When Dean woke early the next morning, he woke to loud, boisterous voices floating up to his room. Rubbing the flat of his palm against his sandy eyes, he stood and stretched, wandering over to a fresh basin of water sitting upon his corner table. As the liquid ran in rivulets down his tired skin, Dean's thoughts turned to Castiel, who's grimy face and sunken eyes revealed both everything and nothing about his current situation.
It was curious, really, why Dean felt the sudden urge to help the other boy. Perhaps it was a feeling of guilt he held over his remaining privilege during the recent surge of job losses, or perhaps it was a simple instinct to help others. However, whatever it was, the Winchester didn't wish to question it. He was finally doing something out of his own volition, something that was kind and selfless and everything else his father seemed to sneer at. Having control of something not ruled by his family felt wonderful, as if a tiny, savored part of him was finally free from the chains pulling him into selfish monetary worship.
Following the mundane act of dressing, Dean stepped carefully downstairs, assessing the conversation his father was engaged in before entering the dining room. He could tell the difference between pleasant, positive conversation and angry, negative argument simply by John's tone. It was a skill he'd had to acquire in order to avoid being sucked into endless business negotiations and financial debates.
"The lumber industry has never been more lucrative," John said reassuringly, "but that doesn't mean I can't do a little under the table work."
"That doesn't make it right," Bobby replied gruffly, giving Dean a glance as he entered the room. "You've got a family to think about."
Dean stayed silent at that, knowing getting involved would only result in John brushing his questions under the rug, telling him the tired phrase: "you have to learn the ropes before you get to know everything". So, instead, he sat on the far end of their overly long dining table while his breakfast was served, giving the two men room to have a conversation.
Bobby had been a family friend long before Dean had come into the world. He and John had known each other for years, and when John had begun to come into money, Bobby got a share. Although he wasn't involved in the workings of the company, John always told Dean he valued Bobby like a brother, and said he showed that respect through financial support. Although Dean loved that reasoning when he was a child, and had always loved the strong, silent company Bobby provided him through the years, he couldn't prevent a bitterness from growing within him whenever he thought of John's reasoning. It seemed all his father cared about and showed affection through was money, especially after his mother had passed, and all the money in the world couldn't have saved her.
"I do think about my family. I am thinking about my family," John defended, a tiny glint of offense in his eyes. "You know I'm bringing Dean in on the business, just like he's always wanted. He's going to have everything he could ever need, and then some. Isn't that right, son?"
Dean, brought out of his thoughts by John's address, nodded automatically, glancing to Bobby for only half a second in his 'agreement'. If he looked any longer, he knew the older man would see the lie in his eyes. Bobby had always been in tune to how he was truly feeling. "Yeah, I gue-"
"You see?" John cut him off, eyes welling with pride and something so close to love Dean could almost mistake it for the real thing, had that look ever cropped up elsewhere other than discussions about his inheritance of the company. "My boy is going to be the best businessman this world has ever seen."
Bobby sighed, relenting the conversation with only a slight bit of hesitance. "Alright, you win," he replied, gaze catching softly for a moment on their maid, Ellen, as she cleared dirty dishes cluttering the table. "Anyway, I should get going."
"As should I," John replied, expression once again passive as he looked to Dean. "I'll be out all day, I've got a few things to work out. Don't forget your studying today, I don't want you talking like a fool at the party."
Dean nodded, ignoring the pang of hurt at his father's words. "I won't forget," he confirmed, raising his hand in a small wave as Bobby exited the room.
As soon as he heard the car start up out front that signaled John's exit, Dean headed for the kitchen. "Wait a second," he said hurriedly as Ellen began scraping what hadn't been eaten into the garbage.
Ellen looked up, setting the food back on the counter. "Didn't get enough at breakfast?"
Dean shrugged, deciding to play along to avoid any suspicion. "I'm going for a walk and wanted to take some in case I got hungry again."
Grabbing a paper bag, Ellen glanced out the window as she packed a portion of leftovers. "It would be good to get some fresh air. This house gets so stuffy in the summer, maybe I'll let it air while your father is out."
