Chapter Two

For the next week Dean kept his schedule open. He never really hit the town while on a job anyway, save for the cross country jobs where he made it his business to sample pie at every local diner they stopped near. You had to have something to look forward to on the road and it was a holdover from when his dad took him and Sam all over the country looking for construction work. Sam lived for the libraries. For Dean, it was greasy-spoon diners and pie.

Still, he checked his phone was on more often than ever. Each night he pulled it out a couple times to make sure it hadn't accidentally set itself to airplane mode (like he was ever going to use *that* feature for its intended purpose).

After five nights he got the text he'd been waiting for.

HIS SHIFT ENDS AT 12:30. DON'T DO ANYTHING I WOULDN'T DO!

As grateful as he was, Dean couldn't help but text back Only douchebags type in caps.

MY NAME IS FUCKING GABRIEL. I DON'T SAY SHIT, I PRONOUNCE IT FROM ON HIGH! IT'S MY DESTINY.

Whatever. Douche.

There was no pretense this time, no twins, though Dean wouldn't have been surprised if it turned out Gabe was drunk again (but with a personality like his, how could anyone tell?). Sans pretext, Dean decided to assume Gabe really was giving him some sort of green light. Though if he was wrong, Dean knew Gabe could bury him in his backyard and probably use the production team's own equipment to do it.

Dean really hoped he wasn't wrong.

He pulled up to the club freshly showered and wearing an aftershave his last girlfriend had bought him that he'd thought smelled better than most. He was just checking his hair in the mirror (and feeling like a total girl about it, but better that than find out he'd had shitty hair all night) when he noticed the sudden movement out of the corner of his eye.

Two dudes, each with more than enough liquor in them, fought it out under the streetlight. The fight spilled out into the street and before Dean could blink one had landed on the hood of his Impala.

He was out of the car in a flash. "Dudes, chill!" He was about to jump in when a hand grabbed the arm of the current winner, mid-punch.

"I'm going to have to ask you to stop now."

Dean stepped up into the circle cast by the streetlight. That's when he saw it, on the face of the man formerly pinned to his car, the horrible look of recognition.

Oh, shit. Hangs out at The Abbey was one headline – or, more accurately, wasn't one. Gets into Street Brawl Outside Notorious WeHo Boy Bar was quite another. Even Los Angelenos took note when a fist fight was involved.

He had his hands out to calm the guy down when it all came tumbling out.

"Oh my God… You're Castiel De Angelis!"

Wait, what?

"It's really you! I had a poster of you on my wall for years!"

Castiel blushed to beat the band. Both the victim and the man he'd been about to de-teeth stopped and stared.

But not as hard as Dean. He felt the strange urge to raise his hand, as if asking a question in class. Um… what?

Most surprising of all was that Castiel wasn't surprised a bit.

"Thank you, that's very flattering. If you don't mind taking your… altercation down the road-"

"Dude, no way! You have to get a pic with my brother and me first!"

Brothers. Well, that cleared up that mystery.

The man thrust his phone at Dean. "Could you take it?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure." Dean saw through the phone Castiel had a forced but natural looking smile, as if he'd done this lots of times.

The brother who'd been winning the argument finally spoke up. "Um, I'm a huge fan. Could you maybe…sign my chest?"

He wasn't talking to Dean either.


Castiel sat in the car and watched the side streets of the city race past. It was only a matter of time before the question marks hanging over Dean's head turned into actual questions.

"You have to work tomorrow?"

That wasn't one of the ones Castiel had braced for. "No. My schedule is clear."

"Good. So's mine."

He noticed with surprise when Dean pulled into the parking lot of a Bob's Big Boy that was apparently open all night.

They were settled in a plastic booth with a smooth, faux-wood Formica table straight out of the 1960s for all of a few seconds before Dean spoke. "Long story. Now."

As an afterthought, he added "And, so help me, if the words 'boy band' escape your lips I'll…"

"You'll what?"

Dean was stumped. "I have no idea." He looked around and spotted something. "Throw that pitcher of cold water over myself. This is NOT supposed to happen with clients."

Castiel knew he shouldn't ask. He also knew without some sort of life line he'd be lost. "What isn't supposed to happen with clients?"

