Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The days in the Kansas small town were long for most, but everyone did their share, got things done, and everyone knew each other. It was the most cliche thing in Castiel's life, but he adored it. The stars were particularly beautiful, and the warmth of everyone, the friendly twinkle you couldn't miss in someone's eye? It was your classic 80's movie. He couldn't live without it.

Castiel, on nights like this, was tired. He hated restocking. There was so much alcohol in the world. But he thought that it kept the bills paid, so he kept quiet and let the clock tick by, idly humming along to the classic rock playing above.  

He would glance back to the man at the bar, in a white button-up and loosened tie, positively drunk, waiting for another drink that Cas couldn't give, but he had a burger and coke untouched in front of him. Castiel was tired.

The bartender stood, moving to the man. "Hey, let me call a cab to get you, okay? Take you home," he persuaded, and the guy thankfully didn't refuse.

Cas walked him out when he heard a horn, paying the cab driver generously. It was the same guy he called everytime, and he had a family to feed.

Once Cas got back to his station, he let time drift away, until it got later in the day.

Everyday, at the same time, regular customers would float into the Roadhouse for lunch, and maybe a little venting to the blue-eyed bartender. Spouse trouble, life trouble, you name it.

The local, free therapist wasn't at all surprised when he heard the familiar rumble of a squad car, a door slam, and the door to the restaurant open. He heard a greeting from Jo, and another, much more nerdy one from Charlie, and he laughed at the playfulness in her voice. Charlie was like his anchor in many ways, and just knowing she was in a good mood soothed his nerves. Which, for some reason, were alert, ready for action.

When Deputy Fitzgerald was at the bar, he already had a shot glass full of coke (a running joke between the two) waiting for him. "Thanks, Cas," The lanky man murmured before taking the shot, and gently setting it back down on the bar. He let out a sigh, uncharacteristically disturbed.

After taking care of one bill, adjusting his blue plaid shirt and filling the glass with another shot, Cas gave the man a long look, tilting his head. "Hello, Garth," He murmured, and the officer only nodded back. Castiel felt his concern grow in the pit of his stomach. Garth was off. Not himself. As in, not cheerful and goofy and fun to be around.

"What happened?" He asked, voice deep, gravelly but surprisingly gentle. He carded his fingers through his short, charcoal black hair, and studied the Deputy carefully.

"There's just been a lot of missing people, presumably murdered. Not here, but in surrounding towns. I'm worried that the guy will come here and take someone," He admitted. "Just keep an eye out," Garth warned quietly. "Haven't even found a lick of evidence. The police departments have teamed up. Body counts up to 23, and there's not one single hair of this guy to be found," The officer explained, adjusting his tan uniform.

Castiel blinked, because really - that was impressive. Not like he'd ever admit that to Deputy Fitzgerald, get put under watch for a fascination with serial killers. "The entire county is worried. Not one CSI has been able to find anything. Each crime scene is only a pool of the victims blood, and that's left intentionally. This.. thing, he's skilled. It's like a business."

"If our guys investigate a scene, they'll find something," Cas reassured quietly. "But, hey, let's get your mind off that. What else happened today?" He questioned, and smiled widely when Garth launched into a story of a rescue involving a mother dog and her puppies.

Cas knew Garth would never admit it, but he'd be much better animal control, with his goofy smiles and kind voice. He was able to soothe anything in an instant. Charlie slid behind the bar soon enough to engage Garth in conversation and bump Castiel's hip, while he rolled his eyes, but let her be. He'd wandered, but refocused when he heard Charlie teasing him about the last ice cream fight, which he'd been totally unprepared for, so it really wasn't fair.

"You tackled me in the middle of Star Trek. At the best scene. And you really expect me to recover quickly from that?" He questioned, and let the conversation carry on in an easy manner, keeping it all (overly) simple for Garth.

"Ya'll really are great," Garth said after silence fell upon them. "Keep yourselves safe, please. Don't be reckless, I don't know what I'd do if either of you got hurt. Probably cry, but ya' know.. Yeah," He murmured, his Southern drawl soft and plucking Castiel's heart strings.