"Yeah, that might be good. Thanks."
"That's what I'm here for," Ellen replied, going back to her cleaning. "Now get a wiggle on, it's a beautiful day."
Dean, the paper bag clutched in his clean, soft hand, made it to the foyer before he hesitated. Then, expression thoughtful, he turned and headed back upstairs.
Castiel had woken that morning to a small brown spider crawling along his hand. Used to various insects and arachnids resting upon his person by then, he'd simply brushed the creature away and risen, leaving an imprint in the tall grass.
Still ashamed of his lie to Dean about having a place to stay the night, he squatted down, barely registering the routine growl of his stomach as he ran his fingers through the green earth, erasing any evidence of his lie. Licking his chapped lips, he ignored the uncomfortable realization that he was used to covering up lies, and instead opted to relieve himself.
Once he'd finished up, he took a long drink from the cool creek, avoiding his reflection's eyes as he did so. He couldn't stand to look at himself anymore, not since-
"Castiel?"
Jumping at the unexpected sound of his name, Castiel whipped around, sighing in relief when Dean filled his vision. Unsuprisingly, he looked even sharper than yesterday. His golden brown hair was parted and combed to the left side, a small detail that would've gone unnoticed had the rest of his appearance been less than perfect. But the other boy looked clean and pristine in every way, from his white button up to his tan suit vest and trousers. Even his brown leather shoes (different ones from the day previous) matched the ensemble. "I thought you wouldn't be here until the afternoon."
Dean smiled sheepishly, shrugging as best he could with a bulky knapsack slung over his right shoulder. "My father is gone for the day, he won't know I'm out here instead of studying." Uncomfortable silence filled the air following his explanation, almost as if Castiel sensed Dean's disappointment in the way John treated him.
"So, anyway," Dean said, setting out the items he'd brought, "I thought this stuff might be helpful when you move on to where you're going."
Castiel had a passing feeling that Dean knew he didn't have a set destination, but didn't linger on it for long, for his mind was soon possessed by awe and an instantly overwhelming sense of gratitude. There, laid before him lavishly (and yet so simply) was a bag full of food, two brand new three piece suits, one black, one tan, two white button down shirts, three silk ties, one black, one brown, and one grey, a pair of black leather shoes, two pairs of black socks, a new bar of soap, one toothbrush, a fresh tube of toothpaste, one hand towel, a comb, a razor, one crystal tumbler, and, to carry it all, a large knapsack.
"I didn't see you with anything when we met, so I thought I'd bring more than just food. I won't feel bad if you don't take some of it, I just figured more was better than less..." Pausing, Dean looked to Castiel in concern, for his eyes had become shiny with tears. "I didn't mean to offend you," he said quickly, stepping forward in an aborted move of comfort, "I just thought-"
Castiel shook his head, swallowing uselessly around the lump in his throat that impeded his speech. "No, I-" he tried to reply, taking in a shaky breath through his nose as he met Dean's concerned eyes, shaking his head. "I haven't had anyone help me in a very long time. This is so much, you don't-," he explained, voice teetering on the edge of breakage. "You don't even know me."
Finally understanding, Dean stepped forward, leading Castiel gently down to the ground so he could sit. "It's okay, it's not that much," he began, stopping himself short when he heard his own voice. It's not that much. Evidently, it was. The everyday things Dean took for granted, things he had always had an overabundance of, Castiel obviously valued and treasured, causing the Winchester pause to look at his privileged status.
He was a snob. A rich, ungrateful, pompous ass, just like the nameless, faceless businessmen he filtered through talking to at every party his father hosted. He was no better than them, he realized with a sinking feeling. No better.
"But it is," Castiel replied shakily before Dean could correct himself, forgetting to be self conscious about the way he looked (and probably smelled) in his close proximity to Dean, instead focusing on the massive gift he'd just been given. "This is more than enough, I can't- Thank you," he said, meeting the other boy's eyes. "Thank you."