Dean looked at him, hard. With all his might Castiel hoped his face conveyed a genuine loss of footing. He wasn't trying to be coy, or cute, or whatever people who said such things with a cigarette dangling between their lips were going for. Somehow he doubted Dean was the type to appreciate 'coy.' But the ground was shifting beneath him and he hadn't lived on the San Andreas fault long enough to even pretend he was comfortable with it.

The honesty in his question must've been obvious to Dean because rather than snap at him to not ask dumb questions he just ran a hand over his face. He regained his composure just in time to order two coffees and apple pie slices from the server. She was young, probably not long out of college if she'd gone. She had those things in her ears that make large holes you can see right through. Dean smiled and flirted with her in the same way he didn't with Castiel.

It was difficult not to notice that.

Castiel nodded his agreement with the order for the server's sake. He felt like a cartoon ACME anvil hovered just over his head. On a crazy instinct, he looked up to see if this was the case.

When he looked back down Dean was staring at him again.

Dean ran his hand over his face. "You know what? Fuck it. You don't owe me anything. Let's just sit here and eat pie."

"Dean, I fell out of the sky and landed in the middle of your work site. You've given me rides home. You just saw me sign another man's chest. I appreciate your respect for my privacy but you're allowed to talk to me like a normal person. I wish you would."

"Okay, let's start with the chest signing. 'Cause I've been on tv for three years and do you know how many boob signings I've been asked to do?"

"I'm going to guess zero."

"Zero. Exactly. So…" Dean looked like he didn't know quite how to phrase what came next. He winced. "Seriously, was it a boy band? Just fucking tell me if it was. I can take it."

Castiel smiled to the server as she brought their order. He waited a brief moment to check she was out of earshot and to let a large truck rumble past on the other side of the thin, smog-dusted glass. "No, I was not in a boy band. I was a figure skater. Pairs."

That was apparently news to Dean. "A figure skater? Were you good?"

Castiel felt that warranted a look. "I just signed a man's chest, Dean. I'm not sure what I can say if that doesn't convince you."

Dean leaned back in the booth. "Okay, fair point. Just asking." He seemed to think about what questions might logically follow this. Of course he found the one everyone found their way to eventually. "Were you good enough for the Olympics?"

Castiel never enjoyed this question. He chose his next words carefully. "I never went to the Olympics."

"Pretty sure that's not what I asked." Dean gave him a look like that particular bit of footwork only managed to highlight the rest of the tale. Most people just took it to mean 'no.'

"Yes, Dean, I was probably good enough for the Olympics. My partner Anna and I were even world champions for a year. She went to Vancouver with another skater in 2010. Though we probably wouldn't have medaled even if I had gone. China sent a formidable team that year."

"Wait, so you're saying your partner went without you? That's bullshit. How did that happen?"

Before drudging up the past Castiel took a moment to bath in how angry Dean was on his behalf. He wasn't enough to merit flirting with or apparently a basic Google search, but Dean cared. That was more than most people get from a crush. "About a year before the winter games… That was when my father decided certain elements of the sport were having an unhealthy effect on my maturation as a Christian. And as a man."

Despite not having added anything to his coffee, Castiel still turned the spoon around in the cup. The noise it made was soft, different from the constant noise of the skateboarders doing tricks in the parking lot. It was a delicate sound; he enjoyed the fact he could control it. Castiel had very little under his control at the moment.

When he looked up, Dean looked like he'd been hit with a truck. "Wait, you're saying you had a real chance to go to the freaking Olympics and you lost it because…"

"…Because my father wanted to keep me from winding up like someone who tends bar at Micky's. As you can see, his plan backfired." Castiel put the spoon down. In for a penny… "My father was right in one respect, I've missed a lot of the social development that everyone else seems to have benefited from. I've probably logged far more hours on the ice than in actual conversation. It can take me a while to read people and situations correctly. I'm sorry to have blundered into your life like this."

Dean leaned back in the chair. "Man, I should not have taken you out for pie. I should've taken you out for tequila."

Castiel smiled. "The pie is good, Dean. You couldn't have known."

"Wasn't there anything you could do?"

Castiel sipped his coffee. "Olympic-level training is expensive. There was no way I could've afforded it on my own. I also wasn't ready to break ties with my family yet. It was made clear to me that was what I'd be doing if I did not acquiesce."

Dean spoke again, almost to himself. "And I thought the network was bad."

That didn't sound good. "What about your network?"

