Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The school was pretty, he had to give it that. Teal walls, with darker blue trim and a flat grey roof, surrounded by a small forest on the right and a clustered neighborhood on the left. There was a large mural by the front, children and animals surrounding the words ‘Sunview Elementary’ in bright orange and yellow topography. He drove slowly past it, parking in what appeared to be a staff parking lot tucked into the left side of the school.

As he exited the impala, he felt a few drops land on his shoulders and forehead. Typical Washington rain, on his first day of work. It didn’t bug him- in fact, he quite enjoyed the rain. He was careful to cover his new badge, even though it was plastic he didn’t want to ruin his official ticket into the school. That would be just what he needed on the first day, not even being able to get past the front doors. He saw a side door, but wasn’t sure his pass would work there so he opted for the slightly longer walk to the front doors of the building.

He pushed the thick front door open, seeing a second set of doors in front of him containing the front office workers before he could figure out which hallway he needed to be in. He tried the second door, but it didn’t work. One of the ladies inside noticed his confusion, and buzzed him in.

“Hi! How can I help you?” She asked, looking at him over a pair of rainbow glasses.

“Hey, my name is Dean,” He stepped forward towards the counter in front of her, “It’s my first day?” He chastised himself internally for saying it like a question. It wasn’t.

“Oh my gosh! Dean! We have been very excited for you to arrive. Mr. Novak’s classroom has been so understaffed for far too long. When we heard they finally hired someone new, well-” She turned to the woman sitting on the other side of the office, “-we were just overjoyed!”

The other woman nodded in agreement, and Dean felt embarrassed. The praise was undeserved, he hadn’t even done anything yet.

“Aw, well, that’s very kind of you ladies,” He said, ducking his head. The woman who had initially spoken to him was rummaging in a drawer, and beckoned him a step closer so she could hand him something. Ah, a map of the school.

The layout wasn’t too difficult. From the front office, there was a left and a right option. Each held three hallways shooting back from there. Some held classrooms, some other offices and things like gym and cafeteria were also labeled. The woman circled a room just to the right with sharpie- it was off the main first hallway rather than one of the branches.

“This is where you’ll be-” She circled another small, unlabeled room to the left, “-and this is the staff lounge. An important one. I think there’s…cookies today? Cookies up for grabs. And that's where you’ll find a fridge, to store your lunch in.”

“Thank you,” He said, taking the map from her. He turned to leave, pressing his badge against a surface similar to the ones from his college campus, and the red light above it turned green. He pushed through the door, turning to find the teacher's lounge. It wasn’t too difficult, and once inside he was greeted with a number of things. The cookies, as mentioned, as well as a few other staff members arriving, and a large calendar of staff events. He took a picture of the staff calendar, thinking maybe he would participate if things looked interesting, and gave polite nods to the staff he saw.

Leaving his bag in the staff room, he headed with his water bottle and the map towards the classroom. He walked back past the office, waving at the two women through the glass, and looked for the numbers 271. A blue door at the end of the hall held a plaque that read ‘Mr.Novak, 271, Special Education’. He opened it, stepping inside and absorbing the layout of the classroom.

It wasn’t very large- three tables with four seats each occupied the space in front of a white board to his left, and there were two other open tables to his right which appeared to be work spaces. He noted a teacher's desk at his left hip right when he’d entered. The large windows at the back of the classroom beheld the forest he’d seen before. It was a beautiful sight, tall trees with dark leaves dancing under the rain, which had picked up since he’d entered the school.

There was only one other person in the room, sitting off to the side at one of the work tables looking at something on their laptop screen.

“Hi,” ew, dumb. “My name is Dean, i’m…it’s my first day here?” again, with the questioning tone! Was he just bad at speaking today or something?

“Oh! Hello!” The woman looked up from her work, “ Nice to meet you, I’m- Well, the kids call me Mrs.Celia,” She gave him a small smile, before turning her gaze to something behind him.

“Dean,” A low voice echoed from behind him, “wonderful to make your acquaintance. We’re very excited to have you join us, as i’m sure you’ve already heard.”

Dean turned around to find that the deep rumbling voice came from a handsome, rain-drenched man in a trench coat.

“T-thank you, I’m excited to be here,” He said, trying to catch the name on the mans ID badge attached to a bee lanyard around his neck.

“My name is Castiel,” He stepped forward, stretching a hand out to Dean, “-but the kids call me Mr.Novak.” Dean met his hand where it was extended, returning the mans strong and sure grip. His striking blue eyes stared deeply into Deans, so intensely that Dean had to break the contact and swallow.

“Well, shall we get talking then?” Castiel said, shrugging off the tan trench coat, “There’s much to go over and not a lot of time before the kids arrive!” Dean would be lying if he said his eyes didn’t follow Castiels body as he hung up his jacket, admiring the way his simple white collared shirt accentuated his shoulders. It was neatly tucked into black dress pants, a blue tie hanging fixed with a pin to his front when he turned. It matched the blue behind the little bees on his lanyard. It was sorta…adorable?

Dean felt under dressed in his jeans and T-shirt, despite Mrs.Celia wearing a very similar outfit. His lanyard was the standard one, black with the words ‘Aberdeen School District’ in yellow. He looked at Mrs.Celia, noting that her lanyard was rainbow. Well, apparently he needed to customize. He flicked through ideas in his head, landing on Star Wars or Spider-man. Something the kids might recognize too, he hoped.

“So!” Castiel clapped his hands together, sitting at his desk and swiveling to face the two of them. Dean looked for a chair to sit in, deciding to sit in one of the kids chairs closer to where Castiel was sitting. “Dean, there’s a lot that happens and we’re just going to throw you into the mix a bit, but I promise you won’t be too lost, okay?” Dean nodded when Castiel raised his eyebrows, actually expecting an answer.

“This is our schedule-” He motioned to a list of activities on the left of the large whiteboard behind him, “-it’s the same every day. These kids need consistency. I assume they told you in the interview, but almost all the kids in this classroom are Autistic- some of them also have other things going on- don’t worry, you’ll get to know them all. The one thing that changes is on Wednesday we have library in the morning.” Dean glanced down at his map, but didn’t immediately see the library. Castiel was already moving on to something else, so he refocused.

“I teach social skills in the morning, first thing, and then next is reading and a snack. After that, writing. They have what we call a ‘brain break’ where we’ll do yoga, or dance- something to take care of their sensory needs. We’ll do a read aloud book, and then it’s lunch and recess! After that it’s Math, Science, and getting them back on the bus or home.” He turned back towards Dean, offering him a small smile, “It goes fast. Things are chaotic around here. I teach, Mrs. Celia teaches small groups for some, and for others we have outside people who come in and help. I want you to float around, helping whoever needs it.”

Dean nodded again, sensing that Castiel appreciated the confirmation.

“It’s seven thirty!” Mrs.Celia chimed in, standing from where she sat. She grabbed a walkie and her jacket, heading briskly for the door.

“I want you to go with her and fetch the kids from the bus,” Castiel said, “and I’ll be waiting for them here in the classroom.” He walked across the room, picking up two walkies. He hooked one on his left front pocket, and the other he walked over to hand to Dean. “We’re on channel 12, the rest of the school is on 13.”

He clapped a large hand on Dean's shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’ve got this.”

“Okay man, if you say so,” He said, heading out the door after Mrs. Celia, who was already halfway to the main doors. His head was swimming with all he was trying to remember, and he knew there was only more to learn. All the kid's names, the layout of the school, the rules he needed to enforce- but for now he focused on following Mrs.Celia out into the rain to meet the kids he’d be working with for the next year.

Getting the kids in from the bus was a quick, fast, and wet ordeal. The rain was coming down rather hard, which only made it more difficult to track how Mrs.Celia was keeping track of all the kids. As they got off the bus, she was checking something with each bus driver, and writing some names on her clip board. She didn’t talk to every kid who got off the bus, and they didn’t all go to the same place? Some of them went to the left when they entered, and some of them went to the right, down to Mr.Novak's class.

“Dean!” Mrs. Celia was waving him over, “This is Maddy. Can you walk her down to Mr.Novak's class? She just needs some extra support- usually I do it but one of the busses is running late. So! That's why you’re here.” She gestured to a taller girl with short brown hair who was making her way off the bus. She was unsteady on her feet, and Celia motioned for Dean to help more so he stepped forward and offered a hand.

She took it on her way down the last two steps, leaning on him to make the final jump off the last step and to the ground. She had a smile on her face the whole time and said “Hi! My name is Maddy!”

“Hiya Maddy,” he said, directing her towards the front doors. As they walked, it became clear to him it would be best to thread his arm under her elbow to really support her as she went. She said hi to every single person they passed- not by name, but she said ‘hello’ and ‘hi’ and then ‘hello’ again to every single kid and teacher they passed. They other teachers all responded with a ‘hi Maddy’ or a ‘How’s it goin, Maddy?’ to which she never responded, simply kept smiling.

He opened the door for her, and they made their way towards the classroom. Dean saw that Mr.Novak- Castiel- was posted just outside the classroom door, warmly greeting each student by name and asking them questions about their weekend, how was their dog, and did they bring that special thing they wanted to show him?

“Ah, Maddy!” He turned his warm gaze to the two of them, “Hello! Maddy, I see you met my new friend Dean. What do you think?” He shot Dean a wink as he said this- a god honest WINK- and Dean felt like he was graciously being let in on some joke between the two of them.

“Hi Mr.Novak!” She answered cheerfully, letting go of Dean's arm. She made her way on her own over to a hook outside the classroom, which Dean registered as having her name above it. She took off her coat with some difficulty, and left her bag under the hook. After she headed in, Castiel quietly picked it up and hung it on the hook for her.

“Ready to meet everyone?” He asked Dean, leading the way into the classroom. He laughed mirthfully at Dean's scared expression.

“Last bus just showed up, no Sawyer today” Mrs.Celia called over the walkie-talkies

“Alright, no Sawyer…” Castiel was marking something on his computer- attendance, Dean realized, “Now! Lets start today with meeting a new friend.” He turned towards the class, and waved Dean up to stand next to him.

“Class, this is Dean. He will be in our classroom now, and he’s someone like me or Mrs.Celia that you can come to for help. He will be with us for the rest of the year. I want to go around the room and I want everyone to share their name, and something that they love. Okay? Eden, let's start with you-” He motioned to a kid sitting at a singular desk towards the back that Dean hadn’t even registered.

Eden didn’t seem to get the memo, so Castiel prompted “What’s your name?” and Eden said “Eden!” Again, Castiel prompted “What’s something you like?” Eden responded by saying “Spiderman!” and humming the Spiderman theme song. Well, they would get along just fine, Dean thought to himself.

They went around the room this way, each of the children needing Castiel to prompt them with both questions each time. Dean tried to memorize all the names, but it was hard. He tried to associate them with the fact they shared as best he could.

Parker liked building things, and he had a cool design shaved into the side of his shaved head. Kain liked planes. April liked princesses, and was wearing all pink. That one felt easy. Nathan liked his bestfriend Jordan, and Jordan liked trains. A small kid named Sol who appeared to have some sort of facial paralysis, making speech difficult, said that he liked riding the bus (which Dean only knew because Castiel reflected his words back to him, Dean assumed he did this so Dean knew what he said). Lastly, was a skinny brown-haired boy who spoke so softly Dean almost couldn’t make out when the kid said his name was Danny, and that he liked reading.

Maddy, who Dean now knew, said she liked saying hi. That’s very accurate, Dean thought to himself. He caught Castiels eye after Maddy said that, and gave him a ‘yea, checks out’ sorta look. Castiel gave him the softest, most big-hearted look in return and for the second time that day Dean had to look away before his heart made room for all that.

“Wonderful, now, Dean would you introduce yourself too?” Castiel turned those sparkling eyes to him, and he felt as though he were sweating under a hot spotlight.

“Yea, uh, my name is Dean,” He repeated, looking out at the classroom of kids, “Something I like is cars.” He thought of his baby, the Impala.

“Cars, interesting!” Castiel said, and Dean believed him that it genuinely was. He could already tell, Castiel was the type of guy who meant things like that.
“You guys all know what my favorite thing is, right?” He asked the class, a laugh hiding behind his smile.

“BEES!” they all yelled in unison, giggling to themselves.

The morning was peaceful for the most part, and Dean was thankful. It gave him the chance to settle in, try to get to know the kids and practice names. Social skills was surprisingly fun. They mostly played games. They would spin a wheel and practice whatever the wheel landed on- things like asking someone questions about their weekend, or how to go about making a friend. There were a lot of laughs, and Dean felt like he was maybe even able to bond with a few of the kids.

Reading and snack were a breeze, he sat next to the kids as they learned and redirected them when they needed it. Which was often. Many of them needed constant reminders to ‘listen with their ears and eyes’ or ‘Don’t put the pencil in your mouth, use your chew for that instead’. Snack was another opportunity for Dean to try and form a connection with the kids. He tried to play with as many of them as possible. The first recess was an indoor one, so it was mostly playing with blocks and playdough and reading the books available in class.

It was writing where they hit the first snag of the day, and Dean felt like he wasn’t helping. They had started writing, and the assignment seemed easy enough to Dean. Last week, the kids had picked a produce to write about. They had to find out where it grew, if it was a fruit or a vegetable, and write about a dish it was used in.

Eden was frustrated that he couldn’t find the report paper he’d started. Dean had only noticed when the young boy had let out a loud, frustrated sound from his desk at the back of the classroom.

“What’s up dude?” Dean said, making his way over to the desk

“I can’t find it!” He said loudly, motioning aggressively to the box his work was supposed to be kept in.

“Ah! No worries champ, lemme help you out with that,” He offered, reaching for the box.

“Yea, can you help me?” Eden said, in an angry tone even though he was receiving assistance.

Dean flipped through the few papers, spotting one with the word ‘TomATo” written on it in varying letter sizes. He help it up, and said “Is this is?”

“Ugh, yes!” Eden grabbed it out of his hand, and sat down harshly with a big huff.

“Do you want some help starting?” Dean asked, kneeling down next to the desk to get eye level with him.

“Yes!” Eden declared, even louder than before. He was clenching his little fists, getting red in the face.

“Hey, it’s all good, i’m happy to help,” Dean said, pulling up a chair to sit next to him. In the small amount of time it took him to do this, Eden had grabbed a pencil and scribbled all over his report.

“Oh, what-” Dean started, but was interrupted by Eden wailing “I CAN’T DO ITTTTTT”

“It’s alright, we can-” “NO, I CAN’T!” he said forcefully, sliding down from his seat in the chair to curl under his desk. Dean crouched down even farther to try and stay on his level, even as he was under the desk.

“I can’t do it. I mess it up.” He mumbled, waving his hands exasperatedly, “I’m stupid. I can’t do it. I’m done. I’m gonna do bad.”

Dean was briefly struck by how much this kid reminded him of himself as a kid, just more vocal. If he was honest with himself, he still had similar narratives now. It shocked him a little, to hear the kid speak about himself like that so openly. These were things he barely even said outloud now, much less when he was a kid.

“No, you’re not a bad kid,” he said softly, “we all make mistakes. Lets just try again.”

“I said I can’t do it!” Eden repeated, small tears falling down his red cheeks now.

“Eden,” that low timber spoke softly from above and behind Dean. He hadn’t even heard the man approach. “I remember you drew a fantastic picture of you and your family eating spaghetti with tomato sauce, can you show Dean that picture? I want him to see it but…hmm…I can't seem to find it…” He pretended to flip between the two pages of Eden’s report, ‘looking’ for the photo.

Eden sniffled for a moment before awkwardly slinking back up to his chair. He was quiet as he flipped to the picture, which he had not drawn on.

“Ah! Perfect, Eden. Can we show Dean?” Castiel put a hand on Dean's back while he looked at Eden, waiting expectantly. Dean felt the dimensions of Castiels hand, surprised at the touch. He wasn’t a very touchy typa guy, and usually felt uncomfortable about it, but he wasn’t bothered by the touch from Castiel. It actually felt…kinda nice.

Eden nodded, but didn’t speak. He held up his drawing for Dean to see- sure enough, there was what looked vaguely like a bowl of pasta with something red on top, and some stick figures around it with forks as large as their bodies in their hands. It was adorable.

“Oh, wow dude! That looks great!” He said, making sure to widen his eyes in exaggerated amazement.

Castiel gave his back a small rub with his thumb before withdrawing the touch. “I agree with Dean!” He said. “Eden, how about I sit with you while Dean goes and checks out some other people's drawings?” He said it with a kind small but Dean's heart still dropped a little. Had he done a bad job? He should have known something like that would work better with a kid than words alone.

He turned to the closest table, looking at Elliot, Kain, and April's work. He was mostly focused on their work, and giving them the help they needed, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t hear the conversation happening just a seat or two away between Castiel and Eden.

“What happened Buddy?” Castiel asked in a soft voice, “It seems like you got really frustrated.”

Eden muttered something back that Dean couldn’t make out.

“I want you to know that it’s okay to get ‘stuck in the mud’,” He heard Castiel’s more clear response, “I believe in you. I believe that you can do this. It’s okay to get upset and need to ask for help or a break, that's what me, Dean. and Mrs.Celia are here for. Okay?”

Dean had to tune out of the rest of the conversation. How different would he be if someone had been able to say that to him as a kid? Who would he be if a teacher, any teacher, had just told him that it was okay to feel how he felt, and that they would be there no matter how he felt. To be allowed to make a mistake, and correct it? That would have been life changing. It brought an ache to his chest- or rather, it drew his attention to the ache that was always there, grabbing its hands around his heart and squeezing a bit to hard for comfort.

The rest of the day was okay- he tried to give himself the grace that it was his first day and he was still learning. He thought he did okay, overall. Castiel had an IEP meeting that had started by the time he returned from helping Mrs.Celia get the kids on the bus at the end of the day. He wished he could ask Castiel for feedback, or some sort of confirmation that he hadn’t totally fucked up the whole thing on his first day here.

Just as he was leaving, he saw Castiel catch his eye back and give him another small wink.

The little butterflies in his stomach persisted all the way back to his car, and maybe even all the way back to his apartment after. But he pretended to ignore them in favor for the music blasting from his radio. He was looking forward to work tomorrow.

Chapter Text

The next day ran similar to the first- get the kids off the bus, help anyone with anything who looked like they might need some assistance. He left during reading to receive some additional training from the school's nurse on one of the kids- Sol had a feeding protocol that required some additional knowledge. The training seemed thorough to Dean. He could admit that without it, one would probably not pay attention to all they needed to when Sol was eating.

He returned in time for the last bit of writing, which seemed like one of the more chaotic times for the classroom. Following it with yoga was smart, he thought. It got the kids calmed down again. It was really cute to see the kids doing ‘Sun Salutations’ and ‘Cow pose’ with their little and uncoordinated bodies. This was probably the first time he’d ever seen kids do yoga, he realized. It involved far more falling and giggling than when he saw adults do it.

Yesterday they’d done a dance party during this time, and Castiel had stayed in his seat and let the kids get a bunch of energy out. Today, he was not only participating in Yoga but leading it himself! He used this calm, meditative and slow voice to lead the kids. He took off his fancy shoes and joined them in their socks to lead them through the motions by example. Once again, Dean was struck by not only how beautiful but how soft he was. Patient and gentle. He hadn’t seen the man raise his voice once, no matter how loud or wild the class became.

“-And now we say thank you to one another for having such a wonderful time doing yoga together,” Castiel said, bowing towards the kids. They bowed back, kinda. They did their best, Dean concluded, as half of them bowed so deeply they fell to their knees on the ground with laughter.

Dean caught Castiels eye and waved goodbye for his lunch break during read-aloud, and Castiel gave him an acknowledging nod before returning to tying his shoes. Dean ate lunch alone in the staff room, which he preferred anyway. The quiet was nice, after being in a rather loud and chaotic classroom. He found himself thinking about his new coworkers during his free time.

Mrs.Celia was rather quiet, but she had a little humor to her. He could count on her to be holding in a laugh with him when the kids said something unintentionally funny or ridiculous. He appreciated her years of expertise, too. Dean tried his best to be self-sufficent and not rely on her to do everything, make every decision, but it was nice to know she wasn’t fumbling alongside him.

And of course, there was Cas. It had barely been two days, but he just plain liked the man! He wanted to get to know him more, see what made him tick. How long had he been doing this? What did he do in his spare time, after school? Did he have a boyfriend? That last one was an assumption. Whatever. He was curious! He was generally curious about Castiel, intrigued.

The sound of his alarm broke him away from his wandering thoughts- his lunch was over. Packed up his lunch, putting the container back in the fridge so he could eat the leftovers later. He walked back to the classroom, seeing the kids were already lining up to eat to the cafeteria.

“Ah, Dean!” Castiel waved him over as he entered the classroom. “Perfect timing. I wanted to let you know that Mrs.Celia will need to leave at the end of lunch, so you’ll head out along with the kids to recess. I’ll join you outside as soon as I can, but you’ll be alone for a brief moment. You have your walkie if you need it.” He dismissed Dean with a nod of his head, turning back to the three kids all asking him for different things from across the room. “Inside voices! What do you need?” He said as he walked over to them.

Cool, Dean thought to himself, he didn’t feel too worried about it. Lunch was a breeze- Mrs.Celia still handled helping Sol with his lunch and Dean watched the rest of the kids. Danny needed some reminders to ‘keep eating’ and ‘take another bite’, but for the most part the kids ate their food at their own pace. April needed a lot of reminders not to sing loudly once she finished eating, but Dean found that singing softly to her made her giggle and mirror the volume.

Just as they started to pack up, Mrs.Celia caught his eye and pointed to the door, then gave him a thumbs up with raised eyebrows. Ah, she wanted to know if she could leave. He gave her a thumbs up back, with a smile.

It turned out to actually be rather hard to get all the kids packed up at once- they all needed verbal reminders of some kind, and he felt like he was trying to speak to seven different kids about seven different things at the same time. He somehow managed to get all the kid's lunches packed up, and all of them zipped up in their jackets- but by the time he did, all the other classes had already left. He knew the next grade would be in soon, so he got them headed out to the playground with some pep in his step.

He felt like a herding dog all the way down the hall, trying to count heads as much as he could and keep everyone heading the same way. Danny kept pausing to read posters on the wall, and Dean would have to run back to encourage him to just ‘Walk down the hallway, no need to look at all the stuff. We just gotta get outside, Buddy.’ but then the front of the line would stall without him acting as the leader.

Dean took a deep breath when they finally made it outside, letting it out in a huff and pausing for a moment. Jesus. It was hard to solo this shit.

He walked back and forth, making sure everyone was doing okay. A couple of the kids were running around the track in a gaggle, two others were on the swings, and Maddy was giving the monkey bars a go. She was actually pretty good at them.

Curious, he walked over to where the track was closest to the playground and waited for the group of boys to run past him.

“Whatcha’ playin’?” He called out as they sprinted past him as fast as their little legs would take them.

“COPS AND ROBBERS,” they screamed back, not pausing for a second.

Sure, why not, he smiled to himself. He decided to walk down to the left from between the field and the playground itself, as it was the best way to see everyone no matter where they were. It was an uneventful walk, but when he turned around to walk back he saw Castiel emerge from the building. He looked a bit frazzled, running a hand through his hair to calm it down. As if it were long enough to become THAT messy in the first place.

Dean continued his walk back towards Castiel, intending to go and check in with him, let him know lunch had been good and recess was going well. Before he could make it there, the pack of boys was coming back around the bend of the track towards him. He didn’t know what made him do a double take, but he did. Something about the glint in Eden's eye…

***

Castiel was scanning back and forth, looking for everyone- the kids, and Dean-and spotted Dean just in time to see him pause, turn, and begin jogging away from him. What?

Ah, the kids.

He watched as a group containing most of the class screamed with glee and pursued him with renewed vigor, picking up their pace at Deans reaction. Dean doubled back through the playground, and the kids weaved between the structures trying to catch up for the ground they lost during their failed sneak attack. Some of the quicker ones, like Eden, were much closer than some of the slower ones, like Sol, who's smaller legs simply couldn’t keep up.

