Chapter Text
Today was not a good day. The heat was stifling, and his poor, old car didn’t have any air conditioning, so his only option had been to roll down the windows, as if the warm breeze floating past him would help at all.
It was mid-July, and Dean was heading to his father’s grave for the first time. John Winchester had passed away back in May, and although Dean had been there for the funeral, the memory was hazy, like he had been walking around in a fog for most of it.
There wasn’t a service, not really, just a small gathering in the chapel, where the priest, an old man who didn’t seem to like Dean very much, said a few words over John’s casket before he was wheeled away to the crematorium. Dean wasn’t there when they put him in the ground because he didn’t think that it mattered much. He had already said goodbye.
The gathering had been small, just him, his ‘uncle’ Bobby, (who was really just an old friend of his fathers that he and his brother, Sam, had stayed with enough times that he had become sort of a father figure to them), and some of the people from the local bar; Ellen, the owner, her daughter, Jo, and a few people who, after John was dismissed for showing up drunk at work one too many times, hung out there together almost every day. Sam didn’t come; he was still too mad at their father to want to fly all the way from California to Kansas just to say goodbye.
Dean had been giving Sam the silent treatment since then.
He understood why Sam was angry; he had been angry too, but their father had done his best, and wasn’t that enough to warrant coming to his funeral? Apparently not.
It had been just the three of them growing up, after their house burned down when he was 4 years old and his brother just six months old, and their mother had burned along with it. Their childhood had been tough; his father served in the Marines and had moved them from base to base, which meant that John was rarely home, and Dean had to be the primary caretaker of his younger brother. That meant they had to rely on each other for almost everything, and rarely stuck around any town long enough to make friends.
Dean didn’t hate his father because of how they grew up, but Sam had come to resent him, not wanting to end up like him, an alcoholic ex-Marine who never seemed to appreciate the people around him. It all blew up when they found out that Sam had applied to colleges behind their backs and been accepted. They argued a lot about it, but Sam was adamant that he wanted to build himself a steady life and was tired of living the way they did. He tried to get Dean to go with him, insisting that they could live a better life in California, that Dean was old enough to make his own choices.
Even after John quit the Marines to resettle in Lawrence as a mechanic, the stability of having a home didn’t change anything. Sam was gone, and his father was angry most of the time. Dean had considered the options of community college or even just finding a job in another state, anything to get away for a little while, but when John was dismissed from his workplace and started hanging out at the bar every day, it felt like his choices were taken away from him.
He stayed because Sam didn’t, although it wasn’t where he thought he would end up, still living with his father at 22 years old, trying to make sure that he didn’t drown in his own vomit every night. And now, years later, John had left behind a house just as broken as his son, and it was Dean’s job to figure out what to do with it. It was safe to say that John's death had left Dean with complicated feelings.
At least he had his car, his most prized possession, and the one thing he knew how to take care of. It had been his dad’s, but was gifted to him when he turned 18, and his dad had taught him all that he knew when it came to taking good care of it.
John had been a mechanic for a lot of years after leaving the Marines, and with Bobby owning a scrapyard and fixing up cars, it was only natural that Dean would end up in the business as well. He sometimes helped with the restoration of older cars, but had now worked for a few years as a mechanic in the garage in downtown Lawrence, not the same place where John used to work.
*
Now, almost two months after John had been buried, Dean parked his car at the cemetery grounds and walked out into the stifling heat. He sort of wished he hadn’t worn a black t-shirt, feeling like the sun was singling him out and trying to bake him alive.
It wasn’t hard to find the grave, small as it was, even with both of his parents placed in their urns under the earth. Dean kissed his fingers and held them briefly over his mother’s name on their shared tombstone, and then picked up the wilted flowers that had been left there recently.
From the grave, it took less than two minutes to walk up to the church, where he could throw out the flowers in the trash can out front. The door was open, and the thought of a reprieve from the heat was what drew Dean in at first. He hadn’t really ever been a churchgoer, but he had struggled with faith for a while in his teen years, when it really hit him how unfair it was that he had lost his mother and basically raised his brother alone. More than anything, he was curious what drew people to religion and how they used God to justify all the bad in the world.