"Nothing, it's just… My exec producer, Zachariah, he has this list of behaviors and places I'm supposed to avoid in public. He and your dad would've probably gotten on like gangbusters."

Castiel pondered this for only a moment before hitting the brick wall, the one they'd been apparently racing towards like some sort of cartoon for a week now. "Is Micky's on that list?"

"Number one with a bullet. So thanks for giving me the chance to rebel a little. Mucho appreciated."

Castiel folded his napkin before putting it down on the Formica table. "You can't give me rides anymore."

Dean looked up at that. The inevitability of this train of thought apparently hadn't occurred to him. "That's not what I meant."

"Dean, I can't let you risk your job because my brother doesn't want to give me a ride. That's unacceptable."

Now Dean was looking alarmed. "Cas, I like giving you rides. Hell, I look forward to it now."

Castiel looked up at that. Dean looked serious.

But still… "No, it's not worth it."

"Cas-"

Castiel stood up and threw down what he hoped was an appropriate amount of bills on the table. "I'd enjoy seeing you again, Dean. More than you know. But my life is a wreck right now. I'm not taking you down with me."

With that he did the only thing he could think of to protect Dean's reputation. He turned and walked out of the diner to wait in the car.


Dean threw down some extra bills and raced out of the diner. This was NOT how it was supposed to go down. He pushed aside the suspicion that he was wrong about that. That he'd always known as soon as he touched whatever was going on between them it would dissolve to fragments under his hand.

"Cas, wait!"

"Please keep your voice down." He turned away, recoiling.

"No way! Look at me!"

When Cas turned back it was worse than when he'd pulled away. His face contained a fury that in some other age would've inspired someone to create a statue. Something vengeful and wrathful. And scary as hell. "I've compromised your position too much already. My life is in plastic bags in a tent in my brother's yard. Yours does not have to be. I won't let it be. Not for me."

Cas looked lost in his own personal whatever at that. Dean knew he'd need to do something to snap him out of it and fast. "Don't you think that's for me to decide? There's this little thing called 'free will.' Maybe you've heard of it."

"I have. And I choose not to do to anyone else what was done to me. What you have here is a dream, Dean. I won't let you lose it for… for whatever this is."

"What do you mean 'whatever this is?'" Dean started to do math in his head. Can't read people, can't read situations… "Cas, what do you think this is?"

Now it was Castiel's turn to look uncomfortable. "I don't know. I know my brother roped you into picking me up because that's just how his mind works. I know you flirt with the server but not with me..."

…And the penny drops. "Cas, I don't flirt with people I take seriously. That's just for fun. The last time I felt like this about someone I got into a fistfight with my dad that wound up with both of us in stitches. And it wasn't because we were laughing!"

Dean had no idea what the people on the Titanic's meager supply of lifeboats looked like when they first saw a rescue ship on the horizon, but with all the money in his pockets he'd bet they looked like Castiel did at that.

"Oh." He staggered a bit against the car as if struck.

Dean took the opportunity to step in close. "Dude, I know you don't read people well, or whatever. So read this."

Before Castiel could think of another argument, Dean shut his mouth the most effective way he knew how.

It was a long moment before the other man pulled back from their kiss. When he did, somehow Castiel had worked the gravel back into his voice. "In the car. Now."

That suited Dean fine.

Dean steered the car with the palm of his hand. He was thankful the Valley rolled up the streets at night. He could sneak looks at his passenger every now and then without much danger.

Castiel looked like ten pounds of emotions in a five pound bag.

Dean thought it best to keep him talking. "What do you mean your stuff's in a tent in Gabe's backyard?"

Castiel looked up like he'd forgotten Dean was in the car. "Oh, that. Your crew came by today to do more work on the guest bathroom. They had to take down a wall. I live on the other side of that wall." He paused. "Or 'lived' rather."

"So you're in a tent?"

"You're updating his bedroom and basement already. He took the living room and bought me a tent."

Dean mentally upgraded Gabe from weapons-grade douche to plutonium-grade.

"Let me see this tent when we get there. Gabe probably set it up wrong. First gust of Santa Ana winds and you'll probably wind up in Oz or something."

Castiel looked like he was internally debating this, so Dean hastened to add "I'm serious. And I don't think you've got paparazzi in your trees or anything."

With that Castiel nodded. "That would be acceptable. Thank you."