Dean looked up to where he stood, gave him a wide, dazzling smile, and made a big show of “stopping to catch his breath”. He bent over, his hands on his knees, taking the most ridiculously large breaths Castiel had ever seen. The kids tackled Dean from behind, and he watched with amusement as Dean's face changed to surprise at how much force the kids were actually able to exert. He laughed out loud when Dean was forced to his knees by the kids practically climbing onto his shoulders.

Castiel made his way over, intending to take pity on poor Dean. Also, boundaries were important at school. He couldn’t help the fondness he felt seeing the man be so playful with the kids. Dean was clearly younger than him, and still had that particular energy inside- the one where he could sprint and goof around with them like that. He had a way with the kids, Castiel could already see it.

“Oh my, what’s happened here?” He said loudly as he approached, raising an eyebrow at the kids. Dean made a cheesy ‘ahhhhh’ sound from underneath Eden, and Castiel suppressed a smile.

“We got him!” Nathan said triumphantly, standing up from where he’d been lying on Dean.

“I see!” He said, getting more of the kid's attention, “And what did he do?”

“He was- he- he’s a robber,” Eden piped up, “We’re gonna take him to JAIL.” his voice became grave at the word jail, as grave as a kid's voice could be.

“Hm. well, where’s jail? Maybe you can release him to me, Sheriff Novak, and I’ll make sure he gets there safe and sound” He gave Dean a wink, and was rewarded with the same stunned face Dean had given him yesterday every time he’d done that. Was it forward of him? Yes, more forward than he’d ever been in his life. Was it also fun, yes. Maybe it was just friendly! It could very well just end up being friendly. He didn’t know Dean exceptionally well yet, but the man was gorgeous. He was strong looking, and handsome. So very, very handsome. There was a twinkle in his eye, a dimple in his smile, and lord. He was even sweet to the kids. Castiel was a sucker for that, he always had been.

The kids totally bought the ruse, and handed ‘Mr.Dean’ over with lots of exaggerated evil laughter and promises of being locked up forever. Castiel put on a very serious and stern face till they’d turned away.

“You’re wonderful with them, you know,” He said to Dean

“Nah,” Dean responded quickly, “I got no idea what I'm doin’, really.”

Castiel frowned at the dismissal. Dean clearly had experience working with kids, or if he didn’t then he truly was a natural. The compliment wasn’t superfluous, it was genuine.

“No, honestly,” He pushed back, “You’ve got a talent for this. Is this your first time doing this kind of work?” Castiel looked over at the man next to him, trying to read his expression. Dean seemed…bashful. He had ducked his head, and had a small smile on his face that seemed embarrassed to be acknowledged.

“Well, kinda?” Dean shoved his hand in his pockets, seeming to think for a moment, “I did mostly unrelated stuff but then I started working at summer camps. Got a couple a’ kids in my cabin whos parents were all concerned because their kids were ADHD or whatever, but I said no problem, we’re all just here to have a good time, no matter what that looks like.”

“Next summer, they asked me if I’d be a counselor for some camp run by the same place but it’s a therapeutic recreation program- I never heard a’ that before, but I said sure- next thing I know I’m doin’ that every summer instead of the other stuff.” He saw Dean smile to himself, clearly remembering this very fondly.

“Then I didn’t wanna stop, when the summer was over. So, uh, here I am, I guess,” He seemed to come back into himself a bit, and cleared his throat, “Geeze, look at me, rambling on. M’sorry to bore ya.” He rubbed the back of his head with a hand. “What about you, how long've you been…doin’ this?”

“Five years now,” He responded, thinking about how short and long it felt. He’d known for a long time he wanted to do this work. It began with his Autism diagnosis in college. It had been a late thing, but he could also admit to himself that he’d known it for longer than that.

Growing up he’d recognized the differences between himself and others. The jokes he missed, the things he did genuinely that others took as funny, the lack of friends, the sensitivity to bright lights, the susceptibility to manipulation from his family, and of course the rigidity. There had been a lot that should have made it obvious to someone growing up, but of course his family didn’t want to ‘encourage that type of thing’ so it was up to him, as an adult, to get that affirmation for himself.

“I studied Psychology in college, then went on to get my masters in Special Education. It’s been five years since I started working here, in this classroom.” He turned to look back out at the playground and field. It wasn’t inappropriate to talk while they were out here together, they just also needed to at least be keeping an eye on things from afar.

“How was your first day, yesterday?” He recalled feeling badly that he didn’t get to check in before Dean had been off the clock, “I apologize, that meeting directly after school was unavoidable. I promise usually we debrief about the day as a group.” he reassured Dean

“Oh, it was fine! I’m sorry about-” Dean was cut off by the whistle, and blushed deeply. Cas was sorry himself to not be able to finish their conversation, once again, but such was trying to talk while school was still in session.

He helped Dean round up the kids, promising to himself that he would follow up with Dean about this at the end of the day.

***

He got the last kid on the bus, and let out what felt like his twenty-seventh sigh of the day. The job was good, but certainly tiring by the end of the day. He was ready for a nice drive home, with the windows down, blasting some good ass music. Arriving back in the classroom, he remembered Castiels assurance that they usually debriefed at the end of the day.

“Anything I should know?” Castiel asked Mrs.Celia as she entered, ahead of Dean.

“No, not really,” She replied softly, “Pretty good day.”

“Okay! You’re alright to head out early then.” Castiel replied, sitting on the top edge of his desk. He crossed his arms across his chest, and Dean pulled his eyes away from how his shirt stretched. He turned to gather his stuff, thinking that was awfully short. He turned back around in time to wave at Celia as she left the classroom.

“Dean,” Castiel said, “Would you hang back? I wanted to finish our conversation from earlier.”

Dean remembered the conversation. He’d been about to apologize for fucking it up with Eden the day before. It was an embarrassing moment, one he immediately regretted as soon as the beel interrupted. More like saved me, he thought to himself.

“Oh, conversation? I don’t uh, recall,” he fumbled, taking another step towards the door. Castiel seemed nice but he really, really didn't want to do this right now

“It sounded like you were going to apologize for something?” he clarified, calmly. He didn’t move from his relaxed position leaning on his desk, he just held his steady eye contact and tilted his head a bit to the side.

Dean couldn’t handle it. He cast his eyes to the side, feeling like he was being suffocated. “Not ringin’ any bells, sorry.” His feet were moving before he really registered it, saving him from this awkward denial. He fled from his second day of work, feeling a tad ashamed but most relieved. Surely Castiel would forget about it by tomorrow.

***

God, this was the second time today someone had practically run out on a conversation with him. He ran a hand through his hair, breathing out in exasperation. To be fair, only one of the conversations had been with a fellow adult.

Some of the kids who’d been in his class re-entered the gen-ed classes when everyone agreed it was the right move. Usually, it went well, but now and then there would be a hiccup or a whole day that ended up being rough, and sometimes he would be called over to check in with the kiddo.

The kid in question, Arlo, had been out of the SCC for about two weeks now, so it was still a relatively fresh absence from their classroom community. He’d been on his lunch break when the school psychologist had interrupted, asking him if he had a moment. Arlo was escalated and refused to leave the classroom.

Of course, he’d gone down to help. He thought back through the series of events, trying to analyze where he went wrong and where he could do better.

Arlo had already snapped several pencils in half by the time he’d entered Ms.Rowena's classroom and was grinding another into the table as hard as he could. He growled as he did, scrunching up his face in anger as tightly as his muscles allowed.

Castiel appraised the situation from the door before slowly pulling up a chair next to Arlo.

“Hey friends,” he said in a soft voice, ducking his head so he was at eye level. “I see that you’re feeling frustrated.” He wanted to start by making Arlo feel seen, without asking too many questions. The questions could be hard, and even further escalating when a kid was already a certain level of upset. So, starting with statements was always his first choice.

“It looks to me like you need a break,” he stated, “I see that you’re expressing some anger using these pencils.” He looked at Arlo, waiting for a response or acknowledgment. Statements could also be a bit of a double-edged sword; A lot of the autistic kids didn’t view anything other than direct questions as needing a response. The implied responses to statements didn’t always occur to them.

“We’re going to take a break now,” Castiel said firmly, “you can choose to sit in the hallway with a sensory toy, or you can choose to come back to my classroom and play with a sensory toy there. Which do you choose?” It was a method for injecting choice into the situation in a way that was hard to ignore, and Castiel felt it helped profoundly.

However, that wasn’t always the case.

Rather than answering him, Arlo had surprised him by sprinting out of the room. The teacher, Ms.Rowena, responded as only she knew how, by chasing after him.

“No- Wait, Wait-” Castiel had tried and failed to reach her before she was barreling down the hall after him. Arlo had rounded the corner and then doubled back, as Castiel knew he would, and upon seeing Ms.Rowena running after him, continued to flee.

Castiel didn’t blame her- eloping can be a dangerous behavior and a tricky one to work with at times. In this case, though, Castiel knew Arlo well enough from working with him over the years to know that Arlo would do one of two things- run and hide in the school psychologist's office, or double back to see if he was followed. Knowing that, Castiel never followed close behind him, or at a quick pace. He always walked, and he knew exactly where to walk TO.

It was harder this time, as Ms.Rowena unintentionally made Arlo run around the school more than he usually would, scaring the lovely front desk women by briefly trying to run through the first set of doors to the parking lot.

He would likely have to defend his recommendation that Arlo was ready to leave the classroom after this event. His placement might be reconsidered- but if what was next for him was to return to the SCC, Castiel would have a place for him again. First, he would speak with Ms.Rowena and see if she could shed more light on what happened prior to his arrival on the scene. He would also gently suggest to her a different way to handle the situation next time.

Dean puzzled him a little more. He didn’t have the history to fall back on or the rapport. He wasn’t sure how Dean felt he had messed up, or why he’d felt the need to apologize. Clearly approaching him about it directly felt too vulnerable to the man, which was Castiel's best guess as to why he’d fled. Castiel hadn’t been critical or rude, as far as he knew. He knew sometimes he came off in a certain way, one he didn’t intend to.

He made an executive decision to join Dean during recess. It was a selfish choice, but also a practical one (or so he convinced himself). It was one of the best times to talk with a co-worker from the same classroom- their lunch times would never cross, class time was busy and also not an appropriate time to socialize, and after school Mrs.Celia would usually be there for their debrief. So, he fiddled around with the schedule for a solid ten minutes to figure out a way he could be free during recess with Dean. He thought about what questions he wanted to ask, coming up with conversation starters he could use.

Any delusions that this was a practical choice evaporated once it took him more than two minutes to figure out. His persistence gave him away, but Dean was far too interesting for him to resist.

Chapter Text

It was only Dean’s third recess here, but he found already that he greatly enjoyed this part of his time with the kids. It was an incredible amount of fun, running around with them. It filled him with a lot of joy that they even wanted to play with him at all. He knew all of them had trouble making friends and playing with their peers, but he was just some lame adult who was constantly telling them to do work all day. He thought it was sweet they flocked to him the second it was outside time.

Today, before the kids had even arrived at school, Castiel had announced that he was shifting a few things around so that he could accompany Dean to recess. Celia seemed indifferent if not happy because it meant she got to eat her lunch a bit earlier. Castiel had cited something about wanting to see how the kids were doing and wanting to get outside at least once during the day. Why did Dean suspect that Castiel also wanted to get to know him? Maybe he just wanted it to be true.

Either way, as he went outside today, Castiel was right behind him. They stood where the teachers always seemed to, at the edge of the blacktop, overlooking the play structure and field. The kids dispersed to their usual activities today, but Eden did cling to him for a bit at the beginning.

“Go play, dude!” He encouraged, feeling like Castiel was going to chastise him for some reason. When he looked at the man next to him, he didn’t seem bothered at all, he was just scanning and checking on all the kids visually.

Eventually, Eden ran off to join Nathan and Jordan in some complicated and made-up game involving two bouncy balls and what appeared to be five different hula hoops.

“So,” Castiel said, still not looking at Dean, “What made you choose Sunview?”

Random, he thought, but okay. “Well, I did a few interviews and this place just seemed like the best fit. It’s really close to my house, and your principal seemed really nice when she interviewed me. The vibe, you know?”

“Ah, yes,” Castiel said, “the vibe.” He said it in an uncomfortable tone that told Dean he had no idea what it meant.

“Come on, you know! The vibe!” Dean laughed, clapping Castiel on his shoulder.

“I do not,” Castiel replied softly, not seeming offended from as far as Dean could tell, “but I do agree that we are lucky to have a very charismatic principal here.”

There was a lull in the conversation, and Dean shifted back and forth on his feet. Maybe he should leave and check on the kids more. He wasn’t sure. Castiel was the teacher, so Dean was defaulting to what the other man was doing. When he looked over at Castiel, the man was standing with that perfect, strong posture of his, looking out over the field.

Dean looked to their right, at the swings. April was next to a girl he hadn’t seen before, presumably from another class. They were swinging back and forth slowly, April’s little feet only coordinated to help her swing higher about 50% of the time. She seemed to be having a good time anyway. Dean turned back to point them out to Castiel, but the man was no longer standing next to them.

He was walking briskly away, towards the play structure. Dean couldn’t pinpoint what it was- maybe it was just a gut feeling- but something about the way he moved made Dean feel like something was wrong even though he wasn't running. He scanned the area Castiel was heading towards, and when he saw the problem his stomach dropped.

Parker was on top of one of the taller structures, and he was blocking Kain out onto a rock climbing pathway up and down from the tower to the ground. Parker had a frustrated look on his face and was aggressively refusing to let Kain up even though Kain seemed to be struggling to find footing on the rock wall. It looked like he might slip- and if that wasn’t enough, Dean watched as Parker raised his hands to push Kain off altogether.

He mirrored Castiels brisk walk over, but instead of positioning himself next to Castiel on the ground, he made his way up the play structure. None of the other kids seemed to register the situation at all, and they kept screaming and running all around him as he made his way up the steps.

“Parker, I want you to pick a different way down from the play structure. You can go down the slide, or back down the stairs, but my friend Kain is trying to go up the rockwall right now. If you want to go down it, you need to let him up first.” Castiel spoke loudly but didn’t yell up to Parker. Dean stayed back a few steps but looked for a way he could step between Parker and the opening Kain needed to access. Castiel didn’t catch his eye, but he felt he was making a good choice by being up here where he was closer to Parker than Castiel was.

Kain grabbed the metal bar on the side of the opening to steady himself, and Dean watched as Parker clenched his fists at his side and reared back a foot like he was going to kick Kain right in the face. Nope, that wasn’t okay. Dean took a step forward and put his hand on Parker's chest to gently push him away from the edge. He moved his body into the space he created, leaving Parker in front of him and his back to Kain. He took a step forward, and Parker automatically moved to make space between them. He felt Kain scramble up behind him to stand on the platform.

“Why did you DO THAT?” Parker yelled, scowling up and Dean.

“It’s dangerous to not let people up onto the play structure when they need to get up,” Dean said, getting down on one knee to talk to Parker, “And we definitely can’t kick our friends in the face. That’s a really dangerous thing.”

“NO, I WASN’T GOING TO-” Parker started, anger digging into his face even more.

“I saw your foot, bud.” Dean countered in a calm voice. “Let’s go sit on the bench, okay? I think you need some time to cool off.”

“NO!” Parker yelled, turning to go down the slide close by them. Dean sighed, turning to head back down the stairs and intercept him. He didn’t see where Kain had gone, but after a moment of looking, he saw that Kain was now walking around the track. Whatever, as long as the kid was okay.

When he rounded to where the slide let out onto the bark chips, he saw Parker growling at Nathan and Jordan. Castiel was already there, along with another adult woman he hadn’t met yet. Dean walked over to tell Castiel he’d told Parker they were going to sit on the bench, knowing that following through was the best idea but quickly understood that the situation was too chaotic to communicate that effectively.

Castiel was encouraging Parker to take a break with him inside, and Parker hated that idea. The other woman seemed to be advocating for Parker to stay outside for some reason?

“Parker, can we have safe hands? Let’s head to the swings or something, yeah?” She said, directly contradicting what Castiel was saying. Parker seemed confused, and only becoming more frustrated and angry. He eyed Nathan and Jordan again, so Dean moved between Parker and the other two boys. All he did was stand there calmly, but it seemed to deter Parker from seeing them as a target.

The three of them ended up following Parker around the playground as he moved, the three of them standing between him and any other kids he seemed to take offense to. Dean looked at Castiel, not understanding why this was the best move, and saw a fit of quiet anger brewing behind his cool gaze.

“I just think he needs to get some energy out,” The woman said to him as he followed Parker over to the monkey bars, “I think taking him inside wouldn’t let him stay outside and get all that energy out, that’s all. I hope I didn’t overstep.”

Dean didn’t know what to say, but before he could respond Parker started cutting in the line for the monkey bars, yelling and getting right up in the other kid's faces.

“Hey, Parker, we gotta wait our turn. The line is so we know who’s next.” He said, feeling exasperated. He knew it wasn’t the best way to operate. The kids always fed off your energy, because they didn't have regulation skills of their own. Co-regulation was the name of the game, but that meant having your own shit together in the first place.

“No, NO, I don’t-” Parker was interrupted by the end-of-lunch whistle. Dean saw the panic on his face as he switched gears at the speed of light, sprinting over to the door so he could be first in THAT line instead. It was futile, they had an assigned line leader for their class each week.

He and Castiel worked together to get the kids inside, and it took some doing but everyone and their coats made it inside safe and sound.

They entered the classroom, and Dean watched as Castiel pulled Ms.Celia aside. Dean barely made out him saying ‘Can you read them a book for a few minutes? I need a second before we start Math.’ before taking off his jacket and setting it on his chair.

Ms.Celia gathered the kids on the carpet, introducing them to some book about a kid whose lunch comes alive, and talks to him at the table. It seemed cute, but Dean was mostly watching Castiel. He was on the other side of the room, sitting in Ms. Celia's chair and looking out one of the large windows. He leaned back, running one of his hands through his hair, a tick he seemed to perform when stressed.

After a few minutes, when he felt confident Parker was enraptured with the book and Ms.Celia would not need his support urgently, he hesitantly made his way over to where Castiel was now standing. He sat in the chair Castiel had just been sitting in. He didn’t say anything, he just sat.

Castiel didn’t even look at him for another solid minute. He watched as those bright blue eyes slid over to his for a second, before skipping back over to the window. The man sighed.

“It’s avoidable.” He said, in a low deep voice, “The other kids don’t need to get hurt because he’s dysregulated. We know that leaving him outside when he’s in that state, won’t deescalate him. It usually only sustains or worsens the situation. Furthermore-” Was it weird that Dean found it hot when he used words like that? “-having two people trying to run point on the situation, and disagreeing with one another-” Castiel cut himself off to take a deep breath. He turned towards Dean, looking down at him with an expression Dean didn’t understand. He leaned over him a bit from where he stood, speaking in that same low and rumbly voice to keep the other kids from hearing.

“Disagreeing with one another,” He continued in a calmer voice, “In front of a child who needs direct and clear messaging about how he is expected to calm himself down. It’s- I-” Castiel fell silent again, but his eyes held Dean’s.

This is a serious conversation, Dean reprimanded himself when Castiels intense eye contact made his mind think things he shouldn’t be thinking at work. It caught him off guard, and he was sure he blushed a little. Embarrassed, he flicked his eyes away. He decided that Castiels expression was one of sadness and desperation.

“You-” Curse his mouth for being dry at a time like this, he cleared his throat and started over, “You do your best. I see that.” Dean chanced a look up at Castiel, and was met with what he was sure was the world's softest smile. He blushed furiously, he was sure of it this time. What the fuck was wrong with him? What he’d said was stupid anyway, why was Castiel looking at him like that in the first place?

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel said, ducking his head to emphasize the short statement while looking somehow further into Dean's eyes. “It’s me who should be reassuring you, as you start your new job! We aren’t even a week in, and it’s you comforting me.” he ran his hands over his face.

“It’s okay, I- uh- I don’t mind, man,” Dean said awkwardly, shifting in his seat.

Why did every conversation with Castiel leave him feeling…however he was feeling right now? Vulnerable was the closest word he could think of. He felt vulnerable. He couldn’t decide if he loved it or hated it. He didn’t have time to sort it out before Ms.Celia announced the end of the book and the beginning of math.

Chapter Text

As the days passed and they spent more recess’ together, Dean came to learn more about Cas (a nickname he had begun to use for the man in his head). He felt more relaxed around Cas now, knowing him to be an incredibly patient, wildly smart, and kind to a default person. He found himself looking forward to their conversations after school as well, so much so that he sometimes lingered a few minutes beyond when he was required to stay.

He learned that Cas loved bees and dreamed of being a beekeeper someday. Cas liked the color blue and didn't even kill ants. He was one of those people who would scoop them up and bring them outside. He learned that Cas had a large family that he didn't keep in touch with much anymore. It made him think of his dad, who he hadn't seen or spoken to in months, but he didn't say anything to Castiel about it.

He'd also learned that Castiel had a criminal lack of pop culture knowledge. When he'd asked the man what type of music he liked, Castiel had said ‘I don't know’, which was crazy, so Dean had made it a personal goal to introduce him to more songs and movies. What kinda life was it without those things?

At this point, Dean would definitely call them buddies. Workplace friends. It was hard to bridge the gap between ‘friends at work’ and ‘friends outside of work’.

Cas had asked for his number the second week they worked together, and Dean's heart had flipped in his chest, but Cas had just added him to a group chat with Mrs.Celia that they used to update one another about things they might need to know- last minute lateness, offers to bring coffee to work for everyone, etc.

Dean was working up the courage to text Castiel about the staff event that was coming up at the end of the week when Cas brought it up himself.

“Celia,” He asked, “Are you going to the pub on at the end of this month?”

“Oh, you know me,” She answered with a teasing smile. She shot Dean a look, nodding no vigorously. Dean laughed, giving her a nod back that said ‘Yep, checks out’.

“I never want to assume,” Castiel said lightheartedly. “What about you, Dean?”

He sounded TOO casual. Dean didn’t know how to describe it. He was trying too hard. That or Dean was once again reading into every little thing like his life depended on it.

“I don’t know, maybe?” He shrugged, watching Castiel carefully, “I don’t really know any of the other teachers.”

“I might go.” Castiel said, doing that thing where he looked right into Dean's soul through his iris’. Dean was a little more used to it now, but all that meant was that it didn’t surprise him. Time didn’t seem to quell the shiver it sent through him- if anything, it had gotten worse.

“Well, if you’re going…” Dean offered, swallowing.

“Wonderful,” Castiel said, quirking one of his eyebrows. Now THAT did surprise him.

***

Dean thought about the party, and if he wanted to go. The kids were watching a short video on how paint was made for science, and it afforded him some space in my mind to think. As long as he kept an eye out, and everyone was focused for the most part, he could wander a bit in the old noggin.

It would be interesting to see Castiel outside of a school setting, but also everyone else would be around. And, what if he didn't show and Dean was stuck there with a bunch of 40-year-old women? Obviously, he wanted to be friends with them too, but not badly enough to spend a whole night out with them at some bar he'd never been to.

He wasn't sure what made him glance down at his phone from his pocket to check the time instead of reading the analog clock on the wall, but he was met with an alarming number of calls from Bobby. It was nearly ten, and Bobby called him again as he was looking at his screen. He swiped on the call to read the last message Bobby had sent him.

Bobby// He's been out for a week, and I think he's headed your way.

Bobby// I’m sorry Dean

Dean felt his chest tighten as the world shrank down to the space between his face and the screen of his phone. He couldn't be here; he needed to leave, but he couldn't just leave, he had a job to do, and he needed to stay. His throat clenched closed, and he had to work to breathe, and his jaw clenched, and he knew it would take even more work to speak, to ask to leave, and handle this situation. The kids, the classroom, it all felt fuzzy in the background of his panic.

He stood, somehow, and carried his body over to Mrs.Celia even though his limbs dragged what seemed to be tons of rocks each.

He must have looked how he felt, because he barely got out the words “I'm sorry, I need to-” before Mrs.Celia was nodding her head and waving him out the door.

“Go, go,” she whispered, “Do you need help?”

He didn't answer, he just left. He didn't see Castiels concerned face as he left, or the questioning look he shot Mrs.Celia. He was in the hallway, and he didn't know where to go. He just started walking, looking down at his phone. He needed to be alone. He thought of the staff room, but there was always a chance someone could walk in. So, to the bathroom it was.

