Castiel's brothers had been more than enthusiastic about the idea of him going to Dean's house. None of them seemed to register that it wasn't a date, because they kept giving him tips. Michael's were of course the most sensible, telling him to pace himself, to take his cues from Dean. Gabriel's idea of advice was to suggest ways he could touch Dean without it being 'technically sexual assault' and Balthazar decided to give him a make over. He was thrust into Balthazar's jeans, and a low v-neck tee, and some sneakers that looked so pristine white Castiel wasn't sure they were really supposed to be worn. It felt strange to be in sneakers when he was so used to more formal shoes, especially now he was helping Michael with some of the family's business interests.
It wasn't what he wanted to be doing, but he felt indebted to Michael, who had been nothing but understanding since the marriage started to fold, who had given without any expectation of getting anything back. It wasn't like Michael particularly wanted to be doing any of it either, but he felt a sense of duty. Castiel felt like he had to earn his way now, that maybe by participating more in family affairs he would actually be entitled to any money he had. Although Michael was still trying to get it back for him, he wasn't too worried about getting his old fortune back.
He was worn out by the time he was making his way up the pathway to Dean's house, though he hoped that the sight of his favourite person would galvanise him. And besides, Dean had made it sound relaxing, board games and television and just spending time together. The only strain would come from appealing to Charlie's better side. He knocked, and waited, and Dean was the one to open the door. He looked Castiel up and down, poker face on.
"Hey. Didn't think you owned jeans."
Castiel swallowed down his immediate reaction to over analyse why Dean would comment on his attire.
"I don't. These are Balth's. He gave me the top as well. I thought maybe it would make you more comfortable if I wasn't dressed up."
Dean nodded and took a step back, and Castiel made himself walk into the house, despite the fact he could feel tension radiating from Dean. Maybe the evening wouldn't be so relaxing. Charlie walked from the kitchen to the sitting room, passing right in front of Castiel and acting like he wasn't there, and a few moments after the door closed behind her he could hear a strange clacking sound. Dean spoke behind him.
"Um, if Charlie gives you shit tonight … I mean it's not - she said she's never going to forgive you. But that doesn't mean … I'm glad you came."
Could it be that Dean was as anxious as Castiel normally felt? He tried to take it all in stride, force himself to be confident. Or at least, to sound it.
"Okay. So I have to win over Charlie as well as you."
"And Sam. He hasn't said much, but I don't think he's impressed that I'm considering taking you back."
Castiel nodded. It wasn't wonderful hearing that Sam didn't like the idea of them together again, but the fact that Dean was still thinking of being with Castiel was a confidence boost. There were footsteps on the stairs, and Sam came down them, dressed up and adjusting his cufflinks as he walked, his long hair tucked behind his ears.
"Do you think this looks okay?" He asked his brother. Dean gave that adorable mini smirk.
"It looks like you're going to a funeral. So yes."
"That's not funny, Dean," Sam pouted, obviously nervous himself. "I'm going to ask Charlie."
Through the door, they all heard her call out.
"You look like a penguin Sam. It's an opera, not a zoo!"
Sam's expression was similar to Michael's when he was most stressed. Clearly the night was a big deal to him and his siblings weren't making it easy for him. Castiel made the effort, hoping that maybe Sam would appreciate it, would maybe be more positive about him coming back into their lives. He knew as much about opera as he did about black-and-white movies, or contemporary art.
"Which opera are you going to see?"
Sam looked him dead in the eye, and Castiel was treated to the way Sam's legal opponents must feel when they came up against him. He had a steely gaze and a set to his mouth that meant no nonsense. It appeared that Dean's brother was very expressive. But he was also polite.
"La Damnation de Faust."
It was an interesting choice, Castiel thought. People normally went to Carmen or Madame Butterfly. Castiel was visited with that urge, to talk about Berlioz and his obsession with a book that led to the narrative of the opera. How it was an interesting journey of one man's obsession with a woman that led him into hell. How his overthinking led to a life of unhappiness … maybe it was best not to discuss the plot line and ruin it for Sam. Or overanalyse how close Faust's fictional life seemed to mirror parts of his own. But he couldn't say nothing to Sam.
"I like that one. Haunting. I hope you enjoy it."
Literally haunting, in one sense, Castiel thought. Sam's expression was still similar to that which Castiel imagined graced the courtroom frequently.
