After procrastinating for four days, I managed to turn this chapter out in three hours.
Wow.
I'm SO glad all of you liked Eve. Ah. That made me really happy, that you all banded together in pity of Dean and admiration of Cas's badass mom.
So, uh, welcome to the very first instance of real plot kicking in.
After this chapter, everything goes pret-ty fast.
I hope you like minor angst.
Anyway, sorry for the wait!
Shoutout to myjamflavouredmindtardis/MissMoustachio and thescarletrose for helping me out with a minor detail of this chapter!
I'll try to get chapter 12 for you soon. Y'know, in the actual 4 days it's supposed to be up in.
Please review with feedback! I thrive off of it, and it helps me write faster!
I hope you enjoy this chapter, even though there's minor pain at the end.
So yes. Please review, slang dictionary at the bottom, you know the drill.
Kisses and hugs, and enjoy chapter 11!
Dean is terrified, of course, and Castiel can't blame him. Dinner with Cas is one thing, but dinner with most of Cas's family is something completely different.
Even though Dean seems to have gotten fond of Gabriel and grudgingly put up with Anna over the past few days, he's still clearly not as at ease with them as he is with Cas.
Eve is another matter.
Since the very first night of the World Series, when he had cried on her shoulder on the porch swing, she has been treating him as a sixth child; sure, maybe she pays a little more attention to him than the other children she has at home, but he is still very clearly family to her already.
And Castiel is grateful. It looks as though Dean needs more family than he has.
They refuse to let Dean help with dinner, despite how much he may wring his hands and practically beg to do his share, to repay them for their hospitality. He is forced to sit in an armchair in the living room with a book, randomly selected from Castiel's shelf, stuffed into his hands until the Miltons are done with their cooking.
Finally, dinner has been made, and Cas reaches out to pluck the book from Dean's hands, leaving him wide-eyed and startled. But Castiel just smiles down at him, sensing that the older boy's nerves are from more than just the suddenness of having his book taken away, and says, "Dinner is ready, Dean. Go wash up."
Dean nods and stiffly stands, making his awkward way over into the kitchen where he gives his hands a quick rinse, dries them off on a washcloth handily provided by a blushing Anna, and soon returns to Cas's side. "Where do I—" he begins quietly, looking at the table, and Castiel smiles at him again, taking his arm and practically dragging him along to the table.
"Next to me, if you'd like," Cas says with a coy look, pulling out two chairs from the side of the table.
There is a brief, warm pause, and Dean gives him the same look right back. "Yeah, I would like. Thanks, Cas."
The rest of the Milton children present file into the room, followed by Eve, who is holding a large dish in oven-mitt-clad hands. She sets it at the head of the table, where she then cautiously sits, straightening out her skirts, and smiles. "Castiel, would you like to say Grace tonight?"
Cas's eyes widen, and he stammers out a, "S-sure, I s'pose—"
Four pairs of Milton hands rise to the table's surface in unison and link, and Castiel sends Dean a small, encouraging smile, which finally makes Dean bring his hands up, too. His left twines in Cas's right and his right—well, Castiel hardly notices anything else, then, because even if it's just to say Grace, he is holding hands with Dean Winchester, the boy he loves. Dean's hands are warm and just rough enough to feel real, and Cas feels a wave of calm sweep over him as heads bow.
"Bless us, O Lord, and for These Thy Gifts which we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful. Amen."
His voice is strong and he doesn't stammer a single time—even though his first few words were faltering, the sensation of Dean's hand in his own makes him lose all anxiety and speak clearly.
The rest of the table echoes his last word, and then eyes are opening and Eve's are a little misty as she smiles at her son.
"Thank you, Castiel. And now—dig in!"
Gabriel lunges for the dish, giving himself a heaped serving of casserole and earning a quiet reprimand for reaching across the table. "Sorry, ma," he says cheekily, not sorry at all, and takes a bite. "Oh, this is good."
"Don't talk with your mouth full, Gabriel," Eve chastises, and Cas sees Dean smile out of the corner of his eye; he's evidently realised that this is all just part of the Milton dinnertime ritual.
