Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This is it.

This is the end of the line, where his life officially comes to a well-groomed, meticulously organized, end.

Castiel Novak, age thirty four, cause of death-

Well, he’s not sure the coroners will accept ‘arranged marriage’ as a cause of death, but they really should because here, standing at an altar, in front of a woman he doesn't love and family that, he’s beginning to suspect, doesn't love him, he feels like his heart could stop beating and it would have no bearing on his future. 

He thought marriage was supposed to be about passion and devotion, but apparently not, because he certainly feels nothing like that for his bride, at least not as a husband should.

Meg is fine, logically, but she’s also a little stuck-up and a lot snarky.

It wasn’t a big deal when they first met, years ago, when their families innocently introduced them to each other as acquaintances. She got him out of the house more than his brothers were ever willing to and she had a sort of defiance against long-standing traditions that he secretly respected deeply.

His respect for her is past tense because, well, when an arranged marriage had been brought into the picture, it was Castiel who- according to his mother- ‘pitched a fit’ while Meg easily agreed to the whole scheme.

‘Networking’ is what they all called it, like this is some business deal, like he saw Meg on LinkedIn and said ‘Hey, I see we’re mutual connections, wanna’ get married?’.

As if a normal marriage involves the groom being escorted to the cathedral, just to make sure he doesn't run off into the sunset before he can say ‘I do.’.

Not that he has anywhere to run off to.

Everyone Castiel knows, spare a disowned sibling or two, is here, in the pews, smiling like this is a beautiful event that they’re honored to be a part of. He has nowhere to run, no money of his own, he doesn't even have a getaway car.

There’s no out, just a slightly sympathetic best-man behind him and a bride who calls him ‘Clarence’ right across the altar.

Even angels can’t save him now.

The priest is nearing the end of the liturgy, which means vows are next. He didn’t prepare anything, he can bet Meg didn’t either, which means he just has to nod and agree to whatever the priest tells him to.

There’s a knot in his chest that aches painfully.

This morning his best-man, the only relative he thinks feels slight pity for him, found Castiel in the groom's suite, staring at a blank wall with tears in his eyes.

He’d said he was just preparing for his big day, brushing his cousin’s concerns aside quickly. 

Balthazar has no business knowing that Castiel was thinking about his wasted life, about how going through with this marriage will just cement his place as the family's shiny new pawn, to manipulate however they please.

He’d wondered about what would have happened twelve years ago, after university, if he hadn't come back, if he’d taken his bachelors degree and walked away.

But he didn’t.

And that same year Meg had come into the picture.

And six months after that so had their marriage.

He’d been too young and scared to leave after that and now he’s just tired of it all.

The liturgy is over now, and everyone is standing, waiting eagerly for Castiel to grit his teeth and promise his life to Meg, to promise her that he’ll be a loving and doting husband.

He’ll try, certainly. Just because he loathes this entire situation doesn't mean he will take it out on Meg, but deep down he’s certain she knows that he is simply incapable of giving her his heart.

The priest is looking at him now, grabbing Castiel's wrist with one hand and Meg’s with the other, guiding their hands together so they can begin their new marriage blessed and prosperous.

Meg’s hand is almost on top of his, it feels like the world is moving in slow motion, like it will stop completely if their skin makes contact, because that will make this all real .

Then a deafening ‘bang’ sends him jumping backwards, wrenching his hand away as he, as well as the rest of the congregation, search for the source of the interruption.

Though it requires little searching, it’s really quite hard to miss.

The large oak doors at the other end of the cathedral are wide open, sending a wave of confusion through the room, as a man Castiel has never seen before staggers in from the lobby.

He’s breathing heavily, like he ran all the way here, one of his leather work-boots is unlaced, his flannel shirt is improperly buttoned and, truly, he looks like an absolute mess.

Micheal and Raphael are on their feet, but they’re so far up the aisle that they can’t make it to the wedding crasher before he raises his head up, green eyes flashing dangerously.

“Don’t do it, she’s not the one you want to marry!” He bellows out with a red face, voice echoing off the pristine walls, “She’s not-” His gaze settles on Meg, then drifts over to Castiel, shoulders dropping slightly, “Oh shit .”

Castiel is aware that several things are happening now, all stacking on top of the other.

Meg is glaring at him murderously, like she’s going to take off her gaudy veil and strangle him with it. Mother has started crying, looking as though someone has just interrupted her wedding (though it might as well be, given how she wanted it more than Castiel). And Micheal and Raphael are barreling towards the green-eyed man, ready to throw him out onto the street.

Out onto the street, where he maybe has a car, with a tank of gas, ready to carry Castiel far away from the gallows he’s been condemned too.

He’s not as religious as some of his family but, damnit, if he doesn't know a sign from God when he sees one.

It takes Castiel a moment to find his voice and, when he does, it’s broken and uneven, cracking as he calls out while looking at his saving grace with nothing but relief and gratitude.

“He’s right!” His dress shoes pound against the altar steps, as the entire congregation turns from the interrupter to gawk at him, “I don’t love her-” His father is giving him a look that guarantees that, if Meg doesn't manage to kill him, he will certainly finish the job, “I love that man!”

His mother cries harder as he runs, runs right towards the wildly baffled green eyes waiting at the door, ducking his brother's desperate and clumsy attempts to grab him before he can make it to his apparent lover.

He shoots what he hopes is an apologetic look at the wedding crasher when he gets within arms reach, wrapping his arms around the man's neck and jumping, letting surprisingly strong arms catch him in what is sure to be the world's most awkward bridal carry.

Not only does the man have such vibrant eyes, Castiel realizes as they look at eachother, noses almost touching, he also has lovely freckles.

The man makes a shocked noise, shifting his grip on Castiel, “What are you-”

There are thundering footsteps quickly approaching.

“Run.” Cas orders, watching his new companion take a few hasty steps back as Micheal rapidly closes the distance between them, “Run! Run! Run! Run!”

“Yep, okay-” He turns on his heel and takes off, pushing back through the entrance while Castiel clings to him for dear life, “Guess we’re doing this now.”

There’s shouting behind them, as they burst outside, Castiel can hear his family, his friends, screaming for him to come back, to finish what they started for him.

But he can’t, not when freedom is right here, in the form of what appears to be a knockoff lumberjack and his Chevy Impala parked right out front, half-way on the sidewalk.

He’s not set down till the man yanks open his car door and deposits Castiel onto the bench seat, snapping for Castiel to move over before he takes his place behind the wheel and jams the keys in the ignition.

The last Castiel see’s of the only life he’s ever known, as he pulls himself up and fumbles for the seat belt, is through this mystery man's rear view mirror, watching his parents, his brothers, and an enraged Meg gather on the front steps of the cathedral.

Then his savior's foot is on the gas and, within mere seconds, the crowd of disappointed faces disappears, leaving Castiel with a wondrous revelation.

Today isn’t the end of the line for him, far from it, today is the day that he finally dictates his own journey.

Chapter Text

Dean Winchester has been called a lot of things during his thirty-odd years on earth.

His old man called him slow (though that was never the exact word he used).

Sam called him selfish.

Uncle Bobby called him impulsive.

Right now, as he speeds out of butt-fuck-nowhere, Illinois with a runaway groom in his passenger seat, the word that comes to mind is ‘reckless’.

He was reckless for dropping everything and speeding two states over to interrupt a wedding before someone made the worst mistake of his life.

He was reckless for charging into the church without reading the fucking sign in front of the doors.

And he was certainly reckless when the groom who’s service he brazenly interrupted jumped into his arms and told him to get them both the hell out of dodge.

Yeah… He’s never been known for thinking things through.

In his defense, when there’s a bunch of dudes in suits looking like they’re ready to throw your body in a river and someone else telling you to run-

You run.

You take the- Surprisingly sturdy, good lord his back will not be happy with him tomorrow- groom and you throw him across the bench seat of your car and you don’t ask questions till you’re three towns away from whatever the hell that was.

His new buddy seems content in the silence, sitting ramrod straight and staring at the road ahead like some kind of robot, his stubbled face devoid of any telling emotions. 

If he notices the way Dean keeps side-eyeing him, studying his designer suit and meticulously polished shoes and his dark hair that seems to be the only thing about him that isn’t obscenely tidy, he doesn't say.

He just stares out the windshield with the bluest eyes Dean has ever seen. 

Seriously, this guy has to be wearing contacts or something.

It must be nearly half an hour before Dean gets the balls to clear his throat, directing the newcomer's attention to him as subtly as he can, “So, uh…”

The man stares at him intensely and Dean wishes he knew what was going on in his head because then at least they’d be on the same page.

It’s really not everyday you crash the wrong wedding and the groom decides to declare his undying love for you even though you’re 99% certain you’ve never met him before in your life.

Maybe a good first step is to get this guy's name, so Dean can stop thinking of him as ‘the guy who jumped into my arms and half-asked me to abduct him’.

“I’m Dean,” He takes his right hand off the wheel and holds it in the dark-haired groom’s general direction, keeping his eyes trained on the road ahead of them because safety (and not having to face the man you kidnapped from his wedding) is his top priority, “Sorry for crashing your shindig.”

“Castiel Novak,” The man- Castiel- Accepts Dean’s awkward handshake, “And please don’t worry, this is probably the best way the day could have ended.”

Jesus christ -

How sad is this dude's life if getting snatched by a rando off the street is an improvement getting married?

“Well that’s-” He clears his throat, stopping himself just short of saying ‘that"s really fucking depressing’, “Happy to help, I guess…”

They’re pretty far from the church now, far enough that the on-ramp to I-39 is coming up and Dean’s worried about just how far they’ll get before Castiel comes to his senses and calls the police on Dean for trying to smuggle him across state lines.

“Is there somewhere I can drop ya’?” Dean prompts as they pass by yet another sign for a town he'll inevitably drive right through.

Castiel doesn't answer right away, but there’s a shift in his demeanor as he thinks, his shoulders tensing more and more with every passing second, before finally collapsing in on themselves as he sighs, “No… I don’t think there is…”

If the mood in the impala wasn’t ridiculously sad before, it certainly is now.

“Really? You don’t have a place you wanna’ at least swing past? Grab your phone or wallet or something before you go on the lam?”

Silently Castiel reaches into the inside of his suit coat and Dean tightens his grip on the wheel, anticipating any number of things this guy could pull out.

Maybe he’s planning on carjacking Baby and dumping Dean’s body in a ditch somewhere, or worse-

Maybe he’s gonna dispose of Dean and Baby.

But all that he pulls out of his pocket is a rather boring looking phone in a plain black case and a slim wallet.

“I was told you shouldn’t really keep these things on you when you get married,” Castiel scrunches his nose in distaste, like the word ‘married’ tastes bitter on his tongue, “But it was either this or Balthazar, and the last time I left my phone with him he googled some rather… distasteful things before giving it back.”

Lot’s to unpack there.

First and foremost- “Who the fuck names their kid Balthazar?” 

“My family has many traditions.” Castiel shrugs, not elaborating on his cryptic answer.

“Thanks for clearing that up,” Dean mumbles under his breath, “Listen, Castiel- No, you know what, I’m gonna’ call you Cas, no weird cult names in my car-”

Cas cocks his head to the side, “What an interesting rule.”

“Made it just for you, pal,” Dean takes a deep breath, trying to focus his pinball machine of a brain for one second, “Believe it or not, I didn’t come here to interrupt your wedding, I’ve got my own stuff to handle, so is there a city with a bus stop I can drop you at so we can both go about our merry ways?”

“I suppose LaSalle is the best place for that…” He trails off in thought for a moment, “I’m sorry, it didn't occur to me that you intended to interrupt an entirely different marriage today.”

“I was certainly gonna’ try,” It’s his fault this is all so last minute, Sam’s invite had gotten mixed in with the junk mail and he’d already sent his invites so last minute that Dean barely had time to close up shop before he was gunning it out of Sioux Falls, “Sammy’s about to make the biggest mistake of his life and I need to hit the brakes on the whole thing because he’s not going to do it.”

A flicker of something passes over Cas’ face, maybe regret?

“You must care deeply about him.”

“Yeah, well, he’s my baby brother,” He leans across the seat, one hand on the wheel, the other fumbling for the glove box, and pulls out a crumpled invite, “Little shit didn’t even tell me he got engaged, had to hear it from this.” The paper is thrown forcefully in Cas’ direction, “Put the wrong address on there too, see?”

Cas picks it up and inspects the words carefully, “This… is not the address for the cathedral.”

“What?” Dean looks towards the tiny font with betrayal, “It has to be.”

“No, it doesn't.” Cas shoots back cooly, unlocking his phone and typing something in, looking back and forth between the invite and the screen for a couple moments before matter-of-factly holding up the device for Dean to see, “It appears there are two churches with this name, one is Catholic and the first result when you begin typing out this name, the other is non-denominational-” He pauses for a moment, as if considering his next words, “and located in California.”

“No.” Dean snatches the phone right out of the runaways hand, feeling a cold dread run down his spine, “No, no, no-”

“Dean, the road-”

“ Fuck! ” He wrenches the steering wheel to the side, pulling off towards the shoulder so fast that Cas scrambles to grab onto the back of the bench seat for support.

He throws the car into park and slams his palm on the dash, hard, “Son of a bitch! ”

“Dean-”

California is over a day's drive away, and the sun’s already low in the sky, which means it’s over.

Sam’s gonna’ get married, he’s gonna’ keep ignoring Dean’s calls, he’s gonna’ listen to everything that manipulative chick who wormed her way into his life and sunk her claws into him says, and Dean might never get to see Sam again.

This was his last ditch attempt.

And he failed.

Cas takes his phone back from Dean’s white knuckled grip and continues talking as though Dean’s actually listening to whatever he has to say.

What is he saying?

“-Invitation is in very poor condition-” He’s rubbing his thumb over the date, trying to clear away some of the residue it gained while sitting wayside on his kitchen counter with the junkmail for weeks, “It’s not surprising you misread the address.”

“Rub it in, why don’t ya’?” He rests his forehead miserably on the steering wheel.

People have been telling him for years to organize his shit better, and he does have a system for the important things, but apparently if something important gets swept up with the unimportant then it might as well be a needle sitting in a haystack.

“You also misread the date-”

Dean is upright and snatching the invite away before Cas can finish his sentence.

He looks at the patch where his new acquaintance has cleaned off the shiny paper, revealing smudged numbers that Dean thought he’d read perfectly.

“That one was actually a two,” Cas points out like Dean doesn't have eyes, “So your brothers wedding is in-”

“Ten days.”

Ten days.

Ten days to get back to Sioux Falls and properly pack a bag, maybe even grab his toothbrush, before he books it to Stanford.

How long of a drive is that? Maybe a little over a day if he doesn't sleep? Or eat. Or stop at all for any reason.

He doesn't know where Sam lives or works or just where he’d be in general, except for where he’s going to try and get married, but Dean can figure it out.

He has to.

“Cas you’re a lifesaver.” Dean’s pulling off the side of the road as quick as he can, cutting off a fair amount of other cars in the process, “Seriously man.”

Castiel smiles awkwardly, “It seems like we were able to help each other.”

“Tell me about it.” He has over a week to make it to Sam now and it’s thanks to the runaway groom in his passenger seat. Dean feels a grin spread over his face as he drums his hands on the wheel, “Okay, here’s the plan-”

Cas turns to study Dean as he speaks, head tilted to the side like an owl watching its prey.

“I’ll drop you off in La…”

“LaSalle.” Cas supplies.

“Yeah, there. Then you can go do whatever it is you wanna’ do while I get my ass to Cali, apparently.” He scrubs a hand over his mouth, imagining how different today could have gone if he hadn’t jumped the gun and actually took a proper look at that stupid invite.

In hindsight, it made no fucking sense for Sam to be getting married in Illinois, he lives in California, has since he moved there for college-

Dean just figured that maybe his bitchy fiance has family out here.

Cas isn’t looking at him anymore, he’s staring out the window stoically, watching the signs signaling that their exit is coming up pass by rapidly.

He taps his passenger on the shoulder, wondering if he’d caught any of Dean's words, “Sound like a plan?”

Cas nods, mouth pressed into a tight line, “It does indeed.”

Dean nods back, trying to ignore the sudden gnawing ache in his chest. It’s probably guilt, he decides, the guilt of uprooting this poor dude, who thought it was a good idea to let Dean kidnap him from the altar, and dropping him miles away from his hometown.

But what else can Dean do? Sammy comes first, not the blue eyed man he met less than an hour ago.

They’re approaching the off ramp now, and Dean jerkily turns on his blinker, its steady click nearly deafening compared to the silence that’s settled over them.

“Then…” It takes him a second to find the right words, “I guess it was nice to meet ya’, Cas.”

Chapter Text

Growing up, life had a roadmap.

Castiel was to get good grades in school and spend his time studying or learning the family business. He ate what he was given, read what was provided, and talked to who he was told to.

When he graduated highschool, his father presented him with a choice of three degrees he could pursue.

Law, which would put him on track to join the family’s legal team; business, so he could try and fight for an upper-managerial position under his father; or accounting, so he could run their business accounts after he graduated.

All of his siblings had been given the same three choices.

Micheal and Raphael took interest in business.

Uriel picked law.

Gabriel chose to spit in their fathers face, grab the keys to his Volkswagen, and storm out the door, never coming back.

And Castiel decided on accounting.

Numbers were safe, they didn’t require negotiation or argument, Castiel saw them as a way to step as far away from the spotlight as he humanly could.

His father picked the university he attended, of course.

Even when Castiel got to school, he wasn’t completely off-leash.

Balthazar had been with him, they were meant to be eachothers chaperones which led to them having a rather tense relationship for a while, walking on eggshells around their 2-bedroom apartment, both worried about pushing their luck.

Admittedly that changed when Cas didn’t mention Balthazar flunking his midterms after stumbling into the exam hall an hour late, still crossfaded from his previous night out.

After that Cas became his self-proclaimed ‘partner in crime’.

Cas trailed him to parties as his designated driver, he lied to their family over holidays because everyone trusted his word, and in return Balthazar gave Castiel a clear mission.

He went out because Balthazar went, he ate Taco Bell at 3am because Balthazar got the munchies, Balthazar decided what went in their shared kitchen, how their common spaces should be decorated, and Castiel preferred it that way.

His parents' word had been law for so long, every single breath had to be approved by them. Sure, Balthazar didn’t complain when Castiel spent all day in the library reading books on subjects his parents found ‘beneath them’, but he still gave Castiel's life a structure, no matter how chaotic it seemed.

Now that he thinks about it, he’s only truly made one decision that was entirely his own, and it ended with him in a Gas’n’sip, trying to discern the differences between the brightly colored snack packages organized on the shelves.

“Get what you want, man,” Dean bumps him on the shoulder, “I’ll cover you.”

Whether Dean thinks Castiel is poor or if he’s just taking pity on him, Cas can’t say, but he appreciates the offer.

He just doesn't know what he wants.

Dean found his items as soon as they walked into the convenience store, conveniently located right across from the bus station, and is already wolfing down a package of beef jerky at an alarming speed.

“What do you think looks best?” Castiel asks, squinting at the snack foods as if it will help him see the right choice clearly.

“I dunno’-” Dean mumbles around a mouthful of food, “They’re gas station snacks, nothing looks awesome .”

“What if I choose wrong?”

He recognizes some of the labels from Balthazar's stash of junk food in their pantry, but he rarely ate any of the greasy and/or salty snacks. The first time he’d been bold enough to try, he’d ended up stealing some obscenely spicy chips that made his stomach ache horrendously.

 They’re sitting on one of the shelves in front of him, and while he knows not to grab any of those , he can’t have the same confidence for everything else.

Dean cocks an eyebrow in his direction, “You can’t really choose wrong, I mean, unless you buy a bad burrito or somethin’, but these are usually safe.”

He says that with such confidence and, dammit, Cas wishes he harbored the same sentiments.

But he’s not the one this decision would impact, not truly.

This is Dean’s money he’d be wasting, Dean saw the way Cas’ face fell when he mentioned buying snacks for the road and Dean had jumped on the moment, offering to purchase Cas whatever he wanted.

