were sweet and plump and his jawline was that of a demigod and dusted over with stubble. The man was a living, breathing sin, Castiel thought. His muscled arms picked up all of Castiel's books and handed them back to Castiel, and finally Castiel registered that he hadn't said anything.

"Um . . . thank you. It's alright, really." He took the books, hoping none of them were too badly damaged, and sat them down so he could go about collecting things from his bag, which had apparently exploded on impact of the ground.

"How are you able to carry that many books anyway? I mean, you've got muscles I'm sure, but that just looks physically impossible." Castiel managed a smile in the man's direction.

"I can manage." There was a pause as both men got to their feet.

"Let me help you. I knocked you over and . . ." the man rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "Well, I could really use a walk anyway."

"You don't even know where I'm going . . ." Castiel said, for some reason already trusting this man as he took half of his books from his arms.

"Anywhere is better than here." The man cast a glance up at the house they were standing in front of, and Castiel nodded. The man had to be younger than him, by a good five years or more. Even though Castiel had been knocked over, his clothes and glasses had been ruined, and he now had ringing in his ears from the fall, Castiel felt pity for the man. He had been in his shoes once.

"Sure. I only live a few blocks down." The man smiled and nodded, starting to walk off. He didn't get very far before he turned and raised an eyebrow at Castiel.

"Uh . . . maybe you should lead the way. I don't really know where you live." Castiel realized he had been staring and nodded, hurrying off after the man.

"My name is Dean, by the way."

"I gathered that from all of the screaming." Dean frowned. "I'm Castiel. Is your head alright?" Dean touched a hand to his temple and when he pulled it away, it was bleeding.

"I think I'll be fine. She threw a perfume bottle at me," Dean explained. Castiel sniffed the air.

"What a perfect waste of good perfume. At least you smell nice now, though." Dean chuckled. "When we get back to my place you should let me take a look at that. I have a first aid kit."

"Yeah?" Dean grinned. "I'd appreciate that, thanks."

"It would be my pleasure, Dean." There was a comfortable pause as the crowd on the sidewalk momentarily parted them.

"So. Do you have an odd tortoise fetish?" Dean asked, gesturing to the books in his hands. Castiel could feel himself redden.

"For one, those are turtles. And secondly, I am just doing some research."

"On . . . sea tortoises?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow. Castiel stuck his nose up in the air a little bit.

"Turtles. I find them interesting. And I am a research librarian, it is my job to know about-."

"About sea . . . turtles?" Dean chuckled. Castiel looked at him, unable to tell if Dean was seriously mocking him or not.

"And a variety of other topics. What do you do, Dean?" Castiel asked icily, wanting to get the conversation off of himself.

"Well uh . . ."

"Yes?" Castiel asked impatiently. For a moment, he suspected Dean was a male stripper. Or a model. He certainly had the look.

"I'm an artist," Dean finally answered. Castiel tilted his head to the side.

"An artist? What kind of art?" Stripper. He's a stripper, Castiel thought.

"All kinds. Modern art, painting, sculpture. Anything I can get my hands on, really," Dean said, refusing to meet Castiel's eyes as if he were embarrassed.

"That's amazing." Castiel smiled. "I would love to see your work sometime." Dean's green eyes finally met his right as they came to stand outside of his apartment building. Everything seemed to stop.

"Yeah?" Dean asked.

"Of course." Castiel answered, somewhat breathlessly. He blinked and realized they had been staring at each other for what was probably an inappropriate amount of time. He led Dean inside, to the elevator, and pressed the button for the third floor. Castiel went to put his key in the door and turned and looked at Dean first. "Um . . . I haven't had people over in quite a while . . . excuse the mess." Dean just smiled at him.

"No worries, dude. I'm not exactly Mr. clean freak myself." Castiel opened the door to his apartment. He groaned inwardly as his eyes took in the mess of his own living space. Books and notes were scattered everywhere. There was a bowl on the coffee table from cereal that morning, sitting beside yet another open book with a notepad of messy notes. The curtains were drawn so the apartment appeared dark and dingy. Castiel walked over to the dining table and sat his books down, gesturing for Dean to do the same, and then he flicked on some lights. The kitchen was in bad need of cleaning; dishes were stacked up in the sink.

