Needless to say, the shocked expression on Dean's face when Castiel's butler, Balthazar, asked to take his coat would forever be stored in the ward boss' mind. He didn't seem to know what to do, standing awkwardly with his coat in his hands, but eventually followed Castiel's lead and gave the coat to Balthazar before the butler whisked away. Dean ogled at just about everything, from the marble floors and staircases to the towering quartz columns. He closely examined every little thing that Castiel had brought back with him from his expeditions overseas, and his questions came in a never-ending flow. Even Castiel had to admit that his house was grand, not to be a bigot or anything, and couldn't imagine what Dean must feel. As far as he knew, the immigrant had never even had a glimpse of aristocracy before, much less ventured into the house of a person who had such money.

There were many paintings and portraits on the walls, mostly of nature scenes and fox hunts, but there was the occasional one of Castiel, his blue eyes staring critically at the viewer. Most of the time it was just his head and shoulders, other times he was sitting on a chair with Achilles and Brutus flanking him, but those pictures just depicted a stern-faced rich man who was nothing except for the image on the canvas. There were the select few, though, that Castiel really liked, and if his housekeeper, Naomi, hadn't monopolized the decorating in the mansion, the other pictures would've long since been tossed into the fire.

These paintings made Castiel feel that, yes, this was home and yes, he owned this home. There was him and Gabriel on their horses, talking and oblivious to the fact that their sister, Anna, had paid an artist to paint their image. There was one where he was sitting on one of the benches in the courtyard watching the bees and the flowers as clouds flitted overhead, and one where Castiel was reading a story to his niece while Anna and her husband watched close by. His favorite had to be the one that depicted him by the hearth in his study, though. He was sitting in his favorite chair, facing away from the painter, with Bee on his lap and Artemis and Apollo curled up on the rug. He liked the way it reminded him of the good times, and that this life wasn't some sort of sick, twisted illusion that fate had created to toy with him.

"Is that a…a…" Dean's curious voice jolted him out of his musings, and he quickly followed Dean's gaze to see what the immigrant was referring to.

"Tiger? Tigre?"

"Tiger?!" Dean was attempting to keep himself from bouncing about, and was careful not to tread on the tiger skin carpet that had been meticulously placed within the living room. The other servants, upon Castiel's arrival, had set blazing fires within the hearths, and the immigrant was enchanted by the dancing flames, never seeing a fireplace so large in his life. Castiel once again pondered over the fact that he was incredibly, incredibly fond of Dean Winchester. The kind-hearted soul who protested when Castiel told him that the dogs had to stay outside, but looked sheepish when the man reminded him of their duties and told them that they never really came inside. The curious soul who asked about every single plaque in the courtyard and all the furniture in the house. The bitter soul who muttered under his breath, "Vorrei poter aver dato Sam tutto questo" when he thought Castiel couldn't hear.

I wish I could've given Sam all this.

They eventually made their way to the library, and Dean looked like he was about to sing his praises to the book-crammed cases that scraped the thirty-foot ceiling. The library was by far the largest room in the house, and stood proudly in the west wing of the manor, and its rustic appearance would appeal to just about anyone. All of the oil lamps in the chandelier had been lit, and the shine of the small flames cast a warm blow upon everything it touched. It was still too dark to read by, which was the reason why Castiel had several other candles at hand, but it provided the cozy, cabin feel that the politician had come to adore.

Paneled wooden walls supported the arched roof, which was held up by beautifully embellished crossbeams. A thin, burgundy carpet lay across the floor, and there were long ladders on wheels that one could use, under incredible supervision, of course, to get the books on the upmost shelves. Castiel had many books lying open to the pages he had left them to, re-reading his old favorites, and Dean squinted at them as he tried to decipher what the words meant. He also seemed to shy away from the two elk busts flanking the huge cobbled hearth, their beady eyes boring into them, though Castiel had long since gotten used to their blank stares. Two gargantuan moose antlers hung on the mantle.

"As you can see, I'm quite the avid reader," Castiel told his companion proudly, admiring his shelves. He seated Dean in one of the comfy leather chairs that was in the lounge, right in front of the roaring fire that crackled and sputtered. It was why the library was one of Castiel's favorite haunts, the cozy feel of it being more home-like than the rest of his house. The arched windows cast squares of seemingly liquid blue-white light onto the carpet as the moon crept high into the sky, which was spangled with glittering stars and freckled with the occasional wispy cloud. The warm light of the fire seemed to counter that cool serenity, and Castiel went about lighting candles so there could be more light to study by.

He selected a few of his favorite volumes from the shelf and brought them over to the small coffee table, where Dean was gazing around with eyes so wide with wonder they could've belonged to a child. Bee, Castiel's beloved Yorkshire terrier who also made this room her home, strayed from her plush dog bed to sniff out the stranger. Dean seemed both astonished and slightly frightened when the Yorkie jumped onto his lap and curled up into a fluffy ball. Castiel chuckled at the fact that Dean's hands gave the dog a wide berth, and he mimed petting the dog, because really that's what it came for. Dean followed Castiel's lead and Bee was grumbling happily, snuggling into the immigrant's stomach.