This flannel-clad wedding crasher has already done so much more for Castiel out of sheer kindness than anyone before. What would it mean if Castiel repaid his good graces by discarding his hard earned salary on a wasted bag of junk food?

He doesn't want Dean to think he’s just some spoiled rich kid with no regard for how the average person lives or the average state of the economy.

But he also can’t, in good confidence, say he’ll enjoy whatever he asks Dean to purchase, which makes this a horrible catch-22.

He cannot be confident in his choice of sustenance until he eats it, but he cannot eat it until it is already purchased.

Maybe he could just get nothing? Ignore the ache in his stomach and hope that wherever he ends up next won't be so chalk-full of imposing choices?

Where will he go now?

Dean said he’d buy Cas’ bus ticket, too, but where is his destination?

He’s certainly not going back to Pontiac, he can’t, if he thought he didn’t have much freedom before well… it won’t get any better after this incident.

If only there was a way Castiel could reach out to the relatives who ran off and became nothing more than whispered warnings to the younger kids.

‘If you’”re not careful, you’”ll end up like Anna.’

‘You’”re acting a lot like Gabriel right now.’

He supposes he’s going to be next on the list of cautionary tales now.

‘You know who else ran from their responsibilities? Castiel.’

“Castiel?”

A calloused hand lands on his shoulder and Cas nearly jumps out of his three-piece suit as he’s pulled from his thoughts and back into the fluorescent, tiled interior of this run down Gas’n’sip.

His face is hot, his vision blurry.

“Cas, man, you good?”

“Yes-” His own voice surprises him, it’s thick and watery. Is he crying? When did that happen? “Or no…” Dean’s brow scrunches in concern, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Dean parrots, eyes widening in disbelief.

“I don’t…” He gestures to the shelf of snacks, still as overwhelming as when he’d first tried to decode it, then to Dean, then himself, then back to the shelf, “This is a lot.”

Dean's freckled face softens, Cas just hopes it’s not due to pity, “I get that, I do.” He cracks a small smile as he steps away, removing his hand from Cas’ shoulder so he can squat down to examine the row of sweets closest to the ground, “My old man was in the military my whole life, whenever we went shopping it was at the PX or whatever thrift shop was closest to base.”

Cas stands rigidly as Dean speaks, nodding dumbly as he continues the one-sided conversation with ease.

“Funny thing about the Exchange, it’s usually not very big, so me an’ Sammy only ever got one type of jeans, and we wore what we got till the fabric wore out, then we’d go back and get the same brand, same cut, same color…” A humorless chuckle escapes his mouth, “Then dad kicked the bucket, and I wanted Sam to have something really nice to wear when school started back up, so I took him to the mall and-” Dean’s laugh is more genuine this time, “Man, I didnt know there were so many options for fucking jeans , I mean, I think I spent an hour trying to learn if there’s a difference between a boot-cut and a wide leg or whatever.”

He straightens back up with a pink bag in his hand, wincing as his knees let out a rather telling crackling noise, “Sam used to get these on road trips, you like peaches?”

Dean presses the candy- Peach rings, according to the label- Into Cas’ palm.

“These look satisfactory.”

Plaid fabric bumps against his shoulder as Dean snorts out a laugh, repeating Cas’ words, “‘Satisfactory’... I’ll take it.”

He also gets Castiel a bottle of water from the cooler next to the cash register, and pays with a wrinkled wad of cash that looked like it had been hastily shoved into his wallet.

Then they’re back in the impala, looking out at the bus station across the street, a feeling of dread seeping into Castiel's bones as he waits for the inevitable.

Dean doesn't seem as bothered as Cas feels. He just flexes his fingers on the steering wheel while he stares into the distance. 

Castiel doesn't dare move, he barely breathes, because one sign of motion could re-alert Dean to his presence, and that will only lead to him being booted out of the car and into the cold November air.

He clutches his packet of peach rings a little tighter.

“Were you raised in a cult or something?”

Dean's question is so abrupt that Cas flinches at the sudden sound, wide eyes locking with the other man's neutral gaze, “Come again?”

“I mean, the weird names, the arranged marriage, the panic over picking a snack flavor…” He lets out a low whistle, “I wouldn’t drink that kool-aid, man.”

“I didn’t-” Castiel's hands are still clutching the candy and bottle of water, “I didn’t buy any kool-aid?”

Dean averts his eyes to the sky briefly, like he’s praying to God above, “Figures you weren’t told about Jonestown.”

“I was not raised in a cult!”, Cas lets out a small noise of indignance.

“Okay, okay,” Hands are raised in surrender but Dean doesn't let that be the end. No, he leans back to study Castiel, like he’s picking him apart piece by piece, “But really, what’s your deal?”

Castiel doesn't…

“I don't want to say.”

“Okay, fair, but you gotta’ give me something.” When Castiel's mouth stays stubbornly shut Dean just sighs, “How old are you?”

“Thirty-four.” He adds on his own inquiry, “And you?”

“Thirty-five. You ever had a job before?” 

“It’s complicated.”

“Weird answer.” Dean mumbles, “You know where you wanna’ go?”

“No.” It hurts Cas to say, to admit his cluelessness, but lying will get him nowhere.

“Okay, well, no offense but-”

“Saying no offense will not make your question any less offensive.”

Cas can practically hear the eye-roll that’s aimed at him, “Dude, do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

He could laugh at that. 

He left his betrothed at the altar to jump into the arms of a man he just met, he cried over gas station sustenance, the answer is painfully obvious.

“No.”

“Well shit…” Dean rests his chin on the steering wheel, “I’d be kinda’ an ass if I just put you on a bus wouldn’t I?”

“I’m not an invalid.” Even if he certainly feels a bit like one.

They fall into a scathing silence, one that hurts more and more with every excruciating second it continues. Dean seems to be thinking, hard, eyes far off and all Cas can do is wait for whatever inevitable thing he has to say.

“Shotgun’s all yours.”

“Pardon?” Cas was expecting a ‘good luck’ and an order to get out, not… whatever this is.

Dean coughs awkwardly, his face turning a brilliant shade of red as though he didn't actually mean to speak out loud, “If you want- I mean- you don't have to- but I won't- you're welcome to- ya’ know…”

“I really do not ‘know’.”  He emphasizes the last word with firm air quotes.

Dean's ramble caught Castiel so off guard that he's not sure he could decipher it without the Rosetta Stone itself.

“Shotguns's yours.” Dean repeats, “I mean, the only reason I know to go to Cali is because you were able to figure out the invite-”

“It was less ‘figuring out’ more cleaning off the suspicious stains.”

Dean doesn't acknowledge Castiel's correction, “And it'd suck to run into the wrong church guns blazing again,” He gestures vaguely into the air, “I don't need another runaway groom in here, I'm not trying to build a harem.”

His statement is so absurd that Castiel can't help the smile that pulls at the corners of his lips, “I am glad this is a monogamous kidnapping.”

Dean barks out a laugh, loud and sharp, “Yeah man, just like God intended.” His shoulders shake with chuckles, “Jesus… we probably shouldn't call this a ‘kidnapping’.”

“An abduction?” Cas is vaguely aware of his own toothy grin now. 

“How about ‘Hostage situation’?” Dean shoots back with an amused snort, “You're the one who jumped into my arms and told me to run.”

“An amicable abduction, then.” He shrugs nonchalantly, relishing in the way Dean's laughter has fallen into breathless wheezes.

Cas has never comprehended using humor or laughter as a coping mechanism, but he thinks he's beginning to understand.

“How about-” Dean takes a deep breath to compose himself. It half-works, he's no longer trying to speak through giggles like Balthazar does when he gets a little too deep into the wine cellar, but he still has a rosy pallor on his face and a dazzling smile that won't seem to fade, “How about ‘road trip’?”

“A road trip?”

“Yeah, me and Sammy used to do 'em all the time when we were kids,” His grin becomes more bittersweet, “They're always better with a battle buddy.”

“You're truly okay with me staying?” As much as Cas wants to stay, he also doesn't want to overstep his bounds, or make Dean feel like he's being burdened with an extra passenger.

Dean responds easily, “What are you man, a vampire?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Castiel squints at him, trying to decipher why their conversation has taken this turn.

“I'm just asking how much more of an offer I need to give you.” Dean's green eyes are still bright with amusement, “You, Castiel, are more than welcome to ride-along on my epic journey to interrupt another awful wedding.”

His blatant honesty helps soothe the uneasy feeling of intrusion in Cas’ chest.

They're still parked outside the bus station, Castiel can still leave if he truly wants, but he wants to stay.

When he echoes that sentiment to Dean, the freckled man nods and betrays no emotion. He doesn't show excitement as Cas agrees to his offer, but he also doesn't show disappointment, and for that Castiel is grateful.

“I don't have any toiletries, though…” Castiel hastily mumbles as the Impala's engine roars back to life.

“Neither do I!” Dean doesn't look at Cas when he agrees brightly, “We're gonna’ have to make a pit stop at my place first.”

“You live near here?” 

“Nope!” He pops the ‘p’ of his negative answer, “Good ol’ Sioux Falls, South Dakota, it's about eight hours give or take, we'll be there before sunrise.”

“You drove eight hours without double checking where you were going?” Maybe Dean really does need a companion when he travels, he doesn't seem great at it.

“I saw the invite while i was making my morning coffee,” Dean admits sheepishly, “Consider yourself lucky I thought to put on pants before I left.”

“If you’d run into the church pant-less it would have been much more alarming.” He yawns out his response, the fact that he probably still would have jumped into Dean’s arms no matter what he’d been wearing not needing to be said.

Dean watches him yawn, “You can hit the hay if you want.” When Cas shoots him a questioning glare Dean just shrugs, “I wont do anything weird while you’re out, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He probably shouldn’t take that statement at face value, but there’s a part of his brain that implicitly trusts Dean, that believes that he truly won’t let any harm come to Castiel.

“Mayhaps I should get some sleep,” He settles his head against the window, the glass cold and soothing against his forehead, “Thank you.”

“I’ll let you know when we get to my place.” Dean shrugs, fumbling for the radio and turning up the volume.

Castiel appreciates the hushed, staticy noise that seeps into the air and soon the dark lure of sleep pulls him down, his last lucid moments spent regarding Dean’s freckled face in the passing streetlights, in awe of this practical stranger's pure kindness.

Maybe God is looking out for Castiel after all.

Chapter Text

At 01:08 Dean pulled into his driveway, a long gravel strip that ended with a large, well-loved house, and a scrap yard just behind it.

01:20 he managed to herd Cas into a guest room upstairs and watched the man collapse into the cushy old bed, only pulling off his suit jacket and shoes, asleep before his head hit the pillow.

02:00 he was lying on his own bed, staring at the ceiling, sleep refusing to come for him.

02:30 was the same.

So was 03:00.

His alarm goes off at 07:00, blasting the first few bars of Houses of the Holy on loop until he smacks his phone screen enough times to silence it.

There’s a slight regret in making such a good song his alarm tone, now he can never listen to it without flinching for his cell.

Cas is still asleep, sprawled on his stomach, face buried in a down pillow which only just manages to muffle his snores, and Dean doesn't try to wake him.

They have nine days now, to get to California, not a huge amount of time, but enough that Cas should be able to catch as much sleep as he needs before they hit the road again.

He pads down the creaky wooden stairs, pulling a soft old bathrobe over his sleep shirt and boxer shorts because Cas, whenever he comes back to the land of the living, does not get to see Dean without pants.

Dean’s not a hussy (not anymore), if his runaway groom wants that view, he’ll have to wait till the second date.

He takes some time to poke his head out the back and check on the property. He's had problems with local kids messing around in the yard before, but it looks like everything was fine without him.

Never mind the fact that he forgot to lock the back deadbolt, but no one broke in so he’s calling it a win.

The morning smells damp, fresh, mixed with the tang of rusted metal and upturned dirt from the garden bed he still hasn’t gotten around to finishing.

It’s peaceful, even before he lived here full-time he knew that nothing was better than sitting on Uncle Bobby’s porch and watching the sun slowly light the world.

It’s quiet, with just the sound of the birds and the trees in the wind and someone pounding on the front door-

Who is pounding on his front door?

He stomps to the entryway as well as he can while barefoot, glaring at the silhouette in the little glass window like it owes him money.

Dean wrenches open the door, and all bitter remarks die on his tongue when he’s faced with a scowling officer of the law.

Awesome.

“Sheriff!” He grins easily, leaning against the door frame as casually as possible, “What brings you by so early? Get a call about my criminally good looks? Cos’ it looks like I’m guilty.”

 Sheriff Jody Mills just stares back at him with a flat look, “Morning, Dean.”

“Morning…” They stare at each other for a moment and Dean can’t help but feel like he might be in trouble, “So… What’s up?”

She huffs and crosses her arms, cocking an eyebrow, “What do you think?”

‘Oh don’t do this to me, Jody.’

“You want some coffee?” He asks, turning on his heel and stalking towards the kitchen, “I want some coffee.”

Jody follows him inside, he can hear her cork boots on the floorboards and he doesn't have the balls to ask her to take them off in the hall.

The kitchen is just like how he left it, the pile of hastily scattered junk mail on the counter, the half-full pot of coffee, a piece of toast that never made it out of the Cuisinart.

He pours yesterday's brew into the sink and empties out the filter, refilling it with fresh coffee grounds and taking his time starting the fresh batch. Maybe if he goes slow enough Jody will leave, and he won't have to try and decode what he’s done to forsake her.

“Want anything to eat?” The fridge is depressingly empty, he’d meant to get groceries yesterday but all he’d come home with was some dude from Illinois.

Jody makes a disappointed noise, “Already had breakfast,”

There’s a quarter of an apple pie in the back of the fridge and grabs it before straightening up, “Well I haven’t, so-”

His sentence is cut off when the fridge door is slammed closed inches from his face (and, despite what Jody says, no, he didn’t yelp and clutch his pie closer).

“Park it, Winchester.” She nods towards the breakfast nook.

“But-”

“Park. It.”

“Yes ma’am.” He slumps down in his seat and stares mournfully at his pie, wishing Jody wouldn’t scold him in front of such an innocent thing.

Jody leans against the wooden table top and narrows her eyes at him.

 He shoves a bite of heavenly pastry into his mouth and gives her a disgustingly toothy grin, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“Oh yeah?” Her tone is icy, “How about you come down to the station with me and get a nice head shot?”

Dean feels his face fall and he turns back to his breakfast with a grumble, “Who pissed in your cereal?”

“Damnit, Dean, I don't know,” Her tone is dripping with sarcasm, “You call out of work like a madman yelling ‘no time to explain!’ and then it's radio silence? You don’t give anyone a ring, you scare Benny half-way to hell, then one of my patrol officers says they saw you come speeding back in around midnight, what the hell do you think has me riled up?”

Guilt bubbles in his gut, “Benny worries too much… Was he able to hold down the fort?”

“He didn’t burn the shop down.” 

Of course he didn’t, he’s a good friggin’ mechanic and he’s run ‘Singer Auto’ alone plenty of times before, but Dean usually gives him a heads up before leaving him to his own devices.

“I’ll have to leave him in charge for a couple more weeks,” Luckily it’s been slow recently, “I’ll be gone till the end of the month, at least-”

“Dean.”

“You think Claire would be willing to house sit? I just need her to make sure nobody tried to mess around in the salvage yard-”

“Dean, shut it.”

His jaw snaps closed.

Jody eases into the seat across from him, folding her hands across each other in a way that makes Dean shrink in his place. He knows this body language from countless guidance counselors and principles and it means he is about to get the ass-chewing of a lifetime.

“Dean, you can’t just run out like that,” He knows, he really does, “I thought you were done with this.”

His face feels hot with embarrassment, “This was different.”

“Was it?” Jody’s eyebrows raise impossibly high, “Enlighten me, 

He doesn't want to say. He can’t .

The idea of telling her that he ditched work just to drive six hours east and crash a wedding he thought was Sams has shame building in his gut. He’s worked so hard to earn a reputation as a semi-responsible member of society, and this could throw it all out the window.

Cool wood meets his forehead as he leans forward miserably.

Jody is quiet for a moment, and there’s judgment radiating off her in waves, “You know what Bobby would call you right now?”

“An ‘idjit’? A ‘damn fool’?” The list goes on.

“Yep.”

He squints at her, “Was there a point to that question?”

“Just wanted to make sure you knew how stupid you were acting.”

A groan escapes him, “Jody I promise I’m trying here I just-” He scrubs a hand over his face, “I don’t know how to explain this to you.”

He runs over scenarios in his head ‘I misread a wedding invite and stole a man from the altar’ ‘Sam invited me to his wedding but his fiance sucks and he can not marry her’ ‘there is a runaway groom in my guest bedroom right now, he snores’.

But, because he has Winchester luck, he doesn't get to present any of his impeccably crafted explanations to Jody. 

No, that would be too easy.

Instead there’s footsteps from the stairwell, hesitant and soft, that draws their attention and, moments later, Cas pads into the kitchen, “Dean, I can’t seem to locate your bathroom- Oh.” He looks at a loss for words, eyes going back and forth between Jody and Dean, “I didn’t realize you were married.”

Dean throws his hands in the air, “Good morning to you too, Cas!”

Cas’ face is red with embarrassment, his dark curls sticking up with some of the worst bed-head Dean has ever seen.

But he still looks good, that bastard.

“Good morning, Dean.” Cas parrots awkwardly, standing stiff as a board in the doorway.

“Really, Dean,” Jody glares daggers at him, “ this is why you ran out yesterday?”

The amount of misunderstanding in the air has him panicking, holding out his hands and pointing at both house guests expectantly, like he can will them to be quiet for a second so he can get his thoughts in order, “Wait, wait, pause-” Cas is first, “Jody ain’t my wife-”

Jody snorts, “I’m too out of his league.”

“ Jody ,” He turns to her, “Cas here isn’t some one night stand, either.”

Cas nods sagely, “We did not spend the night standing.”

“ Dude , not helping.” A part of him wants to tear up Cas for making that kind of joke right now, the other part is coming to the realization that Cas doesn't seem to be joking, “Cas just crashed here for the night, nothing happened.”

Jody’s sole focus is on Dean’s new friend, now, “And how’d you two meet?”

“He mistakenly crashed my arranged wedding yesterday, believing it to be his brothers, and I used him as a means to escape. Now it seems that we are going to go on a roadtrip to Stanford, California to put a stop to the correct marriage because it does not seem like Dean approves of his prospective sister-in-law.”

Wow, he just pulled out all the stops didn’t he?

Dean buries his face in his hands, digging the heel of his palms into his eyes till he sees stars.

“I see…” Jody’s voice has a professional tone, the one she uses when she’s talking to folks so far in the gutter they can’t slap a sentence together, “Dean, anything to add?”

“Nah, that… that about does it.”

There’s a low whistle from her direction, “Really screwed the pooch, didn’t ya’?”

“There were no dogs involved.” Cas sounds mildly horrified by the suggestion.

Dean straightens up just so he can give Castiel a proper dumbfounded look as Jody snorts out a laugh.

“He’s not your normal type,” She snorts, her entire tone shifting as she gets up from the table and makes her way across the kitchen, “I’ll give you that, Dean.”

“I told you he’s not my anything.” He argues as the sheriff claps Cas, who is still looking around the kitchen all squinty-eyed, on the shoulder.

“Don’t break his heart.” She tells him.

Cas nods, “Anatomically I could never.”

“You're funny,” Jody pats Cas on the cheek and Dean notes that he might need to get Cas a razor, just to help with that stubble he’s got coming in, “Dean-” Jody jabs a finger in his direction, “Call Benny, and don’t you ever think about pulling some BS like that again, you hear?”

He feels like an absolute child, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” She turns sharply on her heel and walks out towards the door, calling out over her shoulder, “I’m serious, Winchester!”

Cas watches Jody’s stern exit with a baffled expression and all Dean can do is throw him a pained grin as the front door slams closed, shaking the photos on the wall.

Then he turns to Dean, still blinking the sleep out of his eyes, looking utterly confused by the morning's events.

“Well, pal-” Dean holds up the remainder of his pie, “Want some breakfast?”

