(A/N) Sorry about the long update I had writer's block and went on vacation. Wrote this all in a day so gold star for me.

Dean felt like he was walking on air, drifting on the breeze like a balloon. He had no destination in mind, just an overwhelming and all-encompassing sense of calm that washed over him like a river. He blinked blearily, mutedly aware of the panicked and rather loud voices that were blaring in his ears, but the light in his eyes was blinding and he couldn't keep them open for long. His thoughts were moving slowly, sluggishly, but he didn't really mind much. He was really hungry, his stomach feeling shriveled and hollow, and he reminded himself to ask Madre to make him one of her incredible sandwiches later, though something about that mental note seemed a little…off. He didn't really care. He felt himself slipping into unconsciousness, and for a moment his brain was aware of the fact that he was delirious from the hunger, but the thought slipped through his fingers like sand.

He felt arms hefting him up and his brow crinkled, but the wrinkles smoothed out almost as fast as they'd come. He was just a teensy bit famished. Had he fallen asleep on Impala's back again? Maybe this was Padre carrying him back to the dinner table for supper. That would make sense, but he wasn't really convinced that that was the case. He sunk deeper into the darkness, which welcomed him with open arms and enveloped his mind in a blanket of blackness that was very soothing. He heard the people talking, their voices strained and anxious, and he wondered what was wrong. Then again, how could anything be wrong? Dean could barely grasp a thought before it was lost to that slow-moving river of tranquility weaving its way through his head, but the immigrant was pretty sure he needed to open his eyes. Something was happening that he needed to bear witness to. Perhaps he was missing supper? That wouldn't be good, because he was really hungry.

"Io non voglio perdere la cena," he mumbled, his voice a hoarse whisper that was barely there, much less audible, but somehow there was a reply.

"Silenzio, mio fratello," a voice replied, and he felt himself calm down a bit. He wasn't going to miss dinner, or else the voice, which was awfully familiar, would've told him so. He was pretty sure he should know that voice. That voice was someone very, very close to him, and apparently its owner was supporting his upper body, judging by the direction it'd come from. He couldn't place a name to it, however, so he let it go off on its way with the rest of his coherent thoughts. He managed to open his eyes a sliver, the lights still too bright, and came face to face with an angel.

He was haloed by the blazing light in the background, but he wasn't looking at Dean, which for some reason made the green-eyed man very disappointed. His brows were furrowed in concentration, and in his arms were the immigrant's legs as they descended stairs. These stairs were definitely not a part of the small staircase in his home in Naples, which Dean found odd, and the angel was worrying his upper lip in between his teeth. Dean was pretty sure he saw drops of blood leaking from the gouges they left in the soft, tender flesh, and he wanted to tell the angel to stop hurting himself, though his vocal cords wouldn't work. He focused instead on the very impressive suit that he wore, and the weird, ugly overcoat that billowed around him like robes. Dean didn't see any wings, but that was okay with him. Perhaps when the angel was done doing whatever he was doing with Dean's legs, he could take him back to Naples. Madre and Padre were probably worried sick at his absence.

When the depths of the darkness ahead beckoned to Dean, the immigrant eagerly followed.

-Җ-

"He's stable," Roy Le Grange told him as he shouldered on his jacket, his voice holding confidence that soothed Castiel to no end. Sam was off to the side, taking everything in that the ward boss' estate had to offer, but he was still wringing his hands and tapping his knee in his anxiety. Castiel wished that Dean's brother could've visited on better terms, and certainly not in a situation such as this, but perhaps Fate had decreed it to be this way, even though Castiel wanted to punch Fate in the nose for bringing down such suffering upon the family of two that he cared for so dearly. The politician, Le Grange, Gabriel, and Sam were all standing outside the guest room that Dean had slept in during his overnight visit, the rest of the people who'd assisted them having stayed behind at the tenements, and tension hung so thick in the air that you could cut it with a knife.

