#hunter!dean

Excerpt:

Castiel belonged to the exorcist elite, but unlike them, he was the strongest in spirit. He could perform several exorcisms at the same time. That was something physically and spiritually impossible for an ordinary human. But Father Novak could, because his thoughts were focused just on that, and he had no worldly distractions.

Cover and Art: Traditional Drawing. Ink pen. Graphite 4B.

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Another fic for Dean and Cas Bingo, square Demisexual.

I must say, this was a pleasure to write because I'm demisexual myself so I was able to describe part of me in Castiel.

I want to say thanks to @callenofthenorth and @hectatess for editing this work! ❤️❤️

As a disclaimer I have to say this fic is purely fantasy. I used some catholic elements.

Hope you like this one, I out my heart on it.

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If you wanna read/see my previous squares, here you have the links!

Royalty AU: HIDDEN (Destiel fic and art)

Bisexual: Have Mercy (Destiel fic)

Neighbors AU: Too Hot (Destiel fic and art)

Nudist AU: Destiel Art

ABO: Destiel Art

Sci Fi: When Duty Calls (Destiel Fic and art)

Romantic Evening: Destiel Art

I hope you like all these works so far! You can always come to my inbox and tell me what you think!

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Tagging: @emblue-sparks @magnificent-winged-beast @michyribeiro @lapsus-story @casualpandabeliever @a-bit-of-influence @trashblackrainbow @bluebell-24 @ashleyzander @dean-is-bi-till-i-die @destiel-shipper-11 @love-neve-dies @sunshineandwings86 @staycejo1 @justmeand-myinsight @dizzypinwheel @jawnlockwinchester @shippsblog @spnsmile @mrsaquaman187 @all-or-nothing-baby @espejonight28738 @missjenniferb @legendary-destiel @ballistamoon @theshipinspector @rosegirl1994 @sidewaysprogression @profoundgay @cmths5 @pantried-pansexual @saratsuzuki @nguyenxtrang @mylovelydame21 @yeah-i-get-that-but-why @darkwings17 @supernaturaljess @tobeleftoutinthedark @byebh @ballistamoon @pacers98 @jack-of-all-fandoms25 @yagmcb67 @f-able @moosetex @dancerdovegirl

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Vivid green eyes, the kind that Castiel always assumed were impossible outside of Photoshop stare out at him from a face that looks like it belongs on magazine covers. High cheekbones, pouty lips, and a dusting of sprinkles across the bridge of the man’s nose combine with a strong jawline and a dusting of stubble. The finished product combines the best of delicate and masculine features into a face that Castiel wouldn’t mind seeing on his bed. Spiky blond hair helps to complete the picture, along with a clunky pendant hanging on his chest. When the man shifts, Castiel can see the leather bracelets ringing his wrists, along with two rings (no engagement ring, haha!) glinting on his hands. He’s dressed for the chilliness of the night, with a flannel shirt underneath a leather jacket that looks too big on his frame. He’s wearing boots, not just for show, as the mud caked onto the toe attests to. Castiel’s mouth waters when he catches sight of his long legs, bowed out, just the perfect shape for a body to slot between.  

“Buddy, sometime today, huh?” 

Castiel blinks, his cheeks flushing as he realizes that he was just caught out staring. However, when he looks at the man, there’s a hint of interest sparking in his eyes, despite his sharp tone. 

“I’m, I’m sorry,” Castiel stammers. Twenty-one years he’s been talking and in the face of this man, it all disappears right out the window. “What do you...How can I help you?” 

Sink to my knees, suck bruises into your hip bones, work at the leather of your belt, nestle between your legs, feel those rings as you card your fingers through my hair, suck you until you’re panting--

Castiel blinks when he realizes that the man is talking. He quickly shoves those fantasies away, in a file marked To Be Examined Later. 

“--looking for him, and I was wondering if you’d seen him?” 

“Seen who?” Castiel asks, hating the surge of jealousy that rises in him. He’s just seen this man, there’s no need for that.

The man rolls those green eyes, and Castiel remembers suddenly, the tall man from earlier, who said that his partner would be by soon. He also warned that his partner would be grumpy.

“Tall guy?” Castiel asks, raising his hand perhaps a little higher than necessary. The hyperbole achieves its intended effect; the man laughs, revealing a sunny smile at odds with his surly demeanor. “Hair?” Castiel tries again, ignoring the tiny voice in the back of his mind that sounds an awful lot like Gabriel’s whispering you are not funny, you have never been funny a day in your life. “He had beautiful hair?”

The man’s smile twists into something resembling bemused confusion. “That’s a stretch, but yeah, tall Rapunzel guy. He come through here?” 

“Yes. He should be on the second floor, in the Singer reading room.” 

Castiel tries not to wonder what the two men are to each other. Partners, they’d said, with no implication that it was anything else other than just two random students who got thrown together to complete a project. Still, there’s an ease in the way that each one talked about the other, a instinctual familiarity that only comes when you know someone almost better than you know yourself. 

“Thanks,” the man ducks his head to read Castiel’s name badge and must only make out the first part of it, as he says, “Cas.” He smiles again, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You’ve been a big help.” 

“That’s my job,” Castiel says, a little surge of hopelessly churning in him as he watches those bowed legs start to walk away from him. “If you need any help, you can just come back down and ask for me.” 

After a moment’s pause, the man turns around, a wicked little grin on his face. “Dean,” he says, gesturing at himself. “Just so you know who’ll be asking.” 

He disappears up the stairs, leaving Castiel to stare after him. Dean. He tries out the name, rolling it around in his mind, fitting it perfectly to the beautiful man. 

Dean ran his callused hands over his soft eyes and sighed into them. He drug himself out of his classic car and did his best to pull himself together with each step.

He looked over his shoulder... nothing but the empty road.

He didn’t want to face the world or the reality of it all....His brother was god knows where because of him and that absurd fight. Dean had really crossed the line this time. A knot formed in his stomach as he recalled his harsh words.

The emotions bubbling inside him didn’t have a name. Frustration and fear didn’t seem to even scratch the surface.

His boots crushed the moist earth beneath them with unforgiving force.

A distant snap jolted Dean from his thoughts.

Dean without hesitation ripped his gun from his pocket aiming directly ahead into the stillness.

“Show yourself.” He spit into the air.

Whatever ghoul or spector was about to rue the fucking day. Dean was ready to whiplash himself from numbness to rage.

The wind only whistled in reply. It was probably just some wild animal. He let the mind drift for a moment keeping his defensive stance , still unwavering not letting himself be convinced.

Something far off rustled like a scared flock of birds, a whooshing sound rushing all at once into Dean’s ears.

Dean spun himself around only to see again the empty road that was now laden with a thick white fog... that Dean knew had to have just crept in.

It sent a chill down his spine.

‘Haunted cemetery, no shit’

He tensed his shoulders, mentally cursing himself. He already felt like roadkill and this was just adding to the fun.

Dean whipped his head back leering into the cemetery, his eyes catching on a shadowed figure.

Dean held his breath and crept forward his gun leading the charge.

The figure moved from darkness laying steady steps.

“Stay right there.” Dean warned through his clenched jaw.

The figure did not. His looming shadow turned to a man in a soft dirt colored trench coat, his hair a black tussled mess.. and his eyes pure electric.

Dean’s breath hitched , his eyes searching the man frantically.

His gun, unamused and unmoving.

“Hello.” The man spoke with a gentle monotone.

“Stop.”

“You can lower your weapon , I bear no ill intent towards you or any other human.” The man's voice boomed again.

Not human. Dean figured as much. He tore his eyes away from the man's eyes and steadied himself again.

“What the hell are you?” Dean growled. The figure's calm demeanor only pushed his buttons more.

“I’m Castiel, Angel of the Lord , Thursday’s Angel if you prefer a shorter title.” The self-proclaimed Angel said with a shrug.

“Yeah okay , and I’m Queen Elizabeth.” He chuckled darkly.

The Angel’s blue eyes gleamed as he tilted his head at the man's comment.

“You’re looking much younger.” He told the hunter flatly.

“Tryin’ to mess with me?” Dean snapped back.

“He’s not dead, Dean.”

“Excuse me?” Dean’s stomach lurched.

