Alchemy, Pt. 4

[wanderamaranth]

<<Part Three

“Man was a fucking sadist.”

“Dean.”

“Don't 'Dean' me, Sam. It was terrible. Do you know how many stitches I have now? I sure as hell don't, because I lost count. Fucking sadist.” Hand shaking, he reached into the refrigerator, determined to reward his supernatural calm while the doctor made him look like Frankenstein's monster with a beer.

“You seem to be doing pretty good right now,” Sam pointed out.

Dean had to grin at that. “Pain killers, man. Really good painkillers.”

He could practically hear Sam's frown. “Thought you said he was a sadist.”

Nudging aside a jug of orange juice, wondering if the beer was hiding behind that (and he knew there was some in there, Cas had told him there was) he said, “Yeah, well, he didn't give me the pills until after he was done.”

He picked up an open can of soda with the intention of setting it aside on the counter; the beer was so well hidden that Dean was planning on excavating the refrigerator to find it. Dean's trembling hand accidentally dropped it instead. Cola splattered everywhere, splashing the white cabinets and hardwood floor.

“Shit!” Dean cursed. “Who the fuck puts an open can of soda in the fridge, anyways?”

“That would be me.”

Dean swallowed another swear, face burning in embarrassment. It was bad enough that Cas (superpowered, BAMF, kickass-Cas) had seen him bloodied and battered and...in the warehouse, and later at Bobby's house laid up in a Western-themed kiddie bed, but seeing Dean unable to grasp even a half-full can of soda? Unable to grasp a can and unwittingly cursing out Cas right in front of the guy for putting it in the fridge to begin with, no less.

The only way out was through, he told himself. He bluffed.“Why the hell would you do that?”

Castiel's brow furrowed down into a slight frown. “I didn't want the whole thing.” he said, like it was common for people to just leave half-empty cans of soda sitting around like little bombs on the edge of refrigerator shelves.

Dean snatched a hand towel off the stove's door handle and went to stoop to wipe up the sticky liquid. Sam stopped him.

“Whoa, Mr. I-don't-even-know-how-many-stitches-I-have. Let me or Cas get that. You sit down.” Sam took the towel out of his hands.

“I agree,” Castiel said, stepping close and taking his elbow. “It's just pop, Dean. Perhaps you should sit down. Would you like to go outside?”

Humiliation complete, Dean could do little but nod and allow Castiel to slowly direct him to the lake shore.

As promised, there were now two chairs set up on the small dock. Dean recognized them from what Castiel had called the conservatory. And just who the fuck had a room that they actually called a conservatory? Dean thought that had been something made up by the creators of Clue. Metal framed and with large cushions, they were entirely unsuited to outdoor use. When Dean sat down he found cause to revise his hastily made opinion. The cushions were just-right comfortable, the backs high enough that he could lean back and at an angle where he didn't feel like he was straining his neck.

“What's with the hippie clothes?” he asked Cas, as the other man moved away to take his own seat. If he'd thought the light green button-down of before had been strange, Castiel's current outfit was downright bizarre. Dark green, well-worn cargo pants were topped by a faded and patched collarless shirt, embroidered with tone-on-tone flowers along the placket and down the sleeves. Cognac colored fisherman sandals were strapped to his feet. The superhero, in repose, Dean thought, titling the picture he would take if he had Sam's camera.

“Oh. They are leftover from Anna and I's trip here last year.” Castiel smoothed his hand down the front of his shirt self-consciously. “These are not things I typically wear in public.”

Dean's mouth watered as his eyes followed the path Castiel's hand trailed. “No, it's not bad,” he somehow managed to say without spitting all over himself. “Just different.”

His reactions to Castiel were surprising him, but not alarming. While he considered himself mostly straight, Dean had noticed a guy or two in his time. He'd just never taken action on his attractions. He privately thought any man who claimed they didn't occasionally check out another dude was a liar, mostly because he was one of those guys that claimed that they would never, had never, had a stray thought about another man.

What was surprising was that Dean was taking notice of Castiel now. He briefly wondered if it was a gratitude thing, or maybe a result of...but he shied away from thoughts of Alistair and his cold hands, choosing instead to remember the way he'd taken the extra effort to bust out the charming smile when he'd first met Castiel, the way his brain had stuttered over the color of his eyes. Heck, even the way he'd make sure to buy the guy's favorite grape soda when he noticed he didn't have one on his desk.

The attraction had always been there, Dean realized. He’d simply never acknowledged it before. And now that he knew what sort of man Castiel was, how he was risking himself on so many different levels for him and Sammy, and that, oh, yeah, the guy had freaking superpowers, he was afraid attraction had been bypassed for a flat-out crush.

Oh, God. He had a man-crush on Castiel.

