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For as long as Sam Winchester can remember, he has believed that humankind cannot be alone in the universe. He has spent many a childhood night sitting outside, on a porch or grass or hood of his father's car, looking up at the stars and letting the feeling wash over him: the certainty that the universe is too big, too much, for Earth to be its only anomaly. Young Sam was determined to grow up, learn everything people knew on the subject, and then learn everything people had yet to know on the subject.
Sam Winchester believes.
Dean Winchester thinks Sam Winchester is a moron.
Naturally, when an extraterrestrial finally sets foot on Earth, it's Dean who makes first contact.
It happens like this.
There's a party. It's Jo's birthday, so there's free-flowing beer and more people than the Harvelle house can realistically deal with, not that Ellen would know anything about it if Jo manages to blackmail her posse into clean-up duty later.
Dean is winding his way through the crowd, one hand holding on to a half-full plastic cup while the other's around his cell, into which he's saying, "No, Sam, you get your ass down here or Jo's never going to forgive you. I'm serious! No, I don't care if... One night, Sam, the geek squad can do without you for one night, you stupid workaholic jerk. Yeah!"
Jo draws up to his side, eyes narrowed into slits. "That Sam?" When Dean nods an acknowledgment, she grabs his elbow and tugs, getting her mouth close enough to the cell to shout, "You ain't ready for what I'm going do to you if you don't show up, Sam!"
Dean draws away, grinning. "You heard the birthday girl, Sammy. Yep. Yeah, okay." He clicks his cell off with some satisfaction. "Yeah, he's coming."
"He better." Jo's sliding away, hands already bopping upwards as she returns to the makeshift dance floor in what is normally the Harvelle living room.
Dean watches her go, pleasantly buzzed from his sampling of the evening's cocktails but not yet drenched enough to make an ass of himself on the dance floor. He finds himself moving without purpose, ignoring various couples already necking in the limited corners of the room, eventually ending up at the sliding doors. After that it's really just one more step outside into fresh air, where he can hang around in preparation to heckle Sam if/when he shows up.
There's a guy standing next to the Impala.
Not just standing, the guy is looking at the Impala, and though Dean's all for people checking out his baby, there's a difference between gawking in broad daylight and studying it in the dark of night, down a quiet suburban road, with only other cars and a couple of streetlights as witnesses.
Dean tosses his cup and approaches, ready for a rumble if necessary. Only, when he gets closer, the guy has not moved an inch, and Dean finds his own steps slowing uncertainly. The guy's just... looking. Not leaning over to peer inside, or bending down to check out at the tires; he's just standing there, perfectly straight, head tilted slightly in quiet contemplation.
"Hey," Dean says.
That earns him a slow turn of the head and dark eyes now studying him instead of the car.
"This car," the guy intones, and whoa, is his voice gravelly, "belongs to John Winchester."
"Used to," Dean corrects, before mentally smacking himself for giving that away for nothing. "You a car fan or something?"
"Yes," is the answer that comes, filled with unnecessarily solemn severity. "Although I find this model's traditional fuel injection system lacking. It lacks the control and elegance of the later Sedan."
Dean bristles. "Hey, mister, I don't see where you get off insulting someone's wheels."
The guy looks surprised, and then sheepish. "My apologies. That wasn't my intent."
"Yeah, well," Dean mutters, reaching out to give his girl a comforting pat. "You insult the car, you insult the owner."
The gaze immediately goes from sheepish to razor sharp. Though the other man is more slight, a little hunched, and completely ridiculous in his flasher-wannabe get-up, Dean feels his body sway, almost taking a step backwards in self-defense. But Dean resists, and it's a good thing he does, too, because he gets to watch the sharpness get dialed down to something more mildly curious.
"You're the son of John Winchester?" he asks.
"Who's asking?"
"I am Castiel."
Dean stifles a snicker. "That your real name or did you pick it up along with the trench?"
Another confused look. Castiel, if that really is what he's called, takes a second too long before answering, "My real name."
There's something very off about this guy. His body language isn't just awkward, because Dean knows awkward — this is off, like the guy isn't used to standing here, making small talk, something, everything.
"You're not from around here, are you?" Dean asks.
Castiel shakes his head. "I'm from the Netherlands."
"Holland?"
"No, the Netherlands," Castiel says, which barely explains why he has a stranger in a strange land vibe wrapped around him more tightly than that oversized trenchcoat. "I arrived today."
Dean finds himself smiling a little, and that turns into an actual guffaw when Castiel looks even more perplexed. The guy is so obviously out his element that it's like trying to stay angry at a puppy. A Dutch puppy that's gotten horribly lost and is more than likely to end up being eaten by feral cats before daybreak. "You visiting someone?"
Castiel's eyes flicker to the side for a second. "Yes." Now that Dean knows to spot the pauses, it's obvious that Castiel's running the words through an internal translator. "It was a long journey, but a worthwhile one, I hope."
"Lonely tourist Castiel," Dean mutters, knowing better to ask for a last name, because shit if he can ever pronounce foreign last names without embarrassing himself. Might as well introduce him to some All-American hospitality. "Come on."
Dean has taken maybe a half dozen steps back to Jo's house when he starts to turn, intending to check if the stray is following, only to jump when he finds that Castiel is right at his side, silent as a goddamn ghost. Castiel is frowning a little, eyes surveying the cars, the lawn, the house, and then, when Dean still hasn't looked away, Dean himself.
They're closer to the house now, so Castiel's face is better lit, shadows chased away from the darker angles of his face. He's kinda funny looking, jaw a little stern, but his nose is sharp, and that mouth is just...
Dean clears his throat. "Personal space, buddy."
Castiel's eyes move to the side again, but apparently this time the translator comes up empty. "What?"
