Chapter Summary: It's Dean's first day at Castiel's safe house. When he is left alone, he naturally starts to snoop through his host's things in hopes of learning more about Castiel. He ends up getting more information than he expected.
Chapter Warnings: mentions of minor canon character death, story-telling, fluffy moments
Author's Notes: FOR THOSE WHO READ CHAPTER TWO RIGHT AFTER IT WAS POSTED: Okay, so after I first posted chapter two, I stayed up thinking about where I wanted to go with this story. Then, in the middle of the night, I got an awesome idea, but I had to go back and edit one sentence in chapter two in order for it to be possible. If you read the story before I edited it, you will come to a point in a future chapter and be very confused as to how that was possible. For those people, I am so, so sorry. I would tell you what that sentence was, but it's too obvious foreshadowing. This edit happened about eight hours after the first post (around 4am EST). I'M REALLY SORRY for those of you who will be confused in a few chapters. I hope you'll still like the story, despite my poor editing.


Dean's first night at Castiel's safe house was predictably unexpected.

After breakfast, Castiel gave him a small tour, pointing out some of the house's features, and giving him some additional information; they were located in the mountains of Colorado, five miles from the closet road, and thirty miles from the closest town. Despite how cut off they were from people, they were still on the grid in terms of cable and internet, both of which were fully accessible.

There were back up generators, rations for emergency food, even a panic room in the basement, complete with an escape route that led out to the lake; this house was, in lamest terms, safe.

But it wasn't the safety measures or extra features to the house that Dean found unusual, it was the amount of freedom he was given within in. In each room he showed, Castiel was sure to inform him he was allowed to do whatever he pleased there. There were no boundaries, no limits; if there was anything he wanted to do, he didn't need to ask. Coupled with the over-night sense of safety, the added promise of being able to live in peace and do as he wished was liberating.

After the tour was over, Castiel asked to be excused; he had not slept in sometime, and Dean could tell it was starting to get to him. Once he was by himself, Dean plopped down on the large, comfortable couch, the house phone in hand. When Castiel rescued him, his clothes had gotten left behind, along with the cell phone in his pocket. It was no big loss, being a disposable.

No, his real concern was his baby, and he exhaled a none-too-small sigh of relief when Castiel told him he had had his car towed, and would be taking him to collect it tomorrow morning.

Checking the clock, he figured now was a good a time as any- it was Sunday, so he knew he wasn't in class. The phone rang twice before a tired, distressed voice answered the call.

"Dean?" Sam asked. "Dean, is that you?"

"Yeah, Sammy, it's me." He was a little surprised to hear his brother sound so worried, but he understood; every Saturday, after he was done studying in the library, Sam got a phone call from him- it was their deal if Dean was going to be off on his own. He had never missed their scheduled talks. Until yesterday.

Dean imagined his brother must have been up all night, wondering why he didn't hear from him, and as is often the case with worrying family members, the more hours that passed, the more conclusions they jumped to, each scenario in their head getting worse and worse until they were told otherwise that everything was okay.

"What the fuck, Dean?" Sam bit at him. "Where the hell have you been? Dad and I have been worried sick, we were calling all night."

"Calm down, I'm fine," Dean assured him. Under all of the anger and the promise of an ass-chewing if he didn't explain himself soon, Dean could hear the relief that was fueling it. His brother was worried, he knew he would be, but he couldn't help the little smile on his lips and the light prickling around his eyes that came from knowing he was so missed. "What are you doing? You sitting down? Good, cause I got a lot to tell you."

Without further delay, Dean explained everything, subtracting the 'you-don't-need-to-know-that' details: the hunter from the woods tracked him down and kidnapped him; he was rescued by a third party, a man who wanted to keep him safe; he was now staying in that man's house, and would, for the foreseeable future, be living there for a few days.

"And, yeah," he finished. "That's about it." Really, he had thought the explanation would have lasted longer, but it only took a few minutes to get everything out. "Cas is, well, he's not what I thought. I'm not saying I trust him, but I don't know, dude seems alright. And he wants to help, so... yeah, that's it."

Sam was silent on the other end long enough that Dean thought they had been disconnected.