Chapter Text

Waking up in a stranger's bed is something Castiel assumed only happened to TV characters or people recovering from benders. Lord above knows he’s had to collect Balthazar from unknown addresses more times than he can count. He never thought it would happen to him, though, never thought he’d roll over on an unfamiliar mattress and realize he was not in his own bed.

It was disconcerting for a moment, panicking even.

Then he remembered the events of the day prior and his stomach began to twist with panic for an entirely different reason.

The scene he found himself a part of when he shuffled into Dean's kitchen only made things worse.

First he thought he’d stumbled across Dean's wife which was mortifying, leaving Castiel feeling like a homewrecker even though his proclamation of love for Dean had been completely out of self preservation.

Then the not-wife (a sheriff, Cas thinks, going off of her shiny badge) had left, all while insinuating Castiel was something to his host other than a mere acquaintance, which had obviously made Dean uncomfortable because his freckled face had gone bright red before he’d hastily offered some leftover pastry for breakfast.

Now Cas is scarfing down the offered food as Dean mills around the kitchen, phone held between his chin and collarbone as he mumbles out an explanation of the past days events to whoever is on the other end.

“-Ten days and some change, man,” Dean’s pleading into his device as he halfheartedly sifts through a stack of mail on the counter, “Just enough time to get to Stanford, nab Sammy, and get back.”

Castiel is beginning to understand how Dean had so easily misplaced his brother's wedding invitation, while his home is not unclean it’s also absolutely filled with stuff .

The mail has been haphazardly separated into two piles, one distinctly more tidy than the other, boots and flannels haphazardly line the entryway, so many pictures are hung on the walls that Cas can barely see the home's distasteful floral wallpaper. 

There’s just so much, he feels as though he notices ten new things every time he sneaks another glance around.

Magnets on the fridge spell out the word ‘hungry’, what was once probably an obscene phrase that has lost letters and now just says ‘Bi’, and ‘ajewufncxz’, respectively. 

There’s a set of rolling doors taking up the wall next to him, just slightly open, and through the gap Castiel can see piles of books and files stacked precariously on top of one and other.

Even the car keys on the counter seem to follow Dean's passion for maximalism, the ring absolutely packed with little charms and trinkets.

“Benny, Benny-” Dean's voice is a little more desperate now, “I will take your Christmas Eve shift if you let me do this… New years too, yeah- Fine , every holiday till next Thanksgiving, just cover the shop you asshole!” There’s a tiny laugh from the phone speaker and Dean looks like he wants to be mad at it, but all he succeeds in doing is looking somewhat fond, “Thank’s, man.”

He pauses, throwing Castiel a small glance just as he shoves another spoonful of gooey pie filling into his mouth.

God, he’s hungry. He was supposed to eat at his reception yesterday, but that hadn’t worked out, so his last proper meal must have been over 24 hours ago, he doesn't even care how undignified he looks right now.

“No, no,” Dean lowers his voice slightly, “He’s not- I can handle myself, man, you know that better than anyone.”

Whoever this ‘ Benny’ person is that Dean is talking with is probably concerned about the stranger in Dean's home, Castiel can understand that.

“Yeah, talk soon,” He pulls his phone off of his shoulder and hovers a finger over the screen, “Bye.”

Then he ends the call and sighs, shoulders sagging minutely.

Cas finishes the last of the sweet, flaky food and sits quietly, waiting for Dean to do… something.

He’s not sure what he’s waiting for Dean to do, but he doesn't know what his next steps are, and this mechanic (apparently Dean’s a mechanic? He overheard the scary sheriff mention something about an auto shop) seems to have a remarkable head on his shoulders, so…

“I should get dressed.”

Cas blinks at Dean, who stares right back at him, as if waiting for a response.

Does he want permission? Cas really doesn't care what clothes he wears, if Dean wishes to leave the house in his pajamas he may, he’s a grown man after all.

“If you want.” Is the response he ends up settling on.

Dean frowns slightly, “Would you like to change as well?”

For reasons unknown, Cas can feel his face heat up at the proposition.

“I don’t have any other clothes…”

“Oh!” Dean’s face is that bright shade of red again, “I’m such an asshole, I forgot.”

“It’s okay-”

He wants to assure Dean that he’s not offended in the slightest but the freckled man is already turning on his heel, breezing out of the kitchen while ordering Cas to, “Get a move on.”

So Castiel follows him.

They go right back up the stairs, past the room he woke up in this morning, and all the way to the end of the hall in what must be the master bedroom.

Compared to the rest of the house this room is shockingly barren.

There’s a record player on the desk, a couple framed photos on the nightstand, and some books on top of the dresser, but other than that it feels empty.

“Just give me two seconds-” Dean requests, shuffling over to the dresser and yanking open the top drawer, rifling through it for a moment before he pulls out a worn t-shirt then repeating the process with the next drawer down, this time grabbing a pair of jeans, “Should probably get dressed ya’ know, put my own mask on before helping others? Heh, get it-”

Whatever he says next falls on deaf ears as he shrugs his robe off and flings it onto the bed, his shirt following shortly after.

He has freckles not just on his face and a truly impressive farmer's tan. His torso is soft and round in all the right places, though Cas is willing to bet that he has some impressive muscles underneath it all. There’s scarring around one of his knees and a tattoo over his heart and goodness, well, Cas is fairly certain he’s just staring at Dean now.

He should probably stop staring, right?

Right.

It takes his muscles a moment to cooperate before he’s staring up at the ceiling, admiring a water stain while listening to the rustle of Dean changing into his day clothes.

Cas just prays to the lord above that Dean didn’t catch his inappropriate ogling, then he prays for strength to expel the image of Dean’s solid frame from his mind. Dwelling over his, admittedly lovely, figure is only bound to cause problems down the road.

There’s footsteps to his right as the source of Cas’ frustrations crosses the bedroom, “You can look now.”

He still gives it a couple beats before tearing his eyes away from the ceiling, searching for the mechanic for a moment before finding him in front of his closet, the doors flung wide open, on his tippy toes as he reaches for a massive grey box on the shelf above him.

“We can stop by Walmart or something on our way out of town to get you some of the essentials but for now-” Dean grunts, hefting the sturdy looking storage container into his arms, “I think I’ve got some stuff you can borrow.”

The box drops to the ground with a loud ‘thud’, its top covered in a fine layer of dust that blows into the air with the movement.

“My clothes are perfectly satisfactory.” Castiel insists as the mechanic kneels down and begins to pry the plastic lid off.

Logically he knows it’s not viable to wear the same outfit for the foreseeable future, he’ll need more undergarments at the very least, but at the moment he’s fine and sees no reason to take further advantage of Dean’s kindness.

Dean does not seem to feel the same way, giving Castiel a once over that makes him squirm

“You look like you just left the altar.” He says finally, setting his jaw as he begins to drag neatly folded stacks of clothes out of the box and onto the floor.

Cas looks down at his suit then back up at Dean.

 “But I-” Does Dean have some form of short term memory loss? “I did .”

“I know that but not everyone else needs to,” He holds his palm up demandingly, “At least lose the fucking corsage.”

That’s a fair request, the flower petals have already begun to wilt anyway, so he plucks it off and places it in Dean's outstretched hand. 

Dean continues to study him intensely and Castiel can't help but want to back away from the green eyed squint.

“Any chance I can convince you to ditch the blazer, too?”

Cas shakes his head, clutching the deep blue silk protectively.

He shouldn’t want to keep his suit, a reminder of the life he almost fell into, but he can’t bring himself to part with it either. Dean frowns at Castiel's refusal and, hesitant to push his luck, Cas reaches down and unfastens the front clasps, letting the blazer hang open over his button down.

“Is this a satisfactory compromise?”

Dean’s still staring blankly at him, the discarded corsage now crushed in his clenched fists.

“Dean?”

All at once the man comes back to reality, shaking his shoulders and blinking rapidly, “Huh? Oh- yeah, that-” he clears his throat, “that works. Dude, sit down, you’re freaking me out with the hovering.”

Castiel obediently does as he’s told, tucking his feet under him on the old worn flooring.

Dean’s efficient in finding Cas some good clothing alternatives. Setting aside most things with a frown or a scoff, occasionally tossing an item at Cas with a mumbled ‘this look okay?’, to which he always says ‘yes’ because all of Dean's clothes look far more comfortable than most of his old wardrobe.

At the end of it all Castiel has a loaned duffle (“Just take it Cas, I have a fuckload of these old things.”) in his lap packed with 2 sets of ill fitting jeans, a pair of shorts, a few well worn t-shirts, a henley, and a sweatshirt.

“We're gonna’ need to find you a jacket…” Dean remarks towards Castiel's general direction as he shoves the remaining clothes unceremoniously back into the storage container, “There's a hallway closet downstairs, you can go pick yourself out a coat while I put this away.”

He pats the top of the container for good measure, a small smile on his face.

“I-” Castiel doesn't know what to say as he clutches the duffle- his duffle- closer to his chest, “Thank you.”

“What are friends for?” Dean half-mumbles, hauling himself up with crackling knees and dragging the box back towards where he retrieved it from, “Go find a coat, I’m gonna’ pack my stuff then we can roll.”

He’s so quick to listen to Dean that he doesn't even realize he left his bag back on the worn floor of the bedroom until he’s halfway down the creaky stairs.

There’s a moment where he considers turning around to grab it, but he doesn't know if it would be polite to re-enter Dean’s room without his permission and he was told to find himself a coat.

Hopefully Dean will bring the duffle down with him, or at the very least let Castiel know he’s allowed to go retrieve it himself.

The last step groans under him when he finally finishes descending the stairs. He hadn’t taken much time to look around the hall when he’d left his room this morning, but it’s no surprise that, much like the rest of the home, it too is filled with photos and memorabilia.

Dean is easy to spot in the pictures, always spiky-haired with a lopsided grin, sometimes it’s him and a various cast of cheery looking people, sometimes it’s just him next to an old man with a trucker hat and a beard.

Hat man actually seems to be in more pictures than Dean and, in one that makes Castiel's heart ache for no reason, he’s got an arm around a young, barely teenage Dean, and another around a scruffy blonde boy.

That must be Sam, it just makes sense that this would be a photo of Dean with his father and brother, they all look so happy, looking at the camera with wide, surprised smiles, like they didn’t know their picture was going to be taken.

Castiel doesn't think he has any family photos like this, they were always planned events involving coordinating outfits and hours of stiff posing. He thinks Gabriel once tried to spice things up by putting pink hair dye in one of their brothers shampoo bottles;  Castiel does remember laughing because he’d been 8 and thought the shade of pink matched the color of their brother's enraged face. He’s also fairly certain mother made sure his hair was back to a natural color before the photos, thus erasing any record of the incident.

It’s a shame, maybe those pictures would have made them look more like a normal, happy family.

Not that it’s of import anymore.

He’s 34, he’s a runaway groom, and he needs to open the door to an ancient looking hallway closet so he can find himself a jacket and thus not freeze to death in the brisk fall air.

The door to the aforementioned closet wails on its hinges when pushed open. Castiel can’t help but grimace at the noise, then the overpowering smell of mothballs and stale air. 

Obviously Dean doesn't use this closet much anymore.

It’s absolutely packed, though. The rod on which all the coats hang is sagging under the weight of leather, canvas, and wool. There’s boxes lining the floor that Castel takes great care to avoid trampling when he steps further inside, not wanting to accidentally break a precious item of Deans.

All of the jackets feel sturdy under his fingers as he sifts through them, considering each bomber and peacoat carefully before moving on, not bothering to look at the ones safely tucked away in dry cleaners bags (if theyre important enough to keep safe like that then they're probably not meant to be loaned to random houseguests).

There’s a military uniform too, only half-hidden in one of the garment bags that just barely allows him to make out the shiny inscription of ‘Winchester’ on the nametag.

He moves past that one quickly.

Dean seems to have an affinity for vintage jackets, though some seem like they're meant for someone with a taller, broader frame. There’s some that look more fit for hard work, a leather one with a scantily clad woman painted on the back, one with a soft knitted collar.

Cas struggles to see himself in any of the offered pieces.

What would his mother say, seeing him cozied up in this strangers clothes? Seeing him dressed like a no-good hooligan?

Then he catches a glimpse of light brown fabric, shoved all the way to the end of the rack like an afterthought.

He stretches his arm out to grasp the hanger and pulls it into the light, revealing a long tan trench coat. It looks newer than most of the other jackets, barely worn and about his size.

This is better, this is in line with the proper business attire he's familiar with.

“Oh god, I thought I donated that.”

Cas jerks in surprise and whips around to see Dean at the bottom of the stairs, face pinched as he stares at the trenchcoat like it's done him personal harm. 

“I apologize, is this one off limits or…?” He begins to put it back on its hanger, a pang of disappointment striking him in the chest.

Dean considers the offending jacket for a moment, eyebrow slowly raising, “That's really the one that stuck out to you?”

“It's practical.” Castiel defends (not ‘argues’, he's not arguing with the man who's been nothing but gracious).

“It's fugly.” He sounds stern but the corners of his lips are ticking upwards and, when Cas doesn't immediately back down, he huffs out a laugh, “Alright man, you do you, have fun looking like a tax accountant.”

“I am an accountant,” A thought occurs to him as the words roll off his tongue, “Though, I worked for my fathers company and I doubt I’ll still have a job there when this is all over.”

“You’re an accountant ?” Dean looks almost scandalized, “Really?”

“Not anymore, I suppose.” He sighs and pulls the trenchcoat over his suit, finding it to be just slightly too big, leaving a bit of extra fabric bunching around his elbows.

He tries to fix the sleeves, making a slight attempt to roll the cuffs before he huffs and gives up, deciding that he’ll just have to deal with looking a little unkempt.

“An accountant?” Dean repeats, staring at Cas like he said that he worked at a brothel.

“Yes, is that so hard to believe?” 

“No, it’s just…” He trails off, shifting his grip on the bags he’s brought down with him, “Thought accountants were supposed to be boring.”

“Is that some sort of compliment?” He’s never thought of himself as boring, though he also knows he’s not the most interesting being alive, especially when compared to his siblings and their illustrious careers.

“Yeah, maybe.” Dean shrugs and shoves Cas’ bag into his arms, “You weren’t exactly dull when you jumped into my arms and told me to book it.”

He wasn’t, this is true, he probably looked like an absolute madman.

“I think that was the most exciting thing I’ve ever done in my life.” He finally admits, sheepishly toying with one of the bags handles, “It was also remarkably foolish.”

Dean grins at that, wide and bright, “‘Remarkably foolish’ is my favorite state of being!”

Cas can’t help the way his lips tick upwards into a smile at Dean’s enthusiasm, it’s truly amazing.

“Come on, you ready to go?” The mechanic is already plodding down the hall, patting down his pockets while mumbling under his breath, “Keys, phone, wallet…” He opens up the front door, morning light spilling inside, “Keys, phone… what the hell am I forgetting?” Dean's face scrunches up in thought for a moment before he suddenly snaps his fingers and points at Cas, “That’s right! Can’t forget my co-pilot!” He holds the door open wider, gesturing to the porch with flair, “After you.”

“Thank you.” Cas says for what must be the millionth time that morning, standing by as Dean locks the front door, then jiggles the handle as if double checking that the door is truly locked.

Only when he seems to be satisfied with his work does he make a show of cheerfully descending the steps and heading towards his sleek vehicle with Castiel trailing behind him.

“When I was younger I used to jump off the porch, completely ignored the steps!” He recalls as he unlocks his car door and slides inside, “Can’t do that anymore because, well… I believe one of the local kids said it best when they said ‘my bones are held together with flex-tape and spite’.”

“I… Don’t know what that means.”

“It means I’m old, at least to those punks.”

Cas shifts in the passenger's seat, trying to get comfortable as the engine roars to life. It’s only when they’re pulling out of the driveway that he notices he’s sitting on something.

“Oh.” He reaches under his leg and pulls out his phone.

He must have left it in the car last night.

“That your phone?” Dean asks lightly, like he’s worried about saying the wrong thing.

Castiel only nods in confirmation, staring at his guilty reflection in the shiny black screen.

“Is it dead, I have a charging pack in my go-bag you can borrow.”

This time Cas shakes his head, barely registering the way they speed up as they turn onto some rural highway, “No it’s… I shut it down before we entered the gas station last night I just-” He cuts himself off with a huff, “I know it’s ridiculous, but I didn't want to hear it if they tried to call me.”

“Not ridiculous at all,” Dean’s glancing down at the dashboard now, “Speaking of gas stations, we’re gonna have to make a quick stop before we leave town, baby’s running low.”

It seems so odd that Dean has named his car, it almost feels parasocial. 

Can one have a parasocial relationship with a vehicle?

Does Cas even want the answer to that?

He quickly decides that no, he doesn't.

“I wonder how furious they are?” Is the question he settles on asking instead, fidgeting with the volume button on the side of his phone.

“They probably ain't too happy.” Dean shrugs, though he looks like he feels bad for having to be so honest, “Maybe I’m wrong though.”

“No, no,” Castiel watches them turn into the parking lot of a small gas station, resting his head against the window, “You’re most likely correct.”

“Yeah, well…” Dean trails off, pulling in front of the closest pump and cutting the engine.

He looks like he’s trying to muster up some encouragement, maybe some supportive words, as he taps his fingers on the wheel and stares at the sparsely populated lot.

Then his gaze seems to lock onto a massive pickup truck and his shoulders relax, just slightly, “That’s Donna’s truck.” 

Dean reaches over and pops open his door.

“I should go let her know I’m leaving town.”

Cas follows his eyeline and see’s a sturdy blonde woman hopping out of the vehicle, already waving in the direction of the impala with far too much energy for so early in the day.

“Donna?” 

“Yeah, Jody’s wife,” Dean’s already got one foot on the pavement, “Gotta’ see if one of their girls is up for house-sitting.” He goes to slam his door then pauses, giving Cas an odd look that he can’t quite place, “Listen, this’ll probably take a sec, Donna likes to chat, so if you gotta’ do anything…”

He doesn't finish his sentence before he’s off, closing his door and jogging across the pavement to greet the woman, but he didn’t need to, Castiel understood the implication just fine.

Cas watches Dean and Donna embrace, then watches Dean gesture towards the impala with a wave, before ushering the woman towards the gas station.

He probably wants Cas to feel like he has privacy. Or, well, as much privacy as one can get in a South Dakota service station.

Still, it takes him a couple minutes of staring down at his phone, fiddling with the buttons, popping the case on and off, before he works up the nerve to do anything more.

He holds his breath as he presses down the power button and waits for his device to surge to life.

A horrible slimy feeling builds in his gut, he doesn't want to do this, he doesn't want to face whatever they have to say to him. Or maybe he doesn't want to face what they don’t say, they might not even have tried to call, maybe they realized that he was better off gone.

He doesn't know if that would make him feel better or worse.

It takes a moment after the screen finally comes to life for his device to properly load but, as soon as it does, his lockscreen is flooded with missed calls, texts, and voicemails.

The sheer number of them makes his stomach flip.

He looks up to make sure Dean’s still gone with Donna, he doesn't need to know what Castiel's family is saying, he doesn't deserve the vitriol Cas knows is waiting for him.

He settles on looking at his texts first.

They’re about what he expected. Which is to say, awful.

The first wave of messages are mostly from concerned family bargaining with him to come back, promising that they’ll all forget about his ‘little scene’ because everyone gets cold feet, he just has to come back. 

Then they devolve into threats.

Meg in particular sent a scathing paragraph, cursing him for leaving her at the church like an asshole, for deciding to ‘grow a pair’ on their wedding day rather than any of the years before.

She ends her message with a succinct ‘Hope you choke and die on your boytoys dick, Castiel’ .

It’s funny, this is the first time Meg’s ever called him by his proper name.

Then he takes a shaky breath, closing his texts and opening his voicemail.

“ You have: Thirty-eight new messages. ” A robotic voice tells him as he lifts his device to his ear.

Castiel braces himself just in time to almost have his hearing blown out by piercing yells.

“- ASTIEL NOVAK- ” Ah, it's his father, “ I do not know what you think this little rebellion of yours will do, but so far it’s only made you look like a fool! ” There’s clamoring in the background for a moment, like people are just now realizing they can call him instead of writing down their hatred, “ The Masters family thinks we can’t keep our children under control, do you understand? Our reputations- ”

He jabs a finger on the keypad, silencing his fathers rage.

