Sorry about the really, really late updates. I have been so busy working on my art work that I barely have time to sleep. Now that I am on break, I will be able to post and update (hopefully). Again, sorry that it has been forever!
Dean woke to find Cas lying in bed, snoring softly and watched his chest rise and fall. He smiles as the man next to him rolls onto his side, curling into a ball with the covers pulled tight over him allowing only a small portion of his face to be visible. Dean chuckled at him as he turned to grab his phone off the night stand. It vibrated as he picked it up, and he paused wondering who would be text him this early in the morning. He figured it was Sam, and ignored looking at the time on the small front screen. It was 7:03 a.m. and he didn't have work today. The sound of rain hitting the windows made Dean turn to see a dark, cloudy sky telling him to stay inside that day.
That was okay with him.
A couple of times, Cas and him had talked about movies they loved to watch and Dean said "The Breakfast Club". Cas shook his head and said "Why is there a movie about breakfast, Dean?" His face rang seriousness, not even a squint of the eye to show the joke lying behind the question. The laughter that came out of Dean hurt his sides in the way only laughing can. He wiped a tear from his eye, "It's not about breakfast, Cas. Well, not really. It's about a group of kids who have detention together on a Saturday morning and they learn about each other and themselves. We are going to watch this movie because it is a rite of passage." With that, they continued on the conversation about others to watch.
A rumbling sound came from Dean's stomach, sounding as though it was going to start eating itself if it wasn't fed soon. He flipped the covers off himself, leaning over to kiss Cas on the only visible skin and then swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He still only had on boxers from the night before. Things had gotten a little hot. He could still feel the ghosts of fingers lightly touching his shoulder and making their way to his hands, intertwining themselves. Soft lips pressed against the nape of his neck, working their way up to his ear and down his jaw bone, sending a shiver through him.
Dean smiled and rubbed his neck where those lips had been only a short while ago it seemed. Just as he lifted himself off the bed, a buzzing sound came from his bedside table.
Again? I bet it's Sam with only God-knows-what.
He flipped open his phone to find 17 new text messages from a number he hated to see. Three missed calls also graced the phone.
From: 785-555-0603 sent: 3:14 a.m.
Hello, Dean. I was hoping that you would have called me yesterday? That wasn't very polite of you, Dean.
From: 785-555-0603 sent: 3:28 a.m.
Dean, you can't possibly be busy. You wouldn't let anyone touch you but me, right darling?
From: 785-555-0603 sent: 4:15 a.m.
Answer me, Dean.
From: 785-555-0603 sent: 5:23 a.m.
Dean, I want you to answer me. Don't lie to me, telling me that you found someone who accepts you. That is a load of shit. I know that you won't find anyone because you are worthless, a moron, and nothing. I make you everything you ever will be.
From: 785-555-0603 sent: 5:24 a.m.
If you are dating someone, I will find out who they are. Trust me, I can take them away from you. You've met the men I work with so don't think that you are an exception. I will get you back, whether willingly or by force. Your choice.
In between, other messages had been sent; some worse than others. Dean was at a loss for words. Why would Crowley want anything to do with him? Now? It had been months since they had last talked and now that things were going great with Cas, he had to show up again?
Dean looked at Cas, sleeping soundly on the bed, warn out from the night before. He couldn't risk Cas being hurt, nothing is more important than him. He decided that he would meet Crowley, tell him that the police were involved and that he could do nothing to scare Dean any longer. He wasn't afraid anymore.
Slipping on jeans and a shirt, he went to the kitchen and called Crowley.
"Hello, Darling. Did you finally realize that no one could ever like the moron you are?"
"No, but I'm willing to meet you."
"The warehouse. You know which one. Now."
"Don't try anything." With that, he hung up, not letting Crowley get into his head any more than necessary. This was going to be the final time that he ever saw him again. Dean would make sure of that.
He crossed to the sink and crouched down to look underneath. There, taped up against the top of the cupboard, was a handgun. Dean had bought it after finding his own place, not feeling safe in less he had one. What if Crowley had found him and decided that he wanted to pay a visit?
Dean tucked it into the back of his jeans, feeling the cold handle against his back. He pulled on his shoes, then grabbed a piece of paper and pen from the junk drawer.
Cas-
I'll be back soon. Had to run somewhere.
Start the popcorn and we'll watch the movies we've been talking about.
