Chapter Text
Dinner was a stilted affair. Even the radio’s music did little to help the