Part II:
Wait - wipe that shit off your face; Let's don't stop till we bleed
A/N: Thanks for the review, and all the story alerts. Really it means so much to me. And I know this prob isn't as good right now as it's going to get – I promise, it'll be mind-blowing, at least story/plot-wise – so thanks to all sticking with me!
Also, I unwittingly seemed to give Dean the same personality of Jason Teague from Smallville. (Portrayed by none other than Jensen Ackles.) Except without the whole SPOILER ALERT* Mommy's boy, secretly an evil son of a bitch thing.
BTW: This is totally un-betad. All mistakes are my own, etc.
The second thing Dean Winchester notices is that Castiel is as guarded as he is himself.
Yes, he did question him before, and yes, Ellen believed that Castiel quite liked Dean, but as soon as there's a spare moment to breathe (Ellen kept him running around – apparently being a bus boy is a lot harder than you'd think), and he begins to question him in return, Cass does not give up answers so easily.
He starts simple, "How long have you played the violin?"
Cass does not cease playing – a cover of AC/DC's Thunderstruck – and replies, "A while."
Alright, way to be vague. "Oh. Well, you're real good." Dean offers a smile.
"Thank you."
Dean sniffs, mind scrambling for something to say. He can feel Ellen's eyes boring into the back of his neck, and he resists the urge to turn around and give her the finger. "So uh . . .you said you have a brother, too?"
"Yes. Gabriel."
"Are you close?" he asks the same question Castiel did that morning.
" . . . We are now." The song bends and morphs into something Dean doesn't recognize, but figures isn't that bad. After all, Cass appears to have a good taste in music.
"That's . . . good." Dean rubs the back of his neck, attempting to dispel the tingling Ellen's gaze continued to cause. "Are you older, or?"
"He is. By four years."
Oh, good, common ground. "Yeah, I'm four years older than Sammy, too."
Cass cuts off in the middle of a note, a frown appearing on his face. "My violin is out of tune."
"Sounds fine to me," Dean responds in confusion.
"My ears are sharper than yours," Castiel says in a tone that's almost smug, "When the body loses one sense, all of the others amplify."
Bet you have the best orgasms ever. But he most certainly is not going to say that, and he can think of no other reply.
In his brief moment of panic (that stupid teenage-feeling still taking up residence in his stomach), Dean asks something that he OH GOD knows he'll regret, "So, uh, how'd it happen?"
Castiel stops fiddling with his instrument, eyes trained on the ground. In a constricted voice, he says, "How did what happen, exactly?"
And shit. "Oh, um, I –"
Just then, a distinctly feminine voice calls, "Dean? Dean is that you?"
If he isn't gay, he would so jump up and kiss Jo senseless.
He stands quickly, already being swept into an almost-tackle hug by the young blonde, "Dean! Where the Hell have you been? Where's Sam? Oh my God, you've met Cass right? Did Mom give you that job?"
It went on like this for another few minutes before Jo finally took a deep, much needed breath, and even though he has yet to answer any of her previous ones, shes asks another question, "So, are you living here now or?"
Something flashes deep within her wide, innocent eyes – because, unfortunately, she knows about Dean and why he left on his so-called road trip in the first place – but she doesn't push it further and simply waits for his reply.
"Uh, yeah, I got an apartment up on –"
"Do you need help moving?" The flash is gone, replaced by her usual hyper-and-bubbly self.
"No, no I'm good." He smiles reassuringly.
"Are you sure? Ash just got a new truck and everything -" Just then, right on cue, Ash appears behind Jo, slinging an arm around her shoulder, "Dean!"
He is ninety-nine-point-five percent certain Cass is listening in on the entire conversation, so he takes extra care in his words, only smiling softly at old inside jokes and watching his tone of voice. He's come way too far to slip back into his old habits – something he's most certainly not going to allow Jo and Ash to trigger. They both offer more help before Jo claims that she has to get back to campus – she's a college freshmen this year, though Dean isn't quite sure what she's studying.