"Thanks."
"Your suit is fine." He also offered.
"Uh-huh." Sam was clearly done with Castiel's attempts at conversation, pitiful as they were, and looked again at Dean. "Don't wait up for me."
Dean had said similar to Sam before. Castiel supposed it must just be part of their family, to leave with that request. He wondered if any of them stuck to it, as Dean handed over a set of car keys.
"Take the Impala. It's bad enough you're going to some opera and listening to high pitched singing all night, you might as well look good on your way there."
Sam took the keys, and left the house, and Castiel caught Dean's eye, wondering what he thought of his interaction with the middle Winchester. Before they could say anything, Charlie spoke from the doorway to the sitting room. Castiel hadn't realised she had opened the door. She spoke directly to Dean, blanking Castiel completely.
"You know, the Impala won't make Boremelia interesting."
"Maybe not, but I did it for Sam, not her."
Castiel reflected, as Charlie reminded them about the game, that this was maybe how the Winchesters operated. Charlie disliked her brother's partners, and Dean and Sam did what they could to support each other regardless of what they truly thought. Charlie had to dislike Sam's girlfriend, to give her such a mean moniker. She went back into the sitting room, and Castiel made eye contact with Dean.
"That could have gone worse."
"You should probably give it more than five minutes. Do you want a drink?"
It was strange how, despite the obvious hurt Castiel had caused him, Dean was still so attentive. He asked for beer, and followed Dean into the kitchen, where he pulled out drinks for them both, and something for Charlie too. And then, just before handing over Castiel's beer, he pulled it back, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"How did you get here?"
"Kevin. He was hired by Michael, our limos were from Father and technically now owned by Michael too."
Dean held Castiel's beer even closer.
"Get Kevin in here. The kid's going to be bored out of his mind just waiting for you in the car, when he can watch Charlie kick our ass at Jenga and enjoy some quality TV. You don't get your beer until he's in here."
Castiel smiled, but obliged, leaving the house and walking up to the car, knocking on the window and making Kevin jump. Kevin who had been listening to music and typing something into his phone.
"Everything okay, Castiel? Has Dean asked you to leave?"
"No. He wants you to come in, join in with us. He's blackmailing me to get you in there so please don't argue."
Kevin stopped his music and brought his cell out with him, locking up the car and walking with Castiel back to Dean's house.
"I won't get fired, will I?"
"No. I won't let Michael do that. And Dean likes you. His sister will probably prefer you to me too, she's not my biggest fan right now."
Kevin gave him a small smile, before they stepped back through the front door, Castiel guiding Kevin into the kitchen. Dean sorted Kevin's beverage, and finally passed Castiel his beer bottle, though Castiel noticed he was cautious not to make contact with him. They made their way into the sitting room, where Charlie was sitting in the middle of a mass of fabrics, the game set up on their coffee table and the television screen dark. She watched them enter, and spoke to Dean, her voice oozing sarcasm.
"No, no, you take your time flirting with the guy who broke your heart and ignoring the entire plan for tonight. I'm fine."
Dean didn't acknowledge that Charlie had mentioned his broken heart, but offered her a drink, and introduced Kevin. He took a seat on the sofa and Castiel sat beside him, perhaps too eagerly, perhaps too closely. But he couldn't help himself, he missed Dean so much. Charlie put the programme on, and came closer to play Jenga. Castiel hadn't actually played before, but the concept was simple enough, though he wasn't sure that all the rules Charlie and Dean imparted on him were technically part of the game. He found himself leaning across Dean when it came to his turn, accidentally touching Dean's legs as he did so, sometimes resting a hand on his knee to shuffle closer. Dean's breath would catch, and then would try to shift away from him slightly, silently telling Castiel not to be over familiar.
He did his best to avoid doing it, but as the alcohol flowed and the games went on, it became more difficult. And especially as every time Castiel looked at the television it was to see Buffy and Angel and their blossoming relationship. Eventually, when Charlie finally lost a round of Jenga, Dean excused himself to the bathroom and Charlie began shoving the tiles back into their container. She put the box back, and spoke to a spot on the wall above Castiel's head.