"I'm too charming to be murdered," Castiel grinned, and Garth laughed. The officer wasn't prepared for a big case, in Castiel's eyes, but he would never be. Sam had jokingly called the country man 'too precious for this world' and Cas agreed.

He looked up when two customers came in, heading directly for the bar. A grin fell over his lips when he recognized one of them. "Hey, Sam. Who's this?" He questioned, silently preparing a rum and coke for the taller of the two.

It was almost odd seeing Sam without Jess, since he was definitely now the quirkier, happier of his duo. "Dean, my brother. He's moving back from California," The man explained, a giddy smile decorating his face. "Dean, this is Castiel. Call him Cas. And he'll have a rum and coke too, Cas," He told the bartender, who prepared the other drink and had both drinks in front of the two in seconds.

Castiel locked eyes with the man, Dean, and felt a flush run over his tattooed body, but Dean didn't seem to be paying enough attention to notice him. Oh, God, Castiel hoped he wasn't a jock. Or straight. Straight would be worse.

"Welcome to Auburn, then. Population 1,227. Or, 1,228, I guess. You'll fit right in. But you're probably moving back as in you grew up here. Maybe, I don't know. Apologies, I'm rambling. Can I get you something to eat?" Cas offered, stumbling over his words, looking at the man and almost coughing because damn. Green eyes, sandy hair, a splash of freckles. They don't come like that much anymore. Deans hair was swooped up neatly, and Cas could imagine the stubble on his own jaw giving Deans smooth skin a burn.

"Thanks, man. Uh, just a burger and fries. And do you guys have pie?" Dean ordered, his lips quirking up, as if trying to flirt his way to a slice of pie. Castiel wasn't arguing.

"Of course," He grinned stupidly, calling back the order to Ellen. Within minutes, the man had a burger, fries and pie before him, and Castiel turned away to let him eat in peace.

Back at Charlie and Garth's side, he rolled his eyes at the soft mocking. "I'm not 'hot' for him, Charlie," he muttered bitterly.

"Sure. But you don't stutter and freak with just everyone, you know," She teased, relentless in her ways, and he gave up. It was hopeless, really, anyways. "Didn't Sam grow up here?" He asked the officer, ignoring his best friend, eyebrow quirking.

Cas didn't - he moved to Auburn from Lawrence before college, after his family found out about his "choice of life" and kicked him out on the street.

"Those two moved here from Lawrence a long time ago, but I don't think they remember life back there. At least, Sam doesn't. I can't remember it here without them. Dean just.. left. Heard he got into a fight with their dad, may he rest in peace, but it's all just rumors. He's a good guy, though. A teddy bear once you get to know him," He explained, giving the bartender a sly smirk and earning himself an eye-roll.

Castiel nodded, though, appreciating the information. He liked being in-the-loop. He knew every other damn thing about this town anyways. Castiel was happy here, despite being only 20 minutes from his parents. Almost as happy as Dean seemed to be enjoying that burger, with Sam talking his ear off. Probably about Jess and their successful relationship.

Castiel's pale blue gaze met Dean's striking green one, and he felt his cheeks warm, turning away to continue his conversation with the officer.

"I think it was about him being gay, the fight with his dad. Again, rumors. Sorta like you-- shoot, sorry. Didn't mean to, uh, sorry Cas," Garth rushed to apologize, and Cas gave him a look.

"I'm not that sensitive, it's okay," He muttered, but that ended that conversation, and he moved on, serving and lightly joking with more customers and locals. He really didn't need to think about his parents. 

Castiel busied himself with grunt work, slowly cleaning and reorganizing, because Garth had hit a nerve. Damn Castiel and his refusal to get help, or give in at all, but he wasn't that kind of guy. Not at all  

Eventually, he was able to be lured by Sam into conversation, and his older brother listened, only throwing in sarcastic comments every now and then. When Castiel was called away by Ellen, he heard Dean being scolded for not being himself. He was certainly interested in what that meant, or why Sam cared so much.

The night ended uneventfully, and the Roadhouse closed, but Cas was grateful. He cleaned and locked up, making his way out to his pride and joy, a sleek black 1969 Camaro - sitting right next to the second most beautiful car he'd ever laid eyes on. The Impala was gorgeous. Well taken care of, in pristine condition--

"You like?" A breathy laugh came from behind, and Cas startled, turning to see Dean approaching from the woods, zipping up his pants from a personal moment.