"It means," Dean puts a hand on Castiel's shoulder, intending to push back, but he's suddenly distracted by the feel of the shoulder under his palm, a little bony but very solid and very warm. Castiel looks at Dean's hand, unpertubed and patient, like he's interested in finding out what Dean intends to do with it. "It means that you don't just creep up on a guy like that."
"Creep up," Castiel repeats. "Ah." He takes a careful step back. When Dean snorts softly, Castiel's mouth curves up a little, like he's proud of himself for figuring it out.
It's been a while since a smile shot straight to Dean's lower stomach.
"Uh..." Yeah, smooth. "So where are you staying?"
"Oh." The smile drifts away, replaced by something closer to surprise. "I have things to do. I shall not be staying anywhere."
Dean does bark a laugh at that. Anyone else and he'd say that they're pulling his leg for sure, but he has the feeling that Castiel would ask where he's being accused of pulling his leg to.
"My house is a few blocks down," Dean says. "You're welcome to..." And he has no idea how he was planning to end that sentence.
"Your house?" Castiel turns, like maybe he can see it from where they're standing. "Where you live."
"That's the usual idea," Dean retorts.
Turning back sharply, Castiel is now looking up at him, eyes dark and determined. "I would like to see your house."
It's stupid how Dean's throat just dries up at that. "Yeah. We can do that, yeah."
Sam Winchester arrives on the scene long after the Impala, its owner and its passenger are gone.
Which is just as well, all things considered.
"I'm sorry I'm late," he says, once he's extracted himself from Jo's rib-crushing hug. "The dishes detected some massive activity in the sky earlier this evening, I couldn't just leave in the middle of—"
"It doesn't matter," Jo says. "I'm just glad you made it."
Sam grins, then glances around briefly. "Where's Dean?"
"No idea," Jo says. "Probably hooked up with someone and bailed, knowing him."
Sam rolls his eyes. "Yeah, probably."
By the time Dean has the front door open and the lights on, he's got a plan in his head. He isn't the sort of guy to have a motto, but if he were, it'd be something like 'Be Prepared (Especially If There's a Chance of Getting Lucky)'. It involves coffee, strategic small talk and a carefully-chosen soundtrack of Dean's more tasteful tape collection.
Unfortunately, said plan up and goes poof the moment he looks at Castiel, who is, as before, far inside Dean's personal bubble.
This isn't the thin, scattered lighting of the neighborhood streetlights. This is the well-lit indoors (with eco-friendly bulbs, thanks to Sam) and Dean finds that he needs to severely revise his opinion of Castiel's looks.
Everything else matches that mouth of his just perfect.
"Your eyes are blue," Dean says.
"Yes," Castiel replies.
Dean is the smoothest operator there ever was.
Castiel takes in the insides of the Winchester home with the same seriousness, like there's nothing in their ratty-ass bachelor pad that's not fascinating. While Dean's busy hanging their coats, Castiel moves around the living room, looking at the furniture, the books on the shelves, the photographs on the wall, giving each item their due of his time and focus.
That's great, only maybe Dean wants that focus on him now, thanks.
"It's not much, but it's home," he says, surreptitiously kicking some of Sam's more dorky books behind the couch. "Make yourself comfortable, I guess."
"This is you." Castiel's looking at one of the photos. "A long time ago."
Dean draws up to Castiel's side, standing maybe a little closer than he needs to. "Yeah. That's my parents, and that little bundle of ugly's my brother Sam."
Castiel jerks back a little, blinking rapidly. "Sam?"
It occurs to Dean, bizarrely, that he'd never introduced himself, no matter that Castiel never actually asked for his name. He apologizes quickly, then offers, "I'm Dean."
"Dean Winchester," Castiel says, sounding faintly disappointed. It's weird, but Dean gets the feeling that he messed up somewhere. Castiel drifts off, taking his body heat with him, to study the rest of the living room.
It's Dean's turn to be confused, each offering of small talk returned with a small, clipped answer and none of the thoughtful, lingering glances that had kept Dean's collar a little hot during the ride home. Castiel's uninterested now, for whatever reason, and that shit just ain't gonna fly.
"When will your brother be home?" Castiel asks. Finally, a question Dean likes.
"Not 'til late," Dean says. It's an accurate guess, but less a statement on Sam's party-going habits and more on Jo's ability to sucker punch Sam into clean-up duty.
Castiel nods, and then carefully sits down on the couch, one hand folded over the other. It's kinda picturesque, all lean lines and casual dishevelment, and Dean finds his eyes traveling downward and lingering on Castiel's fingers, resting gently on his knees. Castiel isn't tense, but he isn't relaxed, either. He seems to be hovering somewhere in between readiness and patience; almost monk-like in his detached observation of his surroundings.
Even in the face of this current placidity, Dean knows he didn't imagine the look Cas had given him earlier.
So Dean slides on to the couch, watchful of any signals along the lines of halt, who goes there, but he gets none, not even when he's up even tighter inside Castiel's personal space.
Clinging on to his home advantage, Dean goes in, only to stumble at Castiel's lack of response to the chaste press of lips. Dean feels a curse starting, but it withers away when he pulls back and sees the look on Castiel's face. It isn't the wary disdain of a cold fish (and, unfortunately, Dean has known a few in his time), but alert, intrigued and, if the way Cas is looking at Dean's mouth is any indication, disappointment at the early end to the proceedings.
Dean is pretty sure Dutch people know how to kiss. Maybe Castiel had an extra helping of weird pie growing up.
"You okay with that?" Dean asks.
"May I use your bathroom?" Castiel is still looking at Dean's mouth.
"Sure, it's just down there, first door on the left."
Castiel all but flees to the bathroom, detouring only to get something — a small black bag of some sort — from his coat before he goes.
That leaves Dean to sit back on the couch, arms flung out on either side of him for what little it'll help in regaining some of his lost balance. He has to admit to himself that he really wants to see what Castiel's going to do next. It's a novel feeling to not have at least a vague idea of where things are going; for all he knows Castiel's currently raiding his bathroom and squeezing out through the window to freedom.
