He doesn't turn around when he hears his dad enter the room.
"Dean."
His shoulders hunch and when he drops his head a little, he sees a bloody foot print on the sill. The.. whatever he was, must have stepped in the trickle of Dean's blood on the floor by the bed. Realizing he also doesn't have a explanation for a bloody pant leg with no wound, he turns to his side so he's half-facing his dad and blocking the window.
"What?" Dean still can't quite meet his eyes without a glare so he stares at the wood right in front of his father's boots.
"Dean.." He hears him sigh and sees boots make a few steps closer. "Look, I'm sorry I shoved you. That.. that wasn't right but Son, what you saw.. that stuff's not for you. Hey! Look at me when I'm talkin' to you." Frustration is hardening his tone.
Dean locks his jaw and flicks his eyes up hard.
"Forget about it. You hear me?" Dean doesn't look away and finally John slumps a little. "But.. maybe I could take you out shooting."
Dean expression doesn't soften yet. "You mean it?"
"Yeah, why not. You're fourteen.. almost 15, practically a man. It'd be good for you. Just.. don't tell your mother."
"When?" His father had a habit of making promises he was too busy later to keep.
"Well, ya know, soon."
He turns back to the window. "Okay, whatever."
"Dean.."
"Night, Dad." He says, hoping he'll walk away without getting any closer. His dad wasn't much for the touchy-feely talks and he doubted he'd push for more.
After a few tense seconds, he hears, "Night, Son."
When the door clicks softly behind him, Dean immediately looks around for something to clean up the blood with. He unzips his ruined pants and looks up out at the night. Thinking better on it, he quickly closes window first.
The next day, Dean drifts his way through classes, too preoccupied with thoughts of impossible flying mutants and his dad's odd collection down in their cellar. Despite himself, he is kinda looking forward to learning to fire a gun. If it happens. Which it probably won't. His head nods during Econ class. Will He come back tonight? Does he want him to? What does it look like when he flies? Or does he jump long distances? Or crawl up the wall all fast and creepy like a lizard? Dean shivers a little at that thought. It was a kinda embarrassing to think about.. that this intense guy was what had been outside his window for so long. Even so, he had to know more about him. Dean had too many questions. He drifts between daydreaming about the possibilities and sleeping through what classes he's able to without getting caught.
Dean tries not to be too disappointed when his dad is out working till late again that evening. It figures, he knew better than to depend on him. John had been working at Bobby's garage and salvage yard doing repair work on classic cars. His dad was the only mechanic he knew that worked past 8 at night. Whatever. He tries to tell himself he wasn't expecting much. Besides, he has an appointment with a monster baby anyway.
That night in front of his window he waits.. and waits. Way past midnight. The trees are still and no sound of feathers can be heard. No shadow preceding a figure appears. He waits until light peeks over the horizon and he has to start getting ready for school.
All the next week, he's a zombie, staying up to wait but the flying boy with the crazy blue eyes and wild looks never comes. Maybe he satisfied his curiosity with their short meeting. Dean wishes he hadn't seen him sniffling like a baby. Of all the times for him finally to wanna reach out.. and he'd just looked so.. Dean shakes his head. Well whatever. Not like he needed whatever the fuck he'd been anyway.
That weekend, Dean's surprised when his dad tells his mom they're going out bowling. She seems taken back but happy.
"Yep, some one-on-one time with his old man would be good for him." He claps his back a few times.
"Alright, have fun you two. Can you grab some milk on your way back for Sam?"
"Yep. Be back in time for potroast." John says, kissing his mother quick.
Walking towards the car, his dad tells him to get in and goes around the back of the trunk for a few minutes. When gets behind the wheel, John takes a minute to find a classic rock station. When "Highway to Hell" blares out, he turns up the dial before throwing his hand over the seat and backing out of their yard.
After driving for about twenty minutes just listening to music with the windows rolled down, they pull off at a dense collection of woods Dean's never been to before. Turning off a dirt road, they drive a ways longer. Obviously, they weren't going bowling. When his dad stops the car, he immediately walks towards the back again. Dean gets out and comes around in time to see his dad dropping a hatch and covering it with a thin rug so it looks like the bottom of the trunk he's always seen. Out on top are a couple empty cereal boxes, a gallon can of tomato sauce, a gun and a clip he's feeding bullets into.
"You ready for this, Dean?"
"Yes, Sir." Dean's eyes are big, watching closely. His dad pockets a handful of extra bullets in his worn leather jacket and hands Dean the can and boxes before closing the lid.
