Alright, so I have some explaining to do.

What started out as a short hiatus so that I could enjoy my spring break turned into a permanent hiatus because my laptop caught a ransomeware virus. What it did was deleted all my files off my laptop, made a copy and encrypted it. Once everything was encrypted, I could no longer look at it, edit it, or anything. What they wanted me to do was pay them 500 dollars to get the decryption code, and subsequently get all my files back, but of course, I didn't do that. What instead happened was a friend of mine took my laptop and began the long process of trying to find the right code to decrypt everything. As we speak, he still hasn't found the code, and I'm actually using another friend's laptop to write this.

I had half the chapter done when the virus took control, and I'm basically writing this from memory, though I do have an outline, it doesn't have nearly as much detail as what I originally wrote.

So, in the near future, if and when I get my files back, I might be taking this chapter down to either re-write it or add some details I might have left out.

I'd like to thank all of you who are still reading despite this, and I sincerely apologize for keeping you all waiting for so long.

(BLD)

They had eaten through their meals, conversation bouncing from one topic to the other. Eventually, they began talking about their brothers, seeing as how there was only so much talk to go around about the weather. They talked about how stubborn they could be, how annoying, in most cases.

"I swear, all through out High school, Michael was a menace. Starting fights, breaking school property." Lucifer told Sam with enthusiasm.

"Like you were a Cherub." Michael interjected, an annoyed glare sent to Lucifer.

His younger brother chuckled, "Yea, there was that whole matter of burning the south soccer goal." He muttered, glancing at the tips of his nails.

Sam laughed, "What? You burned a soccer goal down?" he asked, incredulous smile on his lips.

"Well, that night, our football team won against this undefeated school from Montana, and all the seniors threw this huge party at the quarter back's house." Lucifer began to explain, leaning up in his seat, "Everybody brought their own party favors, and after about the third round of keg stands, me and my friends ditched the party and went back to the field." He chuckled, his eyes far off and distant, remembering a time long past.

"We weren't planning on doing what we did, I mean, I was clearly too drunk to be playing with a lighter, and I'm still not sure whose idea it was, but the next thing I remember from that night was laughing as that whole fucking goal went up in flames and my friends are pulling me back to the car because I guess I was trying to jump into the fire, or something?" he chuckled again, shaking his head slightly.

"Wouldn't surprise me." Michael mumbled before he took a sip of his drink.

Lucifer half-heartedly glared at Michael, "Then it was all over the news the next morning. That's when they put up the gate around the field." Both brothers laughed, shaking their heads.

"Oh man. And you never got caught?" Sam asked, leaning closer to Lucifer.

"Nope." Lucifer answered simply. "Then again, I think they thought it was the football team, and I'm fairly certain they weren't going to punish their championship winning team."

Sam grinned, leaning back in his chair, "Ya'know, Dean was on the football team at one point." He told them.

"Really?" Michael asked, readjusting in his seat. "Was he any good?"

"Yea, he was pretty good. He got kicked off the team, though." He mumbled, taking a sip from his glass.

"Why?" Lucifer asked, one arm dangling off the back of the chair as he turned towards Sam.

Sam chuckled, "He started a fight on the field with a guy from the other team. He swore up and down that the guy grabbed his butt or something." He chuckled again, shaking his head as he pushed some uneaten food around on his plate.

Lucifer chuckled as well, though it was half-hearted, and he took a moment to share a look with his brother. It was only a second, and it went unnoticed by Sam, but Michael understood the concern Lucifer had shared.

"What, he didn't like it?" Lucifer joked, though there was a small hint of seriousness in his tone, not enough to be picked up on.

Sam barked a laugh, then made a gesture to wave Lucifer off, "No." he answered in a tone that was reminiscent of 'Duh'.

Lucifer gave a tight lipped smile, and he then looked down at his glass, his fingers rubbing at the sides, sliding across the condensation. It seemed he was contemplating on whether or not he should say something. He smiled to Michael, though he wasn't sure he'd like what he was about to do, so it was more of an apologetic smile.

