Castiel shuffled the few boxes he owned in his new kitchen. His new home was not large, nor luxurious, but it fit his needs. It is a one story home, one bedroom, one, very small, bathroom. A living room built for a hermit, but the kitchen made for a chef. Whoever owned this home before him had replaced most of the kitchen equipment and added a row of strikingly clean counters. He has never been one for cooking much but figures he could try. The walls were bare and he considers painting them before setting the furniture up. It means navigating through this new town to a hardware store. The thought makes him nervous. Perhaps he should ask a neighbor for directions. That thought makes him more nervous.
He is a grown man though; this is not his first time living on his own so he should be able to perform simple tasks such as asking directions. However, this is new to him; this is the first time he has been out of his home state, the first time he does not already know the neighbors by name. The friends in his old neighborhood understood his quirks, never batting an eye if he strolled through the neighborhood with a bible tucked under his arm on the way to church. Not that he is not proud of his religion, he just does not enjoy being mistaken as the type to shove his religion down other's throats. The repercussions of being faithful are trying at times but he hopes that if he stays out of other's matters that they will stay out of his in turn.
This is much different from the home he is accustomed to. He already has to discover new ways to assert who he is without being misinterpreted. He slouches into a chair set against the far wall of the kitchen. He rolls his eyes at the walls and runs a hand through his disheveled hair. Sooner or later he is going to have to extend a hand to his neighbors, sooner he decides when he hears the ring reverberate from his living room.
Castiel straightens his tie and walks to the door, peeking through the window, and opens it. Before stands a man, much taller than him, with a smile so innocent it makes him smile in return. The man is wearing work style boots and has a few stains on his shirt, a mechanic he assumes.
"Hi, I'm Dean Winchester, your new neighbor." He shuffles a covered dish to one hand and extends the other. Castiel, taken aback by the cheery welcome, clears his throat before speaking.
"Oh, hello," he shakes the hand before him. "I'm Castiel, is that pie?" Castiel tilts his head to get a good look at the pastry. He has only been living in his new home for a total of three hours, wonder fills him that this man has already had time to bake a pie.
"Uh, yeah. I wasn't sure if you had lunch or anything yet, but who doesn't love pie right?" He extends the dish. "My brother's, Sammy's, fiancé baked this earlier and thought I should bring it over, a sort of warm welcome. A little hospitality never hurt anyone I guess."
Castiel nods in agreement and reaches to take the dish from him, Dean almost looks reluctant to let it go. He looks around the living room, most of the furniture is sitting where he originally placed them, there is no real place for them yet and Castiel almost feels embarrassed, but then again it only has been a few hours and the walls need taken care of first. He invites Dean in anyways; the man brought him pie after all.
Dean shuts the door and takes in the view before dropping his eyes to Castiel. "Love what you've done with the place." He laughs.
A joke? Castiel smiles, he is glad Dean makes it so easy to be comfortable. He has never been one for making socializing easy, or so his family tells him. He sets the pie in the kitchen and comes back to find Dean going through a collection of his books. Various copies of the bible along with stories he read as a child with strong Christian morals interlaced in the text. He can feel his cheeks warm and covers it with a cough that does not deter Dean from his rummaging.
"Actually, I wanted to pick up some paint, kind of give some life to these walls. I am not sure where the hardware stores are located, unfortunately." Castiel figures he might as well take advantage of the opportunity while he can.
Dean drops a children's book back into the bin and turns to him smiling like the devil himself. "Well, luckily I know just where they are, let me drive you."
The drive to the hardware store is short but Castiel feels like he cannot get out of the Impala sooner. Dean's driving is impeccable, careful not to hurt his baby. The music however is grating to Castiel's ears, he tries to block out the noise and focus on the turns and streets, so he can learn to navigate the neighborhood himself.