He locked himself in the single-user bathroom and listened to the only voicemail Bobby had left him.

“Dean,” Bobbys voice sounded choppy through some background noise and his old, shitty phone speaker, “He got out last week. I didn't wanna tell ya’, 'cause I know yer startin' that fancy new job a’ yours an I didn't wanna disturb ya’. But he did and he came by the shop. I didn’t think much of it cause his visit was so short but he musta’ gone to Beth's or somethin’ cause he knows where you are. I'm so stupid, why'd I go an’ tell anyone what you been up to, I guess I just wanted ta be proud a ya’ and-”

The rest of Bobby's message faded into thin air before it could reach Dean's ears as the implications settled. His dad was out of rehab, and he had been for a week. He'd had a week to travel, a week to get to where Dean was, a week to find him.

He's not here right now, Dean told himself. He tried to believe it but he couldn't. He'd kept away from his dad for about a year now, and it was the longest he’d gone yet. The first few times had been a few months at best, before he would return driven by shame or his dad would return and he would let him, driven by guilt. An insurmountable wave of it, drowning and swallowing him whole if he even looked in the wrong direction.

It had taken so much for Dean to leave, to really leave. Once he had, it had slowly become clear to him the ways in which his father had fucked some things up. He wasn't abusive, and Dean believed he'd always tried his best, but the constant moving as a kid, the taking care of Sammy when he himself was still a child- Dean could admit it wasn't how other people grew up. He wasn't dumb.

So the space had felt good, and his dad had needed help always. Getting him into rehab had been a separate endeavor, one Dean had been forcibly ejected from. His brother Sammy had felt responsible, he thought, for taking his turn to take care of their father. So Dean had, with great effort, let him. He'd taken a step back. He'd gotten this job and started a life for himself.

And now his dad was going to come back and ask him to do things he wouldn't want to do, and he had no idea what he would say. He wasn't sure he could say no.

A knocking on the door sling-shot him back into his body, where he was breathing rapidly and rocking where he sat on the floor. The floor? Gross, this was a bathroom. He tried to take a deep breath, mostly failing. Whoever was knocking tried the doorknob, and when it didn't work they left. The two seconds of silence between when the doorknob jangled and the sound of receding footsteps made its way under the door halted Dean's breathing altogether.

He wasn't here. He wasn't here. His dad wasn't here, and also he wasn't here. Dean wasn't. He wasn't in his body. He let himself panic for about five minutes, his hands grabbing harshly into his hair. He was aware in the back of his mind that this was ridiculous, he was insane, and he looked fucking crazy from the outside. He was also aware that he needed to get back to work at some point.

At some point, he mustered up the courage to breathe. He mostly summoned the will by beating himself up about the whole thing, forcing himself to take deep, foreign breaths, and look around the room he was in. He forced his eyes to focus. He forced his feet to move, his body to stand, and his hand to the doorknob.

He stood like that, his hand poised to unlock it, for another five minutes.

When he did, he fully expected to see his father standing outside, ready to reprimand him for crying. Only babies cry. Only little girls cry. You're not a pussy, are you Dean? No, he thought, I'm not.

He returned to class in what he hoped was a casual way. He simply walked back in with a smile on his face and immediately started talking to the kids. He avoided eye contact with Castiel- he knew that Cas would somehow immediately know what was wrong, and pull him aside to ask him about it and offer help. Dean couldn't accept it, so he negated the possibility from the start.

He was able to stay busy through the rest of science, and almost through to the end of the day. He had actually started to genuinely calm down a bit when the phone rang. He wasn't the closest one to it, Mrs.Celia was, so she picked it up. He didn't hear what was said but her brow furrowed, and she shot a concerned look at him.

His blood turned to ice, and he knew before he walked over to her what she would say.

“Dean, I'm so sorry,” Her face was the epitome of pity, “the office called and said there's a man here claiming to be your father, demanding to see you? They said he doesn't seem, uh…well…so they're not letting him in. They to…ask you… in case…I don't know…”

She offered him the phone she'd been holding her hand over while she spoke to him.

He took it in his own, numb hand.

“Hello?” He said, watching himself ask this question from outside his body.

“Hi Dean, I just wanted to let you know there was a man here claiming to be your father. He’s been removed from the premises but if you would like someone to walk you to your car, we could make that happen. Weather he’s your father or not, he appeared to be drunk and was becoming very aggravated with me, and I don’t want you to be in any dan-”

“It’s fine!” He interrupted, his voice sounding high and stringy to his own ears. “It’s totally fine. I don’t need anyone to walk me anywhere, probably just some random guy, I don’t think it’s actually my dad, no need to worry!” He tried to sound as convincing as possible.

The silence on the other end of the line told him he wasn’t.

“Okay, but you know you can-” “Yep! All good!” He set the phone down loudly and cringed. He felt himself deflate, his shoulders slumping.

“Dean-” Castiels soft voice came from behind him

“I’m FINE- oh.” He turned around, discovering that Castiel was standing far closer to him than he thought. If his arm reached out, it would barely need to close three inches of space before his hand could grasp Cas’s arm. “I, uhm…”

Castiels bright blue eyes were right there, unavoidable and inescapable, yet he avoided and escaped in spite of it. He felt too hot. He could smell the mint on Cas’ breath and his aftershave. He smelled like pine.

“Tell me what is wrong,” Castiel said.

Dean felt indignant at the demand. He had expected Castiel to at least ASK first. It wasn’t his god-given right to know every personal detail of Deans fucked up life. Especially not his fucked up family life. Even as he felt the anger starting in his chest, Castiels steady and neutral gaze compelled him to share. He opened and closed his mouth like an idiot. No words left him.

“Dean,” Cas said, reaching out an arm hesitantly to place his warm hand on Deans shoulder, “Tell me. What is going on.” Dean pressed his lips together. “Now.”

“My dad. He’s here, I need to- uh-” He fumbled over the words, feeling like Castiel was commanding them out of his mouth using methods beyond his control. He felt flushed, and his head felt flighty. His eye flicked over to the door- he was a mess at work, this was so unprofessional and embarrassing. They were both going to think he was terrible at his job and terrible as a person. They all would, the ladies at the front desk. And they were all going to tell everyone else, and next thing he knew the whole school would be- would be talking about him and- this was too much, he needed to leave. Or at least not have Cas looking at him like he was a kicked puppy that needed a hug. He couldn’t stand it.

He looked around frantically, praying that one of the kids needed help of any kind. He saw Maddy struggling to stand and sharpen her pencil.

“Oh, Maddy- I’ve gotta go help her with- yea- sorry,” Dean muttered as he shoved past Castiel, reclaiming his shoulder from the other man's embrace. He walked over to Maddy and softly offered her a hand in getting her pencil into the sharpener. Coordinating exact things like that was difficult for her, she didn’t always have the hand-eye coordination it required.

He managed to avoid being free for a conversation or even talking to Cas for the remaining half an hour of school. He got the kids onto the bus, despite the pounding in his chest when he stepped outside screaming from within him that his father was here, right now, outside, coming to get him. He went back inside, put his walkie-talkie in his charger, and gathered his things into his bag.

I’m going to leave when Mrs.Celia does, he resolved. I’m not staying after for any touchy-feely one-on-one nonsense with Cas. Dean was well aware that both Mrs.Celia and Castiel knew what was up, based on the looks they were sending each other and the looks they were giving him, and he wanted absolutely nothing to do with it.

He resigned himself to seeing his father. And resigned himself to that familiar pain, deciding it was preferable to this fresh hell.

He took a moment in the bathroom again before heading out to his car. His anxiety had crystallized into a solid knowledge. It was lodged in his lungs, heavy in his chest, freezing him from the inside out.

His dad was waiting for him at his car.

There was no way he wasn’t. It had absolutely been his dad, drunk and mean in the office, asking to see Dean like it was his constitutional right to do so. Dean knew the man and he knew him well. After he’d gotten kicked off the premises, he’d come back. There’s no way he didn’t. And he would have checked the parking lot for the impala before coming in the first time, to make sure he had the right school. He’d probably tried waiting there first, and become impatient.

His dad was absolutely waiting for him at his car, right now.

There was no way around it.

He splashed his face with cold water.

His dad was waiting for him at his car.

He left the bathroom.

Winchesters look after one another. They aren’t fags. They don’t cry.

He left the school.

His dad was there, waiting for him at the car.

Seeing him there, leaning against the hood of the Impala, his drunken gaze scowling at any kids being loud in his general area. There weren’t many kids left now, but the ones that were present were giving him a wide birth either by parental orders or self-preservation instincts. He looked like shit, his face scratchy and unshaven. Dean knew exactly which pocket of his jacket would house the flask.

He shook his arms out, feeling jumpy. He felt electric more than he did anxious, now that he was actually faced with John Winchester himself. No avoiding it, he reminded himself, deciding to go for confidence.

John looked up and registered him approaching. He smiled. Ah, so today it would be flattery then? He would pretend all was forgiven like he wasn’t upset with Dean. It would last as long as it did. Never long enough, always too long to begin with.

“Dean!” John exclaimed brightly, slurring the end of his name, “Come give yer old man a hug!”

“Hey, Dad,” Dean said, leaning in to clap his dad on the back. The hair on the back of his neck shivered at the vulnerability of embracing his father like this, willingly. Turns out that maybe he was psychic because his dad locked Dean into the hug with one arm around his back and the other clapped around the back of his neck.

“Couldn’t even come get me, Dean? Really?” He hissed into Dean's ear before Dean forced his way out of John's angry embrace. So much for nice. That was probably his shortest farce yet.

“Let’s not do this here,” Dean said, trying to keep his voice strong, and manly. He stood tall, even though he felt about five years old, and looked off as though he could care less what John was doing.

“And why the fuck wouldn’t we? Cause you’re playing HOUSE? With these FUCKIN’ KIDS? To fuckin’ busy to come rescue your own dad, how many times have I saved YOUR ass, Dean? Huh? You answer me when I ask you a question, boy.” His father spit on the ground near his feet, standing up off the hood of the car. If Dean was taller than his dad, then how did John always manage to tower over him?

“Let’s go, please?” Dean begged, seeing the few people in the parking lot staring at the two of them. God, this was where he worked. He’d have to see these people again unless he quit. Which he didn’t want to. He thought of Cas…

“I SAID,” His dad raised his voice, and took a step towards Dean, “you ANSWER me when I’m TALKING TO YOU-” Dean saw his hand raise.

He closed his eyes.

The outline of his father's hand burning onto his cheek was as familiar to him as the outline of his belt. He remembered looking for his father's finger prints between his freckles as a kid. He knew better now, all there would be was a red outline. Dean knew how to take a slap by now. He didn’t fall over, he just paused before turning back to face his father. He knew better than to bring his own hand to touch the burning. John didn’t like that. Said it was Dean acknowledging his weakness. Real men suck it up and take it. He was shaking his palm out like Dean's cheek had hurt him, versus the other way around. Dean’s fist clenched at his side and he ground his teeth. For all he remembered, it had still been a year since he’d dealt with this.

“Let’s go to a bar, Dad.” He said, his tone as neutral as possible.

John raised his hand again, and Dean flinched. Fuck, John hated that too.

But the second hit never landed.

He opened his eyes to see Castiel, his hand around John's wrist. He couldn’t see Castiels face, only his back, from where he’d positioned himself between John and Dean, but he could guess based on his father's face. It was rare to see John Winchester pause, much less back down when he got going on one of his drunked tiraids.

“Cas, it’s fine,” Dean said quietly, waiting for him to say something or do something.

“No,” Castiel said, “It’s not.”

John wrenched his wrist away from Castiels grip sloppily, but successfully. He rubbed his wrist with his other hand and looked past Castiel to Dean.

“You know his fag?” Dean cringed at the word.

“Dad, please, let’s just go.” He pleaded, stepping around Castiel to wave his dad into the shotgun seat of the Impala.

“Dean.” Castiel grabbed his bicep. Dean took a deep breath and turned back to face him.

Fuck.

Castiels face was desperate, his eyes flicking back and forth between Dean’s. Don’t do this, they said. Why are you doing this? Dean often asked himself that question. He didn’t have an answer for himself, much less for Cas. He felt Castiels hand tighten around his arm, a reassuring squeeze.

“Come with me to the office.” Castiel emplored him with a low voice.

“It’s fine, honestly. I got this.” Dean flashed him what he hoped was a million-dollar smile. Cas only looked more heartbroken. He didn’t let go of Dean’s arm till Dean himself stepped away. His dad seemed pleased to win this struggle and willingly sat shotgun.

Dean saw Castiel in the rearview mirror as he backed up.

He saw him in the rearview as he pulled out of the school's parking lot.

He faded from view as they headed to the closest bar. Dean pretended to drink, watching his father grow more and more drunk and belligerent than he'd been earlier. He was a kid again, handling his dad and his drinks. Falling back into old patterns never felt so goddamn shit. He blocked out their time at the bar, loosing himself in how it felt to enable this shit, even if it was in some ways the safer option for him right now.

John had been furious when Dean refused to take him to his apartment and instead set him up in a hotel for the night, but it was another rule he'd learned. Don't sleep in the same place as John unless you wanna wake up to something unpleasant in the middle of the night.

“Why the fuck not, huh? You got some frilly pussy-ass shit on your walls that says ‘home sweet home’? That fag from earlier waiting for you there? What are you so afraid of, Dean?”

You. “Nothing, Dad, I just don't have any room for you. You’ll be more comfortable here.” He replied as he turned into the Motel 6 farthest from his place. The idea of his dad knowing where he lived was one thing he knew for certain he wasn’t going to bend on. The idea of his dad being able to show up in the middle of the night, waking him with promises or demands, and breath smelling of whiskey made him want to shrivel up and die.

“More comfortable my ass, you’re scared a’ somethin'.” He spat back as he stumbled out of the Impala. More drinks had made him sloppier, angrier. It was the price Dean had paid for being able to get his father calmly away from Cas, away from the school, the kids.

He didn’t respond, which was not what his father wanted.

“How many FUCKIN’ TIMES do I need to remind you how to show RESPECT?” he rounded on Dean, his eyes rolling around the parking lot before landing on Dean. “Get me a goddamn hotel room and I’ll deal with you there.”

Dean obediently left his father in the parking lot to buy him a night at the hotel. It was wishful thinking, only buying the one night. He returned with the room key and showed his dad to his room. John's feet were dragging on the ground, and his hand gripped the railing on the stairs with white knuckles. His father's ability to persevere when incredibly intoxicated has always been impressive and unfortunate.

“Get in here.” His father said over his shoulder.

Dean remained outside.

“I’m going home.” He said, steeling himself for the response he knew he would receive.

“Okay,” John said, holding his hand out for the room key.

It was a trick. Dean knew it. And it was so obvious- Dean had never been allowed to disobey a direct order like that ever in his life, so why would this moment be unique? He handed his dad the room key with a terrified heart beating loudly in his ears. His dad took it with a shaky hand. He tucked it into his jeans pocket.

The suspense suffocated him. Dean didn’t want to turn his back, but John said, “Go on then,” with a terrible look in his eye, and Dean knew. He knew, and he didn’t know how to stop it. What was he going to do, run? Like some little girl escaping her bully, sketchers pounding on the blacktop. He half turned, not fully wanting to take his eyes off John.

His father moved quickly for a man so drunk he needed help getting up the stairs, but he always saved his energy for Dean. He grabbed Dean's hair harshly, pulling his head down and into the room. Dean yelled, caught off guard and in pain. He fell to the dirty carpet, its rough texture irritating his cheek.

“You never, ever learn,” John said, kicking Dean in the gut. Dean knew from experience that it wasn’t as hard as John was capable of going. “And I just have to keep reminding you, don’t I?” A swing from his flask. As if he needed more.

Don’t apologize.

Don’t say anything.

Don’t try to protect yourself.

Don’t try to run.

But Dean was an adult now, and he’d hit John back at least a few times when he really thought the man might kill him. He’d practiced, getting into fights at the most disgusting, gross places he could find. He knew how to take a punch, a kick, the butt of a gun to his face. He stood as his father looked at him darkly.

“Well, don’t you have anything to say for yourself, princess?” John asked tauntingly. He smiled cruelly at the use of the nickname. Man, that took him back. His dad hadn’t called him that since he’d been a teen. It had stung then, and it was humiliating how. Degrading.

“Nope.” He replied, popping the P. Being cocky at times like this had always been his undoing. He was facing his dad this time when he swung for Dean, and Dean simply stepped out of the way. He moved to the side, and his father stumbled forward, into the mini-fridge. He roared in frustration, and Dean made for the door.
He was already closing the door behind him when he heard his father growl his name.

This time it was his father in his rearview as he drove away.

Driving home, he left the radio off. He took deep breaths with the windows open, trying to think clearly about what had happened. He had work tomorrow. It felt like three days had passed, but he knew the last few hours had been just that- only a few hours. It was still the same day it had been when Cas had invited him to the staff party later this week.

He looked at the clock. Well, maybe not exactly the same day, he sighed as he saw the number 2 laughing back at him. 2 am. He’d have to be awake again in four short hours, and he wasn’t even home yet. He needed a shower. And he needed to check out his stomach- it hurt like a bitch where he’d been kicked. He wondered if it would bruise. Probably.

Dean tried to focus on the road and ignore how his stomach clenched, but it became too difficult. Tears slid silently from his eyes. There was no one to pretend for except himself, but that was enough. He blinked through the tears, stopping at a four-way. Without anyone else on the road, he just sat there. It took ten minutes for another car to arrive at the scene, and by then his tears had mostly dried up.

He continued forward. Weaving around, Dean avoided heading straight for his apartment. It was overly cautious- his father didn’t have a car and didn’t have a way to follow him. His brain readily supplied a dozen conspiracy-level ways his dad might follow him, so he did it anyway.

Dean was greeted by the familiar shoe rack inside his familiar door, hearing the familiar lock click behind him. He let out a certain tension he didn’t realize he’d been holding once he was safely inside. Making his way over to the bathroom took more effort than it should have. He shed his shirt, peering over at his side. It was red and would certainly bruise. It would be more purplish by the morning. Hey, at least it’s not on my face, he thought to himself.

The warm water was nice, but he kept his shower short.

Dean crawled into bed. He barely slept a wink, and the sleep he did get was wrought with with father's cold eyes and calloused hands. 6 am came far too soon.

Chapter Text

Dean is an adult, he reminded himself. An adult I work with and do not have control over, he reasoned. He had followed up with the office, talked to the principal and the safety team. He wanted to have a plan before talking to Dean. Handling all this served multiple purposes; It helped him feel in control (not that he had severe control issues or anything), he knew Dean wouldn’t do it himself, and he wanted to be able to relay a clear plan to Dean when he spoke to him this morning.

Speaking of which, he’d stayed up far later than he should have, trying to think of how to tackle the conversation they needed to have. There was a part of him that wanted to ask a billion questions that he couldn’t ask, for example: what had his father been like growing up? Had he hit him before? Probably. Did he need help of some kind? Did he live with his father? Was he actively still in contact with him at all?

This desire of his was in direct opposition to what he knew was Dean's desire, to avoid talking about this at all and brush off any concern. In the short time they’d known each other, it was abundantly clear to Castiel that Dean was not one for emotional conversations or crying on anyone else's shoulders. Even when it was necessary. Like now.

Castiel had pushed to be the one to talk to Dean, but the principal had insisted on at least having a brief conversation with Dean herself. She’d sent Dean an email last night asking him to stop by her office on his way in. Castiel didn’t know if Dean would check his email from home or not, or if he would drop his things here first before going or come here after- there were a lot of variables this morning. It unsettled him. Mrs.Celia watched him as he paced back and forth around the classroom, tidying minuscule messes and fiddling with his lesson plans.

The familiar sound of the door opening froze him for a brief moment before he continued writing what he’d been in the middle of noting. He allowed Dean to put his bag in its usual place and sit before he looked up.

“Good morning, Dean.” Good, casual start.

“Good morning, Castiel,” Dean replied curtly, his voice sounding thick.

“About yesterday,” He started, wanting to head off the conversation. He held up a hand gently when Dean began to interrupt him. “I know you’ve met with the principal. You need not divulge anything more than you wish to Mrs.Celia and I, but I do require that our team be clear on the safety plan. Regardless of your personal relationship with the man who showed up yesterday, we do not allow aggressive people under the influence into our school. That’s a strict policy we have, and it applies to everyone. I want us to all feel confident in calling the office if we see something that makes us uncomfortable- they are our first line of defense, and they will not let someone in who should not be inside. Does that make sense?”

Dean just nodded silently. He didn’t seem to be jumping at the subtle offer that he COULD share more, which did not surprise Castiel in the least. Mrs.Celia said a quiet ‘yes’, looking between Dean and Castiel. He gave her a reassuring nod, letting her get back to her lesson prep before the buses arrived.

Could he leave it be? He should. What he really wanted to do was go over there and talk to the man, ask him how he was. Give him a hug, hold him- no, no no. This wasn’t the time to get distracted or fantasize. What was best for Dean? That was what he needed to focus on. He could at least OFFER directly to talk again. He had, after all, been there when it happened and had an established relationship with Dean. Finding that to be reasonable, he rounded the edge of his desk to approach Dean, where he sat.

“Do you…Want to discuss anything more? I am here if you need to,” he said softly with as much sincerity as he could. The table between them prevented him from placing a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder, like he longed to. Almost as if Dean could read his mind, he shifted away from the edge of the table, scooting back and averting his gaze.

“Ah, no, but thanks, man,” Dean said awkwardly, moving to stand. He rubbed the back of his neck, fiddling with his staff badge before shoving his hands in the front pockets of his worn jeans. A small silence passed between them, Castiel trying as hard as he could to accept this answer, Dean wanting this all to pass so he could forget about it. Dean moved to squeeze past him to go receive the kids from the bus with Mrs.Celia. He paused briefly before leaving.

“Really, Cas, it’s cool. Let’s just…get back to work? Alright?” Tiny sparkles in his stomach fizzled at Dean's words. A warmth spread across his collarbones. The breath in his lungs stalled.

Had Dean just called him…Cas? His brain was buffering, processing this information, and he didn’t have a chance to respond before Dean ended the conversation with a curt nod and a closing of the door.

Cas. Cas? He’d never been called Cas before. Did he like it? Maybe. Maybe he did. Maybe he only liked it because it was Dean, and he liked Dean a little more than he should. Maybe he liked it because he could pretend it meant Dean liked him in a special way. He propped open the door while considering these maybes. He banished them from his mind as the first kids approached the classroom, and he greeted them with a chipper ‘Good morning!’. Despite all his best efforts, one question remained rooted in his mind.

Did Dean do it on purpose?

.
.
.

Talking with the principle sucked. A lot. Talking with Cas and Mrs.Celia sucked too, but only a little. Cas talking to him sucked even less, but only because it had been short and he had respected Deans avoidant behavior. The cherry on top of today was the huge bruise painting the side of his ribcage. He thought he was doing a good job of hiding it, but it was entirely possible that his three-hours-of-sleep brain wasn’t the best at discerning. When he was walking down the hallway behind Mrs.Celia, he allowed himself to cringe, holding his side as subtly as he could before he had to pretend again in front of the kids.

Seeing the kids helped. No matter how fucked up his life felt, seeing the class made him smile. Each of them greeted him with such a full, innocent joy. It was actually more work to act upset than it was to mirror their excitement for the day. Per their usual routine, Dean helped keep track of everyone outside until Maddy’s bus arrived, then walked with her inside. It was enjoyable to walk with her in the morning- he felt like they were a little greeting party for the whole school each day. They made it back to class safely, as they usually did, and he joined Cas in greeting kids even though he’d seen many of them get off the bus just moments before.

Cas made a low hum, and Dean looked around for the cause. Ah, Eden was coming down the hall. He already looked fired up, his face scrunched up, and his fists balled at his side. Dean sucked his teeth, a signal to Cas that he had clocked the same situation.

“I got it,” He said, knowing that Castiel needed to run the morning routine in the room, take attendance, you know. Teacher stuff.

“Call if you need help,” Cas said before turning to enter the classroom

“Yep,” He responded, walking to intercept Eden at his bag hook in the hall.