"Wait here, I'll go get that first aid kit." Castiel walked back through the hallway and into his bedroom, to the bathroom connected to it. After a minute of rifling around, he found it. When he came back out, Dean was standing in front of one of his bookshelves, reading the titles off the spines, his fingers tracing over one of them. "Do you read?" Castiel asked him. Dean jumped. Castiel felt himself blush. He had a bad habit of sneaking up on people, and he tried his best not to be too creepy, but he couldn't help it. Dean turned to face him and Castiel realized he had gotten very close to Dean. Their noses were almost brushing. Dean seemed flustered for a second, but quickly recovered.

"I read here and there. My brother reads way more than I do. I just noticed you had one of my favorites."

"Oh?" Castiel asked, knowing he should move back, but somehow unable to.

"Yeah, Lord of the Rings," Dean answered. Castiel felt himself smile.

"You like Tolkien?"

"I'd be a fool not to!" Dean said, rolling his eyes. Finally Castiel stepped back and walked over to the couch.

"Sit down here," he instructed, moving more books off the couch. Dean plopped down and Castiel went into the kitchen to get a wet paper towel to wipe off the caked on dried blood. As he worked, Dean kept quiet, but his muscles tightened up, his fists were clenched in his lap. "I don't think there is any glass still in the wound. It looks like a nasty scrape. It could've been much worse."

"Crazy bitch," Dean muttered under his breath. Castiel poured some rubbing alcohol onto another paper towel and pressed it to Dean's temple and Dean hissed.

"It's just rubbing alcohol. Sorry, I should've warned you."

"I'm fine," Dean let out through gritted teeth. Castiel couldn't help but smile at his new friend. He put some neosporin on his finger and gently spread it around in soothing motions, watching as Dean visibly relaxed. He closed his eyes and released the tension in his body. Castiel then put on a big band aid and went to throw out the dirty paper towels. When he got back, Dean was standing. "Have you eaten dinner yet?" he asked, somewhat awkwardly, refusing to meet Castiel's eyes.

"No, I haven't. I was planning on making some frozen meal or something."

"I know this great diner down the street. Let me take you there, just for . . . you know. Letting me bowl you over and then fixing my face. My treat." Castiel smiled at him.

"I would like that very much, Dean."

The walk to the restaurant was pleasant and filled mostly with a comfortable silence that broke the moment they were seated at their table.

"The burgers here are pretty good. So's the pie. Love me some pie," Dean said, not even looking at the menu.

"Do you come here often?" Castiel asked, wondering how he had lived just moments from Dean's home, and the diner, and never run into either. He supposed because he was too busy working and reading to really spend much time exploring his own neighborhood. Dean grimaced at the question.

"It's a nice escape," he answered gruffly. Castiel quirked an eyebrow.

"What exactly are you escaping from?" Dean opened his mouth and closed it several times, and just when it seemed he was about to answer, their waitress came over and took their orders. Castiel ended up ordering the same thing Dean did, and Dean smiled at him as if Castiel had just joined some secret club. Castiel found it endearing. Then Dean's eyes seemed to cloud over and he looked down at his hands.

"Look, Cas," No one had ever called him that before, he thought. He wondered if he minded, but he wasn't sure yet. "I just met you. I don't want to . . . to burden you with my sob story." Now Castiel was intrigued by the younger man. He leaned forward.

"Dean, it is no burden at all. I am curious. If you don't mind sharing, I don't mind listening." A pause hung in the air between them, and Castiel acted out of his nature, he reached across the table and put a reassuring hand on Dean's. Dean's green eyes shot up, met his gaze, and held it. "Sometimes talking about it can help more than anything, and I don't know why but . . . I feel compelled to help you in any way I can." The sentiment was completely true. He was oddly captivated by Dean, the stranger. He felt like he knew him somehow, recognized himself in Dean. Castiel withdrew his hand. It wasn't normal for him to be physical at all with people, but Dean somehow felt comfortable.

