I think this is going to be about four chapters total, but my stories tend to take on a life of their own, so don't hold me to that.

This is an all human AU, no supernatural stuff. The basic setup is like this: Bobby is married to Jodi, and they run a foster home. Sam and Dean went to live with them when Dean was fourteen and Sam was ten. Charlie was also one of their foster kids, and Sam and Dean consider her their little sister. Also Dean has undiagnosed ADD, but I'm not sure how explicitly that's going to be discussed. So far it's only implied. The rest of the backstory and relationships will be explained over the course of the story, but if you're confused, feel free to PM me. I promise I will reply.

Happy reading, and please leave a review if you like it. =)

Chapter One

"You're gonna remember to pick me up at the airport, right? Cause getting a cab all the way back to Sioux Falls is gonna cost a fortune."

"I said I'd pick you up, so I'm gonna pick you up," Dean said a little waspishly. This was the fifth time Sam had reminded him, and the trip was only three days long.

"Get your ass back in here, handmaiden! Your queen is about to become zombie chow!" a voice bellowed from the living room.

"Hold your damn horses, Bradbury!" Dean yelled back, not bothering to cover the phone.

Several thousand miles away, Sam winced. "Well, it certainly doesn't seem like you've been lonely this weekend."

"Dude, she won't friggin leave. She's eating us out of house and home." Dean couldn't quite manage to sound genuinely annoyed. It had actually been his idea for Sam to spend the weekend with his fiancee who was finishing her last semester of med school at Stanford, but even though he knew how much Sam needed this, he'd been dreading three days of an empty house. He didn't handle alone time well. He either slipped into a funk or did something incredibly stupid and impulsive to break up the monotony. Fortunately Charlie Bradbury had taken it upon herself to be his babysitter and asked nothing in return but the chance to beat the high score on every video game he owned. (Most of those scores were hers to begin with.)

"Maybe she should move in with you after the wedding," Sam said, only half joking.

Dean grimaced. Not at the thought of Charlie moving in permanently. He would have married that girl long ago if they weren't both gay. No, it was the thought of his baby brother getting married that tied his stomach in knots. He was happy for Sam. He really was. God, sometimes he was so happy he couldn't breathe. But … everything was going to change, and Dean hated change. There had been far too much of it in his life. It seemed like as soon as he settled in and got used to things being a certain way, something came along and yanked the rug out from under him. These last couple years, sharing this house with Sam, had been the happiest he could remember (really remember, not dimly, half dream remember), and a selfish part of him never wanted it to end.

Of course, he wasn't going to tell Sam that. After everything he'd been through, the kid deserved a life of his own, a happy life. It wasn't his job to take care of his clingy, needy mess of a big brother. Dean's problems were Dean's problems.

"Already asked her," he said. "She's planning on moving in with Jo when her lease is up next month. Sounds like they're getting pretty serious."

"Really?" Sam said speculatively. "Think there might be another wedding in the future?"

"Maybe. If they don't just elope to Vegas to escape their respective mothers. Can you imagine Ellen and Jodi planning a wedding together?"

"All too easily. God, there might be no survivors. Oh, speaking of wedding planning, do you want a plus one?"

"No. Who would I bring? Everyone I know is already invited."

"Well, maybe if you met someone between now and the wed—"

"Sam, stop right there."

"Dean, I'm just trying to —"

"I know what you're trying to do, and I'm asking nicely. Please don't."

Sam sighed. "Okay, okay. Just … Don't you think he would want you to be happy?"

Dean closed his eyes and counted to ten, reminding himself that his brother didn't mean the words to be hurtful. He just didn't understand. "I am happy, Sam. I don't need a boyfriend to be happy. Now either you change the subject or I'm hanging up."

There was silence on the other end of the phone for a moment. Then Sam said, "You could always advertise on Craigslist or something. For a roommate I mean."

Dean untensed somewhat. "Dude, are you crazy? I could get an ax murderer."

"Obviously you'd do a background check before you actually let them move in with you, genius. It wouldn't be that hard. Your mother is the sheriff for Christ's sake."

"Yeah, but still. Me living with a stranger? Me?"

"Fair point," Sam conceded at the same time as Charlie yelled, "I need backup, Winchester! Asap!"

"Okay, I gotta go save her majesty from the zombie hoards. I'll see you tomorrow. Give Jess a hug from me."

"Will do. My flight gets in at eight. Don't —"

"Jesus Christ, I won't forget!"

~o0o~

Dean would be the first to admit that he was easily distracted. He'd read half a book, then start a different one, and another and another until his bedside table was a paper avalanche waiting to happen. He wasn't exactly a bad cook, but he managed to set off the smoke alarm at least once a week. And Bobby had officially banned him from doing paperwork because of the amount of time it took to find and refile everything when he was done.

So yeah, he was aware that it was one of his flaws, and no one gave him more shit about it than he did himself, but this once he felt he could be forgiven because the man in front of him was very, very distracting.

