Three: The Pawnbroker

Cas woke up to moist, warm lips on his cheek.

He opened his eyes and squinted at the sudden brightness, tearing up, and let out a sigh as Dean kissed him again, pecking at his jaw, and then beneath his ear. His husband was kneeling beside the couch that Cas had slept on, honestly intending to make up by being overtly affectionate.

Cas simply turned away.

"C'mon," Dean murmured, cupping Cas's chin affectionately, and for a moment, Cas wanted to give in, but then he remembered the things Dean had said last night. And if he just got up from here, letting Dean do whatever he wanted to and telling him it was all right, Dean would repeat all the nonsense he'd said and done last night, and Cas knew that. He wanted an end to whatever had gotten to his husband over the last three days.

"Cas," Dean called out in a slight whine, when Cas wasn't pliant to his romantic gestures. "Come on, babe."

It was unusual for Dean to be so sweet. And 'babe'? Cas wasn't sure Dean had ever even imagined that endearment, much less called someone by it.

He yawned, squirming away from his husband. "What do you want?" he asked Dean, crossing his arms over his chest. His back hurt, reminding him of every muscle in there that existed, and he promised himself that he'd be sending Dean to the couch the next time.

"Who said—?"

"Dean, I didn't even know you were aware of the word 'babe'," he grumbled. "So out with it. Or let me continue sleeping."

Dean moved away at that, scratching at the back of his neck. He grinned. "Wanna go on a road trip?"

~o~

Sam tossed a small bag into the trunk of the car and squinted at Cas, who was standing with his arms folded. He knew Dean and Cas had fought again and it had taken some extra time to get Cas to agree to their impromptu road trip. He had been grumpy and unyielding to Dean, and ultimately, Sam pleaded with him to come along, to which he agreed.

He had just finished shutting the trunk of his brother's beloved Impala when the gate opened and Charlie trotted into the yard, followed closely by Kevin. Their faces brightened up when they saw Sam.

"Hey!" He limped forward as Charlie pulled him into a hug. Kevin shook hands with him before stuffing them shyly into his pocket. Sam pushed his hair back and glanced at the house, where Dean was checking the windows and bathrooms. "Dean's in the house. He'll be right out."

"That's okay, we'll wait," Charlie told him. "How come you left the diner without saying hey, though?"

Oh. Yesterday, Sam hadn't stuck around because he'd had to go meet Henriksen with Cas, but Charlie's expression got him digging his heel into the ground. "Yeah. Sorry about that. I was in a hurry."

She locked eyes with him. "All good?"

"All good," he promised, shrugging. "Just had some legal stuff to sort out for Cas's book."

"He's promised us an early copy," Kevin supplied, and Charlie nodded. "Is that still on?"

Cas gave them a smile that indicated he needed stool softeners. "Yes."

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "You okay?"

"Yes, I am, Charlie, and it is good to see you two around here. You should come over for dinner." This time, Cas's grin was more convincing.

Charlie sighed. "You fought with Dean, didn't you? He's an ass—"

"Charlie," Kevin interrupted as she started to make her way into the house, but she stopped, deflated. "Don't," Kevin said to her. "Leave them be. They'll sort it out."

Sam grinned at the two of them, controlling his laughter, as Cas looked ashamed of being told off by kids.

Charlie rolled her eyes. "You guys are ridiculous, you know that?"

"Yeah," Sam told her. "They know that, Charlie. They won't stop. They just need to sleep on it most days. Don't worry."

"Yeah, and if your brother would hurry up, we could go home and sleep," she grumbled.

Sam reached for his cane. "I'll get him."

"No, no it's okay." She caught his hand, embarrassed, and Sam saw a glint of sympathy in her eyes.

God, he hated that look. It was constantly showered on him by every Tom, Dick, and Harry and Sam sometimes wanted to gouge out all their sorry-looking eyes.

He shrugged Charlie's look away, taking a sharp breath. "I'm – I'm fine… I can do it, you know. I'll get him."