It was the middle of a Saturday, so there were only three other people in the church. It couldn’t fit more than 40 people, Dean thought, but that made it seem less intimidating in his opinion. It was more modern, though the benches and beams were made of solid wood; the church was white with a marble floor and big windows that let in a lot of light. The only pictures in the church were hanging above the altar, and there was a bronze statue of Jesus in the corner.
Slowly, Dean moved toward the front of the church, where he could see a man with dark hair standing. He passed a woman kneeling on a pew, silently praying, and saw an elderly man lighting a candle by the entrance, but it was the man at the front who stopped him dead in his tracks when he turned around.
Suddenly, he could feel the sweat gathering in his palms, and he couldn’t remember if they had been clammy before he stepped into the church.
He must be around Dean’s age, maybe a little older, judging by the crow’s feet around his eyes, early thirties if Dean had to guess. Dean’s gaze automatically traveled down the man’s body, and what he saw made him swallow audibly, a way too loud sound for the silence in the room. The man was wearing dark jeans with leather shoes and a long-sleeved black shirt with the color buttoned all the way up with a clerical collar at the top. This was the pastor, no doubt.
Feeling self-conscious in his outfit, one of the many pairs of jeans he owned with rips and holes in them and oil-streaked everywhere, he tried not to think too much about what kind of impression he was making on the pastor. He probably had worse-looking people enter the church all the time, right? Dean wasn’t trying to look like somebody searching for salvation.
Wiping his clammy hands on his jeans, thinking it was already too late to try to look like someone who belonged here, he continued his trek toward the altar.
“Hi there,” Dean began when he reached the pastor. The man was looking at him, quietly appraising, but he didn’t seem to hate what he found, so Dean put on his most charming smile. “This your church?” he asked, immediately regretting asking the most obvious question.
The man tilted his head slowly, his piercing gaze almost penetrating Dean’s resolve and making him want to turn around and scurry away. He steeled himself, though, and tried to make conversation.
A beat passed in which no one said anything, and though the silence wasn’t awkward, Dean felt like he had to fill it.
“I’ve never been in here before.” He said it like it was an admission of guilt, like he was already amidst a confession, wringing his hands nervously as he looked around.
“Do you live here in Lawrence?” the pastor asked, his voice gravelly in a way that made a thrill travel all the way down under Dean’s navel.
Dean thought of his dad’s broken-down house. “Kind of” felt more like the right answer. “Came to see my dad’s grave.”
“I’m sorry,” the pastor offered.
Dean waved his hand. “It is what it is,” he dismissed.
The pastor just cocked his head even more and looked at him.
“Um, I’m Dean, by the way.” He stuck out a clammy hand in the space between them, adding at the last second before their hands touched, “Winchester.”
“Castiel Novak.”
Maybe it was electricity from the humidity, but something seemed to spark between them when their hands locked. Dean looked up in shock at the pastor in front of him, noticing that he was shocked too. Their hands released after what was probably an inappropriate amount of time, and Dean’s clammy hands found their way into his pockets instead, hoping that it would hide the small tremor in them.
“And what do you do, Mr. Winchester?” the pastor asked him.
“Oh, nothing, really.” He tried waving away the question, but at the inquiring look directed at him, he continued, “I’m just a mechanic.”
“Just?” Castiel asked, as though he didn’t understand what Dean meant.
“Yeah, it’s nothing special, really. The family business, you know. And call me Dean, please.”
“Dean.” He said it like he was tasting the word, and Dean had the sudden thought that he wanted Castiel to taste something else. Wrong. He shook off the thought. That’s a man in the service of God. You can’t think like that, Dean’s thoughts screamed at him.
Castiel continued, “I wouldn’t know the first thing about fixing a car. If my truck broke down or a tire blew, I would be stuck on the side of the road. It isn’t just ‘nothing’.” His hands came up to make actual air quotes, and Dean smiled at that.
Unconsciously, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Thanks. And, you know, if anything like that ever happens, you could call me directly, so you wouldn’t waste money on a tow truck that’s gonna take two hours to get there anyway.” He dropped his hand when he caught the pastor staring at it. Dean grinned. Maybe it wasn’t so wrong?
