Archive of Our Own

The weather in town was reasonably decent at this time of year. Shattered sunlight breezed across the paved street and glowed in shiny little puddles, the patches of light racing each other from Mr. Winter’s barbershop – that was the one with the bench outside – to the Barnes & Noble directly opposite. The clouds bubbled like science experiments in slow-motion, hurried across the sky by a brisk wind. The air carried a chill; that was why everyone wore a fleece coat while they did their Friday-evening shopping.

Three walls along from the bookstore, there was a small and inconspicuous shop, brown-bricked, with a wooden sign above that read ‘Mr. Antiquarian’ in a golden old-style serif. The shop’s front comprised of an unpolished window split into angled thirds, lead-lined, with three asymmetrically-placed frames of bullseye glass amongst the plain frames. As a whole, the shopfront was dirty and quiet enough that it tended to blur out of people’s awareness, and their eyes would skip straight from the barbershop on the left to the gaming room and Internet cafe on the right.

Mr. Antiquarian’s front door, now pushed by a hand, swung open and hit a bell. The bell’s tinkle was lively and cheerful, but was barely audible over the sound of the shop itself. From the left came a tuneless tonking noise as a grandfather clock struck off the hour, and at the same time an exotic bird trilled unseen, an old kettle wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew’ed sharply, a radio played white noise at a middling volume, and something clattered in the back of the shop. This was the shop’s usual ambience.

Now that he was inside, Dean Winchester stood motionless beside the snuff boxes closest to the door, noting the addition of a new one, Civil War era. It caught the murky light through the window, and it shone a brighter silver than all the others in its display case.

The room was filled with things. Clocks, furniture, teddy bears, books, jewellery. There was probably one of everything, everything ever invented. It was like a zoo exhibition of the inanimate – or, the very animate, if the talkative myna bird inside an original Victorian cage was to be counted.

“I’ll be – ah! – with you in a moment; feel free to browse,” a deep voice called, bustling and strained, from somewhere in the vicinity of the stacked mattresses. This was Castiel, he ran the shop. Well... he kind of existed to serve the shop. The shop malfunctioned at least six times a day; there were usually more problems than customers.

“It’s me,” Dean called, standing on his tiptoes to see over the cabinet of teacups. “I skipped out early, I was hoping I could finish your circuit map tonight.”

“AH!” Another tumbling thump came from a distant corner, and Dean’s eyes moved in time to see a lit chandelier begin to swing from its entwined cable and chain. The lights flickered, then died, and that entire corner of the shop was left in darkness. The chandelier continued to swing, squeaking as it did.

“Blast,” Castiel said.

Dean grinned, then began to make his way to where Castiel was. This place was a maze, layered with miscellaneous objects. Usually the piles were set heaviest at the bottom and lighter at the top, but Dean had once come across a wickerwork picnic basket wearing an entire letterpress machine as a hat. The items were harder to arrange than they were to navigate; the turnover rate here was remarkably decent, and Dean came by every day, so he always knew where the new paths would be. Thankfully, Castiel worked using the same logic of arrangement as Dean did, but with his prime interest being random discarded junk as opposed to fiddly bits of wire and electrical tape.

Dean found Castiel dusting off his hands, looking like he’d fallen victim to a cartoon explosion. The air around him smelled chalky and burnt, and his entire front was soot-black, cravat askew. When Castiel lifted his eyes, he met Dean’s gaze then glanced towards a new crate on the floor. The carpet around it was decorated with a black powder starburst.

“Gunpowder,” Castiel explained, then sighed. “It’s going to take a lot of careful vacuuming to get this cleaned up. She could’ve warned me when she dropped it off. Honestly, these people. They think I’m some...” He waved his blackened hands around, slim fingers grasping for words which didn’t come.

“They think you’re a rescue home for abandoned, unidentified attic relics,” Dean suggested. “Like a friendly thirty-something grandpa who hoards everyone else’s crap.”

“Exactly!” Castiel yapped, thrusting his finger in Dean’s direction. Dean leaned out of his way so the gunpowder wouldn’t soil his pristine Iron Man t-shirt. Castiel noticed him recoil, and he lowered his finger. More sadly, he said, “Exactly.”

Dean sighed, smiling softly. “How about you make us some tea, and I’ll see what I can do about this light.” He gestured up at the chandelier, which had very nearly stopped swinging. “Then we’ll clean up this mess, and then I’ll work on the circuit maps. What’s one more day, huh?”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said dejectedly, eyes set on Dean’s middle. “You’ve been back here nearly every day for months, and yet it’s like the things you have to deal with are... breeding. First the fire hazards, then the alarm systems, then the plumbing. Now it’s the lights. I’m grateful, Dean – you know I am – but don’t you think maybe this place isn’t worth the effort? I’m sure you have better things to do. Like running your own shop, for example.”

“The Light Fantastic is fine on its own. I’ve got Kevin and Ash working shifts on weekdays now, it’s not like the world stops when you need my help.” Dean offered his warmest smile. “Seriously, man, I’ve said it a hundred times. Just let me do what I can, when and where I can. It’s not a problem for me. If anything, it’s practise. It’s actually kinda fun.”

Castiel huffed under his breath, running a palm down his face, smearing the black powder that was already there. His blue eyes stood out more now, like they were the only two stars in an otherwise featureless night. “Ugh, I smell like an ashtray,” he muttered. “This powder is at least a hundred years old, it’s probably not that flammable...”

He turned his eyes in the direction of the Staff Only door, beyond which there was a small kitchen. “I suppose tea would solve one problem. Soothe my nerves.” The kettle had stopped whistling; Dean assumed Cas had taken it off the hotplate when Dean had arrived.

“Go on,” Dean smiled, reaching to pat Castiel’s lower back, where his waistcoat was free of the black powder, adorned only by an unfastened brass buckle. “Five minutes, and I’ll have this corner lit up like Christmas.”

Five minutes later the fire extinguisher was empty, the shop smelled like sulphur, and Dean was never again going to do anything electrical in a room containing loose gunpowder, even if said gunpowder was a hundred years old and “probably not that flammable”.

Dean wore the white sodium bicarbonate proudly, sitting next to Cas and enjoying a fresh cup of Darjeeling. They made an odd pair. Dean’s plaid shirt sleeves were rolled to the elbow and Castiel’s white cuffs were buttoned backwards, and where their arms touched and their powder stains mingled, both their forearms took on a turbid shade of grey.

On an evening that followed nearly a week later, Dean leaned back from his laptop, sighing in satisfaction. “Circuit maps, done! Digitised and uploaded to the cloud. And I emailed you. If this place burns itself down, you’ll still have the circuit maps to remind you how awesome I am.”

Opposite Dean, Castiel roused an expression of mock startlement and looked up from the glass case where he was polishing brooches. “My-my, Dean, it’s almost as if you expect to be taken down along with the shop.”

Dean grinned, flattening the lid of his laptop and scraping his note papers together to put into a folder. “I probably would, you know. I’d end up running in to save your lily-white ass.”

Castiel felt warmed from the heart – Dean’s talk of protectiveness always did that to him. He smiled as he placed a shiny emerald back into its place beside dozens of old wedding rings, cushioned in blue velvet.

Azimuth cooed from her perch behind Castiel, scooting along sideways inside her mansion of a cage. “Liℓу-ωнiтє αѕѕ,” she said, in Dean’s voice. She had a distinctly avian accent, but the mimicry was uncannily accurate – she even copied his breath patterns. The habit had long ago ceased to be a novelty.

“Azi, stop it,” Castiel scolded her, not turning around. “If you must talk, say something nice for once.”

In Castiel’s husky bass, the bird declared, “Yσυ’яє ѕυcн – уσυ'rє ѕυcн α ρrєttу girℓ. Pяєttу girℓ.”

Dean laughed, then hurriedly covered his mouth with his fist. Castiel shot him a glare, but he wasn’t really annoyed at all. “Perhaps I taught her that,” he admitted. “But I absolutely did not teach her your favourite B-word.”

“Soη σf α ƁITCH!”

Castiel let out a sigh of disdain as Dean broke down into guffaws, only to have Azimuth laugh along with him, matching him breath for breath and gruff bark for gruff bark.

Castiel turned his head to look at the bird. She was a Common Hill Myna: a sleek, black lump, sizable enough to fit comfortably in Castiel’s cupped hands. She had bright yellow feet, a smooth orange bill, and bold, leathery yellow wattles around the nape of her neck. “You are a menace,” Castiel said to her, while feeling the exact opposite way. Anything that made Dean laugh was worth keeping around.

Azimuth whistled like the kettle did when it boiled, then she sat quietly.

Shaking his head, Castiel returned to polishing. He had more important things to do, but when Dean was around, he preferred to be in the same place. Aside from the handful of customers the shop got every day, Dean was essentially Castiel’s only tie to humanity. He was a very pleasant tie, at that.

“Ahh,” Dean sighed, huffing his way out of leftover snickers, wiping at his eyes. “Man. Thanks, Az, I needed that, I’d barely laughed all day.” He smiled, becoming somewhat more wistful as he mused, “So much easier to blow off steam here than at The Light, y’know?”

Dean’s gaming lounge and Internet cafe was what inhabited the property next door to Mr. Antiquarian, and it made up an odd example of retail, being a womb of public introversion. He’d called it The Light Fantastic, and on the few occasions Castiel had ventured inside, he could understand why Dean picked the name. The dark tunnel-like rooms were filled with gleaming bulbs of every colour, every shape. Things flashed, and things beeped in melodies. There were dance games and racing games and pool tables, and apparently there were computers for Internet access in there, of which Castiel had heard tell but never seen. Technically the place was an arcade, not a gaming lounge, but Dean insisted on more ‘classy’ terms. Castiel’s opinion was that there was no such thing as ‘classy’ when the main demographic included badly-washed youngsters of varying ages, so he was grateful, therefore, that Dean never entered Mr. Antiquarian without first having changed his clothes. Castiel didn’t mind the smell of Dean’s sweat, it was everyone else’s sweat he wouldn’t tolerate.

“Hey,” Dean said, pulling Castiel from his distracted reverie. “Mind if I spread out a bit? Do you need this space?”

“Oh, go ahead,” Castiel said, collecting up all the brooches and giving Dean more room to put his folders and bits of loose paper. These weren’t the circuit maps, they were something new.

“I always end up struck with inspiration right when I turn the laptop off. So I scribbled it all down...” Dean opened up the laptop lid again, logged in, then returned his attention to Castiel. “I’m just gonna type this up, I’ll only be a few minutes. Sorry, man,” he glanced down guiltily, “I should do this at my own place.”

“No, no,” Castiel said, eagerly leaning over the glass desk and eyeing all the pages in front of him. “You can type anything you want while you’re here. The Light may be home for you but its atmosphere is not exactly conducive to creative thought. Think of my shop as another home.” Castiel turned his head as he spoke, “A crumbled-down, massively defective home―” he turned his eyes forgivingly towards the ceiling, then back to Dean, “but a home nonetheless.”

Dean looked at Castiel with mild shock, like he couldn’t believe anyone would be so kind. His plump lower lip moved up and down, until he finally blinked and managed a smile. “Wow. Uh.” He licked his lips. “Thanks, Cas.” He looked down at his notes, staring at them. Castiel could tell he was pretending to read but his mind was still on Castiel’s words.

“One condition,” Castiel added, with a smirk. Dean’s eyes shot up. “You have to tell me what you’re typing.”

Colour bloomed on Dean’s freckled cheeks, and Castiel felt a delightful thrill; Dean blushed beautifully.

“It― It’s nothing,” Dean mumbled, shrinking down on the stool he perched on. “Just some stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

Dean took a small breath, eyes examining the glass tabletop, presumably thinking about how to explain. “Um. Kind of― Things I wrote.”

“You’re writing a book?”

Dean’s green eyes met Castiel’s, and his tentativity was clear as day. “Yeah, s-sort of.”

“What’s it about?” Castiel leaned onto the display case with his weight on his forearms, his smile pulling at his lips. His legs stretched out behind him, enticed by Dean’s semi-confession.

Dean was still blushing. “Um... Kind of about... food? And stuff.”

“Is it a novel or a recipe book?”

Dean let out a sigh of relief, as if a burden had been lifted. “Recipes. Pie recipes.”

“Oh!” Castiel was intrigued. When he said nothing else for a few moments however, Dean began to fidget uncomfortably, pulling at his t-shirt collar, rubbing the back of his neck. Castiel grinned, realising he ought to ease Dean’s discomfort. “I think that’s wonderful.”

Dean’s eyebrows lifted, lips parting. “Really?”

Castiel nodded. “Sweet peach is my favourite.”

Dean’s eyes seemed to sparkle. “Peaches! I knew there was something I’d missed! Classic!” He bent over the desk, grabbing a pen from Castiel’s pen pot, scrawling hastily on the back of his notes. “Peeeeachesss... Cinnamon. Always cinnamon. I gotta try this, maybe ask Bobby’s wife if I could take a peek at her best recipe.” Dean grinned as he glanced up, then jumped when he discovered Castiel’s face was only a few inches away. Dean’s breath fluttered in his throat, eyes dipping to Castiel’s lips, then quickly back to his hand as he finished writing. “Thorough experimentation required.”

“Is that something you like to do, experiment?”

Dean nodded, flipping the paper to read what was on the next sheet. “Spend my evenings in the kitchen, unless I have real work to do. Sammy – that’s my little brother―”

“I know.”

“―he’s always teasing, saying I’m more like our mom than our dad. Mom makes the best damn apple pie you ever ate, swear to God.”

“Biтe му αѕѕ,” Azimuth interjected. Her comment went ignored.

“I’m sure your pies are just as good as your mother’s,” Castiel said, enjoying Dean’s proximity. “I can’t wait to see the collection when it’s done.”

Dean smiled ever so slightly. His cheeks burned bright, warmth coming off him in waves. “W- Would you want to see it before it’s done, maybe?”

Castiel’s stomach flipped with excitement, and he was sure the feeling showed on his face, because Dean laughed and reached for his laptop to show Castiel the screen. “It’s nowhere near finished – and the formatting is screwy, just ignore it.”

Castiel leaned further onto the glass, thumbing at the laptop’s trackpad to scroll the first few pages. The figures at the bottom corner of the word processor let him know Dean had written fifty pages so far. “Impressive,” Castiel said, nodding as he skimmed the ingredient lists and recipe directions. He paused on a page as the heading caught his eye. “...Chocolate pie?”

Dean chuckled, rolling his hand against his chin so he could finger his smile. “It’s something me and Sammy used to make as kids. Well, we used mud. Mom used to hate it, we’d come back inside the house looking like a couple’a brown bears. But I figure it could work with real chocolate.”

Castiel had to swallow, because his mouth was watering. “I want one.”

“Hey, maybe I’ll make you one.”

Castiel gazed at him thoughtfully. “How about... I take the recipe and I make it myself.”

Dean realised how brilliant that was the moment Castiel had expressed the idea. “Oh my God. You could be my tester! I asked Sammy but he doesn’t have time, Kevin’s a vegan, allergic to gluten and doesn’t eat sugar, and I haven’t figured out how to make those recipes yet―” He cut his sentence short, holding Castiel’s eyes to gauge his reaction. “You’d be okay with that, right?”