But he isn't, because then Castiel's back, expression calm but with the suggestion of a deliberate choice having been made, which is unexpectedly hot, though not as hot as when Castiel just about crawls on to Dean's lap and kisses the hell out of him.
The Dean likes.
So maybe Cas is a little clumsy, hands clutching a little tightly along Dean's shoulders and arms, but the enthusiasm makes up for a lot. Castiel is solid line of heat against Dean's front, lithe and insistent in a complete 180 of earlier.
"Whoa, whoa," Dean mutters as he pulls back, and is that something he never thought he'd say in a situation like this. "Slow down."
Castiel hangs back, nodding a little. "You must show me."
"What?" That thousand-watt stare is really distracting.
"I don't have any practical experience," Castiel says, voice low and honest. "You must instruct me on how to proceed."
Well, shit, if he weren't ready to burst out of his pants before, he is now. Dean nods quickly. "Okay, we can... We better go upstairs, then."
Hell if Dean remembers what he says next, only that Castiel nods at everything he says and they end up in his room in no time flat.
Castiel follows instructions like a dream: off, on, turn, lie back, touch, closer, wait, now, with each interlude carefully stripping away Castiel's calm facade until he's little more than a panting, writhing mess on the sheets. Dean pauses once or twice to ask if Castiel is sure, if this is okay, if this is what he wants, but Castiel merely breathes, "Yes, please", and it's the human need in those words, so different from the near-cold otherworldliness of earlier, that lets Dean let go.
Dean gets the ride of his life, Castiel stretched out beneath him, the intensity of the stare finally tempered when he shuts his eyes to just feel.
Then, when Castiel comes, those eyes fly wide open, surprised and lost, and Dean feels like a god.
Sam wakes up with a mild hangover, but he is in his own clothes, in his own bed, and with no inappropriate bed-mate at his side, so it counts as a win in his book. It's already light out so he panics for a moment, only to remember that it's the weekend and he doesn't have to be at work. He doesn't have to, but he will be, because there's all the stuff he had to abandon last night to get to Jo's party if he didn't want his ass kicked.
So Sam gets up, washes up and goes downstairs for some breakfast, only to find that there's someone who's not Dean — though he's wearing Dean's clothes — already there.
"Hello, Sam," the stranger says.
"Uh, hi?" There's fresh coffee ready, which is a miracle, because he's pretty sure Dean's not up yet. "You a friend of Dean's?"
The new guy has to think for a moment before answering, which is strange, but not as strange as his actual answer. "We had sex. Does that preclude being friends?"
Sam's just glad he isn't drinking the coffee yet. No sense in wasting good caffeine. "I honestly cannot say."
"My name is Castiel," he says. "I am an admirer of your work, Sam."
"Really, now."
"Yes. I am particularly impressed with your series of dissertations on the variability of double-peaked emission lines. Although your work on elliptical accretion disks does have its own charms."
Sam drops his mug on the counter.
Castiel is still looking at him, nothing inappropriately jocular in his expression, shattering Sam's vague suspicions that Dean fed the guy some of his journals last night just to mess with him.
"You read those?" Sam asks carefully.
"Your team does excellent work," Castiel says. "Though it is obvious, even through the publications, that you are its driving force."
"Oh. Thank you."
Castiel looks pleased at that, which throws Sam even more. This guy is so not like Dean's usual hook-ups that Sam has to wonder what his brother was drinking last night.
"May I ask what project you are currently working on?" Castiel asks.
Sam almost laughs, but then it strikes him that there's no way someone can fake that kind of interest. There isn't a single giveaway twitch of mockery in Castiel's expression, just pure interest.
He doesn't get to answer, though, because Dean's making a ruckus out of coming down the stairs, humming loudly and bumping into things like his entrance needs to be announced. "Gooood morning, Sammy," he says, ruffling Sam's hair as he passes. Sam jerks away, automatically irritated with Dean's morning-after chirpiness. "Morning, Cas."
"Good morning, Dean," Castiel intones. "Sam, aren't you going to answer? Is my question inappropriate?"
"What question?" Dean asks as he gets his own coffee. "Hey, did you make this, Cas?"
"Yes," Castiel says. "It was not difficult. Sam?"
"Well, I don't know..." Sam says. "It's kind of boring."
Castiel's eyes widen, as though the insult is personal. "Your work is anything but boring, Sam."
Dean opens his mouth at that, and Sam just knows he's going to get a mouthful of his brother's typical layman disdain of all things he can't be bothered to understand (like that's something to be proud of) when suddenly Dean's face goes funny and his mouth closes without a single word getting out. Sam follows his gaze, realizing that it's the look on Castiel's face, in all its near-rapturous anticipation, that has Dean frowning.
"Really?" Sam asks tentatively. "Really, really?"
Castiel nods. "It would be an honor."
"Well, I could... I'm actually in the middle of, uh, writing a book," Sam says, and there's no denying the little thrill he gets when Castiel cocks his head, surprised and (if Sam's not just imagining it) impressed. "Are you an astrophysicist, Castiel?"
"That would be inaccurate," Castiel says. "I prefer higher mathematics, but I do enjoy a good debate on the nature of active galaxy nuclei every now and then."
Sam's honest-to-goodness dizzy, but he manages to mutter something about finding a draft of his book if Castiel wants to discuss it, and goes off to do just that. He gets a couple of steps out of the kitchen before Dean's grabbing his arm and shoving. "The hell!"
"What's up with you stealing my—" Dean pauses.
"Your what, your what?" Sam knows he sounds about eight years old, but he can't deny the perverse delight at stealing Dean's thunder in this weird and completely unexpected way. Dean takes every opportunity he can to make Sam feel like the dull one whenever they're with company, so today, right now, Dean can bite it. "Don't worry, Dean, I'm sure there are other things Castiel likes about you."
