Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

October 20^th, 2023- 7:30PM

Rainy nights were some of Cas’s favorite weather. He loved a Midwest thunderstorm with intense downpours, whipping winds, and thunderous booms chasing lightning strikes. He loved turning the lights down low, lighting a few candles, and reading a wild book while his roommate cooked something spicy in their shared kitchen.

On the nights when the storms were at their most extreme and sirens would wail, Cas would put away his book and they would watch a movie until the storm knocked the power out. In the darkness, Cas would swap a few of his dark secrets and smiles on the couch with his roommate.

The weather did not matter on the third Friday of the month.

And the weather really did not matter when he sat in a dingy basement surrounded by strangers at worst or sad acquaintances at best.

The pattering of rain against the opaque windows set a depressing mood. Cas sat himself in the chair near the pillar that he always occupied in the circle. He watched as Mildred was the first to stand. The elderly woman was always a little too perky for the gray brick walls, watered-down coffee, stale donuts, and whatever newbie support-seeker that would have their predictable first breakdown before the meeting even adjourned.

“We are ready to get started,” Mildred announced. All the guests quieted down and Cas even heard one sniffle already. He sighed in an effort not to be too judgmental but after all these years it was hard not to be jaded.

Mildred met the eyes of everyone in the room with an intensity that made Cas feel cut open and exposed. She knew how broken everyone in the room was and seemed to press into the wound of why they were here with just her gaze. She then nodded to the actual grief counselor, Mia Vallens, to begin.

He shifted in his chair uncomfortably as Mia began with her introductory speech, “Hello to our regulars and welcome to our new visitors. My name is Mia Vallens. I am a certified grief counselor and the leader of this DDT support group. Djinn Dream Therapy affects more than just the client. It affects their families, their friends, and their loved ones.”

There was a pregnant pause before Mia continued, “Some of you have lost your loved ones to DDT addiction. Some of you may have people you care about currently in the thralls of DDT. Both are painful in their own way. This grief and addiction support group is open to anyone affected by DDT. If you choose to participate, please state your name. You can decide to share whatever else you want but do not feel like you have to share if you do not feel able to. Who would like to start?”  

Just like every meeting Cas had attended since the dame's first arrival, Mildred Baker elegantly stood up before another person had a chance, adjusted her too-large cardigan, cleared her throat, and said, “My name is Mildred Baker. My husband, may God rest his soul, was patient number 878. He started DDT 14 years ago as a result to losing our daughter and granddaughter to a motor vehicle accident caused by a drunk driver.”

There were a few audible gasps at the low patient number. There always were. One of the unofficial rules of DDT group introduction was stating whatever patient number drove the person to seek solace in the damp basement. A lower number meant someone had been dealing with DDT struggles longer and usually those people were resigned in their grief.

Lower numbers statistically meant the actual person in DDT therapy was also dead based on Cas’s observations. One of the former members had a wife with a patient number of 499. He disappeared in the woods two years ago not long after his wife finally wasted away. Cas had helped with the search for 48 hours before accepting what everyone else assumed to be true. After patient number 499 died, he went into the woods with the plan of never coming out.

Higher patient numbers meant the grief was fresher. It meant those people were usually criers too. Unless the actual patient died quickly, the higher number meant that their loved one receiving DDT was just beginning their journey.

The beginning of the journey allowed the support seeker to have hope- something people with lower patient numbers lost long ago. Cas would watch every third Friday as the light slowly faded from their eyes. For some reason, patient numbers seemed to connect people more than any other words did because it said everything without saying anything at all. Every number was its own story.

Mildred took a deep breath and continued her introduction, “My husband became unable to handle his grief in the real world and waiting between DDT sessions was unmanageable agony. He took his own life four years ago. DDT took the only person I had left. I lost my daughter and my granddaughter to one man’s vice. Then, I lost the only man I ever loved to another. The only thing I have left is my nursing home and the connections I’ve made in this group.”

The connections had indeed kept Mildred going. Mildred had first appeared in group the first third Friday after her husband’s funeral four years ago with a fire burning inside her. She had stood up every third Friday since, told her story, and then spent time after convincing people to keep coming and that things get better.

If someone kept the stats on Mildred’s success, they would say that she was directly responsible for seven saved marriages, twenty-three recoveries, and nine babies some of whom were lucky to call her Grandma Mildred. She gave the best motherly hugs which even Cas could attest to.

“Thank you for sharing, Mildred,” Mia said the same way she always did every third Friday of the month, “So who is next?”

A loud chair scrap against old linoleum signaled the next occupant who was decked out in a black leather jacket, tight black pants, and a smirk of confident anger that could rival a demon was ready to speak.

The brunette cocked her head to the side and bluntly said, “Meg Masters. My ‘number’ was 13,483. My dead boyfriend’s number was 14,936. He and I were both addicted to DDT and when we got kicked out of their suck-ass program we turned to synthetic DDT. Wouldn’t you know it the stuff we took was the bastardized version. His heart stopped because he literally got scared to death. And now instead of having super fun dreams where I could escape this stupid fucking reality, I have to stay sober from any kind of fun or illicit substance including cheapo beer. I also get the privilege to work out my trauma of watching my boyfriend overdose along with my daddy issues that drove me to DDT in the first place in a shitty basement with non-biodegradable Styrofoam cups on a Friday night. Whoopie for me. And before any of you whiners get any ideas- I don’t want to talk about it and you better not ask me how I’m feeling or I will steal all the donuts next time.”

Mia put her head in her hand and tried to smother a sigh. Meg’s introduction was the same every time too including the threat to steals donuts which she would follow through with. Her bluntness always created a certain shock with newcomers.

Meg smugly smiled at the entire group before throwing herself back into her plastic chair. She picked up her cup filled to the brim with steaming coffee, winked directly at Cas, and then took a long swig.

Cas mimicked the move by taking a drink of his own cup of lukewarm coffee. Meg had wormed her way into Cas’s life over the last few years to the point that they even hung out outside of DDT support group. Their weird friendship was outside of protocol but Mia had approved it thinking Cas would be a good influence on Meg and help keep her on the straight and narrow. They were complete opposites but it worked somehow.

Meg once told a room full of strangers that Cas was her “sponsor”. Cas to-date was the only person in group to ever see Meg shed a single tear. The only thing that Cas didn’t understand about their friendship was the fact she called him Clarence.

A newcomer stood up next, “My name is Lydia Crawford. My adopted brother is currently in DDT therapy. His patient number is 23,019 and I… Sorry this is my first time but I think I might be losing him.”

“Welcome Lydia, I’m sorry you are feeling this way. Why do you think you are losing him?” Mia gently asked.

Lydia swallowed her tears to reply, “It’s like the only thing he can think of is his next session. His entire world, and now our world, revolves around it. The only thing that matters are those dreams. It’s all he talks about. It’s all he thinks about. He’s fading away. He’s a shell of who he used to be. He tries to pretend he’s not distracted but I can’t seem to reach him.”

There were murmurs of sympathy and understanding which seemed to wash over Lydia. She seemed to accept the support immediately and kept talking.

Around the circle, people took their turns by opening up about their trials and tribulations. Some people were newer and their stories were evolving still. A new girl named Kaia was making some headway against her own addiction to DDT. Another woman talked about her girlfriend breaking away from DDT and trying to move on. Most weren’t so happy. There was pain and heartache as the majority of people in that basement lost they people they loved before many of them were even gone.

Towards the end, Mia raised her eyebrows at Cas who was one of the few who hadn’t shared. Cas shook his head and Mia gave a disappointed nod. He didn’t want to participate. He never did anymore.

Two hours and one minute after the meeting started, Cas said his goodbyes to Mildred, Meg, and a few others he knew by name before he was out the door without another word. He got into his car, drove to the main office, and parked next to the curb underneath the fourth streetlight from the pull-in. He was eight minutes early.

DDT grief and support meetings felt like a waste of time anymore. He didn’t know why he kept going. It wasn’t like anything was changing for him personally. He thought about quitting the group but what else would he do with his time. Once upon a time, he had hoped he could have used the other’s stories to change his own.

Cas checked his watch and the watch face showed 09:57. Three minutes to go.

Like it always did, the anger and pain Cas tried to keep subdued inside of himself boiled to the surface. Cas hit the steering wheel in frustration. Cas cursed the company, cursed group therapy, and cursed spending Friday nights where he was.

He cursed the day he met Dean Winchester.

He checked his watch again and waited until the time turned to 10:00.     

On time, the front doors of DreamCorp opened and Dean Winchester stumbled out of the building. His face was pale, his breathing was heavy, and he seemed disoriented. He looked left and right before he seemed to struggle to know what he was supposed to do. Cas flashed his headlights and when Dean didn’t respond to that Cas exited the car. Waving his hands in the dark somehow caught Dean’s attention.

“Cas,” Dean gasped out brokenly.

The heartstrings in his chest tugged painfully and Cas left the front door to his Continental wide open as he went to Dean. He reached Dean just before he collapsed into his arms.

Dean reached up and for barely a second Dean brushed his hand gently against Cas’s face. Cas felt the ghosting of Dean’s fingers run from down the side of his cheek as Dean whispered his name again.

“Cas…”

Then, Dean recoiled like he remembered something. His eyes first had pain, then fear, and finally his eyes glazed over in a concealed emotion Cas couldn’t understand. Cas tried to support Dean further but Dean pushed himself up and away from Cas. On unsteady feet, Dean made his way to the passenger side and lowered himself into the seat without another glance.

The rain hit Cas for another moment before he shook himself off. He tried to shake off the feeling of Dean’s hand on his face and the way he whispered his name like a loving prayer. As the rain soaked him, he pulled his hood up on his way back to the open driver’s door. Cas tried not to brush his cheek with his own hand the way Dean just had in an attempt to memorize the feeling.

Passing the other seven streetlights that lined the road to DreamCorp headquarters, Cas didn’t say anything as he drove back to their apartment. Cas locked the doors as they left the area.

Sneaking glances at his passenger, Cas waited for Dean to say something. Dean always tried to feign having normal conversations when Cas picked him up.

Rubbing his jeans, Dean looked out the window to avoid eye contact and through gritted teeth asked, “How was your day Cas?”

“My day was boring and uneventful. I didn’t do much. How was your day?”

Dean just shook his head and clenched his wet jeans with his fists. His knuckles turned white and Dean fought some unreachable internal battle. He refused to look at Cas. His hair dripped water into his face and Dean didn’t even seem to notice or care.

Cas’s heart broke. He thanked God that the next third Friday was 28 days away.

“Let’s go home, Dean.”

***

October 20^th, 2023- 09:18AM

“Well, Cas. Thanks for the ride as always,” Dean said happily. He was trying not to sound too chipper as they pulled in front of the main office but even he could hear that he sounded like a kid in a candy store. He rocked in his seat excitedly and sent a smile towards his driver.

Normally, he tried to rein it in just because he knew how much Cas hated these days for whatever reason. The guy was grumpy about being Dean’s chauffer among other things. Guess Dean would have to pay him back with a book off his wish list when his next paycheck came in.

Cas didn’t say anything but hit the brakes hard and shifted his car into park with a quick and aggressive crank. Dean rocked forward again and nearly hit his head on the dashboard.

“Dude, your car is barely holding it together so maybe take it easy on the gear shift would ya. I know you like spending time with me at the shop but breaking your car is not the way to go. You know Bobby doesn’t like when I spend too much time talking with you without getting work done.”

“My car is fine,” Cas said shortly as his pimp mobile clunked and rumbled like it always did despite Dean’s efforts. 

“Are you still going to pick me up?” Dean asked. He knew the answer but Cas wasn’t happy and he was trying to make conversation after arriving so early.

“Of course, Dean. Or you could skip-”

Cutting him off, Dean spit out, “Again with this shit, Cas? Really?”

Dean watched as Cas clenched his jaw to avoid having the same fight they had more than a hundred times. The only thing that dampened his therapy day was Cas hating it so much. Dean debated staying in the car for another 15 minutes or so but Cas didn’t want to meet his eyes.

Before Dean had a chance to choose to stay in the car or not, Cas cut Dean off Dean's thoughts by saying, “I’ll pick you up at 10PM.”

“Okay, I guess I'll see you then. Bye Cas.”

Cas didn’t reply so Dean raised his voice and repeated, “Bye Cas. I hope you have a good day.”

“Goodbye Dean.”

Normally, he tried to hangout with Cas until five minutes before check-in time at 9:40. He would try to make Cas laugh so he could memorize the way his face scrunched up. He needed to get the details just right but it was clear Cas dismissed him early today. Dean needed to see Cas smile more than anything.

What Dean did not need was Cas’s shit for something that literally had no effect on him except for spending one Friday every month dropping him off and picking him up. Cas had almost twelve hours in between to spend doing whatever the Hell he wanted.