“I’m not supposed to be here, Dean.” The angel shook his head softly with a frown.

“I’m not even sure where “here” is.” He admitted.

Or when. He didn’t add.

Dean grit his teeth , the way he said his name with a familiarity on his tongue made Dean’s whole body tense up.

“Start talking , you’re acting like you know me.” Dean demanded no question in his tone.

Castiel smiled. A wide smile.

“I’ll tell you everything Dean, assuming you can do the same ”

Dean’s jaw clenched.

Castiel tilted his head to the right , careful to keep his lips in a line leaving his eyes wide, unblinking.

This Dean stood before him, turmoil swirling beneath his skin. Castiel felt Dean’s mind rapid fire, laden with guilt, which was so familiar, lost and searching.

How desperately the angel wanted to part the dark clouds and bring comfort to the man before him.

‘Gently , slowly. ’ He thought to himself , he didn’t want to approach this the wrong way.

“Would you sit with me?” Castiel asked cautiously.

His trench coat flowing softly after him as he turned on the ball is his dress-shoes.

Dean's eyes ever glued to the angel before him.

Dean held right to his pearl gripped pistol, still heavy in his right hand, he nodded and swallowed his protest.

“Sure.” Was the only thing he could muster.

They sat in silence for a while before Cas broke it with a soft boom of his voice.

“Dean,”

Dean's body thrummed again. The way his name was said made something deep inside flutter.

Dean only looked at Cas in wait for a reply.

The prominent sensation was still buzzing , the tickle of electricity on Dean’s skin that grew stronger with each step he took towards the angel-shaped man.

The metal bench was cold and damp beneath them. Castiel gave no reaction to this and Dean chose to ignore the damp spots forming on his jeans.

Dean carefully tucked his gun back away against his better judgement in an attempt to be polite, but something deep in his mind felt this “Castiel” could be trusted. He felt like he was losing it.

“I haven’t met you yet. This you….in the time I’ve come from we’re, and I quote “best friends… if you can believe it.” Cas started off slow with caution in his low tone.

Dean so far wasn’t buying it.

And Cas knew it just by the look in his eyes.

“I’m afraid I don’t know how much more I can say ,without upsetting the cosmic balance Dean...but I hope you can at least trust I care for you a great deal.”

A beat.

“You and your brother.”

That woke Dean up.

“Sam,” Dean grit out.“You mentioned him before, what do you know about my brother you holy tax account stalker.”

“I know he’s safe, I’m afraid I-“

Before Castiel got the rest of his sentence out Dean had jumped from the bench and was now standing in front of his eyes.

“Tell me.” he demanded.

“Dean please, you need not worry let me continue.”

“Please” he huffed softly.

And with that Dean did. He sat back down, still tense as he had been.

“He’s simply ‘blowing off some steam as you would put it.” Cas said softly.

“Yeah real awesome intel. Where ?”

“Not far, but please Dean give him some space lets-“

“Space?” Dean snapped.

“I can personally assure his safety… after we converse we can even go to him.” Cas said calmly.

“You want to just talk?” He raised his brow.

“I do.” Cas replied.

Dean swore he could see the gears turning in the dark haired angel’s (man’s?) head.

Reluctantly Dean gave in he really wasn’t sure what was coming over him. No matter how sincere those baby blue eyes were, he shouldn’t trust him. Not this quickly.

“Alright then start talkin’” Dean gave a huge sigh, his shoulders still stiff and unflinching.

“Please allow me a moment of just being… we’ve been through much...” the familiar words he’d spoken, and yet to speak forming on the tip of his tongue.

“Yeah… sure” Dean’s tone softened without permission.

He felt those damn eyes again all over him.

Castiel drank in this younger Dean. Still tough as nails, still loved his brother more than his own hide, but still, while familiar, Castiel couldn’t get enough. Not that he kept his eyes to himself at any point but this was something else. A Dean before perdition, before he’d rebuild his soul… his every fiber and cell.

“Listen .” A hard swallow. “I don’t know what we’ve been through in the future, but I’m not really getting this whole “Angel of the Lord shtick.”

Cas laughed lightly. Not at Dean, it was too gentle.

“You never really had faith in them.” Cas found himself putting emphasis on them…

It was them not him… Dean has faith in him. He was sure of that, even if he hasn’t always been.

“But you’re... Different?” It came out innocent.

A nod. “It’s the cracked chassis.” He said plainly.

Dean didn’t fully understand but he got a pretty good idea.

“You called them dicks with wings.”

“The other angels.” Cas added after a moment of silence.

Dean huffed. That did sound like him.

There was a lull in the conversation, the fog still thick around them.

“So... you really don’t know how you got here?” Dean finally settled on what to say.

“I have a working theory.”

“Which is?”

“I’m simply supposed to be.”

“That’s not what you said earlier.” Dean reminded him , not the slightest convinced.

Cas let himself smile again, his crows feet visible and crinkled.

“Changed my mind.”

“Alright.” Dean said standing up from the bench.

“Let's get a change of scenery, this place isn’t exactly what I’d call a hang out spot.”

Cas’ chest got tighter with a small rush of nerves.

“We can head towards wherever my dick brother is hiding out.”

“Alright, Dean.” Cas conceded , he really wasn’t in any position to argue with him.

This is part one ✨I might be posting this on ao3 but I’ll be and part two to tumblr soon ~ this should only be two or three parts in total ✨🖤

Tag list : @my-favourite-hellatus , @nguyenxtrang , @i-dont-even-wanna-know , @withclawsandsympathy , @sideofangels , @hazel-eyed-bi @lilac-void ,

They had an unplanned encounter with two vetalas they were hunting a couple of towns back. In the last few weeks the vetalas had lurked on a hiking trail, casually bumping into tourists to steal something valuable from them, only to attack them once they returned on their steps to search for it. Being the middle of winter, they’d been feasting undisturbed, favoured by the small numbers of people that braved the paths and by the sun setting early.

Dean and Sam waited the early hours of the morning to cross the police tapes and track them, but the trail was long, it was dark and cold and the vetalas had the advantage of being familiar with the grounds.

They hadn’t seen them coming.

They would have still managed to overpower them if only one of them hadn’t pushed Sam into a lake and fled and Dean had been too worried getting him out of the freezing water, to worry about the other one fleeing as well.

He got him quickly to the car, but all the motels they passed by were full, and every mile Dean had driven had seemed a mile too far and every second a second too long to have Sam paling and shivering and half unconscious in the Impala.

He had stripped him of his heavy jacket and shirt, draped his own jacket and flannel over him, trying to dry him as best as he could, and cranked the heating at its max, but Baby could only do so much. Outside the windows, it looked like it was about to snow.

Dean increasingly worried about the way Sam seems to slip more and more into unconsciousness. He tried to keep him talking, slapping his chest and asking him questions but for the last ten minutes or so, Sam had his head lolling on one side and his replies had become only barely coherent mumbles.

But they are here now. Dean stops the car and shakes him awake one more time; he touches his face, tries to meet his eyes.

“Hey, Sammy, look at me,” he says and Sam seems to make an effort to focus on him, “we are here. We’re gonna get you inside now, you hear me?” he says. “You just gotta hold on for one more minute. I’m gonna check us in and you’ll be warm in no time.”

Sam’s nod is weak and his pale face is not at all reassuring, but Dean knows it will do no good to stay in the car. He needs to get him inside.

So he braves the cold in only his t-shirt for the short jog it takes to get to the lobby. It’s a little inviting square of bright light. Mostly glass doors, which is an unusual choice for a motel, and especially not in a place of the country where it gets this cold. But the glass turns out to be thicker than it looks and the room, surprisingly warm. Dean finds himself exhaling relieved, as the door closes behind him.

The place is definitely new, all furniture is shiny clean and modern. In a corner, a few tables make up the breakfast area with a brand new model of coffee machine. Everything is in white, except the light wood counter right in front of Dean, that has engraved on it a replica of the blue sign that is outside. Dean only now notices that everything is angel and heaven themed. There are little white wings on blue wallpapers all around him that make the place look like a nursery. Behind the counter, there’s an open door that gives into a dimly lit backroom. But as far as humans, no one.