"Yeah, yeah." She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, sensing the change in his demeanour at once. "Sorry, I… let's just talk until he comes back, okay?"

Sam looked at her for a long moment, suppressing the storms that were erupting inside him, and cleared his throat. "Okay."

"Okay," she said.

And they just stood like that in awkward silence, until Dean finally came along.

~o~

"Are you going around telling people I'm a cripple or something?"

Sam tried to remain as calm as possible as Dean drove them to South Dakota. The radio was blaring out some of Dean's favourite songs and Sam was already getting a headache. They were going to Bobby's house in Sioux Falls. The house held a lot of nostalgia for all of them, especially Sam and Dean, since they'd lived there two years with Bobby.

Two years of a great life, which had ended very abruptly when Bobby was killed by a mugger who put a bullet in his head.

"I didn't tell anyone anything, Sam," Dean said, steering Sam into their present conversation. "You know I wouldn't do that."

"Do you think I'm a cripple?"

"What? N-No!"

Sam gritted his teeth and shut the radio off. His voice was low and snarling in the silence of the car. "Don't lie."

Dean shivered in the silence, but didn't answer.

"Tell me, Dean," Sam demanded of him, quietly. "Tell me now."

Dean's fingers clutched the steering wheel tightly, knuckles turning white. "You have…" He cleared his throat. "It-it's just been bad for you, okay?"

"When did you decide that?"

"Dude, you had an accident."

"I think I know that. Don't sympathise with me."

"Sammy—"

"Charlie seemed very sorry for me," Sam said, looking out of the window but not really seeing the scenery fly by. "What did you tell her that made her feel so awful?"

"Sam, she's just a sweet girl, will you drop it?"

"Just like you dropped that stupid squabble with Cas from last night?"

"Does that matter?" Dean glanced at the rear view mirror, which reflected Cas's sleeping form. He had started off the journey just looking out of the window and not talking, with his arms tightly folded against his chest. He hadn't reacted to anything Sam or Dean said, making Sam wonder if he had been listening at all before he'd fallen asleep.

"It does matter," said Sam, "because, once again, you fought about me."

"Who told you that?"

"I talk to Cas, too, you know. You hurt him."

Dean turned to the backseat, but his eyes were back on the road before Sam could tell him off for it. "That's personal."

"Sure, you telling him I'm a cripple who needs to be in a bubble is personal, and not about me at all."

"Sam, I need to take—"

"Fuck off," Sam told him, mildly satisfied at the hurt that flashed on Dean's face. "You don't own me or Cas, okay? And you sure as hell don't get to decide what I'm too delicate or strong to handle on my own. Cas just asked me a question about Jess. It wasn't your cue to become my white knight. I didn't ask for that."

Dean kept looking ahead, licking his lip. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, and you're going to say that to Cas, too."

"I did—"

"You didn't. He just wants you to say it from your heart and mean it."

"Maybe you shouldn't interfere with this now," Dean muttered, and Sam felt another surge of anger.

"What?"

Dean clenched his jaw and stayed silent for a moment, but he swallowed and turned his head to Sam. "I know what we argued about was related to you, but keep away from our personal life, Sam."

And his face was so earnest, so angry, that Sam couldn't help but hold back a snort.

"What, it sound funny to you?" Dean asked him. "That I told you not to butt your nose into my married life?"

"No," Sam told him, "it's funny to me that you think you didn't seriously hurt Cas, and that he didn't talk to me about it today, because let's get this straight, Dean, you've upset him."

Dean scoffed. "So he bitches to you about me now, to get you to have me apologise? Fantastic."

Sam glared at his brother. "He's my friend and he was hurt and you and I are the only people he talks to. It's not called bitching and you should know better than to hurt him. You said some really shady shit to him last night, didn't you?"

"So what? Dude's not a delicate flower. I know him."

"There are lines with everyone, Dean. Don't cross them."