Instead, Dean sat in the pristine lobby with its white waxed floor, decorative waiting chairs, and oversized TVs playing ads on a cycle for their products. Djinn Dream Therapy was, of course, their bread and butter but their other products were up-and-coming and heavily featured.

A woman with blinding, bleached teeth cheerily said in the first ad, “Welcome! Here at DreamCorp we strive to help patients through patented, comprehensive, personalized dreams with world-class technology. Comparable to hypnotism, we allow our patients to enter a state where their conscious allows them to explore true healing paths while living out their wildest dreams in a controlled environment-“

Dean checked the watch Cas had gotten him their first Christmas in the dorms before going back to taping his leg. Dean didn’t know why Cas always had a stick up his ass about his therapy. Sometimes he acted like this was all they ever did. He was going to show Cas that taking one day a month to do something wouldn’t impede their life before or after.

Dean sent a text to the usual suspects inviting them out to a burger for lunch at the roadhouse the following day. His message was read by four people with no response before Charlie responded with gif of Michelle Turner from Full House saying “You got it dude.”

The next ad played loudly with an older male speaker that was basically every generic grandfather within 250 miles of Lebanon. Dean glanced at the TV and saw a rolling Nebraska cornfield as the background as the grandfather spoke, “Twenty-four years ago, DreamCorp opened its doors to the first ten patients. Back then, it was just a small organization with just two doctors and a dream of their very own. They sought to help their friends and neighbors recover from misfortune. Innovation and experimentation has allowed for the clinic to grow to world-renowned DreamCorp. Since then, we have had more than 25,000 patients enter through DreamCorp’s doors to seek psychological services. For our 25th anniversy, we will releasing DreamPods in select locations near you. By our 50th anniversary, we hope to treat 1 million people worldwide by opening new clinics across the globe.”

Letting a deep breath out through his nose, Dean watched as the ad finished with the logo and motto reading, “DreamCorp- Dream. Heal. Live.” A few others in the group chat responded that they could meet for lunch.

At 09:40, Dean was notified by the receptionist he could go through the door labeled with DDT printed in white letters on the door. He walked down the hallway until he found his name written on the whiteboard outside the door.

Knocking to give the advisor a second to process he was entering, Dean opened the door to find Pamela Barnes in a white labcoat over a form-fitting black dress standing in the corner tapping away on her phone

Pamela was Dean’s favorite advisor. At the sight of him, she put her phone away with an apologetic smile before she sat down with her clipboard and said, “I like the jacket, Dean. You know what to do. Sit down and then give me your name full name, safe word for early removal, and patient number.”

“Safe word is Poughkeepsie. I know you’ve never asked but I'm an Aquarius, I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach and frisky women. When are we gonna go on that long walk, Pamela?” Dean replied as he shrugged off his jacket and then sat down in the gray recliner.

Pamela looked up, waved her left hand to flaunt her ring, and winked, “Stil engaged to be married, Dean.”

“That’s a bummer. You’re breaking my poor heart.”

Pamela laughed out loud and signaled for Dean to roll up his flannel sleeve to place his needle. Small scars littered the bend of elbow so Pamela had to search for a perfect placement. Dean had always hated needles so he went silent and looked away as she placed it and attached it to the pod. The machine began to run and Dean watched his blood leave his body.

Once the needle was placed, Dean continued hitting on Pamela as she moved the hemaflow scale and the trima machine into a better position, “Jesse doesn’t deserve you.”

“David does though and that’s why he put a ring on it. Are you going to remind me of my back tattoo with my ex's name every time you sit in my chair?” Pamela asked as she rolled the black cart towards Dean. She attached four patches across his forehead that connected to the computer and the pod before clipping a monitor to his pointer finger.

“Let me take you out for a night on the town and I’ll never bring up the tattoo again.”

“How come you only want what you can’t have? Anyway, you don’t want me. You just like to flirt,” Pamela said as she pressed the button with her foot that lowered Dean into a slightly reclined position, “And speaking of things you want: if you don’t hurry up with your name and patient number, then I can’t press the fun blue button on the machine and you’re going to miss your launch time of 0950 hours. Then, you’ll have to wait until next month which will be the real bummer.”

Fear spiked through Dean and his bravado briefly faltered. Dean checked his watch again and it read 9:49AM. He couldn’t risk not going into his dream. He nodded as Pamela hovered her finger over the blue button.

“My name is Dean Winchester. I am patient number 5.”

Chapter Text

January 24th, 1999 9:50AM

John Winchester was a broken man.

This was the day their fractured family had been waiting for months now and John didn’t know how he was supposed to feel. He was a ghost of himself that haunted the burnt rubble of the house that killed Mary. A shadow man of unwavering convictions was now reduced to uncertainties and days blurring together. It was the beginning of November 1998 one second and now it was almost February 1999.

He filled out the lengthy paperwork with shaking hands, a sweaty forehead, and bile in his throat. John tried not to snap at Dean to keep a fussy Sam quiet in his car seat as the migraine he smothered at nights with a 12-pack seemed to hit harder than normal. A wailing baby in a loud waiting room with bright fluorescent lights and a TV playing some stupid cop procedural at full volume was too much for him already.

It took over an hour for them to be put in an exam room for the evaluation and then another twenty minutes of waiting for a quiet knock on the door to announce the arrival of a doctor. A robust man with hair like Einstein but the face of someone significantly less crazy entered. He looked first at John then to the little boy with shaggy hair before looking at the baby asleep in the carrier. Sam’s hand was wrapped around a green rattle toy Dean must have fished out of the diaper bag to keep Sam quiet.

Dr. Redfield reconsidered the little boy. He looked like any boy his age. His clothes were a little rumpled and didn’t match but that was normal for a boy his age picking his own clothes. He looked relatively clean compared to the father who looked like he had been peeled off the floor of a bar that very morning.

The good doctor directed John to help Dean onto the examination table. After a quick vitals check that came back normal, Dr. Redfield decided to ask his newest patient an important question.

“Dean, can you tell me why you’re here?” Dr. Redfield asked lightly.

With big, sad eyes, Dean looked at Dr. Redfield. His gaze shifted to John and then to his own hands without answering.

Dr. Redfield waited patiently for Dean to say something before John coughed and said, "He won't speak.”

This caused Dr. Redfield to pause and he rechecked Dean’s file. There were no notes indicating that Dean couldn’t talk so Dr. Redfield asked, “Does he lack the ability to speak? Or is he behind in his age group-”

John cut the doctor off in anger. His kid wasn’t dumb and he was going to make sure this quack knew it, “Dean used babble on and on to the point his mother and I would joke after we put him to bed that it was quiet time. When Mary… after Mary died last November, the kid asked for his mom for a while but now he just doesn't speak, Doc."

Dr. Redfield’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion, “Mr. Winchester, this program is just starting and it has unknown scope for effectiveness at this point. I’m sure your primary pediatrician can recommend a speech therapist or-”

“Been there, done that Doc. I was told to come here because you might be able to fix him since nobody else seems to be able to. They keep saying the trauma of losing his mom is the reason he’s not talking. He can talk he’s just been through something just like the rest of us. So are you starting a program and taking applicants or not?”

Dr. Redfield did not like how abrasively John Winchester talked about his child. He had read the papers last November when a freak fire from a home invasion gone way wrong wiped out three blocks of houses of Lawrence and killed more than twenty-two people. That had been the final push he needed to launch this experiment after years of worry and trepidation with his insistent business partner and financial funder breathing down his neck.

Relenting, Dr. Redfield slowly stated, “We are starting a program, Mr. Winchester. Mary was not the only killed in that fire as you know. Almost everyone in those three blocks lost someone that night. We are only taking ten patients to start with and I have another twelve applicants to go through. I don’t know if Dean is a good match-”

“And why wouldn’t he be?”

“Well, for one thing he is so young.”

"He's five-years-old today. The minimum age requirement you listed on the application is five years old. We've had this appointment to meet you for 3 weeks and now you don't want Dean?”

“It’s not that I don’t want Dean it’s that-”

“Well, if you can’t use Dean. Use me.”

“Mr. Winchester, you can’t meet our baseline criteria,” Dr. Redfield replied coldly. He could barely stomach the beer stench that leaked out of John’s pores and filled the room. He was sure John could not pass the physical or the brief psychological exam.

John glared at Dr. Redfield and seemed to want to argue before both men were drawn into looking at Dean who wiggled his way off the exam table to a fussy Sam. Dean grabbed a pacifier out of the bag and gave it to Sam before returning to the table without a word.

John softened, took a deep breath, and said, "Listen, I don't know if I want Dean to be part of some experiment but he needs help I can’t give him. The other doc says you plan to knock him out and give him therapy. You don’t have to like me but please at least give my kid a chance."

The doctor could see underneath the bravado and barely-washed clothing that there was a father who did love his son even if he had lost everything about himself since their tragedy.

Dr. Redfield let out a sigh and said, "The first study is a year long. We plan to have four sessions that last approximately 15 minutes. If the results are as promising as we hope, we plan to continue on for as long as we can. We think that we have something revolutionary. I want- we want to help people heal from their trauma. To do such, we induce soothing dreams. We give them their ideal world.”

“So you give them their Heaven.”

“That is the basic intent. We have many hopes that this will positively influence their life.”

John pondered that through his migraine. He took the edges of his leather jacket and flapped them to try to cool down his body temperature which was overly warm. If it could help Dean, then he could probably let Dean do it but he was jealous that Dean was getting an opportunity to escape.

Dr. Redfield decided to go rifle the paperwork in his hands to see if he could garner any more about the Winchester clan in his exam room. He read the address as a motel on the outskirts of Lawrence. He read the notes from Dean and Sam’s current pediatrician stating that the boys were well behaved but their father could be a real piece of work since losing his wife. He hadn’t been that way before the note continued.

"There's also compensation,” Dr. Redfield said as he glanced at the insurance page stating they were on state insurance, “As long as Dean is on the project, he will be compensated. I assume that you’ll be in charge of his finances?”

“Well, I got to buy him and Sam food don’t I?”

Ignoring that comment, Dr. Redfield turn to Dean who had remained silent throughout the exchange.
He looked into Dean's little green eyes, "Dean, can you tell me what you want the most in the world.”

John watched as Dean considered for a moment. He thought about it for several long seconds before he whispered, "I want mommy."

John Winchester wanted to die on the spot.

Dr. Redfield sighed as he took in the young boy who had already been dealt more trauma than he deserved and said, "I don’t believe in much but I believe we can do that. “

John signed all the papers and waivers thrust in front of him. He tried to read and understand them but his muddled mind would forget the sentence he had just read as soon as he started the next. Dr. Redfield couldn’t help but notice the compensation form held the neatest handwriting.

After a brief physical and psychological examination, Dean was found to be fit to join the trial.

“Dean, this is my colleague Dr. Brigitta Jones- soon to be Jones-Roman as she likes me to say. She is going to help you fall asleep now. Do Dr. Brigitta and me a favor by thinking of your mom when you fall asleep? It will help you dream of her.”

Dr. Brigitta smiled the way the creepy clown on TV smiled, “Welcome Dean, thank you for volunteering to change the world. I’m Dr. Jones-Roman. You’ll be patient number 5. Don’t be scared. We are going to take good care of you. Everything is fine.”

After the nice doctor and the doctor with the scary smile helped Dean into the chair and get attached to a really big Machine, Dean was told to say his name and patient number. Then, he was told to think of his mom while something that glowed blue made him sleepy.

Dean’s eyes closed. He thought of his mom. He really missed her.

He woke up in his old house. It looked the way Dean could partially remember it. It definitely wasn’t Auntie Missouri’s house or the weird place with all the doors they were staying at now.

"There's my little man," came the singsong voice of his mother, Mary Winchester.

Sunlight beamed through the front window and hit the rocking chair with his mom sitting there waiting for him.

“Mommy!” Dean said and ran with open arms to hug his mother.

Mom scooped up Dean up before gently cuddling Dean who laid his head on her chest. She smelled like the pie she had cooking in the kitchen. She told Dean he was getting big and he was doing so good with Sammy and Dad.

Mary stroked his hair and began to sang, "Hey Jude, don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better..."

Dean drifted asleep in his mother's arms. He was content. He missed his mommy. He wasn’t worried about making sure little Sammy wasn’t crying and that his dad had a blanket when he fell asleep in a recliner.

“I love you, my little sunshine.”

“Love you, mama.”

Dean felt safe. Dean felt loved.

******

Friday October 20th, 2023-  9:50AM

Dean blinked as he parked Baby outside of the modest house. The slowly dying tree with its arched, partially bald limbs creaked in the October breeze. Red leaves sprinkled down before landing on the car. Dean knew that by the time he left today that his entire windshield would be covered with those red leaves. Despite the chill in the air, the home radiated an inviting warmth.

Knocking on the door, Dean waited in anticipation. Mary Winchester opened the door and smiled brightly at Dean.