Dean couldn't help it. "Acceptable, huh?"

"Dean, one of the worst moments of my life happened because someone convinced me we wouldn't get caught. I had no idea what it would cost me. But I have some idea what losing the show would cost you."

"Okay, okay. Let's just enjoy the ride."

They rode in silence after that. It wasn't enjoyable.

Dean kept his word when they got to Gabriel's house, and, true to his word, Castiel allowed him to do so. Dean looked over the tent in the backyard and felt a few thoughts scurry through his mind.

"This isn't bad. But here's a better idea… come back to my place."

Castiel's shoulders lifted. Dean could actually see him draw in enough air for a fight. "Dean-"

But Dean wasn't to be put off that easily. "Look, all the rules in my contract are about public behavior. Not private. I just moved into this new house-"

"I know," Castiel interrupted. "I saw the special episode on Hulu."

"Then you know I have the room. Cas, whatever else this is you're a friend now. Would you let me sleep in a tent if you had my house?"

He was standing as close to Cas as he dared, close enough to put a hand on his shoulder without even extending his arm. The privacy afforded by the night and the back yard felt like a cloak around them. The outside world had problems but there didn't have to be a problem here, like this.

Castiel looked up at him with a look so raw it hurt to see. So Dean closed his eyes and just leaned his forehead against Castiel's, willing him to understand the things he was afraid to say, as if by osmosis. You're not alone. I have a house. Screw those douchebags. We could run off. I hear Mexico is awesome.

Somewhere in the night a bird that hadn't learned to tell time yet began to yelp rather melodically. Dean knew from now on hearing a bird's song would remind him of Cas.

He thought he might be winning the argument when Castiel tipped his face up to kiss him. They were slow, lingering kisses. Kisses that tasted of cinnamon from the apple pie. Dean gave himself over to them. He let the world be perfect for a moment.

Then the thought crossed Dean's mind these were the kisses you gave when you weren't going to be kissed again for a long time. "Cas, don't do this."

When he opened his eyes Castiel was already looking away.

"You should go back to the car now, Dean."

With so little blood left to run to his brain, all Dean could manage was a 'Yeah,' before he turned away.


The next week passed in a blur for Dean. Work. Back to the house. Masturbation in the shower. Sleep. When you sweated it out in the hot all day your shower belonged *after* work, not before. And this schedule bought his aching muscles a few more minutes of sleep in the morning.

Somewhere along the way Pamela brought over a new grill as a belated house-warming gift and commiserated with him on his deck. The weather was turning. He could just make out the smell of the ocean on the breeze (a rarity in Los Angeles, no matter what the brochures said). He mostly didn't say what the commiserations were needed for and she mostly didn't ask. The steaks and shrimp kebobs were damned tasty though. Dean was happy to report he'd been DVRing her show.

One thing Dean did manage to do on his own in that time was pull up a few Google video searches on his near miss of a lover. God bless ice skating fans and their love of YouTube! Dean got to see Castiel in all his glory, and it was glorious. He'd be the first to admit he had no idea what judges looked for when they evaluated a pairs routine, but Dean found himself holding his breath with some of their moves.

Most striking of all was one vid in particular. It wasn't their best routine on the 'net, but something about it gave Dean chills. It was a moment at the start, before the music even began. This was at an 'expo,' which Dean took to mean a free for all, as the lights were dimmed artistically rather than dialed to eleven to highlight every potential flaw in the routine.

In the half-light, Castiel had given his partner Anna a small nod before they started, a nod that clearly said 'we're ready for this.' Then, somehow, his eyes had found the camera. The look he gave the audience through it quite clearly said the opposite. You're not ready for this. They then proceeded to bring the house down around them.

Now Dean knew where his air of displaced royalty came from. The ice was his kingdom. On it his sovereignty was absolute.

The Google goggles yielded a few other things to see. There were some very stiff interviews after performances in which Castiel worked in Jesus, God, or the Lord about as often as someone under orders might. Dean knew Cas enough by now to see an awkwardness register on his face before some of them and wanted to tell himself Cas wasn't religious any more. Dean didn't really know much about religion except that when he stood outside his burning home and prayed for God to save his mom she'd died that night. That was the last time Dean and God had conversed.

Still… the interviewers that let Castiel talk about his faith for a bit more than a wedged-in sound bite resulted in very thoughtful answers. As much as Dean didn't want to admit it, the frequency might have been contrived but the emotions behind his words were real.