"You little bitch," Dean says, though there's only exasperation, not heat, behind the words. "Whatever, you geeks have at it, I'm going to have a shower."
"Have fun with that, jerk-face," Sam says cheerfully, not caring that that earns him another smack at the back of his head.
The day hasn't turned out at all in Dean's favor. He had hoped, after waking, that Cas would be game for round two considering his unabashed enthusiasm the night before. That doesn't happen, Sam is a brutal cock-block, and by some bizarre sequence of events, Dean finds himself driving Sam to work (on a Saturday, what the hell) with Castiel in the back seat.
"Why am I even doing this?" Dean asks aloud, not that the wonder twins have any response, what with their being preoccupied talking nerd.
"So this is it," Sam says, long limbs gesturing to the satellite dishes on either side of the modest white-washed building. "This is where the magic happens."
"What am I doing?" Dean asks again, but he follows them inside anyway. Castiel's eyes are more alert than ever, but it's different than before. He's different, carrying himself confidently at Sam's side as they pass through security, like this is where he's supposed to be and what he's supposed to be doing, leaving Dean the one floundering and confused this time round.
Dean doesn't like it.
He doesn't like the way Castiel's following every word out of Sam's mouth like it's the most important thing in the world, because last night Dean had been the recipient of that spotlight and there is no way he's going to lose out to freaking astromawhatever geekery.
"This is my team's main lab." Sam's practically bouncing on his toes, the dork, as he opens the doors and lets them in. His face scrunches up when he sees the look on Dean's face. "You don't have to follow, Dean. You could've just waited in the car."
"What, and miss the opportunity to make fun of you in your native habitat?" Dean says. "Oh, hey, Jess."
Sam jumps a bit, because not only he is a dork, he is a loser dork. "Oh, hi. I didn't know you'd be in today."
Jess smiles up at him. "Hey, Sam. Dean." She's probably the only person in existence who can make the labcoat look glamorous, so Dean has no idea why Sam hasn't made a move yet. Oh, right, loser dork. "You brought a friend?"
"This is Castiel," Sam says, honest-to-goodness beaming as he claps one of his gigantic paws on Castiel's shoulder. "He's a patron. Just wanted to show him where we do our work."
"I expressed my interest in seeing where the magic happens," Castiel declares. Jess smiles broadly, because she has good taste.
If it was bad with two nerds around, it's worse with three, and Dean's barely able to stop himself from dramatically throwing himself out the window while they talk shop around him.
It's a good thing he resists, though, because then Jess pulls Sam to the side to check out some strange whatever readings they'd got last night, and that leaves Dean with an opening. Castiel is looking at something in his palm, but he quickly puts the little black man-bag into his jacket when he sees Dean approach.
"Hey," Dean says.
"This facility is very basic," Castiel tells him, not that he cares. "It's a wonder they get anything done in here at all."
"Hmm, yeah." Dean looks around quickly. Sam and Jess have disappeared to wherever, so that leaves Dean free to tug at Castiel's arm, pulling him into what looks like a store room and locking the door behind them.
Castiel looks around, bewildered. "Dean, what—"
"Shhh." Dean shoves him at the wall before kissing in deep, swallowing the noise of surprise Castiel makes. He's beyond smug when he feels Castiel's resistance melt away almost immediately, his long and naturally talented fingers reaching up to grip Dean's shoulders. Another luxurious swipe of his tongue and Castiel's moaning, so Dean has to pull back and and say, "We got to be quiet."
Castiel nods, obediently pulling his lips together in a tight line.
Dean snickers, and then drops to his knees. Those fingers are carding through his hair now, light pulls encouraging as Dean gets Castiel's pants open and goes to town.
It's quick and dirty; the only real regret Dean has is that it can't last very long. Castiel seems to know this as well, because he's pretty much racing for the finishing line, thrusting forward, legs trembling, a hand clamped over his own mouth to stop himself from shouting.
There's a choked sob, and then Dean's swallowing, hands stroking Castiel's thighs in a soothing gesture.
Dean helps tuck Castiel back in, straightening him up as much as he can, though there's really no helping the bed-head. He's patting down Castiel's jacket when he feels something vibrate. "Dude, what was that?"
"My phone," Castiel says, sounding deliciously breathless. He pats the spot with the phone with a little more force than necessary, though Dean chokes it up to Cas being really into the moment. Castiel confirms this by smiling a little and moving forward to gently kiss Dean's mouth, maybe as a thank you, maybe as promise for reciprocation later.
As soon as they step outside, Dean gets hit in the head with a plastic folder. "Ow!"
"God damn it, Dean!" Sam shouts, furious. Jess is at the other end of the room, back to them, though she's not trying very hard to look like she's not laughing. Sam, on the other hand, is hilariously red in the face. "This is where I work! Is nothing sacred to you? Get out, get out!"
Castiel looks crushed. "But I wasn't—"
"No, you're fine, you can stay," Sam says kindly, but then he snarls at Dean, "But you! We'll see you at the car!"
"Yeah, whatever," Dean says smugly. He flips Sam off as he goes, casting one last glance back at Castiel, who still looks little dazed.
Score one for Dean.
Sam likes Castiel.
He doesn't like Castiel the way Dean likes Castiel, obviously, but there's something very likeable and refreshing about his open inquisitiveness, once one gets over the initial strangeness of his being.
The part where it's easy to talk with Castiel is a bonus, too. Not that Sam doesn't like discussing things with his colleagues, but he sees them practically every single day, and it's a completely different thing to talk about it with someone outside scientific community safe spaces — someone who likes to disagree with him, no less, in a stubbornly matter-of-fact way — that Sam hadn't realized just how much he'd wanted it.
"My father wasn't supportive of my career choice, but it didn't matter," Sam says. "It's something I wanted for me, so I went for it."
Castiel glances to where Dean's buying them lunch from a vendor. "How about your brother?"