“Hello?” Dean calls, frowning and craning his neck to try and spot someone moving inside.

He turns towards the parking lot again and sure enough, it started snowing. Irritated by the delay, he approaches the counter and spots a little desk bell. It’s painted light blue and it says Ring For An Angel to match the theme of the place.

Dean hits the bell a couple of times but nothing happens. “Hello?” he calls, and he hits the bell again and again, nervously tapping on the wood with his other hand. He spots an open book next to keyboard of the main computer. Someone is there then. Dean doesn’t stop hitting the damn bell.

Come on.

How long a piss break can take?

He is about to shout “Hello?” again when, finally, someone emerges from the backroom.

It’s a guy about his height, dark hair and striking blue eyes. He is wearing just a white shirt and a blue vest with a tag that reads Steve and he’s carrying a steaming mug in his left hand. He lingers on the threshold, between dark and light and stands there, just watching him.

“Yes?” he says then, in a wary tone. His voice is deep and husky, as if he just woke up, and if you were to ask Dean in another moment, it was like the bow on an already rather attractive package, but right now Dean is too irked by his attitude to pay him that kind of attention.

What does he think he could he possibly want?

Okay, maybe aggressively hitting their desk bell and coming in from the snow with his arms bare and probably dirt smeared across his face, it’s not exactly the best first impression Dean’s ever given to someone. But who cares? He just wants him to do his job.

“I need a double for tonight. If you could make it fast,” he says, hastily. He ignores the way the guy just keeps standing there, watching him – he can be weird, but honestly, he’s seen worse – and fishes out his wallet to grab a credit card. He slams it on the counter.

“Make it two nights.”

Finally, the guy moves.

“I need to see some identification,” he says, placing aside his mug and exchanging it in his hand with Dean’s card. He studies it meticulously, looking at each side and everything.

Crap.

Usually at this time of night nobody even bothers with this. Dean has no idea whose name’s on the card he just gave him and he can’t really deal with this when Sam’s in those conditions back in the car. He pulls out one of his fake IDs and hopes for the best.

But of course the guy – Steve – does the opposite of giving it a once over, like anybody else would. In fact, the asshole holds the ID next to the credit card and, upon inspection, clicks his tongue.

He looks at Dean with a raised eyebrow.

“And how would you like me to register you, as Mr. Houdini or as Mr. Plant?” he says. He doesn’t look even a little bit amused.

Dean isn’t either. He clenches his fist and his jaw. He tries to keep calm but he just doesn’t have time to waste with this guy.

“Either works.”

“Not for me.”

“Alright, Poirot,” he bites out, “it’s my uncle’s card. Do you wanna call him in the middle of the night to check?”

Steve levels him with a hard stare.

“No, but I can ask you to leave.”

Dean pales. He feels the ground giving in underneath him.

“Jesus. Look, I don’t need this right now. I got a medical emergency. The card works, just give me the room.”

He knows he sounds distressed and as he hardens his tone and raises his voice, possibly a little scary, but he is just out of options. This is it. He doesn’t know what he can possibly do if the guy actually kicks him out of there.

The guy stays impossibly calm and that just adds to Dean’s anger.

“If you refuse to leave, I can call the police.”

“Damn it! I don’t have time for this.” he says making eye contact to try and get through to him. What is he, some kind of robot? Does he even blink? “You don’t understand. My brother is sick -”

“I could recommend another establishment three miles ahead. They are less selective with their guests. I’m sure they’ll be happy to welcome you.”

Fuck. Dean hits the counter with a fist so hard that the little bell shakes and a handful of business cards slide down from their pile. Steve doesn’t even flinch. Dean exhales heavily and tries to calm down. This isn’t doing any good.

“I can’t go any farther. Believe me, I would,” he says, matching his cold stare and trying to keep the volume of his voice in check. “My brother is outside in my car and he’s freezing to death,” he says, enunciating every word. Steve impassive façade crumbles a little. He looks suspicious, frowns and titls his head a little to the side. Dean keeps going, sensing an opening. “He can’t possibly go another mile in this snow. I can’t take him anywhere else. You gotta let me take him in.”

Steve blinks at him like he’s trying to understand if he is in fact out of his mind as he seems. “What?”

“My brother,” he repeats, still firm but now pleading, “he is soaking wet and unresponsive and I need to warm him up before he dies of hypothermia. I’m not lying, I’m begging here. I need you to do me this solid, man. And it’s gotta be now. Please,” he says, almost out of breath.

Steve searches his face with an inquisitive look for a long moment in which Dean can feel his heartbeat speed up. Then Dean sees him reach under the counter and he holds his breath. He may have a shotgun or one of those buttons that calls security or something. Instead what he holds up and slides over the counter is a room key.

“3 B” he says.

Dean exhales in relief, looks at the key, then up at him. In a second he’s grabbed it and he ran out again. The cold bites his bare arms but he’s almost at the Impala and he doesn’t care.

He opens the passenger door and lets Sam up, slinging one of his arms over his shoulders to carry him more easily.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy, come on, I need you to walk now, can you do that? We’re almost there.”

But Sam barely moves. “Sammy?” he calls again, more urgent now. “You gotta help here.”

Sam tries to take a step but his legs give out under him. “I can’t do it.” he says. “It’s too cold.”

“Course you can. The door’s just there,” Dean says, struggling to keep himself upright too.

Then he hears footsteps behind them and suddenly the weight becomes more bearable as Steve is holding Sam up from the other side.

“Come on,” he simply says, in response to Dean’s silent question. Dean sees that he doesn’t have his coat on either, he must have been right behind him. Dean nods and accepts his help.

Together they can easily lift him and get him inside. Dean leaves Steve to lower him on the bed closest to the door as he turns on the lights, checks the heater and starts a warm bath.

Then he is over Sam again, untying his boots and taking off his socks and addressing him gently but urgently to keep him talking. He feels Steve’s eyes on him the whole time, boring the side of his face. He has taken a step back and he’s watching them from the door with a thoughtful expression. Dean looks up at him and not unkindly he says: “I got it from here”.

Steve nods, catching the drift. He says “I’ll be in the office,” and slips out of the room, clicking the door shut behind his back.

*

Three hours later, Dean can’t sleep. He is sitting at a little table against one of the walls and he is watching over Sam, finally asleep on his stomach, clutching his pillow. He promised him he wouldn’t do that, but he can’t help it.

It took a warm bath, dry clothes, a long sesh with the hairdryer (and a half-fight about hair length), all the blankets in the room, a cup of tea – that Steve brought on his own initiative, knocking lightly on their door – two temperature check and a hundred or so questions about how he was feeling, but Dean is fairly certain that Sam is fine now.

Dean is also fine. He doesn’t feel his heart in his throat anymore. He is tired, but he can’t sleep. He will be able to really relax only when the sun will come out and Sam will wake up and he will be able to forget about all of this. If he goes to sleep now, he knows he’ll only have nightmares.

But his legs are feeling stiff and Sam’s snoring is not very entertaining, so he takes out some change from his jeans and heads out.

The jacket that he used on Sam is still hanging to dry so Dean has to make do with just an extra shirt. Thankfully the snow has let up and he is only planning on making a quick stop to the vending machine he saw outside earlier.

As he walks towards it though, his eyes are drawn to the bright light that comes from the main building across the parking lot. No one seems to be in sight but Dean now knows who’s there. And he also knows that he kinda owns him an apology.

So he pockets his change once again and takes off towards it.

As the glass door swings open and he lets a swirl of cold air inside, Steve looks up. He is sitting on a high stool behind the counter now, and has his book on his lap.

Dean greets him with a nod as the door closes behind him.

“Hey.”

“How is your brother?” Steve asks, same cold tone and deep voice.

Dean stops one foot short from the counter. “He’s gonna be fine,” he says. “Sleeping now.”

Steve nods and doesn’t offer anything else. “So,” Dean shrugs in the awkward silence, “just thought I’d come say ‘sorry’ about earlier. I’m not usually such a jerk. You really saved my ass though, so, thanks.”

Steve appraises him for a long moment and in the end he asks, “What happened to him?” again sounding a little suspicious.

