It had been six months since Castiel Novak, a writer, had moved in his worn loft. It had also been six months since he had talked to the mechanic who worked just under him. Dean is automatically drawn to Castiel, his blunt nature and blue eyes were like nothing he had ever seen. But their romance is quickly put to the test when Dean discovers something about Castiel he had been hiding all along. Can Dean and Castiel get past each other's past to start their future?
Prolog
Castiel Novak was a simple man who wanted simple things. He didn't ask for much in life, clothes on his back and food in his stomach were all he needed. But right now, he didn't want something simple, he wanted to write.
Castiel brought his hands to his already messy charcoal hair and pushed them back into extinguished little tufts. Castiel had been a writer and a talented one at that. Cafes all around the city waited for Thursday nights when he would light the match to the words they couldn't quite ignite themselves. He believed writing was for talking for others when they wouldn't, and talking for yourself when you couldn't. But now, he couldn't do either.
He shut his computer forcefully and exhaustedly. It had been almost a year since he had written anything. His radiant words extinguished, for unknown reasons. His darkly lit apartment probably wasn't helping, but if he was being honest, he was just too lazy to get up and open the curtains.
He stood up from his worn desk and sighed. A slight sense of desolation coursed through his body recognizably and mundanely. He wasn't depressed per-say, but he wasn't happy. The long nights of trying to find a reason to be awake was even more tiring than living itself. A writer's curse, he assumed.
He walked over to the windows and looked up at the navy-blue curtains. He ran his hand thoughtfully over the worn material. Years of wear and tear apparent from the frayed edges. He grabbed the sides pulled hard. The rod came falling onto the floor, missing Castiel only because of how far away he was standing, not his lack of trying. No, the act was not necessary; but he felt like it was the perfect amount of dramatic-ness, at least the amount he needed.
He looked at his now brightened apartment, books of all kinds spread in uneven piles throughout the beautifully worn wood. When he first bought the apartment, almost six months ago, he had fallen in love with it. The building was close to being abandoned, old bricks were falling apart and paint had been chipping off the walls. It was beautiful honestly, the story the bare bones had told. He paid in cash that day. He had some people come out to make sure it was structurally sound, and once it was cleared, he started to clean up the place. He bricked up what he could, and cleaned up the walls. The whole thing looked like a drunk gnome had done it, and he liked it that way. The best part that had come out of it though, was the big space underneath the loft. It used to be a mechanics garage, before whoever it was died, and left the building to the city. Now, a new mechanic inhabited the old garage. An athletically built man, with permeate grease stained fingertips and tired eyes. And that's where this story starts.
Chapter one: The meeting
The light from the window was shining directly into Castiel's teal blue eyes, and it was fucking annoying. He was already in a grouchy mood, the forecast had predicted rain, so he hadn't bothered to put the curtains back up to keep the apartment cool. But, because the weather forecast is always bullshit with a drizzle of false hope, it was sunny as ever. He didn't have anything against nice sunny days, but when you didn't have an air conditioning, they could be horrid.
He stretched out of bed, hearing an assortment of pops that came from late nights of less than desirable sleep, and sighed. He walks over to the mini warehouse fan he had gotten cheap at a closing sale long ago and flipped it on. Instantly loose pieces of wallpaper were fluttering, the loft already dropping a degree or two. But, because of his necessary dramatic act of throwing down the curtains, the apartment would take a very long time to cool to a comfortable temperature.
Walking into the loft's bathroom, he brushed his teeth and threw on something comfortable to wear. He was going to leave the house today, hopefully, to get some food at the little diner across the street.
Castiel set off to leave his loft, locking the door behind him, leaving his loft and poor nights of sleep behind.
As he was walking down the steps, a shadowed figure was already waiting.
"Hello?" Castel asked cautiously, "Can I help you?"
The man looked up and waved. "Hey man, sorry to bother you. I'm the mechanic from downstairs."
Relaxing, Castiel cocked his head, he had never actually had a conversation with the man who worked under him; he said his hellos and waved when needed, that was enough.
"Oh," Castiel said. "Hello."
"Sorry, I feel like an asshole barging up here, but I need to talk to you about some things for the shop, do you have a minute?"