“Dean, I would be honoured.”

Dean exhaled hugely. “Oh, man. I could kiss you.”

Their eyes met again, and this time, Dean wasn’t the only one who was blushing. Castiel waited for it to happen, for Dean to lower his eyes to his lips and fall against his mouth, but they just went on staring.

“I mean,” Dean said, looking away, “Uh. Awesome. I’ll go print you a good paper copy as soon as I’ve typed this stuff up.”

Castiel let him be, staying quiet as Dean cleared his throat and fumbled towards backing up his notes.

Seven seconds later, the glass under Castiel’s forearms clicked, jolted through with a crack, then collapsed inwards. Castiel had a split second to dart to his feet before he could fall into the jewellery case, but Dean’s movement to rescue his laptop was not as swift.

Dean wailed in quiet distress, arms raised up by his shoulders as he and Castiel found themselves separated by shredded velvet, displaced jewellery, and large, jagged shards of glass.

“Aw, ѕнiт,” Azimuth said.

Dean’s belly showed under his shirt as he stretched upwards, hands buried in the ceiling. He’d cut a square hole above him, and he now stood on his tiptoes at the top of a sturdy ladder, his eyes squinched shut against the rains of plaster dust that swept down in flurries every time he moved a cable.

Castiel wandered past carrying his favourite silver tea tray, admiring the pale slip of skin that showed above the waistband of Dean’s jeans. His navel was a shadowy dip, treasure trail highlighted by the six different oil lamps Castiel had set up on the newly reinforced jewellery case.

The electricity was out for the time being, so they were making do. They were having iced tea instead of hot tea today.

“Agh, goddamnit,” Dean muttered to himself. “I know it was like, seventy years ago, but what the hell possessed electricians to make all the cables the same colour? Which one am I meant to strip?”

“Don’t you think it would be safer to let a professional do it?” Castiel said, leaning against the jewellery case. He sipped his iced tea through a straw, eyes still set on Dean’s tiny bit of tummy pudge. “I mean,” he licked his lips, “You’re not fully qualified―”

“‘Qualified’ implies there was a certificate awarded at some point,” Dean said tartly, shaking his hands to relax them, then returning them to the wires that spilled like guts from the ceiling. “‘Experienced’ is a better term. Implies someone’s done this before and knows what they’re doing.”

“And have you done this before?”

Dean lowered his eyes to Castiel, four feet below him and to his left. “Okay maybe ‘informed’ would be more accurate. I know wires, I just don’t know these wires.” He waved a hand, dismissive. “You got a new fire extinguisher. It’ll be fine.”

Castiel hummed, smirking behind his iced tea. Dean’s cockiness was one of the most entertaining facets of his personality. He always thought he knew everything, or at least acted like it, even when it was obvious he had no clue. Castiel liked to pretend Dean was showing off as a courting gesture. It was a nice fantasy, but the truth of the matter was probably that Dean was not as ‘informed’ as he thought he was.

Still, it was Sunday. Both Mr. Antiquarian and The Light Fantastic closed after four p.m., and here they both were at seven-thirty, making no progress whatsoever. It was a pleasant way to spend the time. And Dean was covered in dust, which was a look Castiel found inexplicably attractive.

“Nope,” Dean said, tutting and backing down off his ladder, leaving the rat’s nest of cables spewing from the gap in the ceiling. “I’m leaving this for someone who has x-ray specs. I know this building well enough to know it might shock me even if the power’s out.”

Okay, maybe Dean did have a scrap of humility in him. “Smart move,” Castiel smiled, handing Dean his iced tea.

Dean forewent the straw, instead shoving the glass rim under his nose and tipping back the sweet beverage. The pink umbrella vacated the glass, floating past his ear and twirling to the floor like some peculiar dispersing plant seed.

Dean swallowed, sighing as he smacked his wet lips, refreshed. His eyes flicked to Castiel’s, and he gave a shy smile. “Thanks, by the way.” He didn’t seem to be talking about the tea.

“For what?”

Dean shrugged a shoulder, collarbone showing from under his t-shirt’s neckline. “For not laughing at me. Most dudes would’ve teased.”

Castiel’s eyebrows collided. “Teased you about what?”

“Not being able to fix something. Giving it up to someone else. It’s alpha male stuff, Cas. We don’t back down in the company of other men. Even if it means getting electrocuted instead.”

Castiel’s confusion evaporated, and he smiled. “I wouldn’t tease you. But I’m glad you put me in an exemptive class.”

Dean shrugged again, still giving Castiel that shy, almost studious look. “You’re... different.”

Castiel’s tummy fluttered, and he swallowed some more iced tea to cover the blush he was sure rose on his face. As the fluttering didn’t stop when his glass was empty, Castiel turned around quickly, reaching for the pie dish he’d left there. “I think it’s time for chocolate pie, don’t you?”

Dean gasped aloud, clapping his half-empty glass down onto the jewellery case. “God, yes. Cas, you friggin’ made this?”

Castiel had peeled the aluminum foil from the top of the dish, revealing sugar-dusted golden pastry. It was not a tall pie, but shallow and dense. Much like an oversized filled croissant, Castiel imagined.

“I haven’t tasted it yet,” he said. “I thought perhaps you would like to try it too.”

“Shit, yes,” Dean whined. “Give me some of that.”

“Patience,” Castiel smirked, reaching for the plastic knife and the party plates he’d brought. “Go and wash your hands. This is a controlled experiment, I won’t have plaster dust sullying our conclusions.”

“Love it when you talk nerdy,” Dean muttered, slapping Castiel’s ass before sauntering off to the the bathroom at the rear of the shop. Castiel watched him go, all tensed up inside. Dean’s handprint was still stinging on his buttocks, and he was certain a finger had momentarily fitted in the central groove. The blush on Castiel’s cheeks was going nowhere.

“I ℓoνє тнє ѕouuη∂ σƒ – уσu ωaℓкing αωaу, yoυ ωaℓkiηg αway,” Azimuth sang, in a near-perfect Franz Ferdinand impersonation. Castiel smiled, because Dean heard her and laughed from the recesses of the shop, a gruff, tumbling sound filled with boyish amusement. Azimuth echoed him, but Dean’s laugh had been far better to hear.

When Dean came back, his face was streaked with half-damp plaster in places, but he was mostly clean. Castiel handed him a slice of chocolate pie, and Dean cooed mirthfully. “It looks freaking amazing, Cas,” he grinned. “Different to mine, obviously – you used a different sized tray―”

“Yes, I took that into account,” Castiel said, pointing towards the paper notes he’d made. “You need an instruction for how deep the dish should be; it cooks differently depending on how thickly the ingredients are layered. The one I made here came out well, I think.”

“Crinkly top pastry,” Dean whispered, apparently in awe. He lifted the wrinkled top layer with the prongs of his disposable fork, swallowing audibly. “Chocolate. This looks perfect, Cas, holy shit. Like, it did the crumbly-lumpy thing just right. My mouth is watering right now.”

“I also took note of baking time; I think my oven is different to yours. Despite the thinner dish, I needed to add several minutes to the cooking time, the inside wasn’t solidifying. Could’ve been improved by using metal rather than ceramic, perhaps.”

“Nghh,” Dean said. Castiel looked up to see his eyes were closed, his lips flaked with pastry and his tongue darkened by chocolate. “Ohhh God, this is heavenly.”

Castiel stared. Blushing again.

Dean moaned, turning his head like he was going to kiss the pie. His lips closed around his second mouthful, and he nibbled it between his teeth until it broke. Crumbs littered his plastic plate where he held it carefully at his sternum; globs of chocolate slid from the pastry and clung to the plate too, adding giant stars to the crumb constellations.

Castiel absentmindedly ate his own pie slice. At the back of his mind, he registered the smooth, dark chocolate tang, the delicate softness of lower pastry contrasting with the crunch and crack of the topmost one; he observed the way it wouldn’t stay together, and how very un-pie-like it was as a whole. But the majority of his conscious thoughts were about Dean’s lips... his tongue over dark chocolate decorated with powdered sugar, tongue and lips against fingertips... flickering eyelashes, absorbed in his own private world of flavour.

Dean reached for and obtained another slice before Castiel could scold him about putting licked fingers on unserved food. He didn’t even mind, he realised, as Dean hopped up onto a rung of his silver ladder to eat his second helping. Dean could lick anything he wanted and Castiel wouldn’t care.

When Dean had downed the last of his iced tea, and Castiel had wiped his own face with a napkin, Dean snatched the same napkin and cleaned his shining fingers.

“That was marvellous,” Dean said, grinning at the ceiling, then at Castiel. “Mmm. Nine-point-five out of ten, could only be improved by divine intervention.”

“Then why not call it a ten?”

Dean’s eyes went on devouring the three-quarters of the pie still left over, until Castiel blocked his view with his body. Dean then looked up and answered Castiel’s question. “Nothing’s perfect the first time. Could be better the second time ‘round, but how would we know? The second one doesn’t exist yet.”

Castiel nodded, supposing that was fair.

“Actually, you know what? I think that pie gave me the strength to carry on,” Dean said happily, hopping off his ladder and turning to face it. He stuck his hands on his hips, staring the dangling wires down like he was readying himself for a fight. “Brace yourself, baby, I’m gonna make you work whether you like it or not.”

“‘Baby’?”

Dean hastily turned his eyes on Castiel. “Uh. It...” He cleared his throat. “It’s what I call things I’m affectionate with. Like my car, or... or the good pool table at The Light. I was talking to the shop.”

Castiel made an accepting noise; Dean had more fascinating habits than he would ever be able to study. Castiel then nodded and turned towards his notepaper. “While you fix the cabling, I’ll write up our findings.”

Dean’s weight made the ladder creak, but he didn’t climb. “Findings?”

Castiel turned to him with all his papers in hand, carrying them to Dean so he could see. “Yes, findings. I kept detailed logs of everything I did while baking. It would make sense to continue that, and make note of the result, also.”

Dean gawped at the handwritten notes, reaching out his fingers to skim the first page. “Shit. You... literally did a science experiment.” His wide eyes found Castiel’s, and his voice was astonished as he breathed, “Cas... I... I don’t think I’ve ever loved you as much as I do right now.”

Castiel’s mouth went dry and his heart started pumping questions marks instead of blood. It was a wonderful thing to hear, but what did Dean mean by it? Did it mean―

Actually, he didn’t care what it meant. It meant a lot.

“I love you too, Dean,” Castiel said, breathless. His heart beat Dean’s name.

Dean grinned brightly, eyes shining in the oil lamp light. He clapped Castiel on the bicep, thumb rubbing his arm through his shirt, and then he turned away. He climbed the ladder, ass swaying until he reached the top, then his hips stuck forward so they pressed to the ladder’s looped handle. “Hey, could you pass me a screwdriver?” he asked, in a casual tone of voice.

Castiel was the only one who had been left emotionally tangled by the confession. Now he was back to not knowing what it meant.

There must have been two kinds of love caught in their current. God had installed their circuitry wrong.

Castiel passed Dean his screwdriver from his toolbox, and stood by holding the ladder while Dean worked. His belly showed under his t-shirt again, and Castiel resumed his previous admiration of his tummy pudge. There was not much more he could do, not any more. Dean didn’t love him the same way.

“That oughta do it,” Dean panted, leaning his forehead against a twining oak support pole. The four-poster bed they’d just pushed all the way from the parking lot was now centred in the bowels of the shop, guarded by bookshelves, dining tables, and a platoon of wooden chairs stacked seven high.

Castiel wiped his sweaty face against the sleeve of his shirt, licking his lips as he panted. “I’ll move everything else back when you’ve gone,” he said, looking at the empty wake of carpet where they’d pushed the bed. There was still a set of wobbly tracks meandering through the city of things.

Dean grunted, swung around, then flopped down onto the floor with his back resting on the carved side of the bed. “Give me – a minute,” he breathed, thrusting a hand back through his hair. “Jeez. Why’d you – haah – why’d you even buy this thing?”

“I got it at today’s antique auction,” Castiel said defiantly, then sat down beside Dean, spreading his aching legs out in front of him. His usually-polished shoes were scuffed at the toe, and the laces of one were undone. “I buy nearly everything in this place at auction – unless vendors visit me here and want to trade. A lot of these things sell at auction, too. It’s quite efficient.”

“Huh,” Dean said. He was more exhausted than Castiel, and Castiel couldn’t tell if that was due to Dean being less fit than he let on, or having taken most of the bed’s weight so Castiel didn’t have to. Or both.

“Actually, I have a story,” Castiel said, starting to smile. “There was this lady I met there, a little Hindu dwarf lady. She was very lovely. Although – she beat me to that jewelled Edwardian ottoman, went for nearly four thousand dollars. Beautiful detailing.” He flared with discontent, and felt his skin bristle as he snapped, “I would’ve been able to sell that for a far better―”

“Cas,” Dean interrupted, putting a hand on Castiel’s thigh. “Getting sidetracked.”

Castiel settled back down, exhaling. Dean was right, he did get distracted an awful lot. “Anyway. Yes. This lady, Aja, she told me about her employer. He buys these things at auction – or sends Aja to do it – and he puts them all in his shop. And customers come in, they see the things they want, and – like they do here – they’ll offer a price. But the owner sets his prices high. He paid four thousand for that ottoman, for example, so his reasoning is, why should he lose anything on that? He wouldn’t re-sell for any less than seven thousand.”

“Holy crap,” Dean chuckled. “That much for a box? Better be something good inside. Ark of the Covenant, maybe.”

Castiel squinted, wondering how Dean knew of that Biblical reference. When Dean laughed and shook his head, Castiel forged onwards: “It is just a box. A very well-made box – semi-precious stones inlaid, hand-carved. But I describe these things and I... I don’t know, I feel their value lies in the story behind it. Its carpenter, their life. The people who owned it before. What would it smell like inside, what’s been stored in it throughout the centuries?”

“So what would the other guy think?”

“He sees something that well-made, in such good condition, and every jewel has its value. Monetary value. Most customers see what I see, they want something that’ll keep their linen hidden attractively, something to balance out the painting in the hallway, something to fit in that awkward corner of the house. Maybe they see the thing and fall madly in love, but could only afford, say, five thousand – and even then it’s a push. But this seller doesn’t seem to know the meaning of bartering.”

“So,” Dean said, “these customers want to buy the stuff, and... what?”

“And he doesn’t let them. His prices are ridiculous. I don’t know why he wants to hold on to everything, there’s nothing sentimental about it. He barely even sees these items, Aja handles everything for him. It’s all profit-profit-profit, he doesn’t care if his customers go home happy.”

Dean patted Castiel’s thigh, then rubbed it gently. “Guess that’s what makes you a better salesman,” he muttered.

Castiel shrugged, flattered. “I make deals with people. If they want a set of chairs and a dining table, I’ll lower the price if they buy all of them together. I couldn’t bear to see a set separated because of something stupid like money. I’d sell at a loss, if it comes to that. These pieces have been together for years, they’re a family! Pulling them apart – would be like―”

His words stumbled into lava as his body rushed hot and angry all of a sudden. The only thing keeping his fists from curling was the hand Dean kept on his thigh. Rubbing, soothing. It was like he knew what Castiel was really upset about.