"Ah, yes. I have a thing for classics, as you can probably tell. This is my Dad's old car. He gave it to me when I graduated," He explained, talking too much for just a simple question, but this guy had a predatory look, and it made Castiel shiver, his spine tingling.

Dean didn't reply, rather circling around the Camaro to get to his Impala, one hand lovingly running over the hood of his car. "So is mine," He finally spoke, and Cas bit his lip. It was almost midnight, his dogs needed to be fed, but those thoughts were covered by the ideas of things he and this man could do. Probably not, though. The cutest ones were almost always straight as a rod, despite what Garth had claimed to hear.

"You must take really good care of her," he commented idly, and Dean nodded, seemingly lost in thought.

"Did Sam take his own car home?" He questioned, just to keep hearing the guys voice.

"Yeah, we met up here. Speaking of the guy, I should get going. See you around," Dean answered, suddenly seeming more rushed, and he was gone before Cas had the pleasure of replying.

So, that left him there as he stood by the driver door of his Camaro, looking in the direction of the cars path and hoping to god that yes, he would see him around. Castiel shook his head, to clear it, climbed in Faithful (he was convinced everyone named their cars, but had never actually met someone else who had), and started the drive home.

 Cas relaxed a great deal when he pulled into the gravel driveway. He heard the dogs excitedly barking inside, and his heart felt a little happier. They were generally all inside by the time he got home, despite the doggy door allowing them access to his small amount of land. He had a small pack waiting for him in his also small house. Castiel toed off his shoes, hanging his jacket by on the rack meant for keys at his door, and throwing his actual keys on the small table he ran into upon walking into his house - he had an almost constant bruise on his thigh, but was too lazy to move it.

"Your 'pack' tackled me when I walked in," Charlie complained, and Castiel wasn't surprised to hear her voice.

"I want my key back," He countered, moving upstairs to quickly change clothes before joining her on the couch.

"Dork," Charlie teased, referring to Castiel's dark plaid pajama pants and light blue bumblebee shirt.

"Says the one who LARPs religiously," He scoffed, taking the second spoon that Charlie had left in the ice cream gallon and taking a bite, nearly moaning around the cookie dough.

"So, Dean, huh?" Charlie interrupts the moment Cas is having for that. That, seriously?

"I find him attractive. But that's it. His voice is also amazing. But Sam is his brother-- would that make it weird?" He questioned, squinting curiously.

"Nope. Not unless Sam is also your brother. Dude, Sam is like... Super cool. He wouldn't care. You need to get laid, anyways," She told him, very matter-of-factly, and he rolled his eyes. But she was kinda right, and the unopened box of condoms in his bedside drawer proved it. 

"I'm living through you, and your very, extremely, super duper extra, active sex life," Cas shot back, and Charlie frowned. 

"Dick. You have no clue what kind of action I get," And Cas laughed at that. 

"Yeah. Auburn's lesbians are just lining up at your door, right? Thats why you're over here on a Friday night?" He countered, and got a face-full of ice cream. 

Castiel laughed, wholeheartedly, and Charlie sat back, content with making him get up to prevent stickiness. 

When he returned from the bathroom, however, Charlie was passed out, and Balthazar, the large German Shepherd, was going to town on her ice cream. Castiel smiled fondly. 

"Big gay," he muttered, cleaning up her mess after chasing off his dog (which was fucking hard to do quietly) and moving her to the couch. He almost didn't cover her up, but he was more than childish games, and he knew his house got cold at night. 

Plus, he didn't want to hear her bitch about the Queen of Moondoor being mistreated. So he covered her with his grandmothers quilt, and attempted to get the dogs to leave her alone. Balthazar ended up curled over her feet, surprise surprise. But the rest of them followed him to bed, keeping him warmer than the blanket. 

----•----•----•----

Castiel lazily blinked his eyes open, not moving from the blanket he'd wrapped himself in. He beat his alarm, for once, and groaned when the stupid thing blared, way too loud. He couldn't believe he bought that thing. 