"I'm going to bed, if Dean asks. Can't believe I lost a game," she shook her head in disappointment and stalked out of the room, muttering about how humiliating it was. Castiel watched her go, and looked at Kevin, who was curled up in the armchair, his eyes closed and face slackened with sleep. Castiel called his name tentatively, and he didn't stir. He looked around the room, at all the paraphernalia that made up the Winchester's downtime, and wondered whether it was wise to leave. Dean hadn't wanted physical contact all evening, had cringed away from him constantly. Charlie still disliked him, and Kevin was either worn out or bored.
"Where did my sister go?" Dean's voice broke his reverie. He stood in the doorway, looking at Castiel. And Castiel no longer wanted to go, he wanted to spend more time with Dean, more time righting their situation. More time convincing Dean that it was right for them to try again.
"To bed. She said she couldn't live with the humiliation of finally losing a round of Jenga. Kevin fell asleep a moment ago. I was hoping that maybe we could talk now."
Dean rubbed at his face, and Castiel realised that maybe he was pushing his luck. He couldn't rush Dean, not if he was going to get what he really wanted.
"Unless you want to go to sleep too. Then we'll go. I'll wake up Kevin and we'll … we'll go."
Dean spoke from behind his hand, sounding completely defeated.
"Leave Kevin. It'll be fine; we'll put a blanket over him. Maybe we should talk in my room?"
It sounded like Dean didn't want to, but Castiel didn't want to lose the opportunity to have more time with him. He nodded, feeling greedy and selfish, and watched as Dean covered Kevin with a comforter and checked he would be comfortable, before leading the way up the stairs. Castiel followed, trying to drink in all the details, like Sam's diploma hanging on the wall beside some of Dean's art certificates, Charlie's door covered in stickers, Sam's one plain and Dean's with a couple of small metalworks sticking out just above eye level. Inside, the walls looked at first as though they were covered in peeling wallpaper, but as Castiel walked in he realised that the walls were crammed with sketches. Sketches from the local park, of Dean's siblings, some ideas that had already come to fruition and some that Castiel knew Dean would get to work on eventually.
Despite the cluttered walls, the room was pristine, and minimalist. There was a double bed, neatly made, and a desk with sketchbooks and pots of pencils and pens. A small side table beside the bed, and a door half-hidden under doodles that Castiel guessed was his closet. Dean took the seat beside the desk, and pointed to the bed. Castiel perched on the edge of it cautiously.
"This was nice," he tried to put a positive spin on it. "Spending time together without any expectations."
Dean didn't look at him, but at his own hands as he toyed with a pencil, rolling it across the surface of his desk. Perhaps he could hear just how false Castiel's optimism was. And Castiel didn't know what to do, what it was that Dean wanted before he would soften.
"So what did you want to talk about?" Dean changed the topic, and Castiel seized the opportunity.
"Right now, I want to know: you drew these?"
"Yeah. I sketch a lot. Not like there's any money in it."
"Unless you make them afterwards," Castiel pointed out, gesturing to one of the sketches he had seen that first day in the studio. "You're incredibly talented, Dean."
Dean merely shrugged, and Castiel began to feel annoyed. He was making the effort, he was trying to regain the relationship that Dean said he wanted too, and Dean was being belligerent. If he didn't want Castiel there, he should speak up rather than torturing Castiel in this way.
"You know, for someone who says they're not motivated by money, you mention it an awful lot."
It was abrasive and reflected Castiel's thoughts about himself, but it goaded a reaction out of Dean.
"Yeah, well. I'm the eldest, I'm meant to look after Sam and Charlie. And Charlie had a misunderstanding at her last job and can't get hired, and Sam's working his ass off as a lawyer. He's the one who just about has enough for us to pay our bills. Until the last art show, I maybe sold one or two sculptures a year, which just about helped us out. I care about money enough to keep us in this place, to keep Charlie in her LARP group and keep Sam at his practice. I care enough about money to make sure we can all eat and I can look after the car Dad gave me. The only reason we still all live together is because we can't afford to live apart. So yeah, I care about money, so long as it has an affect on Sam and Charlie. I care about paying my way. And when you mentioned your money, I thought you were joking."
Castiel instantly felt contrite. He just wanted this to be easy between them, wanted to have that happy anticipation they had experienced beforehand. He tried to make amends.
"Then I don't want the money I gave you back. You need it, Dean. And I don't, I still live with my brothers, Michael is suing Luke and Meg but he's promised to look after me. I get why you got on with Michael now. It's an eldest brother thing, right?"
"It's because Michael wasn't an ass like I thought he'd be. He was rooting for you, he thought I made you happy."