-Dean
After all, he wasn't going to be gone long, just to threaten Crowley enough to leave him alone. Easy. He walked back to the bedroom where Cas was now spread eagled on his stomach with a pillow tucked under his left arm. The covers engulfed his bottom half, showing only the dip on his lower back. Leaning over, he kissed him and turned to leave the room. He walked through the small kitchen and looked around. Dean was content, happy for once with the choices he was making and who he would be making them with. Everything seemed to be falling into place, except for this one kink that he would smooth over.
Dean reached the car, unlocking the door and opened it hearing the familiar squeak and grind of the hinges on the classic.. He slid into the warn seat, curved to fit him and the old spots on the steering wheel where he always rested his hands when driving. Flipping through the tapes, he picked his favorite Led Zeppelin tape, the opening to "Ramble On" pouring out the speakers. He pulled out onto the street, humming along to the guitar intro.
This car could tell stories that no one would believe but Dean knew them all by heart; if he was there or not The Lego pieces that Dean shoved into the heater vents when he was younger; to do this day when the heat comes on, you can hear them rattle. The army man that was crammed into the back seat ash tray that was still there. And of course, Sam and Dean's initials carved into her. They were still there, all her imperfections because that's what Dean loved about her most was that she was theirs, and always will be.
He looked into the review mirror and saw the building that now felt like his home, not knowing that things were about to go very wrong.
SPN
It was too cold. Need more blankets.
Castiel grabbed the comforter and wrapped it around himself. He curled into a ball, attempting to keep as much heat in his blankets as possible. He heard the bed squeak behind him, and then a phone buzz. And again. It was Dean's and probably Sam with a random question. He seemed to do a lot especially with the wedding around the corner. Once, Dean called him a " puppy" because he lost his shoe and texted Dean to see what he should do about the situation.
Lips startled Castiel as they touched the only exposed piece of skin, leaving a warm trace on him.
Dean moved away from the bed and soon the familiar creek of the floorboards that were outside the room could be heard. Castiel snuggled more, half-attempting to tuck the blankets around his feet. He soon was calm and drifted off to sleep once more.
….
Castiel woke to a quiet and cold room. The rain hit the window echoing throughout the apartment. His arm, as if by habit, when to the other side of the bed where the sheets were cold and unfortunately empty. His brow furrowed as he tried to figure where Dean had gone. Dean did not have work that day or any appointments that he knew of. He may be in the kitchen but something was off. Everything was too quiet.
….
He stumbled into the kitchen, attempting to keep his bare feet off the cold floor as much as he could. Soft rock could be heard filling the kitchen, bouncing off the walls and back to Castiel where he stood and watched Dean making breakfast. The small room was buzzing with sound and energy even with one person standing in it.
Castiel's arms found their way to Dean's waist and wrapped themselves around it. A chuckle vibrated through him that made Castiel's face warm as he leaned his cheek to his back.
….
Something was off.
He climbed out of the bed, now cold. Making his way to the kitchen, his socks making the floor slippery as he listened for music, humming, a noise or anything but all was quiet.
Castiel entered the room to find it lit by a single lamp in the corner casting an eerie glow when mixed with the washed out tone that the clouds spilled into the apartment.
A note was lying on the counter.
Cas-
I can't do this anymore. I left you everything. I need my space and I made a mistake. After dating, getting this serious was wrong. At least I didn't ask you to move in. I'm sorry.
-Dean
...What?
Castiel read the note one, two, three times before he sunk into the bar stool, cringing as he held the note in his hands. The note from the man who he thought he loved and whom he thought loved him back. Tears stung as he read this over and over, finally spilling over when reading the "I'm sorry."
Something was off though, through the pain that was ripping him apart, there was something not settling right. Yes, Castiel understood that Dean could leave at any time, but why now, after last night?
That is when Castiel's eyes snapped to the note seeing the words "I didn't ask you to move in". But he had. They had last night, agreed to moving in with each other. Then… Castiel's cheeks grew warm with the memories flooding back to him and realization striking him.
This wasn't Dean's note.
He looked at the letters, at the differences in all the notes that had been left by Castiel's bed or on the fridge for groceries. Anyone could see that the letters were similar but clearly not the same.
Castiel went back to the bedroom grabbing his phone off the bed, looking at messages.
One, from Dean.
From 785-555-0124 sent 7:38 a.m.
Hey babe, be back in a bit. See you around nine and can't wait for our movie day.
