Author's note: Here is is, my contribution to the Dean/Castiel Big Bang on livejournal. The art by the wonderful amamik can be seen here: amamik. tumblr post/ 131082546580/ since-it-has-became-1013-in-my-regionhere-is-my

Enjoy!

His alarm rang at six am, as usual on weekdays, and like always, Dean Winchester, who had from infancy been more of a night owl than an early riser, groaned as he rolled out of bed.

He could have opened up the garage later these days since he was the owner, but his father still kept a strict watch on his former property, and Dean was used to it. So he dragged himself into the shower, then prepared some much-needed coffee in his small kitchen. He arrived at the garage punctually ten minutes before seven and went through the books quickly before having another cup of coffee.

While he didn't like getting up, he loved the few minutes of silence he had to himself every day before he opened the garage, when he didn't have to worry about whether or not any costumers would show up today, or where he could get the spare parts he desperately needed for a lower price.

He loved the garage. It was the one place he had always found refuge in. When his grades slipped, when Dad had been yelling at him – he had left and went to work on cars. It wasn't perfect; despite his best efforts, it was slowly falling into disrepair and he wasn't making nearly as much money as he wished; but it was home.

His thoughts drifted back to long days when he had been a boy, watching his father work on cars and being told that he'd one day inherit the shop. His mother coming, as he would later learn, from a doctor's appointment that confirmed all was well. Them telling him that he was going to be a big brother. He still used the chair he had been sitting on then.

He shook his head and returned to the here and now. Dwelling on his parents always led to the memory of flames and Sammy heavy in his arms, of them staying at Uncle Bobby's and him knocking on the old man's bedroom door late at night and asking where Mummy was and why Daddy was drinking so much of that nasty-smelling stuff, and how he could feed Sammy because he wouldn't stop crying.

The pain of his mother's death had slowly subsided over the last twenty-six years, but its effects on his family were still noticeable.

It wouldn't do to ponder such things, though. He had a shop to run.

He put down the empty cup and stepped into the garage, looking at the two cars he was currently working on. One the owner was supposed to pick up in two hours – since the part he needed had been delivered yesterday, it wouldn't be a problem – and the old Ford Tempo that belonged to Rufus, one of Bobby's friends. When he had brought it over two days ago, Dean had apologized and admitted that he couldn't do it for free, as he did when things were going smoothly; Rufus had smiled and clapped his shoulder and told him that it was no problem.

But it was. Dean wanted to run a successful business, one that enabled him to help those who had been there for him when he was a child and trying to look after his younger brother and father. Rufus hadn't been around as much as Bobby, but he had helped him carry John Winchester home from a bar more times than Dean could count. But he had simply earned less every year since he had taken over the shop three years ago, and he couldn't give away jobs for free. He sighed and set to work.

As he had expected, there were several things wrong with the motor. He liked the guy but really, Rufus had no idea how to take care of a car. He sighed. Getting the spare parts would be costly, and he wouldn't be able to give Rufus as large a discount as he wished. He tried to console himself with the thought that, even if he could have, Rufuswould probably have forced him to take the money anyway.

The owner of the other car appeared punctually and seemed content with the job Dean had done, and Dean took the check with a sense of relief. At least he had earned something today.

As he was trying to draw a rusty screw out of Rufus' motor, his phone rang. He straightened his back and wiped his hand before checking the caller ID and grinning.

Cas called him at least once a day, usually after he had finished with his lecture at KU. Today he'd had an early one, Introduction to Iconography.

"Hey, Cas."

"Hello, Dean."

"How was it? The students annoying you again?"

Cas, with his blue eyes, dark hair and polite and kind demeanour, had soon become one of the professors most students had crushes on; it had taken him almost the whole semester to surmise that one of his students wasn't interested in literature on religious studies, to the point of asking for additional information after every lecture, but in him. It had provided Dean with countless hours of mirth to explain to Cas what was going on; he'd eventually stopped because every time Cas' face fell, he had felt like a jerk. Which he supposed he was, but still.

"Several of them asked very insightful questions" Cas answered. "Are you working on Rufus's car?"

It was one of Cas' most endearing qualities (if Dean had ever admitted to finding anything endearing) that he always asked about Dean's work as if it was as important as what he did. Dean fixed cars for a living. He put together scrap metal and hoped he'd last another year. Cas educated people. He had a bright future ahead of him, one that actually included making a difference and getting known. Dean would always be what he was now.