“Let’s go for a walk, bud,” He said, nodding towards the hall beyond them. “Seems like you might need to get somethin’ off your chest”

“I’m just angry!” Eden started, crossing his arms across his chest. He made no move towards walking, so Dean took a few steps, seeing if he would follow without further prompting.

“Been there!” No, fuck, that’s not what you’re supposed to say here! Uh. “ What’s got you feelin’ that way?” Better, Dean thought to himself.

“I asked Leo if he would trade Spider-Man figures with me on the bus, and he said NO!” Eden explained while following Dean's movement down the hall. Dean took this as a good sign and kept walking.

“Alright. And you really wanted to trade?” He ventured

“YEAH, I DID,” Eden said angrily, growling a bit at the end.

“I hear ya, buddy. Does Leo have to trade with you, though?” They pushed through the doors to the playground out back. Dean charted a course around the track once, before they could head back in. That seemed reasonable. Eden was quite beside him, but still walking. He seemed to be mulling it over. Dean let him.

“Yeah, he does.” Eden looked like he knew it was the wrong answer, but wanted to say it anyway. Dean knew he was smart enough to know what the true answer was.

“No, he doesn’t, actually.” Dean softly corrected him

Eden growled more in response, and Dean suppressed a chuckle.

“I can see this has got you all worked up, but the truth is that Leo ain’t gotta trade with you if he doesn’t want to. You can try again, but he might say the same thing. Maybe you could ask him to trade just for the bus ride, so you can look at his without taking it forever?” Dean offered

“It was rude of him not to trade with me.” So, not ready for a solution then. Okay. Maybe just moving on was best.

“Not really, but I get that it wasn’t what you wanted. I’m glad you could tell me about it, but when we get inside we need to move on so we can get on with our day,” He pointed at the doors inside as he spoke, “If you have anything esle to say you better say it quick, cause i’m gonna race you to that door. And I’m gonna win.” He watched as Eden went from scowling to processing to competitive.

“Hey! Not if I beat you first!” Eden took off towards the door, not waiting for Dean to say ‘start’ or ‘go’. Dean let him win, because he bet the kid needed a win. Definitely only for that reason and not because running full out with his side in the state it was in would be hellish at best. As he opened the door with his badge, he thought about what his childhood could have been like if he’d had an adult speak to him like this. Let him be angry, hear him out, and then set a clear expectation for moving forward.

Then again, for all he knew, they’d tried and he’d just blown them off. Or his dad had moved them within the month. Who knows. It was in the past, he reminded himself as they approached the classroom again. Not worth dwelling on.

Eden ran ahead even though he wasn't supposed to run in the hallway, and made it in before him. He sighed, hoping that their conversation had been enough of a reset for Eden to join the class at least semi-successfully. Dean paused before entering himself, standing up as straight as he could without breathing being painful. He put a smile on the corners of his lips.

Today will be long.

Chapter Text

It always began slowly, the wanting. The itch.

It crept up on him. Snuck up behind him and had him on the ground before he even noticed it approaching.

Something was off about Dean. Well, obviously. But Castiel was worried, and he was finding it hard to push the worry aside and convince himself not to meddle or pressure. Castiel knew himself, and he knew he had…control issues. He knew Dean well enough at this point that he liked to think he could read him at least a little. Dean was kind but informal, which made him great with the kids. He had this sharp, witty humor about him. He was strong physically, but clearly had old injuries that pained him sometimes. He clearly had difficulty regulating his emotions in his personal life, but he did a fine job here at work, co-regulating. He was generous and understanding of Castiel, in all his differences.

He tapped his fingers across the tabletop, paying more attention to Dean than he should have. He was teaching the second graders himself, and they needed his full attention. He didn’t have the seconds to spare to glance over at Dean, visually investigating. Theorizing. Plotting.

Castiel had control issues. He had Dean issues. He had issues with wanting to control Dean. He had a long, exhausting history of wanting to have control over everything, which his therapist assured him was unrealistic, although a piece of him insisted was possible, and this desire certainly wormed its way into his relationships. He was a teacher in control of his classroom. He was a man who sought to exert control over another man. He would become sick with it, craving the high. He had before.

He had issues with wanting Dean to want him to control him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The whole situation was confusing and familiar. Patterns on the ground he recognized as he walked over them. Part of his problem was the catastrophizing, the black and white viewing of the situation. Yes, this was familiar territory. No, he wasn’t some out-of-control monster. He was just…himself. It was okay to want what he wanted. He just needed to think things through rationally.

Castiel made it through reading and writing, fighting for control over himself. It always started with little things, casual things. How do you like your coffee? I’ll make it for you, just like that. You need advice? Let me give it. You’re not sure what to wear? Let me help you decide. Want me to order your food for you? No? That’s weird? Cool. Super cool. That was fine. Casiell definitely didn’t want to take care of every detail of someone else's life. He didn’t dream of it. It didn’t help him take care of his own, certainly.

There had been one man he’d met, where it felt like they were on the same page. Take control, he’d said. I want you to. It had started off feeling like a dream, and then the failing had started. Castiel failed to fulfill every fantasy. Castiel needed nights off. Castiel needed aftercare. Castiel had limits, hard ones. Castiel wasn’t perfect. Castiel failed as a Dom. So many nights spent feeling like a failure of a person before his head broke above the surface, and he was able to breathe enough to call the situation what it was. Abuse. Even now, he crumpled inward around the word; It didn’t feel like he was allowed to say that was the truth. Maybe if he had just…

…but that’s what he was working on. There was no ‘just’ with Jonathan. It was never enough, and it never would have been, because the bars Jonathan set for him were out of reach. It would have killed him to reach them.

So now, today, in the staff room, Castiel was reckoning with what felt like a lifetime's worth of baggage. He was exhilarated, feeling something like this again for someone. There had never been anyone else. He also felt terrified. He couldn’t even be sure Dean liked him at all, much less in a romantic way. Sexual compatibility was so far from where they were now, it was silly of him to even think about it.

But he did. He ate his salad surrounded by his coworkers and thought about what it would be like. He thought about having control over Dean. He thought about what he would do with that control. He imagined Dean wanted that, got something from it himself. Halfway through his break, he stood and returned to the empty classroom, needing space to think in private. Everyone else was out at recess and would be back in a short 15 minutes.

“You need to get a grip.” He muttered to himself as he paced back and forth. It was one thing to wonder, another to investigate. And where would it end? He’d already flirted with the man, at work no less. Asked for his number and then chickened out of using it for anything other than work. He’d tried to meet up with him outside of work, at the staff pub meet-up. It was at the end of this month, which was fast approaching this week. He supposed he could see then… if Dean showed or not. If it felt different to see him outside of work.

If he doesn’t show, though, then I need to let it go. I need to find some way to disengage, I can’t just keep going, keep obsessing, and fixating on this. His reaction was already overly intense for the situation, he knew that. Normal people didn’t feel this level of attraction. They had crushes, or whatever. Casual, surface-level, non-intense crushes. That was what it would be reasonable to have, at this point. Not…whatever he had going on. No, no no no. There was that pesky dramatizing again.

“So,” He sat at his desk, closing his eyes, “I’ll do my meddling on Friday, and if he’s very clearly not even interested, then I leave it be. If it seems reciprocal, then I…go from there.”

It was the best he could do.

His plan would have to be enough, because it was time for him to break Mrs.Celia for lunch and join Dean for recess. Castiel usually spent his lunch brainstorming conversation topics for Dean, Lesson planning, and reflecting on the day's trials- today he had been…distracted.

Walking briskly outside, he gave Mrs.Celia a nod before walking over to Dean.

“How was lunch?” He asked, settling back into their usual routine. Dean visibly relaxed, shifting from one leg to another.

“Ah, you know. Fine. The kids were playin’ freakin’ musical chairs the first half, I had to tell em’ to knock it off and pick one spot to sit. They did. Restless little guys.” Dean said, squinting out at the play structure. Castiel watched as Dean mouthed numbers, counting heads, making sure they had all their kids. He had beautiful lips.

No, bad! Focus, idiot. I should be counting kids, too. He scanned about, counting silently in his head. Eight total, eight within his field of vision. Just as it should be.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Dean turned to him

“Of course,” He replied automatically, “Anything.” His mind flipped through what anything truly could be, processing the full breadth of what he was willing to answer, when-

“Are you gonna dress up?” Dean asked.

Well, out of everything he had thought of, that wasn’t on the list. He was silent for a moment, trying to think of what it meant. He came up blank.

“What?”

“For the thing, the- the- book characters for the kids staff thing. Are dressin’ up or what?” Dean seemed excited about this idea, but not outright. Why would he want to hide this?

“Ah, yes. The Read-A-Thon,” Castiel remembered now, “You know Mrs.Celia and I. We go all out in our classroom.” He watched as Dean did the most adorable little fist pump, saying ‘yessss’ under his breath. He then coughed as if that would somehow cover it up. Adorable.

“Cool, cool. So uh, you guys do a group costume or are you more of a, to each their own sorta thing?” Dean scuffed his boot on the ground. Ah, so Dean had an idea, did he?

“I don’t know, it depends,” He paused, trying to seem casual, “Did you have an idea, Dean?”

God, he would die on the small hill that was Dean's smirk. I mean, the man had DIMPLES, for crying out loud. Not every time he smiled, but when Dean did that little half smirk to himself, there was a little dimple. It was disgustingly charming.

“Well, uh, what would you say to dressin’ up as cowboys?” He shot Castiel a rare, bashful look, and whatever he saw on his face must have made him feel the need to defend his idea because he started speaking rather fast, “Not just any cowboy’s obviously, but real ones. Like, the first ones. We can read the kids a- a- a historical book about it, and teach them about-”

“Dean,” Castiel tried to interrupt

“-what it meant to be a cowboy, the code of honor, the way of taking care of the land and animals-”

“Dean!” Castiel clapped a hand on Dean's shoulder, “I like it. Let’s do it.”

“Really?” Dean turned towards him fully, “You mean it?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, “I mean it.”

He was struck with a feeling of weight to the words. He meant a lot of things when it came to Dean. More than just promising that they could dress up as cowboys. He didn’t particularly care about the costume- they usually did a scientist or innovator of some kind, but this was fine. He could see it mattered to Dean, for some reason.

And if it mattered to Dean, it mattered to him.

Simple as that.

Chapter Text

He’d been so tired and busy this morning that he was almost able to ignore the anxiety floundering in his chest, like a fish gasping for air. It flopped back and forth, its mouth gaping. As he neared the end of the day, the fish grew more and more desperate.

Would his father be waiting outside for him again? That was his main, concrete concern. The principal had insisted that someone walk him out to his car after yesterday's incident. She’d cited something about how, because the parking lot was school grounds, she had a legal responsibiity to see to the safety of her employees. Dean figured there was also shit ton of paperwork if he got hurt at the school. Especially if they didn’t do anything at all to prevent it.

It was embarrassing. He didn’t need someone to walk him to his car. In fact, the whole conversation with the principal had been terrible. Dean had tried to clip through it as quickly and painlessly as possible. He felt such deep, deep shame about his father. Dean could barely put words to it in his mind, much less on paper. Saying it out loud was something he’d never done. Defending his father to his last breath had been the tune of his childhood, and it was hard to break something so ingrained like that.

How many times had he told himself, his brother, teachers, friends, lovers, that his dad was trying his hardest? That he couldn’t be to blame? That he was simply from a different generation, a different way of living, trying his hardest, or doing his best? How many years had he regurgitated those ideas before he stopped to think, were they even true anymore?

Even as he questioned and rethought his relationship with his dad, he felt shame at abandoning him. It was his dad, for crying out loud. What kind of a son- no, what kind of a PERSON was he, if he didn’t love and care for him, unconditionally? Every choice he made, every action, reflected on his soul. He knew it. His father knew it. Everyone knew it.

“Do you feel safe?” The principal had asked him. No, fuck, of course not. John Winchester, a man who found anyone he wanted to find, a man who enforced his will upon all, a man who never lost, was set on having his way with Dean. John raised him. He knew who John was as a father. He now knew who John was as a man, a person. Dean was terrified of him.

“Yes,” He’d lied through paranoid teeth.

Now, presently, he was biting his paranoid tongue, wishing he had someone he could confide in.

As he packed up his things, he felt cold. Numb. He would face what he would face, and he would make it through. No escort could save him. He stopped by the office before leaving, barely registering Cas bidding him a good evening. The school resource officer was waiting for him there and followed him out the front door. They walked along the front of the school in silence, Dean fearing every outcome. Either his father was there, and the poor officer wouldn’t do anything but make it worse, or his father wasn’t there. And then he’d been walked out for no damn reason, like some damsel in distress.

The pair rounded the corner, and Dean tensed. The hood of his car was empty, no drunken mess leaning across it. He scanned the bushes around the front of his car, seeing nothing. He thanked the officer as he loaded his bag into the back seat of the Impala, itching to ditch the guy.

Dean sat for a moment in the front seat, both hands on the wheel, unmoving. He took some deep breaths, checking all his mirrors. Everything seemed in order. He knew what he had to do. As he left the parking lot, he took a right instead of a left. He drove in the opposite direction of his apartment for about ten minutes before doubling back. Then he drove past it, a bit off diagonally, before doubling back again. After a few circles and quick turns, he felt confident that if John had been following him, he would have lost him.

He parked Baby in an empty lot a few blocks away and checked her underside for any tracking devices. Was he paranoid? Maybe. But his father had taught him well, and he would be dammed if he didn’t put that training to good use.

When he felt satisfied, he finally drove to his apartment. He parked around back in guest parking, instead of his assigned spot in front of his apartment. The entire ordeal had taken him about an extra hour and a half. It was already dinner time when he scoped out the door to his apartment. He approached cautiously, entering quickly once he’d unlocked the door. Everything seemed in place, still. Dean checked his traps to make sure no one had opened the door and then closed it again- then again, if anyone could replace them, how he’d had them, it would be his dad.

He popped open a beer and sat to do his final check. His indoor security camera. It all seemed good, again. Dean took what felt like his first real breath of the afternoon and made himself some dinner.

Spaghetti and bolognese sauce from a can hit the spot perfectly as he finished off his beer. He found Star Wars reruns and settled in for a calm night. No matter how hard he tried, nothing seemed to fully scratch the itch. John knew where he was.

No, shut up, he discouraged himself. You didn’t do all that shit just now JUST to keep worrying about it all night. His hopes of a good night's sleep set with the sun, around 7:45 pm. Even the gun in his hand didn’t quell his paranoia. Once 11 pm came and went. Dean decided to succumb to the feeling. It felt better to say he decided to stay up all night, rather than admit that even though he wanted to sleep very badly, he couldn’t. Three or four hours of sleep in the last 48 hours wasn’t looking good for him.

But he’d done more with less.

.
.
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He woke up the next morning with fuzzy recollections of a night spent walking down a dark and dangerous memory lane, beating himself up over and over for being such a weak, failure of a man. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he must have had a couple of hours under his belt at least. Idiot, dumbass, you won’t have enough work to do your job well. Fuck.

He showered quickly, thinking maybe he could arrive early and do some things around the classroom. Clean. Prep lessons. Dean felt like if he wasn’t useful today…well, let’s just say he was dead set on being useful. He couldn’t find a song he liked on the radio, so he drove in silence. The cool morning air in the windows felt good. Despite his early arrival, he saw the lights on in the classroom as he pulled up.

Of course, Cas arrived before everyone else. He was probably here this early every day, Dean thought. He let himself into the building, put his lunch in the fridge, and walked down the hall to the classroom where Cas was surely awaiting him.

“Heya,” Dean greeted Castiel as he entered the classroom.

“Dean!” Castiel said, looking up from his work, “Good morning. You’re here early.”

“So are you!” Dean poked back, sitting down at his usual spot.

“Does something in particular bring you in early today, Dean?” Cas asked him in that deep, steady voice of his. He always spoke like that, and he always said Dean's name. It sent little shivers up his back.

“Oh, just- ” He swallowed, feeling guilty. Or vulnerable? “ -wanting to be useful.”

“You are useful, Dean.” Castiel was making that intense eye contact with him, Dean could see it out of the corner of his vision as he pointedly refused to return it.

“Right, sure, yeah, I just mean like…” Dean didn’t really know how to finish his sentence. He didn’t actually think he was useful at all, on the regular. He didn’t want to say that to Castiel, though. He cleared his throat, standing up. Castiel was still watching him. Still. He was always generous with his attention like that. Patient with it.

“How can I help?” He settled for asking, finally meeting Castiel's gaze.

Something passed across Castiel's face, Dean didn’t know what to call it. Cas was usually so mysterious to him. I mean, had the guy ever made a facial expression before? He was impossible to decode. Something about it was…hot. Maybe it was the idea of eventually getting something out of him. Maybe it was the challenge. Maybe Castiel was just an attractive guy. Be that as it may, this was a time when Dean wished the other man wore more of his heart on his sleeve.

“Take down the chairs.” Castiel offered. It was more like an order, but Dean had asked, so it didn’t bother him. He nodded, leaving Castiel to get back to his work while he set about his task. He didn’t want to impose on what was probably a quiet, peaceful time for the guy in the morning.

He took down the chairs on the small ground teaching tables across from and to the right of his own table, his back to Castiel. That was why he didn’t realize, till he turned around to take the chairs down from the students' desks on the left side of the room, that Castiel had not returned to his work. Studying blue eyes met his own as he walked to the other side of the classroom. It wasn’t a judgmental gaze, he didn’t think, but it was meticulous. Castiel watched him till he’d taken down every chair in the room, and before Dean could pick another task for himself, Castiel simply said: “Change the calendar over to the next month,” and Dean set his sights on that task instead.

They had a class calendar with individual day squares that needed to be stapled up. Dean grabbed the next month from its box and began to take down the current month.

“We have two birthdays next month, you’ll need to add special markers on the calendar for them.” Castiel's voice came from much closer behind him than before, staring at Dean. He turned around to find Cas very much within his personal space, standing slightly to the side. Castiel’s cologne smelled like the ocean, like moss after rain, and citrus. Dean had never been close enough to smell it so strongly before.

“Jesus, Cas, you scared the shit outta’ me!” He exclaimed, moving to take a step back but finding the low shelves against the wall to be directly behind him already. “You should wear a bell or something, I don’t know how you move so silently like that,” he joked, relaxing.

“Apologies,” Castiel said, taking a step back, handing Dean a sticky note. Dean took it and saw two dates written on it. “These are the birthdays. Please put a note on those days, so we don’t forget.”

“Yes, sir!” Dean said with a mocking salute, turning back to his work on the calendar.

This time, when he stole a glance at Castiel, the man's back was completely to him. He appeared engrossed in his lesson preparation. Dean followed suit, focusing completely on his task. Castiel didn’t ask him to, but he marked the Read-A-Thon on the calendar too, as it was next month. He thought Castiel might appreciate it.

When he was satisfied with his work, he packed up the old month back into its box and placed it back with the others in its cabinet. He hesitated, wondering if he should just get on with his own work, or if Castiel wanted him to…defer to him? He probably didn’t want to be bothered. Before he could make up his mind, Castiel's phone rang and he answered it.

“Hello, you’ve reached Castiel Novak…Ah, hello Eileen! What can I do for you this morning?... I see…yes, thank you for letting me know…I understand…” Castiel swiveled in his chair, looking out the window. Dean noticed he often did that when he could.

Dumbass, what are you, four? Obviously you can manage yourself. Castiel shouldn’t have to give you a list of things. This is your job, you can be useful on your own. Castiel continued to talk to Eileen, and Dean quickly deduced that she was one of the kids' moms. Dean decided to busy himself with going over his lesson plans. He had prepared them earlier in the week when he’d had extra time, so going over them now was a good refresher before the day started.

While he reviewed, he wondered. He wondered if he’d done the calendar okay. Maybe he hadn’t done it exactly how Castiel wanted it. Maybe Castiel didn’t want the Read-A-Thon on the calendar before he talked to the kids about it. Ugh! Whatever. Why did he care this deeply about it? If Cas didn’t like it, he would just tell Dean, and Dean could fix it. Right? Right. It wasn’t like he NEEDED Cas to give him praise for it; this was literally his job, to do stuff like this.

“-Thank you, yes… no, I’m glad you called. Yes. Goodbye.” Castiel hung up on the conversation and scribbled something down on the pad of paper next to him on his desk. He looked up and briefly made eye contact with Dean sitting at his desk. He turned, stood, and walked over to the calendar.

Dean held his breath. Why was he holding his breath? It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter this much, at least. It didn’t. It didn’t. It-

“Well done, Dean,” Cas said, turning to walk back to his desk.

Dean exhaled. He felt a warmth in his chest- ah, pride. He blinked a couple of times, fighting off a smile. A warmth spread to his cheeks, odd. The feeling was overall nice, but something felt off. After a moment, he decided it was that he had wanted…more?

The realization made him want to die.

He wanted MORE praise? Over something as dumb as a calendar? What the actual fuck was wrong with him. Was he really so desperate that he craved something like that? Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. Dean suddenly wasn’t fighting a smile anymore, but rather trying to fake a normal one. He clenched his jaw, fighting the sudden drop in feelings.

Stealing a glance at Castiel, he saw the man focused once more on his desk. Dean tried to lose himself in his work, too.

.
.
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Castiel was staring at a blank new email box on his computer. He was focused, yes, but not on work. There was a blank note page next to his laptop. He was gripping the pen in his right hand for dear life, so hard he feared he might put it out of commission permanently.

Why, you ask? A beautiful man with green eyes who needed help.

I want to feel useful, Dean said. Fuck. Castiel composed himself outwardly, but inside, something sparked. You are useful, Castiel had said, his heart breaking just a little more for Dean. To think that he doubted if he was, even for a second, filled Castiel with such a pang of sadness. Of course, he was useful. And even if he wasn't, he was still important. Still worth caring about. Caring for.

How can I help? Dean had asked. Fuucccckkkk.

Castiel felt the spark become lava, molten and slow, filling his limbs and crackling out of the spaces between his fingers. His hand twitched at his side. The itch was impossible to ignore.

He’s asking me to tell him what to do. He asks me that all the time, all throughout the day, Castiel reminded himself. I am the teacher of this class, it’s only fair. It felt different right now. Why? Maybe it was that Dean had just admitted a deep vulnerability, whether he knew it or not. Maybe it was the being alone, just the two of them. Perhaps it was because this technically fell outside of Dean's contract hours. Maybe Castiel was just projecting. Either way, he felt something possessive about this moment.

Take down the chairs, Castiel had said. Not suggested, but ordered. He’d watched as Dean had taken down each chair, one by one. The feeling of it settled in his chest, slowed his breathing, and focused his mind. He could get used to this again. This was dangerous. Was there a difference between dipping his toe in the shallow end and diving into the dark depths of his dominance? Right now, they felt one and the same.

And then, he couldn't believe his luck. Dean paused and turned towards him. Waiting. Expectant. Hesitant. Good. Perfect. The calendar, Castiel said. Ordered, again. Did it count as ordering if Dean didn’t see it as such?

The question was obsolete. Either way, Castiel was having his own experience. He watched Dean carefully put the calendar squares where they went, watched carefully as Dean made sure they were straight, and didn’t have any wrinkles or tears. What a good job he’s doing, Castiel thought to himself. Dean was so focused on his task, he didn’t even notice Castiel approach from behind. Castiel waited a selfish, indulgent moment before getting Dean's attention, appreciating how his back looked beneath his shirt, how he seemed to always smell like campfire and pine.

“We have two birthdays next month, you’ll need to add special markers on the calendar for them.” Castiel held his breath, waiting for Dean's reaction. Was he being too… authoritative? Ah, no. Not too authoritative, but indeed too silent. He scared Dean a little with his approach.

And then Dean had said, “Yes, sir.” Dorky salute and all.

He’d said it as a joke, but Castiel felt his jaw flex at the title. Oh, this was bad. He needed to disengage immediately. He settled back in at his desk, but his mind was blank. He didn’t work on typing the email he needed to send. He didn’t work on his lesson planning. He sat, staring at a blank new email box on his computer. The blank note page next to his laptop stayed blank. He was gripping the pen in his right hand for dear life, so hard he feared he might put it out of commission permanently.