He follows his dad until they reach a dilapidated old fence that had a few posts still standing. Taking the contents of Dean's arms, he spreads the makeshift targets along a plank of weather-beaten wood. He turns and walks about 35 feet away with Dean in tow. After showing him how to hold the gun (a .22 Glock he's told) properly and going over the safety basics, his dad stands behind him and flips off the safety over his shoulder.
"Okay, try and hit something."
Breathing out like his dad showed him, he squeezes the trigger and is surprised by how his arms buck a little.
"Good. Now, again."
For the next half hour he doesn't hit anything but keeps listening as his dad gives him tips or has him pause to shift one way or another. He has Dean reload the clip and start again. After another half hour, he finally nicks the top flap of one of the cereal boxes.
"Hey, not bad. Aim just to the left of where you were."
Dean stays still and concentrates, willing his arms steady and pulls the trigger. John watches, sipping from a flask he pulled out about ten minutes previous.
The cereal box up ends with the next shot.
"Ha! That's my boy! You're a natural." He smacks him on the back and Dean flushes with the praise.
After taking another swallow, John hands it to Dean.
Dean smiles kinda cautious and tries to act casual as he upends it at his lips. It burns and he only coughs once.
His dad nods and takes it back. "You did real good today, Dean." Looking at the fence, he seems lost for a moment until he says, "Ya know, my dad taught me how to shoot too."
"Yeah?"
John shakes his head and seems harder when he takes the gun from Dean, turning to walk back towards the car without another word. Dean catches up to walk beside him and jumps when after a minute his dad turns back to empty the clip in the tomato can. It leaks red fluid from numerous holes.
"Whoa." He's not sure how far away they are but it seems way further than Dean could imagine hitting something.
"Come on, we still need to grab milk for your mom."
In bed that night, Dean's caught up in the thoughts of the day.. His dad clapping him on the shoulder and telling him "not bad." Letting him have few stolen gulps of liquor. He felt the warmth of his dad pride and the awe at the crazy shots he made.
For the first time that week, Dean falls asleep easily.
He's not sure what woke him up but he startles into consciousness. Blinking a few times, he sits up on his elbows and sees… Him.. perched on the footboard of his bed, just like the gargoyle Dean once imagined he might have been. He's balanced perfectly on bent legs with arms folded on top of his knees.
"Jesus, I thought maybe I dreamed you up or something." He says quietly so as not to wake anyone.
The boy's eyebrows knit as his head tilts with curiosity. "You dream about me?"
Dean feels his face flush and sits up against the headboard. "Don't be stupid. I meant.. you disappeared and I didn't know if you'd come back."
"I wasn't going to."
They're silent for a minute before Dean can't stand not to ask any longer.
"What the hell are you, man?"
He's quite so long Dean doesn't think he's going to answer, but then he hears two words that rearrange his world.
"An angel."
Dean just stares, not knowing what to say to that. When nothing more is forthcoming, he finally parrots, "An angel."
"Yes."
"No, you're not. You're.. you're.." he gestures at him helplessly. "You're like a few years older than me. What seventeen? Eighteen? And angels have like togas and harps and halos and crap.."
He smiles condescendingly through Dean's rant. "Do they?"
"Yeah! And they sure as shit don't eat burgers and hang outside guy's windows.." Dean scoffs, "You don't even have any freakin' wings."
His eyebrows raise. "Do you really need a visual representation of what you already know to be true?"
"Dude, what-"
Dean jumps back against the headboard when he suddenly stands straight up, balancing easily on the thin wooden rail at the end of his bed.
The TV turns on by itself behind him with white snowy static since its still on the auxillary channel from playing video games. The boy rolls his shoulders and widens his stance. Dean's mouth drops open a little as long shadows stretch outwards on the wall behind him in the shape of what looks like.. Honest to fucking god.. wings.
"Christ.." Dean breathes.
He glares down at him for a steady minute as the wings expand the width of his room and then the tv cuts out and the shadows are gone. The boy seems to relax his shoulders and hops down to the floor. It's hard to reconcile his appearance now, expecting to see feathers sprouting out of his angular shoulder blades.
"So.. an angel." He says finally and it sounds far too normal for how he feels. Turning to sit on the side of the bed, Dean watches him casually walk towards the bookshelf and pick out a book at random.
"I hope you do not require further proof. Strictly speaking, that isn't allowed."
"By who?"
He doesn't look up from thumbing through the book but says, "Why were you crying before?"
