Castiel stood outside of the storage locker, keys dangling from his hand for a long time. He could feel his heart racing and there was a sick churning in his stomach. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to see what a mess he had made. Didn't want to see the crumpled metal, broken glass, or the bloody seat. Why had he agreed to this? An anger began bubbling up inside of him, aimed towards Dean for talking him into this. He wasn't ready. But what wasn't he ready for: the memories or the possibility of letting go? He pulled out his phone to call Dean and call the whole thing off but at that moment a tow truck pulled up with Dean in the driver seat.

"Hey, Cas. So, let's take a look at her." Dean greeted him with a warm smile as he jumped down from the cab.

Castiel swallowed down the anxiety blocking his throat. "Dean, I don't think this is a good idea. I don't know if I want to see it again."

"Dude, you gotta face this head on. You were a bad ass pilot who flew in a war zone, you can do this." Dean placed a hand on his shoulder and Castiel relaxed into the warmth of the touch, leaning into the support. He bit his bottom lip and handed the keys to Dean.

The garage door groaned and creaked its objection to being opened after its long dormancy. As it rose up, the light from the sunny day made its way onto the front of the car. Dean took a deep breath and stepped forward. He could see that this car was once a beauty, probably around a 1965, convertible, off-white exterior with bright red leather seats and beautiful chrome accents. He smiled a bit thinking about its previous owner. He thought he was probably pretty cool if he liked cars like this and was best friends with Cas.

It was sad to see a thing of beauty in this shape though. The front end was buckled; it had obviously smashed into something head on. The front driver's side wheel was bent at an unnatural angle and the windshield was smashed in front of the steering wheel. Dean sucked in a breath as his heart skipped, thinking that Cas had been in the car when this happened.

He looked back at his friend, who hadn't entered the garage but was standing apprehensively outside, eyes wide and hands balled into tight fists at his sides. "You OK?" A quiet nod to the affirmative was his response. "Wow, Cas, you're lucky to have survived. Looks like someone up there likes you."

"I like to think so."

"Well, it's busted up pretty good but one thing I can tell you is that she's worth the effort to fix up. So, what do you say we put this humpty-dumpty back together?"

"We?"

"Yeah, I think you should help. It would be therapeutic. It's even fun, trust me."

Castiel hesitated. He knew the mechanics of aircraft, had studied them in college so he was pretty sure he could handle the internal combustion engine of a car, but he hadn't expected Dean to want to work with him. He didn't know if that was a good idea, he was far too attracted to and intrigued by this man. He didn't want to expose his heart to someone who he knew could never return the feelings. But somehow he found himself agreeing. He kept being surprised at the effect this man had on him.

Dean threw a blanket over the bloodied seat so Castiel didn't have to look at it and together they loaded the car onto the tow truck to head back to Dean's shop.

When they arrived, Dean was like a child showing off his new toys, almost giddy with excitement to give Castiel the tour. Dean proudly showed Castiel the Mustang he was currently working on plus two other finished pieces. Castiel walked around the cars, admiring the workmanship. "You did this?" He asked Dean, seemingly in awe of the vehicles in front of him. He realized at that moment that Dean wasn't a mechanic. He was an artist.

There was a classic Camaro Super Sport that especially caught his eye. It was painted a deep blue and on the sides were elegant swirls of lighter blues and silvers. The juxtaposition of a tough muscle car with such graceful accents made for such a unique site for the eyes. Castiel had never seen a car like it. He looked at Dean, who was beaming with pride. "I designed that one for this chick, Bella. She's a bounty hunter. She's totally bad-ass but all girly and feminine at the same time so I thought it kind of matched her personality. So, what do you think?"

"Dean, these are remarkable. What you do is truly extraordinary." Dean's smile widened and it was a sight that took Castiel's breath away when the smile extended through the man's green eyes. The two men locked eyes and shared moment of unspoken respect and kinship.

"Well, no time like the present to start making something awesome out of something so broken. Let's get started."

For the next five weeks, Dean and Castiel settled into a comfortable schedule of spending several hours a day together working on Balthazar's car. Castiel was a quick learner, finding that his understanding the mechanics of aerodynamics made an easy transition to understanding cars. He listened to Dean's instructions and worked smoothly by his side.

The men settled into an easy friendship, talking as they worked. They shared stories of their lives, ideas, and tastes. They found that they shared a love of pie and burgers, that they shared a hatred of politics, and they definitely agreed to disagree on the quality of the TV show Dr. Sexy.

Dean learned that Castiel was an only child who had never met his father. He discovered that his mother was a dancer who frequently travelled so Castiel was home schooled and had always felt awkward and alone, especially after his mother passed away. Dean understood Castiel's grief and isolation.

Castiel learned about Sam. He listened to Dean brag about his brainy little brother. He discovered that Dean had pretty much raised his brother because of their father's grief over his wife's death.