"Please tell me he's not getting offended by Castiel, though, right?" he asked, leaning over the table, making sure Sam heard the seriousness in his tone. He could sense how tense Michael got behind him, and then he got a harsh kick in the shin from him. He made no alteration in his expression.

Sam slowly looked up from his plate to Lucifer, his expression relatively blank. For a moment, Lucifer wasn't sure he'd made the right move or not, or if Sam even knew what the hell he was talking about, but he seemed like an observant kid. He had to have picked up on Castiel's behavior around Dean. But then Sam grinned.

"Actually, I think Dean is relishing in it." He told Lucifer.

A slow, Chesire smile grew across Lucifer's lips, "Oh really?" he then made a point to look back at his brother, in a manner as if he was telling him he'd been right.

"I mean, did you guys see how he was all over him at the bar the other night?" he asked, smirking. But his smirk slowly fell, his expression becoming more serious, "Funny thing is, though, he swears up and down that he's straight." He tapped his fingers on the table top for a moment before looking up at the brothers.

Michael frowned, glancing over at Lucifer, this time sending him a look as if he'd been right.

Lucifer sighed, "I don't want you to think I'm accusing Dean or anything, but he's not…" he shook his head, his bottom lip creasing, "An ass that would mess with a guy's feelings like that?"

"See, I suspected the same thing…" he told Lucifer, scooted to the edge of his seat as he spoke, "But when I brought it up, he got really defensive, and kept telling me he wasn't hitting on him." He told them, just as confused as them. Though, he was fairly certain he knew exactly what was going on, just like how Michael and Lucifer probably did as well.

Michael took a long sip from his drink, giving a small sigh afterwards, setting his glass back to the table, then addressed the both of them, "I think the three of us know what's happening between Castiel and Dean." He then looked up and made eye contact with Sam, "Even when they probably don't know it."

Sam and Lucifer shared a look between them, silently agreeing, then sat in silence as they allowed the situation to wash over them. There was also another silent agreement, that neither party would interfere with Dean and Castiel's budding relationship. It only seemed like what they had already been doing, and even though they could openly talk about it now between the three of them, it didn't mean Dean, or even Castiel, wanted to openly talk about it.

Though, really everyone was already bugging Castiel to talk to them about it. As if it their partnership were already official.

It was a few minutes later that they paid and got up to leave. In the parking lot, Sam gave Michael all his personal information in a file, thanking him once again. They left, and as Sam drove back to his childhood home, he couldn't help but to feel as if he'd walked into unfamiliar territory when it came to Dean and his true intentions. Or rather, he'd trespassed into a topic that didn't concern him, having been warned by Dean, and now he'd shown others what wasn't his to show.

He realized he was feeling guilt.

Castiel sighed, standing in front of the mirror on his closet door, looking at himself in his dark gray V-neck sweater, and white button up shirt underneath. Did he look too dressy? This is technically something he'd wear when meeting friends in town for an outing. He didn't want to look like he was dressing up for a major event, like hanging out with the man he was feeling some sort of way towards.

He pressed his hands down his body, smoothing out the sweater, even though it wasn't wrinkled. He hoped he wouldn't give himself away. Maybe Dean would see that he was nervous and he'd begin to question why that was.

Castiel shook his head, deciding he was over thinking it. He was fairly certain Dean wouldn't even notice what he was wearing or how he didn't seem to want to make eye contact.

He sat on the edge of his bed, slipping on a pair of socks, then a thought came to him. He then thought for a moment, trying to remember where they put his mother's things. Most of her formal wear they kept, along with her jewelry and other possessions they couldn't bear to part with. Her clothes had been put into storage, but a lot of her personal belongings were put away in the basement.