“Your mom... She still hasn’t contacted you, has she,” Dean said quietly.

Blinded by tears, Castiel shook his head. “Neither has my sister. And I’m not expecting them to.”

Dean sighed slowly, giving Castiel’s leg one last squeeze before sliding away to rest his palm on the tatty carpet. “My dad hasn’t either,” Dean said. “Not that I’m complaining, we got along fine without him. But still. Twenty years is a long time. Mom... took it pretty hard when he left, you know? I can’t even imagine Mom and Sammy taking off as well... leaving me at some crappy boarding school.” Dean paused to swallow. “Heh. You turned out well, considering.” He joked, but the joke wasn’t meant to be laughed at.

Castiel could feel Dean’s tender gaze on him. Anyone else looking at him that way, with pity, would’ve made his blood boil up again. But Dean was different. Dean didn’t sympathise because he wanted something from Castiel, nor did he elevate himself by looking down on others; he sympathised because he cared. People like that were rare in Castiel’s world.

Castiel gulped, blinking back his tears as he turned his eyes away from Dean. “What― What about you?” he said, swallowing again and sniffing before returning his gaze to Dean’s. “What did you do today?”

“Aside from using my lunch break to help you move furniture?” Dean grinned, whacking a hand against the four-poster bed. “Ahh, not much. Hey, you remember last week, going through the pile of resumes?”

“Of course.”

“I picked out the one you suggested. Uhh, Charlie something.”

“Charlene Bradbury.”

“That’s it,” Dean smiled. “She showed up for her job induction today. She’s actually incredible, she’s like fun personified. She does that Moondor thing―”

“Is that the ridiculous brochure you showed me? Role play?”

“It’s not just some kiddie thing, Cas! Seriously, I’ll take you up to the field someday, and you’ll get a taste. We’ll break in that virgin ass of yours, and you’ll never want to go home. But guess what. Charlie? She’s Queen of Moondor. Literally, she wears a crown. Can’t believe I never recognised her.”

“So you’re happy with your selection,” Castiel said, glad to see Dean so enthused, his eyes shining.

“She was your selection, not mine,” Dean corrected. “Guess I’m just sayin’ thank you. Me ‘n her are gonna get along like a house on fire. I get to see her every day – trade lunches, do racing battles after closing time, that kind of thing. It’s awesome. Then I get to crawl over here and do paperwork with you in a sea of old crap. God, you’re like my wife.”

Castiel smiled, but he didn’t feel as happy as he should. It wasn’t that he was jealous – Dean had every right to be friends with whoever he liked, and spend as much time with them as he possibly could – but Castiel wished Dean got more time with him than just the moments of downtime shoehorned between peak business hours. And for that matter, why couldn’t they see each other out of work?

Castiel decided to ask. “Dean―”

“Oh, hey, while we’re talking about girls and antiques and stuff, did Rhonda come in today?”

Castiel bit down on his unsaid words. “Rhonda?”

“Yeah, you said she comes in on Saturdays.”

“She does,” Castiel nodded. “But―”

“Is she still working at that movie set? What was it, uhhh...”

“The Seduction of an Oracle,” Castiel answered. “Yes. She’s the head set decorator.”

Dean rocked his shoulders against the bed, grinning as his head rested on the edge of it. “Man. It’s been so long since I saw her. Wait, how old am I―?”

“You’re thirty-six.”

Dean mouthed words under his breath, sticking his fingers up to wiggle them; apparently he was counting something. “Seventeen years. Christ, that’s like half my life.”

“You’ve known her since you were nineteen?”

Dean shook his head, relaxing his hands between his legs as he bent his knees up. “Knew her through high school. Then me ‘n her had a little fling, a couple years after graduation. Wasn’t much, but it was memorable. Never saw each other after... No real reason for that, now I think about it.”

Castiel’s smile was taut, definitely faking it now. He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.

Dean hummed, running his fingers against his knees as his eyes drifted unfocused. “Wonder if she’s seeing anybody. She must’ve grown up, it’s been ages. She was pretty mature, way back when, but she’s gotta be top of her game these days, that’s my bet.” Dean quickly turned to Castiel. “Does she still give that impression? Like she’s totally in charge?”

Castiel shrugged, trying to keep his expression neutral. Inside, he felt like sulking.

“Hm,” Dean said. “She was real pretty back then, too. She still hot?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Castiel said bluntly. A lie; Rhonda’s personality was undoubtedly handsome. And, yes, she was still pretty.

Dean gave him a thoughtful look. “Huh,” he said, distractedly.

Castiel had never seen Dean so focused on something else. This was the first time he hadn’t been completely aware of Castiel’s emotions, of his reactions, his presence as a human being in the conversation. It bothered Castiel to a degree that he considered leaving Dean alone and going to talk to Azimuth instead.

Castiel watched Dean zone out and stare into space, lips parted and fingers rubbing gently together. Castiel gradually began to realise what he was seeing. Dean was still attracted to Rhonda. Castiel had seen his own face in the mirror after talking to Dean, and he knew what someone in love looked like. Dean had that expression. Dazed eyes, parted lips, a pink shade on his cheeks paired with an air of distraction.

Castiel’s first reaction was sour and cold, like he’d drunk milk that had been in the fridge for too long. The nausea, too, was fitting.

Then he reminded himself: he had no claim over Dean. They were not romantic partners, they were platonic friends. They had never met outside the shop, and perhaps there was a reason for that. Dean probably didn’t want to. What they had between them was practically a business exchange, one Aja’s boss would have understood. Dean fixed Mr. Antiquarian’s various defects, and in return he got hot tea and a decent space to write his cookbook. Perhaps Castiel’s refined company factored into the appeal, but Dean had never given any real sign he was as interested in Castiel as Castiel was in him.

Dean didn’t want him. Okay. So now was where it ended. Castiel was sensible enough to know there was no point pining after something he couldn’t have; he learned as much every time he went to auction. He would learn to not be in love with Dean. It was feasible.

“I can talk to her, if you want,” Castiel said, nudging Dean out of his daydream. “I can talk to Rhonda for you.”

“What? And tell her what?”

“About you. Maybe she would like to meet with you sometime,” Castiel suggested, managing a smile. Seeing Castiel’s smile, Dean grinned. Good, Dean was pleased by this. That was good.

“I’d love that, actually,” Dean nodded. “It’s not like I can get out of The Light for a break whenever she shows up here, so yeah. I’d owe you one.”

Castiel smirked, pushing his shoulder against Dean’s. “Fix the radio antenna and we’ll call it even. I’m sick of white noise.”

“You know, I think it does brown noise too.”

Castiel chuckled. Well, this wasn’t so bad. Everything might turn out fine after all.

“Nooo-ho-hoo,” Castiel wailed, thumping his head on the jewellery case, leaving an oily forehead mark and not caring. “I can’t do this, Azi, I can’t.”

He propped his cheek on his hand, gazing dully ahead towards the hat stand layered with ancient feathered specimens. “I’m not even jealous! It just hurts!”

“Looooσνє нυятѕ,” Azimuth sang. “Lσνє ѕcaaaarѕ.”

Castiel sighed. The radio behind him kept better time than the bird, but Azimuth couldn’t quite differentiate between guitar chords and vocalisations, so her singalong was a bit of a mess.

Castiel sat up straight on his stool, running his hands back through his disarrayed hair. “I suppose this is my own fault. I should’ve told him when I had the chance. I was just― I was so sure I needed more time to sort things though! It was confusing, Azi, I never thought I could feel like this.”

Castiel reached for the bird, offering himself as a perch. Azimuth hopped off her cage’s metal rung and onto Castiel’s hand, yellow feet wrapped around his right index finger. She chirped out Dean’s ringtone, which Dean had once explained was the theme tune from The Twilight Zone. The sound of it only served to make Castiel feel gloomier.

He shook his head, gazing at his bird and letting out a slow sigh. “What would you do, Azi? What would you do if the only bird you ever wanted as a nestmate wanted someone else? And that someone else was the better kind. Dean and Rhonda have got history. And I don’t know about her feelings on breeding, but God knows I can’t give him the babies he wants.” He growled, then thumped his head onto the desk again. Azimuth honked like a car, hopping about on Castiel’s hand. “Ugh, this is so stupid.”

“Yσυ кηow тнat’ѕ rιgнt,” Azimuth said, in Dean’s voice.

“Stop it,” Castiel snapped. “Unless you can give me a heartfelt love confession and let me scream myself into oblivion, I don’t want to hear his voice.” He huffed. “The worst thing is that I didn’t even consider the most important part of this. I’ve known him for months, I see him upwards of two hours a day, we talk about everything from dietary supplements to spatial anomalies, and yet it never occurred to me to find out if he was even capable of attraction to me. Until I met him, I wasn’t. So what made me think he was any different? As far as I know, he’s aromantic and straight as a―”

“Riηg!”

“Rifle,” Castiel said bluntly, glaring at the bird. “I never had a shot.”

When Azimuth tweeted apathetically, Castiel tweeted back, then heaved a great sigh and returned the bird to her cage, closing the wire hatch until it clicked shut. He felt like he was doing the same to himself. He was the little myna bird, his life was the cage.

“Thank God it’s Friday,” Dean groaned, ruffling his hair as he removed a bowler hat from his head, tossing it back on the rack of new items. “This week’s been longer than usual, everything feels wonky.”

Castiel hummed noncommittally, while agreeing in his head. Every time he looked at Dean now, the spark of happiness he always felt was dampened by a gloomy mantra: He doesn’t love you the same way. He likes you as a friend, that’s all, and you’re going to have to settle for that.

“My laptop came back from the shop today,” Dean sighed, slumping over the front desk and reaching out his fingers to touch Castiel’s loosened cravat. He fiddled with it as he spoke, “They got all the glass shards out, apparently it works fine. The guy I spoke to...” Dean’s fingers slipped away from Castiel’s chest, and Castiel felt a cold loss. “Actually, it’s kind of embarrassing.”

“What is?” Castiel asked, fiddling with his cravat himself now, so Dean would keep looking at him.

Dean grinned, sinking his cheek into his hand and gazing across the jewellery case with shining eyes. “The guy was a nosy asshole. He said he was expecting to find a ton of hardcore porn when he rebooted the hard drive, but was surprised to find pie recipes instead. Huh. Like pies are the soft option, or something, I don’t know.”

He shrugged, turning his eyes away, downcast. “Maybe I’m losing my touch. A year ago, that guy would’ve found that stupid porn. A year ago, I would’ve fixed the laptop myself. I don’t know what changed.”

“Maybe you changed,” Castiel offered. He smiled, but was confused when Dean didn’t smile back. “It’s a good thing, Dean. I for one am very glad you found your calling in food preparation as opposed to pornography consumption.”

Dean scoffed, watching his own hand as he ran his fingers along the rim of the display case. “It’s an interest thing. My, um... my preferences...” His eyes flicked up, and he looked carefully at Castiel. “My preferences changed a bit, in recent times. I figured some stuff out. Kinda felt like I’d been waiting all my life for that no-brainer to hit me.”

Castiel smiled encouragingly. “And when you’ve published that recipe book, you’ll be even more satisfied. I’m proud of you, Dean.”

Dean grinned shakily, then lowered his eyes to the velvet under the glass. “Heh. Thanks, Cas. But that wasn’t actually what I was talking about.”

“What? What were you talking about?”

Dean shook his head. “It’s nothing. Not important.”

Castiel, perplexed, followed Dean’s line of sight. His gaze landed on the single blank space in the jewellery case, and he became distracted. “Oh, did I tell you?” He caught Dean’s eye as he looked up. “Some things went missing from the shop this week, I’m not sure when. I’ve checked the video tapes but I can’t seem to find the culprit. It’s almost fascinating – that is, were it not for that fact someone robbed me under my very nose.”

Dean swallowed, eyebrows raised. “Really. Uh, s-so, what did they take?”

“Some brooches, I think? Not much. Only one, perhaps two items.” Castiel shrugged, tapping a finger on the glass beside Dean’s hands. “I don’t know, I should’ve kept better records of what I had. And that reminds me, once you’ve finished the lights, I need your expertise on the shop’s insurance. I may be several years behind in updates, it’s terrible.”

Dean smiled tensely. “Yeah,” he licked his lips, “Yeah, that’s really bad, Cas. Don’t do that.”

Castiel eyed Dean gingerly, searching for a reason for his sudden unnerved behaviour. When he saw nothing, only Dean’s hastened breath and eyes shifting down and away from Castiel’s gaze, Castiel guessed at what it was. “You’ll still have time to write your book, Dean, I promise,” he said gently. “You can take as much time as you want for yourself. Me and my shop’s problems should always come second.”

Dean heard those words and looked startled, this time for a different reason. His eyes met Castiel’s intently. “No, Cas! No, you don’t. You’re part of my life, you’re my friend. If I can’t take the time for you, what good is taking the time for anything else? Huh?” He started to smile, tilting his head ever so slightly. “Coming here is the part of my day I look forward to the most, you know?”

Castiel blinked rapidly. “No,” he said softly, not hiding his smile. “I didn’t know.”

He wasn’t brave enough to say it, but the moments Dean spent here – even with that gloomy mantra replaying in his head the whole time – they were Castiel’s favourite, too.

Dean chuckled, now considerably brighter than he had been moments ago. “On that note, Cas – I just wanted to check... you’re gonna talk to Rhonda tomorrow, right?”

What little resistance Castiel had built to his internal mantra shattered like the jewellery case had a fortnight ago. He looked at his hands, thumbs rounding his knuckles, and he sighed slowly, trying his best to hide his upset from Dean. “Of course,” he said lightly. “I told you I would.”

“Alright. That’s perfect.” Dean fidgeted in obvious excitement. He met Castiel’s eyes, taking a cheerful breath. However, he seemed to see the true sadness swimming around in Castiel’s soul, and his smile waned like the sun going behind a cloud. “Cas... Look... Maybe I should’ve asked earlier, but you’re okay with this, right? Talking to Rhonda for me?”

Castiel held his tongue. Would Dean understand if he told the truth?

“I’d do it myself,” Dean added, “but seriously, the only reasons I’ll leave The Light during work hours are: A, because you need help, or B, food.” He grinned at Castiel, and Castiel’s half-formed replies dissolved in his throat. Dean still placed him as a priority over Rhonda, regardless of the nature of their relationship. So help him, he was going to talk to Rhonda.

“Or C,” Dean finished, “When you or someone else dear to me has food to share. Actually, I was going to tell you about that, too. My mom’s coming over tomorrow night, I’m off work early. Wanted to let you know in case you start wondering why I don’t show up here after closing time. Don’t want you missing me, or something.” He smirked, his lower lip marked by a tooth as he nibbled it gently.

Castiel nodded, feeling oddly serene. He doesn’t love you the same way. But he does still love you, and that will always be enough. Make sure it’s enough.

Rhonda Hurley entered Mr Antiquarian at 10:43 on Saturday morning. Castiel had always been glad to see her; she and her film crew posse were major buyers in the local antique business. Even Aja had nice things to say about her. But today, Castiel saw her enter and his stomach filled with the cold acid of dread.

