(A/N) Sorry bout the long update I was incredibly busy and sort of panicking over the sex scene, which I've come back to tone down since this story is T and not M.
Warning for brief flashback that involves prostitution and also warning for sex (nothing is said or shown, there's a line break, but I'm just warning you guys in advance)
-Җ-
Sam didn't like being kept in the dark about things. The happy, goofy grins on Dean and Castiel's faces were considered "things". Seriously, the two were all over each other, and Sam was pretty sure he would puke if he was in the middle of any more tender eye lovemaking exchanged from across the room, and he most certainly didn't want to be amidst the occasional eye-fucking. As far as he knew, they hadn't gone at it yet, but it was blatantly obvious that that would be doing so soon. And the problem was, they still thought he had no idea. Seriously, Sam had eyes as far as he knew, and Dean and Cas still tried to sneak behind his back. Perhaps it was because they didn't know whether Sam would approve, but he'd been raised by Dean, who was accepting of everything. Therefore, Sam was no different. That wasn't the entire thing, though. Dean may just want to keep him away from exposure to his…homosexuality? Bisexuality?
He'd been sheltered by Dean for a huge part of his life, completely oblivious to all the gritty side jobs he had to take to add onto his paycheck whilst bartending. John Winchester was nothing but a nuisance, and even though he'd never known the gentle, kind side of him, he couldn't help but feel glad that his father's liver gave out after he drained them of more money than they owned. Dean had been so broken up about it, even though he'd only known the gentle side of John for four years, most of which he probably didn't remember, compared to the decades that he spent drinking himself silly and then passing out.
Sam had only later learned that Dean had once worked as a garbage man and a cabbie and a laborer and a landscaper as side jobs. There were many more, but the only other one he could think of off the top of his head made him burn up with shame. It was something that he'd rather not dwell on.
-Җ-
"Dean, where are you going?" Sam asked. He'd just gotten back to his first visit with Ruby and was feeling incredibly out of it, though he had to admit that he was enjoying the numbness. A numbness that would soon develop into an all-out addiction.
"Out," Dean replied. Sweat was beading on the elder Winchester's forehead, and he looked incredibly nervous. "We forgot to pay the tax collector and he's going to be around tomorrow asking for the money."
"Oh," Sam replied, still in a stupor. "Have fun, then." It didn't even cross his mind that Dean was probably going out to earn that money so they could stay in their childhood home. He still felt guilty about that part. Dean only gave him a strained nod before whisking out the door, slamming it behind him. For some reason, the younger Winchester got up, slipped on his raggedy jacket, and followed. Perhaps it was his subconscious that was hardwired to protect his brother that made him do it, because the currently functioning part of his brain certainly wasn't in on why he was tailing his brother at ass o'clock at night.
His stagger was only just enough to be noticeable, and people parted for him when he passed, but Dean kept his gaze trained straight ahead, which was a blessing on Sam's part, considering his booze-addled mind didn't make him much of a stealth expert. Then the crowds began to thin. The cheery, family-owned stores embellished with Italian flags and cartoon images of people using whatever product they were selling faded into boarded up shops whose windows had long since cracked or shattered. Doors were hanging ajar, the insides of the places gutted in obvious raids, and the sidewalk was riddled with cracks. A stray, paper-thin beagle sifted through the trash and gnawed at old chicken bones, paying them no attention as they passed by, and Sam's stomach lurched as he saw the ribs peeking out from its thin pelt.
He had to stay actively hidden, now, because Dean, with the absence of the crowds to shield him, was constantly looking over his shoulder, and it was basically a game of red light, green light as Sam ducked into alleyways to avoid being spotted. Then they approached it, the place whose sign had blazing neon letters that were hard to make out in Sam's slightly blurred vision, but he managed to read it: La Donna Bella.
The Pretty Woman.
This was the place that Dean had always told him to stay away from, the place that'd haunted him from the start of his childhood when Dean kept telling him scary stories about all that'd happened there. Drugs, stabbings, shootings, you name it. The mobsters frequented here, and so did whores and addicts. Sam's breath caught in his throat when he actually saw it in person, and Dean was heading straight for it. What was he going to do? He didn't understand how getting money could possibly involve La Donna Bella. Sam was safely hidden around a corner as Dean slipped into the shadows next to La Donna Bella's stoop, and Sam could faintly here the loud voices and the erotic moans coming from within.