This was the first time Dean had learned something about Castiel that made him want to back off, though not by much. He wanted to charge right back into Cas's life when he came across articles dealing with the sudden absence of his rising star from the skating scene. His father issued a terse release citing 'medical concerns brought on by stress,' and was probably just the sort of ass who really did think his son had a medical problem.

Dean knew some people weren't even worth the punch to the face they worked so hard to deserve. He had a suspicion Castiel's father was one of them.

It wasn't long after this that Gabe cornered Dean at the job site and away from the cameras.

"You couldn't close the deal with my brother? Dude!"

Dean stared him down for a ten count while physically holding his hands back.

"You're giving me a look," Gabe noted. "What is that look?"

"Nothing. This is just my 'I picked a bad week to give up punching douchebags in the face' look."

Gabe gave him his own look for that. "What's that for?"

"You made him sleep in a tent."

"So that he'd go home with you! What else do I have to do, buy the lube?"

Dean really wished he had a Get Out of Jail Free card in his pocket. At that moment all the things he wanted to respond with were jail worthy. "That was on purpose?"

"My brother hasn't had a lot of men in his life. And the ones he had weren't very nice. Yes, it was on purpose. Little guy could use some mercy from the universe right now. And P.S. I was doing you a solid at the time, too. Or so I thought."

Dean refrained from pointing out the hilarity in Gabe calling anyone 'little guy.' "So that was you playing matchmaker?"

"Look back over our history, you Village People reject. At what point did I strike you as subtle?"

Fair point.

But Dean's patience was too frayed to acknowledge it. "Is there a point to this conversation or did you just want to berate me for not getting laid?"

Gabe turned and looked back towards the crew. Whatever it was, he wanted it overheard even less than the conversation so far. "Something is going on at Micky's. I'll text you."

And with that, Gabe disappeared back in front of the cameras, exactly where Dean couldn't possibly ask for more info.

Sneaky bastard.


The text came about five days later, and none too soon. They were only about three weeks away from wrapping up the job and Dean already didn't want to think about that. At least now he saw Cas enough at work to offer a 'Hi, howareya?' Meager, but at the moment it was all he had.

MICKY'S. 10:30. PARK AND GO INSIDE. THIS IS NOT A DRILL!

Dean's only hesitation was on which jacket to wear.

Dean slunk into Micky's as casually as he could. Half his concern was for being caught there, but as much by the regular patrons as anyone else. He had a horrible idea they could tell he was bi just by looking at him and at any time in the evening they might point and yell 'shun the unbeliever!'

He was honest enough to kick himself a little for this, though. Who said these guys didn't have pasts as checkered as he did? He reminded himself of the fact this place wasn't his usual style, and therefor he had exactly nothing on which to base those assumptions. Plus no one blinked an eye when he ordered a shot of Jameson's. As long as they didn't mess with his whiskey drinking he couldn't really complain.

In addition to that, he couldn't help but notice the Monday night crowd was different than the weekend crowd. For starters, it wasn't so much a crowd as a gathering. Dean even noticed the presence of honest-to-God elbow room. The wild thought crossed his mind that if someone tried to talk to him tonight he'd actually be able to hear them. Weird. Hell, on a night like this maybe even he could become a Micky's guy.

Then there was the other half of his concern. Castiel.

Dean was pleased to notice he wasn't tending bar tonight. That was a relief. He'd at least like a drink in him before the inevitable altercation took place. Dean knew he had exactly zip in the 'good reasons to be here' department. 'Cause Gabe said so? Yeah, that'll fly in court. The fact he was here because of Gabe would probably be counted as evidence for the prosecution.

Dean had just been enjoying his second drink, what the hell, even the condemned get last meals, when the MC for the evening deigned to grace the small stage. Dean wasn't really listening to his (her? What exactly was the grammar protocol on drag queens?) spiel. 'Thank you for coming to amateur night' something, something. 'Now for our first performer'… something '…bartender,' something '…Our newest songbird, put your hands together for The Ice Queen!'

Only then did Dean look up.

Oh holy fuck.