"Hey mom," Dean said as he walked through the doorway and gave his mother a crushing hug. He felt like he hadn’t seen her in months despite seeing her only a few days ago. The softness of her wavy blonde hair hit his face. She smelled like the buttery crust of apple pie, freshly washed sheets, and sunshine. Her hugs were warm. Dean was so happy to be in his childhood home because it was one of the few places he felt like himself.

"Dean, what are you doing here?"

"Just came to see you. Did you want me to call first?”

“Of course not, honey. You know you’re always welcome here. I’m just surprised is all. Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“That’s one of the perks of being the boss. I decided at the last minute to take a week off before the launch of the new engine. Want to spend it with a few of my favorite people.”

“Well, I love you too honey. Come in and hang your coat up in the closet.”

After Dean hung up his coat, he slowly drifted towards the kitchen. Pictures lined the hallway and Dean couldn’t help but take them in. Holidays with family over the years with their grandparents were next to both Dean and Sam’s high school graduation pictures. His high school girlfriend Carmen hung off his arm in his senior prom picture. Then, he moved to the launch of Dean’s company with his friends and family smiling around him and Sam holding his law degree from Standford. 

Sam’s wedding picture showed him kissing Jess as Dean cheered next to him. Directly next to that was the picture from their recent baby shower. All the important moments crammed together for the lives of four Winchesters who walked the halls of this house on a regular basis. The only exception was right above the last two pictures there was a glaringly empty space that his mother regularly taunted him about.

“You know, I’m saving that space for eventual wedding and grandkids,” Mary said in a sharp-edged taunt as she joined him in the hallway.

Sighing, Dean replied, “I’m working on it, Mom.”

“Sam and Jess are already married and they’ve been together a lot shorter-”

“I’m working on it, Mom. Plus, Jess is pregnant so isn’t that enough to hold you over for a few years,” Dean repeated. He really was working on it but Mary thought his pace was a little too slow.

“I absolutely will not drop it. My future grandbaby would make an excellent ring bearer or flower girl.”

“I see they still haven’t told you the gender huh?”

“Of course not,” Mary scoffed before she looked at Dean suspiciously, “Wait, have they told you?”

All Dean could do was smile. Sam had let it slip a few weeks back after a few too many beers that Dean’s future niece was giving Jess heartburn.

“He swore me to secrecy. And you told me to always keep my friends secrets.”

Mary lightly slapped his arm in frustration and affection before she led them to eat the casserole that she had cooking in the oven. Dean spent the afternoon helping his mother around the house. She had him mow the yard with the ancient lawnmower she refused to let him replace, fix a creaking window, and asked him to go through a few of his childhood boxes to see if there were any toys that could be passed down to the incoming Winchester. Or saved for his own future kids his mom would not so subtly buzz into his ear.

After Mary gave him a goodbye kiss on the cheek in the evening as Dean stood in the doorway, she asked, “Dinner later this week when your dad gets back from his hunting trip? I want the whole clan there. I don’t know where we are going to put more deer meat but he’s insistent we have plenty of space in the garage freezer. "

"Of course. I'll call Sam and Jess to give them a heads up."

Taking the back roads with the windows rolled down, Dean drove back to his own house and blasted the Led Zeppelin mixtape that seemed to perpetually live in his stereo. The forty-minute drive went by almost too quickly and soon enough he was pulling into his driveway.

His own two-story house was quaint and held a mystical air like a forest cottage despite being at the end of a cul-de-sac. Dean didn’t initially appreciate the unruly ivy that had claimed about half the exterior until someone had made him see the beauty in the plants that grew up the side. After dropping his house keys in the bowl next to the front door, Dean weaved his way through the house as he shed his boots, leather jacket, and flannel shirt leaving him in just his faded black AC/DC t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

Plants littered every available surface and breathed life in more ways than one into their home. Dean carefully side-stepped the watering can that blocked the entrance of the attached greenhouse patio Dean had built when they had moved in four years ago. On muscle memory, Dean sidestepped to avoid crushing on the old peace lily. Dean made his way to the back of the greenhouse ducking underneath various overfilled pots and dangling greenery.

On the white couch that faced the windows, Cas was sound asleep. His laptop was discarded with the screen half closed on the small coffee table between a vibrant plant with red and yellow spots and another prickly thing that looked like all the other prickly things Cas so dearly loved. His five o’clock shadow looked unkempt but not nearly as much as his unruly hair.

Smiling softly as he took a moment to appreciate the sight in front of him, Dean leaned over and gently pressed his lips against Cas’s. They were pink and slightly chapped but oh so soft and inviting.

Cas stirred slightly and without opening his eyes said, “Hello Dean. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Well, you wouldn’t buddy considering you were asleep.”

“I’m not sleeping. I’m just resting my eyes,” Cas drowsily retorted.

“In the middle of the day? I thought you had another bestseller to write?”

“I was thinking of the plot.”

“Is snoring part of the plot?”

Cas opened one eye and squinted at him half-menacing and half annoyed.

Dean smiled down at Cas before he took a seat on the wooden armrest at the opposite end. This vantage point allowed him the chance to admire the lean line of Cas stretched on the sofa. He loved seeing Cas relaxed without his guard up. He looked like Greek hero lounging around before some horny god gave into divine temptation and snatched him away.

Gesturing for Dean to help him up, Cas extended a hand towards Dean. Instead of helping right away, Dean’s eyes drifted to the sliver of Cas’s stomach the poked out above his sweatpants. He couldn’t help but lick his lips as he lustfully scanned Cas’s entire body one more time. Seeming impatient at Dean’s lack of help, Cas started to retract his arm.

Dean decided to stop ogling so he leaned forward to help Cas when Cas grabbed him by the wrist. Like a constrictor, Cas pulled Dean towards him with striking speed. Dean thought he was going to land on Cas but Cas somehow flipped him so he landed on his back with Cas laying on top him. His back pressed into the soft cushions and Dean sighed contentedly. He loved the way Cas crowded against him, their bodies flushed together from head to toe exactly how they were meant to be. Cas stared into his eyes and seemed to be waiting for Dean’s next move.

Laughing slightly, Dean leaned forward and kissed Cas. Cas kissed him back fiercely, sucking Dean’s bottom lip until Dean opened his mouth and allowed Cas’s tongue in. Dean squirmed to try to loosen the grip Cas had on his one hand and felt the grip tighten around his wrist. Pulling back, Dean looked from his trapped hand to Cas. Dean found Cas with one eyebrow raised in a “what are you going to do about this” type of way. Dean bucked his hips to try to throw Cas off while he tried to use his other hand to push Cas’s shoulder away. Cas anticipated Dean’s move and managed to grab his other wrist in a vice grip.

Cas pinned Dean’s hands above his head and moved his weight forward to press his wrists deep into the couch. Dean had only half a second to wonder how gloriously they would bruise in the coming days before Cas began to nip and suck down the side of Dean’s throat. The nips were harder than Cas’s normal love bites but that only seemed to send Dean spiraling faster. When Cas started roughly sucking a hickey onto his neck, Dean moaned loudly and arched into the feeling.

Cas took the opportunity to press his pelvis forward to ground his erection down against Dean’s which caused Dean to gasp. Cas continued his assault on Dean’s neck by biting before moving slightly lower to create a bigger hickey while lightly thrusting against Dean. Dean’s painfully hard cock was trapped underneath his jeans and Dean chased the friction.

Leaning forward more to keep Dean’s wrists trapped with just one hand, Cas used his newly free hand to help Dean slide out of jeans and boxers not caring if he ripped the seams. Dean helped by kicking his legs to finish removing his pants when Cas couldn't reach.

Suddenly, feather-light touches grazed Dean’s stomach underneath the hem of his shirt. Dean’s cock twitched at the close proximity of Cas’s hand completely ignoring his hard-on. His fingers grazed over his skin as they slid side to side across his body and the back of his hand helped push the shirt towards his head. His fingers gently mapped the planes of Dean’s stomach.

Once Dean’s threadbare shirt went above his nipples Cas’s mouth and hand each took turns abusing one. Cas sucked hard on one nub while the other hand rolled the opposite nub between his fingers. Dean didn’t know whether to cry or scream as Cas alternated between the two.

Suddenly, Cas released his wrists and shifted to a sitting position on Dean’s stomach.

“Take your shirt off,” Cas ordered in a deep, gruff voice as he grabbed the hem of his shirt with both hands. Dean didn’t hesitate to rip his shirt off over his head and toss it across the room. He missed Cas doing the same with his own shirt but got to watch as Cas quickly peeled off his gray sweatpants.

Not wearing any underwear, Dean was his only though Cas’s erection sprang free. He was thick and wide in a way that made Dean drool.

Cas leaned over to the coffee table and took a second to rummage through the drawer. He found the lube and wasted no time slicking his fingers up while Dean sat trapped underneath Cas’s glorious tanned thighs. Cas shifted backwards so Dean’s legs could be maneuvered forward and around Cas’s hips. Just when Dean thought he was finally free to touch and explore the gorgeous man, Cas leaned forward and captured his wrists again. His long fingers curled around them and held them against Dean's own stomach.

Dean felt one finger probe at his entrance before slipping inside slowly. The finger was worked in as Dean lay panting beneath. He was sure he looked like a debauched mess with his hips spread wide and inviting while being pinned to the couch and his cock leaking precum. Dean barely had time to enjoy before another finger quickly joined the first. Cas usually teased him relentlessly until Dean was a begging mess underneath him pleading and promising anything for more and more.

This was not one of those times. Cas seemed impatient and began scissoring his fingers almost immediately. The burn of being stretched was pleasant and welcome. A third finger was worked in and Dean could only moan in response as Cas’s large hands worked Dean open almost clinically. As soon as Dean was prepped to Cas’s silent satisfaction, Cas pressed the blunt head of his cock against Dean’s hole and pushed inside.

The pressure and the feeling of being filled was wonderful. When Cas started with small thrusts to force his way inside, Dean opened his legs wider in invitation. To help push himself inside more, Cas moved Dean's wrists back above his head so he was leaning into Dean.

Cas then pushed inside until he was fully sheathed causing Dean to cry out in pleasure with the barest hint of pain that he enjoyed. Stilling for a moment as his balls rested against Dean’s ass, Cas stared down at Dean with a fiery intensity like he could see in soul. Cas’s grip on his wrists tightened. Dean couldn’t stop meeting Cas’s eyes has he pulled completely out and then thrust back inside without hesitation. He then began to thrust again and again and again.

Cas set a punishing pace. He only seemed interested in hitting Dean’s prostate every third thrust as he chased some sort of high. Frustrated, Dean tried pushing his hips down but Cas would change his angle then too to purposefully cause their thrusts to counteract each other.

Dean wanted to beg. He wanted to scream. Instead, he started rambling, “Cas, you son-of-a-bitch. You can’t- I need…”

“What do you want, Dean?”

“You know. What. I want.”

“Say it Dean. Say my name.”

Dean swallowed back a whine and refused to beg.

Cas growled, “If you want to come, you’ll have to beg me for it Dean.”

Dean tried changing his angle again but Cas denied him while pushing into him harder and harder. Just when Dean could get a good position, Cas would distract with a powerful squeeze on his wrists or moving to a new spot on his neck to nip and bite at. He could feel his orgasm building but it wasn’t enough. He needed more.

Giving in, Dean begged in frustration, “Please. Please, Cas. Cas, please-”

Cas shifted to capture Dean’s lips with his own for a brief, fiery moment before pulling back. A sudden burst of stars hit Dean immediately as Cas angled his hips to hit Dean’s prostate with every pass. He continued to drill into that wonderful, bliss-filled spot as Dean’s orgasm built bigger low inside of himself.

“Come for me, Dean,” Cas growled into his ear.

Like a commandment, Dean came untouched, wrists pinned against the couch, and shouting Cas’s name like prayer. His cum coated his stomach as Cas continued his brutal pace not stopping even when Dean grew oversensitive and spent underneath him. As Cas chased his own orgasm, his pace sped up and turned frenzied. Dean clenched around Cas’s length as Cas continued to drill into his prostate. When he came, Cas shouted Dean’s name loud enough for Heaven and Hell to hear him.

Cas collapsed on top of Dean panting hot breathes against Dean’s sweat coated skin. For several long, languid minutes, Dean and Cas just laid together a tangle of limbs completely ignoring the mess they had made of Dean. When Cas turned his face to Dean’s again, Dean grabbed Cas’s face with his newly freed hands and gave a lovingly, tender kiss against Cas’s swollen lips. Cas seemed serene and content.

Soon Cas’s eyebrows furrowed together in a concerned look before he said, “I’m sorry if that was too much. I don’t know what came over me.”

