Castiel kneeled next to his bed, hands clasped together, and his head bowed, pressing into his knuckles hard enough to leave an indent in his forehead. That touch of pain helped him keep focus, helped him remember who he was and what he'd learned. Outside, the birds greeted the sun with enthusiasm, filling the sky with heavenly song.
This was what he was here to focus on. On the purity of nature's song. On the sweetness of God's creation without so much toxicity. He took a deep breath and cleared his mind, picturing a bright white-blue light washing away his fears and sins. Freeing him from his thoughts, confused and tempted in ways he had thought he'd left behind him long ago.
He recited the Lord's Prayer and listed out the names of angels. There was no way to know if he remembered them all, no way to know if anyone knew them all, but the repetition soothed Castiel's mind and helped him find that trance-like state where he could feel his connection with the world, a transcendental kind of awareness that fed his faith.
Until something pulled him out of his reverie.
Bacon.
He changed quickly into jeans and another long sleeve shirt. When he padded barefoot out into the living room, he found Dean, with a massive smile on his face, a tight black T-shirt and pajama pants with, of all things, hot dogs on them.
Castiel sputtered to a stop. "What are you wearing?"
"What?" Dean placed a plate of bacon on the table next to a huge stack of pancakes. "He looked down at himself. Am I not decent?"
"Those pants are the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen." Castiel shook his head and chuckled.
"No way, wait till you see me in my tutu," Dean winked and Castiel's heart skipped a beat or seven. "He thinks I'm kidding," Dean said to Garth, who was lying on the floor, taking up half the kitchen, and laughed.
Dean turned away and grabbed plates and some maple syrup. "I was thinking, later this afternoon, we could head into town. I don't know what you were able to pack and what you still need, but I gotta swing by Charlie's shop and return a stack of comics I'm just never going to read. I can't get into them, you know, I get distracted by all the pictures."
Castiel fumbled around for something to say but found in the end silence was just as acceptable to Dean as chatting. Castiel liked people, he loved to hear people's stories and listen to their thoughts, but when it came to talking, he found it took him longer than was deemed acceptable to form his thoughts into words, which meant most people were either annoyed or bored in his company.
They sat down and Dean served himself three pancakes and a healthy pile of bacon.
"That sounds good. Maybe we can go grocery shopping. With you cooking for me so much already, I should pitch in."
"Oh, don't worry about it," Dean said around a mouthful of pancakes. "I like to cook. And it's a lot more fun to cook for two than for one."
"Thank you. I can do my share, though, at least help pay for the extra ingredients."
Dean nodded casually. "Yeah, yeah, okay."
Castiel put one pancake on his plate and spread butter and syrup on top before meticulously cutting each piece before eating it.
"You're adorable; you know that?" Dean said when he caught Castiel's eye.
Panic flashed through him, and a sudden blush. This was a bad idea. Coming here. Staying with Dean. Drinking last night. Letting his guard down.
He looked at the table and closed his eyes, silently mouthing the words drilled into him for well more than two decades: Father, help me be washed, be sanctified, and be justified in the name of the Lord.
When he opened his eyes, Dean was staring at him. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah, just praying."
"Oh, right. I thought you were supposed to do that before you ate." Dean chuckled before standing up, "more coffee?"
"Yes, please, and this time, let me clean up."
"If you insist," Dean smirked and poured Castiel more coffee before setting the pot down, patting Garth's head, and scratching his chin. "Good boy," he said, and it seemed to release the hound from the relaxed position he had been in.
The giant mutt bounced around for a while, bringing Castiel a series of rope and squeaking toys, attempting to seduce him into playing. Castiel, on the other hand, was more interested in finally eating some bacon.
"Okay," Dean clapped his hands and then rubbed them together. "I've got some work to do in the barn this morning, so you just settle in and make yourself at home. We can head into town around 4?"
"That sounds great. Thanks again, Dean. You've made moving out here alone so easy. I don't know how to repay you."
Dean reached up and gripped the back of his neck, a flush spreading over his cheeks, showing off a smattering of freckles and a hint of skin where his shirt pulled up. "Nah, It's no big deal. Like I said, someone helped me, so when Jody asked, it was a no-brainer to pass that on."
"Yeah, but I'm not some 20-year old kid who needs a place to crash after Jesus Camp. I'm not a teenager with no parents. I'm more than you bargained for, and you took it all in stride and opened your home to me, and I appreciated it." Castiel stood and started cleaning up, stacking the dishes and carrying them over to the sink. The counter was made out of polished concrete that shone against the warm wood of the cabinets.
"It's no bother. It's been a pleasant surprise," Dean smiled and Cas turned away.
