A/N: As always, reviews are greatly appreciated.
Cas woke the next morning feeling rather triumphant, he was able to deliver the note without any problems. Granted he didn't run into anyone this time, but he made the delivery. Jess was wrong after all. Cas was capable of doing things on his own.
He rolled out of bed and checked his phone for messages... just in case. Seeing none, he went to brew his morning pot of coffee. While he waited for it to brew, he took care of his other needs and headed back in the kitchen to make himself some Pop-Tarts.
He headed for his dining room table to eat his frosted pastry delights and ingest his caffeine for the day. He sat in a chair with his back facing the window... He always felt more comfortable that way. He was less likely to stare out the window that way. When the neighboring house was empty, it was fine to occasionally sit facing it and glance out and see the sunrise, or a flock of birds splashing about in a puddle... But now he ran the risk of spotting one of the neighbor boys. He didn't want that temptation to stare...
He sighed and bit into one of the Pop-Tarts. He didn't really have plans for the day, he never did, but he knew that classes were starting soon at the college. One of his biggest regrets was dropping out; his senior year, no less. He was only a few credits shy of a degree, but he just couldn't handle things anymore after his dad passed. But he knew the college now offered online classes, as Jess had told him a few times.
He finished his Pop-Tarts and downed the rest of his cup of coffee before he went to grab his laptop. He logged on to the college website and read up on their online class offerings. He realized that they did, indeed, offer the few classes he needed in order to obtain his degree. Sure, it was a pointless degree, a mathematics major, but it was more about the idea behind it; actually finishing what he started. If he could finish this one thing, he could prove to Jess once and for all that he didn't have a problem and that he was completely self-sufficient.
He checked what he needed to do in order to register for classes. Step one was to log in to the online student center. Step two was to register the specific classes. Step three was to pay the tuition. Step four was to sit back and obtain the degree just to prove Jess wrong.
He was able to create an account and log in with no issues; he was glad he remembered his student ID number after so many years of not using it. He searched through the open classes, he knew it was a little late to be registering, but since these were all 400 level courses, he didn't think many students would be signed up.
He was able to find the three courses he needed and they were open and available in an online format. He was relieved. He quickly registered and was redirected to a 'check out' page of sorts. He needed to find his credit card. He felt a little guilty about using his dad's money for these "pointless" things, as his dad often reminded him, but he didn't know what else to do with the relatively vast sum left to him. His dad wasn't anti-college, just anti-everything Cas liked. If his dad had his way, Cas would have been a theology major, or something "useful" like engineering or a doctor, but he couldn't see himself doing any of those things in his life.
He headed towards his bedroom to find his wallet and grab his card. It was on his nightstand, collecting a bit of dust on the top of it. It showed how often he really used it. He picked it up and brushed the dust off onto his pajama pants and opened it up.
He quickly realized that he no longer had his credit card... Jess still had it from the shopping trip. He trusted her with it, obviously, and knew she wouldn't go on spending sprees, and he didn't care that she had it... usually. But in this case he needed it back, especially if she was never going to speak to him again.
He grabbed his phone and headed back to the dining room table, sitting down with a sigh. He'd have to text her again and ask for it back... and soon. Classes started Monday, after all, and he wasn't officially registered without paying the tuition.
Hey... Sorry to bother you, but you seem to have my credit card and I need it back. It's kind of important.
He'd wait for her reply, but he wasn't expecting it any time soon. He felt like banging his head against the table when he heard voices outside. It was the noisy neighbor boys again... He sighed loudly to no one in particular.
He couldn't make out what they were saying clearly, but they weren't yelling for once. He was really tempted to look and see what was going on, but he distracted himself otherwise.
"And remember, I will castrate you in your sleep if you hurt my baby."
That caught his attention.
He spun around in his chair and parted the curtain a bit to see what was going on. He saw the bigger guy climb into their monster of a car, and he saw the shorter one, Dean, looking visibly upset. That car must have been his 'baby'. He forgot that some guys loved cars that much; his dad was one of them.
The bigger one backed out of their driveway and then spun-out the tires as he took off the road, and Dean looked almost like he could faint. Cas couldn't help but smile. Then he noticed Dean was starting to look his way, so he let the curtain fall, and turned back away from the window.