"'Yeah, that's it?' Seriously, that's how you're ending all of that? 'Yeah, that's it?' Dean, you were almost rap-"

"Jeez, Sam, you don't have to say it." Dean interrupted with an indecent sound. "Look, I know, okay? It was close- way too close for comfort, but I'm alright now. So fret not little Sammy, my virtue is still intact."

He chuckled at Sam's 'you-did-not-just-say-that' groan, though laughing was the last thing he felt like doing when he thought about last night. There was a sudden need to change the subject, and he was glad when Sam provided him with a question that allowed him to do just that.

"So this... you said his name was 'Castiel?'" Sam asked. "What's he like? Why does he want you there? Did he say that he wanted anything?"

"No," Dean assured him. "I asked him about that, it's more of a personal thing than any self-interest." He paused for a second, debating whether or not to tell Sam about Samandriel, before he decided no- Castiel's reasons were his own, and Dean shouldn't share them with his brother. "Trust me, Sam, no one is more suspicious of the people who want to be around me more than me. I vetted him, he checks out. First sign of anything shady, I'm gone."

There most have been something in his tone, because Sam let the subject drop. Afterwards, there was the matter of who would tell John, before they both decided Sam would be better at explaining it to him than Dean. Then it was just like their normal talks; Dean told him he was in Colorado, but he didn't really know where, and Sam talked about school.

Overall, it wasn't a bad conversation. He had been expecting more arguing.

By the time Sam said he was meeting some people and had to go, it was almost two in the afternoon. Castiel would probably be sleeping now, and it wasn't like Dean had anywhere to be. It was so weird, not having something he needed to do; whether it was some small job, or working on his car, or staying on the move, he was always doing something- now, all he had was free time, and he didn't know what to do with himself.

For a moment, he considered going back upstairs and taking a nap himself, but he had slept for so long last night and this morning that he wasn't tired now. And besides, he now had almost the whole house to himself. Nothing wrong with a little investigating; if he was going to be staying with a stranger, it might be beneficial to learn more about him. No place better to look than the guy's house.

Getting up from the couch, he decided to have another look around, a self-guided tour without a supervisor. It wasn't snooping if Castiel said he could do whatever he felt like, right? Well, now he felt like going through the guy's stuff. If there was something here that was off-limits, Castiel should have said so.

It was a nice house- Dean had to give him that- but it was lacking a personal touch. There was nothing sentimental to be found in any of the rooms, no pictures on the walls or on end tables, no birthday cards on display, nothing. The only thing that didn't look like it was an exact replica of Better Homes and Gardens was the sticky notes on the refrigerator. Dean smirked when he read one that said, 'Impala, 10am.'

The tables were bare, bookshelves were boring, drawers were empty or filled with random cable cords; there was nothing worth looking at here.

With that thought in mind, Dean went to the stairs; obviously, Castiel's room was off limits. Not because it was a place of privacy, but because that's where he was sleeping. But as his search of the downstairs area had yielded no satisfying results, he turned his attention upwards. There was no way a man could live all alone for years and not have some personal things hidden away somewhere that would tell Dean more about his character.

When he got to the landing at the top of the staircase, he passed by the room he was staying in and continued down the hall. There were only a few doors up here; one of them lead to a sun room that served as an office reading room. Dean went there first, creeping quietly passed the shut door where his host was sleeping.

The sun room was, unsurprisingly, bright, with an entire wall and most of the ceiling being window. The wall on the left was nothing but bookshelf from top to bottom, complete with a sliding ladder that reminded Dean of the library from Beauty and the Beast.

Dean scanned the numerous shelves, even taking a few books out to leaf through; they were all worn and well read, and most of them were fiction novels. Names like H.P. Lovecraft, J.R.R. Tolkien, and Kurt Vonnegut stood out to him. Well, that was something- Castiel was a fan of Harry Potter, among other things. Dean would have taken him for more of a non-fiction sort of guy.

He had learned something- looked like he was making progress.

There was also a desk and computer in the room, and after setting The Hitchhiker's Guide back on the book shelf, he turned to it. There weren't a lot of papers on the desk, just some more sticky notes with vague reminders from months back, and when the computer came on, he found it was password protected. After a few failed attempts at guessing the password, he was unable to get onto the computer, and he got up.

