Chapter Text
Dean has a problem.
Don't misunderstand - Dean loves his new neighborhood. It's farther away from the garage than his old apartment, true, but his house was an honest to god house. It's a one-story, but is has two bedrooms and a nice shower with good water pressure and a kitchen, and it has a garage for his baby to keep her out of the snow and hail and shit. His neighbors are nice - he isn't about to become best buddies with them, but they are nice - and even though it is farther away from work, it's barely a thirty minute drive.
He'd ridden his bike to work every day since he'd started, and now he has to drive, but that isn't the problem. He gets to spend the time with the Impala, after all. The problem is that he was never big on the whole iron-pumping thing, but he likes food, and he likes eating food. The hungrier he is, the more he can eat. Working out a bit, even if it was only biking to and from work each day, was a win-win. Now that he hasn't been biking, he's been skipping out on seconds and it's making him depressed.
So he decides to get up early each morning and bike around the neighborhood. After a few false starts, he figures out a route that isn't demoralizing or too easy, and he starts to regain his appetite.
It's worth it, even though he has to bike through the neighborhoods further up the hill. The first one isn't too bad. The people there are wealthy, no doubt about it. It's the kind of place a movie about the suburbs would be set in. Community playgrounds, homeowners associations, hot moms who jog with their baby strollers, the whole nine. Some of Dean's neighbors augment their square footage with trailers, and his own satellite dish stands proudly in his front yard. The people in the apple pie suburb are pretty nice, though; they take their kids to the park and toss baseballs with them in their yards. They seem like decent people who probably worked hard to get a down payment for their cookie-cutter houses, and are smart enough to get a job better than the one Dean has as a mechanic.
The other neighborhood is a completely different story. Dean's blood boils on principle every time he goes in there. He's seen ads in the paper, and not a single one has an asking price of less than one million dollars.
The sheer size of the houses makes Dean grit as he bikes past. They are so pretentious. Some of them even have gates, for crying out loud. It isn't a gated community, so Dean is allowed to bike through there (he may have checked online before trying) but he hates doing it.
What's doubly weird is that he never seen any owners. He's half convinced no one lives there, but sold signs keep going up and coming back down, and he's seen moving vans (fleets of them) unloading. Why buy a house in such a pretentious neighborhood (it's named Dark Forest Villas even though there's no forest and Dean promptly renames it Douchebag Villas) with ten acres of space and never step outside? It makes Dean hate the people who live there even more. If Sam's lawyer salary and Jess's obscene amount of money she rakes in as a pediatric surgeon aren't enough to buy one of these houses, the people in them are too rich.
One day, after he's been living in his house for about six months, he sees a moving van in front of Douchebag House #5, so named because it's the fifth worst house in Douchebag Villas. It's not as bad as the ones that have gates, but it's up there. It takes up so much space that Dean has to downshift to get from one end of its property to the other. This is not an exaggeration. He's tried to time his gearshifts strategically, but he can't make it. The grade of the hill is not very steep.
As usual, he can't see the owners at all. To be fair, it's possible that they are standing on the porch - from this distance he might not be able to make them out. The house is seriously horrible.
He bikes past it quickly, even though he is curious. He's afraid that spending too much time in Douchebag Villas will wear off on him eventually and he'll plant rocks in the middle of his yard and call it landscaping.
The next day there is a new moving van parked outside Douchebag House #5. Dean snorts, because of course it would take more than one day to move all the stuff into the house.
The day after that, there are no moving vans. In their place is a guy moving the lawn. It's one of those pretentious things that professional baseball stadiums use to cut the grass - one of the ones that you sit on so you don't have to push - but at least the guy is outside. Though when Dean gets a closer look, he decides it can't be the owner. The guy is seriously young, maybe older than Dean, but not by much. He's probably a gardener, in which case Dean can forgive the lawnmower. He's white, which is weird, but Dean wouldn't be surprised if old, pretentious douchebags didn't want their grass cut by Mexicans. Maybe the buyer is an anchor for Fox News.
Dean hates him on principle - not the gardener, not his fault - and pedals past.
The next day, the guy is there again, kneeling close to the house. Dean thinks he might be weeding.
The next day, he's pruning the bushes.
Dean doesn't see him every day. He figures the back yard is probably just as big as the front and needs to be taken care of just as much. A part of him is always a little disappointed on those days. It's stupid, but he's always appreciated people who work with their hands. It's one of the reason's he became a mechanic. But it's not as if they have any interaction. Dean always bikes by as fast as he can, because hills are hard, and the guy is almost always busy.