By nightfall, Ellen manages to successfully usher all stragglers out the door. There's one in particular, a local girl named Meg Masters that attempted to flirt with Cass for a good portion of the day. Dean's sure that if Ellen didn't get that bitch out soon, he'd have too, even with Ellen's "he bats for your team" assurance.
Balthy's leading Cass away after a cheerful good-bye from Ellen, and the both of them are halfway down the sidewalk before Dean looks once at his Impala and then runs to catch up.
"Hey, Cass!"
Castiel stops abruptly, causing Dean to almost collide with him. Balthy whines uncertainly, tail thumping back and forth in a blur. "Dean?"
"Can I, uh – " God, the feeling won't go away – "Walk with you?"
He frowns, seemingly confused, "What about your car?"
"Well, I can get it tomorrow."
"Alright then."
The two of them walk in silence for quite a while, the air far too chill for the time of year and the hour, and as Dean huddles in his jacket he steals a few glances at Castiel's stoic expression, a million memories flashing by in a millisecond – but for the life of him, he can't figure out why. "Hey, Cass, sorry about what I said earlier."
"You have no reason to be," his head tilts slightly, and it's just so damn adorable, "But that's alright." His grip tightens on the violin case swinging by his side, narrowly missing the too-happy dog in front of him.
Dean watches the action, wishing for once Sam were here – after all, he's the one that's good at reading people, not Dean. "No, it was out of line, I'm sorry."
The corner of Cass' mouth twitches, "It's a question you get used to."
Dean knows for certain he shouldn't press – it's far too private, and he's already made the not-willing-to-open-my-heart-and-soul-for-you-sorry-dude observation – but the question is itching inside of his mouth, like it's a matter of life or death if he knows everything about this guy. He opens it, about to ask, when Cass stops and tilts his head again, "Do you hear that?"
It's another handful of seconds before Dean does – a thumping bass that he's always hated, no matter the type of music or what-the-frig-ever (it's annoying and obnoxious and he'll never understand in a million years how people can stomach that noise). It's closely followed be loud, rowdy laughter that doesn't belong in a town this size with the sun still trying to fall asleep beneath the horizon. One voice stands out against all others, though, and suddenly everything in Dean seizes up.
The pick-up truck has a bed that's far too small to be holding that many people – all of which he unfortunately recognizes – and the cab is visibly shaking from that horrible "music." Dean's not entirely surprised to see Cass flinch and cover his ears – what with the whole heightened-senses thing.
"Dean!"
And shitshitshitshitshitshit.
A thin, tall figure hops out of the back of the truck, a sly grin stretched across features too large for his face. He slings an arm around Dean, the other hand rubbing at his scalp. Dean grunts under the familiar grip, his throat on fire with rage. This can not be happening, not now.
"Where've you've been, boy?" The accent is sharp against his ears, and more unwelcome memories surface. "We've missed you."
"Yeah, I'm sure you have," Dean growls back, pulling out from underneath Alistair's headlock, very aware that his old-self is bubbling beneath the carefully constructed one he's taken months to master.
"Oh, don't be like," Alistair gives s lopsided grin and starts singing his signature song beneath his breath, his accent mangling the tune. He chuckles and takes a long pull from a cigarette dangling between his fingers, "Lisa told me to tell you hi."
In the back of his mind, Dean is aware of the sound of Castiel coughing. "Is that so? Well you can Lisa that she can bend over and s –" He stops mid-sentence, biting down hard enough on his tongue to taste blood. He refuses to get sucked back into Alistair's ways.
"And what, Deany? Hmm?" Alistair's prompts, a pale eyebrow snaking up his forehead. He leans close enough to Dean that the latter can smell the odd smoke-and-peppermint mixture that he's more accustomed to than he should be. "Whose your friend?"
"Leave him out of this," Dean pushes Alistair away, a defense feeling crawling up his spine.
"You always had problems sharing, didn't you?" Alistair grins again, sizing Castiel up in the manner one would a show horse. Dean's fist clenches and Balthy's barking like mad, Cass attempting to calm him with subtle pats on the head. Dean can't read his expression, not without seeing his eyes, but he can feel the vibes rolling off of him in waves. And they aren't approving.