Careful to leave the room exactly as he found it, he quietly closed the door behind him on his way out.

The only doors left were a bathroom, a linen closet, and what Castiel had told him was another bedroom.

He let out a defeated sigh. Maybe Castiel really didn't have anything laying about that would tell Dean more about the man who had rescued him, and he should just wait and get to know the guy the old fashioned way- spending time with him and talking. Without much expectation, Dean opened the door to the extra bedroom.

Sunlight streamed into the room through heavy, tied back curtains, bright enough that he didn't need to turn on the light. The common theme seemed to be 'Things Teenage Boys Like;' there was a Star Wars poster on the wall, action figures on top of the book shelf, comic books on the actual shelves. It was the only room that looked like it had any sentimentality in it. Nothing in here seemed like it would belong to Castiel, though.

Then it dawned on him, the initial thought hitting fast, and the meaning slowly sinking in.

Oh. This must have been Samandriel's room.

There was a small conflicting feeling in Dean's stomach; going through Castiel's stuff when he pretty much had permission to was one thing- poking around the abandoned room of his dead little brother was another matter altogether. Would it be considered disrespectful? Would it make the guy angry? Castiel seemed like a nice enough guy- Dean wouldn't have stuck around this long if he didn't- but he didn't want to risk making the dude mad at him. He was, after all, giving Dean more than he ever had to. It would be a pretty shitty way to pay him back by breaking his trust.

Although, the other side of his mind thought, it's not like he ever asked for Castiel to trust him- he was grateful to him, there would be no point in denying that, but that didn't mean the guy should just trust him automatically. He didn't know anything about Dean- for all the good Samaritan knew, he could be robbing him blind while he slept.

And it wasn't like Castiel had told him not to go in here. Didn't he specifically say Dean could do whatever he pleased before he left him alone? What if Dean pleased to poke around in this bedroom? If he had the vague permission to do so, surely Castiel couldn't be angry with him for doing it, right?

He was nitpicking, he knew; none of these reasons were valid excuses, and he doubted that argument would hold up if the man changed his mind and wanted to kick him out. But even if it did, it's not like Dean was planning on staying long-term anyway, just enough to get his bearings straight and go back to being under the radar.

Few days, tops.

Eventually, his curiosity beat out his moral reluctance, and he walked into the room.

The first drawer he opened in the nightstand reveled a few more comic books and some math homework- looked like Samandriel was home-schooled, too. Picking up the sheet of paper, Dean read over it; the corrections over the problems in pen looked like they were done by someone older. In his mind's eye, he saw a parent, but the more he read over them, the more he thought the corrections were more likely done by Castiel.

The dresser drawers held nothing but clothes, so he moved on to the desk. A large shelf over the old-looking computer had a few text books and folders. Dean slid one of the folders down, a green one with the word 'Europe' written over the front in large letters. When he opened it, he found pictures of popular cities; London, Paris, Rome, and many others. There were several maps of European countries, each one marked with sharpies of different colors. Places were circled, and lines were drawn connecting them, with words scribbled next to it depicting tourist attractions in that area.

The next folders Dean took down were similar, with one for South America, and Asia. The purple folder labeled America had the most writing in it, and the map had a few x's crossed over some cities.

So Samandriel had wanted to travel the world. The thought made Dean smile before something stirred in his memory.

"We were traveling, and they broke into our house."

Was Castiel helping his little brother accomplish his goals when the boy was kidnapped? If Samandriel was taken under Castiel's watch, after he took him out of the safety of their home... did Castiel blame himself?

Perhaps the more accurate question would be 'how much did Castiel blame himself?'

Dean's eyebrows furrowed at the thought, and he put the folders back where he found them.

Getting up from the desk, he turned towards the closet. There were some old t-shirts hanging up, and some worn shoes on the floor under them, but Dean's attention was drawn to the shelf at the top. The one with the boxes. Most were small, a few shoe boxes, and a slightly larger one.

Jackpot.

Carefully, Dean took them down one by one and placed them on the bed.