Dean scoffed again. "Don't go telling me that crap about—"

"There are, and there will always be lines," Sam interrupted him. "Don't cross them. Are you going to keep that in mind?"

"Yeah. Now fuck off."

"Are you?" Sam lowered his voice, shifting slightly closer to his brother.

He felt another tinge of satisfaction when Dean let out a light shudder. "Yeah. Yeah, I get it, Sam."

~o~

Henriksen tightened his coat as he stood outside the pawnshop. He observed the sign for a moment, mentally calculating the evidence he had against this guy. His name was Fergus McLeod and from the looks of it, he was a loan shark. Which meant, even if he didn't happen to be the killer, he was a criminal.

But he had to have had something to do with the murders. Both victims took money from this man and he'd not been in town around the time of the other murders, either. And, really, the only proof Henriksen had against the Winchesters was that damn book, which had some pretty uncannily similar details to the actual murders. But then, like Dean's younger brother had said, the Internet nowadays held too much information.

Plus, no matter how hard he tried to insist otherwise, their alibi for the second murder was actually watertight. Henriksen had checked with some of the people who'd been at the book reading that day and the Winchesters had alibis for every moment of the day. Their neighbours didn't have much to say about them, either, that they came over to say hey and Dean brought over pies and sent barbecue invites… and they seemed like any other family. As for the other murder…

Henriksen scrubbed his hand down his face. He never wanted to have to see that video again. He didn't exactly believe them because there had to be something going on there, but no, that video was on the list of things he never needed to see again.

He opened the door to the store, the bells above the doorframe clinking as he entered. The shop looked too posh to be a pawnshop, the décor tasteful although gloomy and dank.

Standing at the counter to his left was a red-haired woman who stood up the moment she saw him. "Fergus!" she called out before smiling sweetly at Henriksen. "My name is Rowena. How can we help you, dear?"

Henriksen registered the heavy Scottish accent and smiled back at her. "I need to speak to Crowley."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, he keeps telling everyone that is his name. It's not. He was born with a much better name, but my poor boy, always so ashamed of it."

Henriksen raised his eyebrow. "You're his mother?"

"I don't look like it, do I?" she asked him proudly. "Everyone wants to know my beauty secrets, and it's all just about how I keep my face free of wrinkles and—"

"Mother, are you boring my poor customers again?" a voice interrupted her, and a man emerged from the backroom, pulling the deep red curtains apart briefly. He was wearing a black suit, dressed too well to be a pawnbroker. He laid eyes on Henriksen, then slid behind the counter and held out his hand. "Crowley. How can I help you?"

Henriksen reached into his pocket for his ID. "I'm Special Agent Victor Henriksen," he said, flashing his credentials. Crowley pulled his hand back and Rowena narrowed her eyes.

"Mother," Crowley said, voice calm, "go to the back."

Rowena crossed her arms over her chest. "I think I'll stay right here, Fergus."

"God, stop calling me that—" Crowley gritted his teeth and looked back at Henriksen. "I heard you're investigating the Winchesters. I can tell you a whole lot about them."

"I'm just investigating you for now, Mr Crowley," said Henriksen, standing back a little. "Did you or did you not lend both the murder victims money?"

Crowley shrugged. "I have a big heart. Sue me."

"I don't think being a loan shark is the same as having a big heart. As I understand, they also weren't in a position to return your loans, either, at least not anytime soon."

"So? I can't ask for my money back now?"

Henriksen let out a deep breath. This man was shady. He looked around the shop one more time and decided that he'd be coming back to search the place with a warrant. "Where were you three days ago?"

"When Miller died?" Crowley asked him. "Right here in this shop. You can confirm that with my mother."

Henriksen turned around to Rowena, who winked at him. He clenched his fists. "Any definitive proof?"

"What, I'm not definitive enough?" Rowena piped up, walking to him with her nose in the air.

"Your word isn't enough," Henriksen said to her. "You're his mother. If he had killed those people, you wouldn't tell me. Don't you have cameras here?"