Castiel leaned against the side of the stage as if caught sneaking a fag in a dive bar in the 1930's. Everything about his outfit.. his dress… screamed another era. Or perhaps it merely whimpered it. It was a slinky thing, blue. It brought out his eyes like God invented the color for no higher purpose. His makeup was bare but offered just a wink of sparkle, like something rare each man in the audience could believe he alone caught the beauty of.

Apparently all those years putting together costumes and makeup designs for various skating routines had really paid off.

Castiel took the mic from its stand. "This is about something perfect," he whispered into it. "The kind of thing only exists in music…"

And with that, Castiel took his sex on gravel voice and raked it over a rendition of "East of the Sun." The song was supposed to be about someone looking out onto a bright future, but the intro had been superfluous. Each shattered look on the singer's face let the audience witness the tragedy of an impossible dream close enough to torment you but never close enough to touch.

When the lyrics hit upon the idea of building a house together Dean felt himself collapse back further into his seat. The lyrics were so real for him – for them – and so intimate in their intonation, Dean felt like he had fallen into another man's dreams. Somehow Castiel translated this private world-collapse into the once happy tune perfectly. Apparently he spoke sardonic despair at the fluent level.

As the last note trembled out, Castiel put the microphone back in its stand and looked away, unwilling or unable to accept applause from the audience for something so private. Dean wasn't the only one to jump to his feet afterwards. He was, however, the only one to let out a mighty cheer for his friend.

Castiel looked up at that. Even with the spotlight in his eyes, he had to have recognized it. Anyone who saw the opening credits of Family Business could have. It was the same as the one he gave racing down Route 66 and hanging out the car window.

Castiel's eyes narrowed.

At that moment Dean realized Gabe couldn't help him get laid, but he had helped him get himself deeply, deeply screwed.


Dean found the only private place he could as the rest of the performers took the stage, one by one. Which is to say, he hid near the men's room. He told himself it wasn't entirely cowardice. After all, a scene was about to be made and the other performers really didn't need a brawl breaking out during their act.

It wasn't long before Castiel appeared. All the traces of make-up were gone and he was back in jeans again. But just like with the ice skating videos, what had been seen could not be unseen. Dean still saw the sultry songbird, the royalty misplaced.

Before Castiel could utter a word against him (and again Dean could see him draw in breath for just that reason) Dean said the thing he knew he had to say above all others.

"You were amazing! Seriously."

That seemed to take the wind out of Castiel's wrath for a moment. He fought a visible, internal battle with himself and then directed Dean's attention towards the men's room door. "Inside. Now."

In the 2% of Dean's brain that wasn't worried about getting his ass kicked, he had to admit Castiel's voice dropped a very attractive octave when it gave orders.

Once the door had shut behind them, Castiel started up again. "I told you not to come. How did you even know about this?"

"Relax. Gabe told me."

"Relax? You're taking moral instruction from GABE?"

Dean leaned in. He could play the 'drop your voice' game too. "I'm taking whatever I can get, Cas. Maybe I didn't make this clear before but I. Don't. Get. Things. Like. This." He sliced each word off his tongue with precision. "So I don't know what all the rules are but I sure as fuck know you don't walk away because it gives some scuzzbag in a suit a happy."

Castiel studied him at that. If he had a good argument before, it seemed to be misplaced at the moment.

Dean decided to push his luck while he still had some. "You said you didn't want any more rides home? Fine. But a friend of mine just did something incredibly brave and he was AWESOME at it. And I got no right to be but, fuck it, I'm proud as hell."

Castiel walked to the sink and started running cold water. Dean clocked some very top level thinking going on – and Castiel was trouble when he was thinking.

Dean decided to try to distract him further. "I wish I could go out there and tell all those guys I saw you first-"

Castiel splashed some water on his face and turned off the tap. "Shut up, Dean."

It was so quiet, Dean rolled right past. "I saw you before any of them did, and if they want your time, you know what?"

"I said shut up, Dean."

"They can fucking respect the line! Because-"

At that moment Dean found himself attacked by some sort of kissing monster.

Dean was blindsided, but only for a moment. After that, survival instincts kicked in and he drove into the skid until Castiel pulled back.

"This doesn't change how I feel about your job. If you lose it for me, if you risk it ONE TIME, I swear by all that is holy…"

"I get it," Dean swore. "I do. Nothing public." Dean kissed Castiel at that, calmly, no rush. Proof he wasn't just talking with his dick. Well, not *just* his dick.