Cas could definitely be an animal in bed but that was usually drink-fueled, can’t-wait passionate moments. In the comfort of their own home, Cas was gentle and giving in bed. Dean’s mind flashed to Cas looking angry in the driver’s seat of a car he didn’t recognize before it shifted back to the present. As suddenly as Dean saw it, it faded away to something he couldn’t recall like when someone woke up from a dream and couldn’t remember anything but the feeling it left inside you. The sense of déjà vu hung in the back of his mind.

Shaking his head, Dean gave a lazy smile and said, “That was definitely different but you have my permission to do that anytime you want from now on. Hell, next time I forget to take out the garbage you can pin me down and rail me like that over the trash can.”

“That… is good information to know.”

Cas smiled his rare gummy smile before leaning down to softly kiss Dean one final time. He then shifted his weight so he could reach Dean’s hands again. He brought Dean’s hands up to his mouth and kissed the insides of Dean’s sensitive wrists. The returning blood flow was causing his wrists to tingle.

“It wasn’t too much?” Cas asked one last time as he analyzed one of Dean’s wrists with a suspicious squint.

“It was perfect. Seriously Cas, we need to do that more often,” Dean said as they continued to rest against each other. Dean paused before he spoke again, “Mom wants us to have dinner with the whole family this week.”

It took Cas a moment to respond because he was still staring at Dean’s wrists with intense interest but when he did, he gruffly asked, “Let me guess, we are having deer burgers again?”

Dean could do nothing but let out a laugh.

Saturday was group night at the Roadhouse. The unspoken meetup time of 7:30pm had Dean dragging Cas by the hand through the door of the crowded Roadhouse. Last week, Dean had to hide his hickey and bruised wrists under a thick flannel while he sang karaoke. This week, Dean was free to wear whatever he wanted for trivia because any love marks Cas had left on him were easily concealed under his shirt.

The bar was alive with noise and packed to the brim. Sam was laughing at something Jess said on their side of the booth they claimed every week. Benny and Andrea were squeezed into the other booth that backed into their booth. Charlie, Garth, and Balthazar were talking opposite of them.

Cas departed for the booth and Dean went to the bar to get their food and beers. Charlie appeared at his shoulder smiling ear to ear. She goaded Dean quickly, “Handmaiden, you better be free to defend the kingdom next weekend.”

“Charlie, I haven’t missed a weekend for three years now. I’ll be there to fight by your side.”

“Good. Now, I’m thinking you, me, Cas, Sam, and Jess on one team. Cas on science and nature. Sam on other academic stuff. Jess on current pop culture and you and me on nerd shit. The others can fend for themselves.”

“That’s kind of savage Red. Are they going to be okay with that?”

Snorting, Charlie responded, “They will be until we crush them again.”

Ellen appeared right then with a towel thrown over her shoulder and a smug smirk, “Okay kids. What will it be tonight?”

“Burger basket with the works for me. Ketchup only on Cas’s. A couple of beers but we’ll probably switch to a pitcher when trivia starts. Charlie probably wants a veggie burger. Right chuckles?”

Charlie nodded and told Ellen her drink order.

Grabbing his and Cas’s drinks once they had been filled, Dean weaved his through the crowd back to the table and noticed his goddaughter following him with a giggle. She then ran in front of him just to slow down so he poked her with the tip of his shoe causing her to shriek with laughter.

Exactly one kid was allowed in the bar. Andrea and Benny’s little girl Julia would sprint around the booths happily. Jo would shoo her away from the bar and tell Benny to get control of his kid with a fake grumpiness and threats of kicking them all out. Jo’s threats become significantly less threatening when Dean watched Jo throw a man out on his ass by the collar of his shirt one evening when he called Julia “a little shit.”

Jo normally joined them with her girlfriend Anna but apparently Ellen had roped her into helping since the Roadhouse was packed to the brim and Anna was working. Ellen was shooting the shit with her normal patrons. Her laughter was bright as she flirted back with the men who didn’t know that they never stood a chance. It was not Bobby glowering at any man who dared flirt with his wife that would stop the men but Ellen’s candor and voracity when whatever poor smuck that didn’t take no for an answer found himself at the wrong end of her shotgun. Right now she was laughing and that meant it was going to be a good night.

The laughter was contagious as the drinks were passed around and food was delivered with an attitude from Jo. The group tried to hang out as often as possible but most of them were busy living active lives. Sam was an up-and-coming prosecutor that was already being groomed heavily by the DA’s office. Benny and Andrea happily announced their second pregnancy. Jess was glowing as she rubbed her baby bump and talked about designing the nursery. Balthazar was busy being a prick as per usual or at least that’s what Dean heard when he talked. Balthazar was Cas’s fault. 

Trivia ended with their group wiping the floor with all the other teams including Benny’s. Dean excused himself to go the bathroom as the teams trashed talked each other. He gave Cas’s shoulder a squeeze as he walked by.

As was tradition at the Roadhouse, Dean decided to pay his respects as he passed The Brave 15 wall. All 15 of the first responders in Lebanon were smiling in the previous year’s Christmas picture that was slightly crooked. Jody smiled bright with an arm around Donna. Chief Rufus looked grumpy next to Victor who was wearing a sweater with reindeer butts. Even handsome young Aaron Bass, the team’s newest paramedic recruit, seemed to find his place next to Charlie’s girlfriend, Jenna Nickerson, and Anna. The list went on and on. When they had a night off, any of the 15 would come to the bar to enjoy the Saturday night fun. With only four days left until Halloween, all 15 were working this Saturday night.

The wall was littered with their accolades and accomplishments. Anna rescuing a cat from a tree was next to an article about the officers stopping an abusive puppy mill. Snippets from newspapers were carefully framed around the Lebanon bronze police shield that had the city logo embedded in the badge. Dean looked up with a smile.

Tradition stated that before one entered the bathroom (barring an emergency from either end of course), they rubbed the bronze shield. Like most bronze statues containing dogs (and dick bulges), it was slowing turning almost gold because of the touch.

Dean usually challenged tradition as was his nature but these were his friends so he reached up and touched the shield to honor them. In that moment, Dean’s happiness at having a goodnight was thrown straight overboard and an explosion of grief sunk inside of Dean like an anchor. His stomach contested the sudden change and it rolled like a ship at sea.  

Rain hit Dean in the face despite the black umbrella he held over his head as he looked at two rows made of seven caskets each. He watched as the saturated American flags draped over the caskets steadily dripped rain onto the grass. Crying could be heard over the storm and Dean tried not let his shaking legs take him to the ground. Dean flinched as 21 rifles began to fire into the air-

Snatching his hand away from the shield, Dean rushed into the bathroom and threw his burger up directly into the toilet. As the nausea faded, Dean tried to recall what had happened by all he could remember a flash of nausea and blinding grief along and-

Nothing else. The feelings faded. He touched the bronze shield the way he always did to honor his friends and he must have just twisted wrong. Either that or his burger was messed up- that would be a Roadhouse first. Dean couldn’t shake the feeling again that he forgot something.

There was an occasional knock on the door but Dean yelled occupied every time. He didn’t realize how much time had passed when he heard a familiar voice at the door.

“Dean, honey, are you okay?” came the muffled voice of Ellen through the door.

“I’m fine,” Dean hoarsely yelled back.

“Do you want me to come in?”

“No, I’m okay. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Dean tried not to lean his head against the disgusting toilet. Desperately, Dean tried to recall whatever he had seen to make himself so sick. He felt the residual sadness deep in his gut and that caused Dean to grow nauseous again.

The door opened slowly causing Dean to realize whoever was entering had the key. He shouted out the word occupied to whoever came in but soon Dean felt a presence looming behind him. Through his watery eyes, Dean saw Cas looking concerned finding Dean on the floor next to the toilet.

Ellen must have tattled on me, Dean thought, It’s definitely been longer than a few minutes.

“I don’t know what happened,” Dean said before Cas asked.

Cas crouched low and stared at him without saying anything.

“Cas, personal space. I've got vomit mouth right now.”

“I’m not worried about that. Are you okay?”

Dean considered for a moment. He couldn’t remember what caused him to have such an extreme reaction. He took a deep breath and composed himself before saying, “You know it’s probably just Benny and Andrea’s announcement combined with too much beer. If they make us the godparent to this baby too and Sam makes us the godparent then we would be responsible for four kids total. You better pray nothing happens to everyone at once.”

“I’m sure my parents would love for me to start praying again. They would probably think it’s the beginning of my redemption so I don’t go to Hell.”

“I think you’ll have to stop fucking me for that to happen.”

Cas tried not to smile as he replied, “I see you’re already feeling better.”

When Dean felt good enough to stand, Cas led him out of the bathroom at a slow pace. As he passed the wall, Dean tentatively reached up to touch the bronze shield again. It felt cool to the touch the way it always did. He almost expected it shock him.

They rejoined the table and Dean couldn’t help but notice everyone staring with concern. Before they could ask, Dean said without prompting “The burger just didn’t agree with me.”

“Are you sure that’s it, Cher?” Benny asked.

“What else could it be?” Dean said defensively.

Sam looked concerned but could clearly sense Dean’s reluctance so he joked, “You may just be getting old. Maybe Cas can start spoon feeding you soon.”

Appreciating the out, Dean replied, “Can it, Samantha or I’ll release the pictures of you and Jo in dresses and makeup.”

“I would pay to see those,” Charlie laughed.

“They’re cute. Trust me,” Jess said with cheekily.

Sam paled at the thought so Dean eased back, “Well, if you don’t want me to share you wearing the picture of you in Mom’s Princess Diana revenge dress then I suggest you tell me the gooey details of that murder trial.”

Sighing, Sam leaned forward and whispered, “So get this…”

Later that night, Dean settled into their bed. His mind was still reeling from the episode he had at the wall. He decided to shake it off. Dean refused to let it bother him further so he pushed it to the back of his mind.

Tuesday was a lazy day spent at home preparing for his favorite holiday. The October overcast brought a stinging wind that kept Dean indoors. He blasted Phil Collins and Bob Sager which were musical tastes he kept to himself and subjected only Cas to. Although, Dean almost doubted to this day if Cas could differentiate between the Tarzan soundtrack and the Led Zeppelin mixtape he gave to him years ago.

If there was one holiday Dean went completely buck wild for, it was Halloween. That evening he made sure the Halloween lights were brightly shining, the 12ft skeleton was in place lording over the other 12 regular-sized skeletons, and the porch light was on to receive Trick-or-Treaters. He handed out full-sized candy bars and always bought too much causing kids at the end of the night to get multiple candy bars. Halloween slashers played on their TV inside even though he wasn't inside to see it. Their house was known in the neighborhood as a must-hit.

Cas was never impressed at the bills that Halloween accrued and considered the extra splurging beyond ridiculous but didn’t argue because it made Dean happy. Cas sorted the leftover candy into different plastic bags to donate after the last trick-or-treaters graced their front door.

Holding a snickers bar up for Dean to see, Cas asked, “Should we put some away for your dad?”

Confused, Dean questioned, “My dad?”

“I know your mom doesn’t want him eating it but he’s being good on that low carb diet he’s on. I’m sure one bag of candy won’t kill him. You said if it has nuts in it its technically trail mix and therefore healthy right?”

“I mean that’s how it works but my dad is dead.”

Cas froze with his hand holding a candybar over a paper bag. He looked shocked and confused. His eyebrows scrunched in the middle as he stared at Dean with his mouth hanging open in a slight O.

“Dean, we talked to John two days ago. Did something happen? Do we need to drive to Lawrence tonight?”

“What are you talking about? He died freshman year.”

He couldn’t believe Cas forgot his dad died like it wasn’t a traumatic event. Dean tried to pull the memory of his father’s accident. He could vaguely see the impala wrapped around a tree with engine smoke around the first responders who pulled Dean out of the passenger seat bloody and scrapped up. He tried to remember the funeral but-

It slipped away again.

What was going on with him lately? His father dead? Sure, John and Dean had butted heads frequently especially towards the end of high school when he came out as bisexual but now John made sure to give Cas a useless gift at Christmas just like he did Jess.

Closing the distance, Cas put the back of his hand against forehead while he used his other hand to hold Dean by the shoulder. Cas’s hand was cool to the touch. His blue eyes sparkled with deep concern as he didn’t let go.

Trying not to be weirded out, Dean asked, “Uh Cas, what are you doing?”

“I’m checking your temperature. You’ve been off since Saturday night. You threw up and now you thought your father died. Did you fall off the ladder last week when hanging up the lights? You didn’t hit your head at the shop?”

Dean tenderly grabbed Cas’s hand and lowered it to his chest. He held his hand there before he replied, “I haven’t hit my head. I’m just having some brain fog lately. It’s probably the weather or atmosphere. Charlie said that mercury was in retrograde or something like that. Let’s just go to bed. I’ll be better tomorrow.”

Cas reluctantly agreed and didn’t entertain Dean’s attempts at some hanky-panky. Instead, they just cuddled. Cas seemed to fret over Dean which the outside world would never see. To all the other humans on the planet, Cas could be cold, distant, and frankly strange. But when it was just the two of them, Cas melted into Dean. The colors and sparks that burned inside Cas that few rarely gleamed burned wild when it was just the two of them.