“Goooood morning,” Rhonda said, sweeping up to the jewellery display case, behind which Castiel sat and fiddled with a pen. Rhonda’s dreadlocks were plaited down past her left shoulder, a solid rope of black contrasting wildly with the orange pinafore dress she wore. She favoured bold colours, and bold statements. “You, my friend, are looking ravishing today. Is that a fever I see? Brings out your eyes.” She smiled devilishly, but Castiel could only cough weakly in response.

Rhonda’s smile slipped. “Oh my God, you’re not actually sick, are you? Vitamin C, you hear me? A teaspoon of honey and a squeeze of lemon in hot water, that’s what you need.” She pointed a painted red fingernail at Castiel’s chest. “Are you coughing? I heard a cough.”

“I’m not sick,” Castiel croaked. “Sorry, I’m just―” Nervous. Emotionally wounded. Heartbroken. “Tired.”

Rhonda slowly slipped her jewellery-gilded hand back to her side. “Hey. Don’t worry about taking a day off, or anything. This shop’s been open practically every day since the dawn of time, I don’t think it would fall down if you overslept for once.”

Castiel smiled, sidling out from behind the desk. “You’d be surprised.”

“Deαη ℓσνeѕ уσuuu,” Azimuth said. Castiel’s vision clouded with a blind fury aimed at the bird, but it passed after a moment. He put on a more determined smile, and led Rhonda away from the desk and the shop’s overly presumptuous commentator.

“What are you after today?” Castiel asked Rhonda, taking the printed sheet of specifications she handed him. “Ah, lampshades,” he muttered, seeing the designs on the page. “We do have several accumulated from that era, you’re in luck.”

He took her straight to the area of the shop he introduced to her as “Lampshade Forest”. He switched on each of the lamps as they passed, smiling to himself. When Castiel had reached the end of the small runway, he turned around and beamed at Rhonda, who had sat down on the corner of an age-toughened leather couch to admire the gleaming lights.

“Damn, this is classy,” she said, crossing her slim legs one over the over, the buckles of her orange shoes shining.

“Dean did an excellent job connecting all of these lights up without overloading the adapters,” Castiel said, fondly.

“I think I need six... Hm? Oh... Dean – Winchester, right?” Rhonda said, recognition in her eyes. “I remember you saying something about him a few weeks ago.”

“Mm-hm,” Castiel hummed. “He’s... he’s very nice.”

A promise was a promise, Castiel reminded himself. Dean wanted a date with Rhonda, so he would get a date with Rhonda.

“He’s also very handsome,” Castiel added. “And he’s – virile.”

Rhonda laughed like sparkling champagne, tiny bubbles bursting on glass. “Yes, that’s how I remember him too. I guess he hasn’t changed much.”

“No, no, he has,” Castiel said, almost too eagerly. “I didn’t know him when you knew him, but I’m certain he’s much more mature now. He doesn’t play into all those alpha male stereotypes―”

Rhonda laughed again, harder this time. Her dreadlocks swung backwards as she leaned her neck against the back of the couch, a hand raising to touch to her heart. “A-hah!” she cried, finally leaning forward. “Dean and his alpha male stereotypes. The Dean Winchester I knew in ‘98 was the furthest from confrontational as I’ve ever known a boy to be. He was like those little puppies, you could just bat him around and he’d fall over before yapping and bounding up for more.”

Castiel frowned, fingers curling around a lampshade’s brass pole for support. “You mean he was a pushover?” Rhonda grinned and shook her head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, when it came to girls―” Rhonda narrowed her eyes, thinking. “Well, I don’t know. I’m not sure how to describe it. I wouldn’t say he liked it rough, but... Oh, I know. He was gentle with me, but he wanted it dang-nasty for him. It led to some interesting experiences, for sure.” Rhonda got a faraway look in her eye, her smile never waning.

“Are―” Castiel almost choked. “Are you talking about sex?”

Rhonda looked back at Castiel, and nodded slowly. Castiel couldn’t put his finger on why, but he filled with a spiralling warmth, much like arousal. He should have felt jealousy, but all he felt was new awareness of the things that excited Dean. This was beautiful, privileged information.

Rhonda continued, “When I say he was like a puppy, I mean that’s how he acted with me. I don’t know about how he was with the other boys, in his woodwork class or the science labs or wherever else. He seemed to prefer hanging out with his little brother and a bunch of other geeks.”

“Not with you?”

Rhonda smiled sharply and shook her head. “Pretty white boys like him don’t hang around with black girls like me, not if they don’t want trouble. My friends would’ve hassled him anyway, he did fine to wait until after everyone we knew went off to college.”

“Dean never went to college,” Castiel said.

“Nah. He was more into the whole ‘hands-on’ approach at life,” Rhonda nodded, shrugging. “I don’t know what happened after our liaison ended, I think he travelled, whooshing around all over the place.”

“He went to every continental state in the U.S.,” Castiel said proudly. “Ate a burger in every one.”

Rhonda scoffed. “And here I thought he would never amount to anything.”

“It’s a decent achievement,” Castiel retorted. “What have you ever done with your life?”

Rhonda looked at him in surprise. “Uh – I didn’t mean to offend you. Wow... Sorry.” She raised her delicate eyebrows, offering a sweet smile. “I’m sure they were very important burgers.”

Castiel swallowed, inching towards the couch where Rhonda sat. He sank down beside her, resting his lower back against the cushioned leather. “He’s good at fixing things – everything from pianos to book bindings. He can cook wonderfully, pies are his favourite. He likes to do role play in his spare time. He wants babies.”

Tendrils of Rhonda’s rose-petal perfume crept into Castiel’s nostrils, and he breathed in as he lifted his eyes to hers. She peered back, curious and confused. Castiel tried to smile but couldn’t.

“He isn’t religious,” Castiel said faintly, “but he does believe in ghosts. And aliens.”

Rhonda started to smirk. “He always believed in ghosts. Ghostbusters was his―”

“Favourite movie, yes,” Castiel finished. “He’s also partial to The Haunted Mansion, and I’m not entirely sure why.”

“Haven’t you seen it? It’s an awesome movie.”

Rhonda and Castiel were quiet for a long while. The lamps around them hummed with heat and flowing charges, glowing relentlessly. It was almost therapeutic.

Then, Castiel said what he had been scared of saying all week. “Rhonda, are you seeing anyone?”

Rhonda didn’t say anything for many seconds. Then she shifted on the couch, the heel of her buckled shoe pressing to Castiel’s ankle. Gently, she said, “Um... I’m not... really sure why you’re asking, Castiel. If― If it’s for Dean, okay. But if it’s for you... I thought you were asexual.”

Castiel’s fingers fidgeted with the hem of his waistcoat. Here was his moment to escape; he could confirm that he was asking for himself, then reaffirm his aromantic asexuality, and Rhonda would laugh it off and tell him he didn’t need to push himself into something he didn’t want to do.

“I thought I was asexual, too,” Castiel said, looking away. “Not that that means I can’t date anyone, I’m sure you already know that – but things have changed for me.” He tentatively turned his head to look at her, holding her dark eyes for a fleeting moment before his attention diverted to his lap. “I’ve realised there’s a part of me that... once I get emotionally attached, I start to feel... things. Tingles. Flutters. Pulses... urges.”

Rhonda seemed startled, but she tried to hide it. “Um. Okay. Okay, that’s great. Boom! Good for you!” She reached to pat Castiel’s arm, then second-guessed the touch and moved her hand to clasp her own fingers in her lap. “But, I don’t mean to be rude, or hurt you, but... I’m actually not... How do I say this...”

Castiel felt very wrong. Rhonda had assumed what Castiel wanted her to assume, but he felt disgusting. He wasn’t only betraying himself, but Dean too. No, Castiel couldn’t back out now, he’d never be able to explain it to Dean. He was going in for the kill.

“No, I’m not asking for me,” Castiel chewed out, exasperated with himself. “I’m asking for Dean. He wants to get coffee or something, I didn’t pry for the specifics of what he wants, but he wanted me to ask after you. He’s always at work when you come by.”

“Oh, thank God,” Rhonda sighed. She didn’t bother to hide her relief; Castiel was too hurt already to be offended that she prefered Dean’s intent to his. “Tell him yes, I’d love to catch up,” she said, smiling as she pulled a business card out – apparently from inside her bra. It was warm when Castiel took it. “This has my number on it, tell him to call when he knows the times he’s free.”

“He’s free tomorrow evening,” Castiel said, without thinking. “H- He gets off work early on Sundays. He can meet you at six, at that Ruby Tuesday knockoff place around the corner from here, they’re open late.”

Every word felt like a kamikaze jump out of a plane. He was leaping over and over, replaying frames of a stuck slideshow. And now his sentence was complete, he was plummeting down. The Earth was rising.

“I think I can fit that into my schedule,” Rhonda said, smiling kindly. She took a deep breath, then sighed. “Right! Now that’s done, can we get to these lamps? Sorry to change the subject so quickly, but I need to know whether I have to go to another place or if I can get it all here. The exchange here is much more reasonable. There’s this other place a few blocks from here, they’re waaay overpriced.”

Castiel smiled at her as she stood up and looked around at the antique lights. He really did like her, it was such a shame she had to be the one unwittingly tearing his heart out.

In the following half-hour, Rhonda got what she came for, paid, then prepared to leave. “Tell Dean I look forward to our little date,” she said as they neared the shop’s entrance. She thanked Castiel warmly, with a kiss to each cheek, then swept out into the late morning daylight, as briskly and purposefully as she’d come in.

Her lamps would be delivered by tomorrow, Castiel would see to it himself. But for now, he was left standing alone in his shop, grasping the jewellery case hard with whitening knuckles, sure his legs were going to give way.

Castiel had gotten himself into this mess. He had offered to talk to Rhonda, he had actually gone ahead and done it. He had taken the kamikaze leap out of the plane. And now the ground was here.

He fell back against the side of the jewellery case and sank down to the floor, shivering and holding back tears.

“Riηg, riηg,” Azimuth sang. “Riηg, riηg!”

Castiel sniffed and cupped his hands over his face. “Shush, Azi, you’re no help at all,” he said, surprised by how heavy his voice had become. “Why must I always be so selfless? I love him, why can’t I have him? Why must I sabotage every good thing in my life because I think someone else deserves better?”

“Yeя αn idjiт.”

Castiel sobbed, squeezing his eyes shut so he wouldn’t cry. The time for crying was never; he needed to take action.

He sat there, and he slowly began to put a name to his issue, and work out what needed to be done.

This had never been about his fluctuating sexuality, nor about Dean’s desire to rekindle what he once had with Rhonda. Dean’s level of physical attraction to Castiel was irrelevant; people could offer love without feeling the need to bed someone. So long as Dean had the ability to be romantically faithful to Castiel, Castiel would take that option.

Castiel’s most pressing problem was that he was in love with Dean and Dean didn’t know. Castiel decided he had to let Dean know somehow, before he clicked with Rhonda and everything was ruined.

The Light Fantastic had a bassline. The floor rumbled, the darkness moved in blips. Castiel entered with a push of the glass door, and his first impression was that the movement was demonic; shadows leapt, then scurried. But the bassline changed, a new song layered over the previous one, and the lights pulsed to match. In the new green, red and purple flashes, Castiel could see the front desk.

He walked up to the desk and found there were four prepubescent kids loitering at the side of it, trading some form of glitter-laced playing cards. They wore clothing with neon stripes, and their shoes lit up like silent fireworks as they jumped excitedly. One girl with thick-framed glasses looked in Castiel’s direction and saw him staring back. Hurriedly, she grasped the arm of her nearest friend and dragged him away down the hall. The others followed, casting wary looks back at Castiel.

The kids went into the biggest hall on the left, and their shoulders became washed over with more coloured lights. Arcade games bleeped and juddered around them, and their figures were swiftly swallowed by the maze of machines. Other children played at the machines, alone or with their friends. From an unseen corner of the arcade, Castiel heard the heavy crashing sounds of the basketball-throwing game resetting to its default arrangement. He heard a childish shriek, then a teenaged roar of encouragement, then nothing but overloud bass from the surrounding speakers.

There were no adults in sight. Castiel felt like an old man here, he was too far out of place. There was no buzzer or bell to call someone, and he didn’t know what to do or where to go. He put his hands into his trenchcoat pockets and curled his hands into uneasy fists. Suddenly the door to the exit seemed more enticing than the beastly mouth of the arcade.

He turned around, forfeiting his earlier decision to tell Dean how he felt.

Just as his hand touched the door, a rush of air and a shout caught his attention. “Sorry!” a young man yelled, blustering behind the front desk. Castiel turned to him, observing his shock of black hair and his wide-open but naturally narrow eyes. “I’m here now! Can I help you?” He was out of breath, and took a moment to tidy his t-shirt, which appeared to have a dragon on it.

“I’m―” Castiel’s voice was drowned by the music, so he adjusted his volume and shouted, “I’m looking for Dean!”

“Ohh, you’re the antiquer!” the young man replied, smiling a little. “Hi, I’m Kevin!”

“Hello, Kevin,” Castiel said, approaching the desk again. “Um― Could you turn the music down?”

“That’s actually what I was trying to do,” Kevin laughed, squinting and half-covering his ears with his hands. “Dean broke something, he needed all hands on deck to fix it!”

Castiel smiled reluctantly, unsure if his impending headache was due to stress, or the frustratingly fast pace of the music. “When he’s done that, could you please tell him I need to talk to him?”

A new, lighter voice entered through the portside tunnel entrance. “You could talk to me,” she said. She didn’t need to shout, her voice carried easily over the grumble of the building. “I’m Charlie.”

Castiel held out his hand for her to shake, while the other hand remained over his ear. “Pleased to meet you. But I actually do need to talk to Dean.”

“He’s busy right now,” Charlie said. Her red hair appeared green in the light, and every three seconds it turned purple. There was a neon braid in it, Castiel noticed it as she turned her head to look at Kevin. “Kev! Could you just go tell him to pull the plug? He can fix it when it’s turned off!”

Kevin rolled his eyes and traipsed away, dragging his feet. The sleeves of his hoodie dangled over his hands as he slouched into the main hall.

Charlie turned back to Castiel. “What was it you wanted to discuss? Dean’s schedule is full today, sorry.”

Castiel shook his head. “I can’t― It’s a private matter. It needs his urgent attention.”

“I hate to say it, but Dean’s booked for private matters too,” Charlie said, winking. “He was meant to head out about fifteen minutes ago―”

“Oh, I’d forgotten,” Castiel lamented, slumping on his feet. “His mother is coming to visit.”

Charlie nodded. “Unless it’s an emergency, he’s unreachable until tomorrow.”

“But I―” Castiel ran a hand through his hair, feeling shredded. “I need to tell him...”

Charlie gave a cheeky, innocent smile. “Tell him what?”

Castiel shook his head, pacing back and forth for a few harried moments. “I need to tell him―” the music shut off and the room was left in hollow silence, “―how I feel. I...” Castiel realised he’d been shouting, and everyone in the entire gaming lounge had probably heard him. “Oh.”

