Russian words are spelled out phonetically for your convenience using google translate and the small amount of the language I know myself. If it's too confusing, let me know.
Dean was woken up by a smack to the face.
"What the fuck!?" he shouted, springing up in bed. He'd fallen asleep for only an hour, a quick nap by his standards, when Castiel had awoken him.
"You needed to wake up."
"Couldn't have done it a different way?" he asked, rubbing his cheek, the sting of the slap fading away.
"Niet," he responded, walking back out of Dean's room. "Training downstairs. Be there."
Dean sat up with a groan. He counted himself lucky the bed was comfortable, but that was all he was grateful for at the moment. He gave himself some time to reemerge from his drowsy state, and only managed to lose his way once on the way down from his room, the straight hallways no help to him when they all looked the same from a visitors standpoint, the house looking more and more like and office building the more Dean explored it. He finally found the main walkway, and stumbled down the sweeping staircase and into the foyer, standing and waiting for someone to come get him, as he had no idea where, exactly, he was supposed to go.
Castiel came out of a side hallway after a while, crossing his arms as he glared at Dean. He had a new t-shirt on and some loose black pants, as well as a large, still-darkening bruise across his right cheek from earlier. Dean didn't want to know what his stomach looked like. "You're late."
"I don't even know where I am," Dean explained with a sigh, voice defeated as he tossed his hands into the air, smacking them down against his thighs.
"Follow me." Castiel said flatly, spinning on his toes, bare feet smacking against the wooden floor as he took a turn halfway through the foyer and through a door. He look a left, hopping down a few steps into what Dean could only describe as a dojo. The pale wooden floors were contrasting to the grey walls, but the matching grey mats on top of the wood tied it all together. The lights were bright, and Dean could see that passed one of the walls was another room. A large mirror reflected back a sliver of light, and Dean assumed it was a rehearsal space for dancing.
Castiel let out a rip of a yell, gaining Dean's attention as he jumped in to the air after taking a few timed steps, spinning his body with his leg out, kicking one of the two punching bags over the built-in grey mats, sending it swinging as he landed. He grabbed the bag as it swung by him, stilling it and punching it repeatedly with his free hand. He stopped after a minute, his breathing hard, his face tinted red.
"How am I supposed to protect you if you could kick my ass?"
"I'm supposed to kick ass," Castiel explained, spin kicking the bag again. "Especially yours. You supposed to kick other people's ass. I'm supposed to stay away from them."
Dean sighed. "Well, are you gonna teach me, or what?"
Castiel stilled his swinging bag, looking over at Dean. He raised an eyebrow. "Me? Teach you?" He laughed, tilting his head back, letting out the deep, round, and joyous sound he had the day before. Dean would find it endearing if he wasn't so offended.
"What's so wrong with that?"
"You suck. Like you say, I could kick your ass, and I'm student. That not good for learning. You need teacher who can kick your ass."
"So why am I down here?"
"Mychalla."
"What?"
"No. Who." Dean cocked his head and Castiel explained farther. "He teach me. Now he teach you. Warm up, Winchester."
Dean dropped down to the ground without a question, beginning to stretch himself out. Castiel watched with a slight smirk of a grin on his face, continually irritating Dean until he snapped. "What the fuck is that goddamn grin about?"
"That you call warm up?"
Dean stared at him, stretching himself forward, grabbing his toes, trying to decipher exactly what Castiel had said. It took him a moment. "Uhhh, yeah. What, is this not warming up to you?"
"No. It's stretching."
"Yeah, exactly. Warming up."
Castiel just laughed and went back to his bag, leaving Dean to continue stretching with a permanent scowl on his face. Who the fuck did Castiel think he was? Well, other than a crime lord's son.
Dean growled quietly to himself when he felt he was done stretching, pushing himself to his feet. He swung his arm up over his head, bending it at the elbow, pushing down on it with his free hand. "So," he asked, dropping his arm before doing the same stretch to the other. "When's this Mychalla guy showing up?"
"Right now."
Dean turned around at the deep voice that echoed behind him. A large, tanned man stood right in the entrance, his huge frame intimidating enough without his deep, dark glare and his exorbitant amount of muscle. Dean gulped as the man lumbered in to the room. "You warmed up?"
Castiel laughed behind Dean. "Oh yeah. He's stretched. He's good."
