A/N: Hello everyone, this is my first Supernatural Fanfiction (I usually write Twilight). The idea of the story was nagging at me, and I'm a fan of the 'Destiel' stories, so I figured why not. Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. But I do own the story.
Watching the rain fall was a past time that he'd never been able to get over. Growing up in Florida, he was used to hurricane seasons. Sitting in his living room staring out into the yard as the rain drops would pound onto the asphalt was something that always seemed to soothe him. The black rain clouds would come rolling in, putting his soul into an almost eerie calm. It didn't matter if the rain would, at times, only last ten minutes. Just the possibility of the water falling from the sky would often make his day.
At that very moment though, he glared upwards at the sun that daunted him. His work had lead him far from Florida, and was forcing him to take up residence in Kansas for the next six months.
"Castiel!" He flinched at the voice that over pronounced his name, turning away from the bright sky and let his eyes land on his real estate agent.
"Yes, Anna?" He tried his hardest to keep his voice level, not letting any annoyance seep through. He must have succeeded because the woman's eyes didn't dull for a moment, and her overly peppy step didn't falter.
"I think everything is all set up, and you said your movers were coming in the morning?" Castiel nodded. She just rolled her eyes at him and turned back to the small house behind her. His own eyebrows rose in surprise, shocked that this near stranger felt comfortable enough around him to pull off such a childish behavior.
"Still don't see why you're moving so much of your stuff in here for just a few months, the place is fully furnished," she said under her breath. He didn't even bother calling her out on what she said; moving some of his own belongings into the rancher wasn't her business, and he didn't have to explain himself to her.
"Yes, well, it seems you're done here," Castiel bit out with a fake smile on his face. He reached out and snatched the keys out of her hand and waited until she was looking directly at him to let his smile fall and a stoic expression come through. With that, he turned away from her and walked towards the open garage, eyeing his car that was already inside.
Normally Castiel wasn't as into cars as a large percent of the male population was. His father raised him to be able to change a tire, and do a tune up. Over the years he developed the ability to tell when an alternator needed changing, or if it was the battery. Beyond that, he had been damn near useless. But about five years back his eyes landed on a steel blue 1965 Ford Mustang Fastback, just sitting on the side of the road with an awful 'For Sale' sign in the window. Castiel didn't even barter on the price; he paid the man in cash and ripped up the ugly red sign. Since then he bought books upon books learning how to take care of his beautiful car. He rarely took it to anyone to let them do work on her- if he didn't know how to fix her, then he would try his hardest to learn via words on pages. Or hell, even the internet.
Castiel climbed the few steps that lead from the garage to the house, pressing the button to close the large door. He swore he could almost hear the frustration coming from his real estate agent, but he didn't care. From the moment he met her, he wanted to deal with someone else. He even called the main office of the real estate company and asked the receptionist if he could be transferred to a different person. Alas, the kind woman on the phone turned him down and told him that Anna was the only person available. It made him want to deal with an entirely different company, but in the small town of Lawrence there weren't exactly a plethora of places to choose from. Especially ones who dealt with temporary sublets.
Kicking the door shut, Castiel let his eyes wander around the place he would call home for the next six months. Before him was a decent sized living room, big enough for an overstuffed couch and a recliner chair as well as a large television. To his right was the modest sized kitchen, with just enough counter space to house a few different appliances. Castiel let his feet bring him forward, beyond the kitchen and into the den. This would be his office. The one room that he saw himself spend the most time in while he wrote. The room was bare, and he was completely fine with this. When the moving truck came, it would bring with it his own desk. It was more of a superstition to him, making sure he wrote at that particular desk whenever he added to his work.
Beyond the den were the bedrooms, only two of them. The master bedroom had a king sized bed, and a large armoire and closet. Another television hung on the wall, and Castiel wasn't sure if that was even necessary. He couldn't remember the last time he watched TV in bed. The second bedroom would be for if and when any family came to visit. The smaller room had a full sized bed, and Castiel probably wouldn't ever enter the room unless someone decided to drop in.
Castiel sighed, leaning against the wall in his bedroom. His head felt… full, if that was a way to describe it. So much had happened in the past month, and the move to Kansas was not something he particularly wanted. But words from his editor ran through his mind, and the persuasive voice that had coerced him into living in the town that his next book would take place in ran through his head again. He sighed again, rubbing his temples. Was isolation really the way to go? Couldn't he have just done all of this from the sanctity of his own fucking home in Florida?
No, Castiel. You need to be away from what you know, and put yourself in the unknown. Create a whole new way of thinking.
His editor had pushed him once he found out what his next book was about. Castiel had a habit of picking a random city in the United States, one that he had never been to, and learning everything there was to know about it. Research upon research, just so he could write his fictional books from a view point that could be believable. But according to his editor, his books lacked… something. So when Castiel did the whole 'closing his eyes and randomly picking' habit, and his pointer finger landed on Lawrence, Kansas, days later he found himself looking online at different houses he could rent.
What the hell had he gotten himself into?
Castiel wasn't sure how long he stood there, leaning against the wall. His eyes were trained to the large bay window that took up nearly an entire wall of the bedroom. It faced the street, giving him a great view of the street. It was a cookie cutter neighborhood, probably only four or five different structures replicated throughout the entire development. Across the street was an almost exact version of Castiel's home, except instead of the tan color he had, this one was a lemon yellow. It was very bright and cheerful. He immediately winced at it and let his eyes wander to the home to the left of it.
It was a small two story home, the typical white picket fence. Castiel never understood those two foot tall white fences. They never kept anything in or out, and he could easily just step over it, counting it out as a security device. Were they for aesthetic purposes only? The house was a pale grey in color, two bay windows in the front, and a two car garage.
As he was admiring the size of the garage, a rumble was heard in the air. Castiel looked up and down the part of street he could see from where he was, but saw nothing. The rumble grew louder, until finally the source graced him with its presence.
"Nice," Castiel muttered to himself. Pulling into the driveway of the house he had been critiquing in his mind was a Chevy Impala. The black paint job had a shine to it and Castiel could tell from a distance that it had been washed and waxed recently. The chrome rims sparkled, and he started picturing the same wheels on his own car. He'd have to ask his neighbor what kind they were.
Castiel continued to watch the car as it pulled into the now open garage. Break lights illuminated the concrete under the car and the rumbling eventually cut away. The person within didn't move for a while and Castiel found himself intrigued. Pushing off of the bedroom wall, he stepped closer to the window, peeking out and watching the open garage. It took a bit, but eventually the door to the Impala opened and a black work boot appeared. A tall man unfolded himself from the vehicle, and Castiel let his eyes roam upwards as the body appeared. Dark blue jeans and a black t-shirt covered what he could only explain to be an attractive man.
Castiel watched as the man with the short brown hair slammed his car door shut and stood stock-still.
"Hmm," Castiel hummed to himself. The man was angry, his tanned face contorted in irritation, and he was clearly yelling at someone on the cell phone that was pressed against his ear. There was no possible way that Castiel could hear what the man was saying, but he found himself captivated regardless. The man lifted his right hand and ran his fingers through his hair, pulling at the ends roughly. He went back to being motionless, his eyes closed tight. After another moment the phone was ripped away from his ear and hurled at the far wall of the garage. From Castiel's hiding spot he could see the black pieces of plastic flying through the air on impact. The man turned his back to the street and stomped his way to his own home, slamming his fist on the button to close the garage.
As the garage door lowered, Castiel let out a small laugh. There was one thing for sure, he thought. It seemed that in this cookie cutter suburban neighborhood, not everything was happy and perfect.