He could have kicked himself... He started feeling ill and decided to get away from the dining room table. He moved to the living room on the opposite side of the house, that way he would no longer be tempted to look outside... and so he could hear himself think, or so he told himself.
He sat on his couch and looked around his living room... He never felt so restless in his entire life. He could read, he could watch TV, he could doodle, he could nap... The possibilities were endless, but he didn't feel like doing any of that. He settled on turning the TV on and seeing what would come of it. There was a marathon of NCIS on; he could get into that. He always loved DiNozzo for some reason.
After the first commercial break he decided to get some more coffee. He passed the dining room on the way to his kitchen and reminded himself to ignore the window. He poured himself a fresh cup and headed back when he realized he left his phone on the dining room table. He walked over and grabbed it, but couldn't help but peek out the window.
Dean was on a ladder stripping the pink paint off the trim of his garage... Cas always thought the pink trim was a little tacky, but he was surprised Dean would bother with it. No one else had.
He kept watching him, trying to figure out what color he would pick for the trim, but Dean looked towards him and he immediately realized he was staring. He felt his stomach do a flip and he let the curtain fall quickly. He pounded his phone into his forehead, mentally chastising himself for looking again.
He headed back to the couch for the rest of the episode. It was a rerun, but it was still entertaining. There was something about the characters that made the show re-watchable and highly enjoyable. Maybe it was the character dynamic of the cast as a whole. He couldn't put his finger on it. In addition to DiNozzo, he really like that Abby girl. She reminded him of Jess.
Still no text, so he was in a state of limbo. Another episode started and he figured he would fix himself some lunch. He headed back towards the kitchen and fixed himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Quick, easy, and delicious. He headed back towards the living room but realized he left his laptop on... He headed back to the dining room table to turn it off and took that chance to peek out the window again.
Dean was on the ladder still, this time actually painting. It was an odd shade of off-white which didn't really go with the white of the garage. He looked a bit more and tried to figure out why Dean had chosen that color, when he realized that it was just the primer coat. Cas was surprised that Dean knew how to paint properly.
He realized he was staring again, but only when Dean looked in his direction again and smiled. He quickly dropped the curtain and felt so stupid. It was obvious that his brain was out to get him. He shut off the laptop, closed it, and brought it with him into the living room so he wouldn't have another excuse to look out the damned window.
The episode was still in the first half, but he found himself growing really restlessly bored. He focused on eating his sandwich, hoping he could focus on the show, the sandwich, or anything except what the neighbor was doing. Why did he care what color he was painting the trim of the garage? He never cared about the neighbor's garage before, so why start now?
The episode was finished, his sandwich was finished, and he found himself staring towards the dining room rather than at the TV or his phone... or anything that wasn't the stupid window. He got up to bring his plate back to the kitchen and told himself he'd allow one more look, just to see what color he was going with, and that would be it.
He walked into the dining room, pulled up the curtain, and took his final look. Gray. It was going to be gray. It was fitting. It certainly looked better than the pink. Dean looked pretty content with it, too. He noticed that his lips were moving, but there was no one else out there. Cas realized quickly that Dean was singing to himself. Cas smiled... And then he realized he was staring again. He let the curtain fall before he saw Dean look at him. Maybe he got away with it this time?
He went back into the living room and told himself no more. It was NCIS time, not garage time. Another episode down and he started to really wish Jess would text him back. He wanted to get the class stuff cleared up as soon as he could. Plus, having access to his money would be nice. He wondered to himself how he would get groceries now that Jess was gone... He figured he could always try shopping himself, but the thought was enough to make his heart skip a beat.
After another episode, he wanted to do anything but watch anymore. He's been watching for hours and figured there had to be something else to do with his time. He really wanted new books, but that was Jess' thing. She'd get him new books that he had on hold and bring them. He's been stuck with the same ones since she flipped. He figured they were overdue now and really wished he could bring them back. But the library was pretty far away... and it was Saturday... and it was hot out.
Some movement caught his eye. There was a shadow outside the dining room window. He didn't really want to know what it was, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. He broke his own rule and went back to the window to look.
He pulled back the curtain and was startled when he saw what was out there. It was Dean, inches from the window, shirtless and sweaty, staring directly at him.