"Thank God," Castiel breathed, pinching the bridge of his nose and letting out a breath that he hadn't noticed he'd been holding in, and he gave Gabriel a reassuring nod over the doctor's shoulder. The tenement owner had immediately relayed the news to Sam, who sighed raggedly and buried his face in his hands, his sides heaving with breaths, and Gabriel's attempts to soothe the worn-out immigrant just managed to prevail as Sam calmed down considerably. Castiel tried to pay attention to everything in order to stave off his worrisome thoughts as he escorted Le Grange down the grand staircase and out the front door, where a carriage was waiting for him. "Your help has been essential. Thank you," the ward boss told the blind doctor as he placed a wad of bills into his outstretched palm. It was more than he'd asked for, but Castiel needed to let him know just how much the assistance at such short notice had meant for him.

Brutus and Achilles had been standing vigilant at the entrance of the estate, having noted the fact that their comrade was ill and needed protection, and Castiel reached down to rub their ears as the cabbie whipped up his horse and Le Grange, after tipping his hat in Castiel's general direction, disappeared down the cobbled path. The ward boss waited for a few moments, letting the slightly chilled April air nip at his skin and bring him back down to earth. The initial shock of seeing Dean lying in the bed, more like a cadaver than a living human being, his breathing shallow and his eyes closed, had been gutting him throughout the night. Now that he knew Dean would recover, a balm had been smoothed over the festering wound, but that image was still plastered to the backs of his eyelids.

The dogs, sensing their master's anxiety, began to lick Castiel's hands as a form of reassurance, and the ward boss gave them one last pat before retreating inside. It was a bit warmer, but not considerably, and Castiel rolled down the sleeves of his white button down as gooseflesh speckled his skin. He heard the servants whispering as they passed, and plenty of rumors flew this way and that, but Castiel didn't have the physical or mental strength to reprimand them.

"Bloody hell, you two! Stop running your mouths about Master Castiel's life and get back to work! His business is none of yours, thank you very much!" came an enraged bellow from the hall branching off to the ward boss' right. The two servants, both who were quite young, scuttled off smartly as the butler burst into the main corridor, looking ruffled.

Balthazar, apparently, did have the strength to reprimand them.

"Thanks, Bal," Castiel told his employee, but it came out more like a sigh than a strong, hardy token of appreciation. Balthazar, having known Castiel since his childhood, understood the man quite well, and was almost like yet another annoying brother that he didn't need. That was quite the contrary, however, because without Balthazar the entire estate would be in chaos; the butler ran the place when Castiel was working, and carried out his orders when he was home. He was the only one in Castiel's gigantic staff that could insult him and would be insulted in return. Anyone else would face punishment, except maybe Charlie, whose every mistake was some form of accident due to her klutzy personality. God knows how that girl operates a kitchen, but as long as her meals were delicious the politician didn't ask questions.

"I saw Dean when you were carrying him in," Balthazar noted matter-of-factly and fell into step beside Castiel, but his normal sarcastic demeanor had been scattered to the wind. "He didn't look very well."

"Indeed," Castiel replied, biting his lip. The action stung, with the ward boss having broken skin earlier, and he needed to refrain from the habit until it healed. "Sam told me the story while Dr. Le Grange examined him. Apparently they've been floundering in so much debt that they've had to ration. And Dean…"

"Being the protective son of a bitch he is, gave his ration to his younger brother, who he feels he has a duty to protect," Balthazar finished, and Castiel withdrew in surprise. The butler shrugged nonchalantly, which looked very odd in his tight suit that beckoned for rigid, formal movements, and if Castiel hadn't been so worn he would've laughed. "I listen in on some of your conversations, my apologies," he didn't sound sorry, "in case Mr. Winchester was planning to kill you. You do have enemies that are…quite notable." Castiel let out a scoff at the understatement, wringing his hands worriedly.