“So, uh,” Dean stuttered, silently cursing his fair complexion and freckles, which he was convinced were reflecting his train of thought, “We've never really had a chance to talk.” At Castiel's questioning brow, Dean clarified, “Um. At work. You know, we never really talked.” God, he felt awkward. “So...tell me about yourself.” Dean's palms were sweating, which would have been bad enough, but he'd been so flustered by the Soda Incident in the kitchen that he'd not even thought about washing his hands, so the sweat combined with the stickiness was really unpleasant. He felt like he was on a first date, and he was the only one aware of it.

“What would you like to know?” Castiel asked, the picture of calm as he finally settled back into his own chair.

“Well...” Dean cast about for a subject that wouldn't make Castiel too uncomfortable or show that he was eager to know everything. “How'd you get a crap job at the Gazette?” Great, Winchester, insult the guy. That's a great move. “No offense,” he hurried to add. “It's just...you seem like you're way too smart for where they stuck you. I was placed there to keep me out of trouble, for as much good it did them. But you...”

Castiel bit his lip, hesitating, and Dean wondered if maybe he'd picked a bad subject of conversation, or if his ham-handed introduction of it was to blame. Looking down at his lap, Castiel folded his fingers together. A thumb brushed across the top of the opposite hand's index finger, temporarily derailing the flow of blood to Dean's brain in lieu of places south—until Cas spoke. “I believe I was hired as a favor from my ex-girlfriend.”

Dean deflated at the word ex-girlfriend. Damnit, he'd only been aware he might be interested in the guy for maybe twenty minutes and he was already fighting back disappointment at the confirmation that Cas wasn't into dick. Castiel had never given any indication of being in a relationship, and subconsciously Dean had allowed himself to hope. Which was ridiculous. Dean wasn't anyone's boyfriend, let alone this lanky, eternally-rumpled, nerdy guy's...but he was beginning to think he wanted to be.

He decided to focus on what Cas was saying instead of his own melodramatic thoughts. “Why'd your ex owe you a favor?”

Fidgeting, Cas lowered his gaze even further, so they were almost closed. His lashes hovered just over his cheeks, a dark sweep against the pale skin. “She slept with...several others and the way she apologized was getting me intoxicated and into bed.”

Running that through his Cas-speak filter, Dean said, “She got you drunk and fucked you? Dude, a lot of guys would say that sounds like a pretty good apology.”

Fastening his irises to Dean's, Castiel said, “I find myself harboring different ideas on...dating, and relationships, I think, than the norm. I've always found the concept of monogamy extremely important, even though...”

He trailed off, and Dean found himself pushing back the pain from his stitches to reach forward and nudge Cas' knee. “Even though what?” Mentally, he filed away that nugget of information in the internal file-folder he'd already labeled Cas. He was a commitment sort of guy. Not that this was surprising from what he'd already previously observed, but still.

“Even though I didn't find myself much interested in sex.”

Wait, what? Dean's brain shouted.

“Wait, what?”

“I specifically told Meg that I wasn't interested in having sex with her right away, that I didn't know if I would ever wish to, and she stated she was willing to enter into a relationship anyways.” Swallowing, but not removing his eyes from Dean's, Castiel said, “I was what I believe is called a late bloomer. Sex was...well, I suppose I'd never really felt the inclination when the opportunity presented itself, and then the longer I waited...”

Cas unthreaded his hands and placed them on his thighs, sliding them down until he was gripping his kneecaps. “By the time I started dating Meg and seriously considering a physical relationship, I had built the act up to be something rather intimidating. She claimed that she was willing to wait until I was ready. It was disappointing to discover that she was not.”

“Oh.” What do you say to a guy you're into who essentially tells you he got his shitty job (which he didn't have anymore, at least obliquely, because of you) because his girlfriend date-raped him? “Uh...shit,” he exclaimed, as all the pieces of what Castiel said fell into place. He'd been a virgin, Jesus. And Dean thought he'd had some terrible exes. “Did you, um, at least like it?”

Castiel gave him exactly the sort of look that question deserved while Dean wondered why the hell he would ask it in the first place. Then Cas looked away, shoulders hunched. “I don't remember,” he said quietly.

A long, strained silence fell between them. Dean wanted to apologize but had the feeling that would only make things worse. Instead, he said, “So, this place. Pretty swanky. Like something out of a magazine. Veranda, maybe.”

That earned Dean a small smile. “Anna and I both enjoy it here. We only have the opportunity to visit for a week or two a year during the summer, but it is nice to return to a familiar place each time.”

Sensing that Castiel was warm to the subject, Dean said, perhaps a bit too eagerly. “You guys vacation together a lot?”

“Yes,” Cas said. “Anna is my best friend. She has been since we were small children.”