Dean points to his favorites spots, The Roadhouse is apparently the best diner the town has to offer with the best bacon cheese burgers Castiel will ever eat. His stomach rumbles at the thought, if all goes well he will treat Dean to a burger for helping him he thinks. The next location Dean points to is what appears to be a junkyard. Dean tells him it is prettier on the inside and the best damn auto shop in town, Castiel silently prays his car never breaks down. The final location Dean points out his a lake, a beautiful light in a small town that Castiel can only stare at. There are wildflowers growing around it, along with cattails and lily pads resting in the water. The sun makes the ripples glimmer like stars. Castiel thinks it is a shame it is so abandoned, he thinks he could spend hours resting on a bench just observing. He takes mental note of the intersections it rests on.
When they finally reach the hardware store, the largest building the town has to offer on account of how many houses need renovating, Castiel has sufficiently tuned out the music. The Impala comes to a less than graceful stop that makes Castiel lurch foreword. He thanks God when he finally plants his feet on solid ground and the ringing in his ears subsides.
Dean leads the way, navigating flawlessly through rows and rows of shelves lined with various woodcuttings and doorknobs and everything a carpenter needs. Castiel almost walks into Dean's back when he finally stops before a wall of paint chips. He squints at the different colors before stepping aside to let Cas view as well.
"You know, I don't really know anything about colors so this is where my help kinda ends I guess." He rubs the back of his neck and casts a sideways glance at Castiel.
"I am not so sure either." He squints hard at the colors as if the power of osmosis can reveal the perfect color. "I'm thinking something blue, pale ,maybe." He picks up a swatch labeled robin's egg. "For the kitchen, to match the counters." He picks up another one, a sea foam green. "For the bathroom maybe," he says to no one in particular, turning it around to check for a price. "Maybe a beachside design.
"You an interior decorator?"
Castiel picks up another swatch. "My mother was. I learned a few things being around her, she liked themes so I think that's what I'm going to do." Castiel feels he should be embarrassed for the admission, but that does not stop him from contemplating a theme for the living room, something to match the furniture he already owns. Unfortunately, all of his furniture is white which he does not want to contrast with a loud color. No, the living room should allow him to relax, not want to run a marathon. He settles for an off shade of white, it matches the carpet anyways. When he is done he holds four separate swatches for the various rooms in his house, all soft colors he is sure will work nicely.
Dean helps him carry the paints and set them in the trunk of the impala. When the car finally settles in his driveway Dean runs to grab old newspapers and tarps from his house, the keep the carpets clean he insists. Castiel is thankful; he had not even contemplated that. The paint buckets are stationed in their assigned rooms while Castiel waits for Dean to return. He sets about unpacking what boxes he can, placing dishes in the appropriate cupboards along with silverware. That is one less task to worry about and Castiel prides himself in being productive and quickly resigns it when he thinks of what his mother would say about pride.
Dean comes in without knocking, arms full of different materials that can spare being splashed with paint. They decide the easiest room to start on is the bathroom, it is smaller and would take nearly no time all considering one wall is covered in tile to accommodate the shower. Next, Castiel wants to finish his bedroom, the quicker he can set the furniture up in here the better he decides. When the work is done they rest in the living room. It is getting late and Castiel has yet to buy Dean a burger in thanks. Dean is stubborn at first, but finally concedes when Castiel mentions a slice of pie when they return.
Dean is teased by the waitress, Ellen, when she takes their orders. Castiel admires their closeness and is comfortable to just sit back and watch while they chat. Ellen is the woman who makes the best burgers, Dean informs him which earns him a playful slap on the shoulder. Ellen remarks that no amount of sweet-talking is going to earn him a recipe, something they must have discussed long before Castiel moved in.
"You two are close," Castiel states when Ellen has walked away.
"Yeah," Dean coughs a flush creeps up his neck. "She uh, she's like a mom to me. Ever since- you know." He rubs the back of his neck.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"
"Oh no, no it's fine man, really. It's not like you wouldn't find out sooner or later, town like this everyone knows everything."