He shook himself out of it. He wasn't going to be bitter about it. He had it far better than he deserved, anyway. Cas was still his friend, something he hadn't thought possible when Cas had left for college.

"Yeah" he answered, "Dude's got no idea how to take care of a motor."

"That's what we have you for," Cas said softly and Dean winced as he remembered working on Cas' atrocity of a car. He regularly managed to make it work again, but at the cost of his self-esteem and respect for his friend's taste.

"I guess," he replied slowly, looking down at the motor.

"I am sure you'll get more business soon," Cas said suddenly, as always reading his thoughts. "You are the best mechanic around."

"Doesn't help much," he mumbled, looking around his dilapidated work space. Aside from buying new tools, nothing had been updated for twenty-six years; not even a new table had been purchased. Dad didn't want it, and since he came by often to make sure Dean hadn't yet torn the place down, it wasn't worth the trouble.

Cas didn't say anything, and he was grateful for it. Sam gave him unwanted advice often enough.

"Are we still meeting tonight?" he asked, and Dean almost laughed. He and Cas didn't really need to make plans; he showed up spontaneously at his friend's often enough; but Cas always insisted on asking him whether he wanted to get dinner and then confirming the appointment.

"Of course. How could I say no to a Star Trek marathon?" He grinned at Cas' feigned sigh.

"Your ability to enjoy movies you have already seen countless times as if you had never see them before will never cease to amaze me."

"Sorry, professor, too many big words in there, I didn't get it. Plus, we were talking about Star Trek".

Another sigh, and Cas said, "I'll see you tonight, Dean."

"Looking forward to it."

They hung up, never having needed long, drawn-out goodbyes when they talked to each other, although they could easily talk for hours if not interrupted.

Dean put his phone away with a smile and concentrated on getting Rufus' car running again. One day he might convince him to get a new one that wasn't rusting through and was much easier to maintain, even if nothing could beat the classics. Out of habit, he threw a glance through the window to ensure that his Baby was safely parked outside as he had left her.

He could probably get the car running again by closing time, he decided, giving Rufus a quick call. He sounded far too grateful considering he couldn't even let him off without paying, and Dean hung up, feeling guilty as a guy who drove a Volkswagen that had suddenly stopped working strolled in.

Dean had it up and purring within minutes, the guy happily driving off after paying the bill and leaving a healthy tip that Dean would have declined in better times because it was way too much, but which was quite welcome now.

He locked it in the old safe before going back to work on Rufus' car. He'd been right; he was soon putting the finishing touches to the old motor.

She really wouldn't look that bad, he decided, if he could just get a new coat of paint on her. And perhaps replace the old rims, with identical ones, of course. The car was barely twenty years old. There had to be spare parts somewhere...

He shook himself out of it. When he was little, he had entertained dreams of learning how to properly restore cars, and in his teens he had been practicing on Baby until she looked as perfect as he could make her, but it had all been a pipe dream of course. He would never have been smart enough for college, and Dad needed him. Didn't mean he didn't see an opportunity when it arrived, though, and if he hadn't known that Rufus wouldn't do it, he would have advised him to go to another, better trained mechanic to make the car presentable.

But since he knew the old man, he contented himself with polishing her – not as carefully as he always polished Baby, just enough so that she wasn't an embarrassment to his craftsmanship any longer.

Rufus noticed when he came in half an hour later, but didn't comment on it apart from paying more than Dean's work was worth and challenging him with a simple look to argue. Dean decided it wasn't worth it, and after Rufus had patted his shoulder and told him, "Thanks, son," he closed the garage with a sense of accomplishment.

He was on his way to Baby when his phone rang, and he happily accepted the call from his brother. Sammy was doing well for himself at Stanford, currently studying for his bar exam and still taking the time to call at least once a day. Dean preferred it if Sam contacted him since he didn't want to interrupt his studying. Sam, on the other hand, kept assuring him that he didn't have to worry so much about his marks, but still agreed that he would be the one to call.

"Hey, Sammy. Blown a fuse in that big brain of yours yet?"

They made small talk about their day, Dean leaning against Baby and enjoying the fresh breeze of the evening.