He sat in the middle of the mattress and pulled the first box towards him. Inside were pictures, mostly of places and without any people in them. Dean recognized the Golden Gate Bridge, Mount Rushmore, the Grand Canyon, even the world's largest ball of twine.

The only photographs that had people in them were some candid shots of a younger Castiel, and ones with the two brothers together in front of a landmark, likely taken by other tourists. Dean had to acknowledge Samandriel's control; in each picture, he was smiling wide, and laughing happily, but in none of the pictures was he glowing.

There wasn't a single picture of siblings or parents.

He paused each time he saw a picture of Castiel. There were ones of him sitting on a hotel bed reading or watching TV, ones of him driving, eating, looking around wherever they were visiting. He looked so young and- in the pictures where he didn't know he was the subject- happy. It made Dean chuckle a little bit to think Castiel was camera shy, but in all of the pictures where he was looking at the camera showed him looking awkward or nervous.

Each image had a description on the back, along with a date, and Dean read each one; most of these photographs were taken ten years ago.

Three of the shoe boxes were like this, just bundles and bundles of photographs, and Dean went through each one, reading the descriptions on the back, and admiring the scenes they presented. Dean was able to put small pieces of Castiel's life together this way; Samandriel was obviously the photographer, save for the pictures taken of the brothers together from far away.

Samandriel put all of this together, and Castiel allowed it to happen. His little brother wanted to travel the world, and after being home-schooled and stuck indoors all of his life himself, Dean could relate and understand the desire.

After seeing the house the first time, it was not big leap to picture Castiel coming from a lot of money. And with there being no pictures of other family members, Dean assumed it was just the two of them. Having a little brother himself, he could understand the weak spot Castiel undoubtedly had for Samandriel. If he presented his folders to his big brother, and told him about his dreams of seeing the world, how could he have told him no? If it were financially possible, shouldn't the idea be considered?

The last shoe box did not contain more pictures, as Dean had predicted. Instead, it was filled with letters in old envelopes, all handwritten, each one bearing the same name, 'Anna Milton.' Tentatively, Dean opened the first letter and read it. It was written by Samandriel, talking about his and Castiels' travels- all the places they had been, and all the things they had seen. Each one was signed, 'Your brother, Samandriel.'

A few of the letters had attached photographs. One of them showed the brothers standing in front of the Washington Monument, and on the back it read 'C. Novak: 19-yrs S. Novak: 12-yrs We saw the Smithsonian, it was pretty amazing! Wish you could have been there.'

None of the letters in the box were replies.

So Castiel had a sister out there somewhere, possibly more siblings; Samandriel's letters had asked questions about a few different people, asking how they were doing, if they were okay.

A picture was starting to form in Dean's head; one of a teenaged Castiel taking care of his little brother alone- his little brother who was a Luministia that grew up sheltered, and dreamed of the world outside his bedroom; one of Castiel doing everything he could to make Samandriel happy, while still keeping him safe; one of Castiel losing everything, because maybe he had made Samandriel too happy, and the boy had slipped.

One where Castiel was now alone.

Well, Dean thought as he turned to the final box, it had worked; he had learned more about Castiel going through this room than he had searching the rest of the house. He was getting what he wanted, and it didn't sit right in his stomach.

The last box was a little larger than the shoe boxes, and he pulled it in front of his lap, grabbing the side flaps and opening them.

"Nothing on TV, I take it?"

Dean flinched so hard, he nearly knocked the box over, the sudden voice from the door almost making him yelp from surprise- almost. He stared wide-eyed, mouth agape, at Castiel's form standing in the open doorway. No words, not even sounds, were making their way through his open mouth at first, and it felt like his brain had short-circuited.

"Uh- I, um..." Dean said intelligently. He glanced around at the situation, at all of the open boxes of Castiel's private personal life spread out over the bed, with Dean sitting right in the middle of it, shamelessly digging through them. There were no excuses. He had no idea how he was going to talk his way out of this one. Should he say he was sorry? Was he sorry? Would Castiel be angry? Was he going to kick Dean out now? What the hell was he thinking, not listening for the door? How long was he even in here?