Castiel nods in agreement unsure of what to say next.
The conversation over the next half hour is stilted while they wait on their food. A bunch of stop starting of topics not worth discussing in length. Eventually a man, with a mullet of all hairstyles, sets their plates before them raising suggestive eyes in Dean's direction. Dean stills and gives a small shake of his head before taking a large bite of his burger. Ash, Dean later tells him, gives a small salute before walking back to the kitchen. Castiel seems to have missed a whole conversation, which he loses interest in when he takes the first bite of his burger.
Hot cheese runs over his fingers making him drop it quickly to wipe his hands. He wonders if Dean is made of titanium as he watches cheese run down his own hands. Dean laughs around a bite of burger at his display of bravado and Castiel decides then that he is going to prove himself but winces when another bit of cheese rolls down his hand. Dean sets his own down and swallows before speaking.
"Dude, you're gonna hurt yourself. Wrap the half in a napkin, it'll keep it off your hands."
Castiel is still trying to make sense of Deans words when Dean reaches over to show him by carefully tucking two napkins around the bread and guiding Castiel to hold it around the covered part. This is not the impression Castiel wanted to make on his first possible friend and mentally kicks himself.
"Don't worry, Sam was the same way the first time he ate one of those. After years of eating them you just sort of get used to them and expect Ellen to pack 'em to the nines."
Castiel nods and continues to eat quietly, it really is as delicious as Dean says.
When Castiel retires for the night he finds it easier to sleep than he anticipated. The day's events have worn him out so slipping into the covers has him falling asleep already. He does not rest long before he is waking to a nightmare of someone breaking into his home. Even if it was just a dream, Castiel still slips on a pair of sweatpants and walks down the steps to check the locks to find each one secure. The clock on his nightstand reads three twenty-three when he lays back beneath the covers.
He is already awake though, unable to sleep again, and groans when he slips into the kitchen. The newspaper beneath his feet makes a crinkling noise that grates against his already-forming migraine. He nearly stumbles over a can of paint and decides that today is not his day. The coffee pot takes longer than he would wish to set up and tastes of grounds at the first sip. He grumbles but decides against wasting it, something his mother taught him while growing up.
He starts about washing the plates him and Dean used to eat their pie last night, just after Dean drove him to the nearest grocery store to stock the fridge. They planned on painting the kitchen and living room today and Castiel wonders what time Dean gets off work. He does not start at his new position at The Garrison, a small paper printing industry, for another couple of days. The main reason for his move was when Zachariah, his boss, offered him a promotion that meant living in the same state as the headquarters. Who would think it would be stationed in small town in Kansas? Zachariah had muttered something about it being started here before sending him on his way.
Castiel enjoys his job, truly. He gets to sit in a plush chair while making phone calls and sitting in front of a computer all day. The amount of social interacting he did, as a salesperson, was never difficult in Castiel's eyes. Now, he will be in charge of far more information, as well as his own team of salesman that will have to report to him when a task needs taken care of or, God help him, something goes wrong. He will take the tasks as they come he decides, being too early to think in depth of scenarios and their consequences.
He realizes that he has no idea what to do with his day until Dean shows to help him paint. Perhaps finish unpacking his clothes, set up a few trinkets in his room, but that will be done long before Dean returns. He does not want to settle the furniture in the living room or kitchen yet in fear of ruining them. He sighs and finishes off his coffee before retreating to his room to change into his jogging clothes. He might as well scan the borders of the neighborhood and no better way than to kill two birds with one stone.
The night air is light against his skin, makes him shiver. He starts up a light jog to fight the cold. In no time he is reaching the end of the street and crosses over to the other side, the street Dean lives on. He wonders what he is doing, if he is sleeping well. He mentioned his brother staying with him and Castiel wonders what he is like. The streetlight above him flickers and sets an uneasy roll in his stomach. He knows it is most likely a power shortage, or misfire of electricity but cannot help but be off put by it. He curses his squeamish nature and powers through his jog until he is crossing the road and heading back towards his home.
