Sometime in February, Dean started getting packages at work. The first time it was a big box of mixed candy: chocolates and hard caramels. There was no note or evidence of any kind, and none of the other nurses knew where it had come from. Dean shrugged and wondered, but he ate the whole box in less than an hour.
It wasn't always candy. Dean got other things, too, like a Metallica T-Shirt, a whole cherry pie and a lighter shaped like a revolver. Dean didn't even smoke, but he thought it was the coolest lighter he'd ever seen and he kept it in the glovebox of the Impala. The rest of the staff teased him relentlessly about his mystery gifter, especially when the delivery man strolled through on a Thursday morning clutching a large bouquet of flowers. Dean looked on, mortified, refused to sign for the package. Dr. Taylor was making his way down the hall, and he smirked as Dean struggled with a place to hide the huge floral arrangement.
"Flowers from your boyfriend?"
Dean frowned, blushing brightly. His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Ha-ha, very funny."
Taylor only strolled away, wearing that sly smirk, and laughed as Dean simmered.
"It's getting ridiculous," Dean told Cas later that night, as they were out at a bowling alley. Cas focused on the pins, holding his ball incorrectly. He turned to look at Dean, distracted from his aim.
"What, Dean?"
Dean stretched out in his seat, leaned back and kicked his legs forward. "The chick sent me flowers. I mean, she knows I'm a dude, right?"
"What chick?" Cas turned back to the bowling lane. He held the ball up again.
"The chick who's been sending me presents for the past couple months? Where've you been, dude? Do you even listen when I talk?" Dean looked a little betrayed. Cas scowled back at him.
"Yes. I didn't realize you were talking about that. What makes you think it's a woman?"
Dean blinked. "You know, they keep saying that. I dunno, maybe because I'm not gay?"
Cas drew his arm back, then forward, and let the ball go. It rolled right into the gutter. He scowled and took a step back. Dean hopped out of his seat, grabbing a blue and black ball from the return machine.
He was aiming down the lane when Cas spoke up, throwing him off as he threw the ball.
"It doesn't matter."
Dean's ball rolled into the gutter. He cursed under his breath and turned to face Cas, almost knocking into him. He jumped slightly, startled. Cas was just inches away from Dean's face.
He took a slow step back and cleared his throat. "Dude. You gotta stop doing that." Cas lowered his eyes and moved back, muttering a 'sorry'. Dean ambled forward to retrieve his ball and take another shot.
After a few months, Dean had had enough of Cas' wardrobe. "What are you wearing? Man, Cas, do you even own a pair of jeans?" Cas looked down at his blue button-down shirt and slacks, brow furrowed.
"What's wrong with my clothing?"
"You need to loosen up, dude. You're way too clean-cut. I think I've seen you wear sweatpants like once."
"Why would I wear them if I wasn't working out?" Cas was confused. Dean shook his head, pulled Cas down the street and towards his car.
"That's it. We're going shopping."
Three shopping bags full later and Cas was fumbling with his house keys at the door to his apartment. "I didn't have time to clean."
"Yeah, whatever, no problem. First impression ain't that big of a deal, right?"
Cas looked up at Dean, who laughed. "Joking. Show me the goods already." He took one of Cas' bags off his arm so he could open the door more easily.
And boy, Cas wasn't kidding. Dean followed him inside and took a look around. It was very bare, but very messy. A two-seat sofa sat pressed against the wall, covered with stacks of paper, which also littered the desk beside it. Piles of police reports and books were all over the place, a lamp with a busted shade resting on a scratched wooden table. Dean quirked an eyebrow, moved down a hallway, looking over the blank white walls. No decoration, no photographs, just emptiness. It felt very cold and empty, despite the mess in the living room.
The bathroom was fairly clean, but Cas' bedroom was another story. His bed hadn't been made, and his laundry laid on the floor beside it. Dean dropped onto Cas' bed, laid back and stretched his arms over his head. It was super firm, but pretty comfy. Cas followed after him, clutching the bags.
"I told you." Cas set the bags down and sat down on the edge of the bed beside him. Dean only chuckled.
"My place ain't that much better, honestly."
Cas relaxed. He put his palms down on the edge of the bed and hunched his shoulders a bit, nodding. Dean popped up beside him.
"You don't even have a TV. What's up with that?"
Cas shrugged. Dean nudged his arm.
"You gotta get one."
"I suppose. If you'll come over and watch it with me." He glanced at Dean, locked eyes with him. Dean shrugged, leaned back on his palms.
"Yeah, sure."
They spent the rest of the night talking. Dean had gotten fairly comfortable on Cas' bed, kicking off his boots and leaning back against the pillows. Cas stayed perched on the edge, his body turned to watch Dean as he spoke.
"And I guess I became a nurse in the first place for the tail, y'know? Because I thought, hey, chick city. But uh, I didn't have a lot of luck in school. I mean, sometimes. I didn't do that good in high school, so I had to get my GED, and getting into college was like hell. But uh, nurses, man, they're nuts. They aren't like normal girls. They're way smart, and way tough, like super-women or something. Maybe it's just me, I dunno, but they are way harder to score than the women I pick up in bars."
Cas hadn't even spoken for forty-five minutes but he hadn't cared until now. He didn't really enjoy listening to Dean talk about his love life.
"What about that woman you were kissing at the bar? I suppose she's not a nurse."