>Message skipped

>Next Message

“ Castiel, why would you do this to us? ” His mother is choking her words out between sobs, “ Leaving Megan for some- some backwoods heathen- ”

>Next message

“ You’re acting like a child, Castiel, ” This is from Micheal, he’d know the disapproving tone anywhere, “ Father is sending us to retrieve you, you can either tell us where you’ve run off to and let us collect you without a fight, or we can drag you back ourselves, choose wisely .”

>End of Message

Castiel's chest is beginning to ache.

>Next Message
He listens to his family scream and promise to track him down as he pieces together what happened after he ran away with Dean.

Meg’s family is furious with Castiel for abandoning her (he can’t blame her, she’s just as much a victim here as he was), and at Cas’ father for not keeping him in line better. Raphael, Uriel, and Micheal are out looking for him and, in general, everything is an utter mess.

>Next Message

“ Hey, Cassie! ” A jovial voice crackles through the speaker and Castiel jumps at the sudden change in tone after such a long stream of anger and fury, “ Listen, you- ” Balthazar, oh thank the lord above it’s Balthazar, lets out a breathy laugh, “ You’ve caused quite a shitshow over here but, honestly, good for you, I would have’ thrown myself out a window if I’d been slated to marry that demon . Plus, I mean, I saw the ass on that lover of yours as you two ran off, no more explanation needed.”

Castiel grins slightly, he can’t say he’s spent much time looking at Dean’s behind but apparently his cousin did enough staring for the both of them.

“ Just… Your brothers are looking for you, so keep your head down, yeah? ” There’s a moment of tense silence, “ You got out, Cassie, that’s fantastic, so I don’t ever, ever want to see you back here again- ” Balthazar pauses for a moment, listening to a distant voice, barely audible for Cas, “ Samandriel is wishing you luck -” He’s cut off by the sound of a scuffle and, when someone finally speaks, it’s the voice of Castiel's youngest cousin, Balthazar now in the background shouting for him to give his phone back, “ Everyone is saying that you’re setting an awful example but that was awesome! Your wedding was way more interesting than Micheals- ”

He chokes out a wet laugh, imagining Balthazar fighting their teenaged cousin for dominance over the call, both eager to support Castiel's choices for their own reasons.

There’s a distinct shoving noise, “ Sod off, kid- Okay, Cassie, you still there? I gotta’ go but remember to stay safe and, if you need anything, you’ve always got me.”

That's it.

That’s the last message.

And it’s what has Castiel doubled over his knees, face cradled in his hands as his body racks itself with sobs.

Fleetingly, between cries that seem to bubble from his chest at their own volition, he wonders if the others who left their family felt like this. Felt so ashamed of turning their backs on the family, felt like their lives were over yet also just beginning.

Felt grateful that they were free from scrutinizing stares and backhanded remarks.

Felt guilty.

Guilty for leaving others behind.

He presses the meat of his palms into his eyelids until he sees stars, his steady stream of tears ebbing until nothing is left.

The phone falls to the floorboards with a clatter, though he doesn't make a move to retrieve it, just lets it lay there as he considers the throbbing swirl of emotions building in his head.

It’s almost a relief when, after an indeterminable amount of time, he hears Dean’s booming voice from clear across the parking lot.

“-Got the wrong date, Donna’, ain’t that a kick in the pants?” He’s saying as Castiel straightens up and wipes any last tears from his face.

The mechanic is taking his time, barely giving Cas a cursory glance as he and Donna move their conversation to the gas pump so he can fill the tank like he came here to do.

His companion lets her gaze linger on Cas a little longer and he tries to muster up a weak smile in greeting, one she returns tenfold and with an enthusiastic wave before she turns back to Dean.

Their conversation is fast and lively, but still drags on long enough for Castiel to feel more calm and collected by the time Dean’s saying his goodbyes and promising Donna a pie once he gets back from his trip.

If  Cas’ red rimmed eyes are noticeable when the mechanic finally settles back behind the wheel, he doesn't say.

Dean just twists around in his seat, reaching into the back and returning with a box of cassette tapes, each one obviously well loved.

“You wanna’ pick the tunes?” He asks, shoving the box into Castiel's arms.

“I don’t…” Cas’ voice is brittle and he knows Dean can hear it, so he settles for reaching into the box and selecting a tape at random, not even bothering to read the title before he passes it off to Dean.

There’s a low whistle, “ZZTop, grade A choice.”

Dean turns the engine over before he shoves the tape into the player, cranking the volume up as high as he can, loud enough that all Cas can hear is guitar and drums and Dean’s hands slamming against the steering wheel to the beat as they turn back onto the highway.

Castiel takes one last shaky breath, thinks of the scathing messages one last time, before he reaches down for his phone and tosses it over his shoulder, letting it thump against the back seat.

He’ll have to tell Dean that his family is looking for him eventually but, for now, he props his chin on his hand and watches Dean sing along to a song he doesn't know, the hurricane of emotion in his chest finally calming, only one lingering feeling left behind.

Peace.

Chapter Text

Of course it only takes Dean’s plan for a quick and easy trip to Stanford an astounding 6 whole hours to completely fall apart.

Because why wouldn’t it? 

Rain began to trickle down just as they passed through Rapid City and it was fine. Everything was fine. Then, with almost no warning, it was fucking pouring.

Seriously, just a solid sheet of water in front of them limiting Dean’s visibility to the blurry taillights of a 16-wheeler creeping down the interstate, leaving him squinting through the windshield as the wipers take on the sisyphean task of swiping away the rain.

Baby's tires hit a particularly deep puddle and he can feel them slip ever-so-slightly. It’s an unpleasant sensation, but it’s fine, which is more than he can say for the shell-shocked man in the passenger's seat.

Cas sorta’ reminds him of the time Garth brought his baby to the 4th of July fireworks show. The little thing had been too fresh outta’ the oven to fully understand that it should be scared and cry about the loud noises so it had opted to stare unblinking at the sky like it was receiving a dire omen and look horrifiedly towards anyone who tried to interact with it.

Yeah, that’s a good comparison.

Because Cas isn’t crying either- at least not at this moment, Dean’s like 98% sure he’d cried back at the gas station, but he’s not gonna brooch that topic now. Cas is simply gripping the edge of the seat so hard that his knuckles are turning white, sitting stock still, staring at the road in abject terror.

They’re fine.

Right up until some idiot tries to merge into their lane with barely any warning, skidding across the lines like they’re driving on glass, leaving Dean slamming down on the breaks and narrowly avoiding a pile-up.

‘Cos a car crash is what he needs right now.

“Son of a BITCH!” He presses down on the horn for a good 10 seconds, feeling anger bubble up in his chest, “Why even own a fucking Subaru if you can’t handle a little rain!? When’s the last time you checked your tire tread-?” He slams his palm down on the center of the steering wheel again, the horn barking out a small ‘beep’, “Goddamnit.”

Dean throws a casual glance towards Cas, who’s turned his shocked expression to the mechanic.

“A few drops of rain and people lose their minds, huh, Cas?”

Cas swallows thickly, “It appears so…”

It takes another hour of near-collisions, small heart attacks, and torrential rains for Dean to sigh and throw in the towel, “You think we should call it?”

"Whatever you prefer." There's tension to his voice that makes Dean frown and flip on the blinker as they approach the next exit.  

“We’re stopping.”

Cas glances at him out of the corner of his eye, “If you're doing this on my account then-”

A clap of thunder loud enough to be heard over the music rattles Dean's teeth and effectively ends Cas' argument.

“Yeah, we’re stopping.” He pulls off at the next exit, maybe feeling a bit relieved about not having to drive in such shit weather, “This’ll clear up by tomorrow, we’ll make up for lost time then.”

Cas gives a small nod but nothing more and Dean hopes they find a motel or something sooner rather than later.

“You scared of storms, Cas?” 

“No,” His answer is surprisingly quick, “I actually find them quite enjoyable.”

“Bullshit, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He receives a withering glare at that, “I enjoy them indoors, with a warm duvet and fresh coffee, I do not enjoy them on slick and dangerous roadways.”

Dean scoffs under his breath, who uses the word ‘duvet’ in casual conversation? This isn’t fucking bridgerton. 

"Do you enjoy storms?" 

There's a sign advertising a local motel ahead, "They're pretty cool sometimes. Me 'n Sammy once tried to catch lighting in a bottle when we were little," He chuckles at the memory of Sam's hair plastered to his forehead as he shouted over the wind that they were gonna' go down in the record books, "He thought we were making some big scientific breakthrough."

"Did you?"

"Did we what?"

Cas stares at him with those big, sorrowful eyes, but there's a ghost of a smile on his face, "Make history?"

"Nah..." All they'd succeeded in doing was ruining one of the mason jars they were supposed to use for canning and soaking themselves to the bone.

His passenger hums in thought as the neon sign of their destination appears in the distance, "There's still time."

Dean laughs, because there's really no other option, "Yeah, let me get Sammy back first, then I'll worry about the world knowing my name."

The motel parking lot is barren and Dean hopes this means they'll have plenty of rooms to pick from.

"We'll get a room, maybe take a quick nap-" Jesus he's getting old, he used to drive from sunup to sundown on nothing but energy drinks and Adderall (which he obtained legally, thanks to a doctor in his 20's noticing that he had 'attention troubles') but now, especially after how late he got in last night, a few hours in the car and his body is already screaming for sleep, "Then we grab dinner?"

"That seems like a good plan."

"Great." He parks Baby as close to the front office as he can, "God, I haven't slept in a motel in years."

Cas opens up his door and is almost immediately assaulted by fat drops of rain, "Did you used to frequent them?"

"Yep, when Dad moved us from base to base, we drove, and sometimes we'd be goin' from Fort Riley to JBLM so we'd be on the road for a few days." He steps outside and motions for Cas to follow him as he stalks to the reception, "Military might've paid for us to fly but I think Dad liked the excuse to be off base so he could get hammered."

Cas frowns but says nothing, letting Dean go ahead of him and open up the door, a pleasant chime countering the dull environment.

There's not much in the office, there never is in these places, just a fake potted plant, a box TV playing a static-filled news broadcast, an old plywood desk, and a portly man behind it to top the place off.

He doesn't even look up from the magazine he's reading as Dean approaches the desk, "70 bucks for a room."

That's a bit high for a place that looks like it hasn't been upgraded since the 80s but he let's it slide because the prospect of a bed to knock out in is too fucking tempting, "2 beds, please."

The receptionist nods and finally puts down his reading as Dean rifles through his pockets. He's halfway to the wall of keys when he cocks an eyebrow and looks between Cas and Dean, "You said 2 beds?"

"Yeah." His wallet has somehow migrated to the depths of his jacket and he feels a bit ridiculous as he struggles to get it free, "Did I stutter?"

"No, it just seemed..." The man trails off, "I've got plenty of 1 bed rooms available."

Dean scoffs, "Why? Just so one of us can sleep on the floor?"

"Dean, the floor is not the only option." Cas mutters, looking a bit embarrassed by this hypothetical sleeping scenario.

"You want to sleep in the car?"

"Not particularly."

He fishes around in his wallet before slamming a wad of cash down on the desktop, "Then 2 beds, please."

He takes his keys with a nod and spins around on his heel, pointedly not looking towards Cas or the disbelieving receptionist. 

It's not that he's against the concept of sharing a bed with Cas, on the contrary if things were different he might jump on the chance, but he came to terms with the kind of person he is a long time ago and Cas-

Well, Dean's spent enough time in the world, he knows better than to assume everyone's A-okay with him occasionally batting for the other team.

Luckily they aren't gonna' have to deal with any of that today. After grabbing their bags from Baby and booking it too their room (Dean thinks he once saw a Mythbusters episode about how you get less wet from walking in the rain than you do running, but like hell is he gonna' test that right now) they are faced with a shoebox of a room with two mediocre twin beds.

Really brings Dean right back to his childhood.

Cas is already shucking his sopping trench coat as Dean locks the door behind them, pointedly ignoring the way the white fabric of Cas' button down has become transparent from the rain (Though he needs to ask Cas' workout routine because he is ripped for an accountant)

"You seem tense." 

Dean sighs and throws his duffle onto the bed closest to the door, "Yeah well... there goes a day of travel, right down the drain."

He laughs at his joke, Cas simply stares at him with a cocked head.

"I wouldn't worry," The dark haired man kicks his shoes off, socks following close behind, "We have plenty of time, you'll make it to your brothers wedding despite this minor interference."

“‘A minor interference’, yeah…” Dean mumbles mostly to himself, Cas becoming too preoccupied with stripping down to his skivvies to hear him, “We’ll be back on track tomorrow.”

He really should have knocked on some wood or something after saying that.

After a lackluster evening of cheap take-out and Jeopardy! re-runs, he wakes up to find absolutely 0 improvement in the weather.

It’s like God Himself has decided to say ‘Fuck you, Winchester’.

But they agree over vending machine coffee to see how far they can make it because, hey, maybe the weather will let up soon.

Dean puts his Razors Edge tape in and cranks it up when Thunderstruck comes on, purely for his own amusement because Cas seems more focused on explaining that 'people don't get struck by thunder Dean, they get struck by lighting, lightingstruck would be a much more accurate phrasing- Dean are you listening- Why are you turning up the volume? Dean-'.

As it turns out, Cas is sorely undereducated in the ways of Rock n' Roll, go-fucking-figure.

"Dean..." He mumbles, looking at the tape deck with wide eyes as it blares Dean's 'Kickass Driving Tunes #2' tape, "I do not believe this song is actually about pie."

"No, Cas-" Regrettably he has to turn down Warrant so he can be heard, "Let me give you a rundown about rock. It's never actually about dessert, it's never about a hurricane or any other weather conditions, and it's definitely never about a car."

Well, except for that one Queen song, but that's a bit of an outlier.

"They're all euphemisms for sex?" He looks almost scandalized by the prospect.

"Yep!" God, he's never had to actually explain this to someone before, "I mean, not every rock song is about sex, if it's not your jam we can put on something else." 

He hands Cas the box of tapes just like he had the previous day, never taking his eyes off the road.

His passenger squints at the names on the spines of the tapes, "Who is 'Glam'?"

"Oh that's-" He glances over quickly to check what tape Cas has pulled, "That's a mixtape of Glam Rock, it's not an actual artist, it just a bunch of different ones that I think are cool sometimes."

John once said that that music was for 'queers' but Johns dead now so... Dean doesn't really give a flying fuck what a dead man has to say.

"I'd like to listen to it." Cas decides, handing Dean the tape so he can put it in.

They make it to the B side in relative silence, Dean sometimes mumbling lyrics under his breath or Cas occasionally asking a question. They find out Cas likes this genre more than he enjoyed mullet rock and Dean promises to dig out some more tapes from the trunk for them to listen.

It's kinda' nice, getting to see Cas' reactions to songs that Dean's heard a million times over, to watch Cas' lips part in awe at hearing a particular saxophone solo or operatics.

They knock out almost 4 hours like that, going through tape after tape, Dean rambling about the backstory of whatever artists they're listening too before he ever hits play and Cas nodding along earnestly.

He only catches that it's past lunch when his stomach growls after they pass a sign advertising a diner off the next exit.

“You wanna' grab some grub?” It's not like stopping will put them too far behind schedule when the rain's already thrown his entire timetable out the window.

“Food would be nice.” Cas agrees softly, tapping his fingers along to Elton John's kickass piano playing.

The diner, much like the motel, is another dime a dozen, mom and pop place, with linoleum floors and menus the length of newspapers.

Their waitress comes by and asks if they want any drinks besides water, Dean gets a coke and Cas asks if they have any tea (which earns him a weird look), and then it's just the them again.

“I gotta’ hit the head.” Dean announces, dropping his menu to the tabletop, “Pick whatever you want to eat.”

“What if the waitress comes back while you’re gone?” Cas asks with the graveness of someone asking for a dying man's last wishes.

“Then I want a classic cheeseburger with fries, easy peasy.” He's already sliding out of the booth, "I believe in you."

Cas nods uncertainly and Dean wanders towards the bathrooms, almost running into a couple of guys running inside, shielding their faces from the rain and obviously not paying attention.

He's barely gone for a few minutes, really, taking a few extra moments after finish up his business and washing his hands to check his phone and make sure there are no crisis' happening in Sioux Falls during his absence.

His gut begins to feel uneasy as he re-enters the dining area, eyes imminently going towards his and Cas' booth.

There’s a man standing at the end of the table, short with his dirt blonde hair sleazily slicked back, talking with Cas in a voice low enough that Dean can catch his cheery tone but not the words.

At first Dean thinks he’s another waiter, then he clocks Cas’ wide eyes and the way the stranger has boxed Cas in the booth with his body and he feels ice run down his spine.

Dean’s across the diner in a few large strides, grabbing the newcomer firmly on the shoulder and spinning him around

“Alright bud, I think it’s time for you to get going.”

The stranger merely smirks, neck quirked upwards to look at Dean without a single hint of worry in his eyes

“Nah,” Amber eyes appraise him, “I’m good.”

Dean shifts his hand so he’s holding the man by the front of his shirt, dragging him close so he can keep his oncoming threats between the two of them, “Listen here, I don’t know what your deal is, but you need to go-”

“Dean.”

Cas’ voice is strangled and tight and Dean, knowing it’s stupid to take his eyes off his target, looks at his friend anyway.

“Dean, release him.” The dark haired man looks shaken, like he’s seen a ghost, but Dean does as he’s told, hesitantly unclenching his fist from the stranger's shirt as Cas draws in a shaky breath, “He’s my brother.”

Chapter Text

Dean's barely been gone a minute before there's a sickeningly sweet voice behind where Castiel sits, one that makes him freeze like a deer in headlights and sends him right back to his childhood.

“Hey, Cassie~”

No one's called him that name for years, and a part of him is terrified of turning to look at the piece of his past that's caught up to him in some dingy diner.

“Awe, don’t act so spooked-” There's a hand ruffling his hair like it’s second nature, “Can’t a guy just wanna’ see how his baby bro is doing?”

Castiel forces his gaze upwards, till he’s face to face with mischievous amber eyes.

“Gabriel.” 

“You remember me!” The newcomer's face lights up with a grin.

Castiel carefully scoots back in the booth, out of his older brother's reach, “You are difficult to forget.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He sets his hands on his hips and quirks an eyebrow, “Funny running into you, you wanna’ guess why I’m out here in the sticks and not shacked up with some hot blonde in California?”

“No.” Whatever Gabriel’s doing here is his own business and, with any luck, he’ll get the hint that Castiel is not in a talkative mood and leave before Dean shows up and raises suspicions.

“Mother called me-”

Oh God.

“And, after lamenting about how I’m still a disappointment to the family, she told me a fun little story about you, Cassie.”

Castiel doesn't say anything, just stares at the tabletop as dread settles on his shoulders, and Gabriel decides to take that as a queue to keep talking.

“You, young man, caused quite a fuss,” He dramatically tsk’s in disappointment, “Mom and Dad are losing their collective minds, have everyone out looking for you-” Castiel feels his stomach drop, “Even called me and Luc up for help, begged us to come back to Pontiac, which was a big fucking surprise because they’re supposed to want nothing to do with us, so…” 

“I…” Dean better hurry up in the bathroom, because Cas can feel his brain shutting down.

The last time he’d seen Gabriel he’d been maybe 8 or 9, sitting at the top of the staircase in his pajamas and watching his brother’s screaming match with their father. Gabriel didn’t want to go into the family business, he wanted to get an art degree or something of the sort, and supposedly that had been the final straw after 18 years of mischief and poor behavior.

He’d left, middle finger held high, and Raphael had come out of nowhere, grabbing Castiel by the arm and dragged him back to his room, telling him that there was no point in crying because it wouldn’t bring Gabe back.

Now here he was.

Older, admittedly, with streaks of grey beginning to show in his hair and laugh lines etched in his skin, but he was here.

Did Castiel truly mess up that badly? That Gabriel would agree to help bring him back to the family he seemed to despise.