He stops to take a breath at the path to his door. The street was short so he thinks about taking another lap before he hears the rustle of trashcans nearby. Something like bottles clink against plastic and Castiel notices a streak of light swaying behind him. Someone is walking with a flashlight and, is that Dean? Why would he be taking out trash so late at night?
Dean's stumbling comes to a stop, he looks something like a deer caught in headlights and offers a sheepish smile accompanied with a wave is Castiel's general direction. When Dean continues walking again, sloppy and uncoordinated, Castiel thinks it is safe to assume that he is drunk. His eyelids droop so he probably has not slept yet, he thinks. Castiel has never had alcohol himself leaving him uncomfortable when Dean crosses the road and turns off his light.
There is a moment where Dean trips over the curb before dramatically lifting his feet to step over it. Castiel catches his arm to help support him before Dean decides to sit on the grass instead. It is easy now that he does not have to support his weight but Castiel worries when Dean's eyes droop closed. Castiel tapes his shoe against Dean's knee and earns a hum in response.
"Dean, you're going to fall asleep on the sidewalk. What are you doing up this late anyways?"
"What are you doing up this late?" Castiel sighs because he should have expected that.
"I couldn't sleep. It seems I haven't settled into this new home yet, you?"
Dean opens an eye in his direction, trailing up and holding steady at Castiel's collar. "I got a fetish for morning joggers. It's the sweat I think, doesn't help that they're so good looking either." He shuts his eyes again.
Castiel knows it is another joke but that doesn't help the uneasy roll in his stomach. What Dean is referring to is immoral and though he is all for equal opportunity he still feels uncomfortable in his skin. He can almost hear his mother's words of guidance ringing in his ears.
"Dean, we need to get you home before you fall asleep out here," he begins to lift Dean up beneath his armpits but it is difficult to keep his grip the way Dean swings his arms. He opens his eyes again but shuts them almost immediately groaning in pain.
"You know, I mean that man, you're good looking, jogging is really working out."
Castiel brushes off the compliment and continues guiding Dean in the direction of his house. His steps are messy thanks to Dean's uneasy feet.
"I have seen a lot of pretty men in my day," he whistles at the thought. "I mean I have even been in movies with these pretty little things, but you got a face that can challenge. It's those eyes I think." He lolls his head to the side to get a good view of Castiel's face.
Castiel stops sharply to keep from fumbling them both to the ground when Dean's feet stop moving. His eyes are wide and he is looking to the ground with something sad in his eyes. Castiel runs over the last of his words and shifts the way he is holding Dean. Something about being in movies, was he an actor? Why would he stop? Castiel never got into to movies as a child, too much sex and violence his mother scolded, so it makes sense he would not know Dean by face and name.
"Why would you quit acting?" the words roll off before he can catch them and he feels bad when Dean signs heavily and sags his weight against him.
"Not those kind of movies pal." Dean shoves off, trying to reclaim his dignity but has trouble stepping back down the curb which mean Castiel has to catch him again. Dean's knees have already buckled when he reaches him and they both land on the asphalt with a hard thud. Castiel winces when he feels what will be a sure bruise. Dean is on his hands and knees trying to push himself back up and stops when his body refuses to work.
Castiel huffs and pulls at him again to get him up. This man is going to kill him on his first night in a new neighborhood. Dean settles against him, giving up completely to rub a sore spot on his elbow.
"Nah, man," he continues. "I was in a porno, a couple actually. Is how Sammy got into Stanford and how I got that house." He points and winces at the stretch of his arm. "I was good at it too, famous even. Once I got enough money I stopped though. You can only be the pretty boy getting fucked by strangers for so long."