He tried not to be paranoid about it, like most people were when they realized how many foes faced them from the shadows, but he really couldn't help his bursts of anxiety when his enemies were mentioned. Azazel, who was a tenement owner by day and the leader of the (was it Irish?) mob by night, had poisoned Castiel's coffee once, which he'd only found out when the surface of the drink had rippled oddly and the belladonna pulp had fallen out when he'd emptied its contents. The only reason he knew the golden-eyed man was the one who'd done the deed was the fact that when he'd visited the next morning (which he never does), he'd seemed a bit more than surprised to find Castiel breathing. There was also Lilith, who was the wife of the Spanish mob leader, but in reality ran everything from the sidelines whilst using her husband as a pawn. She'd actually tried to set the Hall on fire, but luckily she'd been stopped by Good Samaritans who'd been passing by. Still on the loose, though. Needless to say, there were some considerable enemies that Castiel had to face, but he did it all with a smile and about a half-gallon of (preferably unpoisoned) coffee.

"Well I can assure you that the Italian mafia haven't so much as made contact with Dean," Castiel replied after the long pause. "I would've been dead long ago if that was the case."

"Which isn't necessarily a good thing," Balthazar warned, his blue eyes glittering in the light, "Opening yourself up to a near-stranger is more dangerous than you may think, Cassie."

"Don't call me Cassie," the ward boss ground out between clenched teeth. "I think we're done here. You're dismissed." A muscle in Balthazar's jaw jumped, since he was fully aware that Castiel never dismissed him when they weren't hosting guests, but he obediently left, most likely following the trail of the two servants who'd been gossiping, most likely to chew their heads off and to punish them justly. Castiel felt a twinge of guilt; he knew that the blond-haired butler was only trying to protect him, always having Castiel's well-being in mind, and he was adamant to apologize for his actions later. He huffed a breath and crossed his arms, wandering through the library and towards the main staircase to the second floor. The smell books soothed him, and a fire was burning low in the hearth. Servants who were on break were tucked into the sofas and chairs, curled up with books in hand as they read by candlelight. It was a very calming sight for his tense and fraying nerves, and he lapped up the comfortable silence as if it were ambrosia.

Almost immediately after Castiel passed her plush bed, Bee hustled over and followed him into the hallway, the pap pap of her feet and the jangling of her dog tags a familiar sound, and he picked up the little Yorkie. She licked his face and snuggled into his neck, her little body fragile as Castiel held her gingerly in his arms, as if she were made of porcelain. The ward boss could feel the rapid and excited beating of her tiny heart as the double staircase loomed ahead, its golden railings shining in the light of the flickering candles on the chandelier. Dean seemed to like Bee's company when he'd visited, who didn't like being in the presence of dogs, so perhaps her presence would boost his recovery time. The door was ajar, light spilling into the hallway that was lit by daylight and oil lamps, which signaled that Gabriel and Sam had already retreated inside.

Apollo and Artemis were lurking by the door, their tails flicking with interest as they sniffed around the opening, but Bee gave a very ferocious yap and the two felines tore away, their claws scrabbling at the floor as they disappeared in a blur of gold and silver tabby pelts. From inside the room, there was a mighty sneeze, and Castiel's relief was unparalleled as he remembered a certain someone was incredibly allergic to cats. The ward boss was a bit nervous, though. He remembered the Dean at the beach, who was open and affectionate and even willing to kiss Castiel back, the everyday Dean who was animated and loved horses, and the Dean at their last meeting in Tammany Hall, who was bitter and wanted absolutely nothing to do with the politician. Both of the extreme Deans had been present in times of incredible emotion, Happy Dean cruising on a high wave of euphoria while Angry Dean hunkered down under a storm cloud. The only question was which of the Deans was the most like Normal Dean, and he wasn't sure which side he was routing for. Was it better to face rejection by Angry Dean or to pine for Happy Dean for the rest of his life? His emotions were so muddled, and he shoved all of his thoughts down as he shouldered his way into the room.