The clock on the bedside table now read 9:34 a.m. Something was wrong or Dean was lying to him. One of these were plausible and Castiel had a sinking feeling in his stomach thinking of the possibility that Dean may be hurt, or- he gripped the counter has his head swam making everything go black.
Dialing the number that he knew so well after such a short time, Castiel pressed the phone to his ear. With all the exchanged texts and calls; nights filled with questions and ideas, pressing the buttons had become as easy as breathing.
Each ring seeming to space further and further apart, "Hey, this is Dean. If you get this I can't come to the phone right now but you know what to do." Click.
He could not over react like this. This was something that could have been a misunderstanding. Castiel tried to calm himself but he paced, keeping his weight off his leg and started to ware tracks in the floor. He dialed the number again and no answer.
Castiel called three more time in fifteen minutes, his stomach reacting to his mind jumping to the worst conclusion.
He dialed Sam's number and listened as it rang one, two-.
"Hey, Cas. What's up?"
"Dean's gone."
"Hold on, Jess is watching a show."
He heard muffled movement and a closing door, then "Okay, Cas. What did you say now?"
"Dean- he's gone. He left a note on the counter, at least I think he did and said that he was done. He had made a mistake. Sam, what is going on?"
"I don't know. I haven't talked to him and we were supposed to talk today. Let me call him and we'll figure this out okay?"
"Okay, call me. Please."
"I will. Promise."
A click and the line went dead. Nothing seemed real. The room began to spin and for the second time in a matter of minutes, Castiel clung to the counter to brace himself from meeting the floor.
He looked around the small apartment to see evidence of Dean everywhere. The blanket on the couch that had been tossed to the side, the pillows askew from their "chick flick moment" as Dean would have called it. A coffee cup sat by the sink, now cold and the remote for the television left on the coffee table next to the newspaper.
Castiel's heart sank deeper recognizing the small pieces of Dean that made this apartment home.
Ring!
He jumped hearing his phone ring and hit the green button.
"So?"
"He isn't answering, Cas. I don't know what to do. We both know that he wouldn't just do this to you. Something isn't adding up."
"Should I go to the police?"
"Inform them, let them know that he is missing and we'll figure this out. I am going to tell Jess and give me a call when you get done calling them."
"Okay."
Click.
Again, the room was now silent, cold, and empty without Dean there and the drizzly soft gray hue that fell over it.
His hand reacted on its own, dialing on the phone and pressing it to his ear.
"Hello, this is Lebanon Police Department. Please state your name and emergency."
"My name is Castiel and I believe that my- my friend has been kidnapped or hurt. I don't know."
"Sir, you know this is a ser-."
"I am aware of this, thank you. I am not a teenager pulling a prank or a college student forgetting the events of the night before. My boyfriend is missing. He left this morning and sent me a message telling me that he would be back by 9 and it is now," he looked at the clock that now read 10:20 a.m. "almost 10:30 in the morning. He is hardly ever late and if he is, it is by ten minutes at the most.
Another reason I believe is because when I walked into the kitchen and found a hand written note reading, 'Cas- I can't do this anymore. I left you everything. I need my space and I made a mistake. After dating, getting this serious was wrong. At least I didn't ask you to move in. I'm sorry. Dean.'," his voice hitched at the end, saying his name out loud to a stranger, of all. This was happening and his Dean was gone.
"I know this may seem insignificant to you but Friday night, he asked me to move in. I said yes. In the note, he clearly states that he did not. Now are you going to help me or not?"
Silence from the other end of the phone followed by, "Alright, sir. We are going to need everything that you have on your boyfriend; phone number, relatives, jobs, schooling, past relationships, people who would like revenge. I know this will not be easy for you as well but we will need information on you."
He stood in the kitchen, telling her all that he knew, and then on himself. Twenty minutes later, it had been given for a search going out for him, looking for some kind of evidence that he had last been seen. Castiel was asked to come to the station for an interview, to rule him out as a suspect.
He then dialed Sam back, reviewing the conversation and letting him know what the cops were going to do.
"It'll be okay, Cas. We'll find him. I'm sure he is okay plus it helps that he can kick some ass." He chuckled on the other end of the line, attempting to lighten the mood.
"Yeah, I know- I know something is not right with this. He asked me to move in Friday night, Sam. The note says he had not. This is not his note."
Sam was quiet on the other end of the line. Which was rare, "he asked you to move in?" the skepticism was clear in Sam's voice.
"Yes, last night. I do not understand the confusion."
"Just- he's never asked anyone to move in. There was Crowley and Dean moved in with him but we both know it wasn't out of free will."