Dean could easily imagine Anna as a child. Her pouty lower lip and large eyes would be adorable on a child. He had a bit more difficulty picturing Cas. Had his hair always been so unruly, his posture so conflictingly self-possessed and nervous?

A frown troubled Castiel as he said, “I believe we were first paired together as playmates because our fathers hoped we'd develop a deeper attachment to one another and, when we were grown, merge the family empires. But by the time we'd entered our majority we both realized that we would never be compatible in such a manner.”

Family empires. It was clear from the house, furnishings, and her personal possessions that Anna was wealthy. Castiel talked as though he came from a moneyed family as well, but that didn't jive with what Dean had personally observed. The cheap suits, packed bologna or tuna sandwich lunches, and polyester trench coat didn't exactly scream 'the good life'.

“Are you telling me you're rich? If that's the case, why were you at the Gazette?”

“My father is rich, Dean. Not me. I work because he and I had a falling out that resulted in my allowance and trust fund being withdrawn. He wanted things that I was unable or unwilling to provide.”

“Such as?” Dean asked. With an exaggerated survey of the lake before them and the house behind them, Dean said, “I think I'd give a lot to live like this.”

Clearing his throat, Castiel said, “It is difficult to explain to someone who has never met my father...when I told you that I believed Anna and I were paired as playmates in hopes we'd one day marry, I have more than a mild inclination that was what was expected of us. We went to the same playgroup, the same primer, then the same boarding school...when I refused to go directly to University, preferring instead to take a gap year, it was only allowed with the caveat that she be my travel companion. It could have been worse—much worse—had she and I not been amenable to one another. I thought about marrying her, Dean, and making my father happy, I did, but...it would not have ended with that.”

“I saw my whole life stretched out before me. A wife I loved more like a sister, a university education for a degree I didn't care for, houses in locations picked for their immediacy to the company business offices, clothes and haircuts and jewelry picked by the family stylist for their appropriateness to each situation, and...it was overwhelming.” Cas took a deep breath. “My brothers had already proven themselves to be disappointments in father's view. My oldest brother Michael had been his perfect son, but after he passed in an accident, the pressure to live up to his specter fell to the rest of us. Jeremiah was too strong willed from the beginning to accept the yoke of Father's expectations. Balthazar he found unsuitable by virtue of not being his biological son.”

“So that left you?”

“Yes. That left me.”

It was the most Dean had ever heard Castiel talk at one time, and he had the notion if he said the wrong thing he'd break the tenuous spell that had fallen over the other man, that he'd clam up and perhaps not be as willing to discuss such obviously painful things. And God help him, Dean didn't want him to stop talking. The man sitting in front of him with hunched shoulders and battered hippie threads looked miles away from both the constrained newspaper employee and the flaming, avenging angel who'd rescued him from Alistair; more real, and Dean was fascinated. Scooting to the edge of his seat, he reached forward and clasped Castiel's elbow, giving it a soft squeeze.

Cas gave him the tiniest of smiles of gratitude.

“My revelation occurred during my gap year backpacking trip one evening when Anna and I found refuge from a thunderstorm in a youth hostel. I called him and told him that I wouldn't be following his plan when I returned.”

“I bet that went over well,” Dean said dryly.

“You could say that. I was cast out.”

“What, just like that?” Dean asked. “No 'think it over, son' or 'are you sure's?”

Castiel shook his head. “Disobedience to my father was—is—unthinkable. If you are a part of the family, his word is absolute.” Pressing his lips into a thin line, Cas said, “It was stupid of me to tell him then. If I'd waited another six months I would have come into my trust, but as it was, I was young and impatient.” Softer, he added, “I was very lucky for Anna's kindness. What assets I had were immediately frozen and I was summarily turned out on my own.”

“Jesus,” Dean breathed. He couldn't imagine, for all John Winchester had been an asshole, that he'd ever have done anything like that to his sons.

“Afterwards I adopted my middle name in place of my first, and determined that I would make my own way in the world. I could have taken Anna's offers of money or apologized to Father and been taken back into his good graces, but my pride wouldn't allow it.”

The ravenously curious reporter in him was gratified to be handed so much information about Castiel at once, but Dean felt he'd hardly done anything to deserve such full disclosure.

“Not that I don't appreciate it, Cas, but...why are you telling me this? I haven't—” He stopped what he was going to say in favor of blurting an epiphany. “Shit, you're Jimmy Novak.”

The Novak family was prolific, rich, and deeply entrenched in the Pontiac community. Dean was uncertain how he'd never connected the dots before now, as it wasn't exactly a common last name. There was a time when they were both young that Jimmy Novak's --Castiel's-- picture had been pasted across the Gazette for some sort of award, volunteer effort or commendation at least twice, sometimes three times a month.