Cas padded downstairs after the fight he had with an alarm, telling it to shut the fuck up before he realized that wasn't how it worked. He grinned, because Charlie was still asleep, and that meant he could wake her up. 

Maybe he needed to make coffee first. Yes. Coffee first, always. Always. Plus, he would need it for Charlie to forgive him. He moved to the kitchen, getting out two mugs, one with a collection of cartoon bees for him, the other a crown and the word 'Queen' in large letters. 

Castiel relaxed almost instantly at the smell of the coffee, making his first, and then Charlie's, the over-sweetened way she liked it. 

Upon return, he found that Balthzar had left, leaving Charlie defenseless, and yes, this was great. 

Cas set the two mugs down on the coffee table- "If you even think about poking me in the cheek until I get up, Castiel Novak, I will end you," came a grumble from the couch. Well. 

"Sorry. I made you coffee," and bam, Charlie was sitting up, ready for her drink. 

"You're a real man. If we both weren't gay, I would date you. But, yeah," Charlie shrugged, and Cas laughed, softly. 

"I'm faltered, really," he mumbled, rolling his eyes. 

"Whatever. You're working, right?" She questioned, and he laughed, just because he'd told her before that no, he was not working today and yes, she would be alone. 

"No, I'm not. Yes, I'm leaving the Queen without her knight," he covered both questions easily, and watched her struggle up fully, realizing with dread just how late she'd slept. 

"Damn, I gotta go. Don't make out with your dogs," She murmured before quickly going, not listening to his lame retort. 

Castiel smiled fondly, but curled up on the couch and fell back asleep. 

It was his day off, after all.

Chapter Text

Dean Winchester kinda hates himself.

He's pretty sure a lot of people do, though, but maybe not everyone takes it out the way he does.

Right now, a librarian is under him, his eyes wide, and he's squirming, wriggling, but his mouth is gagged and Dean loves it.

Dean's also kind of an asshole. He's taking a freshly-sharpened knife and running it over the smooth, pale skin of the poor kid with ease and light pressure. The blade was sharp enough to leave soft trails of an ivory color, covered quickly by bubbles of blood and turning into crimson roads.

The man bucks against the blade, and that spot fills quicker and the blood begins to drip over skin, landing on the silver table that Dean has his victim on.

"Stop struggling, idiot. You're making it worse for yourself," He snaps, but he knows he can always take his time and make it painful. Dean's careful about who he picks, all of his victims have little to no family and are in prime health condition, never mind how he gets that information.

The man - Zack, he thinks - tries to say something around the gag, but to no avail. Dean is glad he's quieter than the last one, though, who thrashed and nearly ended the fun early.

Dean has already drained the guy of enough blood, he can practically feel the life draining from the guy.

Pretty soon it's just a body before him, and he almost sighed in relief, because he can begin dissecting.

He should be a coroner, he knows how to open someone up so well.

The ribs might be an issue for a second, but once he gets to work, he's lost in it, and once all the valuable organs are in proper containers and liquids, he has to take a short break. He's too tedious, clipping veins that don't really matter and taking his time. The organs are in pristine condition, much better than when he first started.

The first was a women, and though the crime scene looked like all the others, the removal of everything was choppy and horrible. Dean had to take an extra long shower to remove the blood, and he'd quickly decided that the breasts of a women made it more difficult to do what he did. She was a nurse, and the missing posters and all the press did nothing for him, so that was when he refined his searches and procedures, giving to countless homeless shelters so they wouldn't suspect a thing when he lured the patrons away. He was a volunteer, plugged right into the community he stole from.

But it was good, amazing money. Getting his guy had been hard, he'd had to go through endless tests before it was obvious he could be trusted. He pulled in about $400,000 a body, and he was rolling in it, but he lived a modest lifestyle.

When he settled back, he's sweating and he needs water.

Dean doesn't drink when he's working, so he settles back for a bottle of water and texts his guy (he doesn't even know his name, just a disposable phone number) that a package is about to be ready. From there, all he has to worry about is when he gets his money.

Dean likes his job.

Then he had to start on the skinning and removing of the bones, which is honestly his least favorite part. Bones are so fucking sturdy, which is kinda the point, but "witches" paid big money for them. He didn't care as long as they were sold, really, even if some poor soul was living in a fantasy world.