"Cas is coming in half an hour, dinner and Star Trek" he finally summarized his plans for the night.

"I'd better let you go, then. Wouldn't want you to be late for your date," Sam teased him. He had made comments like this for years every time Dean told him he was going to meet Cas, but in the last few months they had had a certain edge to them that Dean didn't understand. Surely Sam had nothing against Dean's best friend? He'd known him almost as long as Dean had, and they had always gotten along great.

"Talk to you soon, Sammy," he answered and hung up. He got in his car and smiled as he drove off, listening to his Baby's purring.

Sam Winchester was a patient man. Or at least he had always been more patient than other members of his family.

But his brother was currently pushing his limits, and had been doing so for quite some time.

Dean was smart; he was a good, caring, gentle man who deserved everything life could give him. He had practically raised Sam after their father decided the only way of dealing with their mother's death was through a bottle. Bobby had helped a lot, of course, and Sam saw him as more of a father figure than their actual dad, but it was Dean he had always come to when he needed help, wanted to play or felt alone. And Dean had always done his best.

So Dean deserved the best.

But the life Dean was leading was not the best he could have, no matter how deeply convinced he was of that.

He was working in their father's garage, and although he was the owner, Dad wouldn't allow him to change a thing about it or advertise his skills. He had had dreams of going to college and studying restoration, but had been quick to accept that he wasn't smart enough for it because Dad said so. He waited for Sam to call because he didn't want to trouble him, although Sam had tried to tell him again and again that he loved hearing from his big brother.

And then there was Cas.

He and Dean he had been best friends since they had met in high school; at fifteen, Cas had been the school loner, highly intelligent but considered weird because he took everything literally and had little knowledge of pop culture, while Dean had been the popular jock who had dated almost every girl in his year and hidden his nerdy hobbies, smart brain, and big heart under their dad's leather jacket. They'd run into each other – literally – Dean had helped Cas pick up his books and that had been it. They had somehow formed a connection and had been best friends by the end of the day.

They still were best friends. And that was the problem.

Well, not that they were friends, obviously. But that they weren't more was something Sam couldn't understand.

He'd known for a long time Cas had feelings for Dean, right from the beginning of their friendship, and had also known for just as long that his brother was bisexual. There were only so many times he could watch Dean stare dreamily at the lead of Doctor Sexy, MD or at Han Solo, turn his head when a guy walked past, or get flustered when a good-looking man approached him before he realized. Yet, in contrast to Cas, who had never made any attempt to hide his attraction to both men and women, Dean wouldn't admit it to anyone, least of all to himself.

Sam didn't care that Dean was bisexual, not at all. But he knew their dad would, and that it was for this reason, more than anything else, that Dean would never even consider that he was actually attracted to Doctor Sexy or that he had feelings for Cas.

And because of this, he would pass up the best chance he would ever have of being happy.

Sam put his phone down with more force than strictly necessary and groaned just as his girlfriend passed him on the way to make more coffee – since she was studying for her last exam as well, albeit in medicine, she knew they both needed it.

"Everything alright?" Jess asked, starting the coffeemaker.

"Dean. He's spending the evening forcing Cas to watch Star Trek again".

"But that's a good thing. Anything might happen" she assured him.

"Nothing will happen" he emphasized.

"You don't know that. Remember when I first met them?"

Sam smiled as he recalled Thanksgiving, three years ago. Jess had immediately taken a liking to Dean and Cas and inquired quietly, when they had a moment to themselves, why Sam hadn't told her about his brother's relationship. The answer to that had been that there was none to begin with, and he'd needed half an hour to convince her that he had not thought her homophobic and judgemental at all, and that Dean being single was the real reason for his silence.

Ever since then, Jess had kept her faith that Dean would one day see the light and actually end up happy with Cas, a faith Sam had lost long ago. Now and then it was nice to hear her optimism, though, especially during stressful times like these.

So he simply accepted the cup of coffee she gave him and concentrated on his studies. Dean and Cas would spend a pleasant evening together, at least.

Cas was punctual, as always. In all the years Dean had known him, he had never been late without a good reason.

Dean had already started on the burgers. Cas let himself in with the key Dean had given him after he'd grown too lazy to constantly open the door for his best friend.

"Hello, Dean," Cas said as he strolled into the kitchen, still wearing his suit and tie.

