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Castiel held an odd attraction for Sunday food markets. The open air markets of stands and tents were a flurry of activity and noise, which typically he would avoid during the mid-day rush. But he had been there since early morning, setting up his first table of jars. His hand-painted, wooden signs propped against the tent poles, advertised his newest stock of jams and honeys.
Castiel had kept his head down, for the most part, gently smiling at the foot traffic, his heart doing little flip-flops as strangers approached his display. A few people took his jars in their hands, commented on the label’s mascot, informing him that bees do not have feathered wings as if he was somehow clueless to this fact. He did his best not to roll his eyes, instead sharing with them a good-natured nod and running a mantra-like prayer in his head for them to leave quickly.
He didn’t sell much that morning, but the real crowds had started in around lunchtime. Everyone looked for something to eat as they perused through the market. It seemed like most tables were drawing substantial attention. But Castiel’s remained in quiet order. He busied himself shifting the signs and rearranging jars so that the labels were faced front. It was the kind of mindless work that didn’t take much effort and allowed him to drift off in his thoughts.
There would be a music festival at the end of the month. It wasn’t the typical dance music that his friends liked to listen to, so he felt discouraged even before asking them if they’d want to join in. He wasn’t sure why he would hesitate. He’d followed them to more than a few festivals that were not his normal speed, gotten himself into some mighty awkward situations with strangers and DJs who he’d rather have never encountered. Surely his friends wouldn’t turn down the invitation.
Still, he turned the invitation to them over and over in his head, trying to piece together the right words. He wanted to come across as interested in the rock festival, but not desperate. A frown settled on his lips as he wondered why such a question should take so much effort.
“Gotcha!”
A pair of hands slapped the table in front of him, giving Castiel quite a start. He looked up to find a set of sparkling green eyes and a winning smile, just inches from his own face. Castiel lifted an eyebrow in confusion, but didn’t move away.
The man before him breathed heavily, as if he had been running. He coughed into his shoulder and cleared his throat. “Do you know how hard it has been to find this?” He was waving something in his hand, too spastically for Castiel to focus on what it could be. “I called… everywhere!”
Castiel was only a little weirded out by the guy’s outburst, but handed over a small bottle of water anyway. He clearly looked like he could use it.
Raising the bottle in a quick toast of gratitude, the man gulped down the cool drink with a satisfied sigh. “Damn, dude. Even your water tastes amazing.”
With a small shake of his head, Castiel informed him, “It is the state of dehydration in which you are that has enhanced your taste for water. I assure you I had little part in that.”
“Sure, bud, whatever.” The patron scanned over the jars and squinted at the wooden signs. “I’ll take, like, a case of whatever you’ve got available.” His fingers moved over the jars, tapping their lids as he appeared to be seeking out his favorites. “The hell, you don’t have any of the… Yes! This one… and this. I’ll take a case of each.” His shoulders did a shimmy-shake, excited at the prospect of finally acquiring his treasure, after what sounded like it had been quite the hunt. “How much is it?” He looked up, his smile impossibly wider than before. But as their eyes met for the second time, the guy’s smile faltered.
He licked his lips and swallowed, his throat suddenly very dry. The young man standing behind his jars of honey caught him off-guard with his clear blue eyes and scruff-lined jaw. Shifting in his boots, he rubbed the back of his neck in an obvious attempt to stall.
Castiel watched him in confusion, distracted by the abrupt change in his mood. His hands lingered on a case of lavender-infused honey and he forgot how much he had been planning to charge. He should give a discount, right, if the guy wanted to buy in quantity? But how much of a discount should he give? Numbers evaded him as he continued to stare.
“You know what? I think I’ll just take one jar.”
“Just one?”
“Yeah, I mean, now that I’ve found you.. Er.. Your honey… Not really that imperative that in stock up right?” His smile was shy.
“Right.”
“So do you have like a mailing list or something?”
No. What?
“Sure, of course. Newsletters every Friday.” Castiel feels the nagging urge to smack himself on the head. What the heck is he talking about? Mailing lists? Newsletters?
The guy grabbed his pen and notebook from the table and scrawled out his name, phone number, mailing and email addresses like it was no big deal.