Castiel listened to Dean's stories and felt his connection with Dean grow along with a deep respect for the man who had such a beautiful spirit and so much heart. Dean, in turn, felt a kinship with Castiel and was charmed by the man's awkward quirks and moved by his quiet strength. Both men were quietly falling in love under the hood of the broken car.

Dean stood in his office and peered through the window into the garage where he had left Cas to the buffing work while he took a call from a client. He watched the way the man's muscles moved and pulled across his back and arms, especially visible through the tight t-shirt Cas had worn today. He was leaning over the closed hood of the car and Dean had a perfect view of his tight ass. Dean swallowed as the sight stirred a desire in him that he had long ago buried.

Cas put down his buffer, wiped his hands off on his pants, tracing a line over his hips and thigh. Then he slowly smoothed his hand over the metal of the car, tilting his head to the side and studying the spot with an intensity that Dean had never seen another person show. But then Cas had a way of looking at everything, including Dean himself, with that gaze. It had a way of boring through him like a laser focus.

Dean's eyes moved to Castiel's hands, still caressing the cold steel. God, he loved the way Cas used his hands. The first time he noticed those hands was that day he had seen Cas dancing by himself. There was something in the way his movements started at his core and rippled out through his arms, to his wrists and moved all the way through the tips of his long fingers. Dean found himself wondering what those hands would feel like on his body. He had started purposely brushing their hands together as they worked on the car, and sometimes leaning close enough that their arms or hips would touch.

Those touches would send electric jolts of excitement through him. He hadn't wanted another man this much since Michael. Damn it, keep it together Winchester. He knew Cas wouldn't want him. He had seen him with Pamela and didn't want to mess that up for the guy.

The following week, Castiel was enjoying his work with Dean. He loved absorbing himself in the labor of restoring something broken and the hope that it gave him as he started to see her original beauty slowly coming back. But he was getting frustrated trying to pull this fender out. It was wedged over the front tire and he had been squatting down pulling on the metal for 10 minutes but it wouldn't budge.

He let out a long sigh and wiped his brow with his arm and swiped the sweat from his hands across his dirty tank top. When he opened his eyes, there was a hand reaching around him to grab hold of the stubborn fender. He was suddenly aware of how close Dean was. He could feel the man's heat behind him which sent a thrilling sensation to his core.

"OK, let's do this together, on three?" Dean instructed and Castiel could feel the breath of those words on his bare shoulder, a ghost of coolness over his damp skin.

The smell of Dean so close made Castiel's head swim, as he savored the scent of his friend's musky cologne mixed with the flavors of the garage and something else that was pure Dean. He knew he was long gone over this man but valued their friendship too much to do anything about it. He would have to ignore his intense attraction and feelings that he had to hold onto the man who had quickly become the most important person in his life.

The two men lined up next to each other, legs, hips and arms unabashedly touching, reaching under the metal. "One, two, three." When Dean growled three their bodies worked together, muscles flexing and pulling, groaning with the intense effort of removing such a deeply imbedded injury. The metal was no match for their joint effort and the crinkled fender popped out suddenly, causing both men to lose their balance and land in a tangle.

Dean laughed and wiped his hands on his jeans. Castiel thought he could die happy listening to the laugh. He gathered as much dignity as he could and leaned forward to look at the fender. It was back in place, but the metal was severely scarred from being bent the wrong way for so long. As he ran his hand over the wrinkles, a feeling of sadness came over him as he absorbed the guilt of having caused such damage.

"We can fix that," came Dean's voice from above him. He had already gotten to his feet. "Those dents can be hammered out and we'll buff it up like new. You'll see. I never met a car so broken I couldn't put her back together."

Dean stretched a hand down to help Castiel up and the two men stood eye to eye for a long breath. A slow smile began to paint its way across Castiel's face.

"Ijits," mumbled Bobby as he stood in the doorway and witnessed Dean and Castiel's fender-fixing moment. He had watched these two for the last couple of weeks working on that foreign abomination they dragged in. Bobby firmly believed that cars that weren't made in America weren't worth his respect. Not that he was going to turn away all of his Honda and Subaru driving customers, but he certainly wouldn't be caught dead driving one.

He had noticed the way that Dean would steal glances at Castiel or move a little too close so their shoulders or hands would brush. And it seemed like he didn't even try to hide all of the times his eyes had drifted from Castiel's eyes down to his mouth. And damn, Bobby felt like taking a shower every time he had witnessed their intense eye-fucking.

And Castiel wasn't any better, always too up into Dean's personal space. What the hell was wrong with these two? Maybe he should just lock them in Dean's office and let 'em fuck it out, thought Bobby with an eye roll.