He turned on the water and started wiping the plates before scrubbing the bacon pan and skillet. He hummed to himself, mentally planning his day and what he might want to get while they were in town when he was pulled out of his reverie by a warm hand settling on his shoulder.
His knees nearly gave out.
"I'm heading out," Dean said, slapping his shoulder again before sauntering out of the house, Garth in tow.
Castiel stood, the warm water flowing over his hands as his eyes stayed trained on the door.
"Father, help me be washed, be sanctified, and be justified in the name of the Lord." He breathed, finished up the dishes, and retreated to his room.
After putting all his things away, it occurred to him he could use some more casual clothes. If he was going to be spending all his time with Dean, he would need some more long sleeve shirts that covered his arms. Usually, it didn't bother him if people noticed his burns, but something about telling Dean the lies he typically used didn't feel right. But he also knew he couldn't tell him the truth.
Once he had everything in its place, he made his bed and opened up his laptop, not thinking before clicking on the app and being told he needed the wireless password. Of course he did. He'd have to get it from Dean later.
So he grabbed his book and went outside, settling in on the porch swing to read.
After a few hours, Castiel stood and stretched and decided it was time for a late lunch. He hadn't seen Dean come back in the house, so he put together a couple of sandwiches and piled them on a tray he found in the pantry. He grabbed two beers and carried the meal out to the barn. His sandals were caked in mud by the time he got there, but the barn itself was clean and orderly.
Right in the front was the truck Dean had offered for him to use. An old pickup, but it had clearly been kept in good shape, no rust or dents. And then Castiel saw it.
Dean, lying on his back underneath a black 1967 Impala: Baby. Only Dean's legs were visible, his toe-tapping to the music playing in the background as he did whatever it was he was doing.
"Dean?" Castiel called, but the man didn't hear him. He walked closer and tapped one of Dean's feet with his.
"That you, Cas?"
"Nope, it's a wendigo. I just thought I'd give you a fighting chance."
Dean scooted out from underneath the car and gave Castiel a look that could set a man's blood on fire. "You gonna eat me alive, Cas?"
"Oh, ahh, I didn't… I was just…"
"S'ok Cas, I'm just fucking with you."
Dean stood up and wiped his hands on a rag he dropped onto the creeper. "Did you bring me lunch?" The man's face lit up.
"Yeah, uh, sandwiches. But I thoroughly examined and comforted the pig before I slaughtered it for the ham."
Dean burst into laughter, letting out a sharp bark before leaning his head back and letting loose. "You are a fucking weird dude, Cas."
They settle down at the picnic table again and Dean pops open their beers against the edge.
"Fancy," Castiel smiles, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm like a swiss army knife. 32 flavors of awesome." Dean shook his head and looked at the sandwich like it was the sexiest thing on the planet before licking his lips and taking a bite.
Castiel had to turn away and adjust how he was sitting. Father, help me.
They ate and chatted about Dean changing the oil in Baby and stopping at the thrift store in town. General nothing conversation that at the time seemed so vital, but on reflection added up to nothing. It was just the feeling it left in its wake that caught Castiel by the back of the neck and held on tight, digging its teeth into his resolve.
Castiel cleaned up while Dean took a shower. Bringing visions of the green-eyed man naked and lathered in soap to Castiel's mind. How was he going to last an entire summer here? He was being tested. Tortured. And the worst part was he didn't know if Dean was just a giant flirt who joked about everything or if his attention on Castiel indicated interest.
Interest he couldn't reciprocate. He couldn't. No matter how warm and strong Dean's arms looked or how biteable his lips were. He couldn't.
The car ride into town was much better than his walk to the cabin. He rode with his arm hanging out the window of the Impala, looking at the world race by as Dean drove and tapped the rhythm to the song playing on the ancient cassette player. Garth spread out in the backseat, head resting on the window sill licking at the wind.
"You listen to Zeppelin?" Dean asked.
"No, I don't listen to much music that isn't Classic or Christian Rock."
"Hmm," Dean nodded.
"I like this, though."
"Yeah," Dean turned and smiled at him, the full one that reached his eyes. "This is Kansas. You're welcome to listen to any of my cassettes. I have an old tape deck at the house."
"Thanks."
When they pulled onto Mainstreet, the little town came alive. It was a Friday afternoon and people were already out in the streets. Dean pulled the Impala into a spot right in front of the thrift store and hopped out. He opened the door for Garth to climb out and stand next to him.
"So, what are you looking for?" Dean asked, looking at Castiel.
He had changed for venturing out and meeting Dean's friend Charlie, wearing dark jeans with boots and a blue and white checkered button-up over a dark T-shirt. "I don't know, I guess more stuff like this," he gestured to his clothes. "Stuff that would be okay to wear to the church but also comfortable to hang out in."