He wanted to order Dean to do much, much less mundane and much, much more scandalous things. Abruptly, he froze, needing to think of something less arousing. Fortunately, the shame at experiencing any arousal at his place of work immediately solved the problem that had been growing in his slacks.

His phone rang, startling him from the cacophony of thoughts barreling forth in his brain, and he answered it gratefully. It was Eileen, Sol’s mom. He would be late today, they had missed the bus. Castiel recalled that he had been meaning to give her an update on Sol’s progress with the speech pathologist, so he asked her if she had a moment to discuss it. She did, so he gave her the Cliff Notes version of a progress report. It was hard to get parents on the phone sometimes, so he had to seize every opportunity he could. As he hung up the phone, it actually felt good that he could check that off the list.

During his call, Dean had found something for himself to do. Good, he told himself. That was for the best. Most of his ideas had evolved into ‘clean the desks with a toothbrush’ and ‘reorganizing the class library from start to finish, and I’ll give you a kiss after’. Neither of which was appropriate.

Castiel could not wait for tonight, the staff meet up.

The rest of the day proceeded much as normal. Their classroom was a well-oiled, routine machine. The three of them had a good handle on things, even when there was a snag, they worked together to reroute the train back onto its tracks. He wanted to ask Dean again if he would be going tonight, but didn’t want to pressure him. Saying goodbye at the end of the work day, he prayed that it wouldn’t be the last time he saw Dean today.

~~~

He sat in a parking lot across the way for a solid 30 minutes before he saw the Impala pull up and park in front of the pub. Even though he’d spent the last half an hour waiting for this, he felt frozen in his car. His plan was sketchy at best. He planned to…flirt? He figured he would feel less morally confounded if they weren’t at work. The change in setting didn’t change his nerves about the chance that he might be coming onto someone who wasn’t interested in him. He saw Dean's familiar form exit his car and walk into the pub.

Castiel took a deep breath, steeling himself. He ran a hand down his tie- his favorite, a rich blue- to reassure himself. I just have to go do it, he told himself, and if it’s bad, then it’s bad. He turned his car back on to drive across the street, pulling up to park next to the Impala.

Exiting his car and locking it, he made his way towards the front door. The gaggle of teachers was at their usual spot in the back. He had come once or twice before, when he was in the mood. It was always an enjoyable time, but exhausting for him. It wasn’t a secret to the other teachers that he was Autistic, but he also didn’t get into it with his colleagues. They were all kind, and he appreciated it.

Dean was at the bar, ordering a drink. He was wearing a worn, brown leather jacket. Castiel appreciated the way it sat on Dean's broad shoulders. He hesitated before heading over to the group, watching Dean as he moved through the crowd. There was a magnetism to him, one that Castiel gravitated towards. He didn’t want to be the center of attention, he was happy to let Dean occupy that space and be a moon orbiting around him, drinking in the rays.

As he moved towards the group, a couple of people recognized him and said his name in greeting. Dean turned as he heard Castiel's name, and Castiel was struck by how handsome he was in the pub's dim lighting. Dean smiled when he saw Castiel, and he felt his heart warm to a boil in his chest. He couldn’t breathe. There were those sun rays again, heating him up.

“Heya, Cas!” Dean clapped his free hand on Castiel's shoulder, “We were just talking about making teams for Trivia. Wanna team up?”

“Hello, Dean.” He responded, shrugging off his coat. That nickname was going to be the death of him. “Trivia?” he asked, not sure exactly what that entailed.

“What do you mean ‘Trivia’?” Dean gave him a look like he was crazy, “You say it like you don’t know what it is, but that's impossible. It's Trivia!” Castiel made what he hoped was a face that said ‘eh’ and shrugged.

“Trivia? You get in a team? They ask you questions from different categories?” Dean elaborated.

Castiel wasn’t sure what his face was doing, but it must have been wrong or odd because Dean made a shocked noise and looked around to the other teachers for confirmation. Annie, the speech pathologist, just laughed. Castiel wasn’t sure if it was due to his lack of knowledge or Dean's passionate rant.

“Oh my god, okay, well we definitely have to play then. We need four of us, let’s see if there are two more. You’re gonna love this, Cas.” Dean turned away from him to talk to the women at the other end of the table, coordinating a team for trivia. The swell in his chest stuck in his throat, watching Dean. It was throbbing with how badly he wanted this, how badly he wanted to be here with Dean in a different way.

Castiel was still caught up in admiration when Dean turned back to him, putting a hand on the back of his shoulder to pull him towards the booth bench. He swore his skin prickled where Dean's hand touched him through his shirt.

“Alright, it’s you, me, Annie, and Charlie on a team, and then there might be a second team, but who cares. We’ve got our team.” Dean sat down, pulling Castiel to sit next to him. Charlie, the school psychologist, was making her way over.

“Hey nerds, scootch over!” She said, moving to sit on the edge of the booth where Castiel was. Annie scooted, giving Dean and then Castiel room to move over. It was a tight fit, but after a bit of adjusting, they had all settled. At some point, Dean threw his arm around Castiel, on the small lip between the top of the bench back and the wall. He took a drink from his whiskey with his other hand, and Castiel felt hot all over.

A brief image of taking the drink from Dean in his own hands, and letting the man drink from it as he tipped the glass upwards, passed his mind, dissipating as Dean's eyes met his over the side of the glass. Castiel held his gaze, and Dean was the first to look away as he put down his drink and cleared his throat. He was flushed- was it the drink, or Castiel? He couldn’t be sure.

He was so tired of being unsure.

Chapter Text

He had debated going to the staff meet-up or not; ultimately, the chance that Cas might be there won out. Just the idea of seeing him outside of work was interesting to Dean. This was the only current chance he had of that, at all. So, despite the ache in his side and the headache from a few hours of sleep and a full day at work, he rallied.

The pub turned out to be a place called ‘The Birds Nest’, and it wasn't exactly the type of place he usually went to. It had a lot of…plants, for starters. The lights overhead weren't extremely bright; The whole place felt like a warm lamp lit it. It had an eclectic collection of wall decor, from old framed photos to vintage items artfully scattered throughout the place. It had a history, that was for sure.

By the time he arrived, the other teachers had clearly been there for a bit, as they had pushed together a series of small tables, covering them with their drinks and different shareable plates of food. The gathering consisted mostly of women, with Cas being the only male teacher in the school. Dean and some of the other support staff accompanied him in attempting to even out the gender bias of the school.

Looking around, he didn't see Castiel, which sucked, but he figured if he didn't show within the hour he would just bail. It was still a good opportunity to get to know some of the other teachers, something that was difficult when he wasn't a part of the teacher-only meetings.

He recognized a few faces. The speech pathologist who would pull students from class every week, the two women from the front desk whom he got to see every morning on his way in, and the two other teachers who usually had recess at the same time as him. He hadn't gotten the chance to talk to any of these people much yet, but he could at least recognize a familiar face.

Dean opted to sit next to the speech path, mostly because she was seated on the edge. Even as he sat next to her, there was a lot of room on the other side of him. Also, it put him on the booth side of the equation rather than the chair side, obviously preferable.

“Hey,” He greeted her, picking up a menu.

“Hey Dean!” She smiled, “It’s cool you came. You ready for trivia? It starts in 15. We’re making teams.”

“Trivia?” Dean looked around and realized there were a lot of people moving tables to face the same direction- a corner of the pub with a large TV mounted in the corner.

“It’s got some retro pop culture theme, if that helps. Or if it doesn’t, then forget I told you.” She turned to respond to one of the other teachers who was loudly asking for her attention from the other side of their booth/table amalgamation.

Trivia was fun! Retro trivia was even more fun! This was going to be better than just sitting around talking to the women he worked with and hopefully talking with Cas- this was something to do! I’ll need a drink, though, he thought to himself. Walking over to the bar and ordering a whiskey, he told them to keep the tab open; better to be realistic about the night. Taking his drink in hand, he headed back to their table. Not the best whiskey he’d ever had, but it would do.

“Ah, it’s Castiel!” one of the women said.

Dean turned, his heart speeding up. He had come! There he was, nerdy trench coat and all. He had on that navy blue tie that Dean liked so much. His neat hair was…still neat. His face had that stern but open look- Dean didn’t know how he managed it, but he found it sexy as hell.

“H-heya, Cas!” God, he sounded like an idiot. He needed to pivot, and FAST. “We were just talking about making teams for Trivia. Wanna team up?” Stupid! Oh my god.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said, shrugging off his coat. His white button-up fit him insanely well. It was rolled up at his elbows, tight around his toned biceps. Dean thought about what those arms would feel like wrapped around him…holding him…Castiel himself interrupted his thoughts.

“Trivia?” he asked, sounding unsure.

“What do you mean ‘Trivia’?” Dean couldn’t imagine a person making it this far in life and NOT knowing what trivia was. Then again, if anyone could, it would be Castiel.

“You say it like you don’t know what it is, but that's impossible. It's Trivia!” Dean exclaimed, searching Castiel's eyes for any twitch of recognition or knowledge. Castiel just shrugged. Oh my god, this beautiful nerd was so, so dumb sometimes. Why was it so hot? It made no sense.

“Trivia? You get in a team? They ask you questions from different categories?” This had to be ringing at least a tiny little bell in the back of Cas’s head. No matter how deeply he looked into Cas’s soul, he saw nothing. This was an OUTRAGE! He looked around for support. Surely someone else, The Speech Path (whose name he should really learn), could back him up here?

“Oh my god, okay, well we definitely have to play then.” Dean said, committing to his plan, “We need four of us, let’s see if there are two more. You’re gonna love this, Cas.” Dean turned away from him to secure two more teammates. The speech path was an obvious choice. A fourth could be….ah! The only other younger person he knew at the school. She was easy to remember by her flame red hair and endless supply of fandom shirts.

“Hey! Uh…” He called for her attention and then realized he didn’t know her name. Whoopsie! Walking a few steps over, he was able to grab her attention when the person she was talking to looked at him expectantly.

“We’re making a trivia team, you should join. Hell of a time.” He flashed her his most charming, most dazzling smile.

“Oh my god, yes!” She said, awkwardly tripping upwards out of her seat. “Thank god you asked me. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I do actually like talking about which color sticky note is best, but also trivia sounds fun. So. I’d rather come do that. With you. Nice to meet you, by the way? My name is Charlie. And you’re Dean! I know your name already…”

Whew, she talked a lot. She seemed sweet, though. He motioned for her to follow him, turning back toward the end of the group where Cas was waiting for him. He put a hand on Castiel's shoulder, taking any excuse to be physical.

“Alright, it’s you, me, Annie, and Charlie on a team, and then there might be a second team, but who cares. We’ve got our team.” He sat down, pulling Cas with him.

“Hey nerds, scootch over!” Charlie said, moving to sit on the edge of the booth. Amidst the readjusting, Dean saw an opportunity to play a classic flirting card- the arm over the shoulder. It was classy, timeless, and something he had perfected. Cas wouldn’t even notice till his arm was already settled. He tossed his arm up between Cas’s back and the wall. It was funny- Cas felt taller sometimes, but not while they were sitting this close. Dean took a drink from his whiskey, realizing he should have sat on the outside. He was absolutely going to get up before the rest of these guys, needing another drink.

Dean’s intuition told him there were eyes on him, and he instinctively looked- it was Cas. Over the lip of his glass, steely blue eyes bore into his. Castiel's unblinking gaze sent something through him. He wondered, not for the first time, what Cas was thinking when he looked so concentrated on him like that. For someone so kind and generous, Castiel often had a rough, in-charge look about him that Dean found…hot. Swallowing, he reprimanded himself in his brain. Get it together, Dean, clean up the metaphorical drool, and get back on your game.

Castiel had to know how he looked. It was impossible to imagine, given the care he put into his appearance. Dean had never thought he would go for the whole nerd/business thing when it came to guys, but here he was. Very much going for it. He figured it was the whole wanting-to-make-someone-uptight-let-loose-thing. He kinda wanted to see Cas lose it. That would be…fun.

Realizing he liked men too, and not just women, had been a realization that hit him later than some. Still, he’d found the time to explore that side of himself a little bit- a make out here and there at a bar, a back alley blowjob or two…but never a boyfriend. Not because he was scared, he just hadn’t found a guy he wanted that with. He wasn’t sure exactly what this was with Castiel, but the buildup made him feel like a one-night stand wasn’t right. Probably also the working together.

A short, brown haired woman began to introduce the start of trivia night, going over the rules, confirming the groups they had. Dean was loath to get up, but he definitely needed another drink. He was just about to ask the other two to move when a server came over to give them their paddle that they were supposed to raise with their answer on it.

“Hey, could I get another whiskey?” He asked as he accepted the paddle

“For sure. You have a tab running?” The man pulled out a paper pad from his waist apron

“Yup, last name Winchester?”

The server nodded in recognition was returned to handing out paddles.

“Alright, here we go! This is a friendly game- points if you get it right, none if you don’t. Let’s get started on our first question of the night!” She pulled a card from a bowl to her left, opening up the folded slip.

“What was the name of the television show that aired in the 1980s that introduced the phrase 'You're gonna need a bigger boat’?”

“Oh, oh oh, I know this! Jaws, 1975. Write the date too, just in case.” Dean whispered fervently. Annie nodded, writing it down. She held up the paddle. They got two points! Honestly, most of the other teams did too, but Dean didn’t care.

The second question rang out from the mic: “What book series, written by J.R.R. Tolkien, is known for its epic battles and unique languages?”

At the same time, Dean and Charlie whispered, “Lord of the Rings!” Dean gave her a wink and a high five. He knew he would like her.

As the night progressed, the answers ranged from broad to niche.

“Blue!”

“1984!”

“The Grateful Dead!”

“Black and white face paint!”

“Shoes!”

Round one continued with mostly Dean and Charlie, occasionally Annie having an idea or answer. Cas didn’t seem to know many of the references, and Dean worried he wasn’t having a good time.

“Hey.” Dean leaned over to Cas, speaking into his ear, “Are you havin’ an okay time?” He could smell the man's aftershave again, this close. The small was intoxicating, as were the three whiskeys now in his system.

Cas smiled a soft little smile, answering with a simple “Yes, Dean.”

“Good.” He said, reaching down to clap Castiel's shoulder with the hand he had around him. If he pulled Cas a little closer to him in doing so, that was between him and the beer he’d ordered to the table next. He was well aware no one else was drinking as much as him, but that wasn’t a bother. It was typically the situation for him. He could throw ‘em back and take 'em, and he liked to do so. He felt bold and decided to leave his hand on Castiel's shoulder, feeling the starchy fabric of his button-up with his thumb.

It wasn’t until Castiel shivered that he realized he was basically rubbing his shoulder, and stopped.

“Uh, Sorry,” He muttered sheepishly, wary of making Castiel uncomfortable. Was he making him uncomfortable? He cleared his throat, moving to scootch away and return his hand to the top of the bend when Castiel stopped him with a hand on his knee.

“No, it’s-” Castiel seemed to look at him, asking a question with his eyes, “ -It’s okay with me, if it’s okay with you.” The hand on his knee didn’t move; it lingered. Fingers dusting the inside of his knee, thumb along the ridge of his shin. Dean felt hot all over, and he was sure a blush spread over every inch of him. He feared the mixture of alcohol and Castiel was hitting him hard when mixed, and he wasn’t sure he could answer, so he just nodded. He relaxed in his seat, not wanting to seem uncomfortable. And he wasn’t uncomfortable, that is. He was just… processing. Processing the development, processing the weight of Castiel's hand on him, processing the way it made him feel.

Fuck, he’d absolutely missed the next trivia question. Luckily, Charlie seemed focused on the game and oblivious to their shenanigans. It seemed that Annie was sure of the answer, so he didn’t bother clarifying what the question had been. They were doing well, anyway, so it was okay if they missed one. They weren’t in first place, but they were at the top of the pack.

“This one’s for all the teachers out there,” the woman nodded to their set of tables, “we know you ladies show up every trivia night! Here it is: What's the proper term for two letters that represent one sound together? Bonus points if you can also tell me what it’s called when there are three letters.”

“Oh, EASY,” Dean said, grabbing the paddle and marker. “D-I-G-R-A-P-H,” He wrote, saying each letter as he wrote it.”

“Holy shit, it’s right on the tip of my tounge,” Annie exclaimed, “What’s the one where there’s three letters? It's digraphs and…ohmygod I know this! What the hell!”

“Ha!” Dean began to write the second word. “T-R-” Castiel shifted his hand up Deans thigh, “ -I-G-R-A-P-H”, and Dean choked just a tad between the letters R and I. Castiel noticed, he was sure of it, even though the man said nothing, he just paused his hand where it was, now just above Deans knee. His thumb was moving back and forth just a little.

“Trigraph! Oh my god, stupid, obviously. Literally just the prefix changes.” Charlie picked up the paddle and held it up. They got two points.

“Alright, folks, it’s been a fun night. We’re nearing the end, but there’s no reason to leave after! Stay and celebrate your win, or commiserate if you lose. We welcome it all here. This is your final question- give it lots of thought!” The woman pulled out a special card from her pocket, presumably an especially difficult question for the finale. If they got this, and the team in the current lead didn’t, they could tie.

“What is the term for a religious leader who is believed to speak for God or a deity?“

Dean… did not know the answer. Was that really a retro question? I guess not EVERY question had been strictly media-related. He looked at Charlie, she just gave him a returning shrug of confusion. Damn. Annie also looked stumped.

“A Prophet” Castiel said matter-of-factly.

“Are you sure?” Dean asked

“Yes,” Castiel said, giving Dean a small squeeze underneath the table. That shut him up real quick. He could have sworn he saw Cas’s lip quirk up in a small for a brief moment. Annie wrote their answer on the paddle, and when the M.C. called, she raised it.

“Well, well, well! It seems we have a tie!” She announced. “Red team and Blue team, you’re both winners!”

“Yes!” Dean exclaimed, hugging Castiel with one arm around him, clapping a hand around Annie as well. Charlie seemed to match his level of excitement, Castiel just chuckled and left him to his festivities. He decided to offer Charlie another high five across Castiel, which she heartily returned.

“Everyone gets a drink on the house as a congratulations! Thank you, everyone, for playing, supporting, and generally buying things here. Enjoy the rest of your night!”

“Swee-eet!” Dean sang, moving to stand.

“Dean,” Castiel said, removing his hand as Dean shifted, “Do you think you should? Don’t you have to drive home?”

“Ah, I could always walk,” Dean said, motioning for Charlie to move so he could slide out.

“Do you live that close?” Castiel was not standing to move

“I live close enough,” Dean insisted, making a ‘move’ motion with his hand. Why was Castiel being so frustrating about this? It wasn’t actually any of his business if Dean wanted to get wasted and walk the miles home. He might have had a point about Dean not living close, but Dean didn’t want to think about it. He could also just…sleep in his car. It wasn’t a big deal.

Castiel sighed, but moved out of the booth.

“Thanks,” Dean said, moving past him to the bar. He ordered another of whatever the last thing he drank was. Now that he was standing, he really had to pee. He grabbed his drink and popped back over to the group. It seemed like most of the teachers were heading out now that trivia was over.

“Are you leaving?” He asked Castiel, trying to seem casual and not like he really wanted Cas to stay.

“No.” Castiel said, “Are you?”

“Nope! Not yet. I am gonna go piss though, i’ll find you when i’m back?” Casteil nodded, so he made for the restroom. There was a small line, nothing unmanageable. He pulled out his phone, checking the time. 9 pm, not too late for him, late for his coworkers, it seemed. There was a notification from one of his cameras at his apartment, detecting motion. More often than not, it was a dog, or kids, or a deliveryman. Dean almost disregarded it, swiping the notification away, when he decided it was better to be safe than sorry.

He felt instantly sobered, seeing his dad’s cold, angry eyes staring up at him from his phone screen. When was this? An hour ago. An hour ago, John had found his apartment.. He flicked through the cameras inside his apartment- nothing. John just stood outside his front door, looking up at the camera for about five minutes before he turned a walked away.

It’s a threat; that much was extremely obvious. I know where you live, and there’s nothing you can do about it. I could come by any time I want to. You can’t stop me. You aren’t safe. I’m not safe, he told himself. I’m not safe at my apartment, I’m not safe at school, I’m probably not even safe here.

Fuck, fuck fuck fuck! Well, sleeping in the car would have to do.

Right now, he needed fresh air more than he needed to pee. He ditched the line and looked for a back door. He found one that led to outside seating. Too many people. He turned around, heading for the front door. As he pushed through the crowd, a hand caught his elbow. It was Cas.

“Hey, where are you going?” He asked, stepping towards Dean

“I need some air,” Dean said, nodding towards the door.

“Okay,” Castiel said, giving him an odd look up and down. “Is everything alright?”

Lie. “Oh yea, it’s just my Dad-” Fuck, that’s what I was supposed to lie about, “-or, not my dad, my…uncle! My uncle.” This wasn’t going very well. Apparently being drunk and panicked made you stumble over your words and think of bad excuses.

“Your…Uncle?” Cas raised an unimpressed eyebrow

“Yes?” Stupid, don’t say it like a question, he scolded himself.

Cas seemed to consider him for a moment. Dean looked back towards the front door, longingly.

“Let’s talk more outside.” Castiel said, using the hand he had on Deans arm to pull him forward now, towards the door. Dean followed greatfully.

Chapter Text

Dean was drunk. He seemed to be handling himself okay, but he was drunk. It was pronounced. Castiel had been enjoying that drunken-ness tonight, actually. Drunk Dean was floppy and touchy and reactive, wonderfully reactive. Castiel was replaying touching Dean's strong, jean-covered thigh with his hand. It was, in a word or two, purely exhilarating. Such a simple touch, barely scandalous, in public, both parties fully clothed, and yet- magic.

Despite his experience, Castiel liked to move slowly. He relished every small moment. Every little gesture or brush of fingers felt like lightning to him. Jumping right in was like walking into an electric fence- he needed time to adjust. He was well aware of his nervous disposition, the relation between this and his Autism, and his proclivity towards dynamics. There were many reasons to move slowly, all of them valid, and all of them interwoven in such a way that he couldn’t tug on one without pulling on the others.

Tonight had gone as well as he could have asked for. He felt confident in Dean’s interest in him. He felt more emboldened, given that it hadn’t begun once Dean had alcohol in him- he’d put his arm around Castiel as soon as they’d sat. Castiel himself had consumed one or two drinks, but not nearly as many as Dean. He led Dean out the front of the bar, and felt the man walk less coordinated than usual. He wasn’t a stumbling mess; He was just moving drunk.

“What happened with your father?” He asked once outside, holding Dean's elbow, where they stood off to the side from the door.

“No, it’s-” Dean ducked his eyes. He’s lying, Castiel speculated.

“Dean.” Castiel said, cutting him off, “What has occurred regarding your father tonight?”

Castiel waited patiently as Dean was silent in front of him. A million scenarios crossed his mind as Dean closed his eyes, fidgeting with the fabric of his jeans. Castiel's free hand itched to take Dean's hand in his own. Dean’s father was on the way here. Dean’s father had called him, texted him something unimaginable. Dean’s father had threatened him. Dean’s father had died. Dean’s father had stolen something from Dean. He’d been arrested, he’d-

Dean was standing in front of him; that’s what he needed to focus on. Think. Say something.

“Hey,” Castiel said, “I want to help you.”

Dean remained silent.

“Let me?” Castiel asked desperately.

He was begging Dean to let him in, to tell him what was going on. For how lovely the night had been, this was a sour ending. Not that he blamed Dean, because he did not. He blamed Dean's father, John. John Winchester, a man he’d met once and already despised. The begging, on Castiel's part, was mostly because he didn’t feel like he had the right. Consent was important. At his point in time, he didn’t have permission to be in control of Dean, in control of the situation, in control of Dean's safety or well-being. No matter how much he wanted to be.

It seemed to Castiel like Dean was spiraling. Castiel knew what he needed when he was panicking, but it wasn’t what most other people needed. In his experience, people wanted things he didn’t. They wanted to…I don't know…talk about it? But they didn’t want advice. But they also wanted an opinion? He’d found over the years that he wasn’t a good person at that sort of thing. He did much better with being a teacher, working with other Autistic kids. He understood them. He knew how to help them. He didn’t know how to help Dean. He settled for what he fearfully hoped was a reassuring touch.

