The wind whipped through Dean's hair as he stared up at the enormous house that had probably cost more than every room in every shitty motel he had ever stayed in put together. Dean lingered in the shadow of an enormous oak tree cast by the light of the moon. The giant orb was the only thing illuminating the coal black night. Dean was reluctant to go through with what he was about to do, but Sammy needed to eat, the motel room needed to be paid for, and their father hadn't left them enough money to last until he got back from his hunt.
Dean had chosen this house on purpose. Sure, he had never really done what normal people would call "honest work"; ever since he was old enough to get in he mostly hustled pool in local bars. Kind of a low way to earn a buck, but Dean figured the money these men drowned in bottles was put to better use feeding his brother than getting some bozo a cheap buzz.
But he'd had no luck getting into the one bar in this podunk town. The bouncer and he had had a disagreement, so to speak.
"Asshat," Dean grumbled to himself, remembering the way the bouncer had insulted the Impala when he saw Dean pull up. "Insult me, but not my baby," he mumbled, more angry at himself for getting thrown out than he was at the bouncer for insulting his car.
It was all because of that that Dean was here, casing out the biggest house in town. He had picked this house for the same reason that he hustled guys spending big at bars; they could spare the money. Although god only knew why these rich dicks had chosen to settle here. They'd only been in town a week and it was already clear that there was nothing to do, and not one single interesting person in this town. They were just cardboard cutouts of people, two dimensional, utterly and completely undesirable.
Pushing a huff of air out through his nose, Dean zipped up his brown leather jacket, shivering slightly in the cold night air. The metal of the gun strapped to his thigh was like ice in the chilly air. Dean didn't think he would need the weapon, but he was always carrying. Just in case.
No use putting it off any longer, he thought to himself, though actually stealing still put a sour taste in his mouth.
Dean checked his watch; it had been an hour since the Rich-y McRicher-than-you family had left their cushy homes, toting high end luggage. Probably off to the Bahamas, Dean had thought, but he gave them time to get away from the house to make sure they wouldn't come back for some forgotten item to find him looting the place. It was time though.
Dean swung his head in each direction, checking that no one was around. Little did he know that he wasn't the only person trespassing on this family's property. When he thought that the coast was clear, he slunk off up the driveway, not really bothering to hide. The family's home was set pretty far back in the trees, and on a night this dark no one would notice him unless they knew he was there.
Up the steps, Dean pulled a small black case out of his jeans pocket. He unzipped it and pulled out the two tiny metal rods that were his lock picking kit. He slid them into the deadbolt that the family had locked just before they left. With practiced motions, Dean found each tumbler and pressed them just so, finally unlocking the deadbolt. He moved his hands downward and moved on to the doorknob, repeating his previous motions until he heard the satisfying click that signaled a picked lock. He allowed himself a small smile at his skill, before slipping into the house and closing the door quietly behind him. The whole thing was over in less than twenty seconds.
Inside, Dean stood in the foyer a moment before turning left into the spacious living room. He flicked on the tiny flashlight he had brought in his jacket pocket and surveyed the elaborate set-up of the room, letting out a low whistle.
"Dang, I'd hate to be a dust bunny in this place," he said.
Every piece of furniture was carefully arranged, placed in just the right spot on the polished hardwood floor. The coffee table was completely parallel to the cavernous fireplace. The squashy armchairs sat equidistance from each other. The fancy looking vase sat in the exact center of the mantel above the fireplace, surrounded by picture frames all turned at fifteen degree angles. Hell, this place was a geometry lover's dream; all right angles and perpendicular lines.
"I gotta get outta this room," Dean muttered. "Any room this clean should be punishable by law."
Dean turned flicked off the flashlight, not wanting to leave it on too long. He knew the chances of anybody spotting the light through the window were essentially zero, but he'd rather not take the chance.
Fumbling in the dark, he stepped back into the foyer where a set of stairs led up to the second floor. Groping forward, he found the bannister and slid his foot forward until he found the first step. Carefully, using the bannister for balance, he made his way up the stairs. At the top, he turned the flashlight on again and shined it around him. To his right lay what was obviously the master bedroom. A vast bed lay pushed up against the back wall. A plush comforter covered it, along with what Dean estimated as about fifty different pillows.
