August 23, Sunday, 11:38am

For the first time in his life, Dean had a friend stay over. In fact, scrap that. Dean would say they were still just acquaintances. After last night, Dean decided he couldn't just ditch Castiel and find another friend, as originally planned. He guessed it wasn't so bad. For now.

"Should we wake him?" Sam asked, leaning a little towards Dean as the brothers stood side to side in their living room, watching the dude that was asleep on their couch. Dean was about to reply no, as after a night of drinking the last thing you want is to be woken by a stranger, when the guy in question rolled off the couch with a thud.

"Never mind. Heh," Dean chuckled. But of course Sam had left his side to assist Castiel, who was looking about the room rapidly with the same expression he'd had when refusing Becky's hug. This only made Dean laugh more, but he figured he should try and calm him down since he had no idea who Sam was and would maybe shit himself with the fear he'd been kidnapped. So Dean stepped in, where Sam was kneeling beside a fallen Castiel saying a jumble of different things.

"Cas, buddy, don't worry you're just in my house. You're safe here," he assured him. When Castiel met eyes with him, his tense shoulders and rigid posture relaxed, and Dean smiled at him without a second thought. It was nice knowing that the guy felt calmer in his presence. Although a second later his face contorted and he pressed a hand to his head. Oh right. Hangover.

"Hey, Cas, sit on the couch again I'll get you an aspirin and some water," he said quickly.

"No, it's fine. It's fine," Castiel said. Although he did clamber back up to the couch. Dean shrugged and figured that Cas must just be one of those people that are a bit weary taking medicine, but he still grabbed some water bottles from the fridge. He tossed one at Castiel, who caught it easily before placing it carefully on the coffee table in front of him, as if he was worried of it collapsing.

"Cas, I'm serious. I know you've never even touched alcohol before-" Castiel lifted his head, ready to protest, "-don't even lie. I can tell." Dean continued. "You're gonna be dehydrated, okay? Take the damn water,"

Dean watched Castiel as he thought for a moment, his deep blue eyes very contemplating, before he huffed like a child and uncapped the water. Dean smiled triumphantly when he took a swig.

"Isn't that better?" he beamed.

"Don't talk to me like a child," he retorted. Dean held his hands up in surrender, then he sat himself down beside Castiel. He noticed Sam standing by, looking quite on edge as if he was itching to be given something to do. When he caught Dean's eyes, he widened them and flicked them towards Castiel, then back at him.

"Oh. Cas, this is my brother Sammy," Dean said, waving a hand towards his geeky brother. Sam frowned. Dean frowned back. It wasn't often he misread Sammy's Secret Signals.

"No, it's Sam. Don't call me Sammy. Hi though," said Sam, waving at Castiel and offering a friendly smile. Dean shook his head amusedly. Dean had been calling him Sammy since the day he first saw him in that hospital, and he wasn't going to stop any time soon. If anything, he'd do it just to piss him off. Castiel returned the smile, even waving awkwardly.

"Hello, Sam, I'm Castiel," he said gruffly.

"Yeah, he knows," Dean almost laughed as he leaned back on the couch and stretched his arm out over the back of it. "Dude, you don't need to talk like that to us. Just chill out. Chillax. Whatever,"

Sam was beginning to pull out some plates and knives from the cupboards spread about the kitchen. Dean didn't feel like eating, but toast was his go-to hangover food, and he wasn't about to break that tradition. If Castiel thought anything of it, he wasn't showing it.

"Okay. These are just very unusual circumstances. I am unsure how to react," he said, but he seemed to try out Dean's chillaxing idea, as he sighed comically and sank back into the sofa. His dark tousled hair brushed against Dean's wrist, and he yanked his arm back. It was just his reflex, but when Castiel fixed his attention on him and asked him if he was okay, he suddenly felt guilty.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, there was just a fly or something, I think," he lied fluently, making a show of looking about the room. For the fly.

A phone buzzed on the table. It was loud and jarring in the silent room, and all three boys turned to look at it. Castiel lunged forwards as if someone had pricked his ass with a pin, and grabbed the phone with a very clumsy movement. Dean raised an eyebrow as he read the screen, his mouth wide open.

"Everything okay?" Dean asked.

"My brother - he just texted me asking when I was coming home," he said, sounding very confused. "But I don't understand, it's half past 12 and he just sent me it. It wasn't delivered late or anything," he said, holding the phone very close to his face as if the answer was hidden within the pixels.