Crystal blue eyes that seemed to see straight into Dean's soul. Messy black hair that was just long enough for someone (e.g. Dean) to tangle their fingers in and pull ever so gently. And his voice. Dear God, if it was that deep when he was just talking, what did it sound like when he was turned on? Dean desperately wanted to find out.

The man's forehead wrinkled in a puzzled frown, and Dean realized he'd been staring for a good ten seconds. "Sorry. Um. What did you say?"

"My car. Is it ready?"

"Oh. Right. What's the name?"

"Novak with a k."

Dean typed it into Bobby's dinosaur of a computer and waited while the machine grudgingly searched its memory. "Pretty dog," he said, nodding at the black Labrador sitting patiently by the man's feet. Its eyes were the exact same color as its master's. "Is he friendly?"

"She, and yes, Grace likes most people."

Dean held out his hand. The dog sniffed it, gave it an approving lick, and allowed him to scratch behind her floppy ears. "Who's a good girl?" Dean asked rhetorically which earned him a big, tongue lolling doggy grin from Grace and a small smile from Mr. Novak. Dean wasn't sure which one was more adorable. (No, that was a lie. It was definitely the human.)

The computer, with such perversely bad timing that it could only be deliberate in Dean's opinion, chimed cheerfully to let him know it had the requested information. A blue 2013 Prius belonging to one Castiel Novak was sitting in the finished lot out back.

"Yep. You're good to go." He found the right key on the row of hooks behind the desk and handed it over, enjoying the brief brush of warm fingers against his. Hard, smooth callouses indicated that Mr. Novak worked with those hands. There was dirt under his nails too, and even in the dim, windowless office Dean could see that the man's skin was beautifully tanned. Outdoor work then, in the hot sun, sweaty and possibly shirtless …

The man gave him another puzzled frown (which was just as adorable as his smile if not more so) and said, "Don't I need to pay you?"

"Oh. Right." Good thing Bobby wasn't here at the moment or Dean would be getting the glare of the century. He checked with the computer again and gave Mr. Novak a number.

"Is a check all right?"

Normally the answer was no. Bobby only took checks from long time customers who he knew personally. But Dean found himself saying, "Sure. Whatever you want."

The man bent over the desk to write, and oh God, he smelled as good as he looked. Like a garden, but not in a girly, flowery way. He smelled like fresh earth right after it had rained. Dean leaned back in his chair, putting a couple more inches between him and the man before he could start drooling. The dog nuzzled his hand, seeking more ear scratches, and Dean obliged, thinking, Lucky mutt. You probably get to sleep in his bed.

Mr. Novak signed the check and handed it over. It was written in elegant, curling script, every letter perfectly legible. Figures his handwriting would be as perfect as the rest of him. Dean slid it into the desk drawer. He would probably catch some shit from Bobby for this, but as long as the check didn't bounce, he'd be forgiven pretty quickly.

He told Mr. Novak where to find his car and watched regretfully as the man walked out of his life. At least the back view was almost as gorgeous as the front. Dean already missed those piercing eyes, but he was compensated with well muscled shoulders and a very nice ass that filled out those faded, grass stained jeans perfectly.

The man's exit was delayed by Grace who had taken a liking to Dean and was reluctant to follow her master. In the two extra seconds it took to get the dog moving, Dean had three thoughts.

1. There's no harm in just asking.

2. You don't even know if he's gay.

3. Well, there's one sure way to find out.

"Willyougooutwithme?"

Mr. Novak turned around in the doorway, his mouth forming an o of surprise that gave Dean some very specific ideas regarding what he would like to do to that mouth. "Sorry, what was that?"

"Will you go out with me?" Dean repeated slower and less garbled, but he felt a flush creeping into his cheeks, and he was wishing he'd kept his own mouth shut, a familiar feeling. "Sorry. I shouldn't have … That was unprofessional, and you're —"

"Yes, I'd love to."

"— probably straight. Wait. What?"

"I'd like to go out with you. And I'm not straight. Not even a little." The other man was blushing too, and it made his eyes look even more intensely blue. "Tonight? I mean it doesn't have to be. If you're busy —"

"I'm not," Dean said, all thoughts of airports and little brothers fleeing his mind in the face of that blue, blue gaze. "Is seven okay? There's a little diner on Fourth Street called Pam's that does really good burgers."

"Yes, I know it." The man's smile was a little wider this time, and Dean found it impossible to not smile back. "I'll see you at seven then. I, uh … I never got your name."

"Dean. Um, Winchester."

"Nice to meet you, Dean Winchester." A shiver went down Dean's spine at the sound of his name spoken in that gravelly voice. He wanted to hear that again. And again and again and … "I'm Castiel Novak, but most people call me Cas."

"What would you like me to call you?" Dean couldn't resist asking.

Cas laughed, low and sultry, and yes, somehow his voice managed to get even deeper when he said, "Oh, I'm sure I'll think of a few things between now and seven o'clock."

Then he was gone, but it took Dean another five minutes to drag his attention back to work. Yes, Castiel Novak was very, very distracting.