He snapped out of his little inner tirade when he hear a soft chuckle coming from the door, and he looked up. Relief flooded through him when he was Castiel was lightly smirking.

"It's fine," Castiel said. "I don't blame your curiosity. I'd look around myself, if I were in your position."

Castiel walked over to the bed and sat down diagonally across from Dean, facing him. Automatically, his hand went for the first shoebox Dean had opened. His smile turned nostalgic, and maybe a little sad, as he flipped through some of the pictures.

A few moments of silence passed, and Dean felt he really ought to say something.

"I, uh..." he started, keeping his eyes on the only box he hadn't snooped through. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-" gone through your shit? Invaded your privacy after you saved my life? Trespassed on the memory of your late brother by taking out all of the things you had hidden away, and forced you to look at them again? "I mean-"

"I said it's fine, Dean," Castiel said, and Dean met his eyes to see if he was telling the truth. "If I were absolutely against the idea of you looking around, I would have asked you to stay in your room, or better yet, not invited you into my home." He looked down at the picture in his hands and smiled at it. "If anything, I should thank you; I haven't seen these in a very long time."

Dean watched Castiel look through the old photographs for a long while. A quick glance to his watch told him that he had been in here for almost three hours; he didn't know where the time went, or better yet, how he hadn't noticed so much of it had passed.

The box in front of him had only one flap open, and he so badly wanted to know it's contents; it was on the heavy side for it's size, and when he had moved it, he could hear several objects shifting around inside. He was more than a little curious, but he didn't want to push his luck and sift through it, not after he had already been caught going through the other boxes.

He was content to sit there and wait for his host to dismiss him from the room. If Castiel really wasn't mad at his invasion, and wanted to keep helping him despite it, he would consider himself grateful.

When Castiel eyed the box of letters, he frowned at it, his eyebrows drawing together. The sight of them seemed to upset him, but he picked the box up anyway and opened the top letter.

"You read these, I'm guessing?" Castiel asked while glaring at the name on the envelope.

There was no point in lying at this stage.

"Yeah," Dean answered softly. He could tell by Castiel's reaction to them that they were a sensitive matter, but damn it, he had never been so curious about someone else's life before. "Could I ask- who was Anna?"

Castiel didn't answer right away, and Dean thought it best not to talk anymore.

"Anna is my sister." Castiel told him quietly. "We used to be close when we were younger, but we... we grew apart after Samandriel was born. She married a while back, and has moved since we last spoke, I don't even know where she is now. I didn't have the heart to tell my brother she changed her address."

There was a faint bitterness in his voice, and the urge to know more details threatened to make Dean ask about it, but he needed to reel himself in; this was obviously not something Castiel wanted to talk about, and while he had had no problem going through the man's life when he was unaware, he was not so rude that he would draw Castiel's attention to the things he wanted to forget.

Instead, he moved the topic away from his mysterious sister and the letters, and steered it towards something Castiel might enjoy to talk about.

"You guys saw a lot of places," Dean said, nodding towards the box of pictures. "I gotta say, I've driven all over the country, and even I haven't seen the Grand Canyon."

Something soft fluttered in Dean's chest when he saw Castiel smile at the other shoebox, pulling the pictures closer, and abandoning the letters to his side.

"Yes," Castiel agreed, flipping through more photographs until he came to the one of the both of them standing in front of the canyon. "Samandriel was adamant about going. I used to read him a lot of adventure stories growing up, and he used to stay up all night planning his own adventures."

So the fiction novels were Samandriel's, too, or at least something he shared with him. Was there anything personal of Castiel's in this house that wasn't connected to his brother?

They lapsed into an easy silence, as Castiel went through the shoebox, laughing at some of the pictures while Dean leaned in to see which ones he was looking at. Sometimes Castiel would give him some background on what was going on in the picture at the time it was taken, or telling him a story of something that had happened that day. It was nice, just listening, watching the man reminisce.

At one point, Castiel must have noticed Dean glancing at the unopened box, and he nodded at it.

"It's alright," he said. "Really. Now that I'm seeing everything, I want to look through it myself. And I know you want to know what's in it."

No disagreement there, but he did have the decency to look a little sheepish when he started opening the flaps.