“I didn’t mean to cause a fuss.” Is all he can lamely say, staring at his brother with pleading eyes and praying he of all people will understand.

“Whatever, Cassie, listen, daddy dearest wants you back, says you were supposed to get hitched- thanks for the invite by the way- and now your chick's family is all up in arms about you ditching her.”

“Meg was not ‘my chick’.”

“Yeah,” Gabriel nods sagely, leaning on the table to loom over his brother, “I heard there was someone else. Never took you as a side-piece enjoyer, then again, when I left all you cared about were your plant encyclopedias.”

“It’s not like there were many children's books for me to read,” Cas mumbles, surprised by his brazen reply, “And Dean is not a side piece, he’s-”

Gabriel jerks backwards before Castiel can finish his statement.

Oh, Dean’s right here.

And he seems to be moments away from throwing Gabriel out a window.

Cas should probably do something about that, shouldn’t he?

“Dean.”

His friends eyes are lit with a fury Cas can’t understand, it’s not like he knows who Gabriel is, and Cas feels himself getting annoyed because, honestly, if Dean thinks he needs to be protected from random people in a diner then he’s being ridiculous.

Cas only need protection from random disowned brothers.

“Dean, release him,” His voice is shaky and he feels his face flush with embarrassment, he’s a grown man for God's sake, “He’s my brother.”

“Estranged brother,” Gabriel clarifies, dropping from Dean’s hold and staring up at the mechanic with an unbothered smile, “ I walked out the door so Cassie here could run from the altar.”

Then he wheels back around to face Castiel, leaning down to stage whisper in his ear, “You were right he’s not a side-piece, he’s a main-fucking-course.”

Dean, of course, hears this and clears his throat awkwardly, “Thank you?”

“Anytime.” Gabriel replies with a wink that makes Cas’ hackles raise.

"Is it just coincidence, you two running into each other?" Dean asks, recovering quickly from Gabriel's forwardness and sliding back into the booth, though this time instead of sitting across from Cas, he sits next to him, creating a barrier between the two siblings.

"We were actually on our way back to Illinois when we decided to stop for lunch." Gabriel plops down across from the two of them and snatches up a menu, skimming it through lazily, "This little meeting? Not part of the plan."

"You were going to Illinois..." Dean narrows his eyes in suspicion, "Why?"

"Our folks want our help looking for Cassie," Gabe shrugs, "And I never decline a front row seat to the shit show."

"You've been speaking in plural?" Cas twists around and scans the diner, "Who else is with you? Anna?"

The waitress takes that moment to appear with their drinks, setting them down and glancing at the newcomer with surprise, "Do you need more menus?"

"No." Dean and Gabriel both respond, though one sounds far more cheerful than the others.

"I'll take some pancakes, extra syrup, and then also..." Gabriel trails off in thought for a moment, "Let's say a Caesar salad. What do you two want?"

Dean gives their order through gritted teeth as Cas continues to scan their environment, trying to spot the familiar face of their cousin, or maybe Gabriel brought along a significant other? Whatever the case, he did not order that salad for himself, Castiel is certain of it.

"Gabriel." Cas tries again, after the waitress leaves them, "Who is with you?"

"Oh!" His brother lights up, "He's just parking the car right now, sent me inside to grab a table-"

"Gabriel-"

"I don't know if you'll remember him but we'll see-"

"Gabriel." Cas cuts his brother off, tone firm and icy in a way that makes Dean stiffen next to him, "Please, just answer my question."

Gabe does not, in fact, answer Cas' question. Instead he reaches into his breast pocket and retrieves a small sucker, noisily unwrapping it, then popping it in his mouth like he has all the time in the world.

"Didn't you just order food?" Dean questions with a small, disapproving frown.

"Old habit," Gabriel mumbles around the candy, "Sugar kills, but not as fast as smoking."

“You smoke?” Castiel blurts out the question before he can stop it.

“Smoked. Past tense. What did you think I was doing when I snuck out my window and sat on the roof?”

“You said you were stargazing.”

His older brother scoffs, “Oh my god, if I told you ‘gullible’ was written on the ceiling you’d totally look.”

Cas crosses his arms in distaste, “I certainly would not.”

His brothers played that trick too many times when Cas was little, he knows it now.

"Okay man," Dean leans forward, folding his arms on the tabletop, "Cut the shit, who else is with you?"
 
"Aren't you feisty." Gabriel bounces his eyebrows up and down, "Luci's with me, we both live out in Cali so we decided to save on gas and carpool."

"'We' didn't decide anything, you demanded I drive because your car is a piece of shit."

Castiel whips around to look at the source of the voice and can't help the way his eyes most defiantly go wide with shock.

"Luc..." This is a face Castiel recognizes even less than Gabriel's, having no solid memories of one of his eldest brothers, only knowing him and his sharp features through the few family photographs Michael had saved from being thrown out. He'd hidden them between the pages of the bible on his nightstand, where he thought no one would ever find the well-worn treasures.

"Castiel." Luc seems just as surprised to see Cas, "I didn't think we'd run into you so soon."

"Isn't it great?" Gabriel is practically beaming, "Didn't even have to haul ourselves back to Ponti-ass."

"If you guys think you're dragging Cas back to that hellhole you've got another thing coming." Dean's voice is taught and all of the Novak's eye him warily.

"Listen..." Gabriel reclines in his seat, reaching across the table, sliding Dean's Coke towards him, and taking a long sip, "What's your name?"

Castiel can hear the mechanics teeth grinding together, "Dean."

"Listen, Dean-o," Oh God, why can't Gabriel see that Dean is mere moments away from throwing him out the window? "We're not here to take Cassie back."

"You're not!?"

Cas doesn't mean to speak so loudly, but he can't help it. Hope bubbles up in his chest, his brothers aren't going to throw him to the wolves, they're going to help him.

He has more family that cares.

"Nope," His brother grins wolfishly, "If we'd made it back to home sweet home we woulda' just sat around and raided the wine cellar-" Luc inclines his head in agreement at that statement, "You think we would actually take you back? Us? We know first hand why you'd ditch. We want to help."

"That-" His vision blurs and it's only then that he realizes tears have welled in his eyes, "Help would be nice."

"'Help'?" Dean balks, whipping his head back and forth between Cas and his brothers, "How's he supposed to trust you guys? Your family is hunting him for fucks sake!"

"And we know how to get him off their radar for good," Luc's voice is sweet and smooth, it reminds Cas of the way Michael talked when they were younger, "We'll take you back to California, get you set up with work- What'd you pick? Business or Law?"

"Accounting."

"Plenty of opportunities for accountants out west." He smiles, reaching across the table to grasp Cas' hand and squeeze it comfortingly, "The hard part's over."

Gabriel nods enthusiastically, "I'm not sure where you two lovebirds were heading, but there's nothing like a honeymoon in Malibu."

While Gabriel babbles about sunsets and long walks on the beach, Luc turns his attention to Dean, looking him up and down with tight lips.

"Castiel, how did you meet this... individual?"

"The individual has a name." Dean huffs, setting his shoulders and staring right back at Luc.

"Yeah, Luci, the mistress has a name." Gabriel snorts into his soda glass.

"I'm not a mistress."

Cas can only watch in horror as Gabriel sets his jaw in challenge, it's like seeing a train crash, you know the outcome is going to be tragic but you can do nothing to stop it.

"What should I call you then, Dean-bean?" His brother taps his finger on his chin in thought, "Castiel's lover? Paramour?"

"Courtesan." Luc supplies.

"Courtesan! That's a good one, feel free to jump in at any time, homewrecker."

"Gabriel, please-" Cas jumps in before Dean can burst a blood vessel (and he looks remarkably close), "Dean dose not deserve to be called any of those words."

The waitress choses that moment to appear, looking at the tense scene in front of her with a painfully fake smile, "I have y'all's food!"

Cas stares down at his cheeseburger and fries, a copy of Deans order, with shame. Dean makes no move to eat his food, but Gabriel digs into his stack of pancakes with gusto and Luc stares down at his damp bowl of greens.

"A salad? At a place like this?" Luc questions Gabe incredulously, picking at his, frankly depressing-looking, meal with a curled lip, "Do you want me to contract E-coli?"

Gabriel shrugs, choosing to shove a massive forkful of fluffy sustenance into his mouth before he speaks, "I've heard it gives you the runs, maybe you could shit that stick out of your ass."

There's a low bark of laughter from Dean and Luc scoffs in disgust, pushing his salad away before he stands up and throws a glare at Gabriel, "I cannot believe we are related. I'll be outside, trying to find a half-way decent spot to get myself lunch, come find me when you mature past the age of 15."

"Love you too, Luci." Gabriel doesn't even watch their brother storm off, just raises the hand he isn't using to shovel his meal down his gullet in a one-fingered salute.

The older Novak waits until the door to the diner slams open and closed before he sets down his fork and looks between Cas and Dean.

"So... you two staying around here or...?"

"We're going to Stanford." Castiel provides, Dean whipping to face him as he speaks.

"Cas! Don't tell him that!"

"Why not?"

Dean gestures towards Gabriel wildly, "We don't know if we can trust him."

Well, it might have been years since Castiel has even spoken to Gabriel, but he's still family and he's stated his intentions to help, what more does Dean need? "He's my brother, of course we can trust him."

"Half your brothers are hunting you."

"More than half." Gabriel chimes in, causing Dean to throw him a withering scowl.

Dean snatches up one of the large menus, "Excuse us for a second." Then he flips it upwards, effectively blocking the two of them from the older Novak's view.

"Is this not a bit absurd?" Cas questions the mechanic.

"No." Dean defends, leaning closer behind the menu till their noses are almost touching, "Cas, you haven't seen them for years and you're just gonna' trust them blindly, are you insane!?"

"I fail to see the problem." He feels a curl of annoyance in his chest, "Would you not want Sam to do the same?"

The mechanic's pointed words die with a choked, "What?"

"You have not seen your brother for years yet you expect him to blindly agree with you when you show up to California to stop his marriage." The tension between them thickens, "You didn't strike me as a hypocritical man, Dean..."

"I'm not!"

"Then why are you so against me making this decision?"

"Because you're jumping the gun here." Dean hisses out his words, "That Luc guy leaves a bad taste in my mouth, you shouldn't just take his words at face value."

"That's ridiculous, he's my brother-"

"Damnit Cas, I'm trying to protect you!" 

The menu slams back onto the table top with a pathetic 'thwap', revealing their audience of 1, Gabriel, poised with his chin on his fists like he's watching an enthralling performance.

"I'm a grown man, I do not need your protection."

Dean's face is turning red, "Yeah, it's not like you used me as an escape from the family you're about to crawl right back to."

"Only because you were too foolish to realize you drove 6 hours for nothing." 

Deans mouth opens, then closes, and they sit in a tense silence while he works his jaw and mulls over his next words. 

A slimy, guilty feeling envelopes Castiel when he catches a glimpse of the upset in Dean's eyes. The mechanic didn't say anything untrue per-se, so far Castiel has proven himself to be utterly incapable of making decisions, but that doesn't mean that after a few days he's just allowed to govern any and all choices Cas makes.

And yes, mayhaps it would be nice to think that once he's aided Dean in retrieving Sam, the mechanic would let him stick around. Maybe he could stay in the guest room again and enjoy flaky pastries for breakfast every morning. But he wont put those expectations on Dean, he can't. The best option is to have a contingency plan for after their road trip, and if that plan involves staying behind in California with his brothers, then so be it.

"I'm gonna' go get some air." Deans voice is painfully level when he finally speaks.

He barely even looks at Cas as he fails to gracefully scooch out of their shared seat, the leather underneath him squeaking and filling in the, otherwise terse, silence.

"Dean, wait-"

Dean's staggers to his feet, "I'm not leaving you here, I'll be out in Baby, I just... I'm not leaving you here, Cas."

Then his friend rushes out the door, leaving Cas alone with his brother, rain still pattering on the window, making the mood in the diner far more dreary than it was when they'd arrived.

"So..." Gabriel gives Castiel a toothy, food-filled grin, "Trouble in paradise?"

Chapter Text

Deans face burns as he pushes open the door, a blast of chilling air hitting him all at once.

Of course Castiel wasn't going to stick around forever, goddamnit he's only known the guy for a handful of days, what was he thinking? 

A stupid, childish part of him feels betrayed by the whole situation, and it takes a good moment for Dean to reel in his emotions and remind himself that, 'hey, Cas is not actually my lover, that whole church thing was outta' self preservation, he woulda' confessed his love and ran off with any fucker off the street at that point'.

The childish voice bites back, 'but he ran off with me.'.

As if that bound them together for as long as they both shall drive to Stanford.

Stupid.

He swipes a palm across his face, wiping away the rain dripping down his face, while his other hand pulls out Baby's keys, longing for the confines of his car where things just make sense.

Too bad he can't just pop Cas' hood and see what wires got crossed that make him think going back with the 'family' he hasn't seen for years is a good idea, as if his brothers know what's best for him when they left him behind, he's probably a completely different person now and-

Dean's boots scuff across the pavement as he comes to an abrupt stop, hand raised just a few inches from Baby's door handle.

Cas was right, wasn't he?

He's a fucking hypocrite.

It hit's him like a 2-ton trailer, the feeling of guilt, of realization. Sam's probably a different person now too, will he even accept Deans help? Sure, that Ruby bitch is bad news but...

Do Cas' brothers think Dean is bad news?

Is Dean the thing Cas needs protection from?

"Son of a-" He jams the key into the lock but makes no move to duck out of the rain, instead resting his forehead on the cold metal roof, "Really fumbled this one, Winchester."

The toe of his boot connects with Baby's tire, a juvenile attempt to relive the shame bubbling up inside him.

How the hell did he even end up here? He's a grown man with a business and a flock of local punks (otherwise known as troubled teens from the high school) who trail him around like lost ducks. But he doesn't have Sam, and he's just sabotaged the first friendship he's made on his own since Benny.

And that's a really fucking depressing fact when he realizes that he met Benny when he was 20 and in one of the worst phases of his life.

A snide laugh echoes across the parking lot and jolts him back to the present, the damp, miserable present. He raises his head a bit to locate whoever might be bearing witness to his tantrum, but doesn't see anyone right away. Hell, there's barely any cars, just Baby and some flashy Prius that probably fits right in with the California crowd.

Then he spots Cas' brother under the awning, leaned against the wall and facing away from the mechanic.

Hell, Dean's not even sure if Luc's noticed that he's not alone out here, it seems like the phone he's cradling close to his ear has his full attention. Usually Dean can't stand people who talk as loud as they can on the phone in public but, honestly, he wants to hear what's got this guy laughing, so he leans a little closer and strains his ears.

It's hard to hear over the rain and his favorite companion, tinnitus, but he manages to make out the tail end of Luc's words.

"-Michael, would I lie?" 

Dean only known Luc for a couple minutes but he's putting his money on 'yes'.

"Okay, well- I'm as serious as a heart attack, bro, he's here."

Dean shifts slightly closer, waiting for Luc to notice his audience of one.

But he doesn't, he just keeps talking, "The deal's still on, right?"

The fucking what? 

"No, I don't need help, Castiel is so trusting it's honestly depressing."

So his gut was right, Cas' brothers are bad news, fucking score.

For Dean, not Cas.

A truck goes flying down the road behind them, drowning out the rest of Luc's words and causing him to look over his shoulder-

Shit.

Dean makes a point to stretch his arms above his head and looks pointedly away from Castiel's brother, trying to seem like he's been doing anything but eavesdropping.

Luc is quick to end his phone call and wave at Dean, walking as close to him as he can without stepping into the rain.

It's almost nauseating to see the million dollar smile that he plasters on his face like he isn't planning on stabbing Cas in the back.

"Dan!" He greets cheerily as the mechanic meets him halfway.

"Dean."

"I hope you didn't come out to get me," The snake slips his phone into his pocket and shrugs apologetically, "I was about to head back inside, just had to take that business call first."

That bullshit is just another nail in the coffin, now Dean knows he's a rat. A rat who thinks Castiel's trust in people will be his downfall. But Dean wont let that happen, because Cas trusted him to get him away from that hellhole and, unlike some people, Dean won't take that lightly.

Luc moves to walk past Dean, trying to slip between the mechanic and the wall of the diner, only for Dean to raise up his arm and slam it palm-first against the exposed brick.

Luc ain't going nowhere, not when Dean has questions.

"Kinda' a funny sounding business call." He levels his gaze with Cas' brother, "Who's Michael?"

The bastard has the audacity to laugh- laugh- like Dean's a confused puppy chasing its own tail, "An attorney I work with back in California-"

"Bullshit."

"I'm sorry?" The facade is beginning to crack, Dean can see it, the restraint in Luc's eyes slipping, his shoulders tensing.

Dean leans in close, "Bull. Shit."

He watches him sputter indignantly, "Just what are you implying?"

"I heard the whole thing," Well, he heard the last minute or so, but it was enough for him.

Enough for Luc, too, who's face morphs into something venomous and angry, nothing remotely similar to the suave man who'd re-assured Castiel with a single sentence.

"You can't con a con-man, so fess up," The two of them are toe-to-toe now, "What are you really going to do with Cas?"

Luc's upper lip curls into a snarl, "What does it matter to you?"

"Well," Dean takes a gamble with his next words, throwing them out like a set of die and praying they land right, "I am his mistress, so-"

Luc's eyes light up with the rage of a man who's just had a good ol' Louisville slugger taken to his perfect scheme.

"You are nothing." Luc jabs a finger into Dean's chest, "I saw you two in there, Castiel treats you like a stranger, I wouldn't be surprised if your whole little affair was fake."

The words, supposedly meant to stab a loyal lover right through their bleeding heart, miss their mark. Dean curls his mouth into a smile, relishing in the way it seems to infuriate Luc tenfold.

"Nah, Cas loves me." He leers, "I drove across two states to get him away from your family, and I'm not letting my efforts go to waste, so if you want him, get in line."

"You are not going to ruin this for me!"

"What exactly is 'this' again?" He quirks up a brow and gestures around them, "Because from what I see there's nothing to ruin, you're not gettin' Cas away from me without a fight so-"

Dean wishes he could say he's surprised when Luc's fist connects with his face.

He staggers backwards with a gasp, nose erupting in pain, but he stays upright, which he takes as a win.

"30 years..." Luc is seething, knuckles bleeding and dripping down onto the sidewalk, he looks like a rabid animal, "30 years I was free from my family, until Castiel ruined it all. Suddenly I have mother and father and the devil only knows who else pleading with me to come help bring my darling brother home and I want them gone."

The mechanic scoffs and rolls his eyes (God, Claires really rubbing off on him if he's acting like this during a fight), "You could have just blocked 'em."

Then he throws a solid right hook right towards Luc's perfectly shaved chin, delighted at how his opponent drops to his knee from the force of it all.

Luc curses and spits out a gob of mucus and blood, "Not that easy, family is one big, messy business, so I made a deal."

He steps back as Luc stumbles back to his feet, backing off the sidewalk and into the parking lot, "And I take it Cas is your bargaining chip?"

"You're smart for a backwoods nobody." His wolfish grin is stained with blood.

Dean watches Luc make a grab for his collar and pivots at the last second, grabbing his wrist, moving with the sleaze's momentum, and sending them both down to the concrete. 

When the dust settles Dean has Cas' brother on his back, a knee pressed to his chest, arms pinned at his sides.

"Strong too." Luc's laugh is raspy and wrong.

"Yeah," He agress, not out of breath in the slightest (damn, he hasn't been in a proper fight since his 20's) "Leave Cas alone and maybe I wont cave your face in."

"Hmmm," Luc scrunches his face up in thought, "Pass."

There's a nauseating 'CRACK' that echoes out from between them as Luc throws his forehead up to connect with Dean's skull and, wow, if Dean's nose wasn't broken before it certainly is now.

"Fucker-" 

Deans on his back before he can re-gain his bearings.

Somewhere out of his view the door to the diner opens with a pleasant chime, and all he can think of is someone calling the police. 

Wouldn't that be great?

He'd miss his chance with Sam and lose Cas all while rotting in a cell. Yeah, that seems right considering the pattern of his shitty life.