Sam and Dean exchanged a knowing look. Dean cleared his throat.

"Yeah, uh. Cas, don't be mad or anything-" Castiel's blue eyes suddenly looked very intimidating as they pierced through Dean's, "- but I texted your brother last night, Gabriel? I just told him that you were bunking up with us for the night," he explained. Castiel's on-guard appearance didn't falter.

"How do you know his number?" he said seriously. Sam barked a laugh and Dean almost slapped his own face.

"No, I texted him using your phone. He thought it was you. But it was me," he said, worrying that his extra emphasis would make Castiel worry he was patronising him again. He really wasn't trying to. But Castiel seemed to understand, as he looked back at his phone, fingers hovering above the keypad.

"Oh. Actually, that's good. That's really good. Thank you, Dean," he said, relaxing his shoulders again and smiling. Jesus, that was the first time Dean had seen the guy smile. It looked a little dry, like he wasn't used to it, but he looked good. Dean smiled back at him.

"Good to hear it! Shit, I was thinking I made some huge mistake there," he said, forcing a laugh. Castiel smiled even more.

"No, honestly. Thank you so much. He would've killed me if I - or you - didn't contact him at all last night," he said happily.

"Yeah. He texted you a bit after we got here. You were pretty much K-O, so - actually, Cas, why don't you have a password on your phone?" he asked. Castiel's face fell back into it's usual still, bitch-face expression. Fuck, Dean thought. He ruined it. He was finally warming up to him, then he went and said that. Just as he was about to tell him to forget it, Castiel began typing on his phone and said,

"My father doesn't believe in them,"

"What, passwords? Why? I mean, any nutcase could just get into your phone, y'know...?" he said. Then he asked himself why the fuck he was still fucking talking. Probably just going to make this worse and drag this awkward situation on longer than it needed to.

"I suppose so. Gabriel actually mentioned that once, but he said he should just never let his phone out of his sight," Castiel said, tucking his phone away in his jeans front pocket.

"Good advice," Dean huffed.

"I know," Castiel laughed too, and Dean was instantly thankful. "My dad says that we shouldn't need passwords. If we don't have anything to hide," he sent an awkward side look at Dean, as if he thought Dean would think he was odd. He kind of did. How obsessive did a parent need to be to not allow passwords on his kid's phones? Control freak much? Though Dean could tell from the look on Castiel's face that that would not be what he wanted to hear. He suddenly felt like it was too hot. He literally had no idea what to day. Castiel was still looking at him. The clock was ticking.

"Well, what do you have to hide?" he eventually blurted. Castiel looked slightly taken aback.

"Nothing,"

"Yeah, exactly," he said. Just then, the toast popped up, triggering Castiel to flinch and look in the exact opposite direction from Dean. Dean got up and joined Sam in the kitchen, throwing open the fridge so he didn't have to look at those blue eyes again.

"So, Cas, what d'you want on your toast? We got jam, peanut butter, nu-"

"Actually, thank you, but I'm really not hungry," Castiel stammered. Sam looked back, concerned, but Dean didn't even turn around.

"Butter it is," he said, grabbing the box.

"Dean," Sam started.

"Well you've already made it," he said, gesturing towards the three plates that each held two slices of bread. "And breakfast is the most important meal of the day, if you didn't know," he raised his voice so Castiel could hear.

Castiel protested the entire time the Winchester's were buttering bread and watering glasses, but when they were all seated at the table and Castiel took his first grumpy bite, he ended up devouring the entire thing, including the last of Sam's.

Three hours had passed since Dean had dropped Castiel off at his own home where he was greeted by a red headed girl he assumed was Anna. Even though Castiel said he could walk to his home in two minutes, Dean said that he would have failed as a host if he didn't deliver his car-less guest back to his front door. Also, he wanted to see where he lived, but he didn't say that.

Back in his own home, Dean was sprawled across his bed staring at the ceiling and making annoying noises. He'd been stumped for finding ways to pass the time right after Castiel left. First, he'd watched a couple Game Of Thrones with Sam, but then Sam said he had some homework to get to and it was less fun to watch them alone, so Dean had retreated to his own room. He'd watched a few live performances of his favourite songs via YouTube, but even that wasn't enough to stop his restlessness.