Inside the box were a bunch of loose objects, and, carefully, Dean withdrew some of them. The first thing he grabbed was an old Polaroid camera that Castiel reached out for, smiling fondly.

"Samandriel bought this at a pawn shop the first day we set out. Said it was the best thirty dollars he ever spent."

Dean smiled at the trivia before returning to the box. Next to come out was a heavy snow globe with a surfing snowman inside.

"That was from Key West," Castiel informed him. "He thought it was funny that Florida would sell beach-themed snow globes for winter."

That was how they carried on for several minutes- Dean would remove a souvenir from the box, and Castiel would provide commentary for it. The whole box was nothing but the objects Samandriel had obtained on their 'adventures,' and most of the stories were pretty funny. By the time the box was almost empty, Dean thought he knew Samandriel pretty well for having never met him.

Dean found himself really enjoying Castiel's stories, not just for the content, but for the way he told them. When Dean pulled something out, Castiel would start cracking up at the sight of it, and through his laughter, he would try to share what memory the item had brought up. Most of the stories were the 'you-had-to have-been-there' type, but the way Castiel reacted to them was contagious. He could tell it had been a long time since his host had laughed like this, and it was like he was a part of something special, watching Castiel remember these things.

They were both laughing in the wake of another story when Dean took out a porcelain figurine. It was of a male angel with large black wings about the size of his hand.

"Wow," Dean said. "This is beautiful, what-"

He stopped talking at the look on Castiel's face; his lips were thin, his eyebrows bunching together, and there was a lot of sadness in his eyes. Carefully, he took the small angel and stared at it for a few seconds.

"I had forgotten about this," he stated, and Dean felt he was doing a good job at keeping his voice even. "It was a birthday gift. Sammy said it reminded him of me when he saw it. Said I was his guardian angel."

Castiel smiled bitterly at the figurine.

"Some angel I turned out to be."

Without thinking, Dean reached forward and placed his hand on Castiel's knee.

"Don't say things like that," he told him. "I may not know the whole story, but from I can see here, Samandriel lived a good life with you. You did right by him."

Dean stalled at the look Castiel gave him, a mixture of disbelief and gratitude, like he wanted to believe what Dean was telling him, but he didn't quite accept it as truth. They stared at each other for a moment before Dean suddenly remembered that he was still touching him, and withdrew his hand with a small smile.

"In any case," he said to save face; just because he was awkward didn't make anything he said less true. "You were a pretty cool big brother."

They lapsed into another silence, and though it wasn't unsettling, it wasn't as comfortable as it was before. Castiel was went from staring at Dean to looking back at the angel in his hands, and Dean started to feel genuine guilt. This was his fault; why did he have to go snooping around and make Castiel relive such sad moments?

"Do you wanna stop?" Dean asked when the silence stretched too long. Again, Castiel didn't answer right away.

"No," he said with certainty. Castiel leaned over and gently placed the angel figurine on the end table beside the bed. "I would like to see what else is in the box. Please, keep going."

With a small pause, trying to see if Castiel was telling him the truth, Dean returned to the box. There were only a few more objects inside, and he sincerely hoped they were tied to happy memories.

Luckily, they were. The laughs were a little subdued at first, but by the time the box was empty, they were both genuinely smiling again. Dean was especially glad to see Castiel was in good spirits by the end of it; this could have gone a very different way when Dean was caught looking around in here, and again when they found the porcelain angel. Castiel could have gotten angry, or worse, immensely sad. Dean didn't want to be responsible for upsetting Castiel, not now that he knew how good of a guy he was.

"Thank you, Dean."

The words caught Dean off guard, and he couldn't help himself from immediately replying with-

"For what?" He also couldn't help the small blush that crept over his cheeks when he saw the open, honest look Castiel was giving him.

"It has been years since I've seen any of these things," Castiel explained, gesturing towards the bed. "I only come in here once a month, and that's just to dust, to keep the room clean."

Castiel looked around the room then.

"Ever since he was taken, I haven't been able to think about my little brother without becoming incredibly sad, and over the years, I had forgotten all of this. It is nice to be able to remember Samandriel and all of the good times we had together and be able to laugh. More than nice, it's refreshing." He turned to look at Dean then. "So thank you. For reminding me. I get that that was not your original intention for coming in here," he added with a knowing look, and Dean looked down with another sheepish smile. "But nonetheless, I am grateful that you did this."