And judging by what he felt holding Castiel, not just *his* dick. "You know, I got a pretty good cure for that. It's organic and everything…" Dean began to untuck Castiel's shirt, reaching his hand further and further down into his jeans with each pull until he could rake his nails through the other man's short and curlies.

Castiel stepped back. It made Dean's world tilt beneath him. "What?"

His songbird looked around the room they were in as if only just now noticing it. "In a men's room?"

For all his smarts – and home construction had a lot to do with smarts, make no mistake – Dean could not tell what could possibly be upsetting Castiel at this. Dean had done it in a bathroom before. Not that often, but there were worse places. When it was running as hot as this you used what came to hand. "Yeah, so?"

In the next moment, Castiel looked up at him with eyes desperate to impart some special intelligence. Some key point that would change the game. But all Dean could read there was an endless expanse of pleasedontmakemesayit, pleasedontmakemesayit.

Looking back over that moment later, ashamed he didn't put it together sooner, Dean would blame the two or three (okay, three) drinks he'd had earlier. "Cas, this is kinda a big deal for you, isn't it?"

Castiel looked at the ground and flushed. "I would like to think it's a big deal for you as well, Dean."

"No, it is. Don't for a second think it's not, you hear me?" Castiel rewarded him with some eye-contact for that. "Good. But…" Dean had never been fantastic at words. Good maybe, if he wasn't buzzed. But Dean was buzzed on a lot of different things at the moment. "Uh, let's put it this way. That show, on stage tonight. That your first time doing that?"

Relief flooded Castiel's face. If he didn't know where Dean was going, he seemed to trust the conversation had taken the right turn. "Yes, Dean. It was a first."

"Right. And is that looking like your only first tonight?"

Castiel looked over Dean for only a moment before answering. "Judging by how things have gone so far, no. Perhaps not."

Dean nodded. "Right." Nice job, genius. You were about to bust his cherry in a men's room, for crying out loud.

He mentally penciled in some time to feel like shit about that later.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face and forced himself to think of the Queen of England. "Okay, new plan. You are not living in some sad sack tent like a fucking hobo anymore." He pulled a business card from his wallet and an old Ikea pencil from his jacket pocket (yes, this had been the right choice of jacket for the evening). He started writing. "Here's my address. Go to your brother's house. Grab your stuff and come back to my place tonight. I got a big guest bedroom and no one's doing any fucking remodeling. Nice and private. We can go as slow as… whatever."

Castiel looked down at the card in his hand. "Alright."

"Just first…." He stepped in close to Cas again and dared him to pull away.

Castiel tucked the card in his shirt pocket and leaned up to Dean's face, nosing him slightly, then turning to Dean's cheek and letting long, black eyelashes flutter over his skin. "Is there something else you wanted, Dean?"

Yeah, my pants to be less tight. Cas may have wanted to slow things down, but he apparently had no problem keeping the temperature set to scorching. Two can play that game, Mr. De Angelis. "You're the one who wants to go slow, Cas. Me, I'd just throw us on the nearest flat surface and go at it until we forgot our own names."

Castiel pulled back. He breathed deeply and stared hard. He opened his mouth to say something but shut it again. Instead, he turned and headed towards the door.

Dean was just about to let out a breath and check how obvious his erection was when Castiel looked back at him, intensity rising off his stare like heat waves. With deliberate moves, Castiel reached his hand into his back pocket and pulled out some change.

He then proceeded to buy a condom from the vending machine.

Without a word, Castiel raked his naked stare over Dean's body one last time before placing the condom in the same pocket as Dean's card and sauntering out of the Men's room.

Dean waited until he was out of earshot before collapsing against the wall and letting out a breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding on a long "Fuck me!"

He wasn't an expert in the topic but Dean was pretty sure that last bit had counted as some kind of torture.


Four green lights and two 'they-were-mostly-yellow-when-I-hit-them's later, Dean looked around his house with new eyes. It wasn't his type of place. He hadn't lived in a house for so long he no longer had a type. He'd assumed it would grow on him… eventually. But still he couldn't shake the feeling it was someone else's, even if he was the only owner and he and Sam had the only keys.

Now he was grateful it wasn't to his taste. He wasn't a candle guy, but the place was lousy with them. He pulled out his lighter – another token of a life he wasn't allowed to live in public – and looked around. Five? Seven? Hell, maybe he should just do them all. Also, did people chill wine or was that champagne?