"I had them," Crowley said. "Until mother," he glared at her, "started bringing in company. I didn't want to go blind from shock and disgust." He paused. "Look, I didn't kill them, okay?"

"I never said you did."

"Why don't you check with the goddamned Winchesters first?" Crowley spat at him. "Everyone loves them, so they couldn't be criminals, is that it? They go out of town every bleeding month and I'm the suspect here?"

This was new to Henriksen. That horrible man had not mentioned his monthly excursions with his husband. It still wouldn't fit with the murders here in Tyngsborough, but he wanted to keep them in mind.

"They take that freak-of-nature little brother with them, too," Crowley continued, apparently realising that he'd caught Henriksen's attention. "And everybody who thinks Sam Winchester is nothing but a bloody puppy should talk to me."

"Why, what's the matter? Did he threaten you?"

"Threaten?" Crowley scoffed. "No one threatens me, mate. But Sam Winchester storming in here, demanding that I stop lending people money because he'd have a case up against me nearly ruined my business. Bloody moose can't keep his giant muzzle out of anything."

"So you are a loan shark." Henriksen was a little disappointed at the information he was getting about the Winchesters. He wasn't done with them yet, but Sam Winchester being intimidating was not evidence. Henriksen had met his fair share of lawyers who were just like that, and worse.

"I told you, darling. I'm generous." Crowley took a step forward. "And you're just gorgeous, you know? What I wouldn't give to see you—"

"Shut up," Henriksen muttered sharply before he could finish. He glanced at Rowena, who seemed to be enjoying herself way too much, gathered himself, and nodded curtly. "I'll be back to talk to you."

Crowley gave him a half-smirk and a wink as he waved. "Can't wait."

Feeling a bit of warmth rush up his cheeks, Henriksen quickly exited the shop.

~o~

Bobby's house was old and dusty like it always had been. Dean stole glances at Cas as he brought their luggage inside, Sam's insistent glares piercing him uncomfortably. Cas had been quiet even after he woke up, quiet at the diners and the motel they stopped at, and even though he'd shared a room with Cas, Dean had never lived in such horrible, mood-busting silence. Cas wasn't even receptive to Dean trying to cuddle him at night, and he usually loved that shit. So Dean had given up for now.

He wanted to talk to Cas, but he also just wanted his husband to stop being grumpy for a bit and open up first. That would make his job a little easier. And, sure, he knew he and Cas would make up, there was no question about that, but Sam sitting on his head wasn't helping.

By the time Dean had put their luggage in their respective rooms, Sam was already in the kitchen, cleaning and making room for the groceries they'd gotten on the way. Dean went to help him, but his brother stopped him, clutching Dean's wrist when he tried to take the meat out.

"You promised something," he muttered, and Dean wanted to grumble and yell.

"Sammy, you need to rest—"

"Not a cripple, Dean," Sam told him, nostrils flaring, and Dean knew he needed to leave it there. He relented.

"Okay. You want me to talk to him now?"

"Yes. Take him out to the yard," Sam suggested.

Dean smiled at his brother briefly. He knew exactly why Sam was saying that, and as he thought back to all those years ago when they'd lived here, he could feel his heart filling up. So he went searching for Cas, but he didn't really have to do that for long as he found him slumped on the sofa.

Dean inhaled deeply, preparing himself, and bent forward and took Cas's hand. "Hey. Come with me."

Cas turned away. Sighing, Dean sat beside him on the sofa, putting an arm around him and ignoring his squirming. "You gotta listen to me, Cas. I mean, I could carry you out of here but Sam won't spare you if he sees that."

Cas didn't reply, pretending to ignore Dean, and Dean wrapped his other arm around his husband, resting his forehead against Cas's. "I'm sorry," he said. "For real, okay? I shouldn't have said those things. I get angry sometimes and you know that." Cas resisted again, making Dean pull away for a bit. "I ain't making excuses, love. I know I shouldn't have said that even angry, but tell me what you want me to do."