“Booyah!” came a distant yell of triumph, as Dean apparently succeeded in his task. “All right, everyone, as you were. The boss is outta here.”

Castiel stood up straighter as he saw Dean’s broad figure striding through the colourful arcade, a grin on his face and a handful of wires in his hands. He wore tattered jeans and a t-shirt with a lightning bolt on it, and a plaid shirt over the top with the sleeves rolled up. Kevin trotted at his heels, taking the wires as Dean handed them over.

Dean pulled out his cellphone as he walked, his eyes down as he thumbed a button and made a call. “Hey, yeah. Sammy, tell Mom I’ll be there in fifteen― All right. See ya.” He flipped his phone closed, then lifted his eyes and sighed as he made it to the foyer where Charlie and Castiel waited.

Dean met Castiel’s eyes. “Cas! Hey! What’re you doing here?”

“He came to see you, Dean,” Charlie said, lounging against the front desk. “He has something very important to tell you.”

Castiel felt like everything in the world apart from the green speckles in Dean’s eyes were fatal distractions designed to make him fail. He focused on those eyes, and was about to speak, when Dean shook his head and grinned, advancing towards the entrance. “Unless it’s life-or-death, can it wait? My mom brought her best apple pie for me to dissect, I said I’d get off work early. Saturday night, pie night!”

“Dean―” Castiel grabbed Dean’s arm before he could escape. “I―”

Oh no, how was he meant to say this?

First things first. “I fixed your―” date, “―meeting with Rhonda. Sunday, 6 o’clock, at the fancy diner around the corner.”

“You set a time and place? Wow, above and beyond. Thanks, Cas,” Dean said, eyes lighting up. Oh, how Castiel hated that he lit up that way. “Can’t wait.”

“But!” Castiel grabbed Dean’s arm again, because he tried to leave. “Dean, please wait.”

Dean eased the door closed, and the whistle of fresh air was silenced. Castiel felt eyes on his back; Kevin and Charlie were listening closely. His breath felt tight, his words felt heavy. “I― Dean, I love you.”

Dean’s concerned expression melted away, and he softened – from the light in his eyes to the set of his mouth. He smiled so sweetly, head tilting. “I know that, Cas. You told me a couple of weeks ago, remember?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes, but... I don’t think you understand.”

Dean sighed, still smiling. “Cas...” His hands slipped to touch the back of Castiel’s. “I get it. Okay? You don’t gotta keep sayin’ it, bud – you’ll wear it out,” he grinned. He peeled Castiel’s hands off his arm, setting them slowly back beside Castiel’s sides. “Now, come on, I gotta go. You’re gonna make me later than I already am.” He backed into the door, grinning as he stepped outside. “I’ll see you before my date tomorrow, okay? Go home and get some rest, man, you look exhausted.”

Castiel watched helplessly as Dean stepped into the evening light, free of the arcade’s ungodly flickering, and within a matter of seconds, he was out of view, hurrying for his parked car. He had eluded Castiel’s affections once again.

Charlie’s presence pushed up beside Castiel’s, and a hand crept onto his shoulder to reassure him. “Just be patient with Dean. I barely know him, certainly not as well as you do – but from what I can tell? He thinks he’s being smart, and he is smart, but smart people are the most oblivious of the bunch, sometimes. Give him time, he’ll work things through.”

“How could I be more obvious?” Castiel said under his breath, feeling thoroughly vexed by the situation. “What am I meant to do now?”

Kevin went over to the entrance, one shoulder pressed to the door jamb. He stared dramatically out into the street, and lowly, he declared, “If you really love him that much... you’ll let him go. Let him figure out for himself what isn’t right for him.”

Castiel bristled uncomfortably, but was soothed by Charlie’s scoff of disagreement. “Screw you, Kevin.” To Castiel, she muttered, “If you love him, you’ll stop him before he breaks everything. But give him a few days to settle.”

Castiel sighed, shaking his head and preparing to leave this hellhole. “If he loved me, he would know what to do by now. I’ve fallen for the wrong person.” He shrugged, pushing the door open and stepping into the darkening breeze. “I’m better off alone.”

He put his hands into his coat pockets and swept off home. Maybe Kevin and Charlie watched him go, or maybe they went straight back to work. He was ephemeral in their lives, like he was in everybody’s.

Dean parked his car in the driveway, head ducked down so he could see through the window of his own apartment. The lights were on inside, and he could see shadows through the lace privacy curtain.

He slammed the car door, and skimmed his fingers along the hood’s sleek rim as he made his way to the front porch of the house, a bunch of flowers in hand. He lived on the lower floor, while a grouchy old lady with the world’s ugliest chihuahua lived on the floor above. Her lights were off; she was probably asleep.

Dean pressed his own doorbell, and heard the muttering conversation die down from inside. Then he heard footsteps, and a moment later, the door swung open.

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean grinned, stepping inside and wrapping one arm over his brother’s much-too-large shoulders. A thick, muscular arm squeezed him back, and Dean grunted as his back clicked. “All right, get off me,” he jabbed, shoving Sam away. “Where’s Mom?”

“Right here,” Mary’s voice called. “I’m making falafel, just in case you haven’t eaten.”

“Smells amazing,” Dean said, sauntering into the kitchen. Mary looked up from beside the stove. Somehow, Dean found his eyes and other senses were drawn to the cooking falafel rather than to his mother. When Mary laughed, he reached forward and hugged her.

“Got you some hayfever weeds,” Dean mumbled, ducking out of Mary’s embrace to offer her the paper-wrapped bouquet. “Just cheap supermarket flowers, but...” He shrugged, smiling when Mary took them and fondly shook her head.

“They’re lovely,” she said. She tucked her shoulder-length, greying blonde hair behind her ear, setting the flowers down beside the sink. She then turned back to Dean. “How are you?” she asked, blinking serenely at him as she cupped his cheek with a warm hand. “You sounded so confused on the phone. If I didn’t know how capable you are with your business, I’d be worried.”

Dean grinned at the floor, leaning his ass against the kitchen work bench. Sam leaned on the door jamb across from him, arms folded, pointedly awaiting an explanation.

“Well,” Dean started, his smile flickering as excitement and nervousness battled on his tongue. “Uh. It’s kind of a long story. But it’s not about the arcade – gaming lounge. It’s actually about, um...” He shrugged a shoulder awkwardly, beginning to feel bashful. “It’s about relationshippy stuff. I figured you two might know more about it, given you’re both okay at that kind of thing. Mom’s dating again, and Sam – you freaking wooed Eileen like some kinda nerdy professor Casanova. I was so good at this in high school, y’know? But now there’s someone I...”

He exhaled. “Look, I really like him. Like, really really really like-like him. But he’s so different from everyone I’ve been with before. I’m handling this wrong, and I keep screwing up.”

“Aww,” Sam said, with put-on condescension. “Deanie-Weenie’s in looove.”

Dean’s feathers ruffled, but he didn’t argue. “I have a date with Rhonda on Sunday,” he said, then palmed the nape of his neck when both Mary and Sam tried to comment. “Yeah, she’s the same Rhonda from high school. I said, it’s a long story. But... basically... I need your advice... and I need your help.”

The sound of the bell above the door made Castiel jerk up from his slouched position, coming to his senses. He hadn’t slept well last night, and he’d been taking cat-naps all throughout the day whenever customers were absent. Being awake and alert seemed like a misuse of his time.

He rubbed his eyes, sniffing, and when he pulled his hands away, Dean was standing in front of the glass desk, a tupperware container in his hands and a cautious expression on his face. “Hey,” he said.

“Yσ,” Azimuth greeted in return.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said, wondering why Dean wasn’t smiling.

Dean swallowed, lowering his eyes. “Here.” He put the tupperware container on the glass and pushed it towards Castiel. “I brought you all the leftover pie, Mom’s best.” He did smile then, but it was lackluster.

Castiel pulled the container towards him with a hand, his eyes still on Dean. He wasn’t sure what to make of this, whether to continue stewing in his own sadness or to offer a smile to cheer Dean up.

“Listen, Cas,” Dean said, fretting with the sleeves of his leather jacket, “I’m sorry for what I did last night. Rushing off like that. I know you were trying to say something... um, really important? And I kind of...” He swallowed, shrugged, then wet his lips and turned his eyes away.

Castiel said the first thing that sprang to his mind. “Why did you dismiss me?”

Dean grimaced at the desk, reaching up a hand to rub the back of his neck. “Wouldn’t you? If your entire staff was listening in? Come on, Cas, I was embarrassed. I don’t have any other friends who would rush over on the spur of the moment to tell me they – like me. Maybe I acted like I didn’t appreciate what you said, but I did. Honestly.”

Castiel thought about that, feeling the discomfort in the pit of his stomach ebbing away. He pried open the lid of the container, pleased to see sugared crust completely intact, apple filling neatly compacted into a perfect pie shape.

“It’s not much,” Dean muttered, “but I was hoping it would serve as some kind of consolation.”

Castiel put the lid back on, smiling up at Dean. “You coming to see me will always outstrip a pie offering.”

Dean nibbled his lip, finally wearing a grin. “I think you underestimate my mom’s pie-making ability.”

“I suppose we’ll have to see. Later, when I can eat this in peace,” Castiel said. He didn’t say it unkindly, but Dean nodded, accepting that he wasn’t as welcome here as he usually was. Castiel was glad he understood.

“My... My date,” Dean said, very quietly, “with Rhonda. That’s in about twenty minutes, I just wanted to say sorry to you before I went to see her.”

Castiel tensed all over, but he resolved not to let his distress consume him. Dean was not his. Dean had replaced the word ‘love’ with ‘like’ in his recollection of last night, and his meaning was as clear as the glass between Castiel’s fists and the space below, where the missing jewellery once lay.

“Can I ask one quick favour before I go?” Dean said, a breathy need in his voice. “I want to check something.”

Castiel inhaled deeply and set his hands together, business-like, over the desk. “What?”

Dean seemed unsure, and he hesitated at least three times as he moved a hand to his jacket’s inside pocket. He didn’t pull anything out, however, and gulped before setting his hand back on the jewellery case.

“Maybe I should explain first,” he said. He was blushing, a full pink on his cheeks. Castiel didn’t understand yet, so he waited.

Dean began, “Back when me and Rhonda were together―” and already Castiel felt unhappiness lurking in his gut, “―we used to do this thing. Um. Kind of a – a sexy thing.”

When Dean tried to meet Castiel’s eyes, his blush glowed brighter, the whites of his eyes shining, wearing a subtle smile. Castiel was doing the exact opposite.

Dean took a fast breath, then went on, “Basically, she would say, do something, and I would do it, no questions asked, no argument. It was like a glorified dare game. Does that make sense?”

Castiel nodded briskly, eyebrows raised. He felt like an oyster, rolling his discomfort like a new pearl behind his teeth.

Dean licked his lips, twice, as if trying to encourage his words out with his tongue. “It was usually for – new positions to try out, or dirty things neither of us had done before. It was totally hot, and I sort of loved it, because I wouldn’t have done that stuff otherwise. You can – you can imagine the stuff I mean, can’t you?”

Castiel sucked on his bitter, bitter pearl.

Dean flushed pink again. “Okay. Well. I guess I’ll tell you then. It was like... like me dressing up, or stripping down. Uh, backdoor stuff. And with toys and. And. Role playing. Sort of thing. And it got nasty, too. Real filthy stuff, proper hardcore―”

“Dean, I don’t need to know every detail,” Castiel said. “Make your point.”

“O-Okay. There was this one thing. She told me to do it once, and I was like, no freakin’ way, man. It wasn’t super kinky or anything, but I was... I was pretty scared, I guess. Terrified someone would find out. And... Cas, you gotta listen, I’ve never told anyone about this, you hear me? I made Rhonda swear she’d never mention me by name if she told anyone, and I know she kept her word. So if I tell you this... you’ll be the only one who knows.”

Castiel waited, hands still clasped together.

Dean placed a hand over his face, peeking between his fingers, whining slightly. “Ah. Okay, I’m gonna... Here goes.” He exhaled, then lifted his eyes to Castiel’s, and held his gaze bravely. “She made me try on her panties. They were... pink, and – satiny— And you know what? I kinda... liked it.” His shoulders slumped, and his back pulled straight, and he exhaled. “There, I said it. I like wearing girly underwear.”

Castiel swallowed his metaphoric pearl.

(“Preттy вoy,” Azimuth croaked quietly, aware she was interrupting.)

“Oh,” Castiel said to Dean. “That’s – nice.”

“Yeah?” Dean’s cheeks were still aflame, but he appeared completely relieved, pleased that Castiel had no judgemental comments to make. Dean reached into his pocket again, and slowly pulled out something colourful. “But my question is... I wanted to know... um. Which of these you think would suit me better.” He stretched out two items of lingerie, one much like the pair he had already described: a pink, satin garment, with a delicate black scalloped trim, large enough to fit his wide hips – and a second pair, of blue floral lace and a slimmer fit.

“I’mma wear them tonight,” Dean said, repressed excitement making his voice sound strained. “Which one would look best on me?”

Castiel looked from the panties to Dean’s earnest expression, his own mouth agape. How could Dean ask him to do this? It seemed he was essentially asking him which one Rhonda would rather see him wear. What happened to the apology from moments before, did it mean nothing? Did Dean still not get it?!

It was then that Castiel decided there was simply no point being in love with Dean. If the man was this emotionally dense, he was not good enough for Castiel. He’d been so sure Dean was as bright as a lightbulb, that most of his shows of oafishness were staged – one of those peculiar human mating rituals that alpha males were so prone to enacting. Castiel had never been more wrong; Dean was as thick as custard. It could take Castiel years to find someone else to love as fiercely as he loved Dean – and it might never happen – but Dean could be happy with Rhonda, and in this moment, as in all moments, Castiel cared more for Dean’s happiness than he did for his own.

“I think Rhonda would prefer the satin ones,” Castiel said, truthfully. All his jealousy was gone, he was now a bystander rather than a participant in this god-awful love triangle.

Dean stared, his smile erased.

Castiel smiled instead, feeling freed. “Go and put them on, Dean, you can use the shop’s bathroom if you want. Hurry up, you don’t want to be late.”

Dean’s hands moved closer to his body, the fabric crumpling like two saggy accordions. He gulped, then shook his head. “No,” he said quietly. “No, it’s okay, I’m not going to wear them.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows, but Dean missed his surprise; he was folding the panties on the desk. He then placed them tenderly back into his pocket.

“I’m, uh. I’m gonna go,” Dean said, thumbing towards the entrance of the shop. “Date to get to, and stuff.”

Castiel nodded. “Good luck tonight, Dean. I mean that.”

Dean pushed up a smile, but it was so small and fleeting that Castiel almost thought he imagined it. Dean turned away, hesitating again as he drifted from the desk. He looked back twice, waiting at a nearby stack of old newspapers, but then he saw the encouraging smile on Castiel’s face... and he fled. Castiel – just for a moment – thought Dean was on the verge of tears.

“Strange,” Castiel muttered, as Dean slammed the shop door behind him, making the bell chime and the glass in the door rattle dreadfully. “Azi, did he seem upset to you?”