"Oh, Dean's been great," Sam says. He adds quickly, "But don't tell him I said that. He is supportive in his own way, I guess."
"But he belittles your work." Castiel drops his voice when he says it, like he's ashamed for Dean, which is hilarious. "I find it... upsetting that he thinks so poorly of what you do."
Sam enjoys basking in warm glow of Castiel's admiration, but he can't deny the (unfortunate) ingrained need to defend his idiot of a brother. "Dean doesn't mean those things, not really."
"So he says one thing, but he means another," Castiel says. "Then how do you know what he really means at any given moment?"
"Familiarity, I guess," Sam says. "I have known him all my life. I should be able to tell when he's bullshitting me. Look, Dean's just... He's a simple guy, can't blame him for that. He says those things because that's how he deals with what he doesn't understand. Not everyone wants to be a rocket scientist."
Castiel frowns. "Why not?"
It's a telling thing that Sam is only a little bit surprised by the question. "Different people like different things. I have my research, Dean has his rock music and his car."
Castiel's head tilts in the other direction as he processes this. The man's really smart (d-uh), but Sam can't tell how far that intelligence goes, or whether his idiosyncrasies are solely due to the culture barrier. Sam's actually met some Dutch people in his line of work, but none of them were anything like Castiel and his deliberate, contemplative gestures.
Castiel eventually nods, the answer satisfactory. "That makes sense, thank you. He is quite... distracting."
"Yeah, I'll bet," Sam snorts.
"Is sex one of the things that he enjoys, but you don't?" Castiel asks.
Sam chokes on air.
"I wondered if perhaps that is the reason why you have not engaged in it with Jess," Castiel continues blithely. "As it's obvious that your attraction is mutual."
It's Sam's turn to blink slowly. This has to be the culture barrier, it has to be. "Uh... Well, not really. You see, it's like... For me and Jess, we're friends, you know? And sometimes, um, a sexual relationship can spoil things between people, even really good friendships. Sometimes especially really good friendships."
There's another thoughtful pause. "There is an emotional aspect to be considered for your coupling. Yes, I understand. It's not like Dean and I."
How did the conversation end up here? Sam shifts, uncomfortable. "Uh..."
"Scoot!" Dean barks, shoving at Castiel's shoulder.
He slides down the bench, making space for Dean, who promptly drops their lunch on the table with a flourish. There's a moment of routine, with Sam complaining about what Dean's bought him, and Dean's rolling his eyes and being sarcastically disgusted with Sam's food preferences. Through this, Sam's watching Castiel watch them and take in their interaction. Sam kind of wants to be embarrassed for Dean's obnoxious loudness, but Castiel seems to find it fascinating.
"Here, eat," Dean says, pushing a sandwich at Castiel. "S'good for you, Cas."
"His first time here and this is the diet you're introducing him to?" Sam makes a face.
"Hearty stuff." Dean claps Castiel's upper back. "Go on, it's not going to... Cas?"
Castiel carefully pushes the sandwich away. "It's all right. I'm not hungry."
"You haven't had anything all day, of course you're hungry," Dean says, frowning. "It's not bad, I swear."
Castiel's mouth opens and closes. He looks reluctant, which is understandable considering the hygiene of outdoor vendors, but there's no reason why those wide eyes would have hints of actual fear.
"If your stomach gets upset or whatever, I'll make it up to you," Dean says softly. "Just try it, okay? One bite, that's all."
He's still uncomfortable, but he is thinking about it, gaze shifting from the sandwich to Dean's face to Sam's and back. Then, finally, he picks up the sandwich and, after staring it down for a long moment, takes a small bite.
The brothers Winchester hold their collective breath.
"Verdict?" Dean asks.
Castiel's eyes are cast down at the table while he chews. His jaw is tense in a way that doesn't seem right, and Sam finds himself having the weirdest urge to tell Castiel to chew slowly, the way a mother would a child.
After a while, Castiel swallows. His eyes, when they come up to look at Dean, are pleased and vaguely guilty. "That was nice."
Dean's grin is near blinding. "Yeah? What did you like about it?"
"I liked how it went around my mouth," Castiel answers.
Dean's busy guffawing when Castiel suddenly tenses up, a hand reaching up to pat at something on his chest.
"You okay, Cas?" Sam thinks he can hear a small, shrill vibration from the region beneath Castiel's hand.
"My cell phone malfunctions sometimes," Castiel says, a shade too quickly. He covers it up by making quick work of the rest of the sandwich, but Sam's not going to call him out on it. Not when Dean's obviously enjoying himself, and Castiel's basking in the glow of Dean enjoying himself.
Dean has decided that Castiel is the most unfortunate motherfucker to ever walk the Earth. He has, as far as Dean can tell, never tried a BLT, ice cream, or even pie, and that just ain't right. He wants to ask if they have anything worth enjoying in Holland, but there's the chance that Cas wouldn't take too well to criticism of his homeland, so he doesn't. (But, seriously, no pie?)
"There are so many varieties," Castiel says. He is chewing on a piece of candy, picked up from a gas station on their way home from dinner. His eyes are crinkled at the edges with quiet pleasure.
"He's going to get diabetes," Sam says.
"You keep saying that about me," Dean says.
"And I'm still right, you mark my words."
"I will not let you get diabetes, Dean," Castiel says, like he means it, and Dean laughs again. Castiel doesn't look confused anymore, just pleased, like he finally understands that it's an accomplishment to amuse Dean.
"I'm going to get diabetes," Sam mutters, whatever that means, as he goes off to the living room. "I'm watching the news if you guys want to join!"
Castiel swallows the last of his candy, leaving him nothing else to do but stand quietly on the other side of the kitchen table. "Dean. This was nice."
Dean inclines his head in acceptance of the praise. "Glad you like."
The small smile on Castiel's face doesn't waver as he approaches, pushing Dean back against the kitchen counter, fingers smudging sugar on the hips of Dean's jeans.