Mychalla joined in the laughter with Castiel, two deep voices bouncing around the room, and Dean growled. "Stop!"
They both silenced themselves. "I'm sorry," Castiel muttered under his breath. "I'll go back to kicking ass."
Dean sent him a look, unsatisfied with Castiel's quick mood change, but he dropped it as he turned to his new instructor. "So, what are we learning?"
"Sambo."
"Samba?" Dean blinked up at him, confusion washing over him.
"Sambo. It's Russian," he explained.
"Of course it is."
"Fighting without a weapon. Useful for hand to hand."
"Won't I have a gun?"
Mychalla rolled his eyes, reaching behind him to slip a gun out of his holster. He flipped it in his hand, holding the handle out for Dean to take. "Grab it." Dean did. "Now point it at me." He did. "Attack me."
While Dean was staring at his gun, trying to figure out how, exactly, to attack, Mychalla stepped forward, smacking Dean's gun out of his hand and in an arch to the ground with a clatter, grabbing his wrist, spinning to step behind him. Dean yelped as his arm was bent at an unnatural angle, even more so when his feet were swiped out from under him and he was sent down to his knees before an elbow was dug in to his spine, pressing his chest down to the ground with a thud. Mychalla grabbed Dean's ankle, pulling it up to his wrist, keeping him pinned to the ground.
"Uncle! Uncle!" Dean shouted, pressing his cheek into the grey mat he'd been pushed half on to, kicking his free leg the best he could.
"Wrong word."
"Stop!"
"Say in Russian."
"I don't speak Russian!" Dean shouted, voice squeaking as he struggled under the much larger man.
"Time to learn."
"What!?"
"Say budet, or ostanovit," Castiel interjected with a grin, a hand on his punching bag, leaning slightly as he watched the whole situation unfold before him.
"Budet!" Dean shouted. "Ostanovit! Ostanovit!"
Mychalla let go and sat up on his knees, pushing himself to his feet. "Gun useless," he said, brushing his hands together.
Dean snapped his arm off of his back and to the floor with a light thud, stretching it the most he could without moving it. He rolled on to his back, and Castiel stepped over him, a foot on each side of his legs. He held out his hand.
Dean was cautious, but he reached up, grabbing Castiel's hand. He pulled him up in one swift tug, and Dean was impressed with his strength, though he really shouldn't have been. He'd seen how strong Castiel was just minutes before.
Dean brushed his legs with his hands, turning to look at Mychalla. "So, what? Am I not allowed to shoot my gun at you?"
"I'd make you shoot yourself."
Dean gulped at Mychalla's face, no emotions wavering on it, his expression as serious as ever.
"Stop scaring him," Castiel said as he turned back to his bag. He took a few steps back from it, charging and jumping on to it. Dean watched in awe as his legs wrapped around it, holding him up as he dropped his arms, pulling the bag down to the ground, his hands slamming on the ground with a solid smack. He used his handstand as leverage as he bent at his hips, pushing up on his hands in order to flip the bag beneath him and pin it to the ground as he landed on top.
"Woah," Dean was finally able to mutter once Castiel had hopped off the bag and to his feet, walking to and pressing a button on the side of the wall to pull the bag back up.
"I taught him that," Mychalla said, a self-satisfied smirk on his lips.
"Can you teach me?"
Castiel and Mychalla laughed again, the joyous round echoing around the room. Dean felt offended again. "What?"
"It take time," Castiel explained, going back to attacking his punching bag without another word.
"Let's get to learning, then," Dean said, and Mychalla grinned.
Dean wasn't pinned to the floor again, not quite ready to deal with that again, though he was taken down a few times. Mychalla decided to start Dean off on disarming his attacker, but when the knife was pulled out, Dean called it quits.
"I don't want to die!"
"I won't kill you."
"Yeah, only seriously maim me."
Take downs were what Mychalla when with next. Castiel stopped his attacks on his punching bag every time Dean was knocked to the ground, but he wasn't doing awful. Sweeps, tackles, and spins were what he learned, and Dean hopped up and cheered loudly when he finally god Mychalla down on the ground, though was tripped moments later by the man sweeping his leg out along the floor, kicking Dean's feet out from underneath him.
He landed on the ground with a thud and a groan, squeezing his eyes shut from the impact. When he opened them again, a long, slender hand was in front of him, pale pink polish covering perfectly manicured nails. Dean looked up.