"Nice to see you... finally."
Cas felt his throat tighten up, his stomach clench, his heart speed up, and all of his muscles freeze. He didn't know whether to run, laugh, cry, puke, or faint.
He started humming Jesus Loves the Little Children to himself, mouthing the few of the words he could muster. He was staring at Dean, his eyes wide in fear. He felt like he was trapped somehow.
He let the curtain fall, cutting off the intense staring contest between the two of them. He felt a small bit of relief, but the shadow on the other side of the window wouldn't leave.
"You know I can see you when you're watching me, right? You're not being sneaky."
He knew? Cas figured he'd notice, but why didn't he ever say anything before? Cas felt like an idiot, and his throat was so tight he could hardly breathe, let alone swallow.
He retreated quickly to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. He fell into his bed and tried to hum the rest of the song, not feeling any of the usual calming effects. He took a few deep breaths and pulled his blankets up over his head, managing to cut out the sunlight and the rest of the world as he tried to regulate his body. He wasn't in any danger, but why was his body acting like it was?
Dean was rudely awakened by a pair of dirty socks being thrown on his face. He peeled them off his face and hesitantly opened one eye to glare at the towering man boy at the side of his bed. The smell of the socks somehow managed to make his throbbing headache even worse.
"What the hell do you want?" His voice sounded like gravel being run through a coffee grinder.
Sam stood there holding two relatively nice button shirts, virtually identical in color. "Which shirt looks better?"
Dean opened his other eye, trying to get a better look. "Is this a trick question?"
"What?" Sam looked between the shirts and back to Dean. "No, dude. I need your help. You're good with this stuff."
He narrowed his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Sam shook his head. "Never mind. Now help me."
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, willing his headache to go away, "Sam... they are the same color."
Sam looked at the shirts again. "No they aren't!"
"Green... or greener?" He grabbed the dirty socks and threw them back at Sam, pulling his blanket up over his head, "Why would you wake me up for this?"
Sam's face fell into a pout. "Dammit, Dean. You're no help."
"Why are you freakin' out, anyway?" he asked from underneath the blanket.
"Jess proved you wrong. She actually texted me and wants to meet up and show me around the campus before I start classes." Dean could hear the excitement and nervousness in Sam's voice.
"Wow, I bet she'd love to show you around hercampus."
Sam rolled his eyes, giving a scoff. "Dean..."
He growled. "Whaaat? It's Saturday! Aren't they closed or something? And shouldn't you be sleeping in? And shouldn't you be letting mesleep in?"
"You're hopeless. It's not my fault you went trolling for some guys but crawled home empty handed. Don't take this out on me." Sam turned and started heading out of Dean's room. He stopped at the door, "Oh, by the way... A certain someone left a note for you."
Dean pulled the blankets down from his head. "A note?"
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Yeah... I found it this morning."
He tried to hide his excitement. "Oh... Well, where is it?"
Sam started walking down the hall towards his own bedroom. "Kitchen table."
There were only a few things on Earth that made Dean Winchester move quickly: the promise of sex, homemade pie, free booze, and free food. This was none of those and yet he got out of bed quicker than he has in years, hangover be damned, and hurried down the hall, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. He scanned the table for the note, but he didn't spot it immediately. He just saw his old note, all wrinkled and crinkled.
"Sam!" He shouted up the stairs.
He could hear giant footsteps approaching. "What?" Sam's head appeared at the top of the stairs.
He turned and looked up at Sam, confusion on his face. "Where is it? I don't see it."
"Where's what?"
"The note!"
"It's on that wrinkled piece of paper." Sam pointed towards the table.
He grabbed it, and held it up towards Sam. "Dude. That's myhandwriting."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Turn it over, genius."
"Oh." He felt like an idiot at this point.
"You're welcome." Sam's head vanished.
There wasn't much written on it.
Dean,
I assure you, you did not offend me. I'm sorry if it appeared that way.
And please don't trouble yourself. I don't drink.
Apologies.
It was a response. It was a disappointingresponse, but it was a response. It meant that the neighbor, whatever his name may be, was open to communication somehow. Granted he just got shot down via note, so it was like middle school all over again. It meant he'd just have to try another way.