"Oh-ho-ho yeeeah," smirked Dean. He knew it would make it obvious that someone had been here, but he couldn't resist. Taking a running start, he leaped onto the bed, flopping onto his stomach. The bed swayed and bulged beneath him, making the ray of light from his flashlight bounce wildly around the walls.
"Waterbed! Alright!"
Dean sat up and bounced up and down a few times, savoring the swishy noise the water made under the pressure of his weight. Grinning broadly, Dean slid off the bed.
Alright, enough fun. Time to get down to business, he chided himself.
He shined the flashlight in front of him and circled around the bed to kneel down in front of the bedside table. Sliding the drawer open, he plunged his hand inside and rummaged around. Sifting through the drawer, he pulled out two lockets on gold chains, polished and shining under the light of his flashlight. He shoved these in his pocket, and opened the second drawer. Thrusting his hand in again, he rummaged around, finding only a paperback novel, a spare pair of reading glasses and-
"Ugh!"
Dean recoiled as if he had been stung, he had felt something in that drawer and it was not something he wanted to be touching. A though flitted across his mind and he carefully retrieved the paperback out of the drawer, making sure not to touch the thing again. Shining his flashlight on the cover, he found exactly what he had been expecting: a bare-chested, muscular man holding a scantily clad woman.
"'Forbidden Angel,'" he read off the cover, with his trademark smirk. "So that's what Mrs. McRicher-than-you does in her spare time."
Placing the book back in its drawer, Dean pushed himself up and crossed the room to the bureau. On a hunch, he lifted the vase of flowers that stood there and found a crisp hundred dollar note stashed underneath. Dean shook his head and pocketed the money too.
"Everybody always has an emergency stash," he murmured. "How rich do you have to be to have your stash be a hundred bucks, though? Sheesh."
Dean thought that the money plus pawning the two necklaces would probably be enough money for another week or two, but decided to look around some more anyway. Just in case there was some more easy money laying around.
If I find more, maybe I can even buy Sammy a Christmas present this year, he thought, picturing the look on his sixteen year old brother's face as he unwrapped a real present, not just some candy and a dirty magazine from the nearest convenience store.
Dean decided then to check the bathroom, thinking maybe he'd find some more jewelry. And there it was, lying right on the counter. A nice big jewelry box, not locked, just sitting wide open.
Dean helped himself to a pair of real diamond earrings and the family's second hundred dollar stash. Spying a silver necklace lurking in the corner of the box, Dean reached out his hand to snatch it when he heard, in quick succession, a bang, a shatter and the tinkling of glass.
Dean froze, his hand still outstretched towards the necklace. Ears pricked up, Dean slowly retracted his hand and, in the same motion, shut off the flashlight. He slowly crept across the floor, thankful that the floor in this room was covered in shaggy carpet that muffled the sound of his clunky boots.
At the doorway, Dean paused, listening intently. A tense minute passed in complete silence.
They must have a cat or something, thought Dean, trying to convince himself. Probably one of those hairless things.
Checking his pockets to make sure everything was tucked safely away, Dean decided he had had enough. This B&E already made him uncomfortable enough, it was time to get out.
Flashlight still off, Dean slipped off his boots. They would make too much noise for him to make a stealthy get away if needed. As he neared the stairwell, he tucked the flashlight into his back pocket and reached out for the just-visible banister to guide him down the stairs.
Outside, a cloud drifted across the moon, obscuring its light.
With the light from the moon cut off, the light in the opulent house was nonexistent.
"Damn it!" Dean whispered.
He couldn't take the flashlight out; its light would give him away if there was anybody else in the house.
Which there's not, Dean thought, still trying to reassure himself.
Dean knew he would just have to go and hope for the best. He couldn't stick around for too long or Sam would start to worry.
Dean slid his sock-clad foot along the hardwood floor until he found the first step down. Groping outward, he found the bannister and cautiously stepped down, the lack of traction in his socks almost making him slip and fall.
How the hell is it this dark? Dean wondered as he slowly made his way down another step. He couldn't even see two inches on front of him.
Dean made his way silently down half of the stairs. He was working completely blind, unable to see a damn thing. He slid his hand forward on the railing only to find someone else's hand was already there.
Startled, Dean yelped and tried to step back. His socks slipped on the hardwood and he tumbled down, sliding down the stairs, and taking out the legs of whoever was in front of him. Dean lost his handle on his boots and they went flying. In a tangle of limbs, the two bodies went falling and flailing down the stairs, bumping and thudding with every step.