That changes in early summer. It's been about three months since the new owners moved in and the gardener started working, and it's the first truly hot day of the year. Even in the morning, it's pushing ninety. It hardly ever does this, but when it happens, it sucks. When Dean steps outside, he considers turning right back around, but he already woke up, and he knows he won't be able to fall back asleep.
It is hot as hell. Dean usually does a loop, but halfway up the hill he makes the decision to bite the bullet and head straight back down once he reaches the top. He reaches Douchebag House #5 and finds himself going a little slower that usual, because it's just too damn hot.
The gardener is in the front today, pruning some of the bushes that grow near the house. He's taken his shirt off, and the planes of his back are glistening with sweat. He looks like an extra from Ben-Hur.
Dean can't help himself. He brings one of his hands to his mouth and wolf-whistles. The gardener drops his shears and whips his head around. Even from this distance, Dean can see that his eyes are wide, and he laughs. His bike comes to a stop, but instead of trying to start it up again, he just turns it around and heads back.
The memory of the way the gardener had dropped his shears keeps Dean in a good mood for a very long time. Every time he gets irritated at a customer he remembers the way the guy had looked around and feels better. Bobby and Benny have both noticed, and they keep shooting him concerned glances, especially after he tells them, no, he hasn't gotten laid.
The gardener is still around of course, but for the most part Dean just bikes past the property and keeps his eyes on the road. He really does hate that hill. One day, though, the gardener is perched on a ladder, doing god knows what to one of the trees near the road. As Dean nears him, he reaches up and Dean can see a bit of skin from where his shirt pulls up. He can't help it. He wolf-whistles again.
It's worth it. The guy isn't holding anything this time, so there's nothing to drop, but his hands slip on the branch and he has to catch himself on the ladder to keep from falling. Dean is slightly ashamed - he didn't want the guy to get hurt, after all - but the look on his face is great. Dean's close enough to see him properly this time, and his eyes are wide and startled as he looks at Dean. Dean winks at him, and then he's past him. He didn't pass him so quickly that he missed the way the gardener's eyes raked over him, though.
That's when it starts devolving into madness. The next day, he puts on one of his tighter shirts. Biking isn't really a provocative look, but Dean works with it.
The gardener is unfortunately not shirtless. He's not anything, just moving the grass with the lawnmower. He stares at Dean as he's approaching, though, and Dean counts it as a win.
Dean starts to go crazy. He's pretty convinced that if Sam knew what he was doing, he'd drive him to a mental institution. He goes out and buys even tighter shirts, and a pair of bike shorts that leave pretty much nothing to the imagination. On hot days, he goes shirtless. He even goes so far as to switch the direction of his loop, so that he can glide down the hill with his ass in the air.
It's ridiculous, because the gardener doesn't even do anything. He doesn't raise the stakes by dressing in his own tight wardrobe, or pose sexily the way Dean does sometimes. The only thing he does is stare, but that coupled with the fact that Dean doesn't think he's been doing any work in the back, is enough to keep Dean escalating this weird game they have going. He's sick in the head.
This goes on for months, through the whole summer and going into the fall, and Dean hasn't even spoken to the guy, doesn't even know his name. He's been giving himself a pep talk for the last few weeks, trying to get up the stones to talk to the gardener. It wouldn't have to be weird, but Dean has always had trouble talking to people. When he picks someone up at a bar, he's usually operating under a standard bar-procedure, and since he's a pretty good-looking guy, it doesn't take much more than a few lines of flirting. He's not equipped to make friendly conversation in broad daylight. Riding past someone everyday on a bicycle is obviously not cutting it, though.
As luck would have it, his tire pops. He doesn't know why, but some broken glass or a nail or just plain old wear and tear gouges his tire just as he's coming over the hill. He considers wobbling the rest of the way down to his house, but the tire isn't just squishy, it's empty. He doesn't know much about bike tires, but he wouldn't drive a car on something this flat, so he gets off and starts pushing. He's going to be late for work.
He slinks his way past the house. Pushing a bike is so not sexy.
"Do you need a ride?"
Dean rips his head around, and fuck his life, there's the gardener, standing at the edge of the property with a weed-whacker in one of his hands. "Huh?" Dean asks stupidly.
"Do you need a ride?" The guy repeats. The hand not clutching at the weed-whacker is held awkwardly at his side, like he doesn't know what to do with it. That little detail is enough to relax Dean.