As he pondered and speculated, Sam came stomping down the stairs. That boy was about as quiet and graceful as a moose. "So, Dean, how do I look?"
Dean was still analyzing the note. "Like a dork."
Sam looked so disappointed. "Oh..."
"Nah, Sammy. You look fine. Don't worry about it." He walked over, and pinched Sam's cheeks and then slapped them in a grand display of his brotherly affection.
Dean turned towards the stairs, hoping to go pass out for a few more hours, hope the headache vanished, and forget the morning ever happened, but Sam stopped him.
"Hey, Dean? Can I ask you a huuuuuge favor?"
He slowly turned and narrowed his eyes. "What is it?" He knew where this was going. Sam never asked for favors... He made demands.
Sam shuffled back and forth on his feet. "I was wondering if I could, uh..."
"...Could what, Sam?"
Sam closed his eyes tight and spit the request out in one breath. "Could I borrow the Impala to impress Jess?"
Dean waited until Sam peeked one eye open before walking over to him. He put an arm around his younger brother's massive shoulders, "Come with me." He walked Sam out the front door, grabbing his keys on the way out.
The pair made their way out onto the porch, the bright sunlight like daggers into Dean's brain. He paused, shielding his eyes, waiting for them to adapt to this bright setting, fighting back the urge to puke. Once he had everything under control, he continued.
He lead Sam towards the garage, where the Impala rested in the driveway. "You see her, Sam?"
Sam gulped, "Yeah."
"Isn't she a beaut?"
He sounded slightly uneasy, "Yeah..."
"And it would be a shame if anythingwere to happen to her, wouldn't it?"
He nodded in affirmation. "Absolutely."
"Even the tiniest scratch."
He nodded again. "Yeah..."
"And you realize that I have eyes like a hawk and would immediately notice if even the slightest, tiniest, most minuscule thing was off, right?"
"Yes..."
"And you realize that I know where you sleep?"
"Yes..."
"And you realize that I have a pair of hedge clippers in my garage, right?"
"Yes..."
"Well then." He tossed Sam the keys. "Have fun. Be back before dark. Wrap it before you tap it."
"Dean!"
"And remember, I will castrate you in your sleep if you hurt my baby."
The Impala roared to life and Sam cautiously backed it out of the driveway. Dean glared the entire time, making sure Sam knew he was serious. When he finally made it to the road, Sam spun out the tires as he took off down the road. Dean just about had a coronary. That's when he noticed the curtains next door flutter.
He sighed out loud to no one in particular and thought back to the note. He couldn't help but feel sorry for the guy. He obviously didn't have a sense of humor... or people skills; and there was something almost depressing about his response.
Dean stared at the window, waiting for the man to peek out again. It didn't take long. When he saw the man's face, he just smiled and waved before the man quickly vanished in a flash of curtains. Dean wished he knew what he could do to talk to the guy, but he figured he'd leave it be... for now.
Since Sam took his car and he had nowhere to go and nothing else to do, Dean went about the rest of the day with a new goal in mind. Everything inside the garage was set up to his liking, but he had no cars to work on and no new clients since the move. He'd eventually have to call Uncle Bobby and hopefully get some referrals, but until then, he would repaint the garage's trim. His garage was perfect for his job, yes, but it had the most god awful pink trim he'd ever seen. The house didn't have it, just his manly garage, and he couldn't stand for that.
He went inside the house to throw on some grubby clothes and came back outside ready to work. He grabbed the needed supplies from the garage; a manly gray paint, several brushes, a paint tray, and a ladder. Working outside also gave him the benefit of working on his tan... and keeping an eye on the neighbor's house. He was bound and determined to get that man to communicate somehow; or at least find out his name. The note barely gave him anything to go off of.
He started stripping off the flaking layers of pink and noticed the face once more... and again after a coat of primer, and again after the first coat of paint. It was almost like clockwork. He kind of liked having an audience.
He stood in the driveway, sweat dripping from every pore, checking over his work. He determined that it would take another coat to call it good, but before diving into it, he decided to take a break. He peeled off his sweat-soaked shirt and headed inside to grab a beer. He came back out sipping his beer and tried to enjoy the sunlight.