By the time they hit the floor, the two flopped groaning onto their backs, too dazed to do anything else. In the back of his mind, Dean registered by the sound of the groans that it was a man lying next to him.
The two recovered at almost exactly the same time, rising up from the floor in unison. Dean lunged to the left where he remembered seeing a light switch. He no longer cared if someone noticed his presence, he wanted to know who the hell this guy was. With a catlike motion, Dean flicked on the hall light, blinding himself and the other man. The guy turned with superhuman speed to try and run, but years of hunting monsters had honed Dean's reflexes. He grabbed the other man by the upper arm, catching him unawares. Dean could tell this man was not used to people being able to catch him.
Kicking he man's legs out from under him, Dean used his grip on the man's arm to send him falling, face first, to the floor again. Dean pounced on the man and placed his knee in the man's upper back, but before he could get a hold on the man's arms, a wave of pure force sent him flying backwards.
Oh, so you're a monster, huh?
Reaching down, Dean pulled out the .44mm that was strapped to his thigh.
"Stop or I shoot!" he shouted as he took aim.
The . . . whatever it was . . . stopped dead. The creature turned on its heel to face Dean, wrecking Dean's concentration as he did so.
Tousled brown hair covered the head of the most beautiful man Dean had ever seen. His grip on the gun loosened slightly as he watched the man take a step closer to him, his head cocked to the side, staring at Dean with piercing blue eyes. This young man had stolen the sky and trapped it in his own eyes.
"Who-?" Dean started.
"You can shoot me if you want. It won't do anything though," said the other man in a deep voice.
Dean retightened his hold on the gun, still aiming at the man. "What are you? A demon?" he demanded.
The man smirked in a manner reminiscent of Dean himself. "I'm an angel, you ass."
"Angel, huh? What the hell is an angel doing robbing a house? You don't look like much of an angel either," Dean said, sure that this was some unknown monster trying to fool him.
"You know about demons," observed Castiel.
"Yeah. I'm a hunter. Now prove what you are before I waste your ass!"
The lights suddenly flickered. Distracted, Dean glanced up at the lightbulb, and then back at the man. He gasped.
Immense wings were unfurling from the man's back. They were huge and downy, with black feathers inlaid with streaks of dazzling gold, these wings were . . . amazing. Dean could tell if he ran his hands through the feathers that it would be the softest thing he had ever felt.
Dean stared, mouth agape, unable to control what he was doing.
"You . . . that's . . . you're beautiful," Dean whispered.
Blood rushed to Dean as he realized what he had just said. He had said that to local women before; it was just something you say to women you're trying to hook up with, but he had never said anything like that to a man. That wasn't to say that he had never thought it before. But living in a macho-man household as he did, he had never let that side of himself show. His father would never accept that.
Still gazing at the man, Dean realized he now looked sheepish, embarrassed almost.
"Thank you," he said in a deep, honeyed voice, and curled up his wings, folding them back into wherever they came from.
"I-I'm sorry I didn't mean-"
"No, it's okay. You're a very attractive man also," the man said haltingly, as if his tongue was tripping over the words.
Dean was a little shocked. He was expecting a scathing insult. It's what he would have received had he been open about this with his family.
"You're not . . . mad?" Dean asked.
"No, I- that was very nice of you," the man said quietly.
"Umm . . . what's your name?" dean asked, not even paying attention to the fact that they were in a stranger's house.
"I am Castiel . . . I'm . . . sorry I called you an ass," he said.
Dean laughed. "That's okay, I've been called worse. Uh, but what is an angel doing robbing a human house?"
Castiel looked away, shame crossing his face.
"I'm sorry I asked," said Dean hurriedly. "I didn't mean to-"
"It's alright. I'll tell you. I . . . disobeyed. We angels are meant to obey, it is our way. I left Heaven and came here, to Earth. Just for a day. It was an adventure of sorts. But what I did was forbidden. When the other angels found out they decided to . . . punish me. They sent me back here, to live on my own until they believe I have seen the error of my ways. Normally, I would be able to survive. I still have my powers, you see. But they made it so that I have to eat and drink and . . . urinate," Castiel said, a look of slight disgust crossing his face as he finished.
"So?" said Dean, unable to understand why having to eat was so terrible.