"Let's take this upstairs," Dean suggests against Castiel's mouth. "Don't want Sam getting an earful."
Sam gets an earful anyway, because Cas seems to be in the mood for making up for his forced silence during their store room quickie. Dean encourages where he can, pushing Cas face down on the bed and shoving his thighs apart before going in, one hand pressed into Cas's hair to hold him down.
"You okay?" Dean asks, because Cas is getting really loud.
"No, I am not okay," Cas gasps. "I need you to fuck me harder."
He's not going to say no to that.
It's even better than the night before, and Dean damn near passes out after.
He stays blissed out in oblivion until the next morning, when he's woken up by the smell of heaven. No, seriously, it cannot be anything but heaven, because his olfactory senses are reporting in about a dozen familiar scents mixed up together in a most sinful combination. Dean jerks awake, already drooling on the pillow, and gets down to the kitchen post-haste.
Castiel is already there, as is Sam, but unlike the previous morning, they're accompanied by Breakfast.
"Sweet mother of Jehosaphat," Dean chokes.
"Good morning, Dean," Castiel says. "I thought I would cook you and your brother breakfast."
Dean gapes. "Breakfast! This isn't breakfast! This is—!"
Sam pulls out a chair out for Dean, then has to push at his shoulder to get him to sit. Sam's snickering, but he can snicker all he want, because obviously, obviously, Castiel is heaven-sent.
"Is that pie? That's pie! Fuck me, is that a cheese steak sandwich? Jesus Christ, are those pancakes?"
Castiel looks worried. "Can't you recognize what they are? Do they look wrong?"
"Fuck!" Dean exclaims, staring up at Cas. "You cook!"
"I don't need much sleep," Castiel says, relaxing a smidge now that he can see that Dean's reaction is a positive one. "I found the recipes on the internet, and it felt like a good way to pass the time."
"You made these from scratch?" Dean wheezes.
Castiel raises an eyebrow. "It's easy. Cooking isn't astrophysics."
Sam chokes on his waffle, but doesn't disagree.
After a few more seconds of blinking with disbelief, Dean descends upon the spread, occasionally pausing between mouthfuls to say, "Dude. Dude."
Sam finishes first, rising from his seat to smile and offer his compliments to the chef. Castiel accepts it with a small nod, but is otherwise content to sit across from Dean and watch him eat.
"Dude!" Dean repeats, just because.
"You're welcome," Castiel says. "I owe you... for things. It felt right to do this. Was it right?"
Dean half-chokes, half-laughs. "Hell yeah. Cas, I am so going to take you out today. Yesterday was... Well, yesterday wasn't the scenic route. You want to see what this place has to offer? I'm going to show you."
Castiel's face falls a little. Dean shouldn't have noticed it, not with the way he's focused on making the most of this breakfast of champions, but he does. He pauses mid-chew, frowning.
"I was hoping to visit Sam's lab today," Castiel admits.
"Again?" Dean says. "Whatever for? No, you're spending today with me."
Castiel seems to shrink back, worried. "I need to..." He shakes his head. "I'm leaving tonight, Dean."
Just like that, there's a hole at the bottom of Dean's stomach. "Why?"
"That was always the plan," Castiel confesses.
Dean inhales sharply, eyes never leaving Castiel's face. "All the more reason to spend today with me."
He's thrown the challenge out there, so now he waits, breakfast forgotten. Castiel has a mean stare but Dean's a stubborn son of a bitch and stares right back. Miraculously, Castiel's the one who blinks and looks away, almost nervously.
Cas is going to say no. Dean can feel the word forming, so he's on his feet, grabbing Castiel's hand and pulling.
"Spend today with me," Dean insists.
He can see the exact moment Cas makes a decision, and he is almost bowled over by the open surrender in those unearthly baby blues.
"All right. Yes, I will." Castiel smiles tentatively, like he still thinks it's a bad idea but can't help himself. A little more and he'd look downright mischievous.
"Good," Dean says softly. "Good."
For approximately five hours after Dean and Castiel have gone to wherever it is Dean thinks is a decent date venue, the Winchester home is in a state of zen. Sam is vacuuming the living room, every once in a while muttering about what a slob Dean is and what a waste of time this is for a doctorate who has better things to do.
The vacuum is loud, but louder still is the sharp, shrill ring that suddenly fills the air.
Sam pauses. When the noise doesn't go away, he turns off the vacuum and follows the sound to Castiel's trench coat, still hanging in the closet.
Deciding to apologize to Castiel later for breaching his privacy, Sam reaches into the front pocket of the coat and pulls out a small black bag.
Suddenly the noise stops. Sam stares the bag for a moment, but before he can put it back, the bag explodes.
There's light and noise everywhere, too much for Sam's senses to process, and it's a miracle he manages to get behind the couch and pull out his phone. He presses blindly, hoping to get one of his speed dial numbers, relieved when someone picks up after two rings. "Dean?"
"Sam?" It's Jess. "What are you — what's that noise?"
"Jess," Sam gasps. "I'm at my house, can you please call Dean, he needs to get here, something's happening, I don't know—" He's cut off when his phone starts vibrating violently. Sam pulls it away from his ear, which is a good thing, because it then explodes in a mess of metal and electronics.
Sam doesn't know how long he spends waiting behind the couch, but just as it started, the light and noise suddenly stops.
Scientific curiosity demands that Sam find out what happened. He gets up and looks.
The bag is hovering mid-air, just above the coffee table. It looks, inasmuch as a bag can have expressions, angry.
"Where is Castiel?" the bag demands in a deep, authoritative voice.
Sam blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, of which will haunt him for years to come. "We come in peace!"
"Castiel! Where is he, human?" The bag shifts, material sliding over in layers until Sam can see something that looks very much like an eye peeking out through the folds. "Speak!"