"I said," Dean steps forward, so he's nose-to-nose with Alistair, "To leave him out of this."
Alistair laughs like a villain from those old movies, hands thrown upward in a "I-surrender" gesture, but Dean knows better, and he knows that when Alistair likes something, there's a good chance he'll get it.
"Come on, Al, he's not worth it!" It's then that Dean remembers that Alistair's old gang is watching and sniggering at the whole scene. The one that calls to Alistair is his sister, Lilith.
"Yeah, I know," he calls back, eyes still on Castiel, "But his friend is."
Dean's fist is already pulling back when Balthy suddenly launches at Alistair in a mass of yellow fur and gnashing teeth. Alistair screeches, pushing the dog off the pant leg he's clinging to, and runs back to the pick-up truck, yelling at whosever driving to "Step on it!"
Balthy doesn't stop barking until the car's disappeared, and all it's noise with it.
And then, so unbelievably calm and collective, without the slightest of tremors in his voice or anything of the sort, Cass says, "Good dog."
Dean pretty much wants to run the Hell away, as far and as fast as he can, but he knows for a fact that he's gotta be a man about this, and face the one thing that right now, he's not sure he'd be okay facing. "Cass, I'm so sorry, I –"
"Why?"
"I should've just," Dean sighs, "Just, left you alone, and now – now you're being dragged into my past and it sucks and we barely know each other, and –"
"Alistair isn't just your past, Dean." And though his eyes are shielded behind sunglasses, and he's blind, Dean swears Cass is looking right the Hell at him. "It's not your fault."
He wants to ask – what are you talking about, of course it's my fault – but he has a (probably very accurate) feeling that even if he did, he wouldn't get a straight answer, or even one at all. And he wants more than anything to tell Cass absolutely everything, to walk him home and make sure he's alright and even maybe stay with him if that's what it takes to keep Alistair away, because Dean knows what he's capable of. He's been running from it for the past five years.
Balthy's back at Cass side, bumping against his leg with his nose, whining again, and somehow it breaks Dean from his thoughts, "Cass, I – Where do you live? I don't think it'd be a good idea for you to be walking by yourself, now that –" he swallows hard and wishes – again, for the millionth time – that he's known this person for far longer than two days and far better than his fricking name. It's ridiculous, really, and he feels like one of those teenage girls from those stupid-ass vampire-romance novels, but he can't quite shake it, and he's not sure he even wants to.
"Alistair can't hurt me," Cass reassures, already stepping away, and everything inside of Dean is already screaming.
"Do you know him?" Dean asks, eyes trained on Cass sunglasses.
"Yes, but he doesn't know me."
That old sixth-sense of don't you dare try to push this comes back, stronger than before and Dean drops the subject. It hurts too much to keep at it, anyway. "Still. I'd -" I used to be so good at this " – It seems to me like we were in the same foxhole, at one point or another."
"Oh, no, I assure you our . . . foxholes, are probably very different from each other."
Dean shakes his head, forgetting that Cass can't see him, "Every foxhole is the same, with Alistair."
Cass breaks out into a big grin just then, "You know, Ellen isn't as quiet as she believes herself to be. I can hear the conversations you two have."
Dean's face is suddenly on fire, "Er, what sort of conversations?"
"I'm not as shy as she makes me out to be. I just, don't get along very well with . . . people." He says the last word tentatively, like it's the only thing he can come up with to finish the sentence.
" . . . Am I considered people?"
"Do you consider yourself people?"
Dean doesn't have an answer for that – just the tiny flutter of hope burning low inside him. Cass has seen a glimpse into his screwed past, and even seems to have at least a bit of an understanding of it, in whichever aspect it may be. And he also knows that as much as he wants to learn about Cass, he's got to be willingly to open up, too – the thing is, he's not quite ready to. But even if he did, he thinks every last word would be worth it. Either way there's a lot of explaining to do on both parts, and the thing about life is, you can't always be prepared for what it throws at you.
Besides. He doesn't need Sam-The-Best-People-Reader-Ever to know that Cass is totally flirting with him.