Pulling Dean in for a hug, he cradled the back of Dean's neck with one hand and placed another on his back to pull him into the embrace. Castiel didn’t feel Dean resist, but he did tense. He loosened his grip; if Dean wanted to leave, he could. Castiel felt Dean's hand clap his back in return, relaxing into him. He took a deep breath, trying not to turn the warmth into something intimate. It was difficult, with Dean's stubble inches from his own clean-shaven cheek, close enough to inhale sweat. He forced his hand to remain firm and still on the back of Dean's neck, a warm comfort rather than something distracting, tangled in the hairs at the base of Dean's neck.

“It’s…too much to explain I…” Dean’s voice was soft, muffled in Castiel's shirt as he spoke.

Castiel couldn’t demand that Dean tell him; that wasn’t how anything worked. His relationship with his Dad was clearly complicated, and Dean had a right not to share it. Dean pulled away, looking Castiel right in the eyes, like a man who’d set his mind to a plan.

“I can’t go home.” He said.

“Okay,” Castiel said back. Simple, not wanting to spook Dean. He didn’t know all the details, but it was something.

“That’s it. That’s the solution, so the problem is solved, and we don’t need to get into it. I can sleep in my car, or get a hotel, or-”

“-or you can stay at my place.” Castiel finished Dean’s sentence for him.

Dean’s mouth clicked shut. Hmm. Too forward? It was worth the risk, he thought, to see what Dean would do with the proposal. It was no problem, and he would be happy to do it. More than happy, actually, but that was something he could deal with later. If Dean said yes, that was.

John has been living with Dean, Castiel realized, since I saw him show up at school. Can’t go home, plus something to do with his father…the answer to that equation was obvious. Dean’s been hosting him, he’s been living with that sick son-of-a-bitch ever since then, and now, tonight, he’s decided he’s had enough. Suddenly, it wasn’t a choice.

“You’re staying with me,” Castiel stated, squaring his shoulders up. This wasn’t just some selfish thing he wanted; this was about Dean's physical safety and mental wellness. It was necessary.

“No, I can’t,” Dean said

“Yes, you can.” Castiel countered.

“No, Cas- you- I-”

“-Dean.” That came out harder, deeper in tone than he meant. He softened, deliberately, “Would it help if I said I wasn’t asking?”

.
.
.

“-Dean.” Curse that low timber of Castiels, it always did things to him. His name, in that voice? For a moment, he swore he would crumple to his knees right then and there. Castiel was so close to him, so, so close, and Dean was…perhaps…so, so very drunk. There was a small, drunk part of him that just wanted Cas to take care of him.

“Would it help if I said I wasn’t asking?” Castiel dropped his head to peer at Dean, peeking at the edge of his eyes where Dean was focused rather intently on the ground.

Now that was interesting. Would it help? Dean had been muddling through a mess in his mind ever since his father's eyes stared back at him from his phone, and he felt like he was getting nowhere with it. The ball of yarn was just as tangled as before.

Dean felt like he would die if he were a burden, and he felt at risk of that now. Damn his mouth for loosening with whiskey. He should have stayed quiet. He was tired and drunk and scared, and it all compounded, and now, after a lovely night of flirting with a handsome man, that very same dashing man was standing before him, asking Dean to let him help. It was the worst thing Dean could think of. It pained him in his chest, thinking over it. Needed help, but it wasn’t…it just wasn’t allowed. Disappointing, Cas, by saying no…also a terrible option. He couldn’t breathe around it, the way it stuck in his throat. He choked on it.

I can’t tell him, he can’t know. I can’t go over to this man's house and let him care for me. I cannot. I cannot choose that, I cannot make that choice. If he tells me he is choosing for me, is he saying that enough for me to let go? He has no real power over me; I can still say no. To say no, I would have to disagree. I would have to disobey what he has now ordered. Do I have the strength for that? Do I have the strength not to?

He was spiraling. Spinning, spinning downward, forever. His mind felt trapped in this whirl of fears and questions, and decisions. I am built of anxiety, he thought to himself. If I am made of a word, that word is fear. And all of my actions are towards the goal of hiding that fact, hiding that I am made of fear, that I am human, and I feel shame.

Dean didn’t have words. He looked at Castiel and prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that just this once, his prayer would be heard, and Castiel would understand him. He prayed that in some way, their eyes could act like paper cup telephones, with yarn strung between them- a child's way of communicating. Please, he begged, and he didn’t know what he begged for.

“Come,” Castiel said, placing that warm, comforting hand on his elbow and turning them towards the parking lot.

Dean allowed himself to be led.

Castiel opened the passenger side door of his car, and Dean got in.

Castiel drove, and Dean let him.

Castiel opened the door, and Dean got out.

Castiel led him inside, and inside he went.

Castiel was a shepherd, and Dean a sheep.

Chapter Text

Dean was beautiful as he slept. Actually, he was quite dorky. He drooled. One of his arms flopped over the edge of the bed, even though the bed was large enough that he could have lain it out without it falling off. It was goofy, but beautiful. After the car ride, Dean had been sleepy, dragging his feet and eager to lie down the second he’d seen the bed. Castiel had walked him to the guest bed and let him flop.

Castiel had taken his shoes off, set them neatly at the door to the room. He pulled Dean's jacket off, not touching the rest of his clothes. In the pocket was Dean's phone- he plugged it in on the nightstand next to the fresh glass of water he'd set out for Dean. He folded the worn leather jacket neatly and set it on the empty dresser in the room. He straightened it where it sat, aligning the corner of the folded jacket with the corner of the dresser. Sighing, he pushed it off-center. He closed his eyes and willed it to be fine. He opened them and moved them back to an inline position.

It didn’t matter, but it did.

If the situation were different…but it wasn’t. It wasn’t different. He tucked Dean under the covers. It was time for him to leave. This was when he needed to leave.

But he didn’t.

He stood next to the bed, looking down at Dean, where he’d tucked him in.

Dean’s face was peaceful in his newfound sleep. Castiel didn’t move a muscle, but his eyes traveled every inch of Dean's face. Perhaps, he reasoned to himself in the soft lamp light, if I stand frozen still, then time will too, and it won’t matter that im staying. If I swear the next move I make will be to leave, and I haven’t moved yet, then have I not created a small limbo for myself? A little eutopia in which I can reside, if only until the next step I take? An elongated moment, one which I will use to adore this man.

Gentle eyes caressed a face, the air filling the space between. Castiel stood, a man filled with a dangerous, soft longing. Dean's hair was short, and he imagined what it would be like to card his hand through it. Was it too short to tug on? What did the short hairs behind Dean's ear feel like between his fingers? He wished he knew. The curve of Dean's ear caught his eye, and he tried to burn it into his memory. The exact curvature. The stubble on his sharp jawline, his soft, full lips. The place where his dimples appeared, now empty. Thick eyelashes, closed upon each other.

He stood like this for far too long, watching the rise and fall of Dean's back beneath the thin blanket. It wasn’t guaranteed he would ever get another chance like this- to study Dean without those curious eyes staring back at him, studying him in turn.

I should leave, he reminded himself. Watching Dean sleep is…odd. He could wake up at any moment and catch me. He won’t, though, Castiel thought. He’s drunk and clearly needs this.

Slowly, Castiel knelt.

He looked at Dean's hand, still not touching. He froze in this new position, tracing the details of each finger with his sharp gaze. One of his knuckles was slightly swollen. Short, wide nails decorated the end of each finger. Castiel knew what those fingers felt like, playing with the fabric of his shirt. He looked up at Dean's familiar features from this new angle. He longed to reach out and just graze the side of Dean's face with his fingers. Overcome with the idea of the sensation, he stood.

He realized he’d taken a moment outside of the limbo. More than a moment, for he’d moved to kneel about five minutes ago.

Closing the door softly behind him, he left immediately.

He silently went about his typical nighttime routine. Laying out tomorrow's outfit, shedding today's outfit, and throwing it in his hamper. Barefooted, he entered his bathroom and started the shower. As the water warmed, he looked at himself in the mirror. Was he handsome? Was he handsome like Dean? He didn’t think so. He inhaled, looking away. Every similarity he found fell short. Every difference a mistake. The shower was likely ready for him by now.

He entered, letting the steam cloud his mind. As he cleaned his body, the smell of the soap and the ache in his bones joined in helping his hand find himself under the water. Castiel briefly considered the option, palming himself. He took a long, slow, wet drag down his length.

It wasn’t difficult to feel aroused, especially thinking about Dean. The idea of his hand touching more than just Dean's leg under the table…but Dean was just a room over. He was here, in Castiel's home, peacefully asleep. The idea alone was enough to make him continue his shower normally. Soap in his hair, a lather. Tilting his head back into the warm water, letting it run over his face once he’d worked the suds out.

He turned, resting his forehead on the cool tile. The water ran down his shoulders and back, and over his erection, which persisted despite his moral objection to the situation.

“Fuck.” He muttered to himself.

He turned, and there was Dean, kneeling before him. Dean would look beautiful like that, he thought. Those beautiful eyes blinked away water cascading down his face. The steam filled the space between them. Castiel reached down to pull on himself agonizingly slow. Clenching his jaw, he ground his teeth together. He pretended it was Dean's hand, as he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his face harder into the cold shower wall. He thought about- about Dean’s mouth, opening and waiting. The idea of Dean, pliant and obedient, as Castiel slid his- He tensed, working himself towards a sure climax.

Castiel came with little more than a soft gasp, surely hidden amidst the cacophony of water falling from the shower head.

He finished cleaning himself, drying off with his towel. Silk navy PJs felt cool on his skin. Brushing his teeth, he refused to meet his own eyes in the mirror. Lying down in his own bed, he attempted to reel his mind in. He often had difficulty before bed; tonight was especially poignant. Staring up at the plain, white ceiling, he attempted logic. First, he organized some facts.

He had intense feelings for Dean, which would cloud all judgments
Dean’s father was not a good person, and was still in town
Dean would not accept help

Three facts. Three facts with which to work.

If he offered for Dean to stay here, at his house, Dean would say no. Honestly, it was a complicated request. Castiel wanted to offer, and just pretend it was fine, but he was an adult. Saying “you can stay with me” to a man he had feelings for? Bad idea. Saying “you can stay with me” as a…not college kid? Even more complicated. Was the offer for a short period of time, pre-determined, or was it for as long as Dean needed? Could he handle his water bill, his electric bill, increasing by another adult?

Complicated.

Not that Dean would say yes. Because he would not. Which skipped Castiel distinctly over to point number three. Dean would not accept help. He had come to know Dean as an independent, funny, charismatic man. A man who frantically avoided anyone else doing anything for him. Some days, Castiel wondered if Dean would rather die than accept help.

This brought him to his final fact, fact number two. John Winchester was a dangerous man. This wasn’t something Castiel could ignore. He couldn’t pretend that it was fine if Dean abhorred help. He couldn’t pretend that Dean would be okay if he didn’t accept it.

He couldn’t be sure.

Before he could spiral into his own desires for control, he concocted fact number 4. Fact number four was the one he needed to remember the most. It would be the hardest to hold onto.

Dean was a grown man, and Castiel was not in charge of him.

For now, the other part of his brain added at the end. Castiel was not in charge of him for now. It was wishful. Hopeful. He dared a glance at the clock on his bedside table. Shit. 1 am. He needed to either make a plan or decide it would happen tomorrow morning and sleep now.

He sat up, running his hands down his face. Fuck. okay. Here’s the plan, he told himself. Dean is a grown adult, and all I can do is offer help. If he says no to that help, which is likely, I will make him tell me what his alternative is. We’re adults, we can talk about this together. I can tell him I care about him…as a coworker…and we will work it out. And I will know what the plan is.

Exhale. Lay back down. Try to sleep. He forced his eyes to rest, even if sleep didn’t find him.

…

At some point, it must have, because the next thing he knew, he was waking to the insistent beeping of his alarm. 5 am was heavy on his shoulders as he sat up.

He dressed in the clothes he had laid out for himself the night before- crisp dark green button-up, brown tie, and brown slacks. Moving through his house quietly in dress socks, he entered the kitchen. As he washed his hands, he realized…he didn’t know what Dean liked for breakfast. He didn’t even know what Dean liked for lunch- they had separate lunch shifts.

Castiel decided a little bit of everything would be best, but it was still only 5:30, and Dean was surely still asleep. Walking over to the door he’d closed behind himself the night before, he pressed his ear to it. Silence. He placed his hand on the handle, turning it as slowly and quietly as he could. A small creak, as he cracked the door open.

What if Dean were gone? Somehow? What if he had left? What if he- Peering inside, He saw Dean's sleeping form, still in bed. Right. Of course. Jesus, Castiel needed to chill out.

Leaving the door cracked open, he retreated back towards his kitchen. He fiddled with the nail of his thumb in his mouth. What should he…do? Castiel was not the best at…relaxing. He was, if you couldn't tell, rather high-strung. When he wasn’t at work, he was staying late and prepping for the next day. When he wasn’t doing that, he was obsessively cleaning his apartment and meal prepping and going for runs or talking to his therapist or seeing Jack, his nephew. Jack was a nice, peaceful moment.

Living alone, mornings like this did not happen for him. He was very used to running on his own schedule and keeping very busy to quiet the loudness in his head. A book, he decided. A book is a good idea. His personal library was expansive, but he didn’t often re-read. Perhaps this was a rare opportunity. As he settled into a familiar favorite, he heard a soft snoring coming from Dean's room. He smiled to himself, enjoying the sound. This part he enjoyed. Knowing Dean was there, knowing eventually he would wake, and Castiel could enjoy his company.

A few chapters in, he checked the clock. 6:15, it looked back at him. Dean’s rumbling was still consistent. Would he let Dean sleep in? If so, how long? He did have things to do today. Things that would pull him away from the picturesque breakfast he’d envisioned. Things that would pull him away from the important conversation he hoped would accompany the breakfast. He always saw Jack on Saturdays for lunch. Today was Saturday. Lunch was at 12.

He read more of his book, looking up again around 6:45. Then 7, quickly followed by 8. By the time 8 am rolled around, he had long since abandoned his book. He had quietly removed every book from the shelf, and completely dusted and cleaned the bookshelves before starting on replacing the books meticulously in the exact alphabetical and series-based order he’d had them in when the day started.

Tapping his foot lightly on the ground where he sat, staring at the crack between the door frame and the door leading to Dean's room, it was 9 am. His phone vibrated in his pants pocket, and he pulled it out.

It was a text.

Kline// Can you pick him up earlier today? He’s antsy this morning.

Shoot. This complicated things. It was not only rude, but contrary to his grand plan to leave early and have Dean wake up without him here. On the other hand, Jack was much like a son to him. He would do anything for the kid, and their time together was very important to him.

Maybe Dean was going to sleep in a lot, and picking up Jack early meant they would be done sooner, and he could return quicker to Dean. If Dean stayed, that is.

Castiel// Yes. I can get him around 9:45?

Castiel didn’t wait for her affirmation as he stood and walked over to the kitchen. He moved quickly, setting the oven to warm. While it was heating, he prepared a quick batch of eggs and bacon. He toasted bread and placed the portions on a plate. The plate went into the oven. He laid out grapes, oranges, and a banana on the counter.

Pulling out a piece of paper and pen, he scrawled a note for Dean. Locking the door behind him, his note propped up on the counter for Dean to see, he left to see Jack.

Chapter Text

Dear Dean,

Unfortunately, something has come up, and I have to run
out for a moment. I should be back around 12 at the
latest. I have made breakfast for you- it’s sitting warm in
the oven. I have also laid out some other options for you
on the counter, if they suit you better.

Please help yourself to anything you want. If you would
like to shower, there is a towel at the foot of your bed.
Stay, please. I would very much like to see you when
I return. If it’s not too much to ask.

Warmly,
Castiel

His sleep-heavy eyes blinked at the note as he processed it. He’d woken up a few times, his head pounding, so he’d rolled over and kept sleeping. Once he really woke up, his brain coming online, he’d shot up in a panic. He was at Castiel's house. Currently.

Dean took the thick cardstock paper in his hand, re-reading it. Castiel seemed to really want him to stay. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice- a glance at the driveway confirmed his drunken memory from last night, that Castiel had driven them both here. Baby was parked back at the bar.

What did Cas think he was gonna do, walk? From here?

Cas probably did think that.

To be fair, Dean had been a mess last night. Last night, he HAD threatened to walk home. The Dean of today was not so committed, and more hung up on the idea of a nice, warm shower, in Castiel's fancy-looking place. He opened the oven to peer at breakfast. A beautifully plated meal of bacon, eggs, and toast greeted him with warm wafting waves of drool-worthy smell. Dean actually groaned at the smell, deciding to eat before showering.

It took him a moment to fumble around and find an oven mitt and a fork in Cas’s freakishly clean kitchen, but once he did, he dug in. The food was fucking incredible. Cas had cooked this himself? Jesus Christ. Was that man bad at ANYTHING??? His plate was clean in record time. Dean eyed the fruit, not feeling particularly in the mood for it.

He washed and cleaned his dishes in the sink before heading back to his room, wanting to be respectful. When he’d come in last night, he hadn’t really looked around. He saw his shoes, jacket, and towel all laid out in his room. He touched his jacket, thinking about Cas folding it, placing it here. Dean was overcome with a feeling of inadequacy. Was he even capable of being this thoughtful? Castiel was attuned to every detail, fine-tuned to caring. Dean was reckless and messy, even when he was trying his hardest.

I can try, he resolved. I can start now, he thought, picking up his phone from where (presumably) Castiel had plugged it in last night. He opened up his DM with Cas and typed

Dean// See you when you get home.

That was considerate, right? He was communicating. And he was doing what Castiel had asked him to do. That was…nice, right? Yes. And then he could thank Cas properly for breakfast, and for getting him home and all.

His mind made up, he grabbed the towel and looked around for a bathroom. The room he’d slept in had one door, which led to a walk-in closet. Walking back out, he saw the kitchen, front door, and living room again. He turned towards the only other hallway he’d seen. It had two doors. The first one he tried was the bathroom- it was small, a toilet and a shower smushed into the hall space.

…which meant the only other door was likely Castiel's room. A part of him was so, so desperately curious. He would be nosey, but maybe he could just poke his head in. The idea stuck in his head for only a moment before he banished it. Closing the door behind him, he turned the shower on. He shucked off his clothes from the night before as the water warmed.

With the room filled with steam, he stepped under the water. It felt incredible on his sore back. He twisted, peering down at his side. There was a faint, lingering smatter of green-yellow bruise on his side. It was nothing compared to what it had been, and it was well on the mend, but he sighed at seeing it anyway. Even the second day with it had been less painful physically than the first. Today, he couldn’t even feel it, even if he pressed on it.

Dean luxuriated in the warm water. He’d been thinking while eating this morning, and this was likely the last good shower he would have for a while. This…thing…with Cas…it was important to him. It felt real, even though it had only been a little over a month since he’d started this job. Dean felt comfortable in this life. He enjoyed his job, and he enjoyed whatever was happening with Cas.

Things with his Dad needed to end. Permanently. He was tired of running, tired of hiding and placating and bandaging. He was done. It was high time he made that clear to his father, in no uncertain terms. In legal terms, if that was what it took.

Which meant going home. On the road, truck stop bathrooms and travel soap showers. To Bobby. And asking for help. Bobby would help, Dean knew that. Bobby was one of the few people Dean trusted implicitly, one of the only people he would openly and easily ask for help.

Turning over a shampoo bottle in his hand, he chuckled to himself. Of course Cas kept fancy shit in his fucking guest bathroom. No Dollar General 3-in-1 shampoo for anyone at this house, no, sir. Pouring some out, he lathered up his hair and body. It smelled incredible, just like every other damn thing in this place.

Clean as a whistle, he stepped out of the shower to towel off. Ah fuck, he’d basically stepped out onto his clothes. He would have to wear last night's clothes again, but that wasn’t anything unfamiliar to him. Sure, he hadn’t in a while, but it was fine. He wasn’t gonna bitch and moan about it. Wet, though? That was obnoxious.

Tying the towel around his waist, he stepped out into the hallway. He was worried about leaving a stupid ass trail of water all over Castiels nice floor, but he seemed to have done a well enough job. He had his slightly wet clothes in one hand as he walked down the hall. He figured laying them out for 10 minutes or so should dry them enough so as not to make him want to die when he wears them.

A sharp sound surprised him, and he stumbled into the wall behind him. The painting behind him clattered to the floor. Dean blinked rapidly, forcing his ragged breaths to become slow and deep. His eyes quickly found the source of the noise, his heartbeat fast in his chest as his father- no, it was Cas, Cas was standing before him in the living room. Cas, Cas, Cas, not his dad, Cas.

“Jesus CHRIST,” Dean said, putting intentional effort into relaxing his muscles, unclenching his fists.

“I-” Castiel choked on his words. Now THAT was a first. “-I-I apologize, Dean.”

“It’s…fine…” Dean said.

This was…awkward. He didn’t feel ashamed; he knew he had a nice body. But Cas was… Cas. Something about being shirtless in front of him was intense. He avoided eye contact. His heart continued to pound in his ears, and he didn't know if it was from the idea that Cas was looking at him right now or residual panic from being startled. Overwhelmed, he decided to break the silence.

“My uh, clothes got wet. When I… got out of the shower.” He dared a glance up at Cas, and couldn’t read him. He almost looked…mad? I don’t know. “That’s why I’m… That’s why I need to just dry them real quick. Then I’ll be…back.” He walked as fast as he could into the bedroom.

Dean shut the door behind him and cursed a million silent curse words to himself. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuuuuuuuuuck

Chapter Text

His knees. He wanted to fall to his knees before this man. What an odd, fresh feeling. It would be so easy to sink down, the floor beckoning him into its cold embrace. Ah, how the mighty do crumble in the face of adoration. I want to worship this person, a dark desire whispered into his own ears. I want him to be mine. I want him to let me do as I please.

I want to be in control, and what I choose to do with that control is give this man as much pain and pleasure as he can handle, and then a little bit more after that. I want to kneel before him and worship, for he is beautiful and deserves to receive it.

Bringing Dean here, to his home, was an experience he had underestimated. Would he ever look at his space the same, now that Dean had touched it, existed in it? He slept in that bed, his mind supplied. He probably smells like that soap you put in the guest shower.

Dean's short hair was still damp, little drops dripping down his neck, falling forward down his chest. Frankly, it was pornographic. The man before him was downright sculpted. Castiel thought Dean looked like a marble statue, the ones he appreciated in museums. His shoulders ached from holding up the weight of his devotion, pulling him to the ground.

It was only the bible he’d been holding that actually ended up on the ground. It was with great difficulty that he remained upright. Lord, he wanted his hands on this man. His fingers wanted to run down the space between Dean’s shoulder blades, his nails wanted to leave marks. He wanted his fucking teeth in the man. Instead, he gripped the top of the chair next to him as hard as he could.

In his surprise, Dean almost let go of the towel around his waist. Castiel didn’t miss the near slip, and had to turn his head and swallow, closing his eyes. This was…not putting him in the right headspace. He was…bothered…currently, which was unideal.

“Jesus CHRIST,” Dean said, a flush dusting his shoulders between freckles. He had fucking freckles.

“I-” Castiel choked on his words. I want to kiss you. I want to touch you. I want to have you. “-I-I apologize, Dean.”

“It’s…fine…” Dean said, “My uh, clothes got wet. When I… got out of the shower. That’s why I’m… That’s why I need to just dry them real quick. Then I’ll be…back.”
He practically ran into the bedroom with his pile of clothes.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind Dean, Castiel ran a hand over his face. This was…not good. Dean was “drying his clothes”, and Castiel was standing in the living room, feathers as ruffled as they could get, and all Dean had done was walk past him.

Focus, focus, Castiel. What should he be doing right now? Certainly not thinking about what Dean looked like under that towel. What he NEEDED to be doing was preparing for a difficult conversation with Dean. He picked up the bible where he’d dropped it and placed it on the shelf. He picked up the fallen painting, carefully righting it on the wall.

The kitchen looked clean- Dean must have cleaned up after himself. Very considerate. Laying his hands on the cool countertop, splaying his fingers out, he took a deep breath. This could go poorly, very easily, he thought to himself. He needed to be careful and understanding. Dean often ran from difficult conversations, joked, or avoided them altogether. This was important. Dean had to see that.