Castiel stills beside him and casts him a wary glance before schooling his emotions. These are statements Dean probably would not tell him under normal circumstances and he does not want to hold these omissions against him. But he would be lying if he said it did not make him uneasy. Castiel has never had sex, not because he is afraid to, being a part of a conservative family does not scream ladies man. He has never had occasion, nor has he found a girl he would like to settle down with yet.
"Dean, stop talking." Castiel gets a firm grip on Dean's waist before slinging him over his shoulder. He may not have as much muscle as Dean, but he needs to get Dean home. Get back inside and shower off the dirty thoughts trapped under his skin. Dean just grips into his t-shirt and hangs on until Castiel drops him on his porch. He rings the doorbell and makes a retreat to his home.
He does not reply when Sam shouts his thanks across the road, he shuts the door, locks it and unceremoniously tosses his clothes in a clothesbasket before stepping into the shower. The water is hot to the touch but he continues cleaning, pointedly avoiding one area on his body. He hisses when he brushes against it and denies the way it feels. He reminds himself that masturbation is wrong and shuts off the shower after rinsing his hair.
For the next hour, he unpacks clothes, rearranges his room, and definitely does not think of Dean Winchester. He is sleep deprived and worn down by the end of his task though and the thoughts slip in more easily. He cannot say that Dean is gay, but he certainly is not straight and he is attracted to Castiel. He himself has never had a crush on anyone. He admired a girl, Meg, in high school but that crush was quickly thwarted when his father caught wind of it, sitting him down for the talk. The STDs his father talked about he stopped thinking about sex for years.
Now, someone was showing signs of interest. Dean may be another male but, Castiel has to admit he has some beautiful features. The way his lips puckered and those green eyes. Castiel banned the thoughts before they could settle in his chest but he was already getting hard again. He needed a distraction.
In a lonely box beside his bed, Castiel found his laptop. He would not be working for another few days but at the least he could check up on the company he is assigned to. Better he know their shipping statistics now rather than walk in blindly. He hummed to himself while he typed in the company's name into the search bar. In no time he was updated on what he needed to know and it had only been a few minutes. He bit the inside of his cheek and tried to think of something else he could do.
An insistent thought rolled in his head and before he knew it he was typing Dean's name into the search bar, just to be sure it is true he told himself. If the search comes back negative he can rest easy knowing none of it was real. In a few seconds he was proved wrong, before him sat the titles of four films featuring Dean on the cover, each with previews displaying Dean in various positions. Castiel's eyes got so wide he thought they might fall out of his head, and they should he thought. No righteous man would be caught dead looking at such images.
The thought does not stop his hand from clicking on the play button though. He quickly slams his finger on the button when the sounds of moaning break through his speakers. His heart beats so fast he thinks it will jump out of his skin. He should exit out of the window, forget what he saw and carry on with his day, maybe say a few prayers but his finger hits mute and then play and Castiel loses every moral as soon as Dean shuts his eyes and grinds against the burly man behind him.
Castiel has never been as attracted to a male as he is right now and he knows he is going to hell when he palms against his jeans. No one can save him now, he thinks when he clicks on the second preview. Dean is riding on another man is this one and Castiel's cheeks flush at how innocent Dean looks. The same innocence he had when he first showed up at Castiel's door. The sun is rising by the time he finishes the last video and it is becoming painfully hard to ignore his own erection.
With as far as he has gone he is not sure what more damage masturbating can do but he does not want to press his luck. He bites his lip and shuts the computer down. He shifts in place on his bed and tries to think of anything, everything to become flaccid again. Bees, bugs, old women, old men, but the image of Dean flush and fucked out still lingers in his mind.
He sighs and begins to reach a hand in his pants when the doorbell rings. Not now he thinks. Especially if it is Dean standing there. He cannot look at him now, not after what he has done, was about to do. He curses him when the doorbell rings again. Castiel stands and lets out a frustrated sigh when his erection stands with him.