“Let me give you my number,” he insisted.
“I wouldn’t want to impose on your time.”
“You wouldn’t be, I promise. I like giving back.” And, as if controlled by forces out of his hands, he winked at Castiel. Dean hadn’t wanted to be too obvious, but now he was definitely entering flirting territory.
Castiel just looked at him with that head-tilt again. “Okay,” he finally relented, pulling his phone out of his back pocket.
Dean’s bad day had suddenly turned on its head, and he left the church with a pep in his step.
*
It was Friday, more than two weeks since Dean went to the graveyard. He didn’t know what he had expected, knowing that it might be weird for a pastor to text or call a citizen just out of the blue, but he was a bit disappointed that he hadn’t heard from Castiel yet.
With no plans that evening, he hunkered down in front of the TV, intending to lounge lazily for the rest of the night until it was an appropriate time to go to bed, but he was quickly disturbed by his phone ringing beside him.
“Hello?”
“Is this Dean Winchester?”
He didn’t immediately recognize the voice. “Who’s asking?”
“This is pastor Castiel Novak. We met a few weeks ago?” He said it like a question, like Dean might have forgotten who he was.
“Oh yeah! I gotta admit, I had hoped you would have used my number a little sooner, but now’s as good a time as any. How’s it going?”
“My car broke down.”
He sounded so sad and resigned that Dean couldn’t help but laugh.
“Where are you?” Dean asked, already standing up to turn off the TV and grab his keys.
Castiel made a sound on the other side of the line that sounded like he had been shocked that Dean would drop everything he had and come to his rescue, no questions asked, even when Dean had been the one to offer it. Though Dean had said Cas wouldn’t be imposing on his time, Cas might still feel bad for asking. Dean suspected he didn’t usually ask for favors; people probably came to ask a pastor for help, not the other way around.
“You’re sure you’re not busy?”
“Not busy, Castiel. Just give me 10 minutes to get a tow truck, and then I’ll be on my way. Text me your location.” And then he hung up.
As Dean promised, he was there 13 minutes after they hung up.
He parked behind Castiel’s car, and they both walked out of their respective cars to greet each other.
“Hi,” Dean said, a giant grin splitting his face. It seemed he didn’t know how to temper his emotions around the pastor, making it quite obvious that he already liked the man more than was probably appropriate.
“Hello,” Castiel replied, nodding at him.
Dean stuck his hands in his pockets, knowing that it was the best way to keep them from wanting to reach out for things that didn't concern them. He turned to survey the car beside them.
“Pastor. This is a shitbucket,” he couldn’t help but say. He kicked one of the car’s tires for good measure. “No offense.” He turned to look at the pastor, to see if offense may have been taken. A pair of grave eyes met him.
“Mr. Winch-”
Dean immediately held up a hand to silence him. “Didn’t I tell you I don’t like being called that? It’s Dean.” Dean gave him a sheepish smile. “Please,” he tried again. He hated the way that name associated him with his father.
“I happen to love my car, Dean,” Castiel crossed his arms, glaring at him.
How had Dean killed their good mood that fast? He tried to lighten the air with a joke. “We all have our faults, I guess.” He wasn’t sure if it had worked, but he laughed at the stricken expression on Castiel’s face and thought that the man wasn’t too mad at him.
Dean took a look at the car and tried starting it, but he immediately knew from seeing how old the car was that it probably wouldn’t be something he could fix on the side of the road. The pickup truck looked like it had seen better days; even the paint was peeling off in places.
When he popped the hood to look under it, he knew that the pastor hadn’t been joking when he said he didn’t know anything about cars, because everything needed a tune-up or a change. He explained all of this to Castiel while he went about hooking up the car to the tow truck.
“How did you get a tow truck so fast?” the pastor asked, still standing with crossed arms and watching Dean working.
“My uncle owns a scrapyard not far from my place. I just let him know I was borrowing it; he rarely asks any questions.”
“Is he a mechanic too?”
“Not officially, but he likes fixing up old cars, like me. Uncle Bobby taught me most of what I know, even though it was my dad who was the actual mechanic.”