"Well . . ." Dean smiled warmly at him. "That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me, and I've only just met you."

"If that is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to you, you might need new friends," Castiel retorted, chuckling. Dean met his eyes again.

"I think I just found one."

"That you did. Now talk, if you don't mind." Castiel allowed himself only a moment to feel shocked. He hadn't made a friend in . . . god knows how long, and here one was, within mere hours.

"I've been married to Anna for about five years. We got married when we were twenty. Had a kid right away. Her name is Samantha, after my brother, Sam. He wasn't too happy. But she's a cute little kid. She's four now. Everything was fine until about six moths ago, when I started noticing things. Anna started pulling away more, becoming distant. We used to have date nights once a week, but those faded away until we stopped going. We used to have sex-," Dean looked up and blushed. "Sorry, TMI."

"Don't worry about it," Castiel said, paying sudden attention to his straw wrapper.

"Anyway, you get the point. We were drifting apart. Now, I've never been the jealous type. I mean, look at me," Dean gestured to himself, "What have I got to fear from other guys?" Castiel looked at Dean, and agreed wholeheartedly with the sentiment. Dean was highly attractive. "Well, Anna started going out a lot, not coming home till late. And I got curious. I'd never done this before, but I checked her phone, and saw she was texting and calling some number a lot. Some pretty dirty texts, too. I confronted her about it and all she did was deny it and scream at me." Dean shook his head, looking at his clenched fists. "I don't know what to do at this point. I think this has been going on too long and I'm ready to walk out, but my concern is for Samantha. How often does the father win custody, you know? I love that little brat, and I couldn't bare to only see her every other weekend until she's eighteen." Dean's voice started to tighten with emotion. "And I love Anna. I want to make it work. I'm willing to make it work, but what good is that if she isn't?" By the end of his little speech, Dean was breathing heavy and clenching his fists in an effort not to cry. Castiel was hit with a pang of sorrow for Dean.

"I have actually gone through much the same myself. As hard as it is, sometimes the right thing to do is leave. In most cases, being raised by divorced parents tends to be better for children than being raised by unhappily married parents, I think. Plus, your daughter would probably want you to be happy." Castiel told him as their food arrived. They thanked the waitress and Dean started picking at his fries.

"What do you mean you've been through much the same?" Dean asked, "What's your story?" Castiel smiled sadly.

"I was married for ten years, we got married young too." Castiel hated talking about that part of his life, it felt like a constant wound he would never recover from, a constant scar that kept reopening and pouring out his pain.

"What happen'?" Dean asked around his food, "She cheat on you, too?" Castiel's eyes flicked up towards Dean. Here it was, the truth. He wondered if Dean would judge him for it.

"Yes, he did," Castiel responded, waiting for Dean's reaction. It was always hard to tell what people would do, if they would freak out or play it off. Castiel watched a brief flicker of something like amusement pass through Dean's eyes before he shrugged.

"Were you waiting to see if I cared that you were married to a dude?" Dean asked mischievously. Castiel laughed, full out laughed. He was overjoyed Dean didn't care. He didn't normally talk about his sexuality because he would rather not face judgment from people he didn't care about, or even worse, people he did care about. Dean, for some reason, he cared about.

"Honestly? Yes, I was waiting for that." Dean bit into his cheeseburger.

"Nah, dude, I don't care. People are just people and love and hate and all the emotions in between aren't sexist." Castiel was taken aback.

"That was . . . eloquent."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm a real poet. So, anyway. I dished my dirt, your turn. I mean . . . if you want to and stuff." Castiel took a deep breath. He didn't talk about this part of his life, not ever. But he felt pity for Dean, for the position he was in.

"Balthazar was incredible. We got married at nineteen, and stayed together until we were twenty-nine. He was spontaneous, romantic . . . I thought he loved me but now I doubt if he ever did. He, um . . . he was cheating on me. I'm not sure how long but I . . . I think it was for the majority of our ten year marriage. When I found out, I threatened to leave and . . ." Castiel looked at his plate, suddenly not hungry. "It didn't go over well." Castiel remembered exactly how well it went over. Broken glass, screaming, blood, pain. He remembered Balthazar's eyes as he pinned Castiel to a wall.