Above him stood Alona Novak, the blonde bombshell of a daughter, and the eldest of the five girls in their family, excluding their mother. She had on a tank top in a shade similar to the one on her nails, he long locks pressed into loose curls rolling down her back. She had curved bangs in front of her face, and lipstick to match the rest of her outfit. She waved her hand and Dean grabbed it, allowing her to help him up.
She dropped Dean's hand as soon as he was on his feet, and before he could even blink, she had turned and pulled her brother in to a hug, squeezing him tighter than even his father had earlier. "Oh, Castiel!" she said excitedly. "I was worried! Baby brother gone!? In danger! I could not stand it!"
"I'm okay now," Castiel muttered in return, patting her back lightly. Dean laughed at how helpless he was against the blonde woman.
"Good. Now, little boy like you need food."
"Alona, I'm practicing."
"No longer. Father wants you at dinner. And your new guard." She finalized before she turned to Mychalla. "You may come as well." She whirled back around to her brother, grabbing his wrist and dragging him out of the dojo without another word. Dean noticed, as they were walking away, that she was taller than her brother, though her pale pink heels could have been the result of that.
She dragged Castiel off, her hair bouncing in waves as her thin-heeled shoes clacked on the wooden floor with each step they took. Castiel was fighting her every move, trying to plant his feet on the ground, but she was strong, the muscles in her bicep flexing out as she pulled her brother along, his bare feet squelching across the clean floor as he struggled.
Dean laughed softly once they were gone. "Are they always like that? Their family, I mean?"
"Only her. She always gone, but love her family very much. She a model, that why she blonde."
"A disguise?"
"Of sorts. Everyone know she Novak, though. Disguise not necessary."
Dean nodded and began to follow after the pair, hoping not to lose them, as he had no idea where the dining room was. Mychalla had declined to come along, stating that he wanted to return to his family back in their home a short drive down the beach. Dean nodded and proceeded without him, making his way back to the foyer.
There were smeared footprints on the previously spotless floor leading in to yet another hallway diverging from the foyer. Dean decided that was his best bet, and he was right, coming across a large opening to a dining room.
There was a large mahogany table in the center of the room, matching chairs all around it. There was a chandelier hanging above the table, exactly the same as the one in the foyer, but scaled down to what Dean considered to be an appropriate size. It was giving off a deep, warm light, and Dean thought to himself that the entire house was lit up by special bulbs, always creating the homely feel, despite how open and cold the home could seem. The size of just the table alone was astounding, and Dean couldn't help but wonder how big, exactly, the house and the Novak family fortune was.
Castiel gestured Dean over to the side of the table they were on, a chalice of sorts placed between his fingers, a similar one in Alona's, her free arm wrapped around Castiel's shoulders.
"My baby brother is okay!" she cheered as Dean sat down, sliding him a glass before drinking a large amount of whatever liquid was in hers. Castiel followed suit, but all Dean could do was stare in to the glass. He swirled whatever was in it around, sniffing it.
"What is this?"
"Vodka," Alona replied.
"That's not perpetuating Russian stereotypes at all," Dean muttered, pulling his glass up for a small sip. It was strong and bitter, and stung his throat as it went down, but he wouldn't let it show how hard it was for him to drink it while the other two were downing gulps of it like it was water while the wait staff placed platters and bowls of food on the table around them.
They stopped when their father entered the room, sitting himself down at the head of the table. Alona stood immediately and walked around the table to the other side of him, bending and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Viktor turned and hugged her, earning a small giggle from her. "Daddy! Baby brother is okay!"
"I know," he responded. Dean hadn't realized how truly deep his voice was until it was matched against Alona's soft and high one. "I was very worried. This man saved him."
"You saved my brother?" she asked, turning to Dean, expression and voice eerily reminiscent of her father earlier that day. Dean nodded weakly and her face brightened, her lips quirking up as she walked quickly over to Dean, hugging him as well. His eyes grew wide, and Castiel and his father laughed, the only difference between the two of them being the pitch of their voices. Dean felt yet another spark of jealousy, but the blonde hair brushing against his neck snapped him out of it.
Alona gave him another squeeze before moving back around the table to sit beside her father, allowing Castiel to slide down a chair, sitting closer to his father as well. He patted the seat beside him, staring at Dean until he moved over, settling in beside Castiel.