He cleared his throat and turned to look at the pastor.
Even though the sun was setting, the weather was still warm, and there was a slight breeze surrounding them. After all the work of hooking up the car, Dean was sweating through his t-shirt, and he was only now noticing that Castiel was wearing a long-sleeved blue shirt that must be stifling.
“Aren’t you hot in that?” He blurted it out so fast that he forgot to think about the implications of his words. He didn’t know if the pastor would appreciate him flirting openly with him, so he thought he'd better retract a little. “Not that… Not that you should take it off or that you’re… hot,” he said, lacking words. “It’s 90 degrees, man.”
Castiel looked down at himself, as though also just noticing his clothes. “I have been told I’m hot quite a few times, yes. As for my temperature, I am rather comfortable right now, actually. This is a linen shirt.”
Dean gaped at him. Was that a joke, or was he trying to flirt, too?
A laugh escaped Dean when Castiel smiled shyly at him.
He could imagine Cas was one of those pastors that people often flirted with, where old ladies approached him to give him compliments or touch him on the arm unprompted. Most of the time, they just wanted to have some fun flirting with a younger man and didn’t mean anything by it, but it probably hadn’t helped Cas learn how to distinguish when people were actually flirting with him or taught him how to flirt back.
Dean, now, couldn’t tell if the other man was flirting or not. Maybe he hadn’t made it clear enough when he gave Cas his number that it implied using it besides calling just when he had car trouble.
They jumped into the car, and Dean explained that he would drop it off at Bobby’s garage so that he could work on it during the weekend.
“Dean, you don’t have to do that.”
“Just say thank you, Cas,” Dean said with a wink. It was the first time he had shortened his name, but Castiel — Cas now, he thought — liked it.
“Thank you,” he answered gravely.
It took a little while to get the car off the tow truck again, and they helped each other to push it into the garage in the scrapyard, before Dean led them back over to where he had parked his own car.
“C’mon, I’ll give you a ride back.”
He automatically ran a hand over the top of his car and looked to Castiel to gauge his reaction to his car. He couldn’t help but notice how the other man also ran a hand along the car before getting in, and it brought a smile to Dean’s face.
Cas told him his address, and they drove off in a comfortable silence.
The pastor turned to look at Dean when they pulled over to the curb in front of his apartment building. “Again, sorry for interrupting your evening,” he said.
“Like I said, not a problem. I wasn’t actually doing anything, and now I have something to do tomorrow, so you know, it all worked out.” Dean tried to make it sound like a joke without it actually being one, but it looked like Cas could see right through it with how sincerely he looked back at Dean.
“Well, I appreciate it. Truly.”
“Have a good night, Cas,” Dean answered with a small smile. He lingered by the curb until Cas was safely into his building, a gesture that he hoped Cas would appreciate.
*
Castiel arrived about thirty minutes before Dean had told him to show up. Dean had texted him with a “car will be ready around 2pm @ singer’s scrapyard”, but it seemed he hadn’t expected Castiel to be there earlier, based on Dean’s surprised reaction as he wiped his greasy hands on a rag and surveyed the car before greeting Cas.
“Hey man, what do you think?”
“It… looks the same?” he questioned, turning from the car to look at Dean, confused.
Dean laughed at him, clapped him a little too hard on the shoulder, their first touch since they shook hands a few weeks ago, and went back to the car. “I’m almost done, just need to change the oil and then it’s good to go.”
Castiel nodded and went to look around the garage, fine with just hanging around for a bit. There were tools everywhere, plus a tiny corkboard at the end of the garage that held pictures of Dean, Sam, and Bobby from every time they got dropped off at Bobby’s when they were kids.
Today, Castiel was there in a three-quarter sleeve shirt, a baby blue that he had been told brought out the color of his eyes, but it was still hot inside the garage, despite the open door and the small fan blowing wind around, positioned on the table nearest Dean.
Dean was done in record time and went to turn on the car to make sure that it ran smoothly. He explained everything he had fixed, but when Cas looked blankly at him, his explanation quickly died, and he just laughed. “You can just text me whenever it's making a weird noise or your check engine light turns on, and I’ll come check it out, yeah?”