"Hey, I told you. I wasn't crying."
"Why were you angry then?" He amends easily, apparently remembering what Dean had said at the time.
"It was nothing. My dad.. he can be an asshole sometimes. I found his.." Dean stumbles over what to say he found. "..uh, his weapons collection."
"Your father is a hunter." The angel says. It's not a question.
"Um yeah, well sometimes I guess. Like deer when it's the season and stuff."
He's frowns, but Dean's still talking because he just remembered his vanished wounds.
"What'd you do to my leg? Not to look a gift-horse in the mouth, but it woulda been fun to explain all that blood without a cut."
"I healed you." He says as he picks up a model helicopter and pushes the plastic propellers around, idly.
"That's a nifty trick. What else can you do?"
"I can save you from falling to your death." There's a slight edge to his tone.
"Yeah.. thanks for that. Though, if I recall it was seeing you that caused my nose dive."
He stops watching the blades spin and looks up.
"I could leave."
Dean makes himself stop before he can yell no. "Well, I mean if you want. Whatever."
The boy raises his eyebrows and puts down what he'd been inspecting and takes a step towards the window.
"Wait!"
A small smile curves his lips and Dean rolls his eyes. "Fine, whatever. I just thought maybe you'd wanna talk or something since you've been creepin' outside forever."
He sits back near the headboard, huffily.
After a few moments of holding his gaze, the boy grabs a few books from the shelf and walks towards the bed. Not pausing, he hops up on the rail then takes a step on the mattress before sinking down to sit cross-legged.
It's.. odd to have another male sitting on his bed at night like this. This close he can smell him.. like a hundred summer days in the sun.. like grass just after its mowed.. but then he shakes it off because he's seriously getting lost in another dude's scent. He finally decides it's time to ask, "So what's your name?"
"Castiel." He opens a book, Lord of the Flies, and turns to a page seemingly at random.
"Casta-what?"
He ignores Dean to read what looks like the copyright page.
"I'm Dean."
"I know."
"Yeah well it's polite to ask. And anyway let's pretend you don't because that freaks me out a bit, huh? So.. Hi Cas. I'm Dean." He sticks out his hand across the bed and the angel looks at it.
Dean keeps it out, waiting.
His hand is eventually gripped by a warm one. When they don't move except to stay clasped, Dean realizes he probably doesn't do this often so he moves it up and down quickly.. a little flustered because they'd basically just been holding hands.
"Hello, Dean."
They let go but Cas stays looking at him.
"So.. uh, what do angels do?" It's almost too much to be under the scrutiny of those eyes.
"What do you mean?"
"Like genies grant wishes, vampires suck blood.. what does an angel do?"
Castiel grins indulgently. "What do humans do?"
Dean thinks for a second. "Mainly fuck shit up, I guess."
He makes a noise that might have been a laugh. It makes Dean feel a little less tense. As unbelievable as it is, he's having a talk with an angel and he's going to try to get some of his questions answered.
"Where's your wings when they're not on invisible mode and why do you look like you couldn't buy beer?"
Scrunching his eyebrows he asks, "Beer?"
"I mean, are you like a Doogie Howser angel? Do they all look as young as you?"
Picking one question, Castiel answers, "I've yet to reach maturity." He brings his bicep forward to show the silver cuff shining in the moonlight. "It marks me as a fledgling."
"What about the other angels? Where are they?"
"You are very inquisitive." Castiel says blandly and goes back to flipping through the second book he picked up.
"Are you friggin' kidding me? I'm talking to an angel! An angel that eats McDonald's by the way. What's that about?"
"If you are referring to the food you left me, I enjoyed it immensely."
"It's called a hamburger. Though there isn't any ham in it. Huh.." He takes a second to frown at that then shakes himself. "Angels eat?"
"No."
"But you-"
Suddenly, Castiel straightens his legs and is standing next to the bed.
"I must go."
"Oh. Uh, yeah okay."
They look at each other a moment before he just turns and walks to the window.
"Um.."
Castiel pauses and turns over his shoulder.
"Are you gonna come back?"
He glances at the window then at Dean again.
"Would you want me to?"
"Sure. Ya know.. If you want that is.."
Castiel holds his gaze for what seems like too long before stepping up on the windowseat. He tenses like he's about to jump but stills again. Finally he says not turning back, "I'll return in five days time."
Author's Note: Sorry for so much John. He's a part of Dean's childhood so I hope you're not too bored. It'll start getting to the good Destiel interaction now, loves. Hope you're enjoying. (o:`,