Dean knew he was correct when Castiel wouldn't meet his eyes. Part of Dean wondered if he should call the man Jimmy now, but that didn't feel right. For better or worse, he was Castiel to Dean, and even contemplating trying to call him anything else felt unnatural.

“Not anymore. I haven't been that man for a very long time.” A long, tapered finger tapped Castiel's chin almost thoughtfully as he said, “As for why I'm telling you this...I thought it would be clear, but perhaps not. Here it is, then. If I go back to my father, he has the money, resources and influence to protect you.”

Time slowed for Dean, the sweet lake-side air he'd been breathing feeling fresh-water taffy thick suddenly. He hadn't missed the way Castiel said 'protect you'.

“But you said if you go back to your dad, he's gonna expect you to fall in line. Get the corporate douchebag job, marry a chick, pop out a few heirs, right?”

Castiel's nose twitching was the only sign his outward passivity wasn't reflective of his inner workings. “Yes,” he said. “But I would consider it a small price to pay.”

“No.” The word tumbled out of Dean, feeling thick and heavy on his tongue. “No way. You're not going to just give up your life for me.”

Ironically, Castiel bared his teeth in a stilted grin. “It wouldn't be a complete hardship, Dean. As you said, there are many who would do much worse to live the sort of life I would lead. Also, there is my condition to consider.”

“Condition?” Was Castiel ill and he hadn't known?

“Pyrokinesis isn't exactly a common condition, I don't think, at least outside of science fiction novels,” Castiel was saying, and the man couldn't possibly be referring to his awesome as fuck fire powers, could he? Apparently he was, because Cas carried on with, “It is however extremely possible that with my father's connections in the medical research community that a treatment could be created for me. Maybe even a cure.”

“A cure? You're not fucking sick!”

Castiel appeared taken aback by Dean's vehemence for only a tick of time, and then he was returning with, “Aren't I? If what I could do was commonly known, at best I would be seen as unfit for society. I am an aberration.”

The way Cas said aberration, as if it were a foregone fact, as if Dean were stupid for not realizing something so blindingly clear, infuriated him into spewing exactly what he was thinking before passing it through his mental filter.

“What you are is amazing!”

They both froze as if stunned. Dean's eyes were crossing in his effort to look at his own mouth in shock. Castiel's mouth was open and soft, the fair skin of his neck even paler than usual. His throat made an odd click, as if he was unable to get air into his throat. Dean understood the feeling entirely.

In for a penny, Dean internally sighed as he scrunched his eyes shut and took a deep breath. Opening both eyes and mouth, he repeated on the exhale, “You're amazing.” The stitches on his left arm suddenly itched with a blazing intensity; absently Dean rubbed at the surrounding skin and said, “Anyone who...” Adam's apple bobbing, Dean clenched his jaw, sniffed and tried again, as the words he'd been going to say suddenly felt false.

“Okay, so in a way you're right.” He couldn't look at Castiel as he spoke, but he heard the muffled grunt from the other man. “Making like Johnny Storm isn't exactly something the average joe can do. But you know what? You do a hell of a lot of other stuff the average dude doesn't do that has nothing to do with your pyro issues.”

Warming to his subject, Dean said, “How many people would risk their lives for me the way you did with Alistair in that warehouse? Physical danger was the least of it. You knew I was an investigative reporter, even if I haven't been doing much printed reporting lately, and you knew I was being held by the friggin' scariest criminal group out there and you came for me anyways. I could splash you all over the front page of the Gazette, tell the whole world everything about you and what you can do, which I get the feeling you're not keen on. But you told me anyways. Infernus' thugs could have stabbed you, or shot you, in that warehouse, and even though you made it out okay they're looking for you just as much as me 'n Sammy, but you didn't even fucking hesitate, man. Even with all those variables, you still came. So if that makes you an 'aberration' in society's eyes, then fuck 'em. But to me, that makes you amazing.”

Dean didn't know where the outpouring came from, but he couldn't regret it when he saw the utterly gobsmacked expression on Castiel's face. Then Cas was standing, looking about himself as if he'd forgotten something, lips moving as he muttered words too inaudible for Dean to hear. He looked ready to bolt, and that wasn't acceptable to Dean.

Standing, he pushed into Castiel's personal space, closer than even Cas had allowed himself to drift into Dean's before. Fisting the soft fibers of Cas' ridiculously embroidered hippie shirt, Dean shook him, once, and said right against his lips in a voice that brooked no argument, “Amazing.”