But really, that kid deserved some happiness. John Winchester had been a friend but Bobby couldn't stand the way he fell apart after Mary's death. He had seen less and less of John over the years as he was roaming the Midwest with his sons. Damn, he should have stepped in and taken Sam and Dean away from him sooner.

He still felt a chill when he remembered the day he got the call from Dean.

"Singer Auto Body." He had said and waited while there was silence on the line. "Look, you want something speak up." He didn't have time for this. What he heard on the line was a breath and a sniff.

"Bobby? It's Dean. Dean Winchester."

"Hey, son, good to hear your voice. How are you?"

"Bobby, Dad's gone." Damn, thought Bobby. Where had that bastard disappeared to this time?

"Damn it, John," he mumbled to himself, "He'll be back, kid. Probably just passed out somewhere. You and Sam OK?"

"No. I mean, yeah, we're OK. But Dad… he's dead." Bobby's heart sank. He had once loved John like a brother, having grown up childhood friends. "We were in a car crash. Me and Sam, we're OK, but the truck hit Dad's side and," Dean's voice hitched and paused, "Bobby, he's dead. I don't know what to do."

Without a heartbeat's hesitation he said, "Where are you? I'm gettin' in the truck to come and pick you up right now."

When he swung the doors to the hospital hallway open he saw a site that would stay with him for the rest of his life. He saw two little boys, clinging to each other, both beaten down and with bandages over various bloody cuts and scrapes. Although Dean, at 18, was already almost six feet tall and little Sam was nearly as tall as his big brother already, but sitting there looking so hollow and lost all he could see were the little boys who he had watched grow.

His mind still saw them as they were the last time they were together. Dean, a freckled little punk with big eyes and a heart of gold, proudly strutting around in clothes that emulated his father perfectly, that amulet that Sam was supposed to give John one Christmas hanging loosely around his neck. And little Sammy, with his big hazel eyes and floppy hair, always holding onto his big brothers hand and looking up to him as if he knew the answers to every question in the universe. He thought about the rambunctious boys whose dirty feet pounded on his hardwood floors as they ran through the house playing superheroes, fighting imaginary monsters.

They stood up when they saw Bobby come in and he watched the transformation. What stood before him now weren't the two little boys he remembered, but two vacant young men. Dean still stood a few inches taller than Sam, but probably not for long. He had a gash that ran down his forehead and a fading blue bruise on one cheek that couldn't have been from a car accident only 8 hours ago. Sam looked a little better, with only a red scrape across his cheek. Dean handed Sam his backpack and lifted his own.

His eyes drifted back into the room they were waiting outside of and lingered there as one tear streaked down his face. He huffed a singular long breath and as he turned back to Bobby, and found himself pulled into a firm hug. Bobby held Dean, so glad to see that he and Sam had survived the accident that took their father. Dean didn't hug back.

"The Impala, it's wrecked, Bobby." Dean struggled out.

"Nothin's ever so broken that it can't be put back together, boy. We'll fix 'er together."

That was the day the Bobby became a father to two boys. He and Ellen had taken in the Winchesters and made a place for them in their home and hearts.

Sam had taken instantly to having a constant home. He was so smart and he immersed himself in his school work, sailing easily to the head of his class. Bobby found him warm and receptive to his new life. Ellen worked wonders with the teen, spending long hours coaxing him out of his shell and getting him to talk about their lives on the road.

Dean, on the other hand, refused to talk about his past and kept his feelings firmly hidden behind the carefree, snarky mask that he wore so well. He would stop anyone who asked by telling them with a smirk and an outstretched hand, "no chick-flick moments." Only while they were working together on the Impala did he occasionally let some of his pain show, using the physical exertion of the work to release the tension.

Ellen relayed to Bobby Sam's stories from their life on the road with John. His biggest regret in life would always be not taking those boys away from John sooner. Neither of them had realized how desperate the boys' situation had become.

Sam was smart and observant and knew a lot more about Dean and John than Dean ever realized. He shared with Ellen what Dean kept secret and she had fallen asleep crying in Bobby's arms the night Sam revealed what Dean never would; that the bruise on his big brother's face was put there by John because Dean loved a boy named Michael. So Bobby knew that Dean wasn't quite as straight as he played it, but was pretty sure that boy was so emotionally constipated it would take something apocalyptic to make him face his feelings.

Shame, because that Castiel seemed like a perfect fit for Dean. He had a calm weight to him, like he was so much bigger and deeper than he let on. It would be the perfect complement to help ground Dean, who had a restless anxiety to him, always seeming to have too much energy to contain.

Shit, he was not about to have one of those share and care moments, though. That was Ellen's job. He turned to head back into the repair shop, hoping his surrogate son would get his head out of his ass.

So I turned myself to face me
But I've never caught a glimpse
Of how the others must see the faker
I'm much too fast to take that test
~Changes – David Bowie