"Um," I guess," he replies. "Can you just take off?"
"I've got time," the gardener says. "Just let me set this down."
Dean nods and kick the road while the gardener retreats into the property. A moment later, he hears a rumbling and a pickup truck comes into view. The back is full of stones and caulking material, but there's enough room in there for Dean's bike. The gardener helps him throw it in, and then holds out his hand. "Castiel."
"Gesundheit," Dean says. The guy's expression cools slightly and his hand starts to drop, so Dean grabs it hastily and adds, "Sorry. I'm Dean." Dean's hand is sweaty, but Castiel's is too, and Dean figures that however embarrassing this mess is, at least he got a name out of it. A weird name, but it's better than calling him 'the gardener' all the time in his head.
Once they get in the truck, Castiel asks, "Where do you live?"
"Just follow the road out of this neighborhood and take a right. I'll direct you from there," Dean says. He lapses into an awkward silence after that, because what can he say to the guy he's maybe been sort of taunting with his body. Luckily, it's a short drive out of the neighborhood, and from there Dean can fill the silence with directions.
When they arrive at Dean's house, Castiel climbs out and helps Dean haul his bike out of the back. "Thanks," Dean says. "See you around." That would be it, but he sees Castiel eyeing the Impala through the open garage door. This is a subject that Dean can converse on in broad daylight, so he takes the opening and grins. "You like my car?"
"It looks in fine shape," Castiel says, and Dean fights a snort, because who talks like that? He doesn't mind though, finds it endearing.
"I'm a mechanic," he explains. Then he decides to bait him a little. "Wouldn't be much of one if I didn't keep my baby healthy."
Castiel tilts his head. "You call your car 'baby?' Does your... girlfriend mind?"
Dean grins wider. Bingo. Castiel is definitely fishing. "No girlfriend. Just me. Thanks again for the ride."
"It was no trouble," Castiel says and backs away to the drivers side of the truck.
Dean knows he'll see Castiel tomorrow, could probably ask him then, but what the hell. "Let me thank you properly. Buy you a drink?"
Castiel's hands fumble with the door handle. Clearly, he is not used to being picked up, though Dean can't see why. He's really good looking. Dean bets he'd look even better in clean clothes. Castiel's eyes are wide when he looks at Dean. "A drink? With you?"
"I hope with me," Dean says, shooting Castiel an appreciative look as he looks him up and down. "Otherwise, I might get jealous."
Castiel blinks at him for a moment, and then he smiles softly. "I'd like that."
"Do you know the Lion's Den, downtown?" Castiel nods, so Dean says "meet me there around eight tonight?"
Castiel nods agains and gives him another shy smile. Dean is turning into a thirteen-year-old girl, but he doesn't care. "Wear something nice," he adds before turning and pushing his bike to the garage. He's not being rude, he's giving Castiel the chance to ogle.
He uses the Impala's side-view mirror to check behind him. Castiel is staring, keys in hand. Dean laughs and goes in to shower.
The day can't go fast enough. It's a testament to how excited it is that when he sees Sam's number pop up on his caller I.D. he considers not answering. He does, of course.
"Hey Sam."
"Hey Dean. How are you?"
"I'm dandy," Dean says as he goes through his wardrobe of nicer clothes to make sure none are stained or wrinkled. "How're you? How's Jess?"
"Great!" Sam's voice is a little higher pitched than normal. Dean frowns into the phone for a second before shrugging. Sam's voice has always confused him. It can reach girlish levels when he's properly excited, which is impressive considering that Sam otherwise bears a remarkable resemblance to Bigfoot. "We're both great. I was just calling because I wanted to know if you were coming out here for Thanksgiving?"
Dean sighs. "I don't know if I can take enough time off to drive all the way to California and back, Sam."
"How about a flight?"
"No!" Dean shouts. "God no. You know how I feel about flying."
Sam is quiet. Then, in a small voice, he says, "Please, Dean?"
This time Dean does frown into the phone. Something is definitely off. "Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, I just miss you. I haven't seen you in almost a year."
Dean rubs a hand over his face. Sam sounds like he's almost going to cry, and Dean can picture the puppy dog eyes only too well. Dean can't resist them, can't even resist them when he can't see them, apparently. "Fine. I'll come out. But that dinner had better be delicious."
"It will be, don't worry, Jess'll cook it," Sam says.