Some scantily clad women were also off to the side, and they eyed Dean like they wanted to devour him, though he brushed off any who tried to approach. It all began to spiral out of control when Dean slipped off his jacket and folded it up, placing it neatly on the sidewalk. The prostitutes giggled and whispered to one another, but it was immediately silenced when Dean began to unbutton his shirt, and Sam almost ran in to stop him. He should've run in to stop him. His feet were rooted to the ground, though, as his brother's shirt hung open, revealing a tease of the rippling muscle beneath. It was utterly scandalous. The girls had the audacity to 'ooh' and 'ahh' amongst themselves, but Sam's head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and he could only vaguely process the fear and anxiety as Dean rubbed his arms as the cold nipped at him. Never in his life had Sam seen his brother look so scared, and that fear only heightened when a balding man stumbled out of La Donna Bella and tripped down the steps.
Sam could smell the booze on him from here, and he turned to eye the prostitutes with a very unfocused gaze. He was by no means unattractive, but he was scruffy and had large bags under his eyes. Like many of the people who frequented this place, he was going through a rough patch. Then his gaze fell on Dean, who squirmed uncomfortably, and even though he was well over the age of adulthood, Sam couldn't help but see his older brother as a terrified child then, unsure about what was to come.
"You there," he said gruffly, the Italian of his words slurred and nearly unrecognizable. Dean practically froze, his eyes wide and his hands trembling. "I got cash….wanna come…inside?" His words were interrupted by various hiccups, and Sam's face dropped like a leaden ball when his brother only hesitated for a moment but then nodded. He didn't try to aid the man in staggering back up the steps, but at least the guy was generous enough to hold the door open for Sam's brother, closing it behind them. It was then that Sam burst into action. He didn't want to go inside inebriated and make the mess of his life by accidently throwing up on a mobster's shoes, so he maneuvered around the building, which was only one story, and he was thankful for his height and of the fact that La Donna Bella was at the edge of town and therefore its back wall wasn't covered by another building.
Sam looked in through the windows, unsurprised that there weren't any blinds drawn, and he saw plenty of things that he wished he didn't see, including various positions that he didn't know were physically possible and drug trades between mobsters who he was pretty sure had a big rep for killing anyone who bartered with them. He was about halfway around the building when he saw Dean and the man slip into one of the rooms. Dean looked like a spooked horse, his eyes wild as they watched the man place a glass of what looked like vegetable oil on the dresser. Sam knew exactly what it was for. The two of them talked for a few moments, and the man placed a bunch of coins and bills into Dean's palm, and from what Sam could make out it had to equal at least four hundred liras. His heart sank as Dean and the man stripped in unison.
Sam left as that happened, and he didn't comment when Dean hobbled back inside four hundred liras richer and with a distinct bloodstain on the back of his jeans.
-Җ-
It was a peaceful day.
The servants had propped the huge, arching windows open, though they were so large that only sections of them were able to open at a time, and a pleasant breeze wafted through them, carrying with it the smell of forest and the slight tang of the not-so-far-off ocean. Long Island was incredible, and even though it was much colder here, it still reminded Sam a lot of Italy, which he didn't miss in the slightest. He was happy here, making good money and having a good life, which was so different from those long, agonizing first months before Castiel had decided to take them under his wing. Sam still felt obligated to repay the ward boss for all of his generosity.
The hearth was empty, but no less warm, and the ashes had been cleaned out by the servants and the charred wood replaced by new longs, ready for use. The animal heads no longer unnerved Sam, though he particularly was wary of the stuffed moose head in the music room that always gave him the shivers. The smell of paper and ink and wood accumulated to form the ultimate library smell, and along with the sounds of turning pages, whispering breezes, rustling leaves outside, and soft breathing, Sam felt like he was in Heaven. He'd already learned so much from Castiel's library, though the ward boss had assured Sam that some of his siblings'
Balthazar had just distributed glasses of wine to all of them as a treat, and it was sweet but not too sweet, which was just how Sam liked it. Sure, it wasn't wine from Italian vineyard, but it was pretty damn close. Castiel casually informed him that his property did have a vineyard and that this was wine made from the grapes grown there. It struck the Winchesters as a shock that they'd been living there and they still hadn't explored all of the property. Sam made a mental note to remind Cas to give them a more formal tour…except he couldn't do that right now, because he and Dean were locked in a staring match that was full of emotions and lovey-dovey stuff, romantic promises and the like that set Sam on edge.