Castiel slipped on his shoes and quickly left his room, headed for the basement. He still had an idea of where he could find what he wanted, but he wasn't exactly where precisely it would be. As he descended the stairs, he could hear that the others were still in the living room, so he wouldn't be bothered on his pursuit. He went to the side room just right of the front door, and closed the door behind him. It was a small room they used to hang up the coats of their guests, and put shoes if they were wet or muddy, but there was a second door that led to the stairs that went down to the basement.

Castiel noticed that there were jackets in the small room that looked to be years old, one distinctively his father's, while the others he wasn't able to place who they belonged to. He then opened the second door, complete darkness greeting him back. The only light came from the bulb in the small room before the basement, and with it he was able to find the switch at the top of the stairs, turning the lights on down there.

As he made his way to the bottom he noted how the air was musty and stagnant. He wondered when the last time someone came down here. There were boxes marked as old possessions of his brothers, when they were younger, some boxes filled with old dinning ware, some old linens. Then, on top of an old ottoman, sat a box about the size of a milk crate, with Sharpie scrawled on the side, reading "Mother's accessories". Castiel smiled, then took a seat on the ottoman, pulling the box into his lap and removing the lid.

Instantly, Castiel was overwhelmed by the scent of his mother's perfume and the hair products she used to use.

He hadn't realized until that very moment that this would take an effect on him, but it was already too late, because Castiel began to tear up.

Silent tears fell from his eyes as he was reunited with some of his mother's most favorite hair pins, bracelets, and necklaces. He hadn't seen some of these things in years, and as he grazed his fingers over the soft feathers of one of his mother's hair clips, he bit his lip to keep from becoming vocal.

He closed his eyes, realizing he couldn't do it. He had wanted to, truly, so he could show Dean that he'd listened to his advise, about keeping a part of his mother with him all the time. But he just couldn't. He thought maybe his determination would help him get through it, but he'd been wrong.

Without looking, Castiel took the lid and covered it back over the box, and once it was secure, he reopened his eyes. He finally released a small whine, his tears falling from his chin, but then he lifted the collar of his sweater up and covered his eyes, momentarily hiding his face. He used his sweater to wipe away the tears, small hiccups escaping him.

He decided he wouldn't tell Dean. He didn't want him to be disappointed in him.

Work had of course gone on forever, and just when Dean felt like his last task was done, Bobby came over and asked him to do one last thing, which actually turned into three last things. Working tar marks out of rims was definitely one of his least favorite things, but what made it worse was that these rims had an intricate pattern, which made it difficult to clean out. It took him a hour and a half to completely clean.

When he finished, he made sure to clock out before Bobby noticed and hauled ass home. It was already 3:10, so he decided to call Castiel to tell him it'd be a few more minutes until he could make it to the bar.

Once he parked in the driveway, he called Castiel up, glad that he answered after the first ring.

"Hello, Dean." Castiel greeted him.

"Hey, Cas." Dean replied back, unlocking the front door and heading inside. "Just wanted to let you know I just now got off work, so I'm going to change, and I'll see you in about twenty minutes."

"No need to rush. I haven't left for the bar yet. Take your time and I'll see you soon." Castiel replied, reassuring Dean.

Dean smirked, "Thanks Cas. Talk to you soon. Bye."

"Bye."

And Dean hung up, slipping his phone into his pocket, an odd sense of excitement rushing through him. He hurriedly made his way upstairs, untying his work boots as soon as he made it to his room. Unfortunately they were impossible to simply kick off, and it took him more time than he liked to get them off.

He thought very hard about whether or not he should shower, but as he started taking his work clothes off he realized his hands were covered in grease. He sighed, but stripped himself down fervently. He hopped into the shower in the bathroom connected to his room, and didn't bother to close the door.

Hot water was started, and Dean immediately began rubbing Fast Orange soap into his hands, black sludge trickling into the drain. He was quick about his shower, but he still made sure he washed his hair and made sure he didn't smell like sweat.

Soon, he was running a towel through his hair and scrubbed himself down everywhere else.

There was a certain underlying franticness to his actions, and he told himself he didn't want to keep Castiel waiting, because it was rude. But it didn't explain the goofy grin he adorned the whole while.