His husband let out a sharp breath. "Once again, that word is not in your vocabulary. And you hate cuddling."

"What word?"

"Love."

"So I can't call you some stupid cutesy name and try and do something you like to apologise now?" Dean asked him. "Because you complain when I don't do this stuff and now you don't want it when I'm trying to tell you…" Dean gulped, the words stuck in his throat. "I don't mind doing all this crap for you, okay? I'm sorry. I just wanna talk again."

He was starting to get frustrated because, honestly, Cas seemed to be basking in all this shit that made Dean look like an idiot. And okay, Dean was usually pretty much ready to do anything for Cas because he loved Cas (and he knew Cas felt the same). But it had been about two fucking days since that fight and Dean was trying to do whatever he could to make it up to Cas. Especially after Sam told him off yesterday. And he knew he was wrong and he was apologising, dammit! Couldn't Cas listen for one fucking moment and see that Dean was sincere about this?

His thoughts were interrupted when Cas sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "I don't care what you call me, Dean. I am fond of you for who you are, and I am happy with you the way you are. But you hurt me that night."

"I know."

"You didn't. Sam had to make you realise that."

"He tell you that?"

"No, Dean, but I know you." Blue eyes sparkled innocently, gazing into Dean's, and God, sometimes Cas was so gorgeous, Dean just wanted to sweep him off his feet. But he resisted.

"You gonna punish me for that?" he asked. "That's just how—"

"You said you wouldn't make excuses," Cas pointed out. "And Dean, you have to stop being so insensitive."

"You know I'm not the kinda guy who can be all emo and touchy. Not me, or you, or—"

"I know," Cas told him. "I'm not talking about that. The only family I have is you and Sam, and the same goes for you when it comes to us. And we care for you, Dean, so stop being an ass to us all the time. We're not asking you to be," he made air quotes, "'emo'. We just want you to be considerate."

Dean turned away at that last comment, feeling the colour rise up his cheeks. He hated being reprimanded like this, and he hated even more to admit that Cas was right. But… Cas was right. Dean didn't have family outside of his brother and his husband and he should have known better than to do what he did.

Cas broke the silence. "Are you really sorry?"

Dean did not even think twice before nodding. "Yes. Yes, I am, Cas. I shouldn't have called you b – that, okay? I know you were just looking out for Sam."

"Thank you."

Dean leaned over and kissed Cas's mouth. "You wanna go for a walk in the yard?"

Cas nodded before pecking Dean back, and at the feel of his lips, Dean felt his whole body tingle as though he was a teenager again. Only fucking Cas could make him feel like this. Fuck him.

Actually… Dean was going to hold on to that thought for tonight.

Cas chuckled. "I'll go with you. And why are you blushing? What happened?"

"You happened," Dean muttered, scrubbing a hand down his face, hoping instantly that Cas hadn't heard that.

Unfortunately Cas's hearing was too good. "That is, for the lack of a better word, cute, Dean."

"Shut up."

He gripped Dean's hand and they stood up to head out of the house together. It was nearing dusk and the sky was turning orange, cool breezes blowing at them in all directions as Dean manoeuvred his husband around the carcasses of cars, reliving the first years of their lives together.

~o~

Jess called just as Sam had finished cutting up the chicken. Dean and Cas had been gone for just over five minutes now. Jess had phoned yesterday, too, and Sam had told her he was staying over in Tyngsborough a while, not that he was in South Dakota. He'd stalled it on purpose, knowing she'd get upset. Not that he was scared of her getting upset, but it was unnecessary. But she was also waiting for him to meet her at her parents' place, so he had to tell her the truth. And that had to happen now.

He took a deep breath when he put the phone to his ear.

"Hey."

"Hey!" Jess was really cheerful, and Sam could hear chattering in the background, proving she had company. "I'm waiting for you, you know," she said. "I just called to ask for your arrival time and—" She went on about her parents and some dinner party as Sam tuned out of whatever she was saying.