A few others joined them, but Dean didn't have a clue who any of them were. None of them were girls, so they certainly weren't the Novak children. Workers, or others who shared the home, Dean assumed.
The platters the wait staff had brought out were piled high with meats and breads, and the bowls were filled with different soups. Dean wasn't sure of the customary way to eat what was placed out, so he watched Castiel and his father fill their plates, doing the same to his own.
The meat was apparently supposed to be dipped into the reddish soup Dean had poured in to his bowl, and he could see why. He attempted to eat it plain, but it was too dry and stuck to the roof of his mouth and throat when he tried to swallow it down. He had to wash it down with the bitter vodka in his cup, making his throat sting.
He made a mental note to not eat the meat dry again.
The wait staff brought out desert next, and Dean was thrilled to see it was a bowl of plain chocolate ice cream, which he downed easily.
"What family are you of?" Alona asked once they were all done eating, letting their stomachs rest as they conversed.
"Uhhh, Winchester?" Dean said, unsure of what to say after gaining the response he did from Castiel earlier.
"I've never heard of them," Alona replied, taking a sip of her drink, but her father seemed to light up.
"You John Winchester's boy?"
Dean knitted his eyebrows together. "How do you know my father."
"Business partner back in the day. Supplied me alcohol," he laughed.
"Sounds like my dad."
Viktor laughed again. "Very good brewster, very shitty father."
"Couldn't disagree with that," Dean replied, pulling his glass up for a sip. The bitter burn of the alcohol was dulling, and it was easier for him to drink. He took another gulp before setting it down, leaning back in his chair.
Viktor followed suit. "I assume you not able to say goodbye to family?"
Dean shook his head. "My dad won't care. It's Sam I'm worried about."
Viktor nodded once. "So you must be Dean."
"Yes sir."
"Your name is Dean?" Castiel asked, turning to look at him properly, though he was disregarded as Viktor continued.
"Tell you what. Castiel gets new cell phone tomorrow. Use his to call them in morning."
"Really?"
"Yes. My son will show you how to use it."
"I know how to use a cell phone."
"Not this one," Castiel said, butting in. He pushed himself away from the table and stood, his chair sliding across the floor with a low scratch and squeak. "I've had long day, as you know. I'll be going to bed now."
Alona was the first up to hug him goodnight, kissing him on the cheek, his father following shortly after, collecting him in his arms, pressing him close. Castiel's thin and toned frame looked minuscule next to his father's large and bulky one. Dean still couldn't get over how tall he was.
"Is good to have you back, son. So glad you are safe." He kissed his temple.
"Good to be back," Castiel replied, pulling away from his father's strong hold. "Dean," he said. Dean snapped his head up, his gaze falling on Castiel. "Please to be joining me?"
"Uhhh, sure," Dean responded cautiously. He pushed himself out from the table, his chair squeaking across the floor much like Castiel's. He walked around to the other man, getting stopped twice, once by Viktor to receive a clap on the shoulder, and once from Alona as she hopped up to kiss his cheek. She was taller than him, even more so in her heels, which made him uncomfortable, but she was nice, and smelled like flowers, and Dean couldn't help but to mention that to Castiel once they were out of the dining room and in the main foyer.
"You're sister's really tall."
"That why Alona want to be model."
"And she smells like flowers?"
Castiel was leading the way, his still-bare feet smacking across the wooden floor. He looked back over his shoulder as he grabbed on to the stair-railing, using it to change his direction, hopping up the stairs. "You like my sister?"
"Well, she's nice."
"No, I mean, like like."
"Do I have a crush on your sister?" Dean asked in disbelief with a huff of a laugh, mildly out of breath once they reached the top of the stairs. He looked down at his body, mentally making a note to work out more.
"Yes."
"What? No. I mean, she's beautiful," Dean added, receiving a menacing glare from Castiel as they rounded a corner. "don't get me wrong. But, uhh… Not my cup of tea."
"Not like blondes?"
"Or women."
Castiel stopped a few steps up the second flight of stairs, looking down at Dean, his eyebrows arched high. "You gay?"
Subtle. Dean crossed his arms, leaning against the wall at the base of the steps. "Well, I mean, yeah," he said, voice a little above a mutter, flipping his wrist as he tried to explain. "But it's a new thing. It's not like I don't find women attractive-"
"-You just rather fuck guys?"