Castiel made a broken sound and leaned just the smallest bit forward and that was it, they were kissing. It was soft and dry and really pretty chaste, but caused Dean's breath to hitch, his heart to literally fucking stop in his chest. Jesus, Dean had been pretty sure when people said that they were speaking figuratively or embellishing to make for a more dramatic story, but his heart actually clenched and stopped moving for one long, long second before it released its tension with a twisting throb he felt down into his knees.

Castiel's lips moved tentatively against his, not exerting pressure. It was almost as if he was simply mouthing at Dean's lips, but yeah, it was exponentially hotter than any other first kiss Dean ever had. Words that hadn't made themselves known when Dean's only concern was not allowing Cas to leave (such as “ex-girlfriend”) began ping-ponging around in his brain, and Dean felt a small flare of panic. So he pulled back and tried not to succumb to the urge wrench Castiel closer still, to bury his hands in that naturally messy, oh-so-soft hair and utterly debauch his mouth.

“A-amazing,” Cas echoed, ocean-blue eyes glassy with what Dean interpreted as not-disgusted surprise. Dean felt a surge of pride that he'd been able to place such a look on Castiel's face. He was flushed and flustered and yeah, god-damned adorable, so Dean leaned forward and kissed him again, quickly. He darted away before Castiel could reciprocate or push him off.

“You're not going to go to your father, okay Cas? We'll find another way.”

“Okay,” Castiel nodded, and Dean wondered briefly if he'd had said that no matter what Dean said in that moment. “I should...I should go see what Anna's doing.” It's an excuse to leave, an obvious one and Dean outright smirked.

“Yeah. You do that.” Licking his lips, he said, “You know where to find me when you're done.”

Castiel avoided Dean, and everyone else, for that matter, for the next three days. It wasn't easy. The lake house was only so big, and Dean had seemed concerned when Cas didn't seek him out that first night, then downright worried thereafter, sending Anna and Sam both to ask if he was okay, if there was anything wrong. It seemed Dean hadn't told them why he was concerned, though, because neither one of them mentioned what Castiel had offered or Dean's kiss response.

When Cas couldn't stand it a moment longer, when he had turned their conversation over and over in his own mind and not come up with how he should feel about it, when he was sick of hiding, he went to Anna. She was preparing dinner in the kitchen, vegetables strewn across the big island in the center of the room. He spoke what was on his mind quickly, without preamble.

“Dean kissed me.”

Anna dropped the knife she'd been chopping mushrooms with, which was probably good, because Castiel only remembered after he spoke that Anna was still interested in Dean, and she'd always been the jealous type.

“He what?”

“He kissed me,” Castiel repeated, because his self-preservation instincts were clearly gone. Sliding onto a stool, Cas flopped his upper body across the marble-topped bar, groaning.

“What? Why?”

“Two very good questions,” Castiel murmured. “Questions I've asked myself.” Louder, he said, “I have no idea. I was speaking to him of our options, and he just...” He spread his hands wide and gave a clumsy half-shrug.

The shock appeared to have worn off for Anna, because she was able to walk calmly over to the sink to wash her hands. They were both silent for the half-minute that took, and when Anna turned back to Castiel, drying her hands on a towel, she said cautiously, “Well, did you like it?”

Cas wished he could have been startled by the question, but he supposed in the circumstances it wasn't entirely a strange thing to ask. “I didn't dislike it,” he said carefully. “But it was so unexpected, I—”

He stopped when Anna snorted expressively.

“What?”

“I'm sorry, Castiel, but unexpected? Please. That man has been looking at you like he'd like to eat you alive since you got here. And from what I've seen, it hasn't been exactly unreciprocated.” Castiel must have looked as flummoxed as he felt, because Anna snorted again and said, “Seriously, Cas. You two look have all these, like...epically longing homoerotic glances.”

“But I'm not gay.” The response was automatic.

“Believe me,” Anna said dryly, “Neither is Dean. But apparently there's something there between you two anyway. Question is, you going to do anything about it? Seems Dean's willing to take a chance Cas. Are you?”

“I don't know.”

“Castiel.” Anna only used that tone with him when he did something particularly tiresome. “Do you want him or not?”

“I don't know!” Cas groaned. “But I think I might.”

“Well then what are you doing sitting around talking to me?” Anna motioned towards the door. “Go get 'em, tiger.”

Rolling his eyes, Castiel said, “Things are not that simple, Anna.”

Arching a brow, Anna leaned across the kitchen island. Snagging up a handful of spinach, she said, “Am I hearing this right? Is a man complicating things where simple, guaranteed sex is involved?”

“You're not as funny as you think you are.” Castiel could feel his nostrils flare as he exhaled sharply. “Things between Dean and I are complicated already. I haven't had to do anything to make them that way.”

“Cas.” Anna picked her knife up and began shredding the leafy greens. “It's a penis. Believe me, I've dealt with enough of them. I can assure you there's nothing complicated about it. And I seriously doubt it's going to do something yours doesn't.”