He shut his eyes briefly. "Jess, I won't be coming there."

"—and, you know, there's this—wait, what?"

He let out a breath. "I'm in South Dakota."

"When did you get there?!"

"Just—an hour or so ago. We drove."

"So… that means…"

"There was a thing, okay? So…"

She sighed. "You could have just told me yesterday, Sam. That you weren't coming back until your leave ended."

"Yeah, listen, I'm sorry."

"It's all right." She sounded dejected, and Sam pressed his lips together.

"I'll," he swallowed, "I'll make it up to you, okay? I'll see you soon."

She chuckled from the other side of the line, her voice dipping a few octaves and getting sexy. "You better, Sam Winchester."

"Yes." He ran a hand through his hair. "I… I have to cook, so…"

"Okay." She laughed once again. "I love you."

"Yeah," he replied. "Yeah." And before he could hear a response, he cut the call.

Then he laughed for five whole minutes about the lack of tact that he'd clearly inherited from his brother, and wondered if Dean and Cas were truly making up somewhere in that yard. But—no, disgusting. He didn't want to actually think about it.

Grabbing his cane, he walked to a cabinet to get the salt out, and got back to cooking dinner.

~o~

"Remember how you came over to meet me every few weekends?"

Cas laughed at Dean's remark, taking his hand as they turned around an old truck. "Yes," he said, "I remember that. I was quite smitten with you."

"What, and you aren't now?" Dean turned around to wink at him, eyes sparkling as always, with a subtle tonguing of his lower lip, and Cas's heart jumped.

"No," he lied.

Dean took a step forward, grabbing Cas to pull him closer. "Really?"

"Yes." And Cas could feel a smirk building, because he knew what was coming.

Dean pushed him against the truck with a thump, dust flying around as he braced Cas's wrists. He bent close, then closer, their bodies touching as he ground against Cas. "Say that again," he whispered into Cas's ear, rocking his hips against him once more.

"N-No." Cas's head fell back against peeling paint, dislocating more dust, and Dean's lips met his, the kiss hot and fast, lips sliding over each other, tongues colliding, and Dean's hand was unbuckling Cas's belt, reaching for his crotch when—

Cas pushed Dean away, that being the only warning he could give before he sneezed all over his husband.

"Fuck! Cas!" Dean jumped back, face contorted in disgust as Cas stood there, gasping.

"Dean, I'm sorry."

His husband wiped his face on his sleeve. "Gross, man!"

Cas could feel himself blushing. "I'm sorry. It's just… it's just too dusty here." He rubbed his wrist against his nose and opened his arms. "It won't happen again."

"Well, tough shit, because I ain't doing it again," Dean said with a shrug as he started to walk towards the house.

Cas took a moment to pick up on that and he was reaching for his belt as he took off after his husband. "Where are you going?"

Dean stopped walking and turned around, grinning at him. "What's the matter, Cas, you ain't smitten with me anymore or nothing!"

Cas rolled his eyes. "You know that was a joke."

"I know."

"Deeeeeean…" Cas never whined, but that had been amazing, and he wanted Dean to do that again. It was why he'd egged Dean on in the first place.

But no, he wasn't going to beg.

"You about to whine now, Cas?"

"No."

Dean laughed. "This was a joke, too, man. Come on inside. I ain't getting sneezed on again, or worse, a tetanus shot just 'cause of fucking you against some dirty car. Sammy will go to sleep pretty quickly after dinner, so…" He winked and walked on further.

Cas hurried to catch up with him. "But our first time. You remember that?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You think I'd ever forget?" he asked.

"It was in an old truck."

"Yeah, and all that junk's a dozen years older and we aren't kids sneaking from Bobby anymore," Dean replied, and frankly, Cas was astonished, because Dean was never one to refuse sex. But then again, Dean could be strange about some things. It was a wonder how many new things Cas could still learn about his husband, even after having known him for twelve years now.