In his musings, he came up with another idea. Since the neighbor was obviously checking on him every so often, he could try and anticipate him and wait just outside his window; that way he could get a good look at him and try to talk to him semi-face-to-face. Sure, it was a little creepy, but so was constantly watching your neighbor paint his garage.
He finished off his beer, sat the empty bottle next to the paint supplies, and walked over to the neighboring house. He positioned himself outside of the window, which was nice and shady, and he waited.
Soon enough, the face appeared again, but he clearly wasn't expecting to see Dean right there. His eyes widened in fear and he froze in place. Dean stood there smiling, taking in the sight of the man's face.
"Nice to see you... finally."
Dean could hear some muttering from behind the window and then the face vanished behind the curtain.
"You know I can see you when you're watching me, right? You're not being sneaky."
He saw the man's shadow move away from the curtain, disappearing into the distance. He was beginning to realize that if he wanted to communicate with this man, he'd have to leave another note. It really was like middle school all over again.
Grumbling, he headed back for his garage. There was another coat of paint to apply and he had to hurry before the sun set. The whole time he spent painting, though, he kept thinking about his potential reply. He didn't want to have this back and forth with notes, he just wanted to meet the guy... and his piercing blue eyes... and confused puppy look... With any luck, he'd have that mysterious neighbor man talking in no time, he just needed to use a little of his Winchester Charm no matter how hard it was to do via writing.
Having finished the final coat of paint, he packed up the supplies and carried the wet brushes inside to wash. He filled the sink with soapy water and plopped them in and decided he should probably wash the layer of grime off himself, so he headed up to take a relaxing shower.
Later that evening, right around dinner time of course, Sam walked into the house with a smile on his face. He looked at Dean and then noticed that he was surrounded by a growing pile of balled up paper.
"What's going on?"
"Just trying to write a note."
"You know, if you used a pencil, you would save paper."
"Shut up."
"Wait, are you writing to the mysterious neighbor again?"
"No, Sam. It's my letter to Santa Claus."
"I don't think that would do you any good. You haven't been a good boy in a very long time; I'm pretty sure Santa blacklisted you when you were 5. And I'm pretty sure not even you could threaten presents out of Santa."
"I could take him. Easy."
"I don't know, Dean... He has all those elf minions."
"Yeah, but I'm taller than them. That's gotta give me some kind of advantage."
"Not once they start going for your ankles. You'd be helpless against a swarm of angry midgets."
"Sam..."
"So it isa letter to the neighbor." Sam crossed to his side, looking over his shoudler.
He rolled his eyes. "Yes, Sherlock."
"What's your fascination with the guy, anyway? He obviously wants nothing to do with us."
"I don't have a fascination. I'm just being friendly."
"Uh-huh... Right. So my little outing with Jess went well, thanks for asking."
"Did you get lucky?"
"In a sense. We decided to go out for dinner one day soon, so that's something. And I also found out some things about that mysterious neighbor of ours."
"Yeah?" He straightened up. "Like what? Did you find out what that big fight was about?"
"Well, he was in college with Jess for a while. They apparently dated for a bit, but then something happened. She wouldn't say what, or even his name... But she usually goes over there once a week and drops off groceries for him... But not anymore, I guess."
"What, that's it? You need to get more info than that."
"I didn't want to pry. I only got that much because she needed to talk to someone about it and he was her go-to guy. I guess she feels horrible about the whole ordeal."
"But you didn't ask what the fight was about?"
"No, Dean, I did not. I was a little distracted by, you know, actually being with her. Why don't you ask her yourself?"
He slumped, defeated. "I... don't think she likes me too much."
"That's not my fault. I guess the Dean Winchester Charm didn't work on her."
"Then you'll have to use the Sam Winchester Charm. Just pout at her with those puppy dog eyes until she tells you everything."
Sam sighed and headed towards the stairs, "Finish your note."
He grumbled at Sam, and tried to focus on his note, willing it to write itself. After six or seven more drafts, he produced a note he was semi-proud of. He figured he better deliver it before he changed his mind and scraped another revision.
He set out late in the evening to deliver the note. He climbed the steps of the porch and approached the door. There were no lights on that he could see, so he didn't bother knocking or anything, he knew it wouldn't help. So he folded the paper up, jammed it under the door once again, and left the porch. The man would hopefully respond with at least his name this time.