He just wanted to go out and do something. He had no idea what, but he was certain that even sitting staring at a tree in the park would be better than staring at the ceiling in his bedroom. But he didn't want to go sit in a park himself. He turned his head to look at his phone, inches away from his face on the nightstand. He found himself wishing he had Castiel's number, so he could make an effort at texting (it was something he desperately needed to practice). Castiel had his. Dean had put it in after texting Gabriel, and told him just before they got into the impala. He said he should call him whenever.

Dean cursed and flinched when the phone started buzzing, and therefore sliding across the nightstand closer to him. Dean swung his legs round and planted them on the floor as he picked up the phone. The screen displayed a number, not a contact. Usually, Dean ignored unknown numbers, but today he was just so bored.

He slid the green button across the screen.

"Hello, Dean," said a gruff, serious voice. Dean beamed a smile.

"What's up Cas? How's the hangover?" he asked chirply.

"Um. My head still hurts, but it's not that bad. Also, my sister's birthday is in three days, and I have to go to the mall," Castiel said. When he didn't say more, Dean laughed.

"Is that an invitation?"

"Yes," he said. Dean raised his eyebrows at his bluntness.

"Wow, Cas, you're not much of a phone guy are ya?"

"I find it easier to converse with people when I can see their face,"

"Alright, fair enough. I'll be at your place in a few minutes, okay?"

"Sounds good," and then the tone beeped, signalling that Castiel had hung up. Dean pulled the phone from his ear and stared at it. He was unused to people hanging up before saying bye. There was a lot he needed to teach Cas.

Sure enough, four minutes later, Dean was screeching to a halt outside Castiel's house. Once again, he found himself admiring the architecture. The council really fixed these places up. Two storey houses spaced wide apart from each other with grass and shrubbery so green it looked fake. The porches even had fucking marble pillars, as if plain old wooden beams weren't good enough. What kind of house needed a double door with stained glass anyway? Castiel was out the door the second Dean's hand hit the horn.

"What's that even meant to be?" Dean purposefully left out a greeting, seeing as how Cas neglected to say his farewells.

"What do you mean," he said as he fumbled around for a seatbelt.

"If you're looking for a belt, you ain't gonna find any," Dean said casually, deciding the glass door could wait a moment. Just as he'd expected, Cas turned on that expression of horror again. Dean burst out laughing.

"Why is that funny? That's incredibly unsafe!" Castiel protested, raising his voice a little bit as Dean wiped a tear from his eye.

"Dude, relax. Seatbelts were optional back in the day-"

"Then why did you choose against them?"

"Ask the guy that made the car! Cas, it's fine. I've been driving this exact car since I was fourteen. I'm good at it. Don't mean to brag, but I'm pretty talented at not crashing a car," he said, still turned in his seat to face the door. The stained glass was broken up in too many bits, it just looked like dots and dashes from where he was sitting. He had to know.

"How have you been driving since you were fourteen? I'm not a lawyer, but I'm sure that's illegal," Castiel said. Dean snorted at him.

"My uncle Bobby's a mechanic. His house is kind of out of the way, and he has this big lot. It was just a starting point, I've got an official drivers license so don't worry about that," he said. Castiel sunk back a little on the chair, but Dean noticed his hands still gripped the bottom of the bench with so much force that his knuckles were going white. He didn't mention it.

"Now, the door. What's the glass s'posed to be?" he asked, pointing. Castiel followed his point.

"Oh. Flowers."

"Flowers?" Dean asked. He couldn't be serious. It was just a bunch of colours.

"Flowers," Castiel confirmed.

"No, no I don't believe you," Dean said, leaning closer as if that would readjust the arrangement of the glass. "Looks nothing like any flower I ever saw,"

"I'll trust your driving skills if you trust me about the flowers," Castiel said with the slightest curl of his lip. Dean shook his head, a faint smile on his own face. Touche, Cas.

"As if you even have the choice to trust me. You gonna walk to the mall?" Dean said, needing to have the last word. He knew it was a bit unfair to upstage Cas like that, since he was obviously so smug about it, but this was Dean's car. Nobody one-ups Dean in his impala.

"But yeah, now that you mention it, I do see a rose in there," Dean said, not liking Castiel's defeated expression. Just when Castiel turned round to look, Dean sped off. And he was sure he heard Castiel curse him.