The removal of Dean's own virgin status had happened in the backseat of the Impala at a motel outside Austin. He'd been flirting with the check in girl when his dad wasn't around and soon discovered she was a woman, not a girl, and flirting was only the start of her to do list. The only thing Dean had wanted of the experience was to not embarrass himself and not leave any evidence in the car.

He doubted Castiel had set such a low bar for the evening. Hell, now that he knew the man, Dean didn't want Cas to have the back-of-the-car experience he'd had. That's not what you want to give to someone who's crawled under your mental hood and been re-wiring your thoughts for weeks. Not for their first time, at any rate.

Dean decided at least one candle should be out on his back deck. There was an 'I'm pretending to be casual seating but it's pretty obvious I'm a bed' thing out there. That had been Sam's housewarming gift. Out under the stars…. Dean thought Cas might like that.

He had just tucked the wine under his arm and stepped through the doors to his backyard when he noticed the outdoor lights were on. What the… He looked up.

There sat Zachariah, complete with suit and shit-eating grin.

"I hope you don't mind" he said, though his smile showed that really hoped that Dean minded as much as possible. "I came here to discuss some rather unsettling business and I thought it'd be better in a more private environment."

Dean punched a grin onto his face and tried not to imagine punching anyone else's. "Of course. Wouldn't want some shit-for-brains coworker barging in." Dean set down the candle and wine and crossed his arms over his chest. "What can I do you for, Zach?"

Dean always tried to rhyme Zach in his mind with 'dick.' Insurgencies can live off such meager rations, if need be.

"Well, I thought you'd want to know there's been some activity on your Wikipedia page."

Uh-oh.

"It says you're in a relationship with a figure skater, Castiel De Angelis. Is this true, Dean?"

Dean made himself laugh. Funny. Just keep saying it's funny. "It is absolutely true, ol' Zachariah. I should really thank you. After all, you introduced us."

The whole danse macabre was almost worth it for the way Zachariah paled at that.

"He's our current client's brother," Dean clarified. "And that relationship you mentioned? He's a friend of mine."

"So you didn't pick him up at a notorious gay bar?"

Dean punched up his grin again. It was already at an eleven and he could just picture the dial starting to shake. "Absolutely. What? You've never given a buddy a ride home when he needed it? Honestly, Zach, I don't know how that sort of behavior fits in with our core values as a company."

He knew if he saw the do-not-cross line now it could only be in his review mirror, but Dean had had more than he could take and then some.

"No, Dean. My friends and family can hold their liquor."

Dean saw red in every hue and permutation the human eye could comprehend, and a few more besides. Sam's past. The lowest of blows.

Zach seemed to realize he'd poked a dragon at that and so feigned a compulsive interest in his fingernails. "Be that as it may, you may need to keep those designated driver skills sharp. After all, I can't imagine what suddenly losing a very public job in a very public way could do to someone in recovery like your brother. Especially if the way it is lost nullifies all manner of settlement options."

"You leave Sam out of this."

"I'm not the one who brought him into it, Dean. Or don't you remember you signed a contract together?"

Dean ran his hand over his face. The duel contract, the one part of the too-good-to-be-true deal that their agent Bobby said seemed off somehow. At the time the network said it was to keep one brother from negotiating something better than the other, to 'promote a harmonious atmosphere for the show.'

Now Dean knew better. If he hadn't done the math in his head, the smile on Zachariah's face would've been enough to tell him he was trapped.

Zachariah stood. "I'm glad to hear this… gentleman is just a friend, Dean. You'll be pleased to know I've already removed the offensive passage from your Wikipedia entry."

Offensive to who, you gelatinous jag-off?

Dean dialed up his smile again. "Appreciated. And I hope you appreciate if you enter my house again without an invite, I have two guns and I'm a big fan of castle doctrine. Hey, that's law in California, right?"

Zachariah didn't answer the question, but he did shift his weight as far back from Dean as he could without actually yelling 'retreat.' "I'll just show myself out."

Dean stared at Zachariah's form as he cut a swath through Dean's brand new house. When he was sure the other man was gone he picked up an ashtray and threw it as far as he could into his backyard. "DAMMIT!"

When he looked up from his tantrum he saw it.

Castiel. In his driveway.

And from the look on his face he'd heard enough.