Dean swallowed, looking up at Castiel, dropping his wrist and arm down to hang by his body. "Yeah. Pretty much."
Castiel looked vaguely surprised, but did nothing more than tug the corner of his lips down while pulling the center up along with his eyebrows, cocking his head briefly, making what Dean considered to be a 'not bad' face, despite that the name didn't fit the situation.
Slapping feet pulled Dean's attention, and he noticed Castiel had left him behind as he walked up the stairs. He was halfway up by the time Dean decided to follow after him, skipping up the steps. He caught him at the top. "So, what? You're straight?"
"No."
Dean's eyebrows flew up, his eyes widening. "You're gay?"
"No."
They'd reached the end of their journey, both stopping in front of their doors. Dean leaned against the frame of his, Castiel copying him, one arm up, his elbow above his head to support him. The sleeve of his t-shirt slid up his arm, and there was a fine purple line down the inside of his bicep, outlining the muscles nicely. Dean would be sure to ask him about that later.
"So what are you then?"
"Anything I can stick my dick in to." Dean's eyes went wide, his eyebrows shooting up, and Castiel laughed, the deep and robust sound echoing through the small hallway. Dean was growing used to hearing it, and wondered why more people didn't laugh in the way the Novaks did. "I kidding. Everybody hot, though, so I not lying too much."
Dean grinned. "Everybody's hot? Does that mean I'm hot?"
"Depends," Castiel replied, lowering his arm down to rest his shoulder on the frame instead. "Am I hot?"
Dean's eyes roamed over Castiel's body. He was nice looking, a toned body with incredible muscles, and a great ass. Dean shrugged, roving his eyes back up, focusing on the deep bruise across most of his right cheek. Dean shrugged again, changing the subject. "Why did you bring me up here?"
"Thought you needed to get away from family. They need catch up anyway. Plus, you my bodyguard now. Though not much of one. You smaller than me."
"I'll be able to kick your ass someday."
"We see," Castiel finalized, shoving himself off of his frame, opening his door in the process. He stepped back in to his room, but Dean called for him to stop. He looked up, waiting for Dean to continue.
"Uhh, I didn't say it earlier. But thanks."
"For what?"
"For saving me. That guy was choking me out. I would have died without you there." Dean huffed out a laugh, bringing a hand up to rub at the back of his neck, still leaning against the solid door frame. "So, I guess that makes us even, huh?"
Castiel shook his head, eyes crinkling at the edges as he grinned. "Not quite. You not be in risk if you not save me. I still owe you one."
Dean nodded in acceptance, not willing to argue with the Russian across from him. "Alright. Well, still. Thanks, man."
"No problem, man."
They were locked in a stare-down for a moment, though not a vicious one, just one in which neither of them were quite sure how to end their conversation. Castiel finished it by closing his door as he stepped back, allowing Dean to open his and step in to his room.
He was unsure about the protocol for sleeping in a home that wasn't yours, let alone the home of anyone he was truly familiar with, but he went on the bias that it was now his room and that he should have the liberty to sleep however he damn well pleased in his room.
To be safe, he decided on wearing his boxers to bed, but nothing else, leaving his discarded and dirty clothes in a small pile near his closet, unsure of where to put it. There was a two-doored tunnel in one of his walls, one he assumed was a laundry chute, but he didn't dare toss his clothes down it for fear that it would end up landing on some unsuspecting woman, whose only crime was standing in the wrong place at the wrong time.
He collapsed on his bed after washing his face in the shiny bathroom right beside his closet, everything in there pearly white and gold aside from the floor, which was a continuation of the deep brown wooden floor covering most of the house, or what of it Dean had seen. He curled in to the blankets, actually comfortable with the temperature and how cushy the bed was and how his pillows rested underneath his cheek, supporting him nicely.
It was nice to have nice things, even though they weren't his, Dean though to himself as he drifted off to sleep. And for the first time that day, the events of that morning weren't weighing down his thoughts and everything seemed like it would work out fine for him, the darkness of hell that he'd predicted just before wasn't coming true, and the light he hadn't been able to see was back, glowing brighter than ever.
Not very action filled, I apologize.
I'm thinking of updating this once a week, should I be able to stick to that schedule.
I should also add that this is un-betad, and will probably stay that way, so any and all mistakes are on me. If it's anything more than a minor spelling mistake, please let me know!
Hope you enjoyed!