His skull is ringing and his face fucking hurts but he still balls up his fist and makes a wild swing for Luc, managing to knock him off balance enough to pull free and scramble backwards, shoulder knocking against the Prius that he's hating more and more every second.

There's shouting and movement and suddenly Dean's vision is obscured by a rather confused looking runaway.

"Dean, what is happening?" Cas cradling his battered face in warm, broad palms, "Are you alright?"

"Your brother's a snake." Is all Dean can respond with, hoping he's conveying just how fucked up this whole situation is, "Don't trust him."

"What?"

"Your boy-toy is insane, Castiel," Luc is sat up on the ground and glaring at him venomously, Gabriel crouched at his side and inspecting the nasty marks blooming across his jaw, "The jealous bastard attacked me out of nowhere."

Cas turns to Dean with an arched brow, sucking in a breath like he's about to side with Luc and call the cops on Dean, and Dean rushes to speak before he does, words running into each other as he yells out-

"Who's Michael?!"

It's like the world goes still, all three Novak's frozen in place.

Their waitress walks by the window, peering out at them with concern but not doing anything else.

It's probably above her pay to care.

Cas is the first to snap free from his stupor, eyeing Dean more warily than before, "Where did you hear that name...?"

"He-" Dean points towards Luc with as much animosity as he can muster, "Was talking to some dude named Michael on the phone, said they 'had a deal' involving Cas."

"Luc?" Cas' voice wavers as he looks towards his brothers, "Gabe? Why were you speaking with Michael...?"

Gabriel, for his part, has the decency to at least pretend to look surprised (he's a pretty good actor, Dean almost believes it), "We haven't spoken to him, only mother."

"Exactly!" Luc puffs his chest out in victory, "Your boyfriend has obviously gone off the deep end, let's just get out of here before he slits one of our throats."

"I never told Dean about Michael." Cas is almost mumbling to himself now as he pieces together the bloody puzzle before him. Finally, after an agonizing minute of thought, his face sinks with horror, "Dean, you're telling the truth, aren't you?"

"Of course I am, man," He reaches out to grab Cas' shoulder, hoping to anchor him to the reality of the situation, "You trusted me once and I'm really hoping you can do it again, because something isn't right."

"Michaels looking for me," Behind Cas, Luc is is starting to get impatient, scowling at Cas' back, "Why would you be talking to him?"

"It doesn't matter, just get in the car and we can deal with this-"

Cas whips around and, in a voice that sets Dean's teeth on edge, pleads with his brother "Why were you talking to Michael?!"

"DAMNIT, CASTIEL!" The mask finally slips and Dean almost feels bad at the surge of affirmation that it gives, almost, "You're getting in the car even if I have to shove you in the trunk."

Gabriel is looking between all of them with wide eyes, "Let's just take it easy-"

"Fuck off, Gabe," Luc flaps a hand dismissively in his brothers face, "Castiel, you are going back to Pontiac because once you're home I will never have to speak to anyone in that wretched family ever again."

Castiel looks like a kicked puppy-

No, he looks like someone kicked his puppy. Then shot it. 

He just looks utterly devastated.

"You aren't going to help me." 

Cas' voice rips through Dean's chest, even though it's not directed at him, it's just so filled with betrayal that it hurts.

"Why would I help you?" Luc sneers and staggers to his feet, leaving Gabe kneeling on the ground, "I don't even know you. Gabe- hell, Michael- those are my brothers,  you... you and I just happen to share the same shitty parents."

Ouch.

Cas' entire body shudders and Dean feels the urge to yank him back and.... he doesn't really know. Hold him, maybe? Anything to keep Cas from trembling like he is right now.

Gabriel catches Dean's eye and Dean shoots him a withering glare, hoping to convey that, if Luc didn't require so much attention, Gabe would also be receiving the beating of a lifetime.

"If you're not going to get in the car so I can return you, maybe I should just call Michael back and tell him to come here," Luc fishes his phone out of his pocket and holds it above his head, "Yeah, I'll tell him to look out for a black Chevy, license plate KAZ-"

Castiel is flying across the parking lot, nothing more than a blur of tan, and on top of his brother before that poor bastard even finishes his sentence.

Dean's pretty sure he hears Gabe gasp out a 'holy shit' when Cas latches onto Luc, with terrifying accuracy, and wrenches the device right from his grip.

"You will not make me go back-" Cas flings the phone across the lot, shoulders heaving, "I am done taking orders!"

Luc and Gabe both look as shocked as Dean feels watching this awkward, disheveled dude go from 0 to 100 real fucking quick.

Cas looms over both his brothers, "And I'm done with you two."

"We'll follow you, Cassie." Luc taunts. A ballsy move for a man who just got his ass kicked twice, "We ran into you once by accident, you think I can't find you on purpose?"

He's right, as long as the stupid little car at Dean's back is running they're not gonna' be safe.

Unless-

Dean fumbles for the inner pocket of his jacket.

When was little, and he and Sammy were going to be left alone for the first time, his father gave him a gun to protect Sam with. When John had eventually stumbled back he'd taken his gun and handed Dean a sturdy silver pocket knife, ordering it to keep it on him at all times (because a child with a knife was so much better than a child with a gun).

He still never leaves home without it, and yeah, maybe that's some type of insight on how he's still following the first order he was ever given, but well...

If that knife doesn't sink into the tire of Luc's car beautifully.

The sound of air rapidly escaping draws the attention of the 3 Novak's and Dean can only watch as Luc turns to charge at him, fist already raised, only for him to barely make it a step before his legs are swept out from under him and he's, once again, getting cozy with the concrete.

Though this time it seems like he's a little too dazed to get right back up.

Dean can't help but grin like a madman as Cas runs towards him, hoping over his brothers limp form like it's nothing more than an inconvenient pebble.

"Where'd you learn to do all that!?" Dean gasps because watching Cas go all terminator on Luc has him more than intrigued in several ways.

"My father insisted we regularly participated in sports." Cas mumbles back, grabbing Dean by the shoulders and hauling him to his feet with a grunt.

"You didn't get this strength doing baseball, Cas." 

"You're correct." Cas stares down his brothers as Luc begins to stir, a silent warning for him to stay down, "I did Judo."

"What?"

"I did Judo." There's sharp blue eyes staring him down within a second, "Dean are you sure you're not concussed? Short term memory loss is nothing to brush off."

He's honestly not sure because a head injury might be the only way to explain how Cas went from crying over gas station junk food to grappling and incapacitating a guy in a matter of days.

"I'm not concussed let's just-" He halfheartedly shoves Cas away, "Let's get out of here."

"Of course."

They both rush back to Baby, Cas a little more gracefully than Dean, and Dean's just really hoping he was right about not having his bell rung because he refuses to entertain the thought of Cas driving, if the dude even has a license.

It's oddly reminiscent of when he pulled Cas from that weird fucking church, running off before some angry family members could catch them. Only this time he's not being chased down by Cas' brothers, he's just trying to tune them out as they snivel on the ground.

"We'll find you Castiel." Luc rasps, just loud enough to be heard over the wind (this dude does not know when to throw in the towel, does he?), "You know I'm right, it's only a matter of time-"

Dean slams the door shut and turns Baby's engine over, refusing to listen to another word of what that fucker has to say.

Cas doesn't even get his seatbelt on before they're peeling out of the parking lot, leaving Luc hunched over on the pavement and Gabe sitting cross-legged a few feet away, watching them drive off with an expression that Dean can't place.

It's nothing but heavy breathing (both of them) and the occasional curse (Dean as he realizes his nose is definitely broken) for a solid few minutes, like neither of them trust themself to be the first to break the tense silence.

"They know where we're going." 

Dean almost thinks he imagines the quiet gasp, then Cas repeats himself with a little more fervor.

"Dean, Gabe knows where we're going." He looks like he might be sick, "He'll tell Luc and they'll tell my family we're going to Stanford."

Fuck.

He sighs and flexes his hands on the steering wheel, "Then I guess we should take the long way, avoid the main roads for a bit... We're gonna' be cutting it close getting to Sam though."

The thought of just missing his brother makes bile rise in his throat.

"Dean I'm sorry," Cas' eyes are drilling into the side of Dean's face, "You were right, I shouldn't have trusted them, they're not..." He swallows thickly, "They're not the older brothers I remember having."

"They never are." 

Cas sniffles and Dean realizes that they're getting dangerously close to a chick-flick moment and he is not going to do that, not when he's already suffered enough damage for one day.

"No point in beating yourself up over it..." He reaches for the radio, ready to click it on in case he needs some form of noise to prevent them from having a meaningful conversation, "We just gotta' roll with the punches."

Cas still looks fucking miserable.

Okay, new approach.

"I should be thanking you, I haven't gotten in a proper fight for years," He grins widely and swats Cas' shoulder, "And apparently you can fight too? That's friggin' awesome, man. I don't think I've seen someone get leg swept since I was in my 20's."

He thinks it was Garth who'd taken down Benny after someone had bet that the scrawny little dental assistant couldn't hold his own in a fight? Yeah, that was it. They'd all looked at Garth a little differently afterwards.

Cas smiles slyly, "I was very good in my youth, I even trained to use weapons."

"What!?"

"Oh yes, I was very good with short-range weapons like Tantō," He holds his hands apart in measurement, "It's a short sword about this length, very versatile in fights."

"Okay, Rambo," Jesus Christ he sword fights!? And Dean thought guns were the pinnacle of cool, "You'll need to show me some moves."

The dreary air in the car seems to evaporate and Cas smiles like the sun, all gums and teeth, "I would love to spar one day."

"Maybe once we get back from Stanford?" He tries to be subtle in his suggestion, but a little bit of hope bleeds into his words, "Plenty of place to spar back at the house."

Cas blinks at him. Once. Twice.

"You'd let me do that? Stay after we liberate your brother?"

Dean snorts at his choice wording but nods all the same, "Man, after all the trouble I went through to keep you around today, you're sticking close until you're sick of me."

Cas' face goes red and Dean begins to prepare an apology, thinking he might have made his friend uncomfortable, then Cas nods, like he's just come to some sort of conclusion within his mind.

"I don't think I'll ever be sick of you."

Now it's his turn to blush and cough awkwardly.

"Well then..." The wiper blades squeak against the windshield and he quickly turns them off, the storm finally breaking to let a little bit of light shine through the clouds, "Guess we're stuck together."

Chapter Text

Multiple days after Castiel's encounter with his brothers, and well into taking 'the long way' to Stanford, Cas is stuck trying to change clothes in the back of the impala as it sits idly in the corner of a small town Walmart parking lot.

Dean had insisted soon after the diner situation (rather nasally, as he was trying to speak through a rather battered looking nose) that their best option would be to avoid major highways until they were able enter California through the north and take the interstate down to their destination, just incase Luc and Gabe tried to follow them to Stanford by following the optimal route.

On paper, it was a great plan, however the paper did not account for more poor weather, passes being closed for the upcoming winter, and the fact that there seemed to be not a single vacant motel room in the state of Oregon.

So, while Dean sits in the front and cranks the heat up so high that the vents rattle, Cas tries hard as he can to not look like a flopping fish as he shimmies out of his loaned jeans and into a pair of soft sweatpants.

He didn't even bother changing his shirt, content to sleep in the faded Pink Floyd t-shirt he'd dug out of his bag of gifted clothes that morning, when they'd both been certain that they'd find a place to sleep once the sun dipped behind the horizon.

Oh, the foolish optimism of men.

"Are you sure we shouldn't keep going and look for accommodations?" He asks, awkwardly sliding down until he's laying flat on the seat, staring up at the roof of the impala as Dean does something similar in the front.

"Nah..." The engine is turned off and suddenly the impala is so quiet that he can hear Dean's breathing, "Trust me, a night sleeping in here isn't gonna' kill ya'."

Maybe not directly, but who's to say a crazed person with a knife wont try to break into the car and rob them of their non-existent valuables, or they could freeze to death, it is rather cold out tonight-

"You're thinking too loud." Dean grumbles unprompted.

"There is no chance you could hear my thoughts."

"Oh yeah?" There's a hint of challenge in his voice, "Then how'd I know you were back there about to spiral?"

Fair point, but there's most definitely a rational answer to the question that dose not involve mind reading. 

If only he could figure it out.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore..." It's a juvenile response but he can't bring himself to care, they can either discuss something else or fall asleep in terse silence.

For a few minutes Cas thinks Dean's chosen the latter.

It would make sense, for all the 'talking' they've done since they rushed out of Wyoming, none of their conversations have had much substance. Dean's taken it upon himself to educate Cas in the ways of pop culture, playing cassettes and explaining the history of each singer and band in great detail, making sure the motels they stayed in had cable so they could watch crude, cheaply made movies that make Dean laugh for no reason.

Cas has since learned that, when Dean laughs, he should do the same, otherwise the mechanic will tamp down his amusement and sit sheepishly through the rest of the film in relative silence.

He's also learned to ignore the bruises mottling his companions face. Dean brushed off their severity when Castiel had tried to press a motel towel filled with ice to his crooked nose, and now the marks have shifted from fresh red welts to deep purple bruises that Dean hisses at whenever something touches them in the slightest way.

An old lady at McDonalds this morning had given Cas the evil eye when she'd seen Dean's face, that had been an unpleasant experience.

"Okay dude, I gotta' know-" Dean's tone is light and it just makes Castiel suspicious, "How many brothers do you have?"

An innocent question in theory, but it could so easily lead down an unsavory road.

"Three- wait no, I'm sorry. Five. I have five brothers." Had, he supposes.

"How'd you miss two of 'em?" 

"We don't count disowned children." And, wow, does that sound truly awful when he says it out loud.

"Jesus Christ..." Dean can't be blamed for his judgment, considering how family oriented he seems to be, "What are you? Middle child? Oldest?"

"Youngest." 

Michael and Luc were the oldest (and twins, which had always been a sore point for Michael), then Raphael, Gabriel, Uriel, and finally Castiel.

"And they..." His friend hesitates for a moment, "They just never talked about your brothers after they walked out?"

"Not fondly. Gabriel was used as an example of what could happen if you didn't take things seriously, and Lucifer was just a cautionary tale in general..." He was the first of the Novak siblings to leave the path that had been so carefully paved for them, and for that he'd been peddled as a liar, a cheat, "I guess I had hoped all the stories were false."

That they'd be more like him.

There's a snort of laughter from the front, which is not at all appropriate given the conversation topic, "You're calling him Lucifer now? That's awesome, he deserves it."

"It's his name, Dean."

"What?" Green eyes peer at Cas over the seat, wide with disbelief, "You're fucking with me."

Castiel doesn't even bother to sit up, just throws his companion a lazy side-eye. He's not sure if Dean's joking or not, he hopes not, he's too tired for such things right now.

"Surely you've noticed by now?" The look on Dean's face makes it painfully clear that he hasn't, in fact, noticed, "Angels, Dean. We're all named after angels."

Dean's quiet for a seconds, face ever so slightly pinched like he's trying so, so hard to process this new information through a haze of head injury.

"Lucifer isn't an angel." Is the sentence the mechanic finally settles on as he lays back down, saying it like such a statement of fact that Cas can't help the fond smile that he feels shadow over his face.

"That's a debated fact." 

Castiel can remember Michael snapping at him when he once made the same assumption after Sunday school. His older brother had dragged him into their fathers study and pulled out an old book, a dictionary of angels, which had stated that Lucifer wasn't meant to be equated with Satan, but that there was a misreading in the holy texts.

He's still not certain how true that book had been, but Michael had been so insistent upon it that he'd dropped the subject. 

What else was he supposed to do? Michael so rarely spoke of Lucifer, and when he did he seemed to despise every fiber of his twins being, going along with adults in calling him a lying cheat, so for him to berate Castiel and defend their estranged brother... Well, even as a little kid, Cas knew not to question Michael past that point.

He can't help but wonder though; If his brother became a snake because he wanted to be, or because that's all their family told him he was. 

"Are you named after an angel?"

Dean's voice drags Castiel back to the moment, to the fogged up impala, separated from the closest thing he has to a friend by a wall of leather, almost like a poorly constructed confessional.

"Yes, though I'm afraid not a very good one."

"Awe, don't say that," His companion chides softly, "What is it? Angel of Runways? Accountants? Untamable bedhead?"

All are fairly amusing, and accurate, guesses, but Cas still has to shake his head, "The Angel of Thursday."

There's a pause, just for a moment, while Dean mulls over the meaning of Castiel's name, "All right, it's not an awesome namesake."

"I liked it growing up, it came with low expectations, nobody expects anything from Thursdays child."

The light streetlights flickering into the impala flicker as a large truck passes in front of them, briefly plunging him into darkness.

"And now?" Why Dean seems so insistent on learning about a life that Castiel has just cut the last ties too, Cas can't say, but God help him, he'll answer any question Dean asks.

"I grow more disdainful of it every day..." 

"Yeah, I can't help ya' there, Cas, not like you're gonna' find your name on a keychain or anything."

Castiel must be more tired than he realizes because he suddenly blurts into the dark, "I like it when you call me that."

A car alarm goes off in the distance.

"What?"

He's glad Dean can't see him right now, nor the way his face is burning all the way to the tips of his ears.

"I...You call me Cas..." Is it pathetic that three letters mean the world to him? Maybe, "It's a nice name."

Dean hums in thought, "Thanks, I made it just for you."

The air seems to warm slightly and Cas smiles even though he knows no one can see it.

He curls his arms around his chest, a sigh escaping him before he can stop it, "I wish things had gone differently with my brothers."

"I know." Dean whispers back almost inaudibly, "But I think I'd be a hypocrite if I said brothers always do what's best for each other..."

Cas lets his mind wander back to his earlier thought of the car feeling like a confessional; though, now, he doesn't know who is divulging sins and who is forgiving them.

He's not even sure if they're being forgiven at all or if their burden is just being shared.

Dean knows he's been keeping Cas in silence for too long, but he can't help himself, and Cas doesn't really seem to care anyways, he's just lying on his back hands folded across his stomach over one of the shirts he borrowed from Dean.

“Sammy and I haven't seen each other for…” He trails off to do some mental math and feels his stomach twist, “I guess almost a decade, now…”

The corners of Cas’ mouth tug downwards, “But he invited you to his wedding?"

“Yeah,” His throat clicks as he swallows, forcing himself to keep going because, hell, he's already gotten this far, “I mentioned my dad died?”  

He waits for Cas’ nod of confirmation before he continues.

“Yeah, he died when I was 18, heart attack. After that it was just me and Sammy but, ya’ know, he was 14 and he needed stability so I packed up Baby and took him to live at our Uncle Bobby’s.”

He remembers dads funeral vividly, no matter how much he wishes he couldn't, how all the guys from his old unit kept patting Dean on the shoulder and telling him to stay strong. Uncle Bobby was the first person to hug him and let Dean fall apart, to be fucking mad, because he didn’t know how to take care of a kid alone, especially without dad’s extra bit of income to keep them steady.

“You took ‘him’ to live at your uncles? Where did you go?”

Damn, Cas might not be awesome with small talk, but he can certainly pick apart sentences with deadly accuracy.

“I went to basic training.” He sighs out his answers and flops back on the seat, somehow finding it easier to divulge his secrets to Cas with a wall between them, “We needed health insurance and stuff so I dropped out of high school, got a GED, and enlisted as soon as I could…”

Sam had cried.

He’d cried and white-knuckled Dean’s uniform and pleaded with him not to leave and Dean had just promised he'd be back once his contract was over and that they'd be okay.

Cas' disembodied voice drifts from the back seat, "What then?"

"A 4-year contract in exchange for health insurance and a G.I Bill that I put in Sammy's name," That had been a nightmare of paperwork, because for some reason the military decided that the one thing the soldiers they used like tools needed after long days was fucking paperwork. Half of it didn't make sense, half of it he'd sent off and heard 0 word about until a couple months later, there truly was no greater hell than beurocracy, "I got out right after Sam graduated high school, and-"

A frayed laugh escapes him.

"Dean," Cas' voice is impossibly gentle and Dean wants so badly to get closer to it, to press his face to Cas' chest so he can feel the rumble of his gravely words, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"No it's okay, it's-" He takes a shuddering breath as quietly as he can, refusing to lose his cool in front of Cas, "I'm good, I just don't really tell people about this. 'Cept maybe Benny..."