Dean traced the edge of Cas’s jaw after he finally drifted off. Dean didn’t know why the creeping feeling that he was forgetting something important seemed to make him reluctant to fall asleep.  He wanted to burn the memory of them together into his brain like a brand.

“One day, I’m going to marry you. You’re gonna take my last name or I’m going to take yours. Once you finish the book and the company gets bought out, I’ll buy you that cottage by the sea you’ve always wanted and we’ll spend summers there just the two of us. Soon Cas, soon. I promise.”

Dean closed his eyes to fall asleep. He woke up immediately with a sudden gasp.

Dean’s brain was coming back online. He was back at DreamCorp. The pod made a chiming sound signaling that his dream had ended but his mind desperately searched around the room for a sign of his world. His mother, his father, Sam’s happiness, Benny, Ellen, Charlie-

His Cas.

The Cas that loved him.

“Cas,” Dean called out weakly in an effort to find him.

“Welcome back,” said Tessa the tech as she began to remove the patches from his head.

Dean was breathing heavily and he tried to swallow the panic. They didn’t like when people panicked. People could be kicked out of the program for being too upset when they woke up. He knew he was back in the real world. He remembered how all the people in his life seemed to be suffering like they were Sisyphis rolling the boulder uphill.

Jarring Dean out of his thoughts, Tessa said, “Name and patient number.”

“Dean Winchester. Number 5,” Dean croaked out hoarsely.

“Anything to report?” Tessa asked as she pulled the needle out and wrapped a bandage around his elbow once the needle was removed. Her voice was detached and uninterested.

“Three… three bleed throughs. Day 1, Day 9, and Day 12.”

Tessa paused in shock, “Three? That’s unheard of-“

“If I said there was three, there was three. I don’t know who’s messing with the formula but three got through,” Dean said through gritted teeth as he closed his eyes.

Cas’s angry face. The time at the bar. Dean remembering his dad died. There was a moment that caused the silence of the room to crush Dean before Dean heard the gentle tapping on the keyboard as Tessa recorded the information.

“Your donation today was 1.87 pints,” Tessa finally said to break the tension.

“Awesome. Fantastic. Can I leave?”

“The door to this room doesn’t unlock until 2158 hours. You will be buzzed out at 2200 hours. You know this Dean. Are you sure it was just three bleed throughs?”

Hesitantly, Dean thought about it. Too many complaints or bleed throughs could get him bounced from the program. It had happened to others before if they pointed out every flaw in the system. Just like Dean didn’t tell them that DDT could take hours or even days to differentiate between reality and his dreamworld. Bleed throughs on both sides. No one else had mentioned it and Dean wasn’t going to stir the pot for one of the most common symptoms.

Dean knew how to toe the line. He had freaking perfected being a guinea pig. He wasn’t going to say that he could remember not remembering in the dreams. He wasn’t going to make a big deal out of the bleed throughs.

Dean managed to just barely say, “Nope, just three.”

“If you say so,” Tessa said with a distant look in her eye.

The door to the room unlocked on time and at exactly 10:00pm Dean was buzzed out of the building. The fresh air mixed with rain hit him and his brain became muddled with two different worlds fighting for space in his brain.

His brain was still searching for Cas. His Cas. He lurched forward in desperation.

Then, he found him. Cas was waving his arms to get his attention.

“Cas,” he gasped out and began to fall.

Just like Cas always did, he caught him. He reached up to touch his face.

“Cas,”

Cas is here. He’s got me.

His face was smooth and soft- No, this wasn’t right. Cas had facial hair. This was his other Cas. Where was Cas that he was going to marry? His Cas wasn’t real.

This was the Cas that didn’t love him back.

He struggled to the car and tried to be normal. He tried not to break down. When Cas asked him how his day was, it took everything inside of Dean not to cry. Four weeks until he got to go back. Dean didn’t know how he was going to last four more weeks.

Dean almost flinched when Cas said, “Let’s go home, Dean.”

Chapter Text

August 23rd, 2012 1:33pm

The first thing Castiel Novak noticed about Dean Winchester on the day they met was Dean was way too alive for the old, dusty dorm room he was currently dominating. He filled the room with a glow that radiated out of him until it hit the edges. Dean was too large for the used wooden bunk beds with all the scratches from years of being cobbled together and taken apart as students got creative with their newfound freedom. He was exploding, vibrant color compared to the beige walls, scuffed dull floors, and old wooden desks crammed into opposite corners.

His green eyes were hidden and tucked under long eyelashes, a sinful full mouth sat below a dusting of fair freckles, and he wore a leather jacket despite the August heat and humidity in Lincoln, Nebraska making the room temperature swell as the dilapidated air conditioner barely ran. Castiel shook Dean’s hand and couldn’t helped but feel hypnotized by his charm. Castiel was immediately taken by everything about Dean the first second they touched.

Before the door opened, Castiel had waited in anticipation because any minute now his roommate for one school year would be there and it would be the true beginning of his college experience. It felt like his new life away from his former suffocating family wouldn’t begin until college felt real and it wouldn’t feel real until his roommate arrived. A loud knock on the door and the immediate turn of the key signaled an important change. And in walked Dean Winchester into Castiel’s life.

It wasn’t long before Castiel noticed something else about Dean: he was an asshole and a prick all rolled into one beautiful, shallow package.

The douchebaggery started about 1 hour after Dean walked back into his assigned room after his uncle had left for the day. Initially, Dean had dropped his boxes in the middle of the room, chatted with Castiel for about ten minutes, and then immediately left for lunch not caring that Castiel was forced to walk around his stuff. Castiel had arrived three days prior with special permission from university and claimed the top bunk for himself as well as the desk in the far corner. He figured logically that the person on the bottom bunk should have the desk closet to the bunkbeds so they wouldn’t be blasted by the light of a computer if the other studied late into the night. Because he picked his bed first, he picked the lower two drawers in the dresser and the small closet with the creaky door.

Castiel was being practical and considerate. Dean Winchester was anything but.

Dean cleared his throat to get Castiel’s attention before he said, “Thanks for breaking in the top bunk for me. I’ll be taking that over now.”

Confused, Castiel asked, “Pardon?”

“Pardon? Bro, just say what like a normal person. I want the top bunk. Come on roomie, let’s compromise.”

Castiel could compromise. Dean could not or, more likely, would not. Dean also wanted to keep the desk closest to beds. The following Monday night after their very first day of classes Dean decided to watch a movie on full brightness as Castiel rested on the lowest bunk. It was a long night.

At 02:00AM on day fourteen of living with Dean Winchester, Castiel Novak decided he hated Dean Winchester.

Castiel didn’t know how long he was going to last. Dean watched movies all night on his computer along with studying which caused Castiel to be bathed in bright light the entire time. Dean was also never quite dry after he showered and walked around with nothing but a towel on dropping water onto every surface which included Castiel’s desk, his bookbag, and even his bed while he chatted nonsense at Castiel. His initial attraction was squashed when Dean shook water all over his desk like a Labrador Retriever. Once he even used Castiel’s microwave to heat up fish sticks. There room had stunk for days and the scent had filled the hallway causing them to get glares from other freshmen.

The worst part was when Dean would come crashing into the room, laughing as he said goodbye to friends at any moment randomly throughout the day. How had he gotten friends so fast? Anytime Castiel saw Dean on campus he was surrounded by people. In the commons, in the dining halls, or even in the library Dean seemed to have a group of friends already by his side. Castiel could be studying peacefully when all of a sudden the door would burst open like he was the subject of a police raid and it fried Castiel’s nerves.

Or maybe the worst part was the talk Dean gave Castiel one week into their doomed roommate hood. Dean pulled Castiel aside one Friday afternoon and decided to “educate” him on future doorway décor. At first, Castiel was confused as to why Dean was talking about hanging a sock on the door. It seemed like a poor place to put clean laundry as it would separate a pairing of socks and it seemed an unhygienic place to put a dirty one.

Then, Dean managed to explain after many hefty sighs and pop-culture references Castiel did not understand that the sock on the door was to signal that he was “hooking up” and Castiel was not meant to enter. He was encouraged to do the same with any future conquests. Dean had grown annoyed by Castiel making Dean promise that if there was going to be a sock hung on the door it would be a clean one.

To make matters worse, they had three gen eds together because apparently 10:00AM Calculus I, 11:00AM Statistics, and 2:10 pm Intro to Fiction as an English credit both fit nicely into a mechanical engineering major and a business major’s schedule. Three days a week Castiel was stuck in the same classroom as Dean Winchester and his “posse”. A word now in Castiel’s vocabulary thanks to the cowboy westerns Dean liked to watch without headphones.

At first, Castiel thought he could muster up energy to walk to class with his roommate but Dean had other plans and seemed to go out of his way to make sure that he and Castiel walked separately. After a while, Castiel was content with being ignored and had learned to enjoy his solitary walks.

It was during the end of the second week of September when Dean surprised Castiel by asking him to go to breakfast with him that morning. Castiel was confused but went and they sat eating their food in silence. Dean engaged in conversation a few times but it was apparent that they had little in common. Then, to Castiel’s continued shock, Dean and Castiel walked together to class and even took a seat next to Castiel near the front.

At the end of the lecture, Dean turned to Castiel and said, “Hey Cas, can you wait behind a moment? I gotta talk to the professor about something.”

To Castiel’s knowledge, Dean had never said his name let alone a weird nickname so Castiel was confused and repeated, “Cas?”

Dean stopped in his tracks to answer, “Yeah, your name’s a mouthful.”

Castiel squinted at Dean and said, “My name is Castiel.”

“Fine. Will you wait a minute while I talk to the professor, Castiel?”

Castiel nodded and watched from near the front row as Dean confidently walked up to the long-tenured calculus professor.

“Hey Professor, names Dean Winchester. This is my roommate Castiel…”

Dean turned to Castiel as he didn’t finish his sentence before it dawned on Castiel that Dean didn’t remember his last name. Castiel stood up and walked over to the where Dean and the professor were standing.

Castiel couldn’t believe Dean didn’t know his last name so he looked at him with disbelief and supplied, “Novak. Castiel Novak.”

Dean smiled stunningly at Castiel which melted his anger minutely before turning back to the professor and saying, “I have a letter for you signed by the Dean.”

A half-frown formed on professors face before he grabbed the letter out of Dean’s hands. The professor tilted his head backwards so he could peer through his bifocals sitting on the bridge of his nose, “It says here that you’ll be missing every third Friday of every month.”

“Yes sir.”

“Twenty percent of your grade is based on classroom attendance. A few missed classes may have an effect on your grade.”

“I’m aware but I think you might want to finish reading the note, professor.”

The professor made a clear noise of grumbling discontentment as he continued to scan the letter. He harrumphed with displeasure as he read until he took Castiel completely by surprise and said, “I’m assuming that your roommate is going to be your aide.”

“That is my preference but I thought I would leave it up to you as you are the professor. But it will be the easiest way to get anything directly to me. I mean we practically sleep on top of each other.”

Their professor grunted again in response, bent over, and signed the document, and handed it back to Dean without a glance at either Castiel or Dean.

Dean smirked in victory before turning to walk out of the lecture hall without so much as an explanation. He left Castiel in the dust.

Castiel didn’t know what happened.

“Dean wait up! Dean!” Castiel yelled as he jogged to catch up with Dean who was strolling away towards their next class.

“Hey, Cas-tiel,” Dean said as he about-faced to let Castiel catch up. He smiled at Castiel like it was some sort of joke.

Castiel shrugged off Dean clearly making fun of his name with the over pronunciation as he asked, “What happened back there?”

“I guess I should have talked to you about it before but I just got the approval letter last week. Every third Friday of the month for the rest of the year, I’m gonna be missing all of our classes and I’ll even be gone the weekend afterwards. Can’t tell you too much about it but it’s something important and the university is aware. In fact, I would say they are supportive considering the sizeable donation they receive every year. The university has allowed me to have an aide that is in charge of taking notes for me, collecting any materials that I’ll need, and making sure I’m good to go. I’ve picked you because my only classes on Friday are with you, my roommate.”

Castiel processed that for a minute as the anger bubbled inside of him. He was a fool for thinking that Dean was finally trying to be a good roommate and possibly a friend. Instead, he was a pawn for Dean to use and discard as he pleased.

“I’m not going to be your aide or whatever I was called.”

“Actually, you kind of are. The professor signed his name next to yours and mine stating that you’re my willing proxy.”

“I never signed anything,”

“That’s because I signed it for you.”

Castiel could do nothing but glare at Dean before he turned and walked off to his next class. For a long minute, Castiel considered tracking down his calculus professor and telling him the truth. Castiel never signed up to be Dean’s aide or anything of the matter. His roommate was randomly assigned for one thing. In fact, Castiel would let the whole world know just the kind of person Dean Winchester was. But as Castiel stood there alone on the sidewalk, the battle went out of him as students dispersed to their next class leaving the campus emptier than it had be mere minutes.