Dean then pulled on a pair of underwear, inspecting his closet. He really didn't want to dress too fancy, they were just going to the same bar as the other night, but he really didn't want to under dress.

Then again, why did what he wore matter?

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, blindly grabbing what ever shirt his hand connected with off its hanger, out of the closest and slipped it on. He wasn't going to admit that he was relieved it was one of his nicer shirts, though he wasn't sure how nice a Jethro Tull shirt could be.

He rummaged around the pile of clothes beside his bed, finding the pair of jeans that was the cleanest and shoved his legs through them. He almost rammed his foot into one of his boxes in the process but quickly evaded it.

Dean still had quite a few boxes scattered around his room, down the hall, and even stacked in the living room. After the news of his father's body being discovered, Dean knew he needed to move back into the old house, but that didn't mean he needed to unpack everything all at once. Right now all the essentials were where they needed to be, but his cassette collection was still taped up, and his plates and dishes from his apartment were still in the corner of the kitchen.

Dean went back into his bathroom and brushed his teeth, then inspected them in the mirror, checking for things left behind. He then took a comb through his still damp hair and then squirted a bit of gel onto his fingers and began styling his hair, a routine practice that he had down to an art, combing it into its signature lift.

Dean rubbed his hand over his jaw line, but deemed it fine, knowing there was a bit of stubble going on, but not enough to require a shave. And really, he liked the rugged look. It's gotten him to many good places in his life.

He then sprayed some cologne over his chest, but then quickly realized what he'd done, staring at the bottle in his hand. His eyes squinted, and he slowly set the cologne bottle back on the sink counter. The last time he wore cologne was before his father passed.

He supposed he's gotten to where he feels like wearing it again. He tried not to spend too much time thinking about it, because it really didn't matter at the moment, so he grabbed a leather wrist band and clasped it over his wrist and continued to get ready.

When he finally came downstairs, Sam was already home and sitting on the couch with a beer, his feet up on the coffee table. He turned to look over his shoulder, then grinned, "What are you about to go do?" he asked.

"I'm gonna grab a few beers with Cas at the bar. I'll be back later." And before Sam could make further comment, Dean was already out the door.

Sam's brows arched high, surprised the two of them had already made plans to meet up. Then he wondered how that was possible. Dean had been working all day, and he was sure he'd just gotten off before he got home. Had they exchanged numbers under his nose? Sam allowed himself to contemplate about it for another few minutes until his show came back from the commercial break.

Once Castiel stepped into the bar, he thought on whether he should sit at the bar, or grab a small table. Sitting at the bar allowed too many ears to hear in on their conversation, so he went for the round booth table in the corner. There was a hanging lamp that lit the table nicely, and it wasn't too big that it was overly spacious, and yet it was small enough that Castiel and Dean would need to sit relatively closer to each other than they would have at the bar.

And Castiel felt like their conversations could be more intimate this way, away from unwelcome ears.

With a small smile, he slid into the booth, unbuttoning his paletot overcoat and folding it over his lap. He then took out his phone and sent a quick text to Anna, reading, "First one here. I took a small round booth table in the back."

It was only a few moments later that he got a reply.

"Oh, Castiel, you really know how to set the mood."

Castiel chuckled, his face falling into his hands for a moment. He didn't want to think of it that way, because he really did want Dean to talk to him like he hasn't before. He really wants to get to know him today.

Before he could think of a clever reply, a blond waitress came to his table, "Hi, I'm Judy. What can I get you?" she asked politely.

"Uh, I guess I'll have a Coke." He told her, not entirely interested in drinking a beer.

"Alright… Are you here alone, or are you waiting for someone?" she then asked, and Castiel knew she needed to know if she needed to come back frequently to attend to more people, but for a moment it sounded like she were trying to figure out if Castiel was single or not.