"Good." Dean glances at the time. It's getting kind of late, and anticipation is curling in his gut, so he says, "I've gotta go, I'll talk to you later about flights and stuff I guess."
"You have to go?" Sam sounds insulted. "Why?"
"I've got a thing."
"You mean a date?"
"Yeah, a date," Dean says, rolling his eyes. "And no, I don't want to talk about it."
"Fine," Sam huffs. "But you'll call me later?"
"Sure thing," Dean says. "Catch you later bitch."
"Jerk," Sam says, and hangs up.
*
The Lion's Den is a classy place, but not so classy that Dean doesn't feel comfortable in there. He has to abandon his flannel, but he can keep his jeans and for dates he can be forced into a dress shirt for a night. He doesn't spot Castiel's pickup anywhere, but he got there a little early so he's not surprised. He goes inside and orders a beer. No sense in sweating it outside, sober.
He's only been waiting for five minutes before Castiel walks in. Dean's mouth goes dry the instant he sees him. When Dean said dress nicely, he wasn't expecting Castiel to come in a suit and tie. Dean feels underdressed, but when Castiel sees him he drags his eyes all over Dean's body, so Dean just grins and waves.
Castiel walks over to his table and sits opposite him. "Hello, Dean."
Dean starts a little, because he'd noticed Castiel's rough voice that morning but chalked it up to being early and working outside. Unless Castiel's been mowing the grass nonstop for the past twelve hours, that's his normal voice. Dean's mind goes places that are not entirely appropriate, but he says, quite maturely, "Hey. What's your poison?"
"I'll have what you're having."
Dean almost says something dickish, like 'wouldn't you rather just have me, instead,' but he restrains himself and gets up to order another beer. He can't restrain himself from leaning sluttishly against the bar as he waits for his order, though.
Despite Dean's lack of subtlety, and Castiel's obvious, if restrained, appreciation, the conversation they end up having is surprisingly normal. They cover all the basic ground, family, favorite pie (Dean refuses to believe this isn't a normal getting to know you question) and some other general stuff.
Dean is surprised to find that he likes Castiel, or Cas, as he's become. Not that he was expecting not to, but they're polar opposites, and it's unusual for Dean to actively want to spend time talking to the people he's attracted to. Cas sits up straight and talks formally and misses a lot of Dean's references, but the way he picks at the label on his beer and smiles shyly is really nice. Dean doesn't need the buzz from his beer to feel warm and happy.
After he's had two beers, he stands up and rolls his shoulders. "If I don't leave soon, I'll be too drunk to drive." It comes out more abruptly than he meant it to, but Cas takes it in stride and follows him.
When they get outside, Dean hesitates. He really wants to kiss Cas right now, but he does seem like a reserved guy, and the thing is, Dean totally wouldn't mind taking it slowly. He turns around. He's going to ask, damn it, like a teenager.
He doesn't get the chance, because Cas hauls him in and starts kissing him. Dean smiles against his lips and grabs Cas's face to kiss him better.
Cas kisses him sloppily, desperately. Dean wouldn't have expected it, because Cas doesn't give off a lot of wild vibes, but work hard, party hard. Dean isn't going to complain.
Cas breaks off to mouth along Dean's jaw. "Made me so crazy, Dean. For months."
"Months, huh?" Dean asks, because he likes to be obnoxious. Cas frowns at him and attacks his lips again.
After a few minutes of this, with no sign of it letting up and somehow getting dirtier and dirtier, all of Dean's blood rushes south. From the way Cas is pressed up against him, Dean figures they have about ten seconds until they're arrested for public indecency. He pushes Cas back until he finds a car. A quick glance confirms that yes, it's the Impala, and he opens the back seat and they tumble in.
Cas is beautiful like this. He always was, but now he's flushed and gasping from Dean even though his eyes are somehow still steady. It's nothing Dean hasn't done before, tame even, but Dean would bottle this moment if he could.
After, they curl up around each other. Cas lays his head on Dean's shoulder and Dean runs his hand through Cas's hair. It's a little cramped, so Dean asks, "Where to now?"
Cas hums, looking up at Dean shyly. "You know where I live," he says. "Or we could go back to yours."
Dean is a little blissed out, so it takes a few seconds. When it sinks in, the proverbial penny drops so hard he thinks it's halfway to China.
Cas lives in Douchebag House #5.
Cas, Castiel - and that should have been a clue, what a weird name - must pick up on something, because he sits up and says, "I didn't mean to presume."
"No," Dean says through numb lips. "It's just been a long day."