"Hey, Cas," Dean replied, glancing at him. His tie was askew as always when he didn't happen to stay at Dean's or vice-versa and he couldn't tie it properly for him in the morning, and he smiled.

"Don't say it," Cas grumbled, loosening it.

"How was the rest of your day?" Dean inquired. Cas huffed.

"The dean seems to think religious studies are not worth their budget."

He'd heard that story since Cas had started studying religion, but he still listened patiently. It wasn't like he had anything interesting to tell him about his day.

"I was the only one – once again, I might add – defending our department, and he simply sighed and said something along the lines of, "It's always you who complains," and I told him that I would continue until things changed, and – "

While he ranted, Dean took special care with the burgers so that Cas would at least get a decent meal after an annoying day, and his best friend's smile told him that he'd accomplished that mission. It was when Cas asked him how things were going, which meant he wanted to talk about the garage and bills and changes, that Dean's good mood evaporated.

"Okay," he said with an air of finality. When Cas' only answer was silence, he sighed and continued, "I got work. I had Rufus' car today, plus the other one I was working on, and some guy came in. No problem, fixed that in ten minutes. See? Busy."

"But you could do with more business," Cas replied. It was an understatement, but Dean didn't comment on it. "I'm sure more people would come in if you modernized the garage and advertised – "

"And what am I supposed to advertise?" Dean asked. "You know I only did the bare minimum to get my ASE. And Dad doesn't want me to make any changes".

The garage might have been his – he still suspected that Bobby had kept nagging at Dad until he gave it over to him – but there was rarely a day when his father didn't show up to make sure he wasn't doing anything he didn't approve of. Today had been an exception, and he didn't want to think about where he might be.

He didn't mention that, even if he had been willing, he had no money to modernize. It would only end with Cas offering him some, stating that he had more than he needed anyway, and a fight that would leave them angry and resentful for days. They'd been down this road too often for him to want a repeat.

"It's not like you can't do more. I'm sure you would succeed no matter what further qualifications you pursued," Cas said softly, touching his hand, and Dean knew that he was thinking, just like himself, about a fifteen-year-old who told his new friend about restoration, how wonderful it was to see a car rise from the ashes to return to the beauty it had been before.

He had long ago realized that he was too dumb to even contemplate getting any kind of degree, so he shook his head.

Cas looked pained, but said nothing as he withdrew his hand. They had always known when to be silent around each other.

They watched the movies quietly, the presence of his best friend and the familiarity of the Star Trek universe comforting Dean.

Still, he felt on edge even the next day, as he worked on a car that had thankfully decided to stop working right in front of the garage that morning. The owner had looked somewhat suspiciously at the old decor, but had left when it became clear Dean knew what he was doing.

When the door opened, he expected it to be his dad, but instead he found Bobby.

"Hey, boy."

"Hi Bobby."

Bobby came by a few days a week for a chat and coffee. His scrap yard was only a few streets away, which was practical if Dean needed normal, not out-of-they-way-having-to-order-them-because-it's-a-European-car spare parts.

Bobby looked uncomfortable, and Dean already knew what he was going to say.

"Your dad showed up last night. He's sleeping it off on my couch."

He didn't have to specify what "it" was, and Dean nodded.

"Thank you for taking care of him."

Bobby shook his head, being as uncomfortable to accept thanks as Dean usually was. He looked at his boy in his mechanic getup, looking tired and worn-down, and thought how he'd much rather have punched John Winchester in the face last night than offer him a place to stay, but he didn't say it out loud.

They drank coffee as Dean filled him in on the business he didn't have and Bobby listened, wishing that he'd taken the boys from John when they had been younger. But he'd thought they were better off with a father, and now Dean was – well, not exactly unhappy. But this was a far cry from what he could be doing.

When he left, Dean hugged him, another way of saying thanks, and he returned home to see that John had left in his absence. Remembering how tense Dean's shoulders had been, he hoped he didn't make the mistake of showing up at the garage hung over.

Dean didn't understand why he felt so twitchy. The talk with Cas hadn't been the first of its kind, and would certainly not be the last. He simply thought too much of him. So why was he so tense? Yes, business could be better, but he was used to it.

It was really not a good time for his father to come in. Which, of course, meant that he did.

"Dean."