He clambers down the stairs uncomfortably and mentally wills his partner to disappear. He would say a silent prayer but he thinks better of it. Dean is standing outside his door and Castiel become desperate. He has only dealt with this as a teenager, when his hormones acted out on their own, now he his a grown men and grown men do not talk to other grown men with boners. Especially when those particular grown men are the ones who caused it. He mentally kicks himself and opens the door crossing his legs in an awkward stance.
"Dean, hi, uh how are you feeling?"
Dean groans and gives an apologetic look. "Hung over. I, uh, wanted to say thanks for getting me home last night and apologize. I know I probably said some strange things sorry if I made you uncomfortable." Dean rubs the back of his neck and keeps his eyes on the spot behind Castiel's head. There is a tinge of pink on his cheeks.
"No problem. A few scrapes are worth making sure you return home safely."
"Yeah, yeah." He sighs and takes a step back. "Well, I gotta head to work. I'll see you, to finish painting if you're still up for it."
"Of course. I'll see you later." Dean is gone long before Castiel shuts the door.
He slinks to the floor of his living room and wonders when he became so sinful, so lustful. His mother would have his ass for this sort of behavior but maybe, maybe that is what growing up is about. Learning, making his own choices. He whispers an apology in her regards and unbuttons his pants not bothering to move from his spot on the floor.
Castiel has never had such an uncomfortable conversation in his life and finds refuge in drying paint. Dean is more quiet than yesterday and Castiel kicks himself for being so rude. It is so hard when he has those eyes and that mouth and Castiel is such a virgin that it is as if he body is just calling out to Dean, screaming take me.
Castiel tries his best not to show his discomfort but once the final wall is coated in paint and Dean sits down to eat a piece of pie he is gone. Dean keeps licking his fingers and the fork and it is just not fair. Satan is toying with him, he has to be. He tries to think of something awful he did in his past to result in this walking sin before him and comes up empty. Dean catches him staring in the corner of his eye and pushes his pie away. Something twinkles in his eye that Castiel is sure he should be afraid of.
"So, let's talk." Dean grins and folds his hands in his lap.
"Uh, sure."
"You looked me up didn't you?"
"What?" Castiel chokes, so caught off guard. "No, what?"
"C'mon Cas, I know that look. I can see it in those pretty blues of yours. Same look I get from old pervs in the bar on a Saturday night. They wanna ask but God won't let 'em. So they sit, they stare, and you know what? I kinda like it, let's me know they enjoyed the show." He rests his arms on the back of the couch and shoots him a shit-eating grin. "Don't lie to me Cas."
Castiel can feel the heat on his cheeks when he stands to takes their plates to the kitchen. He does not want to talk about this, especially after what he did when Dean left. Castiel has never done that before, he was so good until now. Dean is just…unholy, and God help him he is a piece of fruit Castiel is dying to taste.
"Hey, don't think too hard about it. It's fine, everyone does it when I tell them. They want to know if I'm lying, I get it. It's cool." He sounds concerned, Castiel knows why when his hands start shaking, and he almost drops both plates. Dean stands closer and Castiel can feel his heart stop.
"Dean." He doesn't know what he wants to say. What he should say. Should he apologize? Recite the bible? Tell Dean to take him right here, right now, before he regains will power and loses his chances forever. He does not say anything, just stares at his own hands as if they are foreign to him.
"Dean, I think you should leave." Cas does not look over his shoulder when he says those words, he cannot see the look on Dean's face when they roll through the air and bite him.
"Cas, look we can just ignore it all right. Pretend I never said anything." Castiel can feel a hand on his shoulder before he shrugs it away. Dean is personified sin and he tried not to hold it against him but now he is doing things he would never do.
"Dean please, just-I need you to leave." The words feel like bullets flying out of his mouth striking Dean down. Castiel is not responsible for hurt Dean may or may not be feeling, he has sins to repent for and the first step is removing the serpent from his garden. He repeats it like a mantra until he hears the click of the door and Dean is finally gone.