"Oh, Castiel..." Sam's smart, c'mon, he knows the answer to this. "He went out. With Dean. My brother, Dean. They're out together."
The one-eyed-bag doesn't like this answer at all. "He has left me alone?"
There is another blast of light and noise, this time more intense and Sam has to duck back behind the couch, covering his eyes and ears against the assault.
This time, when it ends, there's another noise that fills its place: people shouting. Sam recognizes Castiel's voice and carefully creeps out of his hiding place.
"Uriel, stop this at once!" Castiel says. He looks and sounds more forceful than Sam's ever seen, proof that Castiel has more emotions than first impressions would have one believe.
Dean is standing at the door, Jess at his side. Sam catches Jess' gaze, and they share a mutual look of bewilderment.
"Castiel, you have delayed your mission long enough!" Uriel the bag declares. "And for what? To waste your time fraternizing with these carbon-based life-forms?"
"My mission, my decisions," Castiel snaps. "You're just an observer."
"It is a good thing I'm here at all! The council will hear of this!" Uriel declares.
Castiel steps forward, purposeful and pissed as he grabs Uriel. There's a struggle; the bag is obviously stronger than it looks, and Castiel ends up flung towards the wall, crashing into the bookshelves.
"Hey, wait a minute—" Dean steps forward, because he is stupid, and a thin slice of electricity zaps him right in the chest.
"Uriel!" Castiel snarls. He thrusts a hand out, palm up, and the bag flies straight into the wall. Uriel makes a low, pained sound, but then it's flying again, this time straight into Castiel's hands. "Sleep, Uriel." He does something with his hands and the bag falls limp, looking deceptively like it's always been nothing but a run-of-the-mill man-bag.
"Dean." Sam rushes to his brother's side. Castiel is there just as quickly, expression severe as he pulls Dean's shirt open and presses his hand firmly to the bared chest.
Dean gasps like he's been shoved into the world of consciousness against his will, eyes blood-shot when he blinks rapidly. "What the hell?"
"You okay?" Sam asks. He helps Dean sit up while Castiel warily takes a step back.
Jess has brought a glass of water from the kitchen, and Dean takes a quick, reluctant sip before he starts with the shouting. "What the hell, Cas?"
But Castiel's not looking at Dean. Castiel's looking at Sam.
"My planet is in danger," he says.
Sam isn't the sort of person whose brain blanks often. If he freezes, it's because there's too many thoughts in his head and he can't decide which one to focus on; this moment a perfect example. He sits there, thinking about his brother, Castiel, his childhood, his dad, his school years, his tenureship, every single one of his teachers who kindly or not-so-kindly steered him away from doing what he's always wanted to do, until one thought finally asserts dominance over all others and he shouts:
"I knew it! I knew there was something off about you!"
Jess is glancing quickly between them. "Castiel's an extraterrestrial?"
"Yes," Castiel says.
"Like, a space alien."
"Yes."
"From outer space."
"Yes."
"From a planet that is not Earth."
"Yes."
Sam's actually shaking from excitement. "I knew it! I did! The universe is too big! It made no sense! Of course there'd be other life, and not just life, but intelligent, technologically advanced life, there had to be!"
"You call this intelligent?" Dean snaps, roughly pulling away and standing up. Sam's excitement dims at the look on Dean's face.
"I'm sorry, Dean." Castiel looks up at Dean, apologetic.
"Sure you are," Dean says. "You came all this way for Sam, right? I just happened to be in the way."
Castiel doesn't offer any excuses. He merely looks at Dean, eyes sad, until he has to turn away. Dean growls with frustration and stomps off.
Sam puts a hand on Castiel's arm (he's touching an alien, oh my god) and makes a sympathetic sound. "He's not really angry at you—"
"Yes, he is," Castiel says. "He's angry because I deceived him. I did not lie, but it was a deception nonetheless. It doesn't matter."
Sam frowns. "Hey, man, alien or not, if you purposely strung my brother along—"
"There was not supposed to be this," Castiel hisses, pressing a fist to his chest. "No one can lie about this."
Sam and Jess look at each other. Jess says, quietly, "You're right, it can sneak up on you sometimes."
"I need your help, Sam." Castiel takes a deep breath (do they need to do that, or is that just a thing he does when he's in this body?) and then he's back in full serious business mode. "There was an experiment your lab did approximately two hundred and forty Earth days ago, a long-range scan of the Magellan cloud..."
Dean sulks in the back yard. He is so deep inside his funk that he can't be bothered to deny that he is sulking, even to himself.
He's a pretty relaxed guy most of the time, so his head is usually a mellow, relaxed sort of place where it's an easy step from one thought to the other. But right now it's a hurricane, quick lighting flashes to the hundred and one moments he's had with Cas since meeting him, each exchange and gesture and carefully-intoned sentence overlayed with the knowledge that he's a...
And it's not even just that.
It's that Cas came here for a mission.
He'd been so sure about Cas. Quirks were part of his charm, but that's not the issue. Dean's a mechanic, his bullshit-radar is top-notch, and Cas had exuded nothing but honesty the whole time they've been together.
Hadn't he?
Dean stays there, pacing back and forth until the back door opens.
It isn't Cas. Of course it wouldn't be Cas.
"We're going to the lab now," Sam says. He's trying to sound neutral, but the apology seeps through anyway.
"Yeah, okay, whatever, see if I care." Dean tries to be flippant about it, and doesn't watch Sam retreat.
In the small part of Dean's brain that isn't busy being angry, he has to admit that Castiel being an alien makes sense. It explains everything — the unusual body language, the general cluelessness, the inability to detect social cues, the curiosity about everything, and the extreme geeky intelligence hidden beneath the rest of his near unfathomable personality.
If Dean weren't busy being angry, he might've been impressed.
Just a little.
He's not going to take back the years of making fun of his brother, though.
Dean takes a deep breath.