He never really greeted him when he strolled into the garage he still saw as his own, only said his son's name and started inspecting the place.

For some reason, it riled Dean up. Normally, he didn't think about it, continuing his work and barely paying attention to his dad, but today he stood transfixed as he carefully looked over the garage as if Dean would have been capable of tearing it down during the one day he hadn't been there.

Because he'd been getting drunk.

Dean's jaw clenched. His place. Dad had given him the garage, it was his. And ever since he had turned eighteen and finished school, Dean had done most of the work anyway.

Suddenly, he was angry. It was as if all the anger he had never allowed himself to indulge in when he had come home to find Sammy hungry and Dad drunk or when he'd mentioned that going to McPherson College was something he might be interested in and Dad had only laughed and told him to stick to what he knew (he'd been right, but that was no way of telling your son that he was too dumb for higher education), or when he'd thrown a fit because Dean had wanted to purchase a new desk, had come to the surface.

"Satisfied that everything's still falling into ruin because you won't allow me to buy a new chair, much less get the place fixed?"

He hadn't meant to sound this bitter; he hadn't meant to speak at all, but there was a lump in his throat and the words forced themselves out.

Dad, hung-over and angry, turned around and glared at him.

"What do you want, son?"

Again, he didn't want to answer. He was just going to go back to the car he was working on and forget about his dad standing in his garage, making it impossible for anything to change ever –

"How about you stop drinking for one moment and realize we don't live in the 80s anymore?"

He swallowed when he saw his father's face cloud with anger. When he'd been younger, this had always been the signal to get Sam to Bobby's.

He was no longer scared of his dad, but he still didn't want to see that look on his face.

"You won't talk to me like this. This ain't what I worked for."

"So you worked for a shop that would eventually crumble down, possibly trapping your son inside? Good job."

"Don't act all high and mighty. Even if I allowed you to do stuff, you'd never be able to. Sam's the smart one."

He was speaking the truth about that, at least, and Dean shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, giving his father time to continue.

"Which is why he won't come back. He'll settle down with that Jess girl and become a successful lawyer, and he'll forget all about you. Like everyone does. And no wonder, when I look at the pathetic loser who claims to be my son."

He stormed out, and Dean leaned against the wall, taking a few calming breaths. It wasn't the worst insult Dad had ever thrown at him, it was barely even an insult at all, and he knew that most of it wasn't true. Sammy wouldn't forget him. And it was ironic that Dad had suddenly decided to be proud of his son who studied law when he'd thrown him out of the house and told him to never come back when he'd told him Sam had said he was going to Stanford. It had been the reason for Dean to get an apartment so that Sam could stay at his place when he came to visit.

So then why was he feeling so bad about it? Maybe because "pathetic loser" wasn't such a bad description of him. He knew most people wouldn't think so, he had his own business and had managed to earn his ASE, but he was aware that he was dumb, obnoxious, and had little to show for it except for his brother and his best friend, who were kind enough to stick with his sorry ass.

He brought his hand up to his face and angrily rubbed a few tears away. He pushed away from the wall and went back to work, and for the first time the garage didn't comfort him.

He felt trapped.

Try as he might, he couldn't shake the feeling off in the weeks that followed. He was nervous and irritable, to a point that Sam noticed even though they only spoke for a few minutes every day, since his bar exam was coming closer and closer, and Cas brought him pie to the garage during his lunch breaks in an attempt to lift his mood.

He really didn't deserve him, Dean reflected over a forkful of delicious pie from the diner three streets away.

The pie might have helped a little, but it did nothing to ease the weight in his chest. Bobby made a habit of bringing him coffee – "Real one, not the stuff from your machine" – and even his father had taken the hint and simply looked around in silence before grumbling "Okay" to himself and leaving.

Dean hoped that it would pass. He was just feeling a bit under the weather, and he concentrated on work and the fact that Sam would come to visit soon, once he had passed his exam, to make him feel better.

It was on the last day of the three day long exam that Dean's prophesy of the garage crumbling and burying him underneath it came somewhat true.

In fact, it wasn't the ceiling or a wall that crumbled, but the plaster simply couldn't hold one of the nails used to keep an old drawer upright anymore and so the drawer came down.

Dean, who was in the process of taking out a wrench he needed, was only aware of a small breaking noise.

Then darkness.

Then nothing.