“That’s very kind of you, Dean. I will probably take you up on that offer, because while I don’t neglect my car, I’m just very bad at remembering the maintenance that comes with it,” Cas sighed.
“Good thing you’re now friends with a mechanic.”
Castiel was both surprised and glad that Dean already considered them friends, even though they had only spoken three times, but he was comfortable in the other man’s presence, and he knew that he wanted more of that. It had been hard for the pastor to make friends, not counting his two siblings, and he was glad to hear his feelings of wanting to kindle the fueling fire of friendship mirrored in Dean’s words.
“What do I owe you?” he asked, gesturing to the car.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Dean.” A beat passed in which the two men stared at each other. “Even I know towing a car costs money, and you’ve spent all day fixing up my car. Let me pay you,” he insisted.
“Nah,” Dean replied with a shrug. “Like I said yesterday, it doesn’t cost me anything but time, and your car breaking down simply gave me something to do today instead of lounging around all bored at home, so it’s nothing, really.”
“At least let me compensate you for your time,” Cas kept insisting. He wasn’t used to people being so generous to him; despite being a pastor, it was always him helping and rarely the other way around.
Dean looked around the room, at the car, at Cas, before an idea seemed to strike his mind. “You could…,” and at this, he trailed off, as if he was too nervous to say what he was thinking of. A hand moved to self-consciously rub at the back of his neck, and he didn’t look up to meet Cas’s eyes as he pondered how to finish his sentence.
“Yes?” Cas prompted.
“You want to get lunch or something?”
“Yes.” He echoed himself and thought maybe he should be a little concerned with how fast he was to answer yes, but it didn’t matter when Dean looked up at him with a hopeful shine in his eyes.
“Great!” Dean was immediately like a different person, going from nervous to bright-eyed and happy like a golden retriever. He grabbed his car keys from a nearby table laden with tools and guided Castiel over to his car parked outside in the sun. “You like burgers?”
Castiel nodded as he slipped back into the same seat he had sat in not even 24 hours ago, and with that, they were off.
*
“Is this okay?” Dean asked, turning to look at the pastor when he put the car in park. They were in the parking lot of a greasy diner that had been Dean’s go-to when he was hungover. It would be easier to imagine the pastor going to places like these if he didn’t wear formal shirts and slacks most of the time, but Dean really tried to think about him like a normal person, someone who would enjoy greasy diner food and action movies and beers from a cooler, people watching on the roof of his car.
He was getting ahead of himself. This was only their second meeting, and what if they didn’t even have anything in common?
First, they would get burgers. Then, they would talk, and Dean would try not to make it too obvious how much he already liked the other man.
“I’ve never been here before, but yes, it looks adequate.”
“Dude, they have the best burgers.” Dean’s grin filled his whole face, and Cas smiled back at him. “You’re gonna love it.”
The place wasn’t that crowded, considering it was lunch hour on a Saturday, so they managed to get a booth to themselves, and while Cas was mulling over the choices on the menu card, Dean was admiring the man in front of him instead.
He was well-built, nearly as tall as Dean, and was rocking a five o’clock shadow that Dean thought suited him well. There wasn’t a better word than handsome. Especially when he looked up and caught Dean staring at him, and despite only the corner of his mouth ticking up, the twinkle in his eyes was enough of a smile for Dean to grin right back at him, thinking “he knows he’s handsome and he’s working it”.
Oh, if his dad could have heard his thoughts just then, he would be rolling over in his grave, or worse, resurrecting just to come and give Dean a lecture on how “boys liking boys was not normal” and “I didn’t bring you up to be a queer”.
He’d gotten better at accepting that part of himself, but he’d only had the occasional hook-up in dimly-lit bar bathrooms and, when he got more comfortable with himself and after his dad died, he wasn’t too ashamed to be seen leaving some guy’s apartment, but he hadn’t actually ever gone on a real date with a man before. Not that he knew if this was a date or not — he had been flirting, but it was hard to tell if the other man was picking up on it and whether he was flirting back or not, or if Dean was just digging himself into his own grave by flirting with a pastor.
The waiter appeared by their elbows, ready with a pen and paper to jot down their order. Cas was still grappling with the menu, clearly unable to decide.