Dean extended his hand to Cas again and Cas obliged, surprised as his husband moved closer to him. They headed back to the house, the sunset colouring them in tones of red and yellow, and the last of the birds chirping as they headed to their nests. All of a sudden, Dean stopped walking, and Cas turned to him.

"Dean?"

"I miss Bobby."

The confession was so quiet, so heart wrenching, Cas knew he wouldn't have heard it had it not been almost completely silent around them. If there was one thing he knew Sam and Dean would never get over, it was Bobby's death.

He made his way ahead of Dean to face him and cupped his cheeks. "I know," he said, "but he's watching over you and Sam."

Dean nodded. Nodded too swiftly, unwilling to meet eyes with Cas. "Yeah," he said. "But it's not fair."

"No, it's not."

"He adopted us. Adopted me and Sam when—"

"Yes, I was there."

"If…" Dean swallowed audibly, and this time, anguished eyes turned up to lock with Cas's, making his heart sink. "If he could come back…"

Cas leaned forward and kissed Dean's lips. Dean sighed, shutting his eyes for a moment before nodding, and then letting Cas hold him for a bit. They started walking towards the house again, Cas speaking to Dean in a low voice.

"He never went anywhere, Dean. He was always with you, and he is going to continue being with you."

The squeeze Dean gave his hand in gratitude was enough to fill Cas's heart for a million lifetimes.

Later that evening after dinner, Dean strummed on an old guitar, his beautiful voice filling up the room. It didn't even take long for Sam to fall asleep to his music. This was not really a new phenomenon anyway, so when it happened, Dean just smiled fondly and tucked Sam into bed as though he were a little child. Sam, who, Cas knew, was anything but a child and hated to be treated as such, was always receptive to any such gestures from Dean. If possible, his heart was fuller.

When Dean came back to Cas and wrapped his arms around him, whispering sweet and sexy things underneath their blanket, in the chill of the night air, Cas knew that he could never ever question his love for the man he'd married. He could never question the fact that each day, he only fell deeper and deeper in love with Dean.

He didn't regret that for one minute.

o

-Then-

It had been ten days since Cas had started getting tutored by David Banks that one of the foster sons finally spoke to him. He didn't know his name, and he constantly avoided the foster children because he was here for his education, nothing else. However, he'd caught the older teenaged boy staring at him on more than one occasion, so when he approached Cas, he wasn't really sure what to do. He was never that good at talking to people.

"I'm Dean," the teenager said, holding out a hand boldly before Cas could even think further.

He blinked at Dean and cleared his throat. "Castiel."

"I know."

He raised an eyebrow, confused, and Dean shrugged. "I saw your name on that book you'd left the other day." He grinned. "Castiel Novak. Cas?"

"No one's ever called me that."

"Well, I am now." And he'd winked.

So that was definitely a flirtation.

Cas immediately took a step back. "You're – you're a… sorry, please don't be flirtatious. It's not ethical of me to make such talk with a minor. I do not get attracted to children."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Aaaand he had to make it awkward," he muttered. The green in his irises sparkled, though, as he chuckled. "I turned eighteen four months ago, dude. I'm on extended foster care. So…not a minor. Just broke until I finish school. Then I can take up a fulltime job and be a real adult."

"You're still a high school student," Cas said, turning away. "I cannot—I'm sorry." He was ready to leave, but Dean's fingers snagged Cas's belt loop.

"Does this mean you'll talk to me once I graduate?"

Cas clenched his fists. Because, no. Obviously not. Dean was younger than him by four years and he might be eighteen, but that was just barely being an adult.

No.

"You gonna give me an answer?" Dean asked him, moving closer still, and Cas took another step back. He did not want any more contact with the teenager. And there was just one way to get rid of him right now.

"We can talk after you graduate."

Dean let him go. "Cool. I'll see you in twenty days." He walked back and Cas made the mistake of meeting gazes with him, only to witness another wink, so before Dean could say anything else, he had slung his bag onto his shoulder and exited the house.

A/N: Feedback is always appreciated. Thank you. :)