“Slipped into a lake. Just an accident” Dean gets closer to the counter, and clumps his hands together on the wood, trying to make it sound like it’s not a big deal. "He’s a little clumsy."

Steve’s frown deepens. “Why didn’t you bring him to an hospital?”

“It would be a little difficult to explain.”

“What would be?”

Dean tilts his head on one side and sighs. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you and you wouldn’t even wanna know, trust me.”

Steve doesn’t seem like he trusts him even one bit. In fact, he doesn’t seem to appreciate at all his evasive answers.

“If it makes you feel any better, we’re not bad guys.” Dean adds, going for charming, trying to melt the ice a little.

Steve still looks at him unimpressed. “That is exactly what a bad guy would say.”

And somehow the stark contrast between what he said and the way he said it makes it sound funny even if Steve didn’t intend to. Dean lets out a laugh and seeing him throwing his head back, one corner of Steve’s mouth tilts upwards ever so slightly.

The air around them lightens up a little and for the first time Dean takes in Steve’s mussed hair and broad shoulders, his strong arms, his tights trapped in his jeans. Dean realizes he may have checked him out a little too obviously when his eyes snap up and unsurprisingly he’s being stared at. He covers up his embarrassment asking: “So, whatcha reading?”

But Steve doesn’t seem in the mood to indulge his curiosity. He ignores his question and stands up to stop right in front of him. Despite the counter between them the guy is suddenly at a distance that Dean would deem a little too close for comfort for a stranger, and from where he finds himself now, he is forced to look up at him a little. But there’s a challenge in the way he confidently entered his personal space and Dean is not going to be the one who backs down.

Steve keeps eye contact as he takes something from under the counter and drops it in the space between his arms, right behind his clasped hands. Dean looks down: it’s his wallet.

“You forgot your personal effects.”

The wallet is closed and the credit card and ID have been put back inside, meaning that with every probability Steve has seen all the other stolen credit cards.

Dean is taken off guard but he’s determined to not give him the satisfaction of seeing him bothered, so he doesn’t move, says nothing and keeps challenging his gaze. Steve has an unreadable expression on his face, but judging from the lack of sirens swarming the place he hasn’t called the police. At least, not yet. He is staring at him as if he’s trying to see inside of him and from that distance, the intensity of his blue eyes make Dean’s skin tingle.

“I charged the room to your uncle,” Steve speaks again. "One of your many uncles apparently.”

Dean does his best not show how uneasy he feels.

He grins: "Guess you're not very familiar with the concept of privacy," he mutters, sliding his wallet in his back pocket.

"And you must be very familiar with the concept of theft."

"Hey, that's a very offensive assumption."

"Just an observation."

"Alright, then why haven't you called the police?"

He knows that he’s pushing his luck, this guy could make a phone call right away if Dean pisses him off. But there’s something that tells him that he won’t. He leans more heavily against the counter and the distance between them shortens still. He briefly licks his lips and grins cheekily up at him.

"You can say it's cause I'm handsome," he adds, teasing, breaking the silence.

Steve recedes of a few steps. "Your brother needed help," he says plainly, resuming his position on the stool, “I wanted to help.”

“And I appreciate that. Is there something I can do to repay you?”

Steve frowns. “I don’t want anything.”

“Oh, come on, we are friends now.”

Steve stays silent.

“Alright,” Dean grins. “Then allow me to give you a piece of advice. If you wanna be successful in this business, you really need to cut it out with the third degree. Cause, one,” he says, holding up a finger, “no one likes a busybody. And two,” he holds up another, “people coming to places like this expect the situation to be a little more chill when it comes to paperwork and whatnot. They aren’t gonna appreciate you playing the Spanish Inquisition with them, you know what I mean?”

“I just want the guests to be safe. I’m not going to endanger them letting just anyone walk in.”

“You made an exception for me,” Dean says, and it’s meant to be playful but it hangs heavy in the air.

Steve doesn’t break eye contact as he says “I did,” like he’s asking him not to make him regret his decision. If Dean had a collar now it would be a good time to tug at it. Man, the guy can be a scary son of a bitch with those eyes and all.

“Well, as I said, I’m not here to endanger anybody,” he says, rolling his eyes. "Alright, look, I can answer some more question if it’ll make you feel better.”

“And you’re going to answer truthfully?”

“Yeah.”

Dean starts to relax as he sees Steve’s face lights up with curiosity and for the first time since they met it’s the kind that it’s not suspicious, just genuinely interested. Then with a hint of saracasm, Steve asks, “Why are you here?”

“Working.”

“You and your brother are in the same line of business?”

“Yeah.”

“Which is?”

Dean stays silent, looks down at his hands, smirking slightly.

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Let me guess. You’re not going to tell me because I wouldn’t understand nor wanna know.”

“Well, it’s true.” Dean shrugs in his defence. “But, it’s not what you think.”

Steve doesn’t press further but says, “He is your little brother, right?” Dean frowns a little and Steve adds, gentle: “You seemed very caring.”

“Yeah, well, it’s just us. We look out for each other.” He clears his throat. Steve must sense his uneasiness because he lets this one drop as well.

"Is your car stolen?" Steve asks then, out of the blue.

"What? No!” exclaims Dean, shifting on the spot. “That’s my baby. We’ve been together forever." He sounds outraged and Steve seems amused by it. “It’s a family car,” he grumbles, settling down.

“Do you carry a gun?”

Dean opens his mouth but no lie comes out of it. He gives him an apologetic look. "Generally, yeah."

Steve looks at him sternly. “Did you have one on you when came in the first time?”

“No, Jesus, who do you think I am?”

“I don’t know. You won’t tell me.”

Dean sighs and then plasters a big grin on his face. “My name is Dean Winchester, I’m from Lawrence, Kansas and I’m a Sagittarious. That’s it, really, it’s all there is to know.” 

“Somehow I doubt that.” Steve says but he has his lips stretched in a half smile and Dean is gonna take it as a win. “But it’s nice to finally know your name, Dean.”

Hearing him say his name makes Dean’s heart strangely flutter for a second. “So, you satisfied?”

Steve lifts a shoulder. He seems to have relaxed as well.

Silence falls then and fills up the space all around them. There’s only the tired whirring of the computer informing them that it’s still alive and kicking and the hands on the wall clock that ticks away the night.

Dean doesn’t like the bright light, it makes the place look like the reception of a corporate office but he likes the way it smells, sweet, sugary, almost like – candy? It’s nice and Dean doesn’t want to go back to his room just yet.

He looks over his shoulder at the rest of the space, the heavy carpet at his feet, the fake plant in a corner, and his eyes linger on the pamphlet rack on the far end of the counter, stacked with local spring events brochures and hiking trails maps. He picks one up and gives it a once over.

“I heard about the missing people. Pretty freaky, uh?” he says, casually. “Did you know any of them? Heard they were mostly locals.”

“No. I- I moved here recently.”

The hesitation catches Dean’s attention. “Hm.” he puts the map back on the rack and focuses on Steve again. “From where?”

“New York,” he replies, a little reluctantly, and that picks up Dean’s interest even more.

Dean whistles and settles once again with his elbows on the counter. “Must be one hell of a change.”

“It’s quieter.”

“Got family here?”

“Just my brother, Gabriel, that moved when I did. My other siblings stayed in New York.”

“So, how did you end up here, then?”

Steve sighs and shakes his head. “It’s a long story.”

“Got all night.” Dean shrugs, then still sensing resistance he insists. “Hey, I answered your questions. Seems only fair you do the same.”

“If you call those ‘answers’,” he retorts actually air quoting and it makes Dean huff a laugh. He is starting to really like the guy. He’s kind of dorky but he’s cute and Dean is not sure if he’s ever felt more at ease with someone he just met than he does with him right now.

After another moment, Steve speaks again. “When Gabriel and I left New York, we went on a road trip. We were passing through and had a room here. The place was in shambles; but for some reason, Gabriel fell in love with it and, just - bought it. I guess he saw the potential in it.” he recounts. A fond smile blossoms on his lips. “He can be – very impulsive.”

“So you got stuck.”

Steve shakes his head. “We invested in it together. I was happy to stay.”

“Well, from what I’ve seen, I think you did a bang up job with the place,” he says, “Might even see myself sticking around for a couple more days. If something interesting to do comes up,” he says and grins suggestively.