He lightly chuckled, "Someone is meeting me here in a few minutes. I'd give you his order too, but for the life of me I can't remember what he drinks." It would be a waste to get him something that he doesn't drink, so he thought it'd be safe to wait for him to arrive before ordering him a drink.

"Oh, okay." She responded with a small giggle, "I'll go ahead and get your drink made." She told him then sped off.

Castiel sat, his hands in his lap, waiting for Dean to arrive, and imagining how he would look. He wondered if he thought about what he wore like Castiel did. He laughed to himself, thinking maybe he had a hard time deciding. He then realized he was excited to see all the different things Dean wore. He wondered if it was odd to want to see someone else's wardrobe.

Shortly after checking his phone's time, Judy came back, placing a small square napkin down in front of him, followed by a glass of Coke. He gave a polite "Thank you." And as she walked off, he began removing his straw from the paper sheath. He'd just placed the straw in his glass when he heard the door to the bar open and was quickly delighted to see that it was in fact Dean, wearing his dark green jacket and a pair of blue jeans.

Castiel wanted to wave at him, signal him that he was over at a table, but he hesitated. He watched him from afar for a few moments, merely out of curiosity.

Dean had both his hands in his pockets, his eyes at the bar, probably having expected to see Castiel sitting there, but when he didn't see him, his head bobbed and weaved, searching out the other tables. He looked like he'd taken a shower, mostly because he'd expected him to be a bit dirty after work. He couldn't help but to grin, thinking about the simple fact that Dean didn't want Castiel to see him dirty.

Eventually, before Dean's eyes could find him sitting at the table, watching him, he waved to him, his hand raising over his head, and called out, "Dean…"

Dean quickly made eye contact with Castiel, and a wide smile spread across his face as he came over. "Hey!" he greeted. He then slid into the booth, and Castiel noted very quickly how close Dean was willing to get him in the booth, only separated by maybe a foot of length.

Suddenly it became very apparent how nervous Castiel was. It was odd, because all the way up until this point, he'd been quite giddy. Now, he could hardly look at Dean without blushing or feeling like he was going to make a fool of himself.

This was going to be a long evening.

Dean clasped his hands over the table, leaning into it, though making sure to keep looking at Castiel. He smiled, though he wasn't sure why. All they'd done was greeted each other and Dean couldn't stop grinning. He then looked at Castiel's glass of cola.

He pointed a finger to the glass, "Wait, are you drinking Coke?" he asked, skeptical.

Castiel chuckled, "Yes, I am." He replied, this time able to make eye contact with him again.

Dean then looked around the bar, as if seeing if there was anyone near them before he spoke again, "I don't know if you know this, but…" he looked back to Castiel, his voice becoming hushed, "They do have beer here."

Castiel chuckled, shaking his head, "I know that. I don't really drink beer." He told him. He then took his overcoat out of his lap and set it beside him in the booth.

Dean's mouth went agape, "Then why did you agree to meet up here?" he asked through his chuckling.

Castiel shrugged, "You seem to like this place, and it's not bad. You didn't want to meet just to drink, did you, Dean?" He asked him. He hoped that didn't sound suspicious.

Dean quickly shook his head, "No, of course not." He then leaned back into the booth, both his arms raising above the back of the seat, allowing his arms to rest along the length of the top of the booth itself. He grinned at Castiel, not giving any elaboration. Castiel was too busy looking away and sipping at his Coke to hide his blush to ask for any.

Soon, Judy made her way back to the table, and Dean ordered a beer. After she left he spoke up, "If you don't want me to drink the whole time then maybe you should tell me about yourself." He took a long swig of his beer, and Castiel was confused how that would prevent Dean from drinking, but then Dean continued, "Ya'know, so it'll distract me from drinking."

Castiel laughed, "Okay. Let's hope the theory works."

"In theory, you should start telling me about yourself now." Dean mumbled, taking another drink with the hand not behind Castiel.