“Anna,” Cas hissed. “Would you be serious for one moment? I could hurt him!”

Without missing a beat, Anna scooped up the chopped spinach and threw it into to sauce pan, quipping, “Go slow and use lots of lube, you'll be fine.”

Shoving away from the counter, Castiel was prepared to stomp away and, horror of horrors, call his brother Balthazar for advice, when Anna turned around and saw his dark expression. “Oh,” she said, in a completely different tone. “You're serious. Cas, I'm sorry, I just...sit back down, yeah?”

Cas sat, eyes narrowed in such a way as to let Anna know that he was only doing so as a favor to her, not because he forgave her for her impertinence. She sighed.

“I shouldn’t have been flip, Cas. Why don't you tell me what's going on?”

“That's just it,” Castiel burst out. “I don't know.”

Forehead crinkling, Anna said, “What do you mean you don't know?”

“I mean...you know that Dean was injured when we arrived. Quite badly.”

Anna nodded. “He seems much better now.”

“Seems being the operative word. But I'm uncertain just how Dean was injured.”

Forehead crinkle devolving into a complete frown, Anna said, “Doc Benton said that it was mostly cuts, a few bruises, but...oh.” She stopped as what Castiel wasn't saying became clear. “You don't think—?”

“I don't know,” Castiel repeated. “I feel sick even contemplating it, but he was there for hours alone with that man, and...you didn't see him, Anna. The person who had Dean, he...” Swallowing hard, he said, “I would believe him capable of such things, easily.”

“You could ask him.”

“That is a conversation I'm sure would go well.”

“But maybe it's one he needs to have. Even after the one date we had, I could tell Dean isn't the sort of guy to just go around talking about his feelings. But if you ask him...”

Castiel should have perhaps known not to take advice from a woman Dean had gone out with once and not called again, but he thought he already knew what the answer to the questions he would ask were, and he allowed himself to believe that maybe Dean really just did need an offer to talk about it, and then he'd begin to truly heal.

“Thank you, Anna,” he said.

He found Dean shortly after in the living room, stretched full out on the butter yellow sectional Anna had fallen in love with three years ago and Castiel had nearly pulled his back out dragging into the house. Bitchin' Kitchen was playing on the tv in all its color-clashing, badly-accented glory.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said easily, like Castiel hadn't been running every time he even caught a glimpse of tanned skin or short brown hair for the better part of several days. “This show is weird. I can't decide if it's meant to be serious, or like, a parody of a regular cooking show. Chick's hot, though.”

“Dean,” Castiel returned. The decision to simply go to Dean and ask him outright about his time in Alistair's care had seemed much easier under the bright pot lights of the kitchen and Anna's confidence. Once Cas was actually faced with the man, he found it more difficult than he'd believed it would be.

“Don't worry.” Dean threw a grin Castiel's way. The curve of Dean's top i-tooth against its neighbor seeming sharp and bright in the dimly lit room. “I think you're hotter. C'mere.”

Castiel had been on the receiving end of such statements before, but coming from Dean they seemed intoxicatingly new. He went, nestling into the hollow beside Dean's hip. The other man wiggled upwards, just enough so that his head was slightly elevated, and then he tangled his fingers in the curls at the nape of Castiel's neck, pulling him down for a kiss. It was as easy, as if it was just something they did, and not brand-new between them. Castiel sighed as Dean pulled closer, and himself sucking on Dean's lower lip, deepening it into a throbbing kiss. Castiel had wondered why the Kama Sutra, a compendium on sex, had devoted a section to kissing, because while the kisses he'd exchanged with Meg, and even Anna, when they were young and curious, had been good, they hadn't made him feel the way he did right then. They were nothing compared to when Dean touched him. Dean's kisses made Castiel suddenly understand their inclusion. He made an involuntary noise low in his throat and licked at Dean's lips.

Chuckling at the back of his throat, Dean opened his mouth and slid his tongue alongside Castiel's, the warm wetness of it a slight, pleasant shock. Castiel found himself pulled atop Dean, his legs arranged so they bracketed the other man's, all without their lips parting. Castiel's hands found Dean's shoulders and, bracing himself, he curled his fingers around the muscle there, hard.

This time it was Dean's turn to make an involuntary noise, but his was devoid of passion. Castiel jerked away, snatching his hands away and tumbling off Dean's lap and onto the floor. “I'm so sorry, Dean, I forgot—”

“Nah, it's okay.” Dean tried to brush it off, but his reaction to Castiel accidentally squeezing his hand-shaped burn—which must still be quite sensitive, judging by Dean's reactions—reminded him of his original goal in seeking Dean out in the first place.