"Of course," Cas says, and Dean hates himself, because Cas's eyes are wide and trusting and warm. He gives Dean a light kiss. "I'll see you?"
Dean hums, which could be taken either way. Cas climbs out of the Impala. Dean watches as climbs into a car - a fucking Lexus - and drives away.
Dean's life really sucks sometimes.
*
Dean's knows he's being stupid. He knows that just because Cas is stupidly rich doesn't mean he's a bad person, but old habits die hard, and this one's been ingrained in Dean since he was five years old. Living out of motels at a young age will mess a person up.
He changes his bike route so he starts on a downhill, and tells himself it's to make his workout harder. He's fucking miserable, and he feels like shit.
He books a flight out to California. When he calls Sam to tell him when he's arriving, Sam asks how his date went (of course he does) and Dean says, "fine" and changes the subject. It usually doesn't bother him, but every once in a while he'll feel inadequate next to Sam. He's got a high paying job and a beautiful wife, and all Dean has to his name is a G.E.D. and a string of one night stands. It stings more than usual, and Dean cuts off the conversation quickly.
Jess meets him at the airport. Dean is relieved, because even though she teases him a little, it's nothing like it would have been if Sam came. She lets him off lightly, considering Dean looks like he lost his man-card.
"I have to stop by the grocery store to get a few things," Jess says. "Is that all right with you?"
"Of course," Dean answers, even though he groans silently when she pulls into Whole Foods. Dean hates that store. Everything is overpriced, and parking is a nightmare. Dean doesn't understand why they don't just plan better. The Impala couldn't even fit in one of these spots.
Jess has a Prius. It makes Dean cry a little inside, but it is useful in a parking lot, he'll give it that much.
Jess sweeps through the aisles like a queen. Dean has no choice but to trail after her and wince in anticipation as she fills the cart with salad and muesli and cuts of steak that cost three times what they should. But Dean is looking forward to the steak, at least.
When they get to the liquor isle, Jess pauses for the first time. "What kind of beer do you want, Dean?" she asks.
"Jess, I know you and Sam are more wine people. It's fine. I can suffer through it for a few days," he jokes. There doesn't seem to be much point in forcing Dean to eat expensive steak and then letting him drink cheap beer.
"Dean, just choose a beer," Jess says. "Sam and I aren't drinking, anyway."
Dean's brain stutters to a halt. Sam and Jess are alcoholics? That doesn't seem right. Then he looks at her more closely. She's staring at him in shock and then she covers her mouth with her hand. "Oh shit," she says. "Cat, bag, fail."
Dean gapes at her. "Jess, are you...?"
She blushes and nods. "Oh my god," he says, pulling her into a hug. "That's amazing! Congratulations! When were you going to tell me?"
Jess makes a face. "Right when we got home. Sam had this whole elaborate plan - he was going to spring it on you. Revenge for his senior prom?"
Dean chuckles, remembering. "That was a good one."
*
"Try to act surprised," Jess says as they're walking up the stairs to their house. "He was so excited, he's going to be so angry with me if he knows I spilled the beans."
Dean nods. "I'll do my best."
The moment the door swings open, Sam blares a horn in his face and points at a cloth banner that reads, Welcome to California, Uncle Dean! It has a picture of a crib and a cartoon baby, and Dean can't keep himself from doubling over laughing. All that's missing is a confetti cannon. Dean has no idea how Sam ended up this way - John was a man's man to the core, and Dean isn't much better.
Sam's hurt face that his plan didn't work only makes Dean laugh harder as Jess apologizes for letting the secret out.
Dean's good mood extends through dinner. Sam and Jess are total nerds; they've already started making plans for college savings and plotted what sports the kid is going to play.
"So, any baby names getting tossed around yet?" Dean asks.
Sam and Jess look at each other with stars in their eyes. "Well, we haven't found out the gender yet," Sam says. "We've got an appointment for an ultrasound in a couple of weeks, so that will make the conversation more serious." The hold each other's hands over the table. Dean would puke if they weren't family.
When Jess gets up to go to the bathroom, Sam leans forward. "You seem down, Dean."
"What?" Dean asks. "I'm not, I'm happy for you."
"I know you are, that's not what I meant," Sam replies. "Sometimes I just feel like you're lonely, and when you come out here and the two of us are together..."
"Oh come on, Sam," Dean scoffs. "I'm not lonely, and I'm not jealous of your matrimonial bliss. That's not on the cards for me right now."