"My people do not do any of those things. I am unaccustomed to such rituals. I have no money, no shelter." He gestured at their surroundings. "I saw the human owners of this house leave and figured this would be a safe place to stay until I can figure out how to get home."
Dean fixed Castiel with an inquisitive gaze. "Well, it really wasn't that bad of a plan. What were you planning on doing once the people that live here came back?"
"I don't know," answered Castiel. "I prayed to my brothers and sisters and asked them to bring me home. I told them I had learned my lesson, but they have ignored my prayers."
"Dicks," said Dean. "Personally, I don't get why you'd want to go back. Sounds like they made a bigger deal out of it than it needed to be. If it were me I'd enjoy a little freedom before I even thought about going back. You've got a free pass here, Cas!"
"Cas," the angel repeated. "I like the sound of that," he said with a smile. "But what do I call you?"
"I'm Dean. Dean Winchester," Dean told him, inwardly melting at the angel's radiant smile. Dean felt an instant connection with his angel. It was like a tether had fallen into place, connecting him to Castiel. Dean wondered if Castiel was feeling this as well.
"You're Dean Winchester?"
"Yeah, what of it?" asked Dean.
"Your family is very well known to my people. You have saved a lot of lives . . . and caused a lot of trouble."
"Shit happens, man," said Dean uncomfortable with the fact that this angel knew apparently knew all about him already. "But we were talking about you and your free pass. Don't change the subject."
Cas nodded in acceptance. "Well, what would you suggest I do first with my 'free pass'?" asked Cas.
"Enjoy all the things human life has to offer, man. Eat some good food, enjoy some good booze, get laid."
"Laid?" asked Castiel, cocking his head to the side again.
"Oh, come on, Cas. I mean you're what? Twenty-one? Twenty-two? You got the eyes and the muscles. You must be a magnet for all the hot angel babes!" Dean exclaimed.
"Well actually, I'm a celestial being that is thousands of years old, but yes this vessel is twenty-one. And angels are forbidden from engaging in sexual acts with each other," replied Cas.
"Really?" asked Dean, verging on horrified.
"It is meant to prevent complications between our community," explained Cas.
"So, what if it was someone not in your community?"
Castiel looked thoughtful, contemplating the question before answering. "I suppose there really isn't a rule against that. It's certainly never been done before."
Dean flushed slightly as he imagined himself and Cas-
No, Dean. Don't let yourself go there. You barely know this guy! But evidently he knows all about you.
But Dean couldn't shake the feeling that Castiel was someone that was supposed to be in his life, that Castiel was very important.
Before Dean could get out of his head long enough to respond, Castiel spoke again.
"Dean, I think you're right. I never truly . . . fit in . . . as an angel. I know from talk of your family that you have never quite fit in either. It is possible that we could be . . . well I know how strange it is, but I feel like I already know you. Like we have a connection . . ."
Castiel trailed off, heat coloring his face around razor sharp cheekbones.
"I thought that, too" admitted Dean.
"You did?"
Dean nodded. Unable to contain his grin at knowing Castiel felt the connection too.
"You know, Cas, I could- uh, show you one of the things humans enjoy doing. If- if you want," offered Dean timidly.
"I'd like that," said Cas smiling.
Dean sheathed the gun he had been holding and slid forward on his socks until he was standing just inches from Castiel.
Leaning down toward the slightly shorter man, Dean brought his lips to Castiel's, kissing him softly, parting Castiel's lips with his own and running his tongue gently along Castiel's, causing him to whimper in pleasure.
Dean pulled away, his springtime green eyes meeting Castiel's.
"Whatcha say, Cas? Want to get outta this overly clean dungeon and I'll show you some human sights?"
"Yes," said Castiel, still smiling softly. "I would truly like that, Dean."
Dean savored the sound of Castiel's silky voice saying his name.
Dean told Cas where to find the Impala parked just down the end of the driveway. As Cas walked toward Dean's baby, Dean retrieved his boots from where they had fallen and dialed Sammy's phone number.
The phone rang as Dean pulled on his shoes. He got up and strolled to the open door where he allowed his gaze to linger over Castiel's graceful form.
"Dean?" said Sam, finally answering the phone. "How'd the thing go?"
"Good, I got enough to get us by. But- uh, Sammy, I'm going to be a little late," said Dean, already following Castiel down the driveway, anticipating the night ahead.