With only a few minutes to spare before the next class started, he walked into his statistics class ready to focus on the next lesson. What Castiel saw instead was Dean was talking to their statistics professor next to the podium. She smiled and seemed taken by Dean’s charm immediately. He handed her the note and she quickly read it. Castiel watched as he laughed at something she said before he turned and pointed directly at Castiel. The professor caught his eye next and gestured Castiel to the front of the class.

Dread filled Castiel and like a captive about to walk the plank, Castiel walked to towards the podium.

The conversation went about the same as the first time but with a more friendly undertone. Castiel even got a compliment about how kind he was to volunteer to help Dean out when he was missing classes. She would be sure to keep that in mind at the end of the semester.

Castiel could only nod along before he and Dean were dismissed. Of course, the lecture hall had filled and the only seats available were two together off to the side. Dean sat next to Castiel the entire lecture as Castiel fumed while taking excruciating accurate notes. After all, he would be taking Dean’s notes next week.

The break between their second and third class gave Castiel some time to stew in his anger while his friendly acquaintance Balthazar took his place across from him in the library. Yet as Castiel prepared to leave, Dean swaggered right up to his table in the corner of the library.

Dean gave Castiel the same smile he had given him the day they met and asked, “Ready to leave Cas? We need to get to class a little early.”

“In a minute,” Castiel impolitely retorted as he shoved the books in his backpack aggressively. Dean seemed briefly taken aback by Castiel’s tone and stepped a few steps back to wait for him.

Balthazar took the moment to say as if Dean was not nearby, “He calls you Cas?"

“It is a shortened version of my name. For some reason, he seems unable to pronounce my full name if he has to spend more than one second thinking about it.”

“He is clearly a neanderthal,” Balthazar said sarcastically, “Are you planning on staying in your dorm room for the Thanksgiving break? I have to order my ticket soon even though its two months out.”

“That is the plan. I might try to pick up hours with the dining hall?”

“You’re here on scholarship. Why do you bother working?”

“It keeps me busy,” was all Castiel said. The two shifts between classes he took were non-taxing to say the least and he had been noted to be an excellent dishwasher. It also gave him an excuse not to return home even though he had not been invited. Castiel went to his next lecture and like the previous two was assigned as Dean’s aide.

The next Thursday Dean disappeared as soon as his classes concluded for the day. Castiel spent a luxurious weekend alone without fearing a dirty sock hanging on the door or someone busting the door open. He was able to sleep in the dark.

It did not shame Castiel one bit to say that he looked forward to the third Friday in October. A month later, Castiel was almost giddy when Dean departed on the third Thursday in November before their Thanksgiving break started. A week without Dean or anybody else was just what Castiel needed to decompress. He had already heard Dean talking about getting Castiel to be his aide for two of the four classes they shared on Fridays the next semester. Apparently, he had already had a friend volunteer for the other two.

His phone ringing stirred Castiel from his Friday afternoon slumber. A winter storm had swept through the area so after his last class Castiel decided a nap was a well-deserved way to kick off the week.  The screen blinked brightly in his face showing an unknown number with the local area code. Castiel struggled to talk to people on the phone he knew so he didn’t answer with the logic that if it was something important they would leave a message. The phone silenced and then immediately rang again with the same number so Castiel begrudgingly answered the phone.

“Hello?”

An unfamiliar female voice responded, “Hello, this is Debbie from DreamCorp. Is this Cas Novak?”

“My name is Castiel Novak.”

“Okay, Castiel. I’m calling on behalf of Dean Winchester.”

Surprised, Castiel sat up in his bed without hitting his head on the top bunkbed and asked, “Dean? Why are you calling me about Dean?”

“I have you listed as an emergency contact to pick up Dean. Dean’s primary contact is unable to retrieve him this evening due to the storm and so we are calling you to pick him up.”

Castiel chewed on his lip in agitation. It was so typical of Dean to assume that Castiel would be okay with not only being listed as an emergency contact without his consent or knowledge but to expect Castiel to pick him up whenever it fancied him. Even during an early snowstorm that had blanketed the Midwest.

“Mr. Novak, are you still there?”

“I’m busy at the moment. Is there another person you can call?”

“Unfortunately, there is not. We’ll have to end his therapy early if we are unable to secure a ride of him. He needs to have a ride to continue to have a place in the program, otherwise he will have to be removed and frankly that would be bad. He is one of our star patients.”

His therapy? Castiel thought. He had of course wondered what Dean was doing that was so important that every professor bowed to his whim. Dean had a letter from the university to go to therapy at some corporation. He would probably get in trouble if he didn’t pick Dean up.

Sighing, Castiel said, “Yes, I can pick him up. What is the address?”

It took two hours and forty-seven minutes of driving across the wintery roads of Kansas and Nebraska to get to DreamCorp in Lebanon. The engine whined as Castiel pulled into DreamCorp. He had twenty minutes left to spare before the deadline Debbie had given him was reached and for some reason the thought of waiting twenty minutes for Dean Winchester irritated him further. The entire drive was spent making a detailed list of how and what he would yell at Dean Winchester.

His list included basically every irk Dean had caused Castiel since the day they met. Him forcing Castiel to switch beds, then blasting his lights on Castiel as he slept. Ignoring him and then barging in at random. Forcing Castiel to take meticulous notes for Dean when he missed class. Getting water everywhere. Making Cas wonder every time he approached their room whether there was going to be a sock on the door barring him from the room. Castiel was going to let him have it and let him know that he would be talking to the RA about switching roommates or dorms after the semester ended. And Dean would have no choice but to listen unless he wanted Castiel to dump him on the side of the road.

Parked directly outside the doors, Castiel waited and planned until the clock read 10:00PM. The plan changed almost immediately when Castiel saw Dean stumble out the door looking like he walked out of a book about the plague. The sight shocked Castiel.

Dean was pale but sweaty. His eyes were screwed shut and his breathing was labored. When Dean stumbled and fell to the ground, Castiel darted out of the car to where Dean laid seemingly unable to get up. As Castiel approached, he grew concerned that Dean was seriously sick which worried Castiel as he didn’t know where the nearest hospital was located.

“Dean, are you okay?” Castiel asked.

Dean just lay there taking shallow breaths. When his head rolled back, Dean managed to open his eyes. His eyes were shocked and confused as he asked, “You came to get me?”

“Yes, I suppose I did. I didn’t really have a choice. Are you able to stand?”

“In theory,” Dean croaked out without moving.

“How about in practice?” Castiel asked as he offered a hand to help Dean up. Dean weakly stretched out his arm. His palm was cool and clammy to the touch. Castiel had shaken Dean’s hand the day they met. His handshake had been firm and confident. Now, his grip almost too weak to clasp Castiel’s. Castiel used his other arm to pull Dean upward and into a barely standing position.

“You’re stronger than I expected,” Dean said as he stumbled forward causing Castiel to have to catch him.

“Okay?”

“Handsomer too.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry about it. Thank you, Cas.”

Dean Winchester looked so broken that Castiel didn’t bother correcting him. Castiel hauled him towards the car and as he helped Dean into the passenger seat Castiel noticed that Dean’s eyes were glazed and distant. There were brief moments on the car ride home when Castiel tried to urge Dean to talk but Dean seemed so out of it that the silence permeated the car. Castiel’s list would have to wait.

Saturday passed in a long blur. Castiel didn’t know how to care for Dean who seemed like a shell of the person he was. He couldn’t even get Dean to climb to his bed on the top bunk so Dean laid wrapped underneath Castiel’s bedsheets on the bottom bunk. Castiel spent all day Googling how to care for Dean. He made him chicken noodle soup from a can that Dean actively ignored… or maybe passively because Dean didn’t even notice it steaming in a bowl sitting a few feet away from him.

Every few hours Castiel spent his time trying to get Dean to eat something or searching things to try to help Dean. When the late hours of the night came, Castiel ended up crawling onto Dean’s bed to sleep. Castiel tried not to notice the faint scent that clung to the pillow. He hated to admit it but was warm and he liked it.

Late Sunday afternoon, Dean stirred for the first time. After almost two days of the catatonic version of Dean, Castiel was relieved. Castiel helped him down the deserted dorm hallway and into the bathroom so he could shower. He got Dean to eat some crackers and a few hours later Dean seemed to return to his annoying and talkative self. It was curious to Castiel that Dean still occupied Castiel’s bed as he came back to life.

"Cas, what's your plans for the holiday?" Dean asked as he curled himself further underneath Castiel’s comforter. He was still pale and shaking from being cold. Castiel walked to his closet to get another blanket for Dean to burrow under.

As Castiel handed the blanket to Dean, Castiel replied, "I'm staying in the dorms. I might see if any of the cafeterias need help to pick up someone to pick up a few shifts."

"I thought you are here mostly on scholarship? Why are you working?"

Castiel had never told Dean that he was here on scholarships and Federal aid.

"How do you know that?"

"You mentioned it to Balthazar a few months ago."

"Oh,” Castiel never considered that Dean had paid him any attention when they happened to be in the same room, “I mean yes. I'm here mostly on scholarship. But I don’t mind working and I can save money."

“For what?”

“What do you mean for what?”

"Are you saving for something? I've never seen you spend anything. You’ve added nothing to our room since we’ve arrived unless your spending it on porn when I’m gone.”

Scoffing as he sat down next to Dean on his own bed, Castiel replied, “I’m not spending it on porn.”

“Really? I figured you for an ass man. Are you secretly a tits guy?” Dean asked as he grinned from ear to ear.

“I’m not either of those men.”

Deans’ scrunched his eyes in disbelief, “Every man is one of those men. Come on dude, tell me which kind of guy you are.”

Poking Castiel repeatedly with his foot, Dean repeated that Castiel needed to tell him.

Castiel decided to end the conversion with an extremely blunt reply, “Neither because I’m gay.”

The shock on Dean’s face was real for half a second before Dean laughed and responded, “Well, I guess that explains the no porn thing- well actually it doesn’t and you could still be an ass guy. Just a guy-ass-guy. So what are you saving all your hard earned money for?

Castiel thought about it for a moment and replied truthfully, “I’m not sure but when the moment comes I want to be prepared."

"You have better self-control than me. I'm spending every dollar on fixing my car."

"What's wrong with your car?" Castiel had not seen Dean driving a car yet.

Dean's eyes darkened and unmasked hurt replaced the jovial mood Dean had been peddling to disguise how ill he felt. He paused for a minute before he stated, "It's a 1967 Chevy Impala. My dad and I got into a car accident last May. The car is technically totaled right now but I plan on fixing it up until there isn’t a sign of an accident."

"That sounds like a lot of work."

"It will be but I have to get it fixed. My dad basically raised me and my little brother in that back seat."

"Is your father well?"

Dean bit his lip for a moment and Castiel wanted to retract his question immediately because he feared the answer, "No, he- he died. That's why my Uncle Bobby has been driving me but his paralysis makes it hard for him to drive in the winter. The snow last week has been hard on him."

Castiel was taken aback and he felt the hurt in his own heart, "I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't know."

"How would you? I haven’t told anyone. You’re the first here at the university.”

One of Castiel’s less desirable traits was being unable to sense awkward situations according to others in his life. Castiel had no problem sensing it now. He looked around the room and decided a lovely mug of dorm room instant hot chocolate would help ease the sad atmosphere that he had helped create. Or cheer Dean up at least a little bit. He got up promptly and set a brisk pace to make the warm beverage.

The mugs were warm in Castiel’s hands as he made his way back to Dean. He hoped it wasn’t just the old microwave he had gotten at the thrift store warming the mugs and that was actually the drink that was nice and warm. Castiel added extra marshmallows to Dean’s in an effort to cheer Dean up. Castiel knew he loved food and guessed he loved marshmallows. Castiel was not wrong.

Taking loud slurps like some sort of barbarian, Dean downed his mug before Castiel had taken two sips. When Castiel caught Dean eyeing his drink, Castiel handed it over and Dean took loud sips of his.

After watching Dean drink the mug, Castiel said, “We should probably get ready for bed soon Dean. It’s late.”

Dean nodded before he stopped and said seriously, “Cas, I want you to come home with me for Thanksgiving tomorrow.”

“Pardon?”

“Come home with me. Nobody should spend breaks alone and my Aunt Ellen cooks a mean Thanksgiving dinner. I’m talking three different stuffings. I won’t take no for an answer and I’ll annoy you until you say yes.”

Castiel considered for a moment. He had no doubt that Dean would indeed annoy him until he said yes.

“I have already made commitments to work this Monday and Wednesday this week.”

Dean thought about it for a moment before he said, “What are you doing for Christmas break?”

“Probably working.”