“You ∂one ƒυcke∂ υp, кi∂,” Azimuth declared, ever so articulately.

For the first time ever, Castiel worried the bird might be more aware of the total situation than he was himself.

Once Azimuth was fed and watered, and the cash register was emptied and the money had been secured in the safe, Castiel set the shop’s alarm, then stepped out into the undisturbed air of dusk. His trenchcoat buttons remained undone, as they always were. He locked the shop’s glass door, then put the key in his pocket and went on his way.

The street was quiet tonight; all the interesting things happened around the corner. He turned that corner, and his face became lit by the orange glow of several establishments; restaurants, bars, and one late-night ice-cream parlour. This town was full of enticing attractions, but Castiel had spent his life not knowing how to enjoy them.

He walked purposefully down the road, hands sweeping at his sides. He put on polite smiles and met the eye of everyone he passed, but although they noticed him, and met his eyes, they did not always smile back. More often than not, they were with friends, and were already smiling from something one of their companions said. Their smiles were not for him, and they weighed differently in his mind.

Castiel eventually came to the restaurant where Dean was supposed to meet Rhonda. Castiel slowed his walk, head turned towards the wide windows, wanting see inside. There were multiple groups of people dining there tonight; their tables were set up in two rows, perpendicular to the street. On the right side, the chairs faced leather-covered pews, separated by dining tables. Dean was in a pew, and Rhonda sat opposite. They were talking, smiling... and Dean had a small silver box in his hand.

Castiel’s heart plummeted to his feet. He turned away before he could feel any worse; he didn’t care what was in the box, whether it was a gift for Rhonda, or something Rhonda had given Dean. Castiel was determined not to let it affect him.

He went home, and shut the door to his apartment harder than he meant to. The blinds ahead were drawn down halfway, so the night’s first flickering luminescence from the streetlight outside put orange stripes on his beige carpet. He shed his coat to the floor, then went straight into the bathroom.

He bent over the bath, screwing the silver tap to full, so water gushed into the bath with enough force to knock a man unconscious. He put the stopper into the plug hole, and while he waited for the bath to fill up, he took off his cravat, left it on the towel rail, then went back to his living room.

His hand shook as he reached for the bourbon, hidden in the back corner of a bookshelf. What was this twisting feeling in his gut? Why was he so tense?

“Dean is not yours,” he said aloud, his voice weaker than he usually knew it to be. “Dean can love whoever he wants to love.” He picked up the glass bottle. He carried it to the kitchen, overturned a tumbler from the drying rack, and poured out half a glass of the copper liquid. “Just because Dean is your best friend... your only friend... does not mean he is the only person you can feel affection for.”

He toed off his socks, heading back for the bathroom. “You’ll find love again,” he said.

He took his clothes off, eyes on the bath as he tipped down a fierce mouthful of bourbon. It seared his gullet like lava as he swallowed. “It’s not about sex,” he rasped under his breath. “It’s not.” He shook his head, stepping into the hot water, making sure his foot was steady before he stood in the bath completely. “You won’t be a virgin forever. But even if you are, it doesn’t matter. Dean...” His breath caught as he sat in the bath, and no matter how perfectly scalding the water was, he still shivered. He reached for the tap and turned off the flow, leaving his toes without a pressure massage.

He lay back, picked up the bourbon from the chair beside the bath, and stared at the ceiling. The streetlight outside made his vision orange, the steam hid his rising tears. He put the tumbler to his lips and took another sip of the smoky yet ever so slightly sweet taste. The burn left his throat raw, but the woody flavour relaxed him.

“Dean,” he sighed, looking up at the peeling turquoise paint on the ceiling, “was the one. He was the one for you.”

And then the tears fell completely, and he stifled his watery sob with another gulp of bourbon.

A few minutes before nine o’clock that night, Castiel’s phone rang. He lifted his head from his pillow, frowning. The phone rang again, insistent.

He considered ignoring it and going back to reading his book until the apartment fell silent again. He implemented that plan, and sighed in relief as the ringing stopped.

Two minutes later, the phone rang again.

Castiel groaned, thumping his book onto his bed and hauling himself out from between the warm blankets. Whoever was calling was a dreadful person; surely they knew anyone sensible would be in bed by this time of night.

Castiel snatched the receiver from its cradle, lifting it to his ear. “Hello,” he said, rather brusquely.

“Uhh – hey, Cas.”

“Dean!” Castiel’s irritation drained completely, and his eyes opened wide. “Are you okay? You never call me this late...”

“Yeah, it’s – uh. Kind of important.”

Castiel stood up straighter. “What is it?”

“It’s just – um, I gotta talk to you about the – the stuff that was stolen from your shop.”

Castiel practically felt his hair stand on end. “What―!”

“You’d better come down here. I’ll wait for you.”

“Of― Of course! I’ll be there in – ten minutes, I need to get dressed.”

“You’re not dressed?”

“It’s nine o’clock, Dean.”

Dean was quiet for a bit. “Right,” he said, “Yeah, you go to bed early, or something.”

“I go to bed at bedtime,” Castiel retorted. He shook his head, agitated by the news. “Don’t― Don’t leave the shop unattended, I’ll be there soon!”

He hung up, then ran to his bedroom and started pulling on clothes – a shirt, buttoned wrong; pants he’d forgotten to mend; a cravat he didn’t bother to knot. The warmth of the bed no longer called to him; instead he could feel the breeze gusting over the broken glass of his shop, gaping spaces where protection could be. Perhaps the alarms were going off, perhaps the police were there.

He left his apartment, hurried by his thoughts. What would the thieves have taken? The grand piano? The books? No, those would’ve required a massive getaway truck, no way that extraction could have been done quickly enough to avoid notice. They must have taken something small, yet valuable.

...The jewellery.

Castiel reached the main street and began to run. His trenchcoat flew up behind him like a superhero’s cape, but he felt so far from heroic. When his presence had been needed, truly needed, he’d been soaking in a bath at home, drowning his sorrows in more way than one. Castiel blamed himself, he always would – for everything.

He arrived out of breath, leaning over his thighs as he tried to recover. He was dizzy – but that passed as he looked up at the shopfront, only to see light coming through the completely intact windows. Figures moved inside: dark, ghostly shapes drifting between each blurry frame of glass.

He pushed open the door with a hand, surprised it was unlocked, and did not appear to be damaged.

The chandelier lights were all on at once, and they were bright, for the first time in many months. From the door, Castiel could only see the skyline of stacked things, and was further surprised as a beautiful once-blonde woman appeared from behind the shelf of tea caddies, a warm smile on her face.

“Wh-Who are you?” Castiel stammered, one hand still on the door.

“Mary Winchester,” the woman said, smile lines wrinkling beside her mouth. “You’re Castiel, right?”

Castiel nodded, dumbfounded.

Mary smiled again, her green eyes twinkling as she pressed into Castiel’s space, a hand reaching to touch his heart. “Good luck,” she said. “Don’t be too hard on Dean, he’s new at this.”

Then she eased past him, pulled open the door, and stepped out. She waved once as he peered after her, but then she tugged her coat closer around her and strode off in her sensible shoes, smiling to herself.

Castiel turned back to the shop, more confused than ever. What had Dean’s mother been doing here? Why were the lights so bright? Why did the shop smell like jasmine?

Castiel followed the maze of things the way he always did, going in the general direction of the front desk. He didn’t follow the signs that were there for the customers; those offered the safest passage, not the quickest. He hopped over a bucket of umbrellas, navigated himself around the alley of marbles, then found himself at the checkout.

“Priηce ƒαηcу-paηтѕ нaѕ αrriνe∂,” Azimuth said, in a woman’s voice that Castiel recognised but couldn’t place. There was nobody else here, except—

“Cas? Over here,” Dean called.

Castiel startled at his voice, but spun on his heel to see past the feathered hat stand, and he sensed movement beyond the dining chairs and tables. He tentatively approached, hands at his side, his head cocked to see around the corner.

Dean was waiting by the four-poster bed, hands running back through his hair. He saw Castiel’s face and he began to smile, hands lowering, giving sprightly bounce on his toes. “Hey,” he said. He was wearing the same thing as he’d worn on his date with Rhonda, sans the leather jacket. The purple plaid suited him, as did the grey cotton t-shirt.

His surroundings were hard to ignore: the bed was decorated with red cloths and shawls over new bedding which had certainly not been there earlier. Christmas tinsel and golden fairy lights hung suspended in the space between the bed’s towering corners and the chandeliers, and there were several pots of lavish green plants around the clearing, placed on a dining table, on the floor, and the largest one at the corner of the bed. Buried in that largest pot’s soil, there was a scented stick of jasmine, smoking in upward curls. This section of the shop had been transformed into some kind of decorated bower. Castiel found its appearance spectacular, despite the vast number of questions without answers being held in his mind.

“Dean,” Castiel said, still reserved. “What are you doing here? You said there was a break-in. Where’s Rhonda?”

“What? I didn’t say there was a break-in—? It— Uh.” Dean bit his lip and grinned downwards, a hand sweeping up to rub at his neck. “Um, Rhonda’s not here.” He glanced up, meeting Castiel’s eyes. “It was me, I guess, I broke in. I used your spare key. And disabled your alarm. And... kind of invited my friends in―”

“Dean, what did you take― What’s wrong with you? Why are you stealing from me?!”

Dean’s face fell. “No! No, I’m not, I’m not – seriously.” He licked his lips, rolling his shoulders in a shrug. “Look, I only took one thing. Okay― Three things. Don’t look at me like that! Cas!” He appeared to hyperventilate for a moment. “Cas, I’m doing something nice for you here, just hear me out. Please.”

Castiel waited, consciously resisting crossing his arms. He wasn’t angry, just perplexed.

Dean took a deep, deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Okay. Let me explain.” He cleared his throat. “You remember when the glass broke in the jewellery case? Right?”

Castiel nodded gently.

“Yeah. Well, when that happened, I had an idea. Maybe it was a really bad idea, but I acted on a whim, and I had to roll with it after. If you found out what I did back then, and I never got a chance to explain... God, you’d hate me. Please – please don’t hate me.”

“Dean, I don’t hate you,” Castiel said, hands spreading out as he stepped closer. “Just tell me what you did.”

“I pinched something from the case,” Dean said, rocking back on his heels, and as he did, he slid a hand into the back left pocket of his jeans. “Two things, I took two things. And then you told me...” Dean ran a hand across his lips, and Castiel recognised his guilt.

“I’m not angry,” Castiel said. Then, to encourage Dean, he stepped forward again and nodded. “Finish explaining.”

“You told me you didn’t even know what was missing, you couldn’t tell. I mean, there’s so much stuff in here, even with a catalogue it would be hard to know. So I realised you might not notice if I took something else, too.”

From his back pocket, he pulled out a silver snuff box – the same silver box Castiel had seen him showing Rhonda earlier that night. He offered it to Castiel, but when Castiel was too stunned to reach for it, Dean put his other hand on its edge, ready to flick it open. He’d taken the snuff box from the case by the shop’s entrance – and now, presumably, it contained whatever else he’d stolen.

“Cas,” he said, “I... I want you to know, this is for you. I always intended to pay for it. But I couldn’t tell you before tonight.”

“But what is it?” Castiel asked, stepping close enough that Dean’s knuckles brushed his waistcoat. “I don’t wear brooches, I’m not sure it would be entirely functional―”

“Cas,” Dean cut across him, a pleading shine in his eyes. He nosed towards the silver snuff box, indicating that Castiel should look at it.

Castiel looked, and when he did, Dean slowly thumbed the box open to reveal what was inside.

3 HOURS EARLIER

Dean’s foot jiggled nervously. He put the box on the table, then back in his pocket, then in his hands. No, he couldn’t put it in his hands, his hands were sweating. He put it back in his jacket pocket and left it there. He tapped his fingers on the table.

When the server came by, Dean ordered bread and dip as a starter. He didn’t know how long Rhonda would take to arrive, and Dean tended to think better on a full stomach.

Rhonda arrived before the starters did, however. Dean paid his full attention as he heard Rhonda’s hot-caramel voice coming from nearer the restaurant’s entrance. He heard his own name, and when he looked to his left, past three other empty tables, he saw the woman herself, her dreadlocks longer than Dean had ever seen them, tied up and draped over her shoulder. She wore a form-fitting dress of red and purple, and she made a striking picture from where Dean sat.

He waved to Rhonda as the waiter directed her to his table. Dean was already smiling, no longer nervous. Rhonda Hurley was difficult to be nervous around.

She laughed as she approached, swinging her tasselled bag down onto the chair across from Dean. She reached out a hand, beckoning Dean into a hug. He stood, and her strong arms embraced him, pressing him to her chest.

“Ohh, look at you,” she crooned, still crushing him as he held her waist slightly less firmly. She pulled away by the shoulder, looking at him with fond scrutiny. “Still got freckles. Boy, you are just the cutest.” She flicked his nose gently, then helped him sit down again. She pulled out her own chair and sat gracefully, knees together and to the side. “You haven’t changed much, have you?”

Dean grinned, breathless. “You don’t look old. Like― You look older, but you don’t look old.”

Rhonda cackled, head tilting back. “What were you expecting?” she asked, beaming at Dean. “Black don’t crack, remember.” She set her elbows on the table, forearms vertical as she rubbed the heels of her palms together.

Dean shrugged, half his mouth frozen in a grin. “Don’t know. I forgot how much I liked you, maybe.”

Rhonda didn’t laugh aloud this time, but smiled gently, tipping her head down.

Dean licked his lips. “It’s... um, it’s good to see you.”

“You too,” Rhonda nodded. “I hear you’re running an arcade.”

“Yeah, yeah. I call it a gaming lounge, but― Whatever, it’s an arcade. That place is my baby, built her up from the walls inwards. Get the kids coming in every night, gets pretty busy at the weekends. Best thing was, I never needed to graduate college to run it, just my fingers, a clear head, and a well-stocked tool kit,” he said proudly, showing Rhonda his best jazz hands. “Doing pretty well lately, it’s awesome. Got a good rep in town.”

Rhonda chuckled, then was distracted for a moment as the server brought their starter.

“Let me know when you’re ready to order,” the server said. Dean thanked the guy, and returned his attention to Rhonda’s thoughtful expression as soon as they were left alone again.

“I should tell you...” Dean said, hand shifting along the table’s edge.

Rhonda narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Tell me what?”

“Why I wanted to see you today,” Dean finished. “If you had me under oath right now, I’d say it wasn’t just because I wanted to catch up. I have a – hidden agenda, or whatever you wanna call it.”

Rhonda now looked cautious, her smile not as easy as it had been a moment ago. “Dean... Um. Look, I really don’t want to shut you down, not so early into this – but you really need to know, I’m not looking for a relationship with... you. Or Castiel.”

Dean blinked. “Why would you want Cas? He’s―”

“He’s a lovely man, Dean,” Rhonda said, eyes on the table. She nodded slightly, trying to drum it into Dean’s head as fact. “He’s worth anyone’s attention.”

Dean’s heart skipped like there was a jump-rope twirling around it. “Yeah,” he grinned, fingers smoothing down the lump in his jacket. He gulped, then shook his head. “No, what I wanted to ask you about was your job.” He met Rhonda’s earnest brown eyes, anticipation making every limb of his body clench. “You work on a movie set, right?”