"Oh, wow," Dean had laughed, when he realized the irony of the life he's living.

John raised him to be a soldier, a fucking Marine, and here he is, using all those skills on charming and cleaning up crime scenes and being absolutely fucking amazing in his field. He would make a great Marine, really, a skilled one, but he'd found something he loved and couldn't quite let go of it.

Murder, of course.

Dean finished, though, after a skull is in a container with various other bones. A confirmation text is sent to him, with the address of a bridge. Dean leaves it at 2:00 AM, his dealer picks it up at no later than 3:00 AM.

They never see each others faces.

Dean knows where to leave it - under a tree with a bear paw carved into it. Boy Scouts can be helpful, sometimes, even if they'd almost caught him a few times when he operated in California.

Dean packed everything up, leaving the remains in the incinerator to be burned and never seen again, no trophies kept or anything of the sort. He'd watched cop shows enough to know that was a fucking bad idea. Once Baby is loaded and ready, everything hidden under a false-floor, he slid in her and smiled at the old, classic smell of leather, just to calm himself down and take a moment of peaceful silence before he has to go back inside. He's proud of himself for keeping her so clean, not a speck of dust or candy wrapper in place. It's late, his clock read 11:34. He could blow an hour and a half with Sam at the Roadhouse, which is close enough to the bridge to be convenient for him.

Dean got inside the house, fondly looking over his three German Shepard's (Banjo is sitting quietly near the door, Gunner looks like he'd get excited if he knew Dean wouldn't scold him, and Bear is really just happy to be here). He takes out his phone and dials Sam, who picks up quickly.

"Sammy. You, me, Jess, Roadhouse. Now, whaddya say?" He started, forgetting formalities.

"I'll come, but Jess is stuck on a book and she isn't feeling too great. I think she'd about to pass out," Sam laughed, and Dean heard a soft thud, probably from his baby brother being hit in the shoulder.

He heard a fumbling, before a breathy laugh is blown into the receiver and he got to speak to Jess. "Sorry, my stomach just isn't agreeing with me today. I love you, though! Have fun," She said, and Dean smiled wide.

"Love you, too, princess. Take some medicine, okay?" He tried.

"Already did. I'm gonna go to bed, here's Sam," And then he heard more fumbling before Sam's voice rang through again.

"I'll meet you there. Don't be late," and that's it, but Dean wonders if someone can be late without a time set.

The elder Winchester fed the dogs before he climbed in the car, paying no mind to the amount of body parts in Baby's trunk.

He rolled the window down, driving with one hand on top of the steering wheel and the other out of the window, the dark night and cold air soothing him down to the bone.

By the time he got to the bar, the barn-like restaurant, he spots Sam's lame car and knows he won't have to suffer being a loner for a bit. He finds the openness of the place welcoming, the square bar nice, and when he takes a seat next to Sam, he pauses.

Castiel has fucking tattoos. Everywhere. And small plugs in his ears, what the fuck. What the fuck. He's wearing a flannel, a soft color that brings out his eyes - which are too blue. Absurdly blue. But that's not the point, because his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and Dean wants to do dirty things to him. Non-murder things, of course.

"Dean?" Sam is pressing, and Dean snapped out of it before clearing his throat and sipping the cold beer in front of him, placed there by a hand with thin fingers, but clearly muscled, and Dean wonders what those fingers could do.

"Yeah, sorry. Jess, right?" He hopes, and Sam shook his head, but gave him a forgiving look. He should've gone with work.

"No man, this case. Fucking crazy," and Dean sighed while Sam goes on about a divorce with too much money in the middle of it, and too many children getting pushed and pulled. He fucking hated the two people already, but he knew he couldn't go off killing Sam's clients.

Dean watched Cas work and decided he couldn't care less.

His thoughts were cut off by a loud hooting, and Cas is giving a redhead a look, and she takes over before two men get to the smooth, black-countered bar. One is blonde, the other had black hair, and both look ready to cause trouble.