“Well, don’t. You’re coming home with me.”

“I will consider it.”

Dean was picked up the very next day after the storm abated by his uncle who thanked Castiel profusely. A week of silence after two days of invasively being in Dean’s personal space had him feeling almost lonely. On Thanksgiving, Castiel sent a text to Dean wishing him a happy holiday and inquiring when he planned to return.

Dean surprised Castiel bright and early Friday morning by barging through the door and scaring him half to death. He returned triumphantly with Tupperware full of food that he made Castiel eat as Dean talked through the entire Tombstone movie that Dean put on without asking Castiel’s opinion on the matter.

The credits rolled as Dean scraped the tin foil pie pan with his fork. Castiel just stared. Castiel was intrigued by how comfortable he felt with Dean plastered by his side as they watched a movie on his bed. However, he didn’t understand why Dean was currently occupying his bed.

“Dean, why are you here? There are still a few days left of break. You have mentioned briefly that you were planning on spending it with your younger brother.”

“I didn’t want you to spend the last few days alone.”

That took Castiel by surprise and he felt himself warming to Dean unexpectedly. He felt himself asking without even thinking, “Dean, what happens at your therapy?”

“I’m surprised you didn’t google it already.”

“I did. DreamCorp. It helps with therapy through dreaming. I don’t understand how that helps you when the aftereffect is so bad.”

Dean chewed his pie for a moment without meeting Castiel’s eyes, “My mom died when I was four. It was bad afterwards. I had to take care of Sam and my dad a lot growing up. Now my dad is gone. This is the one thing I do for me. You don’t have to understand it and one day I’ll tell you about it but not right now so please don’t ask again.”

“Okay, I won’t ask again.”

“Great. Now, time for Die Hard and some peach cobbler.”

To Castiel’s surprise, Dean continued to do a 180 on him the last month. They had slowly become friends. In fact, Dean had practically smothered Castiel with attention. Dean did repeatedly tell Castiel he was getting too close physically and he needed personal space but Castiel got to meet Dean’s friends and was even introduced to others as such.

After the last day of classes for the semester, Dean dragged Castiel to his car with a suitcase for each of them in his hands as Castiel carried a large brown box. Castiel couldn’t believe he was driving all the way to Lebanon to join Dean and his family for the duration of Christmas break including the day he would spend helping Dean at his appointment. 

Bobby’s rundown house in the middle of a junkyard was different from what Castiel expected. It was opposite of the charmed and groomed cul-de-sac Castiel had spent his previous years in. The house was clobbered together but there were Christmas lights shining through the windows generating a family warmth.

“Where have you been keeping this guy?” Bobby said as he rolled onto the front porch in his wheelchair.

“Literally under my bed,” Dean joked as he ascended the stairs to give Bobby a hug. Castiel followed behind Dean before Dean nudged Castiel while pointing to Bobby’s outstretched hand in a sign for Castiel to come up and shake his hand.

Castiel squinted and returned the shake awkwardly, “He tells that joke to everyone. People find it amusing for some reason.”

Dean laughed and Bobby didn’t know how to respond to that it seemed so he turned away to yell for the everybody else to come out and meet Castiel.

The first one out the door was Sam who was followed by two women. Castiel recognized him from the pictures on Dean’s desk and was surprised that Sam made a bee-line for Castiel.

Sam was tall. Way taller than Dean had suggested when he told Castiel about little 14-year-old Sammy.  Sam smiled and asked, “Are you Cas? Dean talks about you all the time. Cas this and Cas that. He never shuts up about you.”

Castiel looked at Dean who had his arms wrapped around an older woman and a girl younger than both the boys in a tight embrace. They must be Ellen and Jo.

“Yes, I suppose I am. And you must be Sammy?”

“Please call me Sam. Only Dean calls me Sammy.”

“I understand that a little too well. I almost forgot I have presents in the truck. I need to grab them.”

Sam seemed a little shocked but excited by that, “You brought us presents?”

“Is that not a tradition your family follows?” Castiel asked not wanting to step on any toes.

Castiel suddenly felt a hand clap onto his shoulder with a laugh. Dean’s eyes sparkled as he laughed like Castiel said the funniest thing in the world.

“Cas, of course we open presents. Come on I’ll help you get them out of the trunk.”

As Castiel grabbed the presents out of the trunk, he passed them to Dean. He made sure to take extra special care with two identical boxes. His arms were full of presents when Castiel found Dean standing near the trunk staring down at package with his name on it. The yard was quiet as everyone else had disappeared back inside the house.

“You got me something?”

“Yes. You are my friend. I thought you might appreciate something nice.”

Dean’s eye sparkled as he held the small square package between his hands. A small smile spread across his face as he whispered, “Don’t ever change, Cas. I mean it. It’s good to have you with family. I think they’re gonna love you.”

Cas smiled and replied, "Merry Christmas, Dean."

***

October 21^st, 2023 8:27AM

“Last thing I need for your delivery is a name for the order,” the woman on the phone said.

“Just Cas,” Cas said into the phone before he hung up.

With twenty minutes to spare before the delivery arrived, Cas gently placed his watch on the sink so he could grab a quick shower. He was overly fond, perhaps too fond for a normal person, of the plain black watch. He had given Dean an identical one on that Christmas break. When Cas explained that it was the most accurate watch on the market and when they went to Dean’s appointments then they could always make sure that they were in sync with each other.  Dean blushed and seemed unsure. Cas had watched as Dean swiped a thumb over the watch face. It was almost like he had been cracked open and exposed to Cas. Dean had looked up at Cas before sliding the watch on his wrist.

Cas swiped his thumb over his watch’s face to copy the movement Dean had done so many years ago. How far they had come. Or maybe not come would be more accurate.

At 9AM, Cas peeked in at Dean. He was burrowed under blankets of Castiel’s bed staring at the wall. The packaging of the crackers crinkled as Cas placed them on the bedside table next to a couple pieces of bacon, some scrambled eggs, and the easy open water bottle. Dean didn’t move. He briefly let Dean know that he needed to eat and drink. Cas suppressed his sigh as he slowly pulled the door shut. Fishing the phone out of his pocket, Cas looked at the group chat with a little blonde girl giving a thumbs up to Dean’s previous message. After closing that group chat, he opened the one without Dean in it.

Cas texted the group chat: Sorry, Dean is not feeling well. We won’t be able to make it to lunch.

Charlie: That’s a bummer. Tell Dean to get better soon!

Benny just sent a thumbs up as acknowledgement.

Sam: What a shock.

Charlie: Sam don’t be like that.

Sam: Be like what? We all knew he wasn’t going to show. None of us seriously planned on going out the day after a session. I bet not a single one of us actually thought it was going to happen.

Sam: Am I wrong?

Sam: ????

Cas didn’t bother replying. They weren’t wrong and Cas didn’t have the energy to muster a defense. He was neither disappointed nor shocked by the reaction from their friends, especially Sam. Cas should really check on him more.

Every hour after that Cas checked on Dean with no progress and no food eaten.

At 3:00pm, Cas knocked on the door again and waited three seconds before entering.

“Dean, you have to get up. You need to shower.”

There was no response from the mound of blankets. This time Cas did not suppress his sigh as he began to pull the blankets back. Dean was sweating underneath and laying there like he was unable to move at all. Cas collected a new pair of shorts and a new shirt for Dean out of his room. He took those to bathroom and when he returned he found Dean unmoved.

Now, came the time Cas dreaded. He grabbed Dean’s arm and pulled him to his feet. Dean hung limply onto Cas and could barely manage to keep his feet underneath him as Cas took heavy steps down to the bathroom. When they got there, Cas had Dean sit on the toilet seat lid.

Dean’s look was faroff. He was desperately stuck chasing after a world far away from the real one. As always, Cas tried to keep his touches brief but the urge and temptation to let the touches linger had to be beaten back with a broom. Butterflies that always ate at the pit of his stomach when he touched Dean fluttered as Cas took the bottom edges of Dean’s t-shirt in his hand and his fingertips barely grazed Dean’s stomach. Cas helped pull the shirt towards Dean’s head. Dean barely lifted his arms so Cas had to grip each bicep and push it out of the sleeve. The t-shirt was gently tugged over Dean’s head and Cas accidentally brushed against Dean’s cheek and the back of his neck. Cas helped Dean standup to remove his sweatpants.

For a few long moments, Cas let Dean fumble with getting his sweatpants off before Cas bent down and slowly peeled his pants down his strong thighs and tanned calves. Cas had to tap each thigh once to signal to Dean when to step out of each leg. When Cas rose back to a standing position, Dean rested his head on Cas’s left shoulder and wrapped his right arm around Cas’s shoulders as if he was exhausted. Dean sagged into him.

The heart inside Cas’s chest pounded and pulled as he savored the closeness. Cas breathed in and just let Dean rest his head against him. Part of Cas wanted to live in this moment where Dean clung to him and he could pretend the feeling of their bodies pressed together was anything but what it was. The same part of Cas also always wondered if this would the time that Dean would remember more of the day after. Cas wondered if Dean was aware of their routine.

Dean was wearing just his boxers as Cas guided him into the dry shower and shut the curtain. He waited as he heard Dean strip completely and then the water turned on. The shower cluncked and the pipes screamed as the water struggled to get to their shower. Picking at a nail cuticle, Cas sat himself on the toilet and waited as the steam from hot water filled the room.

Cas used to leave Dean to shower alone until one time Dean was so far gone in his own mind he slipped, dislocated his shoulder, and laid underneath the water for more than half an hour. Cas had grown suspicious about the length of time Dean had been showering and when he found him he had been horrified to find Dean laying there unmoving. Sam had screamed at Dean while he was laid up in the ER for not yelling for Cas to the point he was barred from the hospital.  

The creak of the faucet turning off twenty something minutes later signaled for Cas to grab the towel. He tossed the towel onto the top bar for Dean to grab. Cas always made sure it was a soft, freshly washed towel using the lavender scented soap to hopefully soothe his troubled mind.

Dean eventually stepped out with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Do you think you can get dressed by yourself?” Cas asked slowly when Dean didn’t look him in the eyes. It wouldn’t be the first time Cas needed to help Dean dress.

A solitary nod came from Dean so Cas slowly walked out and shut the door. He waited in the hallway until Dean emerged. His eyes were still blank but there was the barest hint of a flame that signaled Dean was returning back to himself.

“Cas?” Dean barely croaked out.

“Yeah, Dean?”

“Movie night?”

Cas knew what was coming next. They had bought a hide-a-bed couch specifically for this reason.

“I’ll get the sheets and set it up. You pick the movie.”

Castiel had learned long ago Dean hated being alone the day after. Cas didn’t know why. They usually ended up on the couch Saturday night with some sort of comfort movie playing in the background. Dean would put on the first movie he came across and sit there absentmindedly and barely responsive. Food was bite sized easy to chew protein muffins bites this time. Sometimes they even slept on the bed together but that was rare. It was accidental. It was everything Cas wanted.

Sunday was the same routine but this time from the hide-a-bed in the living room. Dean needed less help to shower but he still rested his head on Cas’s shoulder when the process of undressing became too exhausting. Cas again allowed a long minute of the prolonged touch before he ushered Dean into the shower a second time.

Guilt ate at Cas Sunday evening. Those tender touches lived in Cas's mind as much as he tried not to let them eat at him. When Cas was all alone, he let his mind run wild as he imagined those touches in other situations. Dean running his hand down the side of his face Friday night had even crept into his dreams as he imagined Dean touching his face the same way but when the life was in his eyes and the laughter was in his smile.

"What are you working on?" Dean asked suddenly interrupting Cas’s thoughts.

Cas tore his gaze away from the computer with the empty page that was mocking him and looked at Dean laying next him. He found his Dean looking at him. The cloudniness and dazed look was gone and Cas felt immense relief. He looked exhausted but he was looking at Cas like he saw him and not right through him.

"I was working on my novel."

"So your weekly budget is already done," Dean yawned as he replied

Cas felt seen. Dean knew exactly how he worked. He worked on his budget for the household before he ever worked on his novel. His dreams of being an author were always second priority to making sure that they had a place to live and their bills were paid.

“Yes, I’ll tell you what your portion is at the end of the week when you get paid.”

"Thanks for waiting until payday. You still stuck on the ending?"

The infamous ending that Cas could not seem to put into words. There was an ending but Cas kept trying to rewrite it and he kept coming back to the original.

Defeated, Cas closed the document,  "I'm perpetually stuck on the ending."

"Don't say it like that, man. One day it will just come to you and then you're going to be this big ol' author and we'll be laughing that you ever thought it wasn't going to be finished."

“I wish I shared your confidence.”

"I bet you would if you let me read it-"

"Do you want to watch Tombstone?" Cas said cutting Dean off.