"Dean..."
"Would you drop it, Sammy?" Dean snaps. "Every time we talk it's always, who are you seeing, Dean. When are you going to settle down, Dean. It's not appreciated, dude."
Sam is quiet for a moment. "I just can't understand why you haven't found anyone yet," he says.
"I find lots of people, Sam, they just don't hang around." Or he pushes them away for bullshit reasons, but Sam doesn't need to know about that. Luckily, Jess comes back and the conversation turns towards school districts and nonsense like that. Sam doesn't bring it up again. The day after Thanksgiving, they both drop him off at the airport. Jess hugs him tightly, and Sam hugs him also and says, "you'll come when the baby is due?"
Dean nods. If he plans far enough in advance, he might be able to drive, even.
*
He definitely wants to drive. His flight was one long bumpy stretch followed by a short stretch of terrifying before it settled back into long and bumpy. When he gets out of the terminal, he's so relieved that he takes a moment to simply bask in the joy of being on solid ground. Dean turns toward the restaurant area with half a mind to reward himself with a Cinnabon or something equally horrible, and that's when he sees him. Cas is walking with a woman towards security, and as Dean watches, she stands on her tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek. For a second misplaced jealousy courses through Dean, but then he remembers that Cas had mentioned a sister. He gives her a hug, and when he smiles, Dean remembers himself and flees to car.
The universe hates him, because this is the beginning of an alarming trend. It seems like Cas is everywhere. Any time Dean ventures out of the house for something out of the ordinary, Cas is sure to show up. For the most part, Dean manages to bail before Cas spots him, but sometimes he doesn't notice until it's too late. Dean goes to Whole Foods, because he has to admit that the meat there tastes way better than the stuff he gets at the supermarket, and he bumps into Cas. Literally. They are both holding baskets and for a second they just stare at each other until Cas spins on his heels and marches out. For a whole thirty minutes, Dean stays in the same section because he doesn't want to see him at checkout. He finally tells himself that he's being ridiculous, and leaves. He doesn't see him in the lines or outside in the god-awful parking lot, and Dean breathes a sigh of relief.
It doesn't end there. When Dean goes to Macy's for a new pot, he looks up and sees Cas in the knives section, staring at him and holding a meat cleaver. When their eyes meet, Cas looks away and slams the knife down before stalking off in the opposite direction. Awkward doesn't even begin to cover it.
Dean knows he's being a hurtful asshole. Nothing about this situation is Cas's fault, but he can't bring himself to apologize. Somehow, the thought of admitting he's uncomfortable with Cas's money feels worse than blowing Cas off like a dick.
The Macy's encounter was epically bad, way worse than Whole Foods, and when he walked past Cas on the street randomly, he could feel the chill emanating from him. It dies down after that, and he's almost convinced that the universe isn't screwing with him for kicks when Bobby tells him a customer is waiting outside for a consult about a car. Dean rounds the corner and tells the universe to go screw itself, because lo and behold, there's Cas, standing next to a BMW.
Which means that in addition to the pickup he drove Dean home in and the Lexus, he's got a fucking beamer. Maybe he's got a Rolls Royce in that garage of his too.
The thought of Cas owning four cars angers him enough to get over the awkward, because of going back inside and getting someone else to take care of it like he should, he stalks over and asks gruffly, "What's the problem?" He doesn't look at Cas as he says it, but he can feel the other man stiffen.
"The check engine light is on."
"Of course it is," Dean mutters. "Pop the hood."
Cas gets into the drivers seat and pops the hood. Dean lifts it and bends over so he can get a closer. This has the added benefit of not being able to see Cas, who hasn't gotten out of the car.
The engine is in good shape. A couple of gears need tightening, and it could do with an oil change, but there's nothing major that needs doing. He straightens and steels himself to talk to Cas.
"Needs an oil change," he says. Cas nods, completely focused on the steering. "I can do it for you in about half an hour, if you want to wait inside and take care of billing."
Cas nods again and clears his throat. "Fine." He gets out of the car, leaning away carefully to avoid brushing up against Dean, and goes around to the front of the building. Dean smacks his head against the car.
He waits until Cas has gone out of sight to the customer entrance before he bolts into the office. "The guy coming in, Castiel, don't charge him for service," he barks quickly. That would be too awful, even for him.
"He a friend of yours?" Bobby asks.
"Yeah, sure" Dean says before hightailing it out of there before Cas can come in and see him.