“Dean,” Castiel said. “Tell me what Alistair did to you.”

Dean had been struggling into a sitting position, like a turtle on its back with its legs flailing in the air, but when Castiel spoke he stopped and stared instead. “What?” he sputtered.

Yes, he could have found a more polite way of asking about what he wanted to know, but Castiel wasn't always a very polite, or, more to the point, a patient person, especially when an unpleasant reaction was a possibility. He preferred to tackle things like someone pulling off a bandage. Painful, but hopefully after the initial sting, over and done with.

“I believe you should tell me everything Alistair did to you before we proceed further,” Castiel said.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Dean was up and off the sectional. “Just what the fuck are you saying?”

“Dean.” Castiel licked his lips, suddenly thinking this was a very, very bad idea. It had been quite a week, and Dean was doing so well, maybe Castiel had been mistaken, maybe what he'd washed off of Dean's skin in that brief span of time when he'd had him in his apartment before taking him to Bobby's had been something else, but he didn't think so.

“Don't Dean me,” Dean said, his voice raising in pitch with each word. “Just what the fuck are you saying, Cas? Is this why you've been avoiding me? Because of what—”

Castiel reached out a hand in comfort, and Dean flinched away. They both froze immediately after, but the damage was done. Cas took it as further proof, and Dean seemed to know he did.

“No, you know what?” Dean snarled. “I'm not doing this.” He was out of the room, his angry footsteps pounding up the stairs seconds later.

Dinner that evening was an awkward affair. Dean came downstairs right as it was being served, and sat at his usual spot to Castiel's right with obvious reluctance. They all ate in silence, Sam picking up on the tension in the air, Anna shooting Castiel pathetically apologetic looks. Castiel pushed at the pasta on his plate, a dish that was usually one of his favorites, instead of eating it.

He knew as soon as he said those words to Dean that they were wrong, and once again he wondered just what he'd been doing listening to Anna in the first place. Something like Dean's experiences should only be spoken of when the person who'd lived through them was ready to speak, and Castiel pushing him like that, phrasing it almost as an ultimatum, was wrong.

“I don't believe I'm very hungry,” he finally said, when the silence became too much. If he'd looked up at Dean when he stood, or when he went over to the kitchen's garbage can to scrape his uneaten food into the garbage, he would have seen the conflicted pinch between Dean's eyebrows and the laden looks exchanged between Anna and Sam. Instead he's kept his gaze resolutely on his bare feet as he shuffled towards the stairs.

He thought he heard Dean say his name behind him, but it was only once, and spoken softly, so Castiel decided he'd been hearing what he wanted and nothing more, and continued up the stairs.

A knock sounded outside Castiel's room an hour after dinner. He’d retreated there just after to have a telephone conversation with Balthazar, claiming a headache. Castiel peripherally heard the knock, but was too wrapped up in replaying the call with his brother to really register it.

“Your problem is as it has always been, Cassie—listening to any advice Anna sodding Milton gives you.”

“Balthazar, she means well.”

“She's a menace.”

“She's my friend, Balthazar, the only one who stayed after...”

“Yes,” his brother said, more gently. “That she did. Forgive me Castiel. Enough about Anna—we'll never see eye to eye there. What are you going to do about your boy? Which is a phrase, might I add, that I never thought I'd say to you.”

Despite himself Castiel chuckled, short and bitter. “I honestly can say I have no idea. He's been trying to talk to me, but I've...” he trailed off, unsure how to say that he'd been hiding in his room for the better part of several days.

“Been avoiding him?” Balthazar sighed. “That's really not going to help your case here, Cas.”

“Thank you for your sage advice,” Castiel returned dryly. “But I've let it go on so long that...”

“Castiel,” Balthazar interrupted him. “I'm going to tell you something about yourself. This may be the only time I'm willing to speak so candidly, so listen well. Your problem is that you don't just let things happen. You put things off, delay them, put them off some more, until they're a big huge bloody deal that they didn't have to be. Take your pesky virginity, for instance.”

“Balthazar!”

“You had plenty of opportunities, I'm certain, in which to rid yourself of it,” Balthazar continued on. “But you simply never let it happen.”

“Is there a point to this?”

“The point, my dear dunce, is the next time your Dean wishes to speak to you or get you alone? Try letting him.” Ever true to his marvelous phone skills, Balthazar hung up right after dropping that statement, leaving Castiel with the option of either calling him back and insisting they continue to talk about the subject, which Cas was loathe to do, or sitting and thinking about what his brother had said, which wasn't a very attractive option either, but the one he found himself doing,

Another knock sounded, and then came Dean's voice, soft but clear, breaking Castiel from his reverie.

“Can I come in?”