“Thank you, Dean,” a quick glance at the paper gave him a name to go with his freckled face.
Dean smiled as he backed away, the tips of his ears turning red. Castiel told himself it must be from the sun. They exchanged small waves as Dean bumped into other shoppers, apologizing as he went. “Look forward to hearing from you. You know, about your honey. See you soon.”
Castiel’s brow drew together as he witnessed the man stumble and stutter. Maybe the heat had done a greater number on him than he thought. Either way, the awkward banter left Castiel with a feeling like butterflies in his stomach. He watched until Dean turned around, snuck a peek at his butt, and blushed when he was caught by a quick glance over his shoulder.
The whole week Castiel worried about his supposedly serial newsletter. "Every Friday" he remembers telling Dean cheerfully. Shit. He had only two days left to make up something interesting and worth while. He snapped photos of his bees and their hives. He wrote little blurbs and facts for his draft. Dean had bought the lavender honey, but it would be too obvious for him to highlight that first so Castiel settled for an insiders look into how his blueberry jam was made.
It came together quickly in the late hours Thursday night and Castiel was able to send off his newsletter to Dean in the morning.
He didn’t think he was expecting a response, but when none came Castiel found himself feeling downright disappointed. Shaking it off, Castiel prepared himself for the weekend’s market. He packed lots of blueberry jam, forgetting that there was only one person on his mailing list that could appreciate the hard work that he’d put into it.
On Sunday, his booth saw a few more customers. Young people asked for samples. Castiel has never liked giving out his wares for free, but he’d seen so many other tents doing it that it seemed like a good way to encourage sales.
A pair of girls chattered excitedly when they found his table, eager to try the blueberry jam and lavender honey. Castiel guessed that maybe Dean had told them to seek him out, but thy never mentioned the boy or the newsletter. He sold almost a full case of honey that morning and about a dozen jars of jam. By the time the lunch rush got started, Castiel was feeling optimistic and confident. He always found happiness in his hobby, but to see others enjoying the fruits of his labor was fulfilling in a lovely way.
When Dean made his way over, Castiel was sitting pretty. Hands folded on the table top, he leaned back in his folding chair. "Back so soon?“ He meant to be flirty, but the way Dean apologized brought him to realize it sounded like an accusation.
"Oh, I uh thought I might try that blueberry jam?”
“One jar will suffice?”
“Yep. One is good.”
There exchange was cool, distant. "Is that all?“
"Yep.” Dean pocketed the small jar and turned to go. Castiel couldn’t help but feel like it was some kind of rejection. "Actually,“ the man spun on his heel to face the tent again, "I could use another jar of that purple honey.”
Castiel almost laughed in surprise. "Wow, already? You must really have a sweet tooth,“ his poor attempt at light humor.
"That a bad thing?” Dean said, straightening up a bit, maybe sucking in his belly with self-conscious embarrassment. He pulled out the few dollars to pay and left with a scowl.
Really, Castiel? He kicked at the rickety table. Afraid of breaking the damn thing, the gesture was much softer than he would have liked. The guy was giving him compliments, being a loyal customer, probably telling his friends to check out the booth. Well, not anymore most likely. And what did he do? Insult the guy and basically tell him that he could spare to lay of the sweets.
Embarrassed for the both of them, Castiel jotted down ideas for his next newsletter right away. An expose on the lonely life of a bee keeper. How social skills can become rusty or nonexistent after a life of isolation.
Friday’s article became an outright letter of excuses for his rudeness, blatantly lacking in apology. He sent most of it to the recycle bin and started again. He focused on his bees instead.
Through the week he took pictures of the insects he felt he knew by personality and had fun coming up with their names. He wrote an article about the baby bees who had recently stolen his heart. It was cutesy, but actually pretty informative about the nature of beekeeping and what it took to run a healthy colony.
As the page came together, Castiel included a little blurb about how he started his business. Anyone who read the newsletter would be able to tell the beekeeper was somewhat of a self-made loner. Of course, the only one who would ever see the article was Dean. And maybe Dean would understand that it was lack of practice in conversation that had ruined their interaction. Maybe Dean would understand he hadn’t meant any harm.