He's halfway done with the job when he gets yanked up and spun around. His protests die in his throat when he sees who it is.
"What are you doing?" Cas hisses.
"Oil change," Dean answers reflexively.
This turns out to a mistake, because Cas fists his hands in Dean's shirt and throws him against the wall. "We are not friends," he says in a low, dangerous voice.
"I just-"
"You just," Cas sneers. "You just what? Disappeared? I wish you had."
The last time Cas had grabbed him like this it was to kiss him. Dean can see his coworkers starting to move forward, frowns on their faces. "Cas..."
Cas lets go of Dean just as suddenly as he had grabbed him and storms away. "The hell was that Dean?" Benny asks. "Ex?"
"Something like that," Dean says, waving him off. "I'm fine. Nothing I didn't have coming."
He finishes the oil change as fast as he can, and as soon as he's done he goes into the waiting room. Cas is still there. Dean was half-expecting him not to be, but since he is he says, "all finished." Cas sweeps out without looking at him, he climbs into his car, but Dean reaches a hand out to stop him from closing the door.
"Look Cas, I know I messed up."
"Don't call me that," Cas says quietly, staring out his windshield. "No one calls me that."
Dean swallows, Cas hadn't complained before. He tries again. "Sorry. I didn't - look, that's what I was trying to say, with the bill. That I was sorry for... you know."Cas says nothing, but Dean can see his hands turning white where he's gripping the steering wheel. "I didn't know that you... I thought you were the gardener, okay? And I have - I have a thing about money. You've seen my house. It's like, two rooms, and yours is ginormous. I wouldn't have been comfortable, okay?"
"Do you have any idea," Cas says after a long pause where Dean feels like digging his own grave. "How many people approach me for my money alone? When you did, I thought, don't fall for it, but you were so beautiful that I said yes anyway. And then you were charming, and I thought -" He breaks off and looks straight at Dean. There is so much anger in his eyes that Dean takes a step back. "I don't ever want to see you again, Dean." He slams the door shut and drives away.
*
Dean is kind of used to ex's hating him, but this one hurts more than most. Maybe it was the knowledge that this one is totally on him, that it's completely his fault. Usually he breaks up with people based on somewhat mutual incompatibility, not because of petty stupidity. He tamps down on that feeling, though. The universe is doing him a solid, and he hasn't seen Cas, so that helps.
It being wintertime also helps. He stops biking as soon as it snows, and it's nice to have a real reason for avoiding Cas's house. Shoveling the driveway almost every day doesn't come close to burning the amount of calories he did when he was biking, but it's something.
It snows at least six inches one day, thick snow that's so heavy he needs to rest on his shovel and take a breather. He finds himself thinking of Cas. He probably isn't working on his lawn anymore, but he would definitely shovel his driveway. It's a long driveway, and Dean wonders whether Cas shovels it himself or whether he has a snow blower. He had a pretentious lawnmower, so he probably has a snow blower, but Dean is curious. When he's done with his own driveway. he hops in the Impala and drives past Cas's house. He does it quickly, because Cas might recognize his car, but he is able to catch a glimpse of Cas pushing a plain old regular shovel. It must take him forever.
The next time it's forecast for snow, Dean wakes at the crack of dawn and shovels his driveway and the sidewalk. When he's done, he throws the shovel in the back and drives to Cas's house.
This is stupid, and he's probably going to get a restraining order, if not charged with trespassing, but he drives all the way through the pretentious neighborhood, parks his car, and gets out before he changes his mind. Cas is already about halfway to the road. He grabs the shovel out of the back, crosses the street, and starts shoveling.
When he glances to where Cas was, he sees that the other man hasn't moved. He's holding his shovel loosely in his hands and gaping open-mouthed at Dean. Dean ducks his head and keeps shoveling. A few seconds later, he hears another scrape against the concrete.
The snow was light that night, so it doesn't take very long for them to meet. Dean doesn't say anything, but he nods before turning and heading to his car. As he drives away, he checks his rear-view mirror. He can't see Cas clearly, but he can tell that he's watching the car.
He does it again the next time it snows, and since a court order doesn't come in the mail, he keeps doing it. They never talk, but that might be a good thing, because it means that Cas never tells him to get lost, either.
One day there's a fucking foot of snow, and it's so cold that Dean's pretty sure his hands are going to freeze off despite the fact that he's wearing gloves. He consideres not going over to Cas's, especially when he looks at the time, but he can be late every once in a while.