“Do you want me to just order for you?” Dean asked, not wanting to presume anything.
Cas looked instantly relieved. “Will you?” He put down the menu on the table. “That would be kind of you.”
“We’ll just take two cheeseburgers and two Cokes, thanks,” Dean said to the waiter, who nodded before disappearing without uttering a single word.
“So, Cas…” Dean started, suddenly feeling a bit nervous. This was their first time hanging out, and he wasn’t sure what he actually had in common with a pastor, if anything.
He fiddled with his own menu while trying to come up with something to ask the other man. Cas’ hands were steady on top of his own menu, and it seemed to calm something inside of Dean at the sight of it.
“What made you want to be a pastor?” was the question Dean came up with.
“Well, that is a bit of a complicated story, and it’s better told after a few drinks, I think.” At Dean’s raised eyebrow, Cas sighed. “I like what I do, though.”
Cas looked thoughtfully out the window, and Dean could see that he clearly had more to say.
“And?” Dean prompted when nothing more came. “Thanks,” he said offhand to the waiter, who dropped off their Cokes, making Cas look his way again.
Cas pulled the drink to him and took a sip before he spoke again.
“I wish that I could create a church community where people could feel safe and be able to be themselves, but religion is such a complex, personal thing that I don’t know if I’m succeeding yet. I’m still a little afraid of being shunned here too, for my progressive views, but so far my peers seem to enjoy it.” He took another long sip of his drink, and Dean enjoyed the view of Cas’s throat bobbing.
“You got thrown out of your old church?” Dean asked, hanging onto the words that Cas had said.
“Yes.”
A beat passed, and Cas did not elaborate. Dean was caught, mouth agape, about to say something, when Cas spoke again, a small smile curling on his lips.
“And Lawrence is just one town, and I’m not sure if one progressive church will make much difference, anyway, but I am trying.”
“That’s very honorable, Cas. It might not be what Kansas thinks they need, but some people would appreciate it, I’m sure.”
“I hope so,” was Cas’s answer.
There was a lull in their conversation, but it wasn’t awkward. Why was it never awkward with Cas? They smiled at each other over their Cokes.
“How long have you been living in Lawrence?” Cas asked when the silence had dragged on for too long.
Dean was grateful for the change of topic. He huffed out, “Well, I was born here, but I’ve probably lived in almost every state by now. Dad was a marine, so we never stayed in one place for too long, until we moved back here a few, what, 7 years ago, now. It’s been nice to stay, for once.”
“And you enjoy living here?”
Dean shrugged, but could see that Cas needed more than that.
“Yeah. I mean, it’s not what I pictured, but I think I’ve had enough traveling in my lifetime, and I’m surrounded by good people here, so it’s as good a place as any to stay.”
Cas looked at him a little skeptically, like he didn’t fully believe what Dean was saying.
“What, I don’t look it?” Dean asked, a grin etched onto his face.
“No, no, it’s not that — it’s…” And Cas faltered for a moment before he said again, “You just seem like the restless type, I guess. But I understand the need to stay somewhere stable. It doesn’t sound like the best way for a kid to grow up, moving around the country.”
Dean lost his grin at that. “Maybe it wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t the worst, either. I had my brother and my dad, so…” He trailed off, not really knowing what else to say. His complicated childhood was too hard to divulge to someone he didn’t know that well yet. Thankfully, he was saved from the conversation when the waiter brought their burgers a few minutes later.
Cas looked like he had never seen a greasy cheeseburger, but he dutifully picked it up when he saw Dean doing the same. Dean was about to take a big bite, burger halfway to his open mouth, when he was stopped, gobsmacked, by the moan coming from the other side of the booth. He flushed, put the burger down, and tried to get his mind to think about something else, literally anything other than how he could get Cas to make that moan again.
“Good, yeah?” he grinned at the other man, trying to hide how flustered he had become behind a grin instead.
Cas nodded at him, trying to give him a small smile through his chewing, but dropped it in favor of taking another bite of the burger, holding his sounds of approval back this time.
“Told you,” Dean grinned, before picking up his own burger again. “They’re the best.”