Castiel woke on Sunday without any hope of seeing Dean. He figured the guy might need a few weeks to finish his little stock pile of honeys and jam, might need at least another week before wanting to subject himself to the mockery of the weirdo with the honey stand.
Much to his surprise, however, Dean returned right on schedule. This time, he had a friend with him. The other boy was a few inches taller, with a long mop of brown hair. He smiled brightly at Castiel and reached for his hand in greeting.
“I’m Sam,” he said enthusiastically. “My brother here tells me you honey tastes like heaven.”
“Dude!” Dean slapped his brother and ducked his head. Castiel caught the way the tips of his ears flushed. It was just as adorable as the day they’d first met. “We both think your honey is something special.” Dean winced like he had said words that he hadn’t meant to say.
Castiel nodded to them both, choosing not to mention the way Dean’s neck now matched the redness of his ears. “Thank you.”
“Well, my girlfriend’s parents had a jar of the stuff. Dean used some and fell in love.” Sam raised his eyebrows suggestively before patting his brother on the shoulder. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it. Better pick up another purple jar, we’re running low again.”
Dean stared at the back of his brother’s head as he walked away.
“Your brother seems like pleasant company,” Castiel stated because he didn’t know how else to break the silence.
“Yeah, he’s pleasant,” but the way Dean enunciated pleasant didn’t sound like that was the word he’d choose. Deans hung by the table as Castiel filled the orders for an older couple. He took his time looking at a few of the smaller jars. He could guess they were different jams, maybe experimental flavors since there were so few of each type.
Castiel left him be as he pretended to rearrange the jars that had yet to be sold. He almost didn’t hear when Dean had muttered something from the far end of the table.
“What was that?”
Dean said it again. “I hope Fuzzy and Mable work it out.”
Castiel tipped his head recognizing the names of his bees. “I do too.”
Dean looked up at him with interest and added a jar of strawberry jam to his steadily growing collection. Castiel saw at a glance that Dean had already separated a small set of peach jam, fig spread, and apple sauce alongside his lavender honey pot.
“Their feud is my fault, after all. At first I hadn’t recognized I had placed the queens in their wrong hives. The whole colony was in an uproar until my error was sorted out.” Castiel went on to tell Dean all about the new queen and her swarm of tiny baby bees.
“Must be a real sight to see; maybe you should invite your mailing list to a tour.”
“Oh, I, uh, don’t think that would be wise.” It was Castiel’s turn to blush and he did so with gusto. Color spread from his cheeks and he hid his face in his hands.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to…” Dean didn’t know what he was apologizing for, so it was a little weird to be saying the words at all. “Hey,” he said, a new thought sprung to mind. “You going to that music festival. The one at Singer’s field?”
“It’s next weekend, isn’t it?”
“What?” Dean’s face does a little frowny thing without actually dropping its smile that Castiel has seen already once today. “No, buddy, it’s tonight.”
“Oh.” Castiel hadn’t even gotten around to mentioning it to his friends yet. He’d been so focused on… other things.
“Well, I was wondering,” Dean scuffed his toe against the gravel, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Maybe you could find a bee-bee sitter and come out with me?”
Castiel and Dean met eyes and there was a substantial pause before he gave an answer. Dean was flirting with him, and doing a much better job of it than Castiel could have hoped to do himself. Dean was making puns and Castiel thought that he could even be asking him on a date. “Yeah. Sure. I’d like that.”
“Cool. That’s cool.” Dean nodded casually, even though his smile now reached his eyes. “So do you, like, need a ride or anything?”
Castiel shrugged, trying his hand at the same casual Dean was playing. “That would be appreciated, but not necessary.” It didn’t really work as well.
Dean looked confused, “So… should I pick you up or not?”
“7 is good.” Castiel insisted, his cheeks heating up once more. “I’ll be ready.” He tore a piece of paper from his notebook and scribbled down his home address and phone number.
Getting ready for his date with Dean was stressful, much more so than he had anticipated. He had all these questions running through his mind. Dean had already seen him today; did it make sense to change outfits? He showered after coming home from the market, but was that something that he wanted to advertise?