Castiel thoughts melted together, causing his mind to go numb with worry and happiness and a sense of- honor as it seemed, blurring together like an abstract painting. Friday had all been so clear, their first real date after all their time together. Dean dropped everything for him and did so much more. He could not help the sadness that bubbled through him finally reaching his eyes causing his vision to blur. His breath caught as he began to talk to Sam, "If I am the first one, could this have caused him to run? To leave me behind after everything?"
Again, Sam was quiet and Castiel was slowly losing his patience, "just tell me the truth, Sam. I want to know."
A simple word reached Castiel's ear, "yes."
He knew it was true, eyes closing refusing to look at his surroundings and acknowledge the truth that was now strewn in front of him. Forcing himself to open his eyes, they went to the clock, "I have to go to the police station, Sam. I do not know what to do."
Sam walked him through the process of talking to the detectives or cops working the case. Since it was fresh and not twenty-four hours old, they would take it slow and only ask the major questions and avoid details. Then mid-sentence, talking about body language, "Cas, I could be your lawyer. I could represent you in the case. I'll ask my advisor being that I only have a semester left before I get my certificate. It would be perfect! You wouldn't owe me anything, Cas. Just let me, please."
"Sam, I could not possibly accept that kind of a gift. I am more than grateful but-."
"Cas, please," almost pleading, "this is my brother we are talking about. I want to know what is happening with the case as it happens. Please…."
"Okay, as long as it is legal then we will proceed with it. Sam, we need to find him."
"I know, Cas. And we will."
They said their goodbyes and hit end. Castiel walked back to the room pulling on a pair of jeans and a clean t-shirt to go. Slipping on his shoes and a jacket, he walked out the door leaving Dean there.
….
"My name is Castiel Dmitri Novak. I go to school while working but a recent accident has forbade me to do so. I have been living with Dean Ross Winchester while he helps take care of me since I can no longer do so until healed. We met almost four months ago at a laundry mat, and it continued from there. Then Friday night, we went on a date then afterwards we went on a short walk as I cannot walk far, and there in the park he asked me to move in. I agreed. Then last night we were in a fight but resolved the issue," Castiel's face and neck growing warm with the memory flooding his mind, "Then this morning I awoke in the empty apartment to find the note on the counter saying one message while the text message on my phone said another. I have reason to believe that something is not right. He would not leave like this," at least he hoped, "without explaining why. He had an ex-boyfriend that was controlling and abusive. I don't know if he has anything to do with it but as you can see, it is my only hope." He let his head fall into his hands, emotions overwhelming him.
"You said that you were in a fight last night? Could you tell me more about that, sir?" The cop motioned for him to continue with the story. The walk into the precinct was awkward, unnerving, and cold. Castiel felt very out of place and treated as if though guilty. The cop working the questioning was rude, a tall man who was African-American with a goatee and held his ego above all. His name was Victor, Castiel thought.
"Yes. I found messages on Dean's phone that were from the ex-boyfriend. I was frightened, hurt, and scared. I did not know what to think or do, so I called him at work to call him home. He came home to find me on the couch. I questioned him about the text messages when I found out about Crowley. He was abusive, controlling, awful man who left Dean hurt multiple times. The final time, Crowley took it too far. Dean crawled across the floor, struggling to stand and once he could, he gathered his belongings and left. After talking, we made up. Then a month later, we met. Dean deserves to be saved in a way and yet he doesn't think so." That was all Castiel could tell before he broke, tears falling over and exposing all he was trying to keep back. Wiping his face, he looked at Victor.
"What we're going to do Castiel, is call his phone and see if we can get a signal. If we can, we will go immediately, but if not, we're left with clues and things only you and his brother would know. I'm going to grab another detective and continue with the investigation. I'll be back."
Victor left the small room; leaving Castiel alone with his thoughts, Dean ran through his mind once more going back to the night in the laundry mat and the beginning of a new Castiel. After everything that had happened, he finally found a friend. This friend now turned out to be more.
The door swung open causing the blinds to swing smacking the back of the door and glass panel.
A tall man with gray hair and short gray beard stared at him. A menacing look in his eyes, walked over to Castiel and shook his hand. Noting the strong grip, a small tattoo marking his hand caught his attention.
With a small lisp and coming from the throat, a gruff voice filled the room. "Hello, sir. My name is Alastair and I'm the other detective on the case," then a small smile curved up one side of the man's face.