Damn, Benny had been his rock during his enlistment, he'd been one of the cooks in the chow hall so they didn't really work together, but when they had breaks... Garth used to say they should just get married already and rake in spousal benefits. 

'Course, that had been years before Dean came to terms with who he was, who he'd let himself be, and Benny hadn't waited with baited breath for Dean to figure it all out. By the time they'd gotten out and settled down, Dean knew he liked guys in a way that was dangerous, and Benny had met Andrea.

At least Benny had stuck around as a friend, even if there weren't anymore benefits.

Dean clears his throat (he really needs to stop getting lost in thought), "Anyways, yeah, I went back to Sioux Falls expecting to see this gangly kid but Sam was... he was different. He was tall for starters, I mean, Bobby sent pictures but they did not do him justice, that little shit grew like a weed. But the way he looked at me... You don't understand, it's like he didn't know who I was."

"I'm sure that was hard."

Dean nods, then realizes Cas can't see him, "Yeah, yeah man it- it sucked. I thought he was just adjusting but then I he didn't even tell me he was leaving for Stanford until the day it was happening, didn't let me help him pack, didn't let me drive him to the airport, he just- He was just gone."

Sam's words still haunt him. Dean had exploded after finding out that Sam was just leaving like that, with no warning and barely a goodbye, and his brother had just scoffed and asked him how it felt. 

Dean had insisted that what he'd done was different, that what he did was for Sam, because it was his job to look after their fucked up little family after what happened. 

'Didn't dad say something like that after mom died?' Sam had betrayed a look of hurt when he said that, like he'd been bottling his words up for ages, and it had shattered Dean's heart, 'As far as I'm concerned, Dad didn't die from that heart attack, my brother did.'.

He wants to stop talking, to curl up into himself like he's a kid again and block out the rest of the world, but he needs to finish this, if for nothing else, so Cas knows who he's entangled himself with.

"Bobby used to make sure we talked on the phone, and for a while things were okay, then something happened to Sam in Stanford, I don't really know the details, this girl he was seeing ended up dying and then this other chick swooped in to pick up the pieces before I could find time to get to Sam and help him." 

"Is this the one Sam's marrying?" Cas asks, tone careful and even.

"Yeah, and she's bad news man, Sam didn't even-" This, this is the hard part, the part he's never told anyone, "Sam didn't even pick up the phone when Bobby died. Didn't come to the funeral, I had to tell everyone he was too swamped with mid-terms to get away." He'd left so many voicemails for his brother, some composed as he asked for legal advice others, more shamefully, where he's drunk and screaming into the receiver, "Ruby picked up the phone once, didn't let me talk to Sam, said he didn't need me anymore, and I know I sound crazy Cas, I know. But sometimes I see pictures of him on social media at parties with his lawyer buddies, then I see pictures of Ruby and she's into some hardcore stuff and I just... I don't know if he's using or just making some bad choices, but I really don't think he's doing well."

The silence in Baby is so deafening, he wishes the seat beneath him could just swallow him whole.

His eyes are burning, and a tentative finger to his bruised cheekbone reveals damp skin.

He doesn't know when he started crying.

There's a rustle of fabric from the back and Dean half expects Cas' blue eyes to appear over the top of the seat and confirm his worst fears, that he's just being paranoid, that he's going to crash his brothers wedding when Sam obviously meant the invitation as an olive branch, but it never happens.

Instead a tanned hand appears, just hanging there, and Cas suddenly mumbles, "I was hoping to reassure you with contact but it appears my arm is not nearly long enough."

And Dean, for all the shitty feelings he's trying to wrestle with, can't stop the laugh that rattles his aching chest.

He reaches up and intertwines his fingers with Cas'. It's almost like a life line, a tether that keeps him from sinking into the pit of shame that's opened up beneath him.

Dean scooches as close to the back of the seat as he can, wondering if Cas is doing the same, if the only thing keeping them apart is some a piece an old leather, "It's the thought that counts, I guess."

"Indeed."

For a moment it's nice, sitting there and letting his mind believe that he could have this every night if he really tried. He can act like this isn't going to end like everything else in his life, with him at the bottom of a bottle or crying on the couch eating a tub of Ben and Jerrys while binge watching Dr.Sexy.

Man... He really should stop this before he finds himself too attached.

"Listen, man, I'm not big on chick flick moments-" 

He puts one hand on the dash and keeps a firm hold on Cas' with the other, hauling himself up and glancing towards the back to see Cas contorted against the seat, cheek pressed to the upholstery, looking up at Dean with wide eyes and red cheeks.

His words die on his tongue.

"Please, Dean, finish your sentence, I can wait." There's a note of sarcasm in Cas' voice, but amusement pulls at the corners of his mouth.

"It uh- It doesn't matter." He swings around so his arms are folded on the back of the seat, "You stuck?"

"No." To prove his point, Cas wiggles gracelessly from where he's half-sprawled on the floorboards and, with great effort, manages to get back onto the bench, a smug look on his face, though all Dean can think about his how Cas had to let go of his hand to do so, leaving them separated again.

This time it's Dean who reaches out, leaning into the back and crossing some unspoken line that means both everything and nothing at all, "You forgettin' something?"

Cas appraises Dean's outstretched hand for a moment, then he grins widely and grabs on with both of his own hands, grip strong.

"Woah," The sudden, strong movement, while surprising, is not unwelcome, "What'cha' doin' there- ACK-"

Cas twists sharply and, with that one movement, Dean is halfway draped over the seat. He understands what Cas was trying to do, even if he didn't have the leverage to fully succeed with his scheme, so Dean takes it upon himself to clamber the rest of the way into the back.

The back seat is spacious, but still, it wasn't quiet meant for 2 grown men to share like this, so after much maneuvering and some flailing elbows to ribs, Dean eventually finds himself sprawled out on top of Cas' chest, one leg resting on the floorboards, one wedged between Cas' thigh and the back of the seat, the blue eyes man staring at him with utter adoration.

Oh man... this is going to hurt when it all falls apart.

But maybe it'll be worth it for a little bit of time tangled together with strong, comforting arms.

"Looks like I'm-" A yawn cuts his sentence off midway, "Sleepin' back here with you?"

Cas nods in agreeance like he's approving a business deal, "I'd like nothing more."

"Then that settles it."

He's careful when he winds up tucking his face under Cas' chin, trying not to press the tender muscles in his jaw to the collarbone beneath him.

It's been years since he's just laid with someone like this, a hand carding through his hair in a way that should feel emasculating but just feels fucking nice.

"You know that you did nothing wrong, right?" Cas' voice rumbles in his chest just like Dean had hoped it would.

"Huh?"

"Regarding your brother," Cas clarifies as he swings his free hand off the side and begins to grope around on the floor, eventually grabbing onto that fugly trench coat and pulling it up and over their intertwined bodies in one smooth move,  "You made the best choice you could."

"I shouldn't have abandoned him."

The fingers in his hair still, "You did not abandon your brother. I know that, deep down, you know that."

Maybe that's true, but all he can do to avoid thinking about that is to chuckle under his breath, "Now who's reading minds?"

"Dean." Cas sounds like he's trying to chastise him, but his voice is a little sleepy and all it does is make Dean shift and look up at Cas through his eyelashes.

"Yeah, Cas?"

The rest of the world melts away in seconds, leaving only Dean and Cas, fitting together like the last two pieces of a broken puzzle, lips parted, staring at each other with a fondness neither of them knew existed in the universe.

Cas leans his head down at the same time Dean scoots up to get closer, ready to really throw it all to the wind when, suddenly, all he feels is a white hot flare of pain across the bridge of his nose.

Fuck, Cas' jawline doesn't just look strong, it is strong. Or, at least, it's strong enough to make Dean feel like he's just re-dislocated his nose with just a simple bump.

"Oh no-" He can vaguely hear Cas say as he hisses and cradles his, still very busted, nose, "Dean, are you-?"

"I'm good, I'm good," The scratchy fabric of Cas' shirt brushes across his forehead as he doubles over in a feeble attempt to regain his bearings, "son of a bitch. Ow. Fuck."

He can almost feel Cas' burning squint on him, "So you were lying to me this morning when I'd asked if your injuries were still hurting?"

"I got it handled, Cas," Damnit, he'd been so close to seeing how Cas' chapped lips feel up against his, "But there isn't anything I can really do about it, if I went to a clinic they'd just tape it up, and I can do that myself if I really need to."

"But I hadn't asked if you could handle it," Cas angles himself a bit awkwardly before managing to get a hand on either side of Deans battered face, gently forcing him to look back up towards the man who cared far too much about some nobody from Kansas, "I'd asked if you were hurting."

"The only thing that's hurting right now is my ego." And his nose, still, but he really doesn't want to ruin the mood any further.

"I'm afraid I don't know how to nurse a bruised ego." 

Dean smiles slyly, "I have an idea."

"Oh?"

"Yep!" His own fingers find Cas' stubbled chin and gently hold it steady as he leans in again.

This time Cas doesn't dare move, he just stares at Dean like he hung the moon itself before their lips slowly crash together in a way Dean's certain he won't ever forget, in fact, he might just cherish this tender, sappy moment till the day he drops.

And maybe, if he's lucky, this isn't the last time he'll get to know what Cas' undeserved affection really tastes like.

Chapter Text

The morning he'd woken up in Baby's back seat, he'd admittedly panicked, resisting every urge to wrench himself away and dive into the front seat just to avoid facing Cas.

Now though... holed up in the San Franciscan motel they'd checked into late last night, now he just feels content.

He rubs the sleep from his eyes so he can stare down at the dark haired man plastered to his side with a small smile. 

This is good. 

"Cas..." The sun outside is well-past risen, grey morning light filtering into their motel through the curtains, "You awake?"

Cas grumbles unintelligibly and tries to burrow deeper into Dean's ribs.

"Cas, c'mon man," He tries to gently extract himself only for Cas' head to snap up, eyes half closed but full of rage, silently daring him to make another move, "I want coffee."

"Later." His partner (Partner? Is that the right word? Boyfriend feels too juvenile... Maybe Luc was onto something when he called Dean Cas' mistress) drops his forehead back down onto Dean's chest.

With a groan Dean fumbles for his phone on the nightstand, "Not later, it's already-" His eyes almost bug out of his head, "Jeez, we slept in till 10."

Slowly, very slowly, Cas seems to be waking up, "Is that such a bad thing?"

"I'm getting out of this bed before we spend the whole day in here." God... that kinda' sounds nice though... maybe they could, the wedding's not till tomorrow, and it's not like he knows where Sam lives, so there's no chance of catching him before-

No.

No, they're going to go out and do all the stupid touristy shit Cas has never gotten to do before.

"Dean, do not-" Cas begins to warn, only to get cut off as Dean breaks free of his octopus arms and rolls right off the bed, taking the comforter with him.

The noise Cas makes as he's abruptly made aware of how their motel room lacks heating reminds Dean of that scene in The Wizard of Oz where the wicked witch melts into a puddle.

"You're fine, Cas," Dean picks himself up and raises his arms above his head, letting all his joints crackle and pop their way awake, "I promise."

Cas is sitting up now, arms wrapped around his chest, glaring at Dean like a cat whos just been dunked in the sink, "It's cold."

"You'll live."

His companion just pouts and stares up at Dean absolutely pitifully until Dean breaks.

"Maybe just a little longer..." He mumbles, leaning down and connecting Cas' eager lips to his.

Yeah, who needs to see San Francisco anyway? They can just stay here and spend some one-on-one time together, maybe they could even-

Something ice cold sliding along his ribs snaps him out of his thoughts really fucking fast.

"Oh, come on!" He stumbles backwards as Cas tries valiantly to keep his freezing hands on Deans bare skin, "Really!?"

"Oh I'm sorry," Cas does not look sorry, "Are my hypothermic appendages a bother to you?"

There's silence for a moment, both of them staring at each other with sheer stubbornness, then Cas lunges forward like he's going to try latching onto Dean with his popsicle fingers and all decorum is lost.

"Nope," Dean manages to make it out of Cas' reach by mere inches, "Nope! Not today!"

"This is your doing." Cas spits back, muscles tensed like he's just waiting for another chance to grab his partner.

Dean ends up barricading himself in the bathroom just so he can get ready for the day in peace.

Even then, he doesn't let his guard down till Cas has also rotated through the bathroom, taking a shower so obscenely hot that Dean swears he see's steam curling out from under the door.

Once Cas has sufficiently boiled himself alive and gotten dressed in Dean's loaned clothes and dorky coat (which Dean is slowly growing more appreciative of) they head out for a day on the town, leaving Baby behind because well-

1, San Francisco seems like a pretty walkable city.

2, he doesn't trust Californians, and he doesn't know what would happen to Baby if he left her parked on the street.

Breakfast (Cas calls it "brunch" and Dean is suddenly reminded of just how yuppie the guy he's fallen for really is) is first on the menu- heh, menu. The two of them find a little coffee shop on the corner and order bagel sandwiches that come with a garnish because they're fucking fancy like that.

Then the real touristy fun begins.

They walk through Chinatown, where Cas shows off by speaking in a completely different language with some tourists who were lost ("It was conversational Russian, Dean, I'm barely fluent"), and get a photo in front of the Dragons gate.

Admittedly, when Dean briefly lived in California in middle school, he'd thought he was too cool to do 'touristy' things.

He gets it now, though, why people get pictures in front of landmarks and spend forever walking around a single city. 

The picture of him and Cas standing together, arms around each other, that they'd asked a couple visiting from Oregon to take, is getting printed and framed as soon as they're back in Kansas.

They end up near the piers for a late lunch, get to see the golden gate bridge and Alcatraz (from the docks, but it was still kinda' neat), and by the time the sun is dipping back down on the horizon Dean's almost been able to forget the reason they're here.

For an afternoon it feels like they're just a normal couple, that they're not here to crash a wedding in the morning, not being tracked by some physco cultists- screw what Cas says, his family has 'cult' written all over it- not strangers who met just over a week prior....

"I can see why my brothers moved here." Cas says as they wander without an end point, content to just explore until someone decides it's time to head back, "In a large city... It's easy to be insignificant."

"I'd say you're pretty significant, Cas."

Cas glances at him sideways, "You think?"

"Yeah," Considering that Dean's crashed a wedding, gotten in a fistfight, and slashed some asshats tires for Cas... "Yeah, I think you are."

His companion hums at that but gives no real response.

Dean's content in their comfortable quiet, the sounds of the city providing plenty of ambient noise.

God, cities might be fine to visit for a bit, but he can't imagine living here, he can't imagine how Sam lives here. No true privacy, no wildlife except for some mangy looking pigeons, you cant even see the stars. And it's loud.

Even in the quiet, it's loud.

Cars backfiring, people chattering, a few distant bangs that he wants to think are fireworks, sirens, classic rock-

Classic rock?

He stops in his tracks and looks around, trying to pin down which building is playing Cheap Trick right now.

Then he sees it.

A front entrance with double-glass doors, neon letters above the awning, LED signs everywhere else.

Hell yes.

"Oho..." Dean feels his face split into a grin, "We're going in here."

"What-?" Cas follows him past the swinging glass doors, his eyes widening in surprise as he lets out a small, "Oh my."

His reaction is understandable, Dean would probably feel similarly overwhelmed if he was in his 30's and had yet to see the inside of a good ol' fashioned arcade.

It's beautiful, horrible neon splattered carpets that glow under the black lights, music that was only popular on MTV blaring from the speakers, the sounds of 8-bit sound effects echoing off the walls.

Dean spreads his arms out wide, "Take it in, Cas, this is everything you ever missed out on."

"I missed out on... game machines and questionable looking food?" He asks, watching a waitress go hurrying past with a pair of- frankly delicious- looking nachos.

"Yes."

Their first stop is the prize counter to buy a decent stack of cheap plastic tokens. When Dean asked why the old-style arcade machines don't just take quarters like they used to the old dude behind the counter just sighed and asked if Dean knew how hard it was to deposit hundreds of dollars worth of coins nowadays.

Dean didn't, but the guys face told him that the answer wasn't 'it's easy as pie!'.

He took their tokens and ordered them a couple beers without any more questions.

"Okay," He shoves the shiny faux-coins into his coat pocket then accepts the drinks, "Where should we- Cas?"

Cas is obviously not listening, too busy staring up at a shelf on the wall displaying all the prizes you could win with your tickets to even register Dean trying to talk to him.

"Hey-" Dean nudges his companion in the ribs, making Cas shoot him a withering glare, "What'cha lookin' at, hot stuff?"

Bless his heart, despite the way his face goes beet red in the dim neon lights, Cas manages to keep a neutral faces as he points out a small stuffed plush sitting on the shelf, wedged between an obnoxiously large teddy bear and a Nerf gun.

A fucking ugly stuffed plush (Dean thinks maybe it's a bee...?).

"Heh," Dean chuckles, "Freaky lookin'-"

"I'm getting him."

"I beg your goddamn pardon?"

Cas steels his gaze on the insect like he can will it to teleport directly into his hands, "I will leave here with that bee."

It's not even a handsome or 'cute' looking bee, no cartoon eyes or little smile, it just looks like a large fucking insect, empty dark eyes and all. 

"Why?"

Cas sets his jaw, "Bee's are lovely creatures, Dean." Then he turns to Dean with a look that Dean used to think was reserved for new CO's during field exercises, all grit and determination because, no matter what, their squad would be coming out on top, "How do I ensure I leave here with one?"

Jesus Christ, intense Cas is kinda' scary- kinda' sexy too but they're in public and he is not going to let his mind go there, he's not.

Dean squints up at the card under the bee, 1,000 tickets for the little gremlin, not bad.

They're also selling a big rainbow slinky for 200 tickets and Dean feels himself staring at it for a little too long.

"You're only getting him one way, Cas," He forces himself to look away from the slinky and pulls a handful of coins out of his pocket, "Shall we play a game?"

Growing up Dean had learned a few lessons really freaking fast, some were bad, some left him sore for days, but some were good, great even.

Like arcades.

No matter where they moved or how old Dean was, there was always some greasy arcade in town where he and Sammy could go to get out of the house. They all had Galaga (one of Deans favorite because who the fuck dosen't like space warfare?) and Tetris (Sams favorite because he was a little nerd), they all smelled like their cheap synthetic carpets, and they were perfect.

Whoever put together this arcade must have grown up in them because Dean feels just like he did when he was 13 as he drags Cas through the aisles of old machines (and sure, there's some new games too, but he's choosing to ignore them).

"Okay," Dean parks them in front of Space Invaders and hands Cas a couple coins, "Lets start easy, use the joystick to move that little cannon across the bottom and that button right there to shoot at the aliens that come down from the top."

"And...?" Cas looks suspicious, dropping his coins into the slot then watching the screen light up.

"That's it." He gives the best thumbs up he can while also balancing two beers and a couple coins that Cas didn't grab, "You got this!"

About 5 minutes later it became painfully clear that no, no Cas did not 'got this'.

He struggled to understand the mechanics, kept shooting his own towers and, well, Dean's not sure someone's ever been so infuriated by an arcade game since the 80's.

And it's not just Space Invaders.

Cas seems to be utterly hopeless at any and all machine games, and Dean would probably be blue in the face from laughing by now if Cas didn't look so miserable over his shortcomings.

Dean finally ends up taking pity on him and handing him their drinks, watching Cas take a few solid gulps from his own bottle before knocking out a solid run of Galaga (hell yeah, still got it) and letting the stream of tickets fall right into his hand.

"There's a trick here-" Dean instructs, tugging gently on the little papers, "Don't rip 'em out of the machine, if you pull real gentle, you can usually get a few more out."

Cas just nods sullenly as the mechanic manages to coax out a whopping 5 more tickets from the slot.

"Cheer up, man," He feels bad, today was supposed to be a good day for Cas, and he's ending it on a low note all so Dean could go get high off of nostalgia, "Maybe you'll be better at the physical games, pinball, skeeball?"

He takes a long pull of his drink as Cas' face screws up in defeat.

"After my performance with these games, I doubt my ball handling will be much better."