But Steve frowns. “I’m afraid there’s not much to do around here. They closed all the hiking trails because of the missing people,” he says thoughtfully, completely unreceptive of Dean’s flirtation.

Dean rolls his eyes a little. “Right.” 

“It’s better to visit during the summer. They even have concerts up on the mountains. They come from all over the world to see them.” he says and his voice gets a dreamy tone. “You get to meet all kinds of people.”

“Sounds nice.” he clicks is tongue and tries again. “So you brother is the owner, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then why is the place basically about you?”

Steve squints at him, confused. “How do you mean?”

“You know,” Dean grins and wiggles his eyebrows, “an angel.” Steve scoffs surprised and shakes his head as if he’s embarrassed to hear that, but Dean keeps going, “Helping me out even thought I didn’t deserve it. Trusting me. Giving me a chance when anyone else would have thrown me out,” he even throws in a wink.

“I would have never left someone to die out in the cold,” he says, but his cheeks are pinkier than they were a moment ago.

Dean gives him another of his patented dumb grins. “See? An angel in the flash right there,” he jokes and he even makes a show of ringing the little bell . “This must be the real deal. I mean, I rang for an angel and you showed up, didn’t you?”

Steve shakes his head again.

Dean leans over on the counter and lowers his voice. “Hey, you know what they say about freckles?”

“I don’t?” Steve says, surprised by the question. His gaze is drawn to the freckles all over his face and Dean feels his skin heat up.

“Well, you should look it up and let me know what you think then.”

They share a smile. The air gets charged and Dean gets a little dizzy. He bites his lower lip as his eyes follow the lines on Steve’s face, from his brow, his nose, his chin, along the line of his jaw covered in stubble and down his strong neck. Dean realizes he is shamelessly staring again.

With an almost involuntary intake of breath, he raps his knuckles on the wood. “Alright, uh, I should probably go check on my brother now.”

Steve nods, blinking rapidly, and he seems a little shaken too.

"And I should get ready to leave. My shift is almost over."

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Dean pulls back. “See you later, Steve,” he says, but all he receives is a confused look back.

“My name is not Steve.”

“Uh? Your vest says it is.”

“Oh,” he says, looking down at his clothes as if he only now remembers that he’s wearing them, “this isn’t mine. I’m just filling for someone else.”

Dean makes a pleasantly surprised sound. “Well, well, looks like I’m not the only one with a concealed identity after all.”

Not-Steve quirks his lips and says: “My name is Castiel.”

“Castiel." repeats Dean and he likes the way the name rings in his mouth new and unfamiliar. "Wait, so you’re saying you don’t work here?”

“No,” he says, “well, not usually. Only if they need me.”

“You know if they’ll need you tomorrow?” Cause I was kinda hoping to see you again, he doesn’t add, but Castiel must hear it anyway because he slighly blushes again.

“I have a shift at the library. Actually I should be opening in a couple of hours,” he pauses throwing a look at the wall clock, but then adds. “But maybe I can ask if Steve needs another night shift covered.”

Dean flashes his teeth. “Awesome.” then he eyes the clock above the counter too and sees that it’s five past seven already. He hasn’t notice because it’s still dark outside.

He makes a sympathetic face. “You are going straight to work after this? No hours of sleep?”

Castiel shrugs, “I’ll manage,” he says, but he hasn’t time to add anything else cause someone pushes open the glass door behind Dean and with a way too cheerful voice for that hour of the day exclaims: “I’ve got the kielbasa you ordered!”

A short blond guy comes in, carrying a big box that Dean instantly knows contains at least a dozen glazed donuts, and he can tell because his sense of smell when it comes to delicious food has never failed him. He feels his mouth watering and his stomach grumbles.

The guy says loudly and obnoxiously, “Good morning everyone!”

“Hello, Gabriel.” Castiel greets him.

“Cassie, what are you doing still here? I told you, you could leave early. You’re gonna be late for work.”

Castiel looks at Dean and then back at his brother, “I was with a guest.”

Gabriel follows the trajectory of his gaze and wiggles his eyebrows in an unsettling way, if you ask Dean.

“I see” he says, with a deep theatrical voice.

He rounds the counter and opens the box, angling it toward Castiel so that he can grab a napkin and a donut. Dean almost shouts “Ha!” as he discovers his predictions were correct. Those donuts look as delicious as they smell, and he can’t take his eyes off of them. He catches Castiel giving Gabriel an insistent look that prompts him to say, with a sight: “And does the gentlemen here have breakfast included, by any chance?”

“Yes,” Castiel says and Dean could kiss him right then if it wasn’t for the counter between them.

Gabriel rolls his eyes and open the big box to let Dean select a donut.

“And one for my brother,” he says, quickly snatching another before the lid closes on his fingers.

“Fine, two donuts! But now shoo Romeo, or Juliet here is gonna be late, and I’m the one they’re gonna blame,” he says, disappearing in the backroom.

Castiel wraps his donut in the napkin while Dean dives in unceremoniously on his. He watches as Castiel slips off his vest from his shoulders and starts gathering his things going in and out the backroom.

Then the glass door opens again and a petite dark haired woman walks in. She is dressed in all black and she’s sporting a pair of big dark sunglasses even if the sun is barely out.

She stops in her tracks as soon as she sees Dean. “Morning,” she drawls in a melodic voice, eyeing him up and down. Dean is on his second donut. Sam can’t miss what he never knew he had, after all.

He gives her a courteous quick nod, not bothering to cover his mouth full and the sugar all over his lips.

“Morning, Meg,” says Castiel behind him, and her attention shifts.

“Clarence, what are you doing still here?” she asks with the same phlegm, but Dean can sense a little exasperation as well, as if it’s something she often directs at him, “don’t tell me Gabriel is late again,” she is saying as she joins Castiel behind the counter.

“No, I was just about to go.”

She slides her sunglasses on her nose to look from Castiel to Dean and she keeps her eyes on him as she passes behind Castiel, making a show of trailing his shoulders with her fingertips. “Well, have a good day then, dear.” She says sweetly, disappearing in the backroom.

Castiel presses his lips together and gives Dean a somewhat apologetic look.

“She is a friend. And the bookkeeper,” he explains.

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Yeah well, you know what they say about people who wear sunglasses inside.”

Castiel looks at him confused.

“I don’t.”

Dean stops himself from rolling his eyes. “Forget it, another time, looks like you’re late already.”

Castiel’s eyes widen, “Right,” he says, as if he’d forgotten again that he was supposed to leave.

Dean downs the last piece of donut and eyes the coffee machine in the corner.

“Hey, coffee is free, right?”

Castiel throws a “Yes,” over his shoulder as he disappears once again into the backroom.

He remerges a moment later wearing a tan winter jacket and a wool beanie while Dean is still trying to figure out which damn button to press. Shouldn’t latest models be simpler? He turns back to Castiel who’s shouldering his backpack.

“How the hell does this work?”

Castiel huffs a laugh, grabs his car keys and goes to stand next to him. He quickly flips a switch, puts in place a paper cup and fiddles with the commands on the touch screen; the machine starts whirring. Dean realizes that they’re on the same side of the room for the first time in the whole night, if they don’t count the rescue mission for Sam. They are both looking at the coffee that is now filling the cup but Dean can’t help sneaking a glance at his profile, his straight nose and pink lips. He smells of some kind of sweet herbal tea and fresh snow, and Dean is inexplicably drawn to it.

The machine whirrs to a stop and starts beeping.

“Here you go,” Steve says, his voice low, and their fingers brush on the warm cup as he hands it to Dean. “Sugar?” he asks, now almost in a whisper.

Dean just shakes his head as if enchanted, and he kind of feels like he is, especially when Castiel smiles at him. It’s a pressing of lips but it reaches his eyes.

“I have to go.”

“Yeah.”

They both take a step back from each other like something just dropped at their feet and Dean realizes they were standing far too close than he thought. Suddenly, unprotected by the counter, he feels a little weird and seems like Castiel is feeling awkward as well.

He walks around him maintaining the distance, almost advancing on the side like a grab.

“Bye then.”

Dean nods and gives him an embarrassed wave.