Dean's tone had gone bitter, and Castiel wished he knew what Dean was thinking. He decided to explain himself more, so that maybe Dean could understand his viewpoint. Maybe then Dean would start opening up again.
"You did. And I admit, I didn't act in the best way possible. I lied to you."
Dean shot him an accusatory glance.
"Michael told you I was a fan. I was on the committee for the art award you won. I pushed for you. I'd seen you working, watching from a balcony as you pushed your creations into place. I've followed your career from afar for a while. And then Michael insisted I do all these functions and Luke said it was best if I stopped effectively stalking you, and I thought, maybe I could. Maybe if I invited you to come with me, it would mean I could stop just admiring you and start getting to know you."
"That's creepy." Dean murmured, staring at the pot of pencils on his desk. He still wasn't giving anything away about what he was thinking, how he felt, and Castiel felt the need to word-vomit rising.
"I know. I'm sorry. I said whatever I could to get you to come with me, whatever would make you want to spend time with me. And you were incredible, Dean. You took it so seriously; you just seemed to care about me. You fuelled my infatuation, however accidentally. Maybe I deserve all this, maybe this is my karma for forcing this situation."
"You know what, Cas?" Dean finally put the pencil he was toying with away, and glared in his direction. "If you had just said you liked me and wanted a date, if you had explained that we'd have to spend some time with your family but we'd have time to ourselves too? I would have said yes. I would have said it a lot faster. I told you I fall fast and hard, that I had for you. I liked you from the moment you saw through all the bullshit and joked that I would end up selling you my soldering iron."
Castiel had forgotten that confession. And Dean seemed to be forgetting how Castiel was, how bad his anxiety could get. There was no way, absolutely no way he could have asked Dean out. Dean had made it so difficult too, spending most of his time eyeballing his lunch. But saying that would have been too defensive, would have resulted in an argument that Castiel didn't want to be responsible for. He tried to explain how he had been feeling.
"You were funny, that first day. I was so nervous. You're so much more attractive in real life. And so much more complicated, passionate and thoughtful. And you can pretend you don't put the same thought into your work as other artists, but I know that's not true. I'm sorry Dean, that I didn't let this develop naturally. And I know you probably don't want to try again, but I would give anything for one more chance."
Dean looked away again.
"I don't know, Cas. Where's the guarantee you won't hurt me again? Because I couldn't live through this twice, even with Sam and Charlie looking out for me."
"I suppose it's in the fact that I have nothing else to lose now. There's no price on it this time. Just two men who are attracted to each other; who want a relationship with each other. Please, Dean. Just let me prove that I'm serious about you. Not the idea of you, but you."
"How are you going to prove that?" Dean was quiet, not giving anything away again.
"We'll go out, and money won't be an issue. And not because I'll cover everything, but because we won't do anything we have to pay for. You can date for free, right?"
Dean nodded, still not making eye contact.
"Fine. You can sleep in my bed tonight, and tomorrow you'll take me on a freebie date. And I'll decide after that."
Dean's tone and demeanour didn't seem promising, but the idea of sleeping next to each other again was more than Castiel had been hoping for.
"Thank you, Dean, thank you so much."
Dean's response was to pass him some clothes out of his own dresser for Castiel to sleep in. Castiel immediately began changing and Dean walked into his closet. He sniffed the shirt subtly, but it smelled of soap powder rather than Dean's natural scent. He slipped under the covers and turned to see Dean shaking a sleeping bag out onto the floor. Maybe Dean wasn't ready to lay beside him again, to hold each other as they slept. But the sheets carried his smell, and he snuggled under the blanket, looking at Dean as he got comfortable in the sleeping bag. He fell into the dip of the mattress, the one that matched Dean's pose, and he got comfortable there, still watching the man he loved.
Would it really have been possible, the first day they officially met, for Castiel to have explained who he was and how he knew about Dean? Would be have been able to ask Dean out? He had come a long way in the last few months, and he was back in therapy, but that first day with Dean it had been too hard. The artist had been too brittle, Castiel himself was too anxious and stressed out. And it had set the tone, Castiel hadn't known Dean was interested until Amara's birthday. As much as he needed to make amends, Dean needed to be more open as well, or else they would have no chance. Castiel had the sense that he'd already been given his answer, and it wasn't a good one. Dean was already over him.