It's only through some higher power that Dean doesn't choke to death on his beer right then and there.

"That's-" He hacks up a lung as Cas rushes to place a soothing hand on his back, "We could always-" Oh God there's booze in his sinuses, "Ya' never know."

"I suppose..." Cas rubs circles into Deans shoulder, staring listlessly around the arcade as Dean does his best to not pass out, "What game is that?"

Dean takes a deep breath and straightens up, "Which one?"

"That one." Cas points out a large machine at the end of the row of pixel games, all lights and music that doesn't match what the rest of the arcade is playing.

"DDR." Dean groans. 

DDR came out a bit after Dean stopped frequenting arcades, but he's still tried his hand (foot?) at it a few times, usually drunk and always to the detriment of his reputation.

"DDR?"

"It's a dancing game." 

Please don't ask to try it, please don't ask to try it, please don't-

"It looks intriguing, I'd like to try."

FUCK.

He just wanted to play Galaga.

Cas wanders over to the single-player machine while Dean shuffles behind, "Could you demonstrate how to play?"

He'd rather throw himself in the bay, "Yeah, sure."

There's a lot more songs on the selection screen than he remembers there being and, honestly, Dean just panics and hits 'play' the first familiar song title that he sees.

Not a bad strategy in theory, but damn, did he have to recognize a song by The Weather Girls...

He shucks his jacket and tosses it over the railing behind him just as the first arrows float onto screen.

What ensues is a solid minute and a half of pure public humiliation, complete with Cas watching his every move like a goddamn hawk, as he tries to not think about how he's dancing to a song about good-looking men falling from the sky.

Shit, though... if the men are anything like Cas... well, he might understand the urge to praise God for delivering them right to him.

"You made a valiant effort," Cas consoles as the song comes to an end, leaving Dean panting for air as a measly 2 tickets spit out of the slot, "I think I understand the mechanics now."

Dean doesn't even bother grabbing his tickets, "Great, you knock yourself out."

He's not pouting- he's not- as he leans against the wall across from the machine, downing the rest of his beer as Cas carefully examines each and every song on the list.

And he definitely doesn't go from not-pouting to almost dying again when the first beats of dance music start to play.

Cas, much like Dean, takes the brief moment before the game really begins to lose his trench coat, then he stretches his arms above his head to reveal a streak of skin where his shirt rucks up (goddamn tease).

Then he's dancing.

He's dancing to Madonna.

And he's-

Fuck. 

He's pretty good at it.

Okay, Dean's not ashamed to admit that he doesn't even try to hide his gawking as Cas manages to move flawlessly to the beat, hips swaying with the movement, because any person with eyes would have their jaw on the floor with how Cas looks up there.

The world feels like it narrows down to just Cas, diligently following every combination that appears on screen, then lighting up with a wide smile as the machine compliments his moves.

There's a point in the song, where Cas has to jump onto the side arrows and hold it for a few moments, where the dark haired man looks back at Dean with sheer pride, and Dean can feel his heart catch in his throat.

Maybe he's having a heart attack, just like his old man, maybe he's going to drop just like John did.

Except Dean will die happy.

Cas wins 100 tickets for his perfect performance of 'Like a Virgin' (Something Dean's not sure if Cas is or not, but if he's the latter, Dean will certainly be fixing that ASAP), but Dean is starting to believe that he's the real winner of this situation when Cas turns around looking all winded and ruffled.

"For someone named after a religious figure," Cas leans against the back bar of the machine "her music is less than...." he pauses to think "pious."

"You're the one who danced to her song." Dean reminds not without fondness, "Good job on the tickets, by the way, how do ya' feel?"

Cas stares down at his fistful of paper in contemplation, "Victorious."

"Well then," Dean slings an arm over his partners shoulders and steers him away from the game, not eager to see Cas go on a DDR fueled power-trip, "Let's keep that winning streak up."

By the time the arcade announces last call their arms are full of tickets, they're a little buzzed, and they're both grinning like teenagers on their first date.

Turns out that Cas is pretty good at most games that don't require joysticks or buttons, and together the two of them make a pretty good team, Cas even cheered Dean on as he kicked some snot nosed teenagers ass at Duck Hunt (The kid had it coming, really, saying Dean probably "couldn't even see the screen without his reading glasses").

And even though the evening started out rough, it's worth it to see Cas' face as Dean hands over their hard-earned tickets in exchange for that fuck-ass bee plush.

"Here." He passes off the fugly little bug to Cas, who grins a disproportionate amount at the prize. 

“Oh, he's lovely!” Cas holds the thing at eye-level with nothing but sheer love painted on his face, “Thank you, Dean!”

A part of Dean preens at Cas’ adoration of his gift, and another part begins to weep once he realizes that that stupid fucking plush is going to be making him the third-wheel in their relationship for the foreseeable future.

Then, as they step out of the arcade and onto the chilly street, Cas plants a kiss right between the creatures eyes and Dean realizes it's worse than third-wheeling.

He’s getting cucked by a stuffed bee.

“Oh!” Cas’ sudden gasp pulls Dean out of his thoughts, “I also got something for you!”

Carefully tucking the stuffed animal under one arm, Cas uses his free hand to dig through one of his ever deep pockets.

“I noticed you looking at it while we were at the prize counter.” 

He holds out his hand and reveals a rainbow tube about the diameter of his palm.

“No way…” He grabs the top of it and pulls, watching it unwind in a spiral, “You got me a slinky!?”

“I'll admit, I'm not sure exactly how you're supposed to use them, it seems like they just-”

Dean eagerly holds up each end and extends his arms as far out as they'll go, watching the plastic spring up and down with the movement.

“Do that.”

“They're awesome.” He insists, “I used to want one so bad as a kid, it was ridiculous.”

Cas puffs up a little, probably with the same pride Dean had been feeling earlier after handing Cas his bee, and the two begin their walk back to the motel, barely even feeling the wind nipping at their noses.

“So…” Dean asks after a couple blocks, feeling pleasantly buzzed from such a delightful day, “Did you enjoy your one day in San Francisco?”

“I found it to be quite enjoyable.” Cas smiles slyly and leans into Dean's side.

Dean sees his opportunity and takes it, pressing his lips to the top of Cas' ruffled hair, “Yeah, me too.”

Chapter Text

They left the arcade in the small hours of the morning and Castiel has never felt more thrilled to exist. 

He's got one arm around Dean's, one arm around his new bee (a stuffed bee that, logically, is little more than a trivial trinket, but to him it is everything. The first gift Dean's given them in their relationship, a reminder of his freedom, a belonging that is his and his alone...) and it's perfect.

This is perfect.

They're only a few blocks from the motel and Cas wants nothing more than to curl up next to Dean for a few hours until they inevitably have to be up and on their way to a wedding. He supposes this is the calm before the storm, in a way.

Dean is in the middle of telling Cas about how he'd convinced Benny to move to Sioux Falls after getting married (quiet a feat, considering Dean had started the story by emphasizing how Benny had been a proud resident of Louisiana) when he suddenly freezes in place.

Cas doesn't even notice right away, moving forward a few more steps before he turns to look back at Dean, "What's the matter-?"

“Is that your brother?” Dean asks abruptly, causing Cas’ stomach to plummet to the asphalt.

“Where!?” He whips around frantically, hands raised defensively because he wouldn't put it past any one of his siblings to jump out of the shadows and try to knock him out cold.

“Cas- Cas, take it easy!” The mechanic grabs Cas’ shoulder and points him towards a small sidewalk billboard, “Look.”

Once his heart stops trying to jump out of his chest he's able to get a proper look at the blonde man plastered to the sign, posing with what looks to be-

Well, Cas greatly hopes they're not what he thinks they are, but there's only so many things that look like condom packets.

“What on earth…”

“Apparently Gabe is an advocate for safe sex in the Queer community,” Dean muses as he leans forward to read the print below Gabriel’s grinning face, “That’s- huh… Your family just keeps getting weirder, man.”

He wishes he could come up with a quick response, but he's too busy trying to wrap his head around what on God's earth is happening.

"Stop reading the sign!" Cas eventually manages to hiss at Dean, who's still making an exaggerated point of leaning so close to the illuminated poster that his nose is almost touching it.

Dean doesn't lean back, "'Paid for by Trickster Studios', is your brother an actor?"

"Director, actually."

Cas flinches so hard that he almost looses his grip on his bee; Either this is a very interactive billboard or...

He turns around slowly and, for the second time in just a few minutes, his stomach drops.

"Gabe...?" He despises the way his voice trembles around one single word.

"Hey, Cassie," Gabe's standing a few yards away, hands shoved in the pocket of a pricey looking wool jacket and a half-spent cigarette dangling from his lips, "Fancy seeing you here."

Castiel knows he's doing a remarkable impression of a fish without air, mouth opening and closing desperately with no sound to accompany it.

Dean (thank the lord above for Dean) steps between Cas and his brother, arms crossed, "How'd you find us? You a stalker now?"

"What? No, I-" The older Novak blinks in surprise, "I live here." He points at a building in the distance, "My office that way."

"Yeah right," Dean scoffs, "what are you really doing here?"

Gabe's lips press together in a thin line, "You don't believe me? That's my fucking face behind you-"

They continue their bickering and Castiel takes the opportunity to quickly check the surrounding area. No sign of Luc's car, or Luc, nor of Michael or any other Novak. Hell, it honestly feels like all of San Francisco has disappeared just to avoid the three of them.

"Dean," Cas sets a hand on his partners shoulder, stopping the mechanic halfway between calling Gabe a 'snake-eyed Yuppie' and something starting with 'son of a bas-', "Let me talk to him."

"He followed us!" There's something pleading in Dean's eyes, "Cas, there's no way he's telling the truth-"

"Please." Dean's absolutely right, the chances of this being another trap are remarkably high, but something about how Gabe looks so caught off guard, how there's not another estranged sibling in sight, they're missing a piece of the story, and Cas will be damned if he doesn't try to find it. "Dean, I trust you, just give me a few minutes."

Dean looks like he'd rather tear Gabe apart with his bare hands, but he eventually huffs and bites out a, "Fine." before adding, "But if he tries anything-"

"I can handle it."

It's almost as if Dean's forgotten about the fight in the parking lot, but they can discuss that later, for now Cas just gives him a tight smile that he prays is reassuring before closing the distance between him and his brother.

"Gabriel." 

"Cassie," Gabe looks back at Dean, then down at Cas' arms, "Nice bee."

Then he drops down, settling on the curb with his chin cradled in his hands, and Cas slowly follows suit, settling as comfortably as he can on cold concrete that's probably covered in more germs than he's ever been exposed to in his life.

He's really going to need to wash his trench coat after this.

"I thought you didn't smoke anymore?"

Gabriel chuckles humorlessly, breath steaming and mingling with the rising smoke of his cigarette before disappearing in the night air, "Things change, Cassie."

"Indeed they do."

They sit there on that curb for a bit, Dean not-so-subtly throwing glances their way from where he's diligently waiting. Cas doesn't know what to say, frankly he doesn't even want to be the one to start this whole conversation, he knows that should be Gabe's burden.

"Do you remember when you were really little? Like, maybe 6, tops-" Gabe mumbles after another minute of painful silence, "I got in this big blowout with dad over my SAT scores and ran out to my car and you were already out there, sitting shotgun?"

He has to really think about it and eventually a few long-forgotten memories float back to the surface of his mind, "Yes, I think I might... You took me for ice cream?"

"Yeah," A flicker of a smile appears on Gabe's face, "Yeah, you'd asked 'where are we going?' and I-" his brother makes a strangled noise, "Cassie I wanted to leave right then and there. I wanted to take you and turn tail and never fucking look back. I thought we'd go find Luc and he'd use all his fancy lawyer skills to make it so that we never had to step foot back inside that fucking house again."

Cas doesn't bother to mention that Luc probably would have sent both of them right back to Illinois, it seems too obvious, so instead he just sighs, "I wish you had."

"Me too." Gabe looks up at the foggy sky, "I knew you'd be miserable when you grew up, I could tell, you weren't like Raph or Uriel... I should have taken you with me."

"I wasn't miserable-" A small flare of indigence sparks through Cas, he wasn't someone who needed pity, especially not from Gabriel, "And if you thought I was, then why were you so eager to send me right back to that wretched place."

"Cassie, I-"

"What changed, Gabriel? What changed between then and now that made you just like every other Novak?" Maybe it's pointless to let all his bottled emotions out on someone who obviously doesn't care, but he can't stop now, "When did I become an object to trade for favor instead of your brother?"

"I didn't know!" Gabe's strangled voice echoes off the concrete surrounding them and Cas sees Dean tense up in his peripheral, "I didn't know, Castiel..."

He takes a shuddering breath.

"I know you think I'm the same fuck-up I was when I was 18, but I swear to the God's-" Gabriel's cigarette has burnt down to a nub but he doesn't seem to notice, "Luci- Luc... He stabbed us both in the back."

"And I should believe you just like that?" Cas asks with a frown, "I'm not as clueless as I was when I was 8."

"I just wanted to go home and get wasted on mom and dads dime," He bemoans as he buries his face in his hands, "Maybe see some cousins, ya' know? Balth, Jimmy, Anna..." There's a sigh of defeat, "Didn't even make it to Illinois."

Cas doesn't even bother to tell Gabe that 2/3 cousins he named have also been estranged for years, "Why was Luc going?"

"I thought for the same reasons as me, but I guess not."

"Gabe..." He doesn't want to ask, he doesn't want to know, but he has to, "where is Luc now?"

"Dunno'," He shrugs listlessly, "After you two ran off Luc and I had a fight of our own and I just- I left. Caught a cab to the nearest fucking airport and left his sorry ass in that parking lot."

"You didn't tell him I was coming to California?"

"No, why would I-? Oh." Gabe drops his hands from his face and looks over with wide eyes, "Cassie, no, he has no idea where you are right now."

Castiel didn't even realize how much the weight of this question had been pressing on his chest until air suddenly floods his aching lungs, "You're certain?"

"I didn't tell Luc jack-shit," he sloppily crosses his heart, "Scouts honor."

He wants to believe Gabe, he want's to so badly, but what's that saying? 'Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.'... Is Cas really going to be so naïve again?

Gabriel must see the deliberation on his face because he immediately begins rambling, "Cas, I swear, I was just on my way to the office-"

"At 2am?" 

Gabe can't even make his lies believable.

"Yes! I wish I could show up at 6 like my 1st AD but I've also got the keys to the studio and lighting and sound need a shit ton of time to set up for today, look, I've got the keys right-" Gabe rifles through the inner pocket of his coat and suddenly freezes, hand grabbing onto something that crinkles loudly, "Cassie I can prove I've been telling the truth."

He slowly pulls out a thick, folded, pack of papers from inside his jacket. Castiel can see Dean tense out of the corner of his eyes, like he's expecting Gabe to pull a knife on him.

"Here." 

Gabe offers the crumpled mess and Cas carefully takes it, not putting it past his brother to sabotage them in some inane way.

"These are-" He smooths the top one out on his thigh, reading the top print carefully, "Job applications?"

Gabriel mumbles something unintelligible under his breath while Castiel shuffles through the stack, there must be at least a dozen different forms in there, all half filled out with the name 'Castiel Novak', Gabe's information in every emergency contact section, "What was that?"

"I wanted you to have a head start." Gabe is pointedly looking anywhere but Cas, like he's embarrassed by the small-forests worth of informational packets, "That was the hardest thing for me when I got out here, finding a place that would hire a nepo-baby with no life experience. I ended up working for Luc for like, a year, as his firms glorified coffee bitch before I got a gig PA'ing for a local studio..."

"You..." Cas pulls on specific application out of the pile, "Were going to hire me to work for you?"

The heading for 'Trickster Studios' is well formatted and the entire form is much more professional looking than he would have excepted from a company run by Gabriel.

Gabe scoffs a little, "Wasn't gonna' put you on the screen or anything... I just figured you might be a pretty good pencil pusher, making spreadsheets, maybe filing permits, ya' know?"

His brothers shoulders are hunched up to his ears and he still refuses to look at Castiel, a bit of red creeping into his cheeks.

"Gabriel, I-"

"There's other stuff in there!" He interrupts quickly, "Wasn't gonna' force you to work for me..."

"Did Luc know you did all this?"

"No, no he..." Gabe shook his head, "I thought he wanted you to work for him so I didn't bring it up, didn't seem worth the fight..." He presses his lips into a thin line, "Guess I missed the mark there."

He's still staring at the embossed letterhead, "You really weren't going to send me back."

"Nope." He cracks a small smile, "And the offer's still open, if you need work."

"Thank you..." Castiel passes the papers back, then stands up, "But Dean and I are leaving tomorrow."

"Ah, yeah," Gabe's smile looks a little more forced when Cas waves Dean over, signaling the end of their brother-to-brother conversation, "Of course, tell ya' what-" then he's ripping his own studios application apart, tearing the header free from the rest and handing the remaining scrap to Castiel, "That's my business number, if you ever want to keep in touch just... gimme' a ring, I suppose."

Cas is painfully careful as he tucks the paper away in his pocket. He doesn't want to lose this.

"Thank you, Gabe, I'll consider it-" He's abruptly cut off by Gabriel lunging forward and wrapping his arms around Cas' chest in what might possibly be the most awkward hug Castiel's ever received (and he's hugged Meg).

He's expecting another apology or maybe some words of encouragement as Gabe squeezes him tight.

"You got too tall." His brother laughs wetly, clinging for one more moment before breaking away, the rims of his eyes just-barely reddening, "Way too tall..." Then he glances over at Dean, "Thanks for watching out for him."

Dean looks uncomfortable at the sudden attention, "He's been watching out for me, too."

"Good." Gabe nods, finally out of words to say, "I guess I should get going, set's not gonna' unlock itself."

"So you really are a director?" Dean blurts, glancing at the poster of Gabe's face then back at Gabe, "Actually?"

"Indeed I am!" Gabe's grin grows a bit wider and Cas recognizes the mischievous glint in his eyes that makes him hesitant to ask any follow-up questions, "Cassie's probably never seen my stuff but you... there's a chance."

Dean huffs, still looking like he doesn't want to have any association with Gabe, "I don't know what movie's I've watched where the studio also makes condom ads."

"Well," Gabe shrugs and begins to back away, "What good gay porn studio doesn't promote safe sex?"

Dean makes a sound like he's been punched in the gut and Gabe just laughs, spinning on his heel and hurrying down the sidewalk, "Good luck you two!"

"Why would he say-" Dean sputters like his brain is working overtime to rationalize Gabe's jab, "What!?"

"I think he's implying that you watch homosexual pornography." Cas explains, still listening to Gabe's cackles echo off the buildings as he gets further and further away.

Dean makes another wounded noise, "Don't say it like that."

"If you don't like that I could say man on ma-"

"Stop." Dean's hand shoots up and lands firmly over Cas' mouth, "Just..." He laughs in a tired, strung-out way, "I get it, you know all the good synonyms for porn."

"I apologize-" Cas never pinned Dean as someone prudish about sexual acts, but he still gives a muffled apology through the meat of Dean's palm. Dean, quickly, withdraws his hand, and Cas tries again, "I apologize, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"You didn't make me uncomfortable," As if to prove his point, Dean snakes his hand into Cas' coat pocket, where Cas had shoved his own hands in another futile attempt to keep them warm, "I just think we have more important things to talk about..."

Cas swears he hears Dean grumble out an 'unfortunately' at the end of his sentence, but he lets it slide, "Such as?"

"How're you- uh- doing, I guess?" Dean asks as they slowly begin their walk back to the motel, "He didn't give you any trouble?"

"No, I think that went better than I could have hoped." 

"That's good."

"Yes..." He smiles to himself, "He left Luc stranded after the incident in the parking lot, didn't say a word about where we were going." 

Dean lets out a sigh of relief that seems to catch him by surprise, "I mean- that's good? One less thing to worry about."

"By my count, the only thing we have left to worry about is the wedding tomorrow- or, today? Technically-"

"Technically, we're almost home free!" Dean cuts him off with a grin as their motel comes into view.

Cas nods, savoring the feeling of Dean's fingers intertwined with his own, "We almost are."