Traipsing around the brightly lit aisles of the mall made Dean remember how much he hated them. Everything looked the same. It was all too clean and new and busy. Every time someone nudged his shoulder or some little kid crashed into his leg, it took all his self control not to shove them right back. He glanced over at Castiel, who seemed to be gliding along contentedly. This was probably where he did all his shopping, and Dean pitied him for it. He'd have to introduce Cas to his favourite thrift stores the next time they hung out.

"So, you got something in mind or are we just browsing?" Dean asked.

"Yes, I'm getting her a sweater. We seen it a few weeks ago in one of the shops down this way," Castiel said, taking a sudden right down a narrower but no less busy corridor. Dean scrambled to keep up with him, not wanting to lose him in the crowd.

"Good, so that wont take long right? 'Cause I spotted an arcade a while back that looks promising," Dean said. He only got a quick glance as they passed it, but it looked a lot bigger than the one closer to his place by the park. It even had a bowling alley, a game which Dean had somehow never played in his seventeen years of life.

"I don't think so. I hope they have her size, though, or I'll need to ask someone," Castiel said. Dean prayed that didn't happen because the sooner they got in and out of there, the better. Alas, his prayers were answered as Castiel found the perfect size and payed for it in no time, and ten minutes later they found themselves outside the arcade.

"Sucks that you have to lug that bag around with you," Dean said, nodding towards the large plastic carrier that held Anna's sweater. Castiel frowned at it.

"Yes, maybe we should have came here first,"

"Ah well. The deed is done." Dean said as he walked ahead, feeling too lazy to go outside, dump the bag in the impala and return. The inside of the arcade was wide and open, with flashing coloured lights everywhere, bathing the place in greens and blues and yellows. All the games here were just coin pushers and claw machines that little kids were busy playing as their parents sat at the bar to the side. Castiel began levitating over to a free space at a coin pusher.

"Cas, no, these things just eat money-"

"That's the whole point of an arcade," Castiel countered, looking at Dean very seriously. "I want the bumblebee keyring," he said, shuffling closer to the machine to look at it. Dean peered over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. The bumblebee was way at the back.

"I could buy you a bee keyring for less than what you'll waste on this machine," Dean said, tugging Castiel away by the sleeve. He noticed that he was wearing a trench coat, which Dean had always figured were for middle-aged business men, but whatever.

Castiel complied, and Dean led him over to a wall at the far left with overly gory shooting games and driving simulators.

"Now this is the good stuff," he smiled, taking Castiel's bag and tossing it to their feet at a shooting game titled Zombie Massacre. Castiel picked up the red plastic shotgun as if it was something he'd never seen before in his life, but Dean was too busy pointing his blue shotgun at the screen to pick the settings.

"Alright, multiplayer, death mode..." Dean was mumbling to himself, his eyes locked on the screen like he was in a trance. He could sense Castiel shifting the gun about to his left.

"Death mode?" he asked.

"It's the hardest setting," Dean grinned evilly as Castiel groaned, but didn't protest.

"I've never played this before, Dean. Is this the kind of arcade where you get tickets?"

"I don't think so,"

"That's a shame. I could've bartered with them for the bumblebee keyring," he said. Dean chuckled at him, but they both shut up when the screen began counting down in big green numbers. Then the screen faded to black, and a few seconds later a zombie jumped at the screen screaming, pasty green flesh rotting off its face as its eyes bled.

"Agh!" Castiel exclaimed, leaping back but managing to shoot the thing right between its horrible eyes. Dean was unsure if Cas had actually done that or if it was just scripted into the game, but he congratulated him all the same. Although Castiel's glory was shot-lived, as for the rest of the five minute game he was killed countless times, whereas Dean was shooting up zombie faces left right and centre.

When finally the last eerie groan faded away and the screen turned back into its flashing menu screen, Castiel threw his shotgun down into its holder.

"Can we play something easier now?" he asked as he scooped up his bag from the floor. Dean disarmed his own shotgun and turned to look around the arcade once again. There were endless games he wanted to play, but a good deal of them were occupied already. There was a free air hockey table though.

"Easy is for pussies," Dean joked as they headed towards the table. He'd always been good at arcade games, as the house he'd lived in from ages 10-13 was only two blocks away from one. He'd taken Sammy there every Saturday afternoon, followed by pie from the little cafe next to it. Man, that town had been a dump, but he would walk the 500 miles there just to taste some of that apple pie again.