Castiel hesitates with a gloved hand on the handle. He looks back at him.

“I’ll see you later?”

“Not going anywhere,” smiles Dean.

Castiel quickly turns around once again, and this time he pushes open the door and exits but Dean’s pretty sure he saw a smile on his lips.

He drinks his coffee and watches him as he walks towards his car. Then he loses him from his sight as someone in the room calls his attention back.

It’s Meg. She’s glaring at him, pointing at what Dean assumes are the donut crumbs that he left all over the counter. “How would you call this?”

She looks at him with her eyebrows raised, as she expects him to apologize but Dean goes towards the door and cheekily says: “A five stars breakfast. Thank you.”

Meg mutters something after him but he’s already out of the door and he can’t hear her.

*

Sam is still sound asleep when he goes back to their room. As the sun rises all the worries of the night before have disappeared. His encounter with Castiel has filled him with a lightness he can’t explain. He thinks it’s mostly sleep deprivation.

He takes a shower and when he gets out, he’s still feeling it. When Sam gets up, and he’s got glassy eyes, a nasty cough and a runny nose, and Dean argues with him to make it stay in bed – uselessly – but after that, he’s still feeling it. He even catches a nap as Sam showers and resumes his restless tapping on his laptop. And when he wakes up, he’s still feeling it.

Sam notices that there’s something different with him, because he keeps calling him back to reality, snapping his fingers and looking at him all weird as they plan what to do with the vetalas.

Dean insists Sam takes it easy and stays in for the rest of the morning – he complies, not without putting up a fight - while he drives back to the hiking trail. They fear the vetalas might have attacked again while they’ve been away, but there are no signs of them anywhere.

Which is still bad. If the vetalas skipped town they’re back at square one, and can only wait for their next attack, which could be anywhere, in a day or in a month from now.

But maybe they’re just staying low for a few days, thinking Sam and Dean will move on. Sam is really bummed out when they talk about it but Dean doesn’t think it would be too bad to stay around a few days more.

He gets back around noon to pick Sam up and go get something to eat. As they drive around Dean gets a chance to take a look at the town, the little shops, the tidy sidewalks, the nice little houses with their nice little gardens. “Hey, this place’s not so bad, uh?” he says.

Sam looks up from his tablet. “What?” he asks, like he was not paying attention. He sneezes. “Dean, we need to decide what to do,” he says then, but Dean is distracted by the tall building with the stone step they’re passing by. Hanging on the wall outside there’s a brass plaque that says Library.

“Uh?”

“Dean, are you okay? Have you, like, slept enough?”

Dean finally turns towards him, flashes him a smile. “You know what I think? I think we should look at some books,” he says, like he’s had a revelation.

“What?” Sam seems even more confused.

“Yeah, you know, get to know more about the local history, see if we can spot a pattern. Maybe these vetalas have been around for years. We should check for robberies gone bad too. I’m just saying,” he raises his eyebrows. “books always served us good.”

Sam opens his mouth but Dean cuts him off before he can retort.

“Let’s do this way. I’m gonna go to the library, okay? Do some digging. And I’ll see you back at the motel tonight and we’ll see what we got.”

“What? Tonight? Are you out of your mind?”

“Yeah, man, you know I’m a slow reader.”

“Seriously? You’re a faster reader than I am.” Sam is one bitch face away from losing his temper. He exhales, then says: “Dean, what’s going on?”

Dean rolls his eyes, but then he can’t restrain a smile, especially with Sam’s eyes that nags him to talk.

“Alright,” he concedes. He feels a blush rising on his cheeks and he keeps his eyes on the road to avoid looking at Sam. “There’s this guy – you know, the one back at the motel that helped us out last night.”

“Yeah?”

“He works at the library. Just thought I’d pay him a visit, that’s all.”

“And why would you - ” Sam cuts himself off and silence falls upon them. Sam clicks his tongue. “Unbelievable.”

So they decide over lunch that Sam is gonna drop him off at the library so that Dean can check the archives to see if there’s been attacks on different hiking trails in the area, see if they’ve got another habitual spot they might have switched to. Dean is paying for their lunch when on a whim also pays for a coffee to go.

Sam raises his eyebrows when he sees the coffee in Dean’s hand but thankfully he doesn’t comment on it. He assures him that he will keep his distance from lakes and other body of waters as he carries his own research, asking questions in tourist points in the nearby towns where hiking trails start and end.

The library is a small edifice of just a couple of rooms one after the other and Dean sees Castiel right away, behind the circular desk at the entrance. He is wearing a thick blue sweater, with a zipper down the front and snowflakes across his chest. It looks soft and warm and Dean wonders would it would feel like to press his face against it and how it would smell like, most likely of candy, fresh snow and herbal tea. Then he tells himself to get a grip because he is feeling way too happy to see someone he met less than a day ago.

Castiel is turned mostly away from the door and he is busy with a visitor so he doesn’t spot him right away. Dean hovers around the entrance, takes a peek at the newspaper rack by the door, until he sees the visitor passing him by towards the exit.

Castiel looks his way as he’s approaching him. He freezes in spot and Dean gets to see his eyes widen and his lips parting in surprise.

“Dean,” he says in a breath.

Dean flashes him a big smile. “That’s me.” He gets closer and confidently slips the coffee towards him. “Brought you coffee. For helping with Sammy and – not calling the police, I guess,” he says.

Castiel stares at the coffee and looks up at him again and Dean realizes. Castiel does look surprised – but not happily surprised. His gaze on him is intense and makes him shift on the spot.

Dean’s smile dims. Maybe he made a mistake, maybe he got it all wrong. Maybe it was all sleep deprived induced fantasy he entertained himself with? He tries to see it from Castiel’s perspective. He is a man who showed up in his motel in the middle of the night with a half dead brother offering no justifiable explanation, someone who then hanged around him till morning, flirted heavily with him and then followed him to his workplace. Okay, it sounds pretty bad put like that.

He tries to salvage his dignity, but he knows he looks as uneasy as he sounds when he says: “I’m not a stalker or anything,” he fakes a chuckle. “I didn’t come here just to hand you a coffee. That’d be crazy. Turns out I – I actually need some books.”

Castiel finally blinks and seems to deflate a little, looking relieved as he says “Oh,” and “of course. Right.” he even gives him a small smile. “You are in the right place,” he says awkwardly.

“Yeah” Dean takes a breath. Better cut this short. “So, can you point me to the local history section?”

Castiel doesn’t ask what he needs it for and gives him direction in a professional and practised voice. Dean’s got a knot in his stomach but still fakes a smile and says “Great. Thanks, Cas.”

He catches his eyes once again and he feels unable to move and unable to say anything and he suddenly feels like the heating is set on a little too high for him, still in his jacket.

Dean wonders how pathetic would be if he walked out of there saying “Let’s just pretend I never came in here.” Maybe it’s too late for that, but he needs to let him know that he’ll stay away, cause he caught the drift.

He says “Look - ” and at the same time he hears “Dean?”

Castiel precedes him in saying: “You first.”

“Uh, I was just gonna say that me and my brother are probably leaving town tonight, so – just – wanted to let you know in case you take that shift off of Steve.”

“And I wanted to tell you that I spoke to Steve and he needs the shift tonight, so – I wasn’t gonna make it either.”

“Yeah, okay,” it’s all Dean manages to say, already halfway turned to walk away.

“And thank you for the coffee. You didn’t have to,” adds Castiel quickly, as if only now remembering his manners.

“Yeah, no, sure Cas,” says Dean, and then ducks his head and makes his way to the local history section without looking back. He chooses the farthest table from the entrance and buries himself in old newspapers and doesn’t think at who’s only a couple of rooms away and the burning knot of disappointment in the middle of his chest.

*

A couple of hours later Dean has got absolutely nothing. Sam texted and he seems to have reached the same conclusion. A complete waste of time.

As he passes through the entrance to exit the library, his eyes dart to Castiel’s station but there’s someone else in his place. Dean doesn’t bother looking around to say goodbye, just takes the door.

The sun has already set and the temperatures have dropped significantly again. Dean is not in a great mood. He can’t wait to finish this job and get out of there and forget all about this town and this cold and those stupid vetalas.