~X~
"And you live here? All by yourself?"
"Yes," Castiel says from his place next to Dean on the loveseat. There's really close, and Dean's absolutely okay with it, even if Balthy-The-Over-Protective-Dog is eying him from his cozy spot in the middle of the rug spread across the carpeted floor of the cramped apartment. It's not much larger than Dean's, if only a couple square feet, but there's a certain warmth to it that at first he couldn't identify, but is now sure comes as a package-deal with Cass' presence.
"That's kind of messed up," Dean replies honestly.
"I can take care of myself," Cass sounds a little indignant.
"No, I know that, Cass, it's just -" he shrugs, "Where's your brother."
Cass sips calmly at his coffee, "Topeka."
"Like Sammy," Dean scoffs, "Small world."
"It really is," Cass muses, voice soft, as he rubs at his sunglasses.
"You know, I never really got the whole sunglasses thing." After the whole big fiasco with Alistair, Dean doesn't think watching his words is necessity. After all, Cass handled the situation better than Dean did himself. Don't get him wrong, there's still certain things he won't press at it – this just doesn't happen to be one of them.
"My pupils don't dilate or contract on their own," Cass explains, still rubbing, "So the glasses are a form of protection. They aren't required to wear indoors, however."
A tingle sits in Dean's chest, "So, why do you?"
"I've noticed that it makes some uncomfortable. They never quite know where to look."
"Oh." Well, I wouldn't be uncomfortable. But he's too much of a wuss to say anything.
"This particular pair, they're older," Cass scratches under the bridge, "They get scratched after a while."
"And they itch?"
"Yes," Cass sighs in frustration, and the tingle in Dean's chest expands – he feels like a shaken up soda can.
"Well, you don't have to wear them right now, do you? I mean, it's night, you're indoors." And I'd give anything to see your eyes, if only once.
Cass hesitates once, a brief flicker of something flashing over his face – it vanishes just as quickly though, and before Dean can take a moment to even attempt to identify it, Cass is already taking the glasses of and setting them on the coffee table.
And just like before, Dean can't breathe.
He was right – they are blue, insanely blue, bluer than blue eyes ought to be. Not that stereotypical sky-blue, off-gray that comes with just about every blonde in existence; it runs deeper than that, more of an emotion-filled, the color of the frigging ocean blue. And while he's being poetic, Dean might as well admit that they're probably the most God-dam. beautiful blue he's ever seen in his entire life.
Cass turns his face to him, and it's pure bliss for Dean, seeing his face in it's entirety, and for a moment, all that's playing in his head is white noise. Cass is staring somewhere over Dean's left eye, those perfect-blueblueblue eyes flashing, "Thank you."
They stay like that for a moment, staring-but-not-quite at each other, and as Dean's gaze travels over Cass' too-perfect lips for the umpteenth time, a phone rings and they both jump.
It's Castiel's home phone, ringing loudly enough to practically cause the small, glass-topped table it's sitting on to vibrate. Cass reaches to his right automatically, fingertips brushing over the rough fabric of the loveseat and skimming across the smooth glass before finding purchase on the phone. "Do you mind?"
"No, of course not." Though who the Hell's calling at ten-thirty at night.
Cass picks up, pressing it his ear, "Gabriel?"
Oh.
A/N: Not a very good ending to a chapter, I know. And okay, I know I said something about Dean/Sam's backstory? I lied. DX Sorry guys. I did give little hints in here though, and I swear it won't remain a mystery forever. And this is shaping up to be a lot longer than I expected it. And trust me there's gonna be a big "WHHHHAAAA?" soon. And it'll probably be like "NO. HOW COULD YOU DO THAT" but it's the basis for the whole thing so DX.
Gah. Ignore my rambleing. Reviews are loved I don't think I've ever actually groveled and begged for them before, but I'm seriously about to. Because I love them so much, they make me so happy. And I'm so paranoid about plot holes (if you find any, will you tell me? Please?) Bah, anyway, again thanks for the story alerts/review and for even bothering to give this a chance XD
KEEP CALM AND FOLLOW THE HONEYBEES!
~HR