"I suppose you'll be staying here for the night," Castiel dared to say, because he really, really wanted Dean to sleep here. In one of his beds. Possibly Castiel's. He shook that thought clear before it could fester; he had plenty of guest rooms and Dean would be content to use them. He didn't need another warm body next to him…Castiel, for example…to warm and cuddle him during the cold of the night or whisper sweet nothings in his ear if he woke up from night terrors… Castiel nearly missed Dean's reply, and scolded himself for thinking of the man in such a way. Heck, he probably wasn't even a queer, and if he was, he'd sure as hell keep it quiet with organizations like the Ku Klux Klan beginning to gain more power in this day and age.

"I'll need one of those…" Dean struggled to find the word and quickly began to flip through the English dictionary, so fast that it was a miracle he hadn't ripped a page already, "telegrams!" In his glee he jabbed the word with a crooked finger and Castiel grinned at his triumph. Most would be proud of gained riches or successful work, but not Dean. He was just happy that he found the word 'telegram' in a dictionary. It humbled and warmed Castiel at the same time as he thought of how Dean was parading around in his worn slacks and shirts with as much dignity as he could muster. This is what I have, America. It may not be pretty, but it's all I've got.

"Of course, Dean. I'll send one ahead," he rang a small bell that'd been placed meticulously on an end table and Balthazar came running, practically a bloodhound when it came to summons. To his butler he asked, "Can you write out a telegram addressed to Sam Winchester? Sixty-six East 12th Street, New York, New York." He nodded to Dean as Balthazar scribbled away furiously at a notepad he always kept in his coat pocket, signaling that he should speak his message and the butler would copy it down.

"Um…Hi, Sammy, it's Dean. I'm going to spend the night at Castiel's house 'cause our cabbie is worn out. Not dead." Balthazar quirked an eyebrow at that last comment but didn't insert his opinion, because around guests he didn't do such a thing. He was prim and proper around company, for the habit had been drilled into him ever since he'd dropped the f-bomb when Castiel was entertaining some foreign aristocrats from the Ottoman Empire. Luckily, they had been engaging conversation strictly in Bulgarian, but Castiel had warned him that his wages would be halved if it happened again. The real Balthazar was rude and snobbish, a true Brit in heart and soul, and he made sure that everyone knew it. Castiel was subject to horrible treatment and verbal abuse when he was alone in the house with his butler, but it was all in good nature. He was really indebted to Balthazar, who'd been his chaperone and employee since he was eight years old; without him, he'd be a snobbish grandee who couldn't take a joke or an insult. He was beyond taking them and actually laughed along sometimes at the misfortunes Balthazar shamelessly pointed out.

"Will that be all, Mr. Winchester?" the very un-Balthazar-like Balthazar asked.

"Dean, please, and yes, that…will be all," Dean replied, his words still a little halting but getting better by the minute, and Balthazar left with a swish of his tailcoats.

It was a bit difficult to study with Bee insisting on lounging all over Dean, but Castiel noticed that the man took comfort in the little Yorkie's presence, stroking her stomach absently as he scrawled out messy letters but letters all the same. It was quite unnatural how fast Dean was picking up on English, and when Castiel pointed it out he simply shrugged.

"I used to…work at a," he shuffled around the dictionary and found his word after a minute or two, "bar. They spoke English. I guess I…stored some of the words." Castiel found the answer valid and they continued to study until their backs and necks were cramping from leaning over the tables. Even though Dean insisted that he was awake enough to continue his studies, Castiel saw how his eyes were drooping slightly and called for a break. They retreated to the living room once more, where they reclined and exchanged stories of one another, considering they didn't really know anything outside of the present. The only things that the politician knew about Dean's family was that he had a younger brother, Sam, and his mother and father were dead, his father dying of a drinking problem. It was no surprise that Castiel found he was speaking much more than Dean, and that the immigrant often responded to one of his questions with a question, diverting the conversation back to Castiel's family and childhood. The man looked a little tense, but all the same was intrigued at the ward boss' life as an aristocrat, asking many questions about both him and America as a whole.

"Is there anything you enthuse about? To the point where Sam tells you to quiet or else suffer his wrath?" Castiel asked as he scratched Bee behind the ears. He also had two cats, Apollo and Artemis, but they didn't like visitors and preferred to lurk on the top floors and in the kitchen to catch the mice that nested there. Dean didn't really hesitate.

"Horses," he announced, grinning.

"Horses," Castiel repeated, his eyebrows rising. It would explain why the man had taken such an interest in the cabbie's old horse, Janice. "How come?"