"Okay, guys, enough!" Sam announced from his seat in the library, throwing down Upton Sinclair's The Jungle and glaring at Dean and Castiel, both who seemed startled at his sudden outburst. It was Sunday, and for most of the morning they'd been lying around like lumps, reading, eating, talking, and on occasion playing Lo Giuoco del Lotto D'Italia, which is basically the origin of Bingo. It'd been a bit boring, but the secrets of the meatpacking industry that Sinclair was revealing to Sam made him want to go vegan, and he was pretty sure he'd tell Dean to read it later in order to improve the Italian's eating habits.
Speaking of whom, Dean gave his brother a quizzical look, his brows knitting together, but something akin to anxiety twinkled in his brother's eyes. Castiel regarded him with mild curiosity and caution from the place where he'd fallen on the floor and had simply refused to get up, mumbling about how it was too much work, so he just lay on the carpet with a chair on top of him. It would've been hysterical had Sam not been at his wit's end. He was absolutely, one hundred percent done with these two.
"I know, okay? I know. So will you two get a fucking room and stop with all this bullshit." Castiel literally fell off his chair, grunting as he hit the floor, and Dean choked on his own saliva, a big gob of it dripping down to make an incriminating blotch on page 334 of A Tale of Two Cities. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Balthazar smothering his laugh with a cough, covering his mouth with a gloved hand as his eyes crinkled.
"Wow, way to put it bluntly, Sammy," Dean chuckled, though his voice was strained and he was regarding his brother with a fearful look. There was a long pause where nobody did anything, except Balthazar who shot Castiel a look and the ward boss grudgingly reclaimed his seat. "You're not…mad or anything, right?"
"Yes, I'm mad," Dean's expression fell and Sam saw the expression his older brother usually wore to fight back tears; blank, unfeeling, "But only because you guys tried to hide it from me for so long." The elder Winchester's head shot up, his eyebrows raised so highly that they were nearly brushing his hairline, and Castiel barked a laugh, though there was much relief contained within it. Sam smiled softly as his brother's face lit up like a Christmas tree. He liked to see his brother happy. Truly happy. It was a moment to behold; the way Dean's green eyes twinkled and he grinned showing teeth, which was a rare occurrence. He exchanged a look with Castiel that was so tender Sam felt like he was intruding on something, so he rose to his feet, taking The Jungle with him.
"I'm going to read outside in the courtyard," Sam announced. "Don't try to take advantage of it or anything." He gave Dean a suggestive wink and the immigrant flushed beet red, and it was only until he was out the door with Brutus and Achilles at his heels (Castiel had made it mandatory for anyone walking alone to be accompanied by one or both of the dogs after the whole nativist issue) did he break out into fits of laughter. He took a mental picture of Dean's mortified face and stowed it away to bring it up at later times, which would hopefully make his brother just as flustered as he was now.
-Җ-
To say that Dean was nervous was a huge fucking understatement as he smoothed out the wrinkles in the bed, bustling about like the worrywart he was. Sam had been disappointed when informed him that no, they didn't have sex when he was outside, and he'd complained that he'd had to sit on an uncomfortable stone bench for nothing. Castiel had suggested that they take advantage of Sam's offer, but Dean had turned him down. They hadn't had sex yet. Just kissed, and Dean can't say that his experiences with men have been pleasant.
-Җ-
"How do you like your hair being pulled, bitch?" the guy snarled into his ear as he keeled over Dean's back, fucking him with abandon as he yanked on the immigrant's short, light brown locks. He couldn't stop himself from letting out a strangled sob, which the man apparently interpreted as pleasure and managed, impossibly, to fuck harder. It hurt like all hell, burning and spiking knives of pain being shoved up his hole. With only a thin layer of vegetable oil (hey, they couldn't afford the stuff that people dubbed "lube". It was supposed to be for medical reasons but nobody really used it for that) slicking the way, the thrusts were too dry, and it was no surprise when he felt something warm and sticky begin to drip down his thighs, and the sharp metallic scent of blood permeated the air.
He let out a garbled mess that could've been "Stop" but it was unrecognizable. Hey, at least he couldn't see the guy, but that small blessing was outweighed by the agony of the situation.
Doing this to keep the house, Dean chanted in a litany as tears fell to the disgusting covers on the bed. Doing this for Sammy.
It seemed like hours before the man's thrusts began to stutter and he came with a groan, gripping Dean's hips so tight they'd probably bruise in the morning, and the elder Winchester, helpless, could only follow him over the edge.