"You aren't leaving me," Balthazar had whispered in his ear, choking Castiel with one hand, his other hand fisted in Castiel's hair. "You cannot leave me."

"You okay, Cas?" Dean's voice asked him, calling him back to reality. Castiel looked up into Dean's worried eyes, and brushed a tear quickly from his own. "If you can't talk about it . . ."

"No, I'm fine. He physically assaulted me and I was afraid to leave. When I finally worked up the courage to, he, uh . . . he moved. To New Orleans. He said I would never see him again." Dean grunted.

"Good riddance, right?" Castiel looked back down at his food.

"In some respects, yes." He couldn't talk about the real reason Balthazar moved. He couldn't bare to say the words again, feel them on his lips. So this one thing he kept for himself. Dean could have everything else, but he couldn't have that. He couldn't have what Balthazar took.

"How long ago did y'all split?" Dean asked, breaking him once again from his thought.

"Six years ago next month." Dean's eyes looked worried.

"And it still hurts that bad?" Castiel knew what Dean was asking. He was asking if this was his future if he left Anna.

"Every damn day," Castiel answered. Dean sucked in a breath. "But there are things that hurt worse." Castiel remembered the ambulance sirens. His brother shouting.

"Damn. He must've really done a number on ya." Dean's face twisted in disgust. "Makes me sick. He got away with it? You didn't press charges?" Castiel shrugged sadly.

"I couldn't get anything on him. And no one in Texas wants to help the gay abuse victim. They just said it was because of the lifestyle I chose. Like being gay made it okay for my partners to beat me," Castiel answered, remembering how let down he had been by the legal system. The countless hours in court. Now it was Dean's turn to reach out and place a hand on Castiel's closed fist.

"Hey man, it's okay. At least he's out of the picture right? And you can live freely?" Castiel thought about Dean's words.

"That's the thing, Dean. I'm not sure I am living freely. I work and I work and . . . I think this is the first meal that hasn't come from my freezer or a can in . . . god I can't even remember. And what's sad is I know how to cook. I used to love to cook. I used to love to go on walks and . . . I just . . ."

"You haven't been living for the past six years?" Dean asked, amazed. Castiel thought about it.

"I go out every once in a while . . ."

"So no?"

" . . . The answer scares me."

As the check came and Dean refused Castiel's attempt to pay, saying it was his treat for knocking him over earlier, Castiel felt sad the evening was drawing to a close. He felt like he could spend an eternity in Dean's company and never grow bored. It was like Dean was the world's most interesting book, and Castiel was on the last chapter. He felt a certain reluctance to leave. Then, Dean's eyes lit up.

"Give me your phone," Dean told him. Castiel looked at him quizzically, but did as he was told. Dean punched something into the ancient keypad, mumbling about how the thing was as old as the dinosaurs, and then handed the phone back. "That's my number. You need a life, Cas, and I need a distraction. And advice. I think we are gonna be good friends." Uncertainty flickered through Dean's eyes. "I mean, if you wanna be." Castiel grinned at Dean. This must be the first friend he'd made since . . . well, he couldn't remember when.

"Of course I want to be, that sounds wonderful, Dean." Dean smiled and pulled Castiel in for a hug, patting his back before they parted.

"Great, man! See ya around!" As Castiel watched Dean retreat down the street, he had to wonder why his body tingled everywhere Dean had touched him. Why he was left feeling like warmth had just engulfed him and then left him standing there, alone, cold without it's presence. He had to glance down at his phone, look at the screen with Dean Winchester's name, and his phone number, and wonder how soon would too soon be to text Dean and ask for another meet up. A hang out? A . . . a date?

Castiel's thoughts screeched to an abrupt halt. Dean was married. With a child. He was not asking to date Castiel. And even if he was, it was wrong. Castiel was a victim of adultery before. He swore to himself he would never be a victim, nor a perpetrator of such acts. No, Dean would be just a friend, and he would attempt to help Dean as much as he could, because when Castiel was around Dean, for the first time in years, Castiel felt alive.