“The Seduction of an Oracle, yep,” Rhonda nodded, starting to smile genuinely again. “It’s scheduled to release late next year. I run around designing and directing the sets. It’s fun as hell, but the workload is heavier than you’d think. I end up with random piles of half-decorated furniture at home.”

Dean breathed out and eagerly shifted forward in his seat. “So you know about making places look good. And I guess you’d try and keep your costs down, so you could do it with limited resources.”

Rhonda’s eyebrows raised minutely. “I suppose. Dean, what’s this about?”

Dean shifted in his seat, unable to keep his smile down. “You talked to Cas earlier?”

“Yesterday morning.”

“What did he say to you? Because I talked to him before coming out here, and he...” Dean’s voice failed, hurt and confusion gripping the root of his tongue.

The look in Castiel’s eyes when Dean had shown him his panties was meant to have been excited, or curious – Dean had even expected an element of embarrassment – but he hadn’t expected to see Castiel acting as hurt as Dean felt, nor had he expected Castiel to give him and Rhonda his blessing. That wasn’t the point at all. Yes, Castiel’s response had confirmed Dean’s suspicions that the man was, in some way, sexless, but that same response had left Dean’s intentions in ruins.

He had second-guessed every single part of his plan at least five times before tonight, but now, he sat in his cushioned pew opposite a woman he once had feelings for, and all his desires seemed so futile. What was the point of courting a man who didn’t want to be courted? What was the point if he didn’t even realise he was being courted?

Rhonda breathed softly, and made to answer Dean’s curtailed question. “He talked about you, mostly. At the time I couldn’t tell whether it was because you’d instructed him to amp up your selling points, or some other reason... But now I’m looking at you, and sweet mercy, you’re completely gone on him, aren’t you?”

Dean exhaled heavily, eyes down so Rhonda wouldn’t see the raw need that was tearing at him.

“He talked about you a whole bunch. He told me about all sorts of weird stuff, like your trip across America, a burger in every state―”

Dean smirked proudly.

“He even mentioned you want kids. Jeez, it was like he was trying to be an in-person dating website.”

“I do want kids,” Dean muttered bashfully, thumbing at the edge of the bread basket. “Running an arcade ain’t quite the same thing, but it’s good for now. Other people’s kids are less hassle. But I don’t get to raise ‘em, I just keep them outta trouble after school.”

“I hope you get there one day.” Rhonda breathed out on a smile. “He knows a lot about you, Dean. And now I think about it... I think he was resentful about you asking him to talk to me. He thought you wanted to date me.”

Dean rested a hand over his eyes. “I called it a date. I was trying to mislead him, maybe make him jealous or something, I don’t know.”

“Well, it worked,” Rhonda said, an irate tang in her words. “You screwed up, just so’s you know.”

Dean sighed. He lifted his eyes to the ceiling, resigned to being saddled with all the illogical decisions he’d made. When he returned his gaze to Rhonda’s, she offered a smile.

“We can fix it,” she said. “Obviously you both have feelings for each other, so as long as you and him can clear the air, you can get this straightened out. Now,” she leaned closer, setting the side of her hand directly on the table, ready for action, “tell me what your original plan was, before it all fell to shit.”

Dean chuckled, relaxing. Rhonda had him in good hands.

He reached for the silver box in his pocket, and pulled it out. He showed it to Rhonda, hoping she would know what to do. “I want to give this to him. I wanted the whole thing to be, like, really romantic. Not in his house, because showing up there without telling him is just creepy. Not in mine, because my place is kind of beat-up. And not in public – somewhere private. He’s a real private guy, likes small gestures.”

Rhonda opened the snuff box and observed its contents, turning the box from side to side so it caught the light. “They’re nice. But are you sure you’re ready?”

Dean grinned. “They’re not what you think. But yeah. C’mon, I know I wanna be with him. I don’t see the point in waiting. Hell – I could do it tonight, if you’re up for the challenge.”

“Me, turn down a personal challenge?” Rhonda saying toyingly, one eyebrow quirked. “You want this done tonight? Oh, it can be done tonight.”

“We’re here, we’re queer, and we come armed with houseplants,” Charlie announced, carrying an overgrown monstera into Mr. Antiquarian inside a handled basket, while Kevin held open the door, one arm weighed down with a potted, non-spiky cactus. “Dean, where’d you want these put?”

“Over here!” Dean called, and Charlie saw just the flash of his hand waving over a bookcase. “Go slow, we’re still figuring out the bed and everything’s kind of precarious.”

“When isn’t it?” Charlie muttered, to Kevin’s amusement. They’d heard enough stories from Dean about times the shop tried to kill him; ‘precarious’ just came with the territory.

“Smells like a garden already,” Kevin said, sniffing the incense as he and Charlie sidestepped fourteen piano stools. “You needed plants why, exactly?”

“Hey,” Dean said, rushing up to Kevin. “You’ve got a good nose, tell me which one smells better.”

Startled, Kevin sniffed five sticks of incense in turn, nose wrinkled, still holding the big cactus. “The jasmine,” he said. “Reminds me of mom’s rice.”

“Is that good?” Dean asked.

“The best,” Charlie assured him. “You haven’t lived until you’ve had Mrs. Tran’s sticky jasmine rice smothered in mango pulp and topped with a slice of mango.”

“Damn.” Dean pondered. “Think I could get that in pie form?”

“Just tell us where to put the plants,” Charlie muttered, puffing a big green leaf out of her face.

“Don’t ask me, ask Rhonda,” Dean uttered, sniffing the incense sticks again just to make sure Kevin was right.

“Rhonda?” Charlie perked up. She smiled wider and wider as a stunningly lithe black woman came out from behind the four-poster bed, gold bangles on her wrists, gold rings on her fingers, lips glossy red, eyes aflame with intelligence and humour as she locked eyes with Charlie. “Well, hel-llooo,” Charlie cooed. She curtseyed. “Ma’am. I may be Queen of Moondoor, but I know a goddess when I see one.”

Rhonda laughed with her head back, loud and unashamed. Her eyes sparkled. “Put that beastie down at the foot of the bed,” she purred towards Charlie, then winked. “Your highness.”

Charlie rushed to do as she was told, then hung uselessly by the bed, leaning on a post, mesmerised by the woman removing the cactus from Kevin and putting it on a nightstand.

“Does that look like a penis to you?” Rhonda mused. “A single tall cactus in a round pot always looks hella phallic to me.”

Kevin blushed. “It’s my mom’s. She has, like, twelve of them.”

“Shh.” Rhonda gripped Kevin’s shoulders. “Don’t tell her. Keep it between us, cutie.”

Kevin grinned, catching Charlie’s eyes. Charlie grinned back.

“So,” Charlie turned to Dean, who was now fussing with a silver box, opening and shutting it, turning it around, then around again. “What’s all this for? You shooting porn in here or something?”

“Porn?” Dean looked up. “What. No.”

Charlie was surprised by how surprised he was. “Sooo the set designer doing set design and putting growing phallic objects beside a bed... yeah, that’s not suggestive at all.”

“It’s for Dean to use later,” Rhonda answered, flashing Charlie a grin. “He’s got a little seduction of his own going.”

“Last I saw, Dean screwed up bigtime,” Kevin said, sitting on the bed, only to be pulled off by Rhonda, and she swiped his buttprint off the plush covers. “Is this some big apology gesture, Dean, or are you just digging yourself a deeper hole?”

Dean seemed to break into a flop sweat, palming his neck, then his forehead, breathing hard. “Uh. God. God knows. Couldn’t tell ya.” He shook his head, then pulled out his phone and hit a number on speed-dial. “Sammy?” He listened, then relaxed a bit. “Okay, cool—” He turned to look towards the shop’s front, nodded, then muttered, “See ya.”

“You’re not gonna have sex here, are you?” Charlie asked, eyeing the bed.

Rhonda snorted, while Dean blushed.

“Doubtful,” Rhonda answered, giving Charlie a smile. “Knowing Castiel.”

Charlie raised her eyebrows.

She observed how Dean and Rhonda caught each other’s eyes – Dean looking worried, Rhonda reassuring. Dean breathed out through narrowed lips, then his gaze shot to the entrance – the door opened and the bell dinged.

“Over here,” he called. “Keep going until you run out of pathways.”

“Dean?” came a soft voice. “Is everyone here?”

“Everyone except you and Sammy,” Dean called back. He put his silver box in his pocket, then shook his hands out, trying to relax. “And Cas.”

Mary Winchester made it to the centre of the maze, and embraced Dean closely. He melted into her hug, eyes shut, fingers scrunching into her cotton sweater. “Aw, baby,” she sighed. “Don’t look so worried.”

“What if I’m wrong?” Dean asked, almost a whisper, pulling back to gaze desperately into his mother’s eyes. “What if— What if all this time I thought I was getting closer to him but I was pushing him away? What if I’m not about to salvage what we have, just break it more?”

“He loves you,” Charlie said, drawing their attention. “Castiel? I’m telling you, Dean, he really loves you.”

Dean gulped, hanging his head. “Yeah, he does. God, I know he does, but—”

“But nothing.” Mary cradled Dean’s chin, smiling. “If he’s the right one for you, he’ll forgive the chaotic path you took to get where you’re going. And judging by his shop? I think he’s just as muddled as you are.”

A crash came from the back of the shop, followed by a yelp. Everyone turned that way.

“You okay?” Charlie called.

“Hyeah,” Sam grunted in pain. There was a tumble of falling cardboard boxes, then a thump, but then came a sigh. After thirty seconds, Sam emerged, long hair and clothes stuck with feathers.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Rhonda tutted, snatching up a handheld vacuum cleaner and attacking Sam with the nozzle. “Dean didn’t order feathers. Not part of the aesthetic.”

Sam puffed a feather off his nose. “They decided to hitch a ride somewhere around the taxidermy section.”

“Hnnnn,” Dean droned, hands over his face. “Oh God, what am I doingggg...”

“Hey,” Charlie whispered, going up to Dean and holding his forearms, helping him reveal his face. “Listen, I don’t know what you’re doing. But I do know why. And you do too, don’t you?”

Dean looked into her eyes, then smiled. “Yeah.”

“Tell me.”

“Because I love him,” Dean said. “Because—” He eyed his mother, then Kevin, then his brother, then Rhonda, then looked back to Charlie, emboldened. “Because Cas is my best goddamn friend and he deserves to know what he means to me.” He chuckled, then laughed, embarrassed. “And because I made a spontaneous decision a couple weeks back and if I don’t follow through I basically committed a crime. So. I should probably follow through.”

Charlie patted his cheek, then backed up. Rhonda had finished vacuuming Sam, and now smiled to herself, satisfied there were no more stray feathers.

“Got a good vacuum cleaner there,” Charlie joked, tapping Rhonda on the elbow. “You suck guys clean often?”

Rhonda’s eyes twinkled, not laughing, while everyone else laughed. “Not for a few years,” she said directly to Charlie, a distinctive certainty in her gaze.

“Oh,” Charlie said, tingling all over. “Hello again, m’lady. Name’s Charlie. I’m very single, and very gay.”

“Your highness,” Rhonda replied, smiling, but not widely. “Name’s Rhonda. I’m not.”

“Not... what? Single or gay?”

Rhonda lifted her hand and showed off a ring, nestled among a half-dozen other rings. Charlie quickly realised that one was special.

Dean gasped. “You didn’t—! No! No way!” He rushed to hold Rhonda’s hand, touching the gold band with his thumb. “You got married.”

“Hardly had a moment to tell you,” Rhonda remarked, subduing Dean’s offended tone. “She’s incredible, you’d love her. She’s a lot like Cas, actually.”

Dean grinned, absolute joy in his eyes as he looked at Rhonda. “She.”

“She,” Rhonda repeated, amused. “Sweet girl’s completely asexual. Turns out the occasional sex fiend really can marry for love alone, if there’s enough of it.”

Charlie nudged Dean’s side. “Betcha that gives you hope, eh?”

“Hell yes,” Dean said, taking a deep, excited breath. He let Rhonda go, then reached to grab Charlie’s shoulder, squeezing. “Okay. Okay! Everyone quiet.” He pulled out his cellphone. “I’m gonna call Cas. Tell him...” He hesitated, then smiled. “I’mma tell him the the truth. I’ve had enough of this hoodwinkery.”

Sam and Mary both rolled their eyes, while Kevin sat on the bed before popping back up, hastily neatening the covers again.

Dean took a deep breath, and dialled.

NOW

“Riηg, riηg,” Azimuth declared. “Riηg, riηg!”

Suddenly, Castiel understood. He knew what the bird meant. All this time, she wasn’t mimicking a telephone, she was trying to communicate with a vocabulary of echoes. Inside the snuff box were two silver rings, shimmering with gold specks, reflecting all the oil lamps that lit this decorated nook of the shop.

Castiel took the snuff box into his hands carefully. He looked at the rings, unsure what they meant.

People proposed with only one ring, didn’t they?

Did people propose if they weren’t in love?

Castiel looked at Dean, waiting for him to explain.

Dean finally found a breath to exhale, and then gulped, stammering, “It’s not— I’m not askin’ you to marry me.”

Castiel was too stunned to know what he felt. Disappointed? Relieved?

“It’s – a, a, a precursor to that, maybe,” Dean shrugged, hand behind his neck. He was blushing, fingers tugging at the bottom of his t-shirt, eyes darting to the snuff box and back to meet Castiel’s eyes. “You know. Someday, if you wanted. If you felt that way inclined.”

“Dean,” Castiel said, surprising himself with how level his voice emerged, “is this or isn’t this an engagement ring? Stolen from me, only to be gifted back to me?”

“No. Yes. No to the first, yes to the second, technically. It is stolen. But it’s not an engagement ring.”

“Then what—”

“They’re promise rings.” Dean finally said what he’d been working up to, the words tumbling from him like they’d fought their way out. He huffed a breath, and took back the box, lifting out one ring. “You wear one. I wear one. And they’re – symbolic.”

“Symbolic.”

“Yeah. So—” Dean stepped up close to Castiel, a shaking, clammy hand taking his, easing one of the rings onto his third finger. Castiel straightened it, eyes on Dean as he felt the ring slide on perfectly. “So,” Dean said again, eyes rising to meet Castiel’s. “It means— Well, now I say it, it sounds stupid, ‘cause you’re not— I mean, you don’t exactly sleep around, so. It’s kind of pointless on your side of things. Heh.” He glanced away, bothered by his thoughts.

“Dean.” Castiel touched Dean’s stubbled jaw, holding it in his palm. “Please finish explaining. And I’ll judge you after.”

Dean laughed, ducking his head. Castiel grinned, finding himself growing ever-fonder, helplessly. He didn’t know whether he ought to stop himself, so he let it happen, allowing himself to feel as much love as he could. His heart warmed, his hands took Dean’s, and held onto him until Dean’s tongue untied.