He shouldn't be angry. There's no reason to get so worked up over nothing. A couple of days ago he didn't know Castiel existed, so it's not a problem if he just disappears. It'll be like he was never there at all.
Except.
Except that there's so much more he wants to show Cas. Today was just a start, a taste; Dean can think of a million more things he'd love to introduce to him, just to get Cas to look at him in that way — the way he had when he'd tried cotton candy for the first time, the way he'd tensed and then relaxed when they'd gone on the ferris wheel, the way he'd sometimes said thank you quietly like Dean was doing something miraculous, and not boring his skull out on the cheesiest first date ever.
Dean's not done.
He's nowhere near done.
This morning Cas chose him over whatever it is he had to do. That had to mean something, right?
Dean's moving before he realizes that he's made his choice.
The Impala's still out front, which means that they took Jess' car to the lab. Dean doesn't usually drive like a maniac but it hits him that it's sunset out and Cas said that he's going back tonight. Tonight can mean anything at this point, and Dean doesn't want that to happen without—
—without something.
Whatever, he'll figure it out when he gets there.
He's a couple of miles away, the sky already dark, when he sees the blast of light shoot straight up into the sky like a Bond villain's laser of doom, though Sam would be the worst Bond villain ever because he'd bore Bond to death with his geekiness.
Then, there's the motherfucking spaceship.
A mother. Fucking. Spaceship.
Dean whispers an apology to his baby, then hits the brakes. He's out of the car before it's completely stopped, running to the building, not caring that there's a motherfucking spaceship hovering nearby.
A hand stops him. Dean almost falls over, and only doesn't punch the owner of the hand because it's Jess.
"Shh," Jess says, putting a finger to her lips. "He's talking to the council."
Dean stands up slowly, taking the opportunity to get his breath back. Jess is smiling gently, and she reaches out a hand to squeeze his arm, pleased that he came. Dean shrugs a little, determined not to be embarrassed that he'd, for all intents and purposes, cross-countried for Cas.
It's a small blessing that Sam hasn't even noticed; he's too busy making googly-eyes at the shiny spaceship.
Cas is standing before said spaceship, talking at what looks like a bunch of lights. The lights are making high, musical noises, and Dean mentally parses the noise as Cas' home language until he realizes that the subtle syllables are English. "Whuh?"
"Don't ask," Jess says.
"No," Castiel is saying. "I disagree with Uriel's conclusions. He has not seen what I have seen."
"But they have the technology to hurt us now," say the lights. "We cannot allow the possibility to exist."
"Council," Castiel says, taking a deep breath. "We are blinded by our own advancements. Earth is a young planet—"
"A violent planet," say the lights.
"A young planet that is still learning." Castiel's voice is controlled, but the edges of his words tremble, like he's not quite the emotionless bastard he's supposed to be. "They are creative. Creative! Do you remember what it was like to be able to create for the joy of it? I cannot! We see only the bottom lines, the equations, the solutions. We have forgotten to appreciate the journey. I do believe, council, that we have a lot to learn from Earth, just as they have a lot to learn from us."
"We have made our decision—"
"Yet it cannot be denied that first contact has been made," Castiel says firmly. "And I am staying."
The lights flare brightly for a moment. "You are serious."
"As a heart beat," Castiel says.
"As a heart attack," Dean mutters, smiling to himself.
"We shall consider this." The lights dim, leaving behind the spaceship to hum quietly in the otherwise empty parking lot.
Castiel's shoulders relax. He exhales slowly, looking more human than Dean's ever seen him.
That's his cue. "Hey, Cas."
"Dean!" Castiel whirls around, blinking rapidly. "What are you, why are you... You're here."
"Yeah." Dean shoves his hands into his pockets. "I'm here."
Sam, who has been vibrating with impatience for the past couple of minutes, lets out a frustrated whine. "Oh my god, Cas, is that your spaceship? Can I see inside? Can I see how it works? Are all your spaceships like this, or is this only for intergalactic space travel?"
"Oh." Castiel turns and raises a hand in a signal. There's a metallic hiss and a door is sliding open in the lower half spaceship, complete with ramp and everything. Sam makes another totally uncool noise at the sight, though Jess doesn't seem to find it stupid because she's laughing right along with him. Cas says, "You are welcome to have a look around."
"We can board your ship, really?" Sam's squealing like a freaking girl. "Oh my god, Jess, we're going to have a look inside at a real live spaceship!"
"You, Doctor Winchester, are absolutely adorable." Jess takes his hand, and Sam practically starts floating.
"So, Cas," Dean says, louder than he needs to, just in case Cas thinks he can get away with pretending to be deaf. "You're an alien."
"Yes, Dean," Cas says to his shoes.
Dean takes a bold step forward. "Do you have antenna?"
Castiel makes a face — evidence that humanity is rubbing off on him. "No, Dean." After a beat, he finally looks up and says, "Would you like me to?"
"Hell," Dean says, chuckling as he reaches out and takes Cas into a hug. Castiel resists for a moment, but then there's that familiar full-body melt, hands reaching up to clutch into the back of Dean's jacket. "Cas, you little shit."
"I'm sorry, Dean," Cas says, voice muffled against his shirt.
"It's okay," Dean says. "I just live to mess up the missions of visiting space aliens." He pulls away so that he can look at Castiel's face, though he knows that's just going to get him another blast of that lost blue stare.
He likes it, though.
Then Sam has to ruin the moment by crowing. "I was right! In your face, Dean! Yeah!"
So it was that Sam never let Dean get over the fact that he was right about life on other planets, and Dean paid it back by never letting Sam get over fact that Sam had totally spent, like, a whole day with an alien and hadn't noticed anything despite supposedly being a super genius.
But both planets didn't get blown up, Sam got to geek out for the rest of his days, Dean got to introduce Cas to wonders of human living for the rest of his days, and that was as close to happily ever after as anyone could get.