Castiel chuckled, then nodded, "Well, I grew up here in town, and I went to New Haven Prep, like my brothers, my father, aunt and uncle, and many before me." He took a sip of his drink, then continued, "I can't really say if I enjoyed my time there, mostly because I don't remember much of it."

Dean looked at Castiel, slightly confused, "What do you mean?" he asked, his hands leaving the back of the booth and resting at his sides.

"I mean, I remember the curriculum, and I retained the knowledge, but there was never really anything that made me say I loved high school." He shrugged, "My high school experience was rather bland. I wasn't really bullied, like stereotypes would dictate, but it wasn't really a life changing experience for me." He sighed, trying to think of any moment that stood out to him.

"There was the field trip to Disney Land at the end of my Senior year, but I decided not to go." He told Dean, but before he could continue, he heard Dean gasp.

"You had an opportunity to go to Disney Land as a school function and you declined?!" Dean was in utter disbelief, knowing there was no way in hell he'd pass that up.

Castiel chuckled, "Well its not that exciting when you've already been multiple times before you've graduated."

"Oh, well I guess so…" Dean mumbled, then took a sip of his drink.

"What I was going to say," Castiel continued with a grin, "Was that instead of going to Disney Land for the millionth time, me and my family went to New York for a week. I got to spend time with my cousins and we did a good number of things in the city." His brow furrowed, "Though that didn't have much to do with school, it was after graduation."

Dean's head cocked to the side, "You didn't go out much with your friends?" he asked.

Castiel sighed, one hand going to the back of his neck and rubbed, "Well Dean, I didn't really have many friends in high school. There were certainly many people like me there that could've been… But we just didn't…" his hand waved over the table as he fished for the proper word. Eventually he didn't find one and gave up, but settled for the truth.

"I think it had a lot to do with my family…" he finally spoke. He realized that this was the first time he'd ever told anyone other than his mother, Anna or Samandriel about it. He'd never mentioned it to anyone else, because he was sure his brothers wouldn't understand.

"Why's that?" Dean asked, and he knew the mood had changed so he made sure to pay close attention. He had a feeling this was rather personal for Castiel.

"I'm not sure, I think a lot of the other students knew what kind of power my family had in the community, and I was always seen as… the weak one, I guess. No one wanted to make the mistake of offending me, so they all just left me alone…" he grimaced, remembering all the time he spent in the library, by himself. He had no one to hang out with during their designated free-time in between classes, so he read, alone.

"That sucks, Cas." Dean told him, a serious expression on his features. "Even if they had the power to kill me, I think I still would have hung out with you." He told him with a wide smile. "Believe it or not, I didn't have many friends either."

Castiel's brows rose, "Really? Why not?" he asked.

"I got into a lot of fights, mostly with people who didn't like me, or my attitude." He shrugged, "I guess they were intimidated by my confidence." He grasped at his bottle, swirling it a bit, "Even though I sucked at a lot of subjects, I acted like hot shit." He chuckled, "I mean, I almost failed in my sophomore year, and I got a lot of crap about that. But then next year I was determined to go down kicking and screaming, and surprisingly I made As and Bs the whole year." He grinned, "A lot of people respected that, but the main guys that had been giving me a hard time through out the years kept trying to bring me down, kept saying there was no way I could graduate." He then stopped the swirling and took a drink.

"Because of them, there weren't many people that wanted to be around me, and well, I guess you could say the treatment kind of made me abrasive to anyone who wanted to come up and talk to me. I was always sure they were just going to make another joke about my grades or something." He told him, then actually looked up to Castiel, giving him a stern eyed look. "But I have no doubt we would've been friends." He grinned.

Then out of nowhere, Dean slung an arm around Castiel's shoulders and gave him a squeeze, chuckling. Castiel chuckled in returned, though mostly out of shock, but it was borderline giggles, and he tried very hard to calm himself, looking down at his lap and smiling, "Thank you, Dean."

Any other time, if someone would have told him they would have been friends in high school he would've smiled and thanked them, because it was a nice gesture. But Dean's sincere tone told him they quite possibly could've been.