“The idea is.” Dean cleared his throat, eyes on their joined hands. “We both wear one. And it means we – belong to each other. No, tha— That’s not it. We. We’re for each other. Made for each other. No. Saving ourselves for each other.” His lashes fluttered, nervous green gaze meeting Castiel’s. “We’re – part of the same set. Couple’a dining chairs. Don’t wanna split the pair, right?”

Dean smiled at Castiel, but when Castiel still wasn’t sure what to make of all this, Dean doubled down and declared, “I’m all yours, is what it means. Not gonna go around seeing other people. We don’t have to do, y’know, couple stuff, if you don’t wanna. But I—” He scratched his forehead, head down. “I just want to make sure you know. How much I – I care about you. If you wanna wait before we do anything, I’ll wait. If you never wanna, then that’s fine too. Because you’re my best friend, Cas, and all the time we’ve known each other, I kinda realised, you’re family, you’re more than family, you’re freakin’ everything to me, honestly, it’s crazy – and God, I oughta shoot myself for sayin’ this, but I love spending time with you more than I could ever love somethin’ like, like, porn, or sex, or-or-or kissing, or seeing other people, o—”

He could not finish speaking, as his lips were now occupied. Castiel’s hands braced Dean’s jaw on either side, nose against the side of Dean’s nose. Castiel could smell his moisturiser. They kissed with only one strong press, a determined gesture just to get the point across.

Castiel drew a silent, wet breath as he pulled back, and he started to smile, because Dean was cute when he had his eyes closed, lips plump, expression slack with awe and delight.

“I accept,” Castiel breathed onto Dean’s lips, speaking around a smile. “I agree to your promise and I promise the same in return. No romantic or sexual dalliances besides you. Although that is easy for me to say, as you truly are the first dalliance I’ve ever had.”

“Dally my way all you want,” Dean chuckled. “I already got more than I thought I’d get.” He sucked his lower lip. “Hmh.”

Castiel shut his eyes and kissed Dean again, head turned. He wondered if he was any good at this kissing business. His heart fluttered as it did because of how strongly he felt about Dean; he could only imagine how dull kissing would be without that beaming, burning, blustering affection. His heart was thumping on his ribs, pulsing in his fingertips; he combed through Dean’s hair as they kissed, wet-lipped and squelchy.

Dean laughed him away, and Castiel thumbed his lower lip dry, smiling.

“You weren’t kidding,” Dean murmured. “First kiss?”

“Very first.”

“Can tell,” Dean said fondly.

“Hmph.”

“Hey.” Dean pecked Castiel’s cheek. “I didn’t say it was bad. Just that I can tell you’re not used to...” he smooched Castiel, making him squeak into Dean’s mouth, “being kissed.”

Castiel marvelled at the pinkness of Dean’s cheeks, the sweetness of his saliva on Castiel’s tongue. “I have one question,” Castiel said, voice low and secretive.

“Anything,” Dean said.

“Why is there a bed made up?” Castiel looked at the four-poster behind Dean. “Why is it decorated like a perfect boudoir if the whole point of this charade was to tell me you’re willing to never have sex again, just to have me?”

Dean opened, then shut his mouth. “Rhonda’s idea. It’s symbolic.”

Castiel processed that, finally calculated in Rhonda’s purpose in all of this. He began to smile.

“The bed goes untouched,” Dean said. “Two pillows, enough room for two people, surrounded by phallic and romantic symbols – heart-shaped leaves on the monstera, et cetera, et cetera – but not a wrinkle in the sheets. Apparently it’s a set design thing. She’s real into that.”

“I see.”

“Do you? ‘Cause I had to have it explained twice before I got it.”

Castiel smiled. “I doubt that,” he said. “You’re smarter than you pretend to be.”

“I am?”

Castiel snuffled around a smile, eyes twinkling in Dean’s direction. “Kindly phrase that not as a question.”

Dean shrugged. “I am a little sharper than I pretend to be. Sometimes.”

“Yeah.” Castiel booped his nose. “You robbed my store right under my nose. Only a smart person would do that and know they could get away with it.”

Dean cocked his head, licking his lips. “To be fair,” he said, “I wasn’t sure I would. And I didn’t know what I was doing half the time.”

“But you did know why.”

Dean met his eyes, and let go of a calm breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I did know why.”

Eyes shut, they kissed, holding hands. Dean touched the ring around Castiel’s finger, then broke the kiss, offering the other ring.

Castiel took it, and held Dean’s palm steady as he slipped the second ring onto his finger.

“You know what I really hope for us, Cas?”

“What?”

“I hope to God these rings aren’t haunted. I have a theory this place is such a minefield because every second object here probably has an ancient ghost attached. Sounds probable, right?”

Castiel could easily have laughed, but he only smiled, and tipped his head. “I hope our promise rings aren’t haunted, too.”

“And I hope – over time they mean more than just fidelity,” Dean said quietly. “And that someday we’d forget it ever meant that at all, because—” he kissed Castiel, then nudged his head, eyes shut, “because this is only a starting point. Okay? I’m gonna try and be straight with you from now on, Cas. I screwed up too much trying to get here. None of it was irreparable, I know that, but still.” He held Castiel’s head and leaned back to meet his eyes. “I hurt you, didn’t I?”

“Only a lot,” Castiel replied. Then he shook his head, seeing shadows of despair cross Dean’s expression. “I hurt myself more than you hurt me. I just wanted you to be happy. I forgot—” He sighed, pushing up a strained smile. “I forgot that making myself miserable in the process wouldn’t help matters.”

“Crazy thing is,” Dean uttered, as Castiel went to sit on the side of the bed, where Dean joined him, “you were honest with me. Thievery aside, I was honest with you, too. I tried my hardest, Cas, tellin’ you how I felt all along, but...” He ran his hand up behind his neck, dropped from the crown of his head. “Words ain’t enough, sometimes. They can’t be all we ever give each other, you know?”

He took Castiel’s hand, and held it, rings touching.

“That’s why we have symbols,” Castiel supposed.

Dean smiled.

His smile grew, and he looked across at Castiel, dewy-eyed.

Castiel’s eyes lowered. “Not to ruin the moment, or anything,” he said, a lilt of intrigue in his voice, “but did you wear that underwear you showed me before?”

“What, the panties?” Dean grinned, and flopped back onto the bed, shoving the band of his jeans down an inch to show Castiel the frilled edge of the blue panties. “Went with these. Figured,” he sat up, shrugging, “if you thought Rhonda would like the other ones, maybe you liked the blue ones.”

Castiel rolled a shoulder. “Maybe I did.”

Dean smiled, latching his fingers between Castiel’s. “We messed up the bed.”

“So we did.”

“What’s that a symbol of?”

“Um, tired legs? If you recall, Dean, I ran here. Because you called me out of my nice warm bed, at bedtime, because somebody broke into my shop.”

Dean grinned guiltily. “I should, uh, let you get back to sleep, huh.”

“Perhaps you should.”

They lingered, silent, unmoving.

Dean wet his lips, glossy in the amber light of the lamps. “Wanna sleep here?”

“Okay.”

Dean smiled at how quickly Castiel had agreed. “Okay.”

They gazed at each other, content with the choice.

“Okay,” Castiel whispered again. He took Dean around the shoulders and pulled him back into the sheets, laughing together, thoroughly messing up the pristine covers.

They may not have had sex, but with all the wriggling they did to undress and get under the covers, they sure did make waves.

“Two hundred and forty!” Castiel snatched the basketball from the metal trough before it reached him, reeled back his hand and tossed it lightly towards the hoop. “Two hundred and forty-one!”

The crowd chanted with him, cheering every time the ball dipped through the basket and the digital counter went up by one. Dean stood at the front of the crowd, grinning, arms crossed, hating and loving that every successful basket dunk Castiel made put him closer to beating Dean’s high score.

“Two hundred and forty-five! Forty-six! Seven! Eight!”

At two shots shy of three hundred, Cas missed the basket, and Dean hung his head, smiling. He reached forward and clapped Castiel on the shoulder as the crowd groaned loudly, Charlie yowling like a cat with its tail trodden on, Kevin tearing at his hair, Ash clapping and laughing as the rest of the onlookers disbanded.

“Good try, bud,” Dean assured Castiel as Castiel scrubbed his hands with hand sanitiser, releasing a pungent berry scent into the surrounding area. “Better luck tomorrow?”

Castiel grunted, eyebrows high, folding back his shirt sleeves primly. “I’ll beat you eventually. It’s only a matter of when, not if.”

“Damn right.” Dean gave his temple a quick kiss, as the rest of his staff wandered away to do their jobs. “C’mon, I got computers to fix, apparently someone’s toddler chewed through a cable.”

They followed the sparkling darkness of The Light Fantastic, chasing more lights at the end of tunnels. Castiel frowned as they came to the Internet cafe part of the arcade, which was just as sweaty, blue, and neon-lit as the rest of the place.

“When you said cafe, I didn’t think you meant a wall of vending machines,” Castiel murmured, as the music changed from Pendulum to Pink Floyd. “Do people really come here to do homework?”

“Homework! Pff.” Dean lay down on his back and crawled under a desk like it was the chassis of a car. “Kids come here to play Fortnite and avoid doing homework for two days straight. We get the occasional creeper who comes in here to skulk and watch porn, but we have porn and proxy site alerts set up, and we kick ‘em out.”

“Oh.”

“Oop, yep, found it,” Dean said, waggling a chewed cable over his crotch, showing Castiel. “Ahh, easy fix.”

“Does that sit well with you?” Castiel asked. “Children avoiding homework? Adults ‘skulking’?”

“What am I, the devil? Naw. C’mon. I mean, the kids come here to chill out. I guess they do their homework eventually. But this ain’t really a homework kinda place, Cas.”

Castiel sat on a wheely chair with his hands between his thighs, watching Dean’s chest rise and fall, a peek of his abdomen showing under his lifted shirt. “Would you want it to be?”

Dean paused. He leaned out a bit from under the desk, looking at Castiel. “What?”

“What if you had an Internet room closer to the entrance – a quiet one with bright lights – and if kids do their homework, and prove it’s done, they get free arcade – I’m sorry, gaming lounge tokens.”

Dean grinned, teeth on his lower lip.

Castiel shrugged. “If all my years at Mr. Antiquarian taught me anything, it’s that you put the things people want or need most at the front of the store.”

“Like snuff boxes in a glass case right by the door where anyone could just open it up and steal one.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “I just think you could draw in more business. Not just from the children, but their parents. And you, besides! I hardly think you’d have spent so long in my shop if you’d had a decent place to work, here.”

“Would need someone supervising kids the whole time,” Dean mused. He eyed Castiel. “You want a job?”

Castiel snorted. “No thank you. You know as well as I do: I have enough on my plate. And so do you, anyway – this isn’t a project for now. You need to finish that pie recipe book of yours.”

Dean snorted. “Can say that again. Good thing I have a home-away-from-home for writing, huh. Even if I get hundred-year-old gunpowder in the pie occasionally.” He lay back under the desk, poking around. “Cas?”

“Yeah?”

“You wanna go get dinner later? Take-out, hang out at your place – or my place, actually, I freaking tidied! And, uh. Watch a movie? Your pick.”

“Of course.”

“And then – I dunno. Take a walk around the block.”

“Yes.”

“Hold hands?”

“When do we not?”

“And kiss?”

“Clearly you have the power of foresight. Yes, Dean, we can kiss. As much as we like.”

“And then go back to my place and— And do whatever?”

“Swing dance?” Castiel smirked.

“Horizontally, yeah.”

Castiel smiled. “If you still want to.”

Dean peeked out from under the desk. “Mm-hm. Just checking.”

Castiel grinned down at his lap. “I’m not going to go back on my offer to make love to you, you know. Now that I’m sexually attracted to you, I doubt I’ll ever become unattracted.”

“Hey, things change,” Dean said softly, nudging Castiel’s foot with his own, head and hands still buried in cabling. “It took me years to figure out I liked guys, and yeah, turns out I always liked ‘em, but the difference between privately enjoying the thought of something and wanting to act on it—? Totally different kettle, bud.”

“And then there’s Rhonda,” Castiel supposed. “She changed. Straight before, now gay.”

“She’s still bi, dude,” Dean laughed. “She just married a chick. Doesn’t mean she doesn’t still like guys.”

“Hm.” Castiel fiddled with the stitching on his slacks, the knees scuffed, thin, and dusty from crawling on the carpet in the antique shop. “Maybe I’m the only one who changed, then.”

“Uh?”

“Before you, I felt no desire for anybody, not even myself.” Castiel frowned. “One of the few things I remember my mother telling me was that I’d find the right person someday. I hated hearing that, Dean. Hated it. I knew how I felt even then, I understood how I was, and I never wanted to change, and didn’t think I would.” He gulped. “Maybe that was what kept me from being as loving towards you as I wanted to be, when the feelings started. I was – scared. Scared I was different than I thought, and I’d misunderstood myself all my life, and my cursed mother was right.”

“Hey.” Dean got out from under the desk, sitting up on another wheely chair and scooting close, knees touching Castiel’s. “Cas? You said it a minute ago about Rhonda, just happens you were wrong on that count. Thing is, right, just ‘cause you were one way before – non-sexy and non-romantic, or whatever – being different now doesn’t mean you weren’t asexual and aromantic before. You’re just – uhhhhh. Demi. Demisexual now.” He kissed Castiel’s berry-scented knuckles. “Like I said. Things change. Your mother was wrong then. And she’s right now. But you still don’t gotta care about her opinion, ‘kay, because she abandoned you, and I’m not gonna.” The conviction in Dean’s eyes doubled, jaw set. “Not ever. Even if you change your mind about having sex with me. Not. Ever. You hear me?”

Castiel smiled, warmth spreading in his chest, softness in his ears. “Promise?”

Dean grinned, showing Castiel his silver ring, which had been confirmed to be ghost-free (and full of love) by Aja, who, as Castiel’s newest employee, apparently had a sixth sense for these things.

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean said, with a wink. “Promise.”

“Tнє єn∂,” Azimuth said, as Dean and Castiel returned from their starlit walk around the block, hand-in-hand.

Castiel patted the new-vintage cage, which was six feet tall and fit very nicely beside an empty fireplace alcove in Dean’s living room.

“Not the end yet,” Castiel said to his bird. He turned to Dean, eyes on his lips as he leaned to kiss him. “I think we might go on for some time.”

Dean grinned, taking Castiel’s hand and leading him towards the bedroom.

“Tнє єn∂,” Azimuth insisted.

Dean and Castiel kissed all the way across the living room, cooing and touching each other gently, kicking shoes and socks off as they went.

“Let’s stay up way past your bedtime,” Dean whispered into Castiel’s ear as they pressed against a wall, making Castiel giggle.

“Tнє єn∂!” Azimuth yelled, wanting them to get their embarrassing selves out her sight already.

Dean grinned over at the bird. “Okay, okay, we get the hint, jeez.” He offered his ringed hand to Castiel, soft-eyed. “Wanna spend the night with me, Cas?”

“Yes, I would, Dean,” Castiel said sweetly. He cast a fond look over at his bird, then followed Dean to the bedroom. “Yes, I would.”

Finally, when the door closed, Azimuth relaxed on her perch, whistling a happy tune. “Tнє єn∂,” she said, firmly this time.