With a last look around, Castiel stood up.

"I'm going to go make us something to eat. Would you mind...?"

"Yeah," Dean said, standing up himself. "Yeah, I'll put everything away."

Still smiling, Castiel turned to leave the room, but stalled as he passed the end table before picking up the angel figurine and walking out of the door.

Dean stood there for a moment, letting what he had just seen, and everything he had learned, sink in. As he carefully placed each sentimental item back into the box, he thought back to each of their stories before returning the box to it's original place in the closet. The shoe boxes of pictures and letters followed, and Dean was adamant about placing them precisely as he found them.

He glanced at his watch, and saw that it was almost seven o'clock. How had the time gone by so quickly?

His mind was reeling. It was true he had hoped searching this room would give him some answers to what the man who saved him was really like, but he had gotten so much more information than he had bartered for. Not that he was upset by any means; if anything, he was glad to have learned so much about Castiel in such a short amount of time. Now there were no doubts that he could trust him, no doubts that he was safe here staying with him.

But it felt uneven.

Dean now knew a large amount of personal things about Castiel, things that he might never have shared with Dean on his own, where as Castiel knew next to nothing about him. The only things the man knew about Dean were that he was a Luministia and drove a black Impala, and while one of those facts was personal information, neither of them he had shared willingly. It didn't sit well with him. Surely the man who had done so much for him, not the least of which was safe his life, deserved better than that.

An idea came to him then. It wasn't exactly something he wanted to do, and he doubted he would enjoy it, but it would make this whole situation a little closer to being fair.

With an odd sense of determination, coupled with the willpower not to talk himself out of it, he headed towards the kitchen where he could smell meat cooking.

Castiel was standing at the stove, flipping pre-packaged burgers when Dean found him, and he lingered in the walkway between the dining room and the kitchen, waiting for the man to sense his presence. With a quick look in his direction, Castiel addressed him.

"Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes, would you mind setting the table?"

There was no shame in delaying, he told himself. It's not like he was in a hurry or anything, and besides, Castiel was busy. So Dean waited until he set the table. And for Castiel to bring in the dinner loaded plates. And for them to eat, because he was rather hungry.

All too soon, the plates were empty, and their stomachs were satisfyingly full, and Dean couldn't see any more excuses to put it off. So when Castiel went to grab his plate to clear the table, Dean asked him to wait a second.

"Alright," he started, wiping his mouth with his napkin and keeping his eyes on the table. "I'm gonna suggest something here. Now, I get that you didn't take what I did in a bad way, which is a little weird because I went through your stuff, but hey, I'm not complaining. Still, I- I feel kind of bad-"

"Dean," Castiel interrupted. "I already told you, it's-"

"-fine, yeah," Dean finished. "Yeah, I know. But I still feel like, I don't know, like it's uneven, or something. It's not like you can go through my shit, you know?"

Dean almost cringed; it all sounded so much better in his head.

"What I'm trying to say is- if there was anything you wanted to know about me, you can, you know, ask."

He glanced up to see if Castiel was following him.

"I'm not exactly the over-sharing type, but I figured, just this once, I can open the floor to any questions you might have. But only ten."

A short pause followed Dean's offer, and when he looked up, he saw Castiel watching him closely, almost studying him through squinted eyes.

"Ten questions," Castiel repeated.

"Yeah," he confirmed. "Just ten."

Castiel hummed as he looked up in thought.

"Better make them good, then," he said. There was another stretch of silence before he asked. "Does this offer expire?"

"What?"

"Well, Castiel continued. "Say I don't ask all ten questions right now, say I only ask five- can I ask the other five questions at latter times?"

Dean thought about that for a second, but he didn't see how he could come to regret accepting that deal.

"Yeah, sure," he accepted. "They don't expire. Just make sure you say you wanna use one of your questions so I know."

"Do they have to be asked in the form of a question, or can I just ask you to tell me about something specific?"