More annoyed he is at the thing in his chest that since that afternoon has never dissolved. Whatever. He’ll never see him again and it’s not like it’s the first time that Dean’s been rejected.

Sam is waiting for him at the bottom of the stone steps. He is still wearing his FBI suit and his heavy coat and scarf but he’s got his hands buried in his pocket and his shoulder drawn together as if he’s still cold. As Dean approaches him he coughs a few time and Dean’s irritation for that case flares up again.

They talk again about how they don’t have jack squat.

Sam tells him in so many words that if the vetalas don’t show up soon they might as well move on. He says it tentatively and he seems taken aback when Dean agrees right away. “No reason to stay around,” he grumbles as they reach the Impala.

Sam opens his mouth to say something but he’s interrupted by a loud sound from an alley not far from where they are.

They stop, and stay alert, ears on. Another sound, then a muffled scream.

Sam draws out the gun from his inside pocket and moves quickly on the sidewalk towards the noise. Dean takes out the silver blades he got hidden in his right boot.

They move in synch and stealthily reach the alley. Just a look is enough to recognize the vetalas even with their back turned, the blonde woman that had thrown Sam into the lake and the young guy that had attacked Dean. They’ve got someone pinned against the wall and the man is whimpering and imploring them to let him go.

Sam shouts “Hey!” to catch their attention and as one of them turns around he shoots her in the chest. It does nothing to her except pissing her off, but Sam gets what he wanted, she hisses and lets go of the man to go after him.

That’s when Dean is able to see him clearly. That man is Castiel.

He sprints into action, white hot rage pumping in his veins and he wastes no time to grab the other vetala by the shoulders and rip him off of him.

Castiel’s eyes are wide and terrified. He looks in disbelief as the creature turns to growl and launch himself at Dean.

Dean shouts “Go! Run!” but he seems to be frozen in place, pressed against the wall.

Taking advantage of the distraction, the vetala hits him and he loses his balance, falls on the ground. He recovers quickly, rolls on his back and gets back up again just in time to tackle the vetala. They roll around punching and kicking each other until Dean finds himself pinned down, his knife trapped under his back.

He struggles to shake him off with one hand while with the other he tries to reach for the blade. The creature opens his mouth and he’s about to sink his fangs in his neck when Dean squeezing his eyes and pushing with everything he’s got, gets them to roll once again. The vetala is on his back, the blade now visible next to it. Dean quickly snatches it from the ground and buries it in his heart.

The vetala growls one last time as Dean twists the blade inside him and pushes himself up to watch the body whiter and crumble under his eyes.

He breathes heavily and looks back at Sam, who’s doing the same, catching his breath with a crumbled body at his feet. He meets his eyes and they nod briefly at each other, to let the other know that they’re alright.

Then Sam’s gaze flies somewhere behind his back and something twists in Dean’s stomach as he remembers that Castiel is still there, his body against the wall and his eyes frantically going from the crumpled bodies of the vetalas on the ground to Sam and Dean and back again.

“Hey, you alright?” Dean asks, shortening the distance.

“They had – fangs,” he says more to himself than to him, as if he’s still processing what he saw.

“You hear any ringing?” Dean asks, loud and worried, trying to catch his eyes.

Castiel lifts his gaze to look at him as he’s asking absurd questions.

“No.”

Only then Dean relaxes and looks back at Sam. “No venom.”

Castiel’s mouth is still hanging open: “Venom? Dean, what -?”

Hearing him speak his brother’s name, Sam’s gaze travels between the two of them and a look of understanding crosses his face. He takes a step towards him, and goes into his comfort-victim mode.

“It’s Cas, right?” he asks and Castiel’s wide eyes set on him as he nods. “Those were vetalas. They are creatures that poison humans and feed on them.”

Castiel scoffs. “Wha- how can there be such things?”

Sam shrugs. “There are all sorts of things.”

Castiel blinks as his world seems to be rearranging in front of his eyes.

“How did you - ” he looks between them. “How did you know they were here?”

“We didn’t. We were actually trying to track them; they must have followed us.” Sam says.

“You were tracking them?” he is in disbelief. “Why?”

“It’s our job,” chimes in Dean slipping the blade in his jacket. “We kill ‘em.”

Castiel looks at him and he’s silent for a long moment. Dean fights the urge of looking down, wondering what does he think of him now. Has this made his opinion of him even worse? In addition of being a stalker, does he now think he’s a killer and that he’s made a mistake trusting him with that key?

But Castiel just looks thoughful and in the end he just says, “You told me there were things I wouldn’t believe nor wanna know about. You were telling the truth.”

It’s not a question but Dean nods anyway and sighs in relief.

“You’re safe now.” he says and tries to lighten the mood. “So, can you stop going full Spanish Inquisition on us?”

Castiel seems to lose the last bit of tension he had left and exchanges it for a spark of annoyance and a challenging tone. “Well, I was about to die, the least you could give me is an explanation. What kind of job is that?”

Dean huffs a laugh. “That’s fair. Come on, we’ll give you a lift and fill you in. Where you headed?”

So they pile in the Impala while Sam gives their usual “hunters fighting monsters” speech. Castiel takes it fairly well. Or, at least, doesn’t start screaming or anything. He seems to have recovered from the attack fairly quickly too. Dean, on the other hand, feels weird with him in the backseat. Seeing him in the rear view mirror makes him nervous and smiley at the same time. Sam must sense that his unusual quietness means that something’s not right with him because he keeps sneaking glances his way.

But the whole thing at the library still burns and it’s made pretty clear what was what.

“It’s right up here.” Castiel says after not even five minutes on the road. “I told you there was no need to take the car.”

“Nonsense, you’ve just been attacked and it’s freezing.”

“Well, then. Thank you.” He says as the car rolls to a stop in front of a little house. It’s too dark to see it properly but under the snow, the front garden seems a little unkempt and there’s still a string of unlit Christmas lights with one end dangling from the gutter. Dean thinks it’s kinda cute.

Castiel pauses with one hand on the handle. “Are you leaving right away?”

Dean swallows. “I guess.”

“Oh,” Castiel hesitates, “so this is goodbye?”

Dean’s gaze darts towards Sam next to him. His brother shifts in his seat but doesn’t offer any lifelines.

“Yeah,” he breathes out.

Castiel meets Dean’s eyes in the rear view mirror and looks torn, like he’s about to say something. Then he seems to think better of it and just nods briefly. “Well, then, stay safe. And again: thank you. Both of you.” And with that, he gets out and walks away.

Dean doesn’t know what to do. He stares intensely at his hands on the steering wheel, with a sensation of wrong in his stomach. Every second is too long and not long enough to decide. Sam doesn’t ask what they’re still doing there, even if Dean killed the engine and it’s starting to get cold in the car.

But then quietly, with the corner of his mouth, he says: “He’s almost at the door.”

“Shut up,” Dean says, already reaching for the handle.

He walks quickly towards him, slipping a little on the snow covered grass.

“Cas,” Dean calls and he stops, looking curiously over his shoulder. Dean’s resolve falters, so he starts by saying, “Hey, mh, just wanna make sure you are okay.”

Castiel nods. “I’m fine, I guess I’ll need some time, but I’m fine.”

“Alright, well, I thought I’d give you my number, just in case uh -”

“Something else decides to attack me?”

Dean huffs a nervous laugh and looks at him. “Yeah. No. I mean, I don’t know, maybe you wanted to talk. Later.”

“I thought you were leaving.”

“Yeah, I was - I am. I am leaving. I mean unless…” Dean swallows, and just gives him a look that hopes it’s enough to finish his sentence for him.

But Castiel frowns and says “Dean?” and Dean doesn’t mean to be hopeful but he says it like he’s said it a million times before, like they’ve known each other for a lifetime and he only ever spoke this word to call him. Castiel squints and tilts his head to one side, “I don’t understand.”

Dean wants to laugh; they are so bad at this.

He steps closer. His fingertips are tingly with cold as he grabs the lapels of Castiel’s jacket and gently pulls him towards him. Castiel lets him. Lets Dean get so close that their lips touch. Dean kisses him slowly, sweetly. His lips are cold but soft and so close to him Dean can smell all the wonderful things he knew he smelled of. He pulls back to finally say: “I know I shouldn’t have shown up at the library today. I freaked you out, I didn’t mean to.”