All heads turned, and Castiel felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the two green eyes that he was immediately drawn to. Dean was in bed, and even though the comforters were pulled over his shoulders and heaps of other blankets had been lain out on top of them, he was shivering. Though the sticks of his arms and the jut of his ribcage were hidden, the razor edges of his cheekbones could be seen very clearly, along with the dark shadows under his sunken eyes. Sam was sitting on a chair that had been pulled from the small table in the corner, and Gabriel lurked in the shadows as he leaned against the wall. Both of their expressions were sullen, and Castiel couldn't blame them. Dean looked terrible, and in five long strides he was at the immigrant's bedside, Bee still nestled in his arms.

"I brought a visitor," the ward boss said weakly, a bit shell-shocked as he settled the Yorkie down onto the covers. Dean's smile was strained, since he looked incredibly exhausted and incapable of the simplest things, but it was genuine all the same. Castiel had missed that smile for the past months. The Italian immigrant let out a ragged breath as Bee stuck her wet nose into his face and sniffed all around, eventually curling up on the space next to his head. She didn't fall asleep though, instead vigilantly watching Dean with eyes that glittered with intelligence. It reminded Castiel why he'd purchased Bee, who'd been the runt of the litter and a bit less cute than her siblings, rather than any other lap dog. Dean opened his mouth to reply, but Castiel shushed him, knowing that the effort would be too big of a strain.

"Just listen, okay?" Castiel told him gently, but the firmness behind his words signaled that it was far from a request. "Would you rather me speak in Italian?" Dean considered this for a moment but then shook his head, which made Bee huff indignantly as she pawed at the pillow beneath her. They were lucky that he kept her fur short and clipped, unlike the "normal" Yorkie trim, or else her hair would be all over the place like some sort of brown and black mop. Gabriel excused himself, since he had a tenement to run, and Castiel and Sam bid him farewell, though the he was secretly glad that he had some privacy with the Winchesters.

"I know you two are going to object, but I have it all sorted out," the politician began, and Sam poised in his seat, his brows crinkling.

"Uh-oh, this can't be good," the younger Winchester muttered under his breath, but the ward boss chose to ignore it, instead opting to continue:

"I would like for you two to move in with me."

As expected, Dean made a noise of protest and Sam cried, "Absolutely not!" Bee jumped a bit, growling, and everyone settled back down, though reluctantly.

"First, hear me out-"

"No, Castiel. We don't want to be babied, not that it wouldn't be appreciated, but we don't want to sap all your funds like leeches. You'll be working your ass off while we lie around like slugs," Sam interjected, his expression hard. Determined. This would be more difficult than what Castiel had first thought. He understood that the Winchesters didn't want to be babied, but it was for all the wrong reasons; they were refusing out of a sense of righteousness, not because they were indignant. Castiel had plenty of money to spare, and the sooner the two Italian immigrants realized that, the better. He couldn't play the matronly card, so he'd just have to pull the reasoning (and guilt) card.

"Your presence would be welcomed," Castiel stated firmly. "I live alone in this house. Alone with Balthazar and my servants and my pets. Balthazar is the closest friend I have here, and even then we're blocked by the boss-employee barrier when it comes to speaking of personal lives and other whatnot."

"We're two grown men. We take up space, we eat all your food. This will be a disaster," Sam protested.

"What he said," Dean rasped, but silenced when both Castiel and Sam's glares leveled on him. Bee licked his face to soothe him, and he couldn't suppress a small smile as the Yorkie's rough tongue laved over his cheeks and nose. Luckily, Bee had been trained out of licking into people's mouths and noses (which used to be a habit of hers) through Castiel's violent sneezes and spluttering when the events occurred. At least Dean didn't have to suffer the same experience, though Castiel would find it quite adorable if it did.

"My servants purchase far too much food for this house," Castiel snapped. "Most of it goes bad before Charlie can cook it into something, and I hate seeing all of it go to waste when people in the streets are scrounging for morsels." He gave the Winchesters a pointed look, and their gazes averted to the ground in unison. "I have many more bathrooms and bedrooms to offer you, and you will have nice clothes and sustainable living quarters."

"Well it's not fair that we get to live in the lap of luxury while the rest of the people work their asses off!" Sam harrumphed. "We need to work our way up like everyone else."