Castiel searched through his closet for a T-shirt and jeans combo that would show off his muscular physique without looking like he was trying too hard. He peeked at himself in the mirror, wrestled with his hair for a bit, and then gave up trying to tame his do. He thought it looked pretty good, even when it was standing at odd ends.
When the doorbell rang, Castiel nearly jumped out of his skin. He hadn’t eaten anything. He should have eaten something. They’d be out for hours, possibly drinking. He really hadn’t thought this through.
The doorbell rang again.
Castiel grabbed a handful of granola and chewed faster than he ever had in his life. With his stomach twisting in excited anticipation all afternoon, he hadn’t felt hungry. But a few fists of toasted oats and honey weren’t nearly enough.
The doorbell rang a third time as Castiel chugged down a glass of water. When his throat was no longer bone dry, he dusted himself off and jogged to the front door.
Dean was already half way back to his car by the time Castiel made it outside. “Wait up!” He called, locking the door behind him. “Sorry. Sorry.” Castiel felt horribly for making him wait, letting him assume that he had changed his mind or something. He charged forward, reaching for Dean’s sleeve. “Hey!”
Dean turned at the touch, his hands going immediately to his ears. “Cas! Jesus, buddy. Don’t sneak up on a guy like that?”
Buddy. Still? The label stung between his ribs. Perhaps this wasn’t a date after all.
“I didn’t… sneak,” he defended. Castiel then noticed the little white headphones dangling around Dean’s neck and understood the guy’s startled reaction. “What are you listening to, buddy?” It didn’t sound right and made his tongue feel itchy.
“Oh, just some new Zep cover band. Not really as good as the real thing, but I heard they may make an appearance tonight.” Dean gestured to the passenger side and slid in behind the steering wheel.
Definitely not a date, then, Castiel thought as he opened his own door and let himself into the car. At least he had a friend with which to go to the festival. Only, when Dean pulled out of the driveway, he wasn’t going toward Singer’s field. Castiel kept his eyes trained on the road, to figure out where he was being taken. A tiny seed of panic planted itself into his gut, ready to sprout at any further sign of danger.
“Where are we going?” Castiel tried to keep his voice even, calm. He glanced at his companion to see that familiar flush to the edges of his ear.
“I, uh, didn’t get a change to eat. Thought we could grab a bite first.” Dean pulled down the street and headed toward a well-known fast-food place. “You eat burgers?”
Of course Castiel ate burgers, he was a red-blooded male with a primal craving for beef, but he usually made them himself. He decided now wasn’t the best time to enter a debate about the fast-food industry. “A burger would be fine.”
Dean placed their order at the drive-through window and paid with his own money. “Put your wallet away, man. I got it covered.” He patted Castiel’s hand for emphasis.
Castiel narrowed his eyes at the paper-wrapped sandwich in his lap, wondering yet again if this was a date. “Dean? May I ask you a question?”
Dean swallowed his bite and turned to grin at Cas as he drove. “You already asked me two. You think there’s some kinda limit?”
“No, I… When you asked me about the festival…” Castiel licked at the corner of his mouth tasting ketchup.
“Oh, hold that thought, dude,” Dean reached for the radio knob, turning up the volume. “This song’s my favorite.”
“OK.” Castiel settled back in the seat, listening to the lyrics of Dean’s supposedly favorite song. He told himself Dean wasn’t avoiding the question. He had already mentioned his affinity for Led Zeppelin, so it actually made sense that his favorite song would be played by the same band.
The song faded out and Dean parked the car in the crowded lot. People were milling about, some forming lines at the ticket booths and others pushed toward the festival gates. Dean was up and out of the car in an instant, leaving Castiel behind with their trash. He gathered it quickly, stuffing it in the paper bag and went to follow.
He caught up to Dean easily, his friend fumbling through his pockets at the end of the line.
“I can purchase our admission,” Castiel offered, wanting to compensate for letting his friend buy him dinner.
“No need,” he said with a smile, pulling out a pair of tickets. He tapped them against Castiel’s nose and hooked an arm around his shoulders. “Come on, let’s cut in.”