The morning's earlier restlessness resurfaced and assaulted him again as he waited for Dean to emerge from the room. There was nothing to clean, and no project he could risk starting, knowing he might have to stop at any time. A moment to himself, then. Lovely.

Dean, I wanted to talk to you about something. Would that be okay? He ran over his plan in his head. Dean would say yes, or make a joke, or otherwise consent to the conversation. Last night, you mentioned something about your father. I know this is difficult, but I care about you. I want to make sure you’re okay, that’s all. Can we make a plan?

Can we make a plan together?

Can I make a plan?

Can I help you?

Castiel's eyes instinctively flicked up at the creak of the door opening. He stood up straight, trying to seem casual. Calm. Calm and casual. Should his hand be in his pocket? No. maybe? Whatever. He cleared his throat. Twice. He should speak first, right? His opening line.

Dean, I wanted to talk to you about something.

Why was it so hard? His heart was racing a mile a minute in his chest. Dean was looking at him with an expression he didn't understand.

“Dean,” He managed to start, “I wanted to talk to you about something.” He wished he sounded more confident than he did. He wished he felt it, too. Dean gave him a silent nod, looking down and away, shoving his hands in his pockets. Nervous, Dean was nervous. He took a deep breath- this next part felt the hardest.

“Last night, you mentioned something about your father.” Exhale.

Cataloging Dean's reactions intentionally and obsessively was the only way Castiel knew how to read someone. His lips were pressed together. He almost seemed to scoff or laugh a little bit. He was shifting his weight. He wouldn’t meet Castiel's eyes. His shoulders tensed.

“I know this is difficult,” He tried to soften his voice, “but I care about you. I want to make sure you’re okay, that’s all.”

He shifted to walk around the kitchen counter, over to the other side where Dean stood. Dean still didn’t look at him. Castiel had no idea how he was feeling or what he was thinking. It was scary, not knowing.

“Can we make a plan?” Castiel reached out to touch Dean's arm, a comfort, but Dean took a step back, out of reach. It stung, but he was allowed. Castiel took his hand back, leaning his back against the counter. If Dean didn’t want contact, he wouldn’t advance any further.

“Cas.” Dean addressed him using his nickname, but his tone was low. Warning. “I can handle it. I’ve- I’ve got it handled, okay?”

“Okay,” He allowed, “How?”

“HOW? Whadaya’ mean, ‘How’?” Dean rounded on him, raising his voice. He made large gestures with his hands as he spoke. It’s okay, Castiel reminded himself, just stick to showing that you care about him and want to help.

“I just meant…can you share the plan with me?” He raised his own hands in a slow, calming gesture. He looked at Dean with what he hoped was an open, honest expression. He was here, if Dean would just let him in.

“You think I can’t do this on my own?” Dean said in response, turning away from him to rub his eyes with his hand. “You-you think I don’t know how to deal with my father? I know how to deal with him, okay? I’ve dealt with him my whole goddamn life!”

“Why do you have to do it on your own? I’m sure you can, but you don’t have to. I can- I want to help, Dean.” Castiel wanted to step towards the man, embrace him, but he held himself back. He crossed his arms across his chest and uncrossed them. He wanted to comfort himself, but also wanted to maintain open body language. It took conscious effort.

Dean let out an exasperated sigh.

“I can do this.” He said to Castiel, looking at the ground. “I can DO this. It’s fine. It’s handled. So you don’t need to worry. Okay?”

Castiel clenched his jaw. No, it wasn’t okay. This wasn’t how he’d wanted this conversation to go. Dean hadn’t shared anything at all. He didn’t know any more of this mysterious plan than he’d woken up knowing. Dean was taking everything as an attack. Clearly, this was something he was defensive about, and the old wounds had healed poorly, if at all.

“Okay?” Dean insisted, asking Castiel for a response again.

“No, Dean,” He said, struggling to find the best way to deliver what we wanted to say. Everything seemed like a wrong move, so he defaulted back to what he’d said earlier. “I care about you, and I want to know that you’re safe and okay.”

Dean actually growled in frustration, walking a few paces away from him into the living room, and then back.

“Fine. You wanna know the plan? Here’s the plan. I’m gonna go see my Uncle in South Dakota, and I’m gonna end this shit with my dad once and for all. That’s the plan.” For the first time in this conversation, Dean looked at him. Head on, a challenge nested in his eyes.

“Wait, wait, wait…” Castiel ran a hand through his hair, processing.

“South Dakota?” He repeated

“Yes,” Dean said.

“And how are you getting to South Dakota?”

“I’m gonna drive.” He said as if it was obvious.

“Drive.” Castiel deadpanned.

“Yes, you got a problem with that?”

“That will take you…a couple of days each way, even driving full days.” Plus, the time it would take to do whatever it was he was planning to do down there.

“Yes. and?” Dean was being awfully obtuse.

“...You have a job?” He tried to say it in the least sarcastic way possible

“I’ll ask for time off work,” Dean said matter-of-factly

“When? Immediately?” He took a step towards Dean in his urgency, forgetting his silent promise to remain where he was

“Yes.” Dean seemed less sure now

“For how long?” He took another step towards Dean, but Dean wasn't backing away now. He was just standing, only half facing Castiel.

“A week, I don’t know. I don’t know! What’s with all the damn questions?”

“These are things you have to think about, Dean.” Castiel felt himself getting frustrated, and he heard it too. His voice deepened before he could remember to soften it, and it was clear that Dean noticed.

“I’m not stupid.” No, but defiant? Yes.

“I didn’t say you were.” There was something building in his chest, something he wanted to suppress. Keeping his cool right now was paramount. He needed to stay rational, objective. Fact number one taunted him from the back of his mind.

“Then why are you treating me like I am?” Dean was facing him now and had stepped into his personal space.

“I care about you.” The words came easily, and he was surprised to see shock on Dean's face, as if he hadn’t already told him that explicitly two times in this conversation alone. It was a small crack in the hard exterior Castiel was knocking on, and he leaped into the space.

“I don’t want you to destroy your life here. I want you to have something to return to once you’ve handled this. Which you will.” He reached for one of Dean's hands, hesitantly. I want you to have me to return to, he thought privately. Come back here, please.

“Your Uncle, he can help you?” Castiel clarified softly when Dean didn’t say anything. His fingers brushed Dean's, and Dean didn’t pull away. He didn’t move at all. Castiel let his hand linger, reaching, only barely touching. He looked at those knuckles, the same ones he’d studied only last night.

When he looked up, he was met with a tired pair of green eyes. Dean’s mouth was parted ever so slightly, but he clicked it shut and ground his teeth when he noticed Castiel's eyes flick downward. His chest rose with quick breaths, and Castiel realized he’d led them into quite the intimate moment. It was sunny out today, he realized, as a sunbeam slipped through his window and caressed Dean's jaw.

“Dean?” He questioned, searching for a reaction other than stillness. He let the pads of his fingers make soft, but deliberate contact with the back of Dean's hand again, and was rewarded with a lovely blush.

“Yes,” Dean blinked a few times, shifting like he was going to take a step back, but then he reconsidered and remained where he was. “Yes, my Uncle can help me.”

“Okay,” Castiel said. This was the part where he had to let Dean be an adult. Was this the plan he would have made? No. He would have handled this himself, involving law enforcement or a lawyer. If Dean had insisted on seeing his Uncle, for whatever reason, they would have flown.

But Castiel was not in charge. He was a man with an infatuation, begging for details Dean didn’t want to give him. Like pulling teeth, this conversation had been. This is better than showing up to work on Monday with no warning that Dean would be gone all week, having no idea what happened to him or where he was going.

Dean’s hand, the one he was touching, twitched. Just a little. He refocused on Dean’s face, his eyes. The expression was unfamiliar to Castiel, but it was intense. He pulled his hand away, feeling unsure now. Dean’s eyes flicked down. He looked disappointed. Dean took a deep, steadying breath, before meeting Castiels eyes once more.

“I’m going to go do this-”

“-I know Dean,” Castiel interrupted, tired of going in circles.

“Will ya’ let me finish?” Dean quipped back, but the bite didn’t have any teeth.

“Sorry, yes,” Castiel took his own deep breath. This was all very stressful.

“I’m going to go do this,” Dean began again, “And then I’m going to come back,” to you, Castiel swore he implied at the end. Maybe it was his desire filling in a blank that wasn’t there, but he would swear that everything about Dean’s voice at the end of the sentence, the look in his eyes, his body language- it all pointed to it.

There was a moment of silence after Dean’s non-admission admission. Castiel didn’t know what to say, and Dean seemed to have said all he had to say. So they stood, barely inches from one another, not touching. Breathing. Looking. Would they…?

“You’ll be fine,” Dean said to Castiel, breaking the silence and stillness by taking a small step back. The statement confused Castiel. Dean was the one he was worried about not being fine, not himself. Was Dean worried about him, too?

Dean reached towards him, touching the knot of his tie. He wiggled it a little, tightening it. He straightened the tie down the front of Castiel's shirt. He reached up to dust off Castiel's shoulders. What…was this? The intimacy of the moment before was gone, an awkward husk remaining around them.

“Yeah, you’ll be just fine.” Dean reiterated, clapping him on the shoulder. A pit opened in Castiel's stomach, quick and deep.

“Wait- I- what? Are you…leaving right now?” Castiel nearly shook his head in confusion as Dean started towards the door. He followed.

“Yeah, I gotta get goin’. I could probably make it at least a few hours tonight after I get home, pack, submit my time off…” Dean was so nonchalant, as if the heat from only a few minutes ago had never happened. The whiplash nearly froze Castiel where he stood.

“Dean, I-”

“You wanna give a guy a ride, or do I gotta walk back to the bar?” Dean raised an eyebrow, his hand on the door.

This was ridiculous. This was moving too fast. Dean was blowing past…past moments..past feelings…and Castiel didn’t understand why…or HOW…he could feel panic overflowing in his throat. He willed it back down. I am losing it, he acknowledged. I am not rational right now; I am losing it. I can’t lose things in front of Dean, I need to…I need to drive Dean, and then I can do what I need to do.

I can’t control Dean. I can’t control Dean, but I can control myself. I can’t control him, but I can try to control myself. I can try to control myself. I CAN control myself. I can.

“I will drive you,” he said, turning to find his keys as Dean opened the front door. He found them where he’d left them, sitting on the counter nearest the door from when he’d seen Jack this morning.

.
.
.

Thank god Castiel was driving him. Making light of it had been an automatic response, but the truth was he was terrified to return to his apartment. He was scared to walk around without a quick escape. He was scared his dad was, once again, waiting for him at his car.

Castiel grounded him. He’d grounded him just now. Dean knew Castiel didn’t deserve to be yelled at. He deserved so much better than a man who got angry when people tried to help him. He deserved better than a man who couldn’t say ‘I care about you back’. Overcoming the fear, when it came, that he would be forced to rely on someone again, forced to rely on someone who couldn’t follow through, felt impossible.

Instead, he flailed, barking like a dog chained in a yard. He wanted Castiel to care. He was glad he did. Then he turned around and bit the man's hand when he offered it. What the fuck was wrong with him?

It was too much to handle, feeling like a scared little boy one moment, a red-blooded man the next. Castiel was always so friggin’ intense. The way he said Dean's name did things to him. The way he touched Dean, soft, like Dean was to be treasured, scared him. The questions he asked. The way he studied Dean.

Once he was outside, he pulled out his phone. He clicked on the security cameras. He braced himself for the image of his father. Tracking when he’d arrived, he looked for when his father left. The cameras only covered so much distance- he saw his father leave the general vicinity, but couldn't be sure if he drove off, took a bus, walked…or lingered. He would just have to deal with it.
When he looked up from his phone, Castiel was locking the door behind them. Dean quickly turned it off, shoving it back into his pocket. Cas went all the way around the car to open the door for him. Second time he’d done that- Dean wasn’t sure what it was about, but he just got in the car.

Cas closed the door and walked around to the driver's side. He entered silently, and Dean felt like it was his fault. I mean, it was. That was just a fact. He’d fucked up this whole thing, without even trying. Turning the car on, Cas reached for the radio.

“You can put on what you’d like,” He offered, backing out of his driveway.

It was on some stuffy, classical music station right now. Dean navigated it to classic rock, making an approving noise when a song he recognized was playing. Glancing over at Cas, he was met with a hardened face. I deserve that, he thought, souring. I’ll fix it when I get back, he resolved. I’ll fix all of this.

He replayed the conversation as best as he could recall it. He’d managed to avoid breaking any of Cas’s stuff or saying anything particularly targeted or personal. He’d most just been…rude. Belligerent. Argumentative. He hadn’t expected the conversation at all. When Cas had asked him if they could talk, well, to be honest, he’d thought Castiel was going to…going to what? Confess his love?

I sound like an idiot.

They’d ended the conversation so close to one another, Dean could smell that damn cologne on him. When the anger had faded enough for him to feel the arousal rumbling in the background, he’d panicked. Cringing internally, he chastised himself for straightening Cas’s tie and dusting him off like he was a 50’s housewife sending her man off to work or something. Where the FUCK had that super not smooth move come from?

Since when was that his response to realizing he wanted to kiss someone?

For just a moment, he’d seen how it would go. He would lean in, and Cas would no doubt put a hand on Dean somewhere. Cas was touchy like that. He imagined Castiel's hand at his throat, cupping the back of his head. Dean wanted it so badly that he hurt. Instead, he straightened Cas’s tie.

In his defense, about two seconds into that fantasy, his nervous system reminded him he was a marked man, being hunted by his father, and his blood ran immediately cold. This was no way to be, no way to live. Not anymore, at least.

Not now that he had a Cas in the picture.

Chapter Text

Letting Dean out of his car, he felt numb. He was consciously aware that he was going through the motions until he was alone, when he could finally do the stupid shit that he felt like he needed to do. So much shame about it, even though he’d been helping his students through meltdowns his whole career. Compassion and understanding flowed from him, an endless stream, never once turned inwards.

Castiel knew he should be doing more for Dean. He should say something before Dean leaves. What if this was the last time he saw him? That thought was what finally broke his stupor, and instead of pulling away, he turned his car off and got out. Dean threw him a wondering look, obviously not understanding why he was out of his car, following Dean to the door of the Impala. Hell, he barely knew himself. He had no script, no plan, just a feeling.

“Cas?” Dean asked, pausing with his keys in his hand

“Call me.” It was a question, a plea, a prayer, a wish, all rolled into one small, consumable statement.

“Call you?” Dean huffed out a laugh, shoving his keys into the handle of his door.

“Yeah,” Castiel straightened up, feeling himself steel behind the idea, “Call me. For anything. Any time.”

“Sure, Cas,” Dean said, turning to get into his car.

And just like that, it was over. A door closed in his face.

The ride home transformed Castiel into a brewing storm. He was a cloud, rumbling and greying into the type of weather event you hate to see rolling in on a weekend. He rode in silence, his mind loud enough to fill the car.

I want to slam my head against a wall, he thought to himself, knuckles white against the steering wheel. I want to rock back and forth and clutch myself. I feel like I can’t handle what I’m feeling. Everything with Dean is just too much, too intense, too complicated, convoluted, and impossible to sort through. There was no way through that felt good, so he just had to barrel ahead and try to take the least amount of damage.

Speaking of which, he was trying to think very hard about what he’d learned in therapy. Castiel was sitting in his car, in his driveway, not moving, thinking about what he and his therapist had decided was a good plan for when he felt like this. Being in a better place now, which he was trying to be, meant not hurting himself.

There needed to be a different plan when he went inside. Something other than pulling his hair till it hurt or digging the tines of a fork into his palm. He was going to go inside and do something that felt nice to him. He could watch a documentary or build a LEGO- maybe both, even. That sounded like a calming activity. It didn’t feel like he would be able to skip right into that, though; the storm needed passing first.

Squeezing his eyes tight, he wrestled with a dilemma he’d been tackling internally for years. Stimming was a sore subject for him. During class, he would teach his students about the importance of respecting what their bodies need. When Eden would flap his hands in excitement, Castiel smiled and told Eden he could see that he was excited! When Maddy needed deep pressure, there were items in the class for that very purpose. He knew it was important for their nervous systems. Why couldn’t he accept it was important for his own?

Childhood shame convinced him that he looked ridiculous as a grown man doing any of those things, that it was silly to feel the way he did about wanting or needing to do them in the first place.

He sighed, resting his head on the steering wheel.

“I’m going to go in my apartment and do a bunch of odd things. And then I will watch a nature documentary. And I will be okay. It’s okay to do odd things when I’m alone in my apartment.”

Standing up and exiting his car, he unlocked the front door. Once inside with the front door locked behind him, he closed all the blinds. He pulled a box from his side table next to his bed, plugging in a light from it. It cast patterns on the walls and ceiling of his room, mesmerizing and fluid in their colorful shifting. Castiel hefted a blanket onto this bed, lying down and positioning it on himself. It was weighted, and once he had started a playlist on his phone, he slipped both his hands underneath it.

Taking a deep breath, he simply looked up at the ceiling. The light was very calming. The weight was calming. He felt a swell of emotion in his chest, and he let it come. He hummed to himself, random tones that felt good in his throat.

“I need to let things with Dean go. I’m getting fixated, and it's not good for me. I need to focus on what I can control, like my schedule and my classroom.”

A deep breath.

“I’m fine, I’m good, I’m fine, I’m good, I’m fine…” He muttered the words a hundred times, till they made no sense, till he wasn't even sure if he was saying them anymore. He closed his eyes. He whispered the words now, a quiet, senseless mantra. His facts from before, which had seemed so concrete, couldn’t help him now.

He was drowning, and breathing in the water was the only way to survive. So he took a deep breath in, and the water tasted like a beautiful pair of green eyes looking up at him, tears pricking the sides of them. It felt like a warm mouth on his when it traveled down his throat. The cool liquid settled in the bottom of his lungs like his hand would settle in soft, red flesh.

He wanted Dean. This wasn’t new information. It was something he’d been fighting, fighting to be normal about. Fighting to reel in. He wanted to give up. He wanted to be unabashed in his desire. He longed to lay his heart bare.

Shifting beneath the weighted blanket, he emerged with this new realization wrapped around his heart. Silent now, he cleaned up the evidence of his internal meltdown. Walking out into the dark living room, all he wanted was to keep lying and thinking, with something on in the background. He chose a nature documentary he’d seen many times before, and settled into his half-seated position.

He knew he needed to stay sane while Dean was gone. He needed to go to work, go about his day, and not be a mess every time he came home. There was no guarantee Dean would call, or even text. There was no guarantee he would come home. Castiel could lose himself in all the possibilities, but he knew seeing them all to the end was the best way to regain his composure. Now that he was feeling less panicked, it was more rational than pessimistic and catastrophizing.

Dean might not call. That was okay. Castiel could call him. One time was reasonable, to check in.

Dean might not let him know when he will be back. That was okay, too. He could check how long Dean has submitted to take time off.

Dean might not come back. This one was trickier, but Casitel landed on trust. Dean had said he would. Castiel needed to trust Dean, trust that he was telling the truth, and meant what he said. If he didn’t come back, then Castiel would wallow all he wanted, but there wasn't anything more he could do. He didn’t have anything other than Dean's name, South Dakota, and the name of Uncle Bobby.

Dean might not feel the same way. It was always a possibility that Castiel was reading signs extremely wrong- he’d done it before. Castiel could live with that, as long as Dean came back and he knew the other man was okay. He could live with Dean at arm's length, he convinced himself.

It was with a resigned sigh that he made himself dinner and opened the blinds to let in the setting sun. Sunday could house all the chores he’d meant to do today, and then it was Monday. He slept in the guest bedroom. He’d wash the sheets tomorrow.

***

Monday passed with great effort. There hadn’t been a substitute for Dean yet, his absence request remaining unfilled. The lack of a third person hit their class hard, but the principal helped by pulling people for short periods of time as much as she could. The aide from another class filled in during lunch, a woman from the resource room coming in for half of math and science. It wasn’t enough, but they made it work. He wondered how far to South Dakota Dean had made it by Monday night as he lay in his bed.

Tuesday was a little easier, as someone had picked up Dean's shifts. Only for Tuesday and Wednesday, it turned out, but he would take what he could. The woman was sweet, but not very good at her job. She didn’t have the intuition it took to jump into a classroom like this- some people had it, some people hadn’t developed it yet. Castiel was surprised when she mentioned this was her fifth year in SPED, but he hoped it didn’t show on his face.

Wednesday was when he started seriously considering calling Dean. Halfway through the week felt like a reasonable time to check in. He couldn’t be sure how many days it took Dean to make the drive, though- maybe he hadn’t even reached his uncle's house yet. Deciding to try and hold off as long as he could, he refrained from texting or calling.

Thursday was when things got interesting, and not in a good way. His morning had been wonderful, actually. Dean had texted him, and the joy radiated from his chest the whole drive to work. It had been short, just a quick text that said ‘Hope the kids are doing well,’ but the deep breath that followed felt like the first he’d taken in centuries. His response had attempted to match Dean's, out of fear that if he overdid it, he might never hear from the man again- ‘Hope things go well for you too, Dean. ’ I miss you, how are you, do you miss me, when will you be back, I love you.

The substitute from the last two days was replaced by a new substitute, who was very kind. He carried a bag of stickers in his pocket, which he was extremely generous with. The kids loved him instantly. As a class, they made it through lunch with minimal problems. It was around 12:45, so close to the end of the day, when a loud blaring from the intercom interrupted their small group lessons.

“THIS IS A LOCKDOWN. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. LOCK, LIGHTS, OUT OF SIGHT. THIS IS A LOCKDOWN-” the message continued, and Castiel felt his veins fill with ice. The kids were scared, many of them startled and upset by the loud noise. Mrs.Celia was ushering the kids into a corner of the room, and the substitute was closing all the blinds. Someone flicked off the lights. Castiel pushed his desk in front of the door with a grunt and grabbed the bag of lollipops from his desk drawer. He gave one to each of the kids- they couldn’t talk or cry or make noise with the candy in their mouths.

He took a deep breath in through his nose, breathing out from his mouth. A few of the kids copied him around the sucker in their mouths. That was good.

“Everyone is doing so well,” He whispered, “Everyone is doing a great job being quiet. If you need another sucker, I will give you one, okay?” His class looked at him with wide, wet eyes. His heart was beating faster than he thought possible. This was not a good time for a heart attack.

They sat for what felt like an eternity in the darkness, when the message over the intercom switched. He received an update on his phone around the same time that they had switched from a lockdown to a lockout; whatever the threat was had been moved outside.

They turned the lights back on and moved his desk back to its position. No one was in a state to teach, but getting back to the routine was what would help the kids feel safe.

“Keep the suckers in, okay, everyone? We’re still supposed to be quiet, but we’re going to get back to class. Everything is alright, and everyone is safe.” Castiel ran his hand through his hair. Fuck. Some of the kids were still upset. He soothed them as best he could, trying to softly direct them back to the math game they had been playing. Eventually, they received the all clear to return to normal procedures, and the lockout was also finished.

After half an hour, he received a phone call on the classroom phone.

“Castiel’s room.” He picked up

“Castiel, would you come to the principal's office when you get a chance, directly after the kids are on the bus?” The front desk asked him

“Yes, absolutely.” Did the fear show in his voice?

“Great, thank you.” The click of the phone being put down rang in his ear.

Why? Why, why, why? Knowing he could think up a billion ideas, he deliberately chose not to think about why. He would find out in…30 agonizing minutes. Thankfully, it was so close to the end of the day that he could get away with doing a dance party and then having them pack up to go home.

The kids picked out some silly interactive YouTube video that they’d watched a couple of weeks ago and wanted to see again, and that was fine with him. He worried his lip away in his seat, his leg bouncing beneath the top of his desk. Watching time pass made it slower, he thought. The second the clock read 2:10 he was getting everyone packed up and in line. Getting the kids onto the bus was a blur; he barely even registered Mrs.Celia asking him if he was okay.