After Anna has served herself, too, Dean hesitantly scoops out a small portion of the casserole onto his own plate, and Castiel smiles before handing him the plate with biscuits on it. "Thanks," Dean says hastily and takes it from him, biting his lip evidently to conceal a smile when their fingers brush.
"So Dean," Eve begins once he's got a little something of everything on his plate, "Castiel tells us you work at Bobby Singer's garage in midtown, yes?"
Dean makes very sure to swallow before answering. "Yes'm. Have been for a few years now."
Eve smiles. "Well, we've been thinking of getting Gabriel his own car in a little while, but it'd be something not straight off the assembly line. Would it be possible for him to come in for a few weeks, maybe over a school break, and learn how to fix it up with help from you? It'd be a marvelous learning experience for him, of course, and the pay would be good—"
"Aw, Mizz Milton, I'd do it for free," Dean replies easily with a drawl and a grin. "Yeah, sure thing. Just let me know when the time comes, and I'll let Bobby know we'll be havin' an intern."
Gabriel scowls slightly at the description (either that, or at the thought of work), but knows better than to complain in front of his mother.
"How was school today?" Eve asks briskly, regarding all her children.
Anna shrugs. "No worse'n usual. Debbie said my sweater made me look like a closet case."
"What a senseless girl," Eve says, tone scolding. "You looked lovely, Anna."
Anna smiles into her casserole and doesn't reply, but it's obvious she feels better.
"A blast, as always," Gabriel says, reaching for another biscuit. "Didn't even get any mush."
Eve's eyes narrow. "Is that so. No homework at all? In any of your classes?"
"Yes, ma'am," Gabriel chirps, sending her the most innocent smile he can muster. "None at all."
"For your sake, I hope you're telling the truth," Eve sighs, and then turns her gaze to Cas. "What about you, Castiel? How was school?"
"I—I b-believe the w-word is 'lumpy,'" Castiel says hesitantly.
"What's got you feelin' low?" Dean asks, eyebrows creasing into a frown.
Cas shrugs, picking at his casserole. "School is just… boring for me," he begins, talking straight to Dean. "And my teachers don't really care about the material, not the way they did in Boston. Not to mention that all of the students—well, let's just say I don't have many friends besides you and Sam. And you don't even go to my school, which means I have all of one friend."
There is a brief silence, maintained by each of the people at the table for different reasons.
Dean's foot just touches Cas's under the table. "Good thing I care enough about'cha enough for twenty friends, hmm?"
Castiel blushes scarlet and can barely speak. "Good thing," he echoes, unable to meet anyone's eyes, especially not Dean's.
The rest of dinner passes without incident, but the Miltons have to practically barricade Dean out of the kitchen to keep him from helping with the dishes. "You're our guest, Dean," Anna and Eve chorus. Dean frowns but doesn't protest beyond that, idly standing by and making polite conversation with all of them as they form an assembly line of dish-washing.
And finally, everything is done. Gabriel scuttles off to his room, and Anna goes to claim the telephone for herself. Eve sends the last two boys a smile before selecting a McCall's magazine from the coffee table and placing herself in an armchair to read it.
Castiel walks Dean to the door, and they sigh in unison. "Thanks for having me over, Cas," Dean says with a smile.
"Any time, Dean," Cas replies warmly. "I mean it."
"Thanks, again, for that," Dean repeats, leaning back against the doorframe. "And thanks for letting me watch the Series."
Castiel huffs out a quiet laugh. "Well, that was just convenient, of course. Since we were going to be watching it, anyway, it was the least I could do."
"Uh-huh. Sure."
They smile at each other, both stupid with happiness.
"So, uh, I should go," Dean says awkwardly at length.
"Yes, you should," Castiel agrees reluctantly. "Send Sam my regards."
Dean practically cackles. "His cage will be so rattled that the White Sox lost," he snickers. "Can't wait to tell him."
"He probably heard it on the radio," Cas says dryly.
Dean scowls. "Wow, Cas, thank you. Way to be a total party pooper."