A swell of affection rose as Castiel considered that this truly could be a date. Maybe Dean wasn’t the most suave or the most compliant with first-date etiquette, but it seemed like this was more than a guy’s night out.
He allowed Dean to lead him through the crowd and stepped in front of the gate confidently. “Hey, Sammy, how’s it goin’?”
Castiel recognized his brother at the turnstile and waved.
“Hey D, Cas.” He received their tickets and let them through. “Have fun guys.”
Castiel could swear that he saw Sam wink at him. He tucked in a little closer into Dean’s side.
The festival was standing room only, but even that wasn’t really an accurate depiction. Their bodies pressed together among a mass of sweaty strangers. The music was loud, energy sparking up and filling the crowd with every guitar solo. Whenever the singers shouted into the microphone, the people dancing threw their fists into the air and screamed along.
Dean leaned into what little personal space Castiel had left in order to talk into his ear. “You want a drink?”
“What?” Castiel felt his lips brush against Dean’s ear as he spoke. He continued speaking just to feel it again. “I can’t hear you. What did you say?”
Dean brought himself closer until they were touching from toes to cheeks. His voice sounded forceful but not quite shouting, “I wanted to know if I can buy you a drink.”
Castiel nodded in response, enjoying the rough way Dean’s scruff rubbed against his skin. It was closer than he’d been to anyone since he was a child and it felt incredible.
Dean grabbed for his hand and wove them through the gyrating masses until they found the bar. Castiel smiled into Dean’s shoulder as his friend ordered them drinks.
“It’s whiskey… Why does… angel… honey?”
Clinking his cup against Dean’s, Castiel giggled. He wasn’t sure whether Dean had called him angel or honey, but either one was lifetimes better than buddy.
They drank quickly and walked away from the bar with plastic cups full of beer.
Dean brought them to a small clearing under some trees near the parking lot. The music was plenty loud enough to be heard even from there. Dean sat back, leaning on the tree trunk and urged Castiel to join him.
“Are you having fun?”
Castiel nodded, his face breaking into a small smile. “I haven’t been out on a date in so long. This night has gone better than I could have planned.”
“Yeah?” Dean sipped from his beer, sucking foam off his lip. “Me too. So, you never told me, why does the bee have angel wings on your jars of honey?”
“Oh. Well, my name is that of an angel, lesser known than Michael and Gabriel.” Castiel drank some more, enjoying the buzz of alcohol and of being close to Dean. He tipped his head to watch his companion as he spoke.
“Told you there was something special about your honey, didn’t know it was made by an-.” Dean cut himself short and lifted his hand to Castiel’s face. He wiped the foam from Castiel’s mouth with his thumb. “Angel,” he finished with a smile.
They held each other’s gaze a while, comfortable with the silence.
Castiel blinked at him, “Are you going to kiss me?” He couldn’t think straight, couldn’t think of anything better than feeling Dean’s lips against his in this moment.
Dean moved forward, shifting to his knees. “Would it be alright if I did?”
Castiel didn’t bother with a verbal response or a nod or a shrug. Instead, he surged forward, eager to taste the alcohol on Dean’s breath.
Their kiss was gentle as they tested this next step. Dean’s thumb stroked Castiel’s cheek as he held his head in place.
“Cas,” Dean breathed as he rested their foreheads together. “I gotta take you home.”
Castiel’s eyes were still closed and he nudged their noses as he hummed his consent. “OK.”
Dean kissed him again and then helped him to his feet. “Cas, come on. I think you’re falling asleep on me.”
The drive home was too short.
Castiel shuffled his way up his front walk to the door, leaning on Dean as he went.
“I had a very good time.”
“I know, Cas. Come on.” Dean unlocked the door and made sure Cas got into the house without falling. “You gonna be OK? You can get to bed?”
“Mhmm.” Castiel made it to the couch before he fell into the cushions snoring.
“Perfect.” Dean kissed the top of his head and scribbled a message for the morning. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Sleep tight.”
Castiel woke to an aching head, a sore back, and a folded note tucked into his pocket.
Had a great time last night.
Maybe I won’t have to wait until Sunday to see you again?
Talk to you soon.
xo