Dean got answers before he can ask. "Lucifer is the blonde, Michaels the guy with black hair. They're Castiel's brothers. He has a sister, Anna, redhead, and another brother, Gabe, brown hair. That alone lets you know they're all adopted." And that sentence clears up Dean's wondering why he should care about hair color. "Castiel finds them obnoxious, and he doesn't like them so he avoids them. Clocks out whenever they come in-" Dean gets a snippet of Lucifer asking the redhead who took over if Cas is working, who denies it "-so I think there's something more going on. I have to get up early tomorrow, it's like.. 12:45, dude. Late. See you later," And Dean wonders why Sam left in a rush, more so when Lucifer made eye contact with him. There's probably something going on, and Dean is almost protective.

Dean couldn't really stand how loud they are and he wanted to cut their tongues out, but he couldn't, and he had a package to deliver, so he prepared to follow Sam out.

Interestingly enough, by the time the tab is paid and he gpt to Baby, the sleek Camaro that'd he parked Baby next to on purpose is gone.

Dean drives slow, alone on the dark stretch of road as he made his way to the bridge. He's pretty happy - more so when Sam officially decided that he was okay to move here, and even more so after Sam found out about his line of work - first locking him up until he explained himself. He sighed, turning up the radio and humming along to Eye of the Tiger.  The Winchester pulled up to the classically-styled bridge and climbed out easily of his car, scanning the area. He stopped when he spotted a pretty car - and a pretty man - at the other end of the roadway. Castiel was laying on the hood of the car, and oh God, the things Dean could do.

He checked his phone, discovered he had time and completely winged it. He approached the vehicle slowly, looking over Castiel as he sat up, probably from the thump of Dean's boots against the gravel.

"Hello, Dean," He muttered, surprise evident in his eyes, and he quirked a pierced eyebrow, and Dean was gone. Done. He had a teenage crush.

"Hey, Cas," He replied, for once in his life feeling out of place. Like he shouldn't be there, but then Castiel ran his long, nimble fingers over the hood to invite Dean to take a seat. Dean did, grateful, unsure where to start. He knew what this place was, it was pretty obvious. Where Castiel came to calm himself. The dark-haired man had rolled down his sleeves, leaving Dean to wander more about the intricate ink embedded on his skin.

"Are... um, are you okay?" He settled for that. Really. Mentally, Dean slapped himself, but didn't make an embarrassing correction.

"My brothers are literal pain and suffering, Dean Winchester. I'm just peachy," And it's clearly sarcasm, but something about the monotone, dry sense of humor makes Dean laugh, his face breaking from serious and worried to amused and light. At least it said Castiel was a little bit okay.

"Look, man, I can't really offer advice but uh.. if you need an ear or something I'm here? But no chick-flick shit," He attempted, and Castiel gave him a grin.

"Of course. How about you, Dean? What could possibly bring you to a bridge at this hour?" He returned, and Dean was hesitant.

He tried to do a classic, murder joke. "I kill people and chop 'em up and sell their organs on the black market," His voice was a vocal representation of flatline, and the other looked at him, long and hard, before laughing, soft and warm.

"Right. Okay," And he had bought it, so Dean relaxed and leaned back with him on the hood. "You know, I was like, raised in a compound. 7 siblings. A fucking cult. Who does that to a kid? Like.. Lucifer and Michael, the only ones who stayed. Hannah died too young to give a fuck. Anna left with Gabe and I. That's why I can't be around them. They try to instill the love, and fear, of God in me. Tell me I need to be fixed. I know you were curious, wanted to ask. So I'm telling you. Everyone knows anyways. Charlie keeps an eye out for me, and mostly everyone tries to, too. My parents are still alive, in the cult. A cult," He laughed, out loud, like it's the damn funniest thing ever, and Dean was too stunned to respond.

Dean looked at him, closely, and saw nothing but truth in his baby blue eyes. Castiel wasn't telling some sick joke.

"Oh, God.. I'm so sorry, Cas. I had no idea," He whispered, voice soft. Castiel, however, was already moving off his half of the hood. "Yeah. Everyone is. Look, I should get home to my dogs," He muttered.

Dean took the hint and moved off the hood, watching in silence as Castiel waved and climbed in his car, letting the engine start with a low rumble and then taking off in the opposite direction.

Dean, really, really, really liked Cas, and he couldn't stop thinking about that fact through the entire unloading of Baby, the loading of the money, and the drive home.