Cas couldn't let Dean read it. Once he had let Charlie read the first three quarters of the book and she had not so gently pried the book apart and got down to the roots of the book. Charlie had loved the book and said she couldn't wait to sell a bunch of first edition signed copies in the future but she asked if the main character was based on Dean. It had shocked him but when Charlie led her detailed analysis that the side character with unrequited love for the main character. His ending had the two finally getting together.

Charlie had been near intolerable about letting her read the ending lately. She pestered him constantly but Cas worried that she would finally figure out that Cas put a little too much of himself into the side character. 

"As far as incomplete projects go, how is the engine development going?"           

“If you’re stuck, then I’m the lead vocalist of Stealers Wheel. I can’t get the misfire issue to resolve. I’m afraid that I’ll blow the engine again. If I blow the engine again, it’s going to cost close to fifteen hundred bucks to build it back to the exact spot I’m stuck at which I don’t have. Plus, Bobby’s gonna be real unhappy if smoke out the shop again so I’m going stay late on Tuesday to work on it.”

Dean was lying but Cas didn’t feel like arguing now that Dean was back, “Sure. I’ll plan on getting takeout that night then. Let’s watch the movie so I can get back to ignoring this chapter.”

“Were they mad again?”

Cas knew Dean was talking about Saturday lunch. Sam’s anger, Benny’s bare responses, and Charlie pretending nothing was wrong was the norm for when Dean cancelled. Now it was his turn to lie, “No, they said to feel better. We’ll probably catch them later this week.”

"Even Sammy?"

Both brothers had been through so much that Cas didnt have the heart cause a further divide that kept them apart, "Sam understood. He's not mad."

Dean closed his eyes in relief and he drifted away into a fitful sleep as Cas just rested on the hide-a-bed wishing things were different. 

Monday morning came and things were back to normal. Cas made coffee and watched as a grumbling Dean sipped his coffee. Cas tried to ask about dinner that night but Dean just held up a finger to silence him before pointing tiredly to the coffee. Normal again. They each went their separate ways to work that morning and no one besides Cas would ever know how close they had been all weekend. Cas tried not to glare at the Sandover sign as he walked through the front doors.

Opening his primary spreadsheet and letting outlook slowly load his email, Cas waited for the numbers to start pouring in. He smelled the peace lily sitting on his desk. It was pointless as the plant didn’t really have a scent when it wasn’t in bloom but he was hoping the sweet fragrance that normally came when the plant blossomed could be lured out.

After lunch, Cas had the unfortunate experience of seeing Zachariah Alder. Zachariah leaned into his cubicle and loudly said, “Novak, I need you in the large conference room for a meeting at 4pm until EOD. Got a real special project for you so try to wrap up all your other projects as much as possible today. Whatever you don’t finish, give it to Linda.”

At 3:50, Zachariah appeared at his desk and practically dragged Cas away to the conference room despite Cas never being tardy for a single meeting. When Castiel walked through the door, the tension of the room was obvious and Cas knew why. Naomi the CEO was standing like a viper in the front of the room ready to strike. All the other department heads were there as well and even a few people from their legal department. The only other person even close to Cas’s rank was Alfie.

Not even a minute after Cas sat down, a group of men entered. Their suits were crisp and clean. Their handshakes to the heads of the departments were quick and professional. They led another man with a crisp blue suit, perfect straight teeth, and carefully combed brunette hair.

Naomi was full of fake smiles that didn’t reach her eyes completely as she shook the last man’s hands. Cas sat straighter in his seat.

Naomi began with a friendly tone, “Hello. As everyone probably knows, this is Dick Roman. CEO and owner of Richard Roman Enterprises. His has recently acquired DreamCorp and Biggerson’s the famous burger joint. He had contracted Sandover for the takeover operations of such organizations because he is currently running for a senate position in California. One of the youngest to do so I might add.”

An unenthusiastic smattering of applause briefly filled the room. Cas faintly recognized the man because he had been in the news occasionally but not further than that. He smiled at the praise and strained clapping. For some reason, that unsettled Castiel. Dick Roman cleared his throat and walked to the front of the room to speak.

“We are launching big projects at DreamCorp and Biggerson’s. At Biggerson’s, we're launching a Turducken Slammer that it going to replace burgers as we know it today. DreamCorp is getting ready to launch its services that will give the public access to patented DDT technology along with…” Dick Roman paused as he rubbed his hands together like he was trying to ease some hunger inside him, “some brand-new, big projects that will begin within the next few weeks. Our investors are going to love those projects in particular. Big changes are coming.”

The hair on the back of Cas’s neck stood up. He did not like the sound of big projects. He did not like when investors, aka “rich out-of-touch fucks” as Dean would call them, were especially interested in the project.

He could feel it in his gut: Dean was in danger. His mind spiraled and he missed a lot of the conversation for the next few minutes.

“And what are Mr. Novak’s qualifications?” Dick Roman asked cutting through Cas’s thoughts that had wandered off.

Zachariah looked at Cas and then made a face two times until Cas realized that Zachariah was trying to nonverbally to tell him to list his skills.

“I graduated magna cum laude from University of Nebraska Lincoln with a dual degree in Business and Accounting and a minor in Fiction Writing. I was the only hire from the 2016 summer internship here at Sandover. I manage several large accounts.”

Cas stopped talking and didn’t know what to say as the silence extended. Was he supposed to say something else?

Naomi cleared her throat and said, “Castiel has been essential for several large mergers, takeovers and acquisitions. He has managed accounts in the millions and has worked for both the private sector and even a few defense contractors. He is our go-to guy for new projects especially those that need to be kept on the quiet side.”

Naomi’s recommendation seemed to draw a shark-like, piercing smile from Dick Roman as he pointed at Cas, “He sounds perfect. I want him on the DreamCorp accounts. The other kid can be on Biggerson’s accounts. Burgers sell themselves.”

In a surprise move, Cas was given a new office at the end of the meeting to work in instead of the cubicle he had been occupying for the last seven long years. The sad part was the new office had no windows and the far wall was comprised completely of metal shelving behind dark metal doors. The room was lifeless. Just when Cas thought his job couldn’t get any worse he was now being deprived of sunlight.

Two assistants brought in boxes and boxes of paperwork. They opened the metal doors and put the boxes on the shelving one at a time as Castiel watched with detached interest. The boxes were numbered and box number 50 was slid onto the bottom row in the last spot when Dick Roman himself walked through the door.

Dick Roman gestured with his head for the assistants to vacate the room before he turned to Cas and studied him for a moment. Then, he smoothed out the jacket of his business suit before he leaned against the solitary desk that was in the middle of the office.

“Listen Mr. Novak. I have been working to fully acquire DreamCorp for a long, long time. My family has always had a large share of the company but now all of it belongs to me. I have investors who… are expecting revolutonary things to come from this takeover. So I need you to be at the top of your game,” Dick Roman said.

Dick Roman stared at Cas until Cas nodded seriously. That seemed to appease him.

“Let’s lay out some ground rules. First, most of the information about our projects and programs is need-to-know. You do only what you are assigned to. Nothing more than that. We want you to try to get everything from the paperwork we have provided but if you absolutely need something, you’ll have to come to our office and make a request to get a physical copy which will then be delivered to you. We want to minimize our digital trails because our projects have sensitive information. Once you’re done with the paperwork, you must shred it immediately.”

Cas glanced at the large shredder in the corner of his new office that Dick Roman was now pointing to. It was unlike any shredder he had seen before and appeared to have some sort of passcode required to get into the bin.

“Someone will come by once a week to collect the paper from the shredder. Nothing is allowed to leave this room without permission from DreamCorp or myself. We have set up a camera on the outside of the door to see if anything is taken out of the room. You are only allowed to bring with you is one personal bag along with one drink of course. You must open your bag and show it to the camera before entry at the beginning of every day and the end of every day. Surprisingly, there are laws protecting your privacy within this office so we aren’t allowed to put a camera in here. Your employers have agreed that your lunch can be stored in the managers office refrigerator down the hall and you cannot eat lunch near our documents. All personal effects should be left at your old desk. Sandover signed a blanket NDA by agreeing to work DreamCorp so underneath that you must not talk about anything you learn while working for us. Sound like you can do that?”

For the first time, Cas was able to respond, “I can do that.”

“I like you. You seem to be a no non-sense kind guy. If you do well on this project, I may have to steal you away from Sandover completely.”

Cas did not like the word steal. He didn’t like how every part of the of Dick Roman’s conversation thus far had been listening to orders from a sleazy billionaire that was directing his every move like he was a puppet on a string. He didn’t have many personal effects on his desk that mattered and he knew that the second his desk was unoccupied for more than a few days that his coworkers would descend on the desk like a pack of scavenging vultures to pick it clean. There was only one thing that was sentimental to him that he liked to keep at work.

Without thinking, Cas asked, “Can I bring the peace lily that sits on my desk?”

Dick Roman’s eyes met in the middle as if he was confused by the question. He seemed to be almost human for the first time as he asked, “A peace lily?”

“It’s a plant. My favorite desk plant. There aren’t any windows in this office.”

Dick Roman stared at Cas for a moment before shaking his head in disbelief, “I guess we can allow the one personal item. Show it to the camera before you bring it in. I’ll be back next Monday to debrief with your team. Oh and Castiel?”

“Yes?”

“I looked into Sandover. You’re one of the top reasons we chose Sandover. I didn’t need your credentials earlier but I was curious to see how you would sell yourself. I need you to know that I knew everything about you before we even sat down today. I know which hospital you were born in. I know about you breaking your arm as a child. I know your current address and how much you have in your bank account. Don’t screw this up and I can make your dreams come true. In this envelope is a job offer conditional upon the completion of the contract. Six figure salary plus a significant sign-on bonus to get you out of that apartment. I bet your roommate would love a garage to store his car in. You would be leading your own team. A new company car would be yours. I can start building your California corner office with the biggest windows you could imagine the second this project closes. On the other hand, fail or screw me over and I will take away everything you call yours. This envelope is the one thing you can take from this office. Think about it.”

Dick Roman drop the manilla envelope on the desk in front of Cas, straightened his tie, and walked out without another word. Zachariah and Naomi arrived within seconds after Dick Roman departed and gave a much less inspiring speech about making them look good and not screwing this up.

After collecting his bag, his second monitor, and the peace lily off his old desk, Cas got to work and began sorting through the projects listed in box one. He would be monitoring a total of seven projects.

Project Hermes was described as pods in local shopping centers. Dean was already participating in this extra project once a week for 20 minutes. Dean thought that Cas didn’t know but Cas knew. This week Dean was saying he was working on his engine but he was working on the pod project. Tuesday evenings were volatile at home. Cas never knew when he returned home how Dean would be feeling. Those twenty minutes could make or break his day.

Other projects were listed, most were other products and services. They were even looking into creating a pillow line. Humans were gullible when it came to consumerism.

The last project was a massive one.

“Project Demeter” was the unofficial name. Each page was heavy in his hands because most of the details had been blacked out with marker except for the numbers. Pages and pages were laid out before him looking like a puzzle he wouldn’t have the ability to solve. Sentences were sometimes just words like “the”, “a” and “and”. Sometimes the black wasn’t thick enough and he could read partial words or phrases “pati”, “sign away r”, “long-ter”, and “gan do”. It didn’t really matter, Castiel was a numbers guy.

Sandover had never been his dream job. It was more realistic than his dream of being a writer. He hadn’t wanted to end up in this field truthfully but the temptation of all the things Dick Roman listed were enough to sway him slightly. A great salary meant he could get them out of their apartment and into a house.

Cas then looked at his peace lily and the temptation fizzled out. He needed to stay the course.

At the end of the day, Cas got into his Continental and drove a few blocks away to an empty parking lot he knew didn’t have cameras. Cas fished out his black flip-phone from the glove box and powered the phone on.

While the screen showed a loading bar, Cas opened the envelope that Dick Roman gave him. It was everything he wanted. The sign-on bonus was enough for a down payment. He had wanted to move to the coast since he was a child so a California office was what he wanted. He could fund Dean's engine. They wouldn't have to scrap by every month just to afford the basics of life.

Who was he kidding though? Dean would never leave Lebanon. Not with DreamCorp firmly planted here. Every single one of them was trapped in this town because of DreamCorp.

He had never wanted to burn DreamCorp to the ground more in that moment. What else could they take from him after this dream opportunity would be taken? How many opportunities had he already let slip through his fingers because of Dean and DreamCorp.? He could already see in his mind telling Dick Roman he couldn't take the position and when Dick would incredulously ask why because he had never been told no in his entire life Cas wouldn't have an answer he could vocalize. Cas could picture the next third Saturday after rejecting Dick Roman helping Dean into the shower of their crummy apartment wondering if those little treasured touches were worth it.

Cas opened the single text chain in the phone and typed out: I got the assignment. Something big is happening.

Yet, his finger hovered over the button and he couldn't bring himself to press send because he wanted a few more minutes to live in his dreams of Dean on a beach in California finally free for the first time.