Air hockey, however, proved to be Castiel's forte. He was quick as a cat, his mallet blocking the puck every time it came near his goal, and sending it zooming back up to Dean's end into his goal. Dean cursed himself every time. With Sam, he'd always reigned the Arcade King, but it looked like he was about to be overthrown by Castiel here.

Just after Cas squeezed in one final goal, the buzzer went and the puck disappeared from the puck return. Dean threw his mallet down as he glared at the screen above the table flashing the score 13-4 in big red numbers. That was just embarrassing, the fact that passerby's were looking didn't make it any better, but Dean was thankful when Castiel didn't say a word about it, and instead asked what he'd like to play next. Dean tried not to think about how childish he could be at times.

For the next forty minutes, Dean and Castiel circled the arcade playing game after game after game. It turned out that Castiel was quite a challenging opponent, compared to Sammy who until that day was the only person Dean had ever played against. He was reminded of his earlier comment: "easy is for pussies".

Halfway through a motorbike race, Dean's phone started buzzing in his jacket pocket, but it wasn't like he could pause the game or anything, so he ignored it. A few minutes later, after Castiel won the race (with Dean in a very close second), Dean pulled out his phone, and inhaled sharply.

Dad
Missed Call (3)

Shit. Dean fumbled to unlock his phone and tap his Dad's name quickly, holding his breath as each tone made his heart thud. He could feel Castiel watching him, debating whether or not to say something, before he turned away and began messing about on his own phone. Dean hoped Cas realised how great he was.

"Dean?" said John's voice, dark and obviously pissed. Dean checked behind him to make sure Cas wasn't within earshot.

"Hey, Dad, I'm so sorry-"

"I don't want to hear it, son. Don't bother apologizing, you just make sure that the next time I call you, you answer it. I don't care what you're doing, you just drop it and answer me, you hear?" John said. Dean swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Yes, sir," was all he could say. He knew well enough by now that when John Winchester called, it wasn't just for a chat.

"Now, listen. Two guys might be coming by the house later. You don't need to know who they are or what they want but make sure you're home. Don't let Sammy see them. He'll start asking things he don't need to know, you understand?" he said hurriedly. There was obviously more, he just needed to know Dean was paying attention.

"Yes, sir," he said.

"Good. I can't tell exactly what they're gonna say, but I think they know better than to really hurt a couple of kids, so when they ask where I am you tell 'em that I'm up at the north of the city, out the back of Hutchison's Den. That's all you need to do. Got it?" he asked. Dean held his tongue. He knew better than to ask his father questions about his business. He had no clue if John actually planned to be there or not, but if so it was the first night he'd been in town since they'd moved here two weeks ago.

"Got it. Hey, Dad?" he said, suddenly hesitant.

"What is it," he said impatiently.

"Do you think... I mean. Can I see you?" he said, biting the nail of his thumb as he awaited an answer. There was a sigh from the other end of the phone.

"Dean, you know I can't," he said. But Dean didn't know. John had never actually explained anything to him. He didn't explain why his sketchy job required him to be away for weeks on end. He didn't explain why he did what he did. He didn't even explain why one night, they had to pack up their things and drive half way across the country to find a new home.

"Alright... When-"

"Look, I'm sorry to ask this. I really am. But these guys... Fuck. You need to... pretend like you're not gonna tell them at first. Act like you're trying to, to protect me or something. Give in eventually, but... you need to make it look real. Like you're not sending them straight into a trap," he said. He hadn't explained it well, but eventually his words sunk in.

"So, what, I gotta get beat up by these bozos?" he asked sharply, trying to sound anything but afraid. John groaned.

"That's one way to put it. I'm really sorry to make you do this son, but I have no one else," he said. Dean wanted to hang up the phone on him, but that would only make things between them worse, so he gripped onto it with his jaw clenched. "...Dean?"

"Yeah. It's okay. Of course I'll do it," he said.

"That's my boy. I need to go now, but you text me when they leave, okay? Don't call. Text." he said.

"Don't call. Text," Dean repeated.

"Goodbye, Dean," he said. Before Dean could open his mouth, the tone kicked in. He stared at the phone, defeated.

"Are you okay?" Castiel asked upon Dean's return. He had his head tilted to the side and his eyes were soft, almost understanding. But there was no way Castiel could even begin to understand what Dean was feeling right then.

"Peachy."