"What is this, Jeopardy?" Dean asked with only a hint of frustration. "Whatever, just- if you wanna know about something, you can ask."

"Hmm..."

The longer Castiel sat there in thought, the more antsy Dean got with anticipation. He was almost starting to regret bringing this up, and practically sighed in relief when the blue-eyed man finally asked the first question.

"Alright," he started. "I guess the first thing I'm curious about is... Do you have any family?"

That was a fair first question. Not too personal or private, but still informative.

"Yeah," Dean answered. "I have a dad back in Kansas, and a little brother, Sam. He's in college."

"And your mother?"

"Is that a separate question?"

It was an obvious dodge, but it got the point across; Dean did not want to discuss his mother. He was grateful when Castiel diverted from the subject.

"No," Castiel said, absentmindedly playing with his napkin while he thought of another question. "If it's not too personal... Why aren't you staying with your family?"

Dean chuckled lightly.

"You actually know that one," he answered, and smirking at the confused look Castiel gave him for it. "Because almost every time I'm with my family, I end up getting..." he searched a word that wasn't 'hunted.' "-caught. First time you saw me, I was visiting them at our cabin. Sometimes, when I'm around them, I uh- I slip. I'm not with them because it's not safe."

Not for Dean. Not for them.

"How many people know about you? I mean, that you're Luministia?"

"Just my family. And now you. Oh, and that... guy."

"I see," Castiel said. "Alright, just one more question, then I think I will call it a night."

Dean looked up at him and waited with bated breath for the last thing Castiel wanted to know about him. Blue eyes met his, and he held Dean's gaze.

"Will you stay?"

The inquiry gave Dean pause; he didn't really know how he should answer it.

"I don't wanna make any promises," he declared. "To be honest with you, I don't really know. It's nice here, and I like what you're offering, but..." He let out a humorless laugh. "It's not like I'm really in a position to move in, you know?"

"If you're worried about paying rent-"

"No," Dean shook his head, and waved his hand dismissively. "I mean, I know you get my situation, and it's not like I can't pull my own weight with chores and stuff, but- I just can't answer the question for long-term. I can't give you a time frame. I don't know if I'll wanna be here next month, or even next week."

He watched as Castiel looked down at the table, crestfallen.

"I see."

"But," Dean continued, and he tried not to think about the fluttering feeling he got in his chest when Castiel looked up at him hopefully. "You know, as of now- yeah. Yeah, I'll stay."

It wasn't much of an answer, but it was the only one he had. Luckily, it seemed to be enough for his host, who smiled at him before standing up.

"How many was that? Four?" Castiel asked as he picked up the plates. Dean got up himself and grabbed the glasses and napkins, following him into the kitchen. "So that leaves me with six questions. I will be using them." He added, looking at Dean over his shoulder as they set the dishes in the sink.

"Great," Dean said sarcastically. "I look forward it."

When Castiel made to grab the sponge, Dean took it from him.

"Hey, I got this," he told him. "You cooked."

"No, it's fine, you must be tired."

"I said I got this. Go back to bed."

Castiel backed away from the sink.

"Am I being shooed out of my own kitchen?" he asked with a laugh. He started to make his way towards the hall when he stopped in the doorway and turned to look at him.

"Thank you, Dean."

"It's just dishes," Dean said as he set the faucet to a warm temperature. "No big deal."

"I don't mean that. Just- thank you."

Dean turned around just in time to see Castiel's back retreating towards the living room.

When he returned later to the guest bedroom (he didn't feel comfortable calling it 'his room' yet.) he found some folded clothes and a bath towel laying on the dresser, next to a small bag of new toiletries. After a surprisingly relaxing shower, he got into bed, feeling miles different than he had the last time he had laid in it.

This time yesterday, he had woken up in a very different bed. Had it really only been twenty-four hours? It amazed Dean that so much could happen in such a short amount of time. In the span of a single day, he had gone from kidnapped, to rescued, to thinking he was being kept by another hunter, to having a safe haven. And now that he knew so much about his savior, he really did feel safe here.

Maybe he could entertain the idea of staying here.

Moments after falling asleep, his skin gave off a faint glow that he would immediately diminish when he woke up the next morning.