Cas hesitated. Dean being there and wishing to talk could only mean one thing. He'd capitulated to Castiel's selfish desire for information. He huddled behind the door, wondering if he should open it. Now that he was getting what he wanted, he was afraid.

“Cas?”

He could hear Dean lick his lips, even through the wood, and he took a deep breath. Then Castiel reached up and slid the bolt, unlocking the door. Wordlessly he stepped aside to allow Dean to enter. Once he was in the room, Castiel shut the door and, after a pause, slid the latch back home.

Only then did he look at Dean. He looked just the same as he had at dinner, same tight, ripped jeans, same battered Henley, same bare feet, but Castiel's view of him altered as he let his feelings for the man solidify, making Cas believe that he'd never seen Dean looking more beautiful.

“Cas, if you want to know what happened to me, then I'm willing to tell you. If that's what it takes to be with you, then I'll tell you.” This close, Castiel could see moisture clinging to the base of Dean's lashes, as if he'd either been crying or holding back tears.

“No,” Castiel said.

“What?” Dean asked, then sucked in his lower lip. “Oh. You don't want....that's okay, I get it. I'll just...let myself out, I guess.” He turned away, and Castiel grasped Dean's forearm, the skin hot under his touch. A slight pressure, and Dean was facing him again, if barely.

“You misunderstand,” Castiel said. “I shouldn't have asked it of you in the first place. You don't have to tell me anything you're not ready to, no matter what I may say.” He'd come to understand, in the space of time after his brief conversation with Balthazar and before Dean came to his door that Castiel's request could have implied that, had anything happened, it would make Dean less in Cas' estimation. That was patently untrue, and Castiel wanted to make sure Dean knew it.

“No matter what, you are Dean. What happened is only important in how it affected you. I'm sorry if the way I spoke made it seem I thought otherwise.” Cas stood on his toes and kissed him, just underneath the faded yellow of Dean's former black eye. Trailing his lips downward, he skimmed his mouth over Dean's cheek and across his nose. Dean's hitched intake of breath was satisfying, encouraging enough for Castiel to step away and back until the dips of his knees hit the edge of the bed.

Crawling on top, Cas pushed the layers of quilts he preferred for sleeping away. He could feel Dean watching him, calculating what his actions meant. Not wanting there to be any doubt, Castiel tapped the mattress, once.

“Lay beside me.”

Pulling the blankets the rest of the way off to the side, Castiel smoothed his hand down the soft cotton sheets. He should have changed them, perhaps, but he'd not started the day with seduction in mind, and besides, the faded vintage flowers currently stretched across his mattress were his favorite. He could think of no other sheets he'd rather use.

“You're not gonna make me talk about it?”

There is was, in the shadows under Dean's eyes and the carefully phrased question, the confirmation that there was something to talk about. Castiel simply shook his head.

“I won't make you do anything you don't wish to. Well,” he paused. “Unless it's for your own good, like taking a shower when you begin to smell or eating when you forget or taking out the garbage when it piles up.” He didn't even realize he was speaking as if they were going to be in one another's lives for a long time within intimate quarters until it was out in the air, but Dean didn't seem to mind. If anything, he liked it, with the way his Adam's apple bobbed with his hitched breath.

“Well, okay then,” he said, voice like tumbling pea-gravel.

Dean came to him, stripping his shirt with a movement that belied he was still sore from his injuries. Still, he didn't hesitate as he flicked the top button of his jeans. Two more followed, and Castiel stared at the small patch of skin and dusting of hair framed by that open v and the dark band of Dean's underwear. His eyes were wide, the pupils so large they almost swallowed the thin, bottle-green ring of his irises.

Hands skimming, Dean followed through the rest of the way and pushed the denims off his hips, leaving him clad in only his boxer briefs. The solid line of his penis swelled against the black cotton, half-hard under the weight of Cas' gaze. Dean kicked the bunched tangle of his pants from around his ankles before lowering himself to the mattress. It creaked slightly in just the same spot Castiel's mattress did in his apartment, and he had a moment to wonder what about his sleeping habits caused that particular anomaly before Dean pushed calloused fingers under Castiel's shirt, flirting between the softness of his belly and the waistband of his cargos.

Castiel could read the question in Dean's eyes, the concern that Cas wasn't really ready for anything like what he was suggesting, but the bedroom door was locked, and Castiel was sick and tired of being alone. Dean was the first person Cas had ever felt really understood him instinctively. He might not know all the particulars of his life the way Anna or Balthazar did, nor he of Dean's, and he might not have been immediately, electrically attracted to Castiel the way Meg admitted she had been, but Dean was the one. Castiel didn't capitalize the phrase in his thoughts, but the sentiment was there.

Cupping Dean's cheek, Cas leaned forward and closed his eyes.

Part Five>>