Castiel shrugs and smiles cheekily at him. "You're welcome."
Dean laughs and hooks his thumbs in his pockets. "See ya tomorrow morning."
"Good night, Dean."
"Night. Oh—and tell your momma, thanks for everything," Dean adds, smile wide and genuine.
Castiel nods. "Of course."
"Bye!"
And then Dean flashes him one more grin and runs around the corner of the house to retrieve his car out of the back alley.
As the rumble of the engine growls its way into the distance, Castiel thinks that he's never been happier.
Michael, Lucifer, and Emmanuel come back the next day. Dinner feels completely different with them there, as it always does. Emmanuel says Grace, and Eve doesn't ask her children how school was. She knows the serious men have no time for idle chit-chat about their family's days.
Dinner is eaten mostly in silence, when the men of the house are home. Tonight is no exception.
Castiel feels himself missing Dean so much it's like a physical ache.
And then, in the immensely uncomfortable quiet, there is a knock at the door.
Emmanuel frowns, gently dabs the corners of his mouth with his napkin, and stands up to go answer it.
It's their next-door neighbor, Pamela Barnes. A total gossip and not someone with whom Castiel would like to spend more time. She and Emmanuel exchange pleasantries, and finally, Emmanuel bothers to ask why she has come.
Pamela's lips clench into a tight line, and she pauses for a moment before saying, "May I come in?"
"Go right ahead," Emmanuel says graciously, stepping back to allow her in.
Castiel is worried from the instant she steps into their living room.
"Hello, Mrs. Barnes," Eve says with a gentle smile, standing up to embrace her. Pamela returns the greeting, but her manner is cold. "What brings you here this evening?"
"I didn't mean to interrupt dinner," Pamela begins, "but I felt this issue was too important to go ignored."
"What issue?" Eve questions, frowning.
Pamela fixes a glare to Anna, who practically cowers. "Are you aware that your daughter is… seeing a greaser?"
Castiel chokes, and Emmanuel thunders out a, "What?"
Pamela nods gravely. "I've been looking. And every night for the past week, there has been a very suspicious automobile parked in the alley just behind your house."
Anna stands up, face scarlet red with indignation. "That isn't—"
"Isn't true?" Pamela interrupts, sneering. "Are you accusing me of lyin'?"
"N-no," Anna stammers, so furious she can barely speak. "But I'm not seeing anyone—"
"Then how do you explain the car?" Pamela demands.
Castiel's blood runs cold in his veins; he should have known this was going to happen. And now everything is up in the air, and he is terrified.
Eve steps in, clearing her throat elegantly. "That isn't anyone Anna is seeing, I assure you. That was a friend of my children whom we invited over to watch the World Series with us."
Emmanuel frowns, clearly unappeased by this. "What friend is this?"
"Cassy's friend," Gabriel answers around a mouthful of biscuit, clearly unfazed by all these events. "That Dean Winchester cat."
Michael and Lucifer send each other significant looks, and Castiel feels sick with worry.
"…oh," Pamela says, sounding disappointed. "So… it was a friend, and not an illicit romantic partner."
"Not at all!" Anna says angrily. Cas almost smiles, having never seen his sister like this.
"Not at all," Eve repeats with a soft smile. "But thank you very much for your concern, Mrs. Barnes."
"You're welcome," Pamela says grudgingly. "Just thought I should share."
A few more awkward seconds of small talk later, and she leaves.
There is an immensely tense silence, and so many more significant looks are exchanged between the twins and Emmanuel that Castiel feels faintly dizzy from trying to understand them all.
He can barely force the rest of dinner down his throat, and when he sleeps, he has nightmares.
On Monday afternoon, Castiel is sent by his family to get groceries once more. He had had a half-day at school, meaning the second it ended, he could walk over to do the errand he'd been assigned.
As is his custom every time he is sent to go shopping, he stops by first the library, then the garage where Dean works.
This time, he doesn't see Dean as soon as he makes it there. His co-workers and friends are there, however, and the blond one—Balthazar, probably, if Cas remembers correctly—grins wolfishly at him. "He's in back," he calls to Cas. "I can go get him for you, if you want."