He's going to be really late, he realizes, when he arrives at Cas's house and less than a quarter of the driveway is clear. He grits his teeth and gets started.
It takes forever, and it's freezing. Dean can't remember when he was last this cold. He's pretty sure he could pee and it would freeze before it hit the ground.
He is startled when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He straightens quickly. Cas is looking at him, face unreadable, and then he holds out his hands. Dean blinks and realizes belatedly that Cas is holding a thermos in one hand and a steaming camping cup in the other. Dean takes it and sips it cautiously. It's hot chocolate. Dean gives a small smile that Cas doesn't return, so he finishes it as quickly as he can and hands it back. "Thanks," he says. It's done wonders. He no longer feels like his intestines are in danger of freezing, at least.
Cas's mouth tightens, almost as if he wasn't expecting a thank you, and he turns and walks back to his shovel without saying anything.
When they meet in the middle, Dean says "bye" for the first time.
After that, instead of starting from the outside and working his way in, he trudges through the snow until he reaches the area of the driveway that's already been cleared. And he talks. Not a lot. Shoveling is hard work, and Dean isn't the best morning person, but he says stuff. Little things, like bitching about how cold it is, or if he had a bad day at work. One day he says, "I really think you should get a snow blower, man," and Cas smiles. It's tiny, and only lasts for a second, but Dean feels warm, despite the cold.
Come March, the snow stops falling every day. It always dumps heavily the last few storms, so when it's eight inches deep, Dean isn't really surprised.
When they get to the end of the driveway, Dean doesn't leave right away. He looks toward the east, where the clouds are being lit by early morning sun. "I'll miss this," he says quietly. "Even though you never talk. I don't know why, but I kinda like it."
He hears Cas shift beside him. "Dean..." Dean looks at him, surprised. Cas is looking at the ground, scuffing his foot over a patch of ice they haven't managed to strip. "Do you work on Saturday?"
"Not today," he answers.
"I could cook you breakfast. To thank you."
"Sure." Thanking Cas had been what started this whole mess. Maybe thanking Dean would end it.
The house is just as gigantic on the inside as it looks on the outside. Seriously, Martha Stewart would have a field day. Dean doesn't say anything, because a compliment would just be awkward and he doesn't want to shatter whatever it is that's going on between them right now. He takes off his shoes and coat and follows Cas into the kitchen.
It's huge. Dean doesn't mean to, but he says, "this kitchen is bigger than my house."
Cas stops digging around in the fridge and looks at him. He looks scared, like he thinks Dean is going to leave. Dean shrugs and sits on a stool at the bar. The kitchen has a bar.
"You know," Dean says, "I never asked what you do."
Cas cracks some eggs into a mixing bowl and says, "My family owns Home Depot. I oversee operations in this region."
Dean almost chokes, because holy shit, that would explain it.
That's the last thing either of them says, until Cas has made two omelets and two mugs of coffee and slid them in front of Dean. Dean looks at it, the way it's messy around the edges and far from perfect. Parts of it are runny and parts of it look burned, like there wasn't enough butter in all the parts of Cas's fancy pan. He can't take it anymore. He slams his fork and knife on the granite countertop and practically shouts, "I'm sorry, Cas. I'm a snob, and you should hate me, but I really don't want you to. I've never been this hung up on a person before."
He's been speaking to his plate, and now he raises his eyes. Cas is staring at him, and christ, he looks great. His hair is mussed from his hat and his cheeks are pink from the cold. He hasn't shaved yet, and Dean wants to know what those bristles feel like against his skin. When they'd met in the bar, Cas has been clean-shaven. "Cas," Dean whispers, and leans forward.
He'd had the intention of making the kiss hard and desperate. He is desperate, but when their lips meet, it's slow and soft and sweet. Cas's stubble is prickly under Dean's hands, and when he breaks apart to rub their cheeks together, it rasps against his own. "Cas," he whispers once more into his ear before pulling back to kiss him again. He's kind of unresponsive though, not stiff, but nothing like he'd been at the bar either, so Dean pulls back.
"Cas?" He asks uncertainly. If Cas tells him to leave he won't come back. Won't try again.
"No one calls me that," Cas says, staring at Dean.
"Sorry," Dean says, and that sounds like his cue. He stands up to leave.
"But maybe... I like it. When you do."
Dean looks back. Cas is looking him, smiling softly, and Dean can see something like hope in his eyes. "Okay then," Dean says, sitting back in his stool and covering one of Cas's hands with his own. "Okay."