"Don't you get it?!" Castiel bellowed, his voice packed with so much aggravation that both Bee and the Winchesters cowered. Why didn't they understand what was right in front of their faces? Didn't Dean listen to his long rants about politics? He should've pieced it together by now. "You don't work your way up! The system is corrupted, 'everyone has an equal chance for wealth' my ass. You need to know the right people. You need to have the right bloodline. And you need to have the pig-headed greed that everyone else has. The people on the bottom stay at the bottom, unless they cheat and manipulate and lie and deceive until they're rolling in the money of their victims! I just so happen to be one in a long line of very, very wealthy people. My great-great-great-great-great grandfather, Cain, was a filthy poor immigrant from the Russian Empire, and he got his fortune by conning people until he reached the top. My family is there because one of our ancestors was such a swindling piece of scum that he got rich!

"Do you know why Gabriel is running a piece of shit tenement building? My parents cut him out of the inheritance before they died, just because he was…he was…bisexual! Now he has to pool in money like the rest of the masses because the right people he needed to know for his money wronged him. Luckily he was able to sell his suits and his possessions for a small fortune so he could live comfortably. But imagine if that hadn't been the case!" Castiel had risen from his chair and was wearing a trench in the floor as he paced back and forth, making wide hand gestures and occasionally crying out curses in Russian.

"Okay, Cas," Dean whispered, which made the politician halt abruptly and whirl around to face him. "I'm in." Sam looked a bit shocked but not in any way angry or disappointed, which made Castiel hope that he wasn't entirely against moving in.

"Good God, thank you-"

"But I have some conditions." Castiel swallowed the lump in his throat and gestured for the immigrant to continue. "You need to reveal Alastair, get him fired and replaced." That was easy, considering the fact that Sam had let it slip that they'd harbored all of the paychecks they've ever received from the crooked man. "You need to give of my friends in the tenements jobs, either here or somewhere else, because I don't want them living in shitholes." Also easy, though he had to consult with Gabriel on whether that would affect his salary or not.

This was mostly beneficial, however, because he heard that Ellen, her husband, Ash, and Jo were excellent cooks, and Charlie needed a helping hand once in a while. Rowena could be their doctor on standby, and Crowley was a tailor, and a good one at that, so perhaps Castiel could hire him, since his other tailor was mauled by a particularly large lion that his brother Lucifer may or may not have baited towards the employee on the family safari. Lisa, Ben, and the husband had to have jobs outside the house, not having any special skills that Castiel needed, but that could be arranged. Meg could be a companion butler to Balthazar, being very headstrong and capable of taking over when the poor man needed a break, and she needed a safe haven to work her suffragist work; it was dangerous, being a woman's rights activist, but perhaps the suffragists could meet up in one of the many abandoned sitting rooms that were rarely used. The only problem was whether she'd be okay accepting hospitality from a ward boss, which was exactly what Progressives hated. He could only hope, really.

He was so immersed within his plans that he nearly missed Dean's final condition, "You also have to let us work, too." Castiel glanced at him sharply, and Dean held his gaze with a measured calm of someone who wouldn't take no for an answer. Castiel was a bit hesitant to agree, since this whole incident was caused by work. What if Dean felt like he wasn't contributing enough compared to Castiel's tremendous salary? What if he began to overwork himself again? Castiel was used to it, but Dean, even though he was hardy, could only take so much physical labor. Then he had an idea, one that would serve to help Dean earn money and help Castiel get Dean back into those fucking hot chaps, and he nodded slowly. Sam grinned a bit, looking around with a bit of wonder in his gaze as he regarded the place that would be their new home, and Dean and Castiel's gaze met.

"Well hello there, housemate," Dean chuckled.

(A/N)

Io non voglio perdere la cena- I don't want to miss dinner

Silenzio, mio fratello- Hush, my brother

*Translations based off of my bleak knowledge from Italian class and Google Translate so correct me if I'm wrong*