"Get who?" comes a familiar voice, and out of the back room strides Dean, face partly cast in shadow.
"You," Balthazar smirks and steps back out of their way.
"Dean," Castiel says with a warm smile, approaching him. Dean practically turns away, and Cas's eyebrows crease in a small frown.
"Hey, Cas."
"Is—is everything alright?" Castiel asks with worry, noticing instantly that Dean is acting bizarre.
"Juuuust fine," Dean assures him brightly, still not looking at him.
"Dean." Before he can second-guess himself, Cas grabs Dean by the collar and drags him out into the light.
And freezes in terror on the spot.
There's a large bruise around Dean's left eye; his lip is split; there are scrapes all along his cheekbones and forehead; his right hand is wrapped in pink-stained bandages around the knuckles. He winces slightly when Cas's hand lands on his shoulder and flinches away—there's clearly a bruise there, too.
He looks even worse than the last time he'd been 'jumped.' Much, much worse.
"Dean," Castiel breathes. "What—what happened this time?"
Dean struggles away from him. "Nothing. I fell."
"Tell me what happened, Dean," Castiel demands.
Dean sighs, but it comes out sounding more like a wheeze, and then Cas sees the finger-shaped bruise marks along his throat. "I—I got jumped. Same as last time."
Cas's mouth dries out. "Exactly the same as last time?" He hopes Dean knows what he's asking.
Dean averts his eyes and nods. "Exactly."
Castiel's hand flies to his mouth to hide his horror. "Oh, my God."
"It's not that bad," Dean assures him hastily. "It's not. They said they'd stop, they were just teaching me a lesson—"
"They told you to stay away from me, didn't they," Castiel interrupts, fuming. "Those—those—how dare they?"
"It doesn't matter," Dean says, trying to smile. "It doesn't. It's okay."
"Of course it matters," Cas whispers, reaching out to gently trace along Dean's bruised jaw with one finger. "Of course it does. Just—just look at you." A sudden realization hits him, and he jerks his hand away. "I did this. It's my fault."
"Cas," Dean scolds, "no, it isn't. Quit talkin' like that."
"It is my fault," Castiel stresses, taking a few steps back. "I'm a danger to you, Dean. This is the second time this has happened. The second time my brothers have taken it upon themselves to 'protect' me."
"It had nothing to do with you!" Dean tries to say, but Cas shakes his head.
"It had everything to do with me," Castiel says firmly. "Dean, I—"
Suddenly, he knows what he must do, and it feels like a knife in his gut.
"You what?" Dean asks worriedly.
Cas takes a deep, shaky breath.
It's for his own good.
"Dean, I think we should stop being friends."
Dean's expression tears through him, and suddenly, Castiel's vision gets slightly blurred as his eyes prickle. "What?" he stammers, voice tiny and broken.
"I'm a danger to you," Cas repeats. "If I remain your friend, this will happen again. And you're not exactly the best kind of person to be around. I mean, you are a hood, aren't you?"
Dean drops his eyes and nods, and that simple act of concession breaks Castiel's heart.
But it's too late to stop now.
"So we should stop, Dean. I can't see you anymore. I'm sorry."
Before he can look at Dean again or reconsider or anything like that, he turns and quickly walks away, blinking back tears, ignoring Dean's hoarse, pleading call of "Cas!—" after him.
It's only when he's two blocks away that he allows himself to break down, leaning on the brick wall of some building for support as he sobs harder than he has in years.
It's for his own good.
It's for my own good.
He'll be safe. He'll be happier without me.
It's better this way.
But that doesn't help, of course, and once he's cried his throat raw and his eyes completely dry, Castiel gathers up his books and groceries and resumes his trudging journey back home, feeling as though he's just made the most terrible mistake of his life.
SLANG DICTIONARY
Closet case: someone to be ashamed of
Mush: homework
Lumpy: mediocre, on the bad side
Low: sad
To rattle someone's cage: to upset someone