Not bothering to stop by the classroom first, he headed directly to the front office once the last kid’s seat belt had clicked together.

The front office ladies waved him into the principal's office. The blinds were closed, so he opened the door tentatively. Inside, he found the principal, Mrs.LeRein, and two police officers.

“You’re not in trouble, Mr.Novak. We just want to fill you in on the situation today and see if you have more information for us.” They must have seen him pale upon entering.

“Alright,” He said, pulling out a chair. He sat down awkwardly, feeling self-conscious of how difficult eye contact was for him.

“I’ll be blunt with you, if that’s alright.” The shorter police officer spoke, his hands on the front straps of his vest. He didn’t wait for Castiel to accept. “Today, John Winchester was arrested and removed from the premises, charged with trespassing and public intoxication. It’s been brought to my attention that this is not the first incident with John at this school, and that the previous incident involved a staff member from your classroom, by the name of…uh…” He trailed off, looking down at his notes, “Dean Winchester?”

“Dean’s dad was here? Today?” Castiel couldn’t help the shock that colored his words.

“Yes, sir, he was.” The taller police officer leaned forward.

“Castiel,” Mrs.LeRain placed a hand out on the table towards him, “Do you know anything else that should be shared about Dean or his father? John showed up here quite violently and aggressively, which is why we followed the established plan and attempted to remove him. He wouldn’t leave voluntarily and even threatened our front office staff. I am very concerned about Dean, and I want to make sure he gets the help he needs, okay?”

“Y-yes, me too,” He reassured them. Pausing for a moment, he tried to think what was worth sharing. Was anything he knew important? He also didn’t want to say something Dean wouldn’t want him to. Dean wouldn’t want him to say anything, he knew. But Dean was also unreasonable-

“-Castiel, I know Dean is a very private person. I’m not going to share anything I hear in this room with anyone else at school. The police are not looking to get Dean in any trouble.”

“Yes, I know, I’m sorry, it takes me a moment to think sometimes,” He offered sheepishly.

“Let me ask some more specific questions,” The taller officer offered. Castiel nodded.

“‘Do you know where Dean is?” He flipped open his notepad to a new page.

“I know he’s headed to South Dakota. That’s why he took time off this week.”

“I see, and what’s in South Dakota?” scribbling on the notepad.

“His uncle.” Castiel knew he wasn’t being very forthcoming. It felt like a compromise, answering the questions but not offering up all of Dean's personal details for them willingly.

“Okay,” The taller cop looked up from his notepad, “And do you know why he wanted to go see his uncle in South Dakota so urgently?”

“He said his uncle could help him with…stuff with his dad…” This part felt really wrong, like a betrayal.

“I see.” More writing, which he wished he didn't know was happening. “Well, thank you for your time, Mr.uh…Novak! You’ve been very helpful in filling in some blanks for us. We aren’t going to pursue this any further than we have at this time, as it sounds like Mr.Dean Winchester is out of state, and we have his father in our custody. You let him know if he wants to reach out to us about a restraining order or any other action, he can call the station or my personal number-” a page of the note pad was ripped out and handed to Mrs.LeRein, “-If that’s all, we’ll get out of your hair.”

Mrs.LeRein opened the door for them to leave and then sat down again next to Castiel. He hadn’t made any move to leave, some unspoken assumption between them.

“Fuck.” She muttered under her breath.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse,” Castiel offered hollowly.

“Can I be honest with you?” She asked, turning to face him.

“Please,” He replied, his hand in his hair for the billionth time that day.

“What the hell is wrong with that bastard? The things he said to Sarah- I mean-” Those poor front office workers, Castiel thought to himself. Poor Dean, with this man as a father.

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Castiel said, shaking his head.

“Is Dean okay?” She caught his eye, and the sincerity poured from her in waves.

“I don’t know,” He said again.

Chapter Text

Dean watched Cas pull away with a longing. Now that he’d pushed him away, he wanted nothing more than to say ‘no- wait- come with me, I need someone to do this with me!’, but he couldn’t. Steeling himself with a deep breath, he closed his eyes for a moment.

Opening his eyes, he opened his phone, looking for any sign that his dad might be at his apartment on his security camera. He saw none, but you could never be sure. On the drive home, he decided he needed to call Bobby before just driving multiple hours and days to see him. What if he wasn’t home?

Parking his car a block or two away, he probably looked sketchy as hell the way he was approaching his place. Looking around every corner, hiding behind cars, and circling the entire complex before entering. Dean opened his front door as quickly as he could, his hands shaking as he did.

The whole apartment felt scary, like his dad might literally be hiding under his bed, or ready to jump out from the closet. Standing in the doorway, he decided that calling Bobby now would help him brave walking through the apartment to pack.

It felt like the ringing went on for 10 minutes before Bobby picked up, but he did pick up.

“Hey Dean, what’s up?” The familiar voice was comforting. He pulled his overnight bag from the hallway closet.

“Well, Bobby, to be honest, not great. I need a favor.”

“Ah, well, you know the answer is always yes. What can I do for ya?”

“I want to be done with…dad.”

The silence on the other end of the line scared him, so he filled it.

“I’m tired a’ him showin’ up at work. I don’t want to see him anymore. I don’t want to be worrying about him findin’ me anymore. I know he’s my dad, and I should-”

“No, Dean, I’m proud a’ ya’ son.”

“...you…are?” He paused in his shock, a half-packed bag on the bed before him.

“Course’ I am. You know I supported Sam when he…stopped seein’ your dad. I know you love him, Dean, but you both deserve better than him.”

Dean sat down on the bed.

“Bobby…I…I don’t know what to say…”

He remembered when Sam had told him he wouldn’t be seeing their father anymore. He’d been understanding- it was after Sam had dropped him off at rehab. Right around the same time, Dean had decided he wouldn’t be visiting his dad during the program. Sam had always had more opinions about dad than he had; it had been a problem between them for a while. Even then, Dean had figured he would see his dad after, when he was sober.

Sam had always been adamant that even if their dad was sober, he would not be seeing him.

It was another difference between them. It was complicated. It was always complicated. Clearly, the program hadn’t stuck, and Dean's dream of a sober father who apologized and did better was a pipe dream.

“I’m happy to help however I can, Dean, but I’m not sure what I can do for ya’...”

“Do you think dad would…respect a restraining order?”

“Shoot Dean…I think so? But I don’t know jack shit bout’ gettin’ one a’ those. You’d wanna call your brother for that one.”

“Oh.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. Maybe his plan HAD been stupid.

“Dean, how long has it been since y’all talked?”

“Too long.”

“Good a time as any. You know he’ll help you out.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I’ll give him a call.”

“You let me know how it goes, okay? I got yer’ back, bud, always.”

“I know Bobby. Thank you.”

*click*

Fuck! Well, a call to Sammy was next. Honestly, he should call the guy anyway. It had been months. The last time they’d talked had been maybe…a week after their dad entered the program? Sam was still in law school, as far as Dean knew. Still down in Portland.

He decided there was no reason to wait and called Sam up.

“Dean? Dean! Is that you?”

“Yeah, Sammy, it’s me.”

“I’m glad you called, man, what’s going on?”

“Ah…I’ll just cut straight to the chase. Dad showed up at my new job, drunk as fuck, and…I just want to be done with him. Think you can help me out with that?”

“Shit, Dean…”

“I know, okay, can you just…help…me out…? Please?”

“I can sure try. I’m assuming, because you called me, that you’re wanting to take some sort of legal action…?”

“Yeah…Is that dumb? I obviously told him I don’t wanna see him, but that didn’t do shit. He still came all the way here to fuck my life up and…I got a good thing goin’, Sammy. Really. You think he could listen to somethin’ official like a restrainin’ order?”

“Well, the good thing about a restraining order is that it’s not really up to him anymore, you know?”

“I guess. I don’t know. Listen, I took a week off work and I’ve been meaning to come see you anyway-” and dad knows where I live, and I’m terrified he might show up at any moment- “What about if I drive down and stay with you for a few days while we do this?”

“Oh my god, Dean, absolutely! You can meet everyone, I can show you the campus, and I’ll help you get a temporary order, and-”

Sam went on about all the things he wanted to show Dean, while Dean packed his bag- this time planning for only a day of driving. Portland was a fine city; he’d been there a few times before. Never to stay with Sammy, but this would certainly be better than some shitty Motel 6. He shot Bobby a quick text to let him know that Sammy was going to help him out, and then he was back out to the Impala.

The drive down to Portland was contemplative for Dean. He shot back down memory lane, thinking about his long and arduous relationship with his father. For some reason, the first memory that popped into his head was of a particular Thanksgiving; He had been 8, maybe 9? It was one of the few thanksgivings they’d spent not on the road, or at some truck stop. They had been able to go back to Bobbys in time to cook real food, be around family, and eat at a real table.

It was probably the happiest Thanksgiving he could think of.

Sam had been bringing the gravy over to the table when he’d tripped. Dean had been helping him clean up when his father stumbled upon them- literally stumbled, drunk, onto the two of them, dabbing frantically at the carpet. Dean had taken the blame, knowing what doing so would mean.

They’d had a wonderful dinner altogether. Later that night, when the festivities had died down, his father had taken him outside for a walk. Dean knew what that meant. There were too many people in the house for Dean to be as loud as he was. He hadn’t gotten good at being silent till he was in his teens.

His father had slapped him to the ground, the sticks and seeds digging into his face, and told him to stand up. So he had. His father had hit him again. Sticks and stones. Again, he stood.

Even as he limped back to the house, it was the best Thanksgiving he’d ever had.

His own beatings, Sam’s, he had taken them all. He went to great lengths to make sure Sammy never felt his father's hand or belt. Even so far as hitting his father to make himself a better target when he was advancing on his younger brother. Sometimes, He couldn’t help Sam receiving a little swat on the back of the head, but as far as he knew, Sammy had never taken a beating the way he had. That was the way he wanted it.

They didn’t talk about their childhood much. Dean knew enough to know that Sammy thought it all a nightmare. Dean could see the silver lining: that they’d always eventually had food, almost always had a roof over their head, and even sometimes had a dad who seemed to care about them. He wasn’t delusional enough to think that was how everyone grew up, but there were certainly kids who had it worse. His dad made sure they knew that.

If Sam knew about how much Dean had been hit, he’d never said anything about it. That was just fine with Dean; he didn’t care to discuss it. Ever.

Another thing he and Sam hadn’t…explicitly discussed was his bisexuality. Sam had heard his dad throw around enough “Fag’s” and “Pansies” that he probably suspected something. It wasn’t that he was ashamed- anymore- it just hadn’t come up. Dean always figured he would just show up with a boyfriend one day, and Sammy would have to deal with it.

Overcoming the homophobia his father had smothered him with had taken years. It had been a rocky start, with a lot of internalized shit and bad one-night-stand-type habits. Dean felt really grateful that he was…mostly beyond that shit now that he’d met Castiel. The Dean of even three years ago wouldn’t have been able to handle the feelings and flirting and… intensity of it all. The Dean of today was with it, though, at least enough to know he had feelings for the other man.

Real feelings. Going steady feelings. Dean just wasn’t sure how to make it happen. Cas seemed interested, that was for sure. After the trivia night at the pub, and staying at his house the night after, he felt he could be pretty positive.

He hoped their last action wouldn’t ruin things. The more he sat with it and thought about it, the more sorry he was. Getting angry was easy for him, especially when it came to his dad. Cas had hit a nerve, he could see that clearly now. Lashing out…it was something he was working on. Cas seemed like a forgiving person. Dean was an adult, he could apologize. He could start by texting Cas at some point this week. Cas would appreciate that, he decided.

Castiel just wanted to help. He cared about Dean, and it scared Dean a little. But he knew if he wanted to be with someone, that involved caring and helping and vulnerability and sharing. And he wanted to do that stuff with Cas; it would just take time. He needed Cas to be patient. Hopefully, Cas could…do that. Hopefully, he wanted to.

There was something about Castiel's presence that was curious to Dean. It reminded him of some of the men he’d met before, in a particular way. A certain focus, like he was hungry. It made Dean feel like he wanted to be eaten. But it was like Castiel was holding back. I mean, obviously, he thought to himself, we aren’t together. It was more than that, though; he’d seen something intense and ready to spill out of Castiel when he’d seen him in his towel.

He wanted to see it spill. He wanted to be consumed by it, whatever it was. Cas was mysterious like that- a man of few words, and the words he did speak were rich in depth. He grounded Dean in a way he didn’t understand. It had been that way since day one.

Pulling off to grab a late lunch, he paused his musing for a stacked burger and a fantastic piece of cherry pie at some local mom and pop diner he’d spotted. He texted Sam his ETA and set out again as soon as he’d paid and left a tip.

***

Sam’s apartment was in a nice neighborhood, within what appeared to be walking distance from campus and a grocery store. Dean couldn’t have done any better himself. Finding parking was hard, but he ended up hiding Baby away on the top floor of a car garage a few blocks away, where he felt like no one would bother her for a few days while he was here.

Walking around downtown Portland, Sam texted him to say he was in a class that would end in an hour or so. That was fine, Dean didn’t need a babysitter. He could entertain himself. Looking around for a bit, he settled on people watching on the waterfront with a hot pretzel in hand. The seagulls bothered him for scraps till he let them pick at what was left of his bun.

Checking the clock, he figured Sam would be finishing up soon. He started walking back towards Sam's apartment and campus, dodging some aggressive geese on his way. Sitting on the steps to Sam's apartment, he texted Sam to let him know where he was. He was ready for a shower and good company.

“Dean! Hey!” Sammy’s familiar voice called from his right, and he looked up to see his brother's big smile and too-long brown hair.

“Sammy!” He stood to embrace his brother in a warm hug, “You need a haircut, man, BADLY. We'd better handle that while I’m down here, too.” He ruffled his brother's hair as he took a step back.

“Naw, Jessica likes it this way, dude. And so do I!” Sam gave him a playful push, heading up the steps to his front door.

“Ah, yes, Jessica.” Dean followed him up the stairs, “That’s still goin on then?”

“Psh, yeah, Dean, ‘That is still going on’,” Sammy opened the door, waving Dean in, “We actually live together, so you’ll be seeing a lot of her while you’re here.”

“Look at you, all grown up. Living with your girl.” Dean shed his jacket, throwing it on the dining room chair to his left.

Sam snorted, hanging his bag in the hallway closet.

“So listen, I only have one morning class tomorrow. I figure we can take the afternoon to get started on…what you’re here to do. It might take a little more than one day, but you said you took the whole week off, right?”

Dean nodded.

“Then yeah, we should be able to get it done. I need some more details about what happened, but knowing our dad, he gave you more than enough cause for this.” Sam sat down on the couch, closing his eyes, “That should leave us at least SOME time for brotherly fun.”

“Ah, yes, good old’ brotherly fun.” Dean crossed his arms, eyeing what looked like a bathroom.

“Come sit, we've got so much to catch up on!” Sam patted the couch next to him.

“To be honest, I need to piss like nobody’s business, and I’d kill for a shower, if the catching up could wait till tomorrow?”

“Totally man, I’m also beat from a full day of classes. Let me get you a towel. We don’t have a spare room, you’ll just be on the couch, if that's-”

“-More than okay, I figured it would be the couch. Which im grateful for, by the way. I’ll have to thank Jessica, too.” And it was true, because sleeping at his house would have been nearly impossible. Here, he felt at ease knowing there was no way his father could find him or could have followed him. He could feel sleep creeping up on him as he took the towel Sam handed him and locked the door to the small bathroom behind him.

The warm shower calmed him even more, and by the time he emerged, he wanted nothing more than to pass out. There was a burrito on the dinner table for him- he ate it on the couch and simply lay down after. It seemed like Sam and Jessica had turned in early after missing dinner with him, which suited him just fine.

It occurred to him he might text Castiel that he’d made it, but then he’d have to explain that the plan had changed and elaborate on why, so in the end, he chickened out. He would just text Cas later, when it was all basically done.

The couch wasn’t very comfortable, but sleep still found him in a timely fashion.

***

Clanking in the kitchen was the first thing he became aware of, followed by the rich smell of coffee. Sam had always liked that fancy shit. The sunlight on his face left him squinting when he cracked open his sleep-crusted eyes.

Upon investigation, it turned out to be Jessica in the kitchen, and not Sammy.

“Morning,” He offered, not wanting to startle her

“Morning, Dean! Sorry if I woke you…” She was clearly late for something, skipping back and forth between cabinets and bag, fridge and bag, packing a lunch and snacks.

“Ah, no, I should be up anyway.” He ran a hand through his hair, knowing it would be wild from sleeping on it wet after last night's indulgent shower. He would need to take another one this morning.

“Sam should be right behind me, I gotta jet out to a class, but I’ll see you later today- maybe we all do dinner together?” She was halfway to the door as she spoke, coffee in one hand, book bag in the other.

“Yeah, that sounds great!” He said before the click of the door shutting ended their conversation.

This morning's shower was short; He didn’t want to completely destroy their water bill with his stay. Taking a moment under the water to still himself, he mentally prepared for what today would bring. There would be a lot of questions he would have to answer about his dad. If he wanted things to work, he had to be honest. And it would be Sammy asking him. He didn’t want to lash out like he always did- like he had with Cas- like he was used to doing.

Drying off, changing into the other outfit he’d packed, he headed towards the kitchen. Sure enough, Sam was seated at the dining table with papers in front of him.

“Dean! Good morning.” Sam barely looked up from what he was writing, but that was typical. Dean didn’t find it rude.

“Mornin’,” Dean paused where he was, wanting to feel more sure about things than he did. The papers Sam had in front of him were almost definitely for him. Sam was an early riser and a go-getter, so the chances that he’d already started what they had to do were high.

Sam knew him well, or had developed mind-reading tendencies, because he paused his writing to give Dean a soft look and push out the chair next to him with his knee- a clear invitation to sit.

“Yeah, let’s get it over with, right?” Dean tried to chuckle, but it crumbled in his mouth on the way out.

“Right,” Sam said, turning to face him as he sat.

“So, what I’ve got here is a Temporary Restraining Order, or a TRO for short. A judge will look at these the same day, or within a couple of days, depending on how bad the situation is. You get the TRO, then you get another court date to talk more in depth about something permanent.”

“Okay, so this is just where we…start?” Dean clarified

“Yes,” Sam said, “This is what I can do for you right now. The other court date is up to you to follow up on. But of course, if you want me there to support or anything, you know I’ll show up for you-”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean cut him off, feeling anxious to be done with this as he started to read the TRO questions.

“I filled out as much of this as I could, but I need more details from you about what’s gone on between you and dad. Or I can give this to you, and you can write it on your own if you want,” Sam offered the paper to him partially, waiting for him to choose, “But it does have to be… or it should be...uh…written nicely…?”

“You think it would be best if you wrote it in your fancy lawyer talk way?” The idea of not having to talk to Sammy about stuff had been a brief, bright idea, but perhaps not actually the smartest.

“Maybe. Yes, yeah. It would be best,” Sam hesitated, “If you think you could talk to me about this stuff.”

Dean sighed. This was what he’d feared might need to happen. He took a deep breath, rubbing his hands on his thighs under the table.

“Yeah, I can talk to you about it.” His heart was beating very fast and loudly in his chest. “What exactly do you need?”

“Well, we don’t have to get into everything. That would be a lot, I think. Mostly, what we need here is whatever the most recent thing has been that’s made you…want this.” Sammy chewed his lip, “ Whatever happened with dad since he got out of rehab that's made you fearful.”

“Fearful!” Dean scoffed on instinct before looking away. Admitting he was fearful felt painful. But it was true, wasn’t it? That was what had led them here in the first place.

“He showed up at my work,” Dean started, watching as Sam started to write notes on a spare piece of paper, “drunk as hell. demanding to see me.”

Sam just nodded silently, letting him continue.

“He was waiting for me in the parking lot, and uh, Bobby called me to let me know he would be there. When I got out there, he was yelling a bunch a’ stuff, calling names and scaring the kids.”

Dean took another deep breath, feeling like it didn’t really fill his lungs.

“He…hit me.” Sammy’s pen paused. He had to finish telling this story now, or he never would. “I got him a hotel for the night, and he kicked me pretty hard in the side when I was…getting him settled for the night. Then, a couple of days ago, I saw him at my apartment on my security camera. I don’t even know how he found out where I live, Sammy, I just-” He cut himself off, the vulnerability of this conversation suffocating him.

“Dean, I’m…” He didn’t want to hear whatever Sam had to say. “I’m sorry.”

Pity. How did pity sit within him? It was softer than he thought, not as shameful to bear.

“It’s alri-”

“Don’t say that.” Sam cut him off, which started Dean. Sammy was never the one interrupting; that was usually his move.

“Dean, I had no idea that…I mean, I always suspected as a kid that…but I knew you wouldn’t wanna talk about it with me…but…I had no idea it was…still…” Dean could make sense of the jumbled mess of clues Sam was putting down; it was obvious. “But I guess this is why you asked for help. And I’m glad you did. Okay? I’m really glad.”

Dean just nodded, feeling overcome with emotions. That pesky vulnerability from earlier had only tripled in size, and it felt like there wasn’t any room left inside him for anything else. It stuck in his throat, drowning out any words he might have said. Not that it mattered, because his mind was blank.

“Any judge who reads this should grant it. I’ll write it up, add a few things, and get it submitted online to Washington County by tonight. We should hear back today or tomorrow, okay?”

Dean nodded again, some of the fear and sadness making room for love and appreciation for his brother.

“Thank you,” He managed to choke out.

“Of course,” Sam said, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

There was so much more to say, but for now, this was all Dean could bear. Sammy seemed to know this, and let him awkwardly stand and clear his throat before cooking them breakfast. Food would have to substitute for a heartfelt speech. And it would- it had before.

Dean had a grand old time with Sam after they’d filed the TRO paperwork online. Even with the looming response to come from the judge at some random, indeterminate time, he was genuinely enjoying his time. They walked around campus, ate at a local hole-in-the-wall, and drank at a local bar. Jessica was just as great as he remembered, and seeing her with Sammy made him happy. Sam deserved a love like that. Someone who was good to him.

***

Wednesday night, Sam finally asked him about his own love life. They’d already talked about the job, the class, and the kids, and Cas had been mentioned. Dean had dodged a couple of questions about his love life. Now they were drunk at some dive bar, and Sam was being more pushy about it.

“Come on, Dean, there’s gotta be someone!” Sam was laughing and leaning heavily on his elbow, half-finished beer in hand. Jessica had joined them last night, but not this time. It was just the two of them.

“Pshhhhhhh…Maybe…”

“You’re so red in the face! I fucking knew it!” He slapped his hand on the bar, looking triumphant.

Dean covered his face with his hands, but he wasn’t upset with Sammy. This was all in good fun. The vibe tonight was great. Maybe this was an okay time to tell Sam this about himself? He could be casual about it.

“Dean, tell me, tell me, tell me!” he felt a playful push on his shoulder

“You remember the teacher from the class I work in?” Taking a rueful sip of his whiskey, he looked over at the bartender. She was busy running someone's card.

“Yeah?”

“He’s prolly’ the nicest guy I ever met, and not bad in the looks department either.” Dean looked down, shifting in his barstool. Waiting to see how Sam would react.

“Oh! Oh…” Sam seemed shocked but not upset, at least not yet. “You like him?”

“Yeah.” A pause between them, just a moment.

“Well, tell me more then! He’s hot and nice, what else?” Sam seemed…enthusiastic? “Is it…you know…mutual?”

“He doesn’t know a lot about movies and shows, but that just means I get to talk his ear off, and he’s never heard it before. He’s so good with the kids, so patient, and always knows how to make the situation better. He’s dorky as hell, but it’s…it’s kinda cute…” Emboldened by Sam’s acceptance, Dean let himself ramble about Cas for the first time.

“And yeah, I, uh, I think it might be…mutual…” He nearly whispered the last word, afraid to admit it out loud. Another sip of whiskey was warm down his drying throat.

“That’s awesome, bro, honestly.”

Dean realized this was sorta his first time coming out. It was the first time he’d told someone he cared about, someone who he wasn’t actively trying to hook up with, that he was interested in men. And it had gone well. Really well, actually.

“You and Jessica seem great. I’m glad you have someone like her.” Dean offered back. Sam looked like he was gonna cry. I guess it’s sweeter than I usually am, Dean realized, but it didn’t bother him. It was true, and he was happy he said it to Sam.