"Who? Oh." Dean scratched his head. "Yeah, I dunno. I don't really remember her name."
"I thought she was your girlfriend."
Dean laughed at that. "I don't have a girlfriend, Cas. I would've told you."
Cas nodded. He looked away, still not feeling much better.
"Looking good, Dean," Taylor catcalled as Dean stomped down a hospital hallway, his shirt soaked through. He whirled around, narrowed his eyes when Dr. Dicknose whistled at him.
"I always look good," he countered, peeled his wet shirt away from his chest. Taylor laughed softly, his voice low and smooth like chocolate.
"You do." The statement confused the hell out of Dean. Was this guy being serious?
"Uh.."
"What happened?" He walked closer, invading Dean's personal bubble.
"I was bathing a patient when he had a seizure. He's okay now. You want something?" He backed up, bumped into a nurse rushing by, apologizing as she scurried off. Taylor watched Dean, wearing his game face.
"How about a date?"
Dean's head snapped up. He looked surprised for a second, then he laughed, loud, right in Taylor's face. Taylor watched him, expression unchanging. Dean shook his head.
"No way, man. I'm not gay. Who told you that? I mean, I'm flattered, but no." Dean nudged him back a little. Taylor stepped forward again.
"Consider it."
Dean shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but Taylor was already strolling past him, down the hall. "I won't!" Dean called after him, pouting as he watched Taylor round the corner. What a prick, he thought. Even if I was gay, I wouldn't go for that blonde bimbo. I don't care how bright his damn smile is.
The phone rang eight times. Cas knew because he counted, sitting on the edge of his bed at eight o' clock at night, waiting for an answer on the other end. His back straightened when he heard a soft click and a voice finally answer.
"Sam Winchester."
Cas licked his lips. His eyes sparked, imagining how pleased Dean would be to hear from his brother for the first time in years.
"Hello, Sam. I'm Castiel. I'm a friend of your brother's."
Silence on the other end. Cas squinted a little, listening harder, wondering if the call had been dropped. "Hello?"
"...Dean? You're Dean's friend?"
"Yes."
"Is he okay? Did something happen?" Sam's voice switched from confused to concerned. Cas stood up and walked to the other end of the room, looking out the window.
"No," Cas said quickly, "He's fine."
"Why are you calling...?"
Cas shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He leaned closer to the window. "I was wondering if you'd like to see your brother again. He talks about you a lot.."
"I'm pretty busy, Cas.. uh, Castiel? Can you tell him that?" Sam was trying to be polite, but he was getting a little annoyed, too.
"He wanted to see you."
"Then maybe he should've called me himself."
"I'll tell him."
"I don't want to see him!" The annoyance had won over. Sam grew very quiet. "I'm sorry. Look, I've gotta go. Please don't call me again."
Cas listened to the phone click, pulled it away from his ear and frowned down at the glowing screen, telling him 'CALL END'.
Two hours later, and Cas and Dean were stretched out on the hood of the impala, drinking beer and looking up at the sparkling night sky.
Dean's phone had died so he had borrowed Cas' to make a phone call to work, when he decided to be nosy. The call ended and instead of handing the phone back over, went straight to Cas' texts. The guy didn't understand texting or shorthand at all, and majority of his texts were to Dean anyway. Okay, boring. Dean checked out his contacts, mostly work related. A couple women, Dean recognized the name of Cas' boss, Anna Milton. He checked the call history.
Dean frowned. He looked over at Cas.
"..That's Sam's number. Why did you call my brother?"
Cas looked up, the beer raised in his hand, hovering a few inches from his lips. He lowered it slowly. "I wasn't going to tell you."
"He's my brother, Cas. What the hell?" Dean was not pleased. Cas looked frozen.
"I thought maybe you could talk again. It just seemed like you missed him."
Dean watched him, searched him for sincerity. It sure as hell didn't make Dean any less angry. He slid off the hood of the car, troubled.
"I'm sorry, Dean. I was just trying to make you happy."
"Why? Why do you care if I'm happy or not? It's none'a your business. You just stay out of it." Cas stared at Dean's back, felt his eyes water a little. Instead he hardened his gaze, puffed his chest out and channeled his emotion into a dark, brewing anger deep in his gut instead. But Dean had turned, caught the change in Castiel's face, and he let out a soft sigh. "It's fine, Cas. Just... don't bug Sam. He's got other shit to worry about besides me." He sat back down beside Cas, the car sinking a little under his weight and into the soft grass beneath them. Cas relaxed and offered Dean another beer, and he took it gladly.
"Thanks."
Cas nodded and they drank together. They looked back to the stars and listened to the sounds of cars in the distance, crickets chirping together in chorus. The rest of the night was spent drinking and laughing, Dean more than Cas, and Cas drove Dean back to his messy apartment and let him sleep in his bed. In the morning, he made breakfast and nursed Dean's hangover away. Dean drank all Cas' orange juice. Cas didn't care. He told Dean to come over more often.
"I'd be happy to oblige."
Something sparked in Cas' eyes when Dean said that, but Dean didn't notice, too engrossed with stuffing his face with burnt toast and undercooked eggs. He was definitely cooking next time, because Cas was lousy at it, but that was alright. He kind of liked being pampered, and it worked because Cas liked taking care of Dean. It was nice, though Dean was far from used to it. Cas, however, planned on making a habit of it.