-Җ-
No, he couldn't think of the nameless guy with the booze breath. He couldn't think of the agony as he hobbled home with the sorest ass he'd ever had, even worse than the worst case of saddle sore he'd gotten from riding Impala all day when he was younger. He couldn't think about that knowing look in Sam's eyes when he came home, the way that he just knew what had gone on in that skanky place even though he'd been all boozed up and hadn't given a shit when Dean had gone out. He couldn't think of the way he had to slip into the washroom to clean up. He couldn't think of the way he'd cried himself to sleep, the cheap mattress and sheets feeling awfully like the ones at La Donna Bella.
He shook his head clear, stilling his trembling hands. This was Cas. Cas wouldn't hurt him, not for the world. Cas pulled him and his brother from Hell and brought them to paradise, and he wouldn't suddenly turn merciless in the sheets. He diverted his attention to the small list of preparations he'd made on a scrap of paper, the words in scrawling Italian, which was the language he usually thought in and found was easier to write. Candles? Check. Rose petals? Check. Sure that Sam had fallen asleep in the library? Check.
Castiel was going to finish his work (he'd had to do some papers, even on Sunday), and then he'd come upstairs to his master bedroom to find Dean waiting for him. Dean, who was flushed bright red and was panicking more than he should, pacing around the room like a caged tiger. He wondered if this was too extravagant for the first time, what with the petals and stuff? Didn't the first time just happen? Should it really be forced like this? Was he pushing it? Maybe Dean should go change into pajamas. This was all just a waste of time. Cas was probably tired and he wouldn't want Dean interrupting with his silly antics. He'd be kind about it, but he'd decline, that's what any normal person would do…
Footsteps. Down the hallway.
Dean's breath caught in his throat and he furiously checked over the list again, making sure that everything was perfect. Maybe this was how Castiel felt when he'd fixed up the gazebo for him, and Dean was pretty sure his heart was going to beat out of his chest as he plucked at the sleeves of his silken robe, which concealed what was underneath. Dean was almost positive that Castiel could hear his blood roaring from outside, hell, it could probably wake Sammy up from his snoring in the library, but he couldn't back down. It was too late for that. Now, he wasn't saying that he didn't want to take the next step because he really did and it was all so overwhelming and he was pretty sure-
"Dean?" came a gravelly voice that sent shivers racing up and down the Italian's spine, and he glanced around wildly once more to make sure that everything was perfect. "Dean is that you?"
"Yeah," his voice was but a breathy whisper, and he felt like he couldn't breathe, but that could just be from the Special Surprise that was driving him insane. The doorknob turned and the barrier between Dean and Castiel was slowly opening up, Dean's heart fluttered with both excitement and dread.
"Dean are you alri-" Castiel stopped dead. He was in his grubby trench coat and suit, his blue eyes widening in awe as he took in the room. Candles were placed in strategic places to help him with mood lighting, and he'd gotten the gardeners to help pluck the best of the roses, amusement twinkling in their eyes. Dean swallowed hard as he slowly closed the door behind him, locking it carefully. It was just them now. The two of them. Dean and Cas.
The ward boss' eyes traveled around the room, and his eyes crinkled as he smiled. "You did all this?"
"With help," Dean mumbled, fidgeting where he stood, right in front of Castiel's canopy bed. Cas's eyes zeroed in on the small container of slick that'd been strategically placed on the nightstand, but then his striking blue eyes finally fell on Dean, who was in a too-big silk robe that he'd found in the ward boss' closet whilst snooping (which he wasn't at all guilty for). Castiel quirked an eyebrow at Dean, who took a stuttering breath and let the covering fall from his body, shivering as the material ghosted over his skin and pooled on the floor around his ankles.
Castiel was slack-jawed, and he didn't say anything at all, just stared at Dean, who was immediately was discouraged. Why wasn't Cas saying anything? Was he disgusted? He immediately began to cover for himself, "I get it if you don't want to-" Cas covered the distance between them in two quick strides, pushing a finger to Dean's lips before the Italian could say more.
"I think you look beautiful," he whispered, and Dean flushed a shade that was usually reserved for tomatoes, but he immediately perked up when he saw the look in Cas's eyes. It was raw and tender, but also sparkling with delight, excitement, and a bit of nervousness. "You're ready?"
"As I'll ever be," Dean replied, his voice still small and shy. He began to wring his hands in front of him. "Um…I'm not the most experienced…"
"Are you sure? I don't want you doing this just because I suggested it earlier today after Sam left," Cas replied. "I just want to make sure you're happy and that it's good for you."
"Okay, pulling the ultimate cheesy line here, but I'm good as long as you're with me," Dean replied, and the two of them, as if drawn together by an invisible force, melted into one another.
-Җ-
"Could you guys keep it down next time?" Sam asked.