This was where Dean looked a little nervous, and the ward boss was about to change the topic when he replied, "My Padre used to have one. A Friesian." Castiel whistled lowly, but had to admit he was confused; Friesians were very damn expensive, and he wondered how Dean had become so witheringly poor if his father had been able to afford such an animal. "Her name was Impala."

"I suppose she was a childhood friend?"

"Yes," Dean sighed, looking at his hands. He was sitting next to Castiel on the plush sofa, which gave the ward boss a clear view of his face, and he looked a bit pained as he remembered her. Bee even became concerned, ambling over to lick his hand, and he smiled, patting the small dog's head lightly. "We had to sell her, though. After…what happened." The mood became very somber, and Castiel was determined to lighten it.

"You know that I have an entire stable full of horses, right?" he asked. Dean looked like a child that had just gotten exactly what they'd wanted for Christmas. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, though he quickly recovered.

"Really?" he asked, and Castiel could tell that he was trying to contain his sheer excitement.

"Yes, and my collection includes a Friesian mare who's at least a month into her pregnancy," Castiel replied. "Her name is Amara, though."

"Amara…what kind of name is that? She sounds like a….like a….prostitute."

"She is no such thing," Castiel replies, though his amusement bleeds through his voice. "Hates my very being, though. Will never give me a ride even when she's not pregnant."

"Well then who do you ride?" Dean prompted. "Because nothing, and I mean nothing compares to the smooth gate of a Friesian mare."

"I have a buckskin Quarter Horse named Lincoln Continental," he replied. Dean couldn't hold in his bark of laughter, which reverberated through his body and made his eyes crinkle at the corners. It was a beautiful laugh, and Castiel found himself smiling even wider at the sound.

"A Quarter Horse? Cas, you're not some sort of…peasant like I am," Dean raised his voice over Castiel's objection to the self-degrading comment, though it was more because Dean had called himself a peasant rather than the fact that he'd insulted the politician's preferred steed, "You have and Arabians and Gypsy Vanners and Andalusians and Akhal Tekes and you ride a Quarter Horse?"

"I love those horses dearly, but they remind me of the fact that I'm supposed to act like I'm above people when I'm on such expensive creatures," Castiel replied, officially irritated by the fact that Dean would think of himself in such a way.

"I can see your point, but why? Also, the name's a little…creepy. Naming a horse after the late President? It's strange."

"Quite," Castiel replied. "But he was my father's." Dean's mouth snapped shut and he looked guilty, wringing his hands in his lap and avoiding Castiel's gaze.

"I apologize."

"There's no need to, but perhaps we can go on a ride together when the hour is more favorable." Dean brightened a bit at that and nodded heartily.

"I would like that," he said sincerely, still a little sheepish. Castiel loved the way it caused a slight pink to touch his features in the most endearing way. He wished he could run his hand over Dean's jawline and down his neck until the pink faded away, but knew that that would be most foolish.

"I must return to my quarters, it's becoming quite late," Castiel remarked, eying the clock. It read that it was one thirty in the morning, and he was beginning to feel the effects of the sleep deprivation. He couldn't stay up to such hours every day or else he'd be a dead man walking; all the work that he was sure he was going to receive tomorrow was going to pile up and leave him face-down and drooling on very important papers. "Balthazar will show you to your room." As he said this, Balthazar came bustling in, and the three of them ascended the steps to the second floor. Dean began to sneeze almost immediately, and blamed it on the chill of December, though Castiel was concerned; even the smallest sneeze could mean the deadliest of diseases. Balthazar seemed to realize this as well, and thus gave the immigrant a wide berth, though Castiel knew he could've handled the situation much better than trying to avoid Dean like the plague. Artemis scampered across the hall and no sooner did that happen did Dean begin to sneeze more, rubbing his nose and apologizing, though he muttered under his breath something that wasn't that kind towards cats.

Balthazar and Castiel exchanged a knowing look, and the butler eased his worrying. It was merely an allergy, and therefore nothing to worry about. They parted ways as Castiel retreated into the master bedroom, and no sooner did he close the door did his heart ease. Dean was doing all sorts of things to him, and he wondered whether those things were friendly or not. He wondered if Dean felt the same way, but doubted it. Castiel was one within what he could only assume was a handful of people who had the same problem, and he was nearly positive that Dean wasn't one of those people with his issue. Otherwise, it wouldn't be an issue at all, but a gift. He changed into his nightwear and crawled under the silk quilts and comforters, his head resting on the feather stuffed pillow. He stared into the darkness for a while, just thinking about Dean and how delighted he'd be when they ventured out into the stables, and he soon fell asleep only to dream about green eyes.

(A/N) Hey sorry about the long update, I had drama and babysitting and schoolwork and I had to work on another story, so don't blame me.

Please Review :)

**And by the way the romance is going to start next chapter, so warning for fluff!**