"Yeah," Dean raked his eyes over Castiel over in a way that made him feel like an ant with a magnifying glass shining on him. "You should get more blue. That shirt looks good on you, ahh, it brings out your eyes."
Dean turned and walked into the store, leaving Castiel alone for a moment, trying to process the other man's words. Dean pointed at Garth and told him to sit and stay.
Castiel walked in, the bells chiming overhead. He looked around the thrift store, larger than expected and spread out in organized rows. Dean was easy to spot. He stood just over 6 foot and his sandy blonde hair stuck up in all directions. Castiel ran a hand through his own dark hair, knowing that at best, he looked like he had a bad case of bed head.
"Hey, Cas! Look what I found!" Dean held up a cowboy hat and fit it on his head. "What do you think? Do I look like Kilmer or Russel?"
"I'm afraid I don't understand that reference."
"No music or movies, huh? We're going to have to widen your cultural knowledge. How are you supposed to preach to the masses when you don't even know what they do with their free time."
Castiel looked at Dean and tilted his head. The man had a point. He was so painfully out of touch with the world, having lived so much of his life either isolated or confined within the church. In some ways, he felt so young, but in others, he knew his years were starting to show. The creases around his eyes were permanent, no longer just appearing when he smiled, and the silver hairs had multiplied at his temples in the last year or two.
The two split up after that, Dean wandering off to look at the games and housewares and other knick-knacks while Castiel sorted through the clothing. He found a black sweatshirt that zipped up and had holes for his thumbs already sewn in, a pair of black slacks, and a handful of long sleeve shirts. But when it came to the button-ups, he was stymied. His instincts were all to go simple and just get white, but then he'd remember the way Dean's eyes had trailed over his body, checks flushed. That shirt looks good on you.
He wanted to find something else Dean would like the way he looked when wearing it. He ended up with two flannels he could throw on over short sleeves, a black button-up, and a simple white button-up with a goldish weave making subtle stripes. He gathered up his collection and paid.
He watched from the front of the store as Dean picked up a coffee mug and inspected it, his eyebrows coming together as he turned it over and tapped it with his nail. Castiel couldn't help but smile as he watched. What in the world could Reverend Michael have been talking about when he said Dean was gruff-not to get too close? This man had been nothing but kind and welcoming. In another life… Castiel stopped his thoughts. He couldn't indulge in anything like that.
And then Dean looked up. Castiel watched as pouty lips turned down in a frown and his eyebrows came together as he scanned the store until he found Castiel and that smile-that world ending, soul melting smile-broke out over his face.
"Did you find some good stuff?" Dean asked loudly before he was really close enough for conversation, like he couldn't wait to ask.
Castiel smiled and waited for Dean to come closer, but the man came right up to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. He stood so close. Cas forgot the question. He forgot to breathe. He almost forgot the rules. Dean's touch was so solid, so confident and comfortable and Cas wanted to just melt under the security of it. He hardly knew the other man and felt probably the safest he ever had standing here with only a hand on his shoulder.
"Um, yeah," he stepped back, out from under the touch, away from the thoughts he didn't dare think. "I think so. And good prices."
"Let's throw it in the car and go to Charlie's, huh? We can get dinner in town after that if you want."
"That sounds nice," Castiel gave Dean a soft smile.
Garth whimpered when he saw Dean come out of the store, still sitting where he had put him. He'd been in there the whole time with all the activity and distractions of downtown and stayed put. Other than his hugging habit, Garth was a really well-behaved dog. Dean motioned for Castiel to put his bags in the back and Cas looked up at him with a shy face.
"Mind if we throw this stuff in the trunk? I'd rather my new clothes not smell like dog."
"Garth, I think Cas is saying you smell bad." Dean gasped, making the dog raise his giant eyebrows and look into his owner's eyes intensely.
"I just mean…" Castiel stammered.
"Ha! Cas, don't apologize to the fucking dog! He can't actually speak English." Dean chuckled as he walked to open the trunk and then looked at Castiel as he approached. "So don't judge me okay, Sammy did the art in here when he was in an e-boy phase and I can't bring myself to change it."
Inside the trunk, painted on the inside of the hood, was a giant pentagram, surrounded by what one could only describe as satanic symbols. Castiel raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips before putting his purchases in without comment. Dean grabbed a canvas bag and slammed the trunk closed.
They walked down Main Street side by side, with Garth sticking tightly to Dean's side. The dog had no leash, but everyone they passed seemed to know him and smile.
Dean picked up his pace at the next street, and Garth kept up, hopping slightly and mouthing at the man's hand. He was going to be the death of Castiel, he could just feel it.