Castiel looked at the man. He was tall, with emerald green eyes that looked almost too pretty to be a man's, he was extremely handsome.
"No problem," Castiel said. "Let's head down stairs."
The man smiled and turned around, walking down the steps and holding the door open for Castiel, who had been walking slowly behind him.
"Thank you," Castiel said, smiling shyly.
They walked into the mechanic's shop and stopped in the small lobby.
"This is part of what I want to discuss, so I don't mind if you want to look around."
Castiel looked turned away from the man and looked at the small lobby. It wasn't much, pictures of classic cars were thrown up over the walls, a small checkout counter took up most of the residency. It was nothing terribly special.
"It's nice," Castiel said, looking back.
He smiled. "I didn't really know what else to do with it, it's hard to find something to match checker board floors."
Castiel chuckled. "It does seem that way."
The man waved towards large double doors. "This leads to the mechanic's garage, follow me."
Castiel did as the man said, walking through to the garage, already ten degrees hotter than the lobby they came from.
Here he had two cars of different make and models, opened and spread out like cadavers. The man led him to a make shift kitchen in the back, where he took a seat, and Castiel did the same.
"Dean Winchester." He said putting out a hand. Castiel gladly shook his callused hand and smiled.
"How can I help you, Dean?"
"Well," Dean said, leaning back into the chair comfortably. "This place is very old, as you know, and although it has amazing charm, it doesn't really have the amazing equipment."
Castiel didn't know where he was going with this, but he kept his smile on.
"I love this place a lot, and so do a lot of other people. I've made enough money that I can work with better tools. Well, when I started to rent this place, it came with the lifts and tools for the cars. I guess what I'm asking is, would it be ok if I changed out the lifts? I would pay for it all, but I'm starting to get more loads than these can handle."
Castiel raised a brow, he didn't understand why he needed his permission, it was his garage, and he could do what he wanted.
"Well Dean, "Castiel started, "As far as I'm concerned, you rent, you own. Do what you want, but if you would, please make sure they don't mess with anything that would impact my loft."
Castiel noticed the tension in Dean's shoulders relaxed as he told him the news. The movement, Castiel observed, was subtle and practiced.
"Well, that's just great," Dean said, showing a wide toothed smile. "I assume I can just send the paperwork that needs to be signed?"
Castiel was tipped his head, looking at Dean with a childlike wonder. Castiel sometimes had the bad habit of analyzing people he didn't know. It was creepy to those who didn't know what he was doing and impressive to those who did.
Dean, automatically knew what Castiel was doing, and smiled at his childish awe. He had seen this in his life many times, whether it was from his father-looking for a reason to be angry, or doing the action himself, adjusting to a new school when his father was deployed. He let the older man do his thing, whatever he saw, he was satisfied.
"I'm sorry," Castiel said, looking up. "What did you say?"
Dean smiled, "I assume I can just put the letters that need to be signed in your mail box?"
"Why don't you just come up and ask? I'm home most of the day."
Dean was taken aback by the forwardness of being invited to his home. He believed your home was your sanctuary, not a place for strangers. But Castiel obviously didn't think so, because he waited for an answer with a genuine smile.
"Sounds good, Mr…" Dean waited for him to fill the name.
"Novak." He said. "Castiel Novak. You can call me Cas."
Dean again was shocked by the forwardness of Castiel
Castiel spoke before he could.
"I'm heading to the diner across the street if you'd like to join me." He said, standing. Castiel decided to go eat instead of sitting here trying to find a conversation that wasn't apparent.
When Dean didn't answer, he started to walk out anyway.
"I'll be there If you change your mind, I'd enjoy your company."
Castiel walked through the large double doors, and the room instantly felt smaller. Dean was surprised he had worked below this man for six months, and not once had a conversation with him.
Dean was instantly reminded of how he had gotten the garage in the first place. He saw the flyer Castiel had put up around town, and emailed him as soon as he had the chance. Castiel had emailed him ten minutes later, telling him the place was his. He said the key was in his mail box by the end of the day, and that rent was two hundred a month. It was a senseless act, putting trust into a total stranger. But it's also what made Dean take it; it was hard to find someone who would give you the time, much less an entire garage. He realized now it was a senseless act, but that was just Castiel, and that was something he would never quite understand.