Castiel seems windswept. His eyes are wide, his lips and cheeks bright pink. He cuts him off, shaking his head. “No, no, it was me. You took me by surprise and I wasn’t sure what to make of last night. This whole thing has been – weird.”

Dean smiles and leans closer once again to make their nose touch for a second.

“Am I making myself clear, now?” he whispers and Castiel smiles.

Dean feels ten pounds lighter all of the sudden. He lets him go, widens his arms, “Alright, then. Should we make it right? I can come pick you up in a couple of hours and we’ll go grab a bite or something.”

Castiel shifts on the spot, looks back at the dark windows of his house then turns again.

“Why don’t you just – come in now?” he asks hesitantly.

Dean’s mouth hangs open for a few seconds, then he beams up at him, nodding vigorously.

“Yeah. Or I could – do just that. Yeah. Sounds great. Just, uh, give me a sec.” he says and before Castiel can say anything else he goes back to the Impala to open the driver’s door.

“So, change of plans. You can go back to the motel, I’ll stay here.”

Sam’s eyebrows skyrocket on his forehead. “Are we staying another night?” he huffs a laugh.

Dean shrugs. “Sorry, Sammy. He is - ” he feels himself blushing, “I just gotta stay.”

Sam laughs again and slips in front of the steering wheel with an amused sigh. “Whatever. Don’t know what he did to you but as long as you’re sure he’s not a witch.”

“Nah, he’s an angel.” Dean says and that reminds him of something.

He ignores the way Sam rolls his eyes when he says Good night, Sammy and he goes back to Castiel who’s waiting for him.

“Hey” he says as they walk towards the door, “did you look up then, what I said about freckles?”

“Yes, and it was really cheesy. Like, very low level cheesy.”

“You liked it.” he teases, bumping his shoulder against Castiel’s. “I bet it made you blush and all.”

Castiel looks upwards in a matter than suggests annoyance, but he is pressing his lips together as if he’s keeping a smile at bay.

Dean’s heart makes a summersault. Man, whatever this is, must be powerful stuff.

+

 Dean comes back two weeks after they finally leave town and three weeks after that.

And then he just keeps coming back.

Suddenly it’s spring.

And Dean mows Castiel’ lawn and they go out with Meg and he gets so drunk that Castiel has to drive them home and Dean keeps nuzzling his neck and jaw, making it difficult for him to walk to the door and later in bed he whispers in his ear things he never thought he’d say to anyone like “I missed you” and “I think about you all the time” and the morning after he doesn’t even freak out cause Castiel said it back and it’s all fine.

So he keeps coming back.

And then comes the summer and Castiel takes a few days off from work and drags him up to a hiking trail but it takes them all day because Dean keeps stopping at all the perfect trees to snog against – and that’s every tree. And in the end they are sweaty and sticky and Dean’s body hurts all over and would take a nest of vamps any day over something like this, but the way Castiel smiles in the summer sunset makes it worth it. He snaps a selfie and sends it to Sam and Eileen and his brother writes back glad to see you happy. give cas my love.

And then Cas’ posh corporate dick sister Naomi shows up unexpectated one night and tries to convince Castiel to go back to New York with her. Dean hates her the moment she steps in with a face like she’s coming down from Heaven to set her rich foot on the smelly Earth, and she very clearly despises Dean’s everything, judging by the way her eyes slide over the room and stop on him when she tells Cas, “Look what you’ve become”. And Castiel throws her out shortly after that but Dean understands that even if he doesn’t regret it and Gabriel too calls to say, “So what? The witch is dead, good riddance!”, Castiel is still feeling like shit. So he curls up on the couch with him and when Castiel whispers “I’m sorry for that,” Dean holds him tighter and when he hears him sniffle quietly Dean says, “It’s okay. I’m here,” and strokes his back until he falls asleep.

And Dean keeps coming back.

Soon it’s fall and when Dean gets there he finds Castiel in the little garage attached to the house looking for the leaf blower among the clutter. It’s the first time he sees the space and he is assaulted by the thought that his Impala would easily fit in there, next to Castiel’s car. He doesn’t dare mention it but the thought nags at him all weekend.

And on his last morning, Castiel pretends he doesn’t hear the alarm going off, keeps his arm tight around him and looks sad when he hands him his cup of coffee for the road. Later he texts him it’s getting harder and Dean’s chest fills with rocks because he knows exactly what he means.

It’s getting harder.

One time when he’s walking to pick up Castiel from work to go out to dinner together, his phone pings and it’s a text from Sam saying Dean, you know I wouldn’t bother you if something something case something something we need you. can you?

He puts it back in his pocket right as Castiel comes out of the heavy doors and happily bounces down the stairs asking “How was your journey?”. He is about to lean in to peck his lips like he always does when he takes in his expression and pulls back, asks what’s wrong.

“I gotta go,” Dean says and he sounds miserable to his own ears.

Castiel face falls and Dean hates himself. But Castiel straightens up, presses his lips together and nods. He says “I understand.”

It’s getting harder.

One time, on the bathroom tiles of a smelly motel, Dean is grinding his teeth, trying not to scream as Sam sews a gash on his leg.

His brother looks up at him, his hands bloody, his forehead covered in sweat. They don’t have any booze left, and Sam was never the best of them in that kind of things.

“Don’t look this way, think of something else,” he pants.

And Dean closes his eyes and focuses very hard on the weight of Castiel’s hand in his, on the familiar smell of his couch and on his voice the last time he picked up the phone and said “Hello, Dean.” He focuses on the silhouette of his shoulder against the light of the sunrise when Dean wakes up before him. He focuses on the sound of Sam’s laugh that time he’d seen him wearing an apron at Castiel’s and then they all went down to that weird spring event and Sam had won a salt and pepper set with little bees on them and how it’s now sitting in Castiel’s cabinet. He tries to pretend to be in his kitchen, with Castiel in the other room calling his name and telling him to turn down the radio. He thinks about those things and soon a wound is closed but another is open.

It’s getting harder.

One time he calls Castiel after being tied to a chair and tortured for five hours. He is limping out of the warehouse, holding his phone against a bloodied ear and Castiel replies on the first ring. There’s music in the background and Castiel’s got a cheerful tone when he says, "Don’t tell me you’re here already. The potatoes still have fifteen minutes to go."

And Dean’s heart breaks as he tells him that he won’t be able to make it. On the other end, he hears just music for a while and when Castiel speaks again he just says “I understand.” But he sounds disappointed and Dean feels like shit.

It’s getting harder.

Still, he keeps coming back.

And it’s winter again and the front garden is covered in snow. Dean lets himself in with his spare key knowing that Castiel is still at work and toes off his boots at the entrance. He places the wrapped boxes he brought under the little Christmas tree that Castiel has left up for him even if the holidays have already come and gone. He turns on the radio and starts their dinner. A few hours later, as he hears the keys turning into the lock and he’s filled with anticipation, he realizes, not as a surprise but more as a confirmation, that he doesn’t want to leave anymore.

They eat on the couch in front of the tv, their plates balanced on their laps, one of Castiel socked feet bumping lightly against Dean’s calf.

The commercials start playing and Castiel is telling him a funny story about Gabriel when Dean puts his plate down.

“Cas,” he says, “I was thinking I could stay a little longer next time.”

Castiel gives his calf a little kick. “The whole week?” he asks, and sounds hopeful.

“Uh, was thinking, maybe more than that. I mean, if it’s all right with you, I -”

Castiel doesn’t let him finish. He puts his own plate down and surges forward to kiss him.

Dean pulls back because he starts laughing. “I still haven’t- ”

“You mean it?” Castiel cuts him off. He is serious now, stares at him, studies his face.

Dean throat is tight. He only nods.

Castiel kisses him again then smiles. “Dean, this is your home since the first time you came through that door. Of course it’s all right with me.”

Dean kisses him again and this time doesn’t let go.

 *

So, for the last time he leaves and for the last time he comes back.

He walks up to the door, carrying way too many bags with him.

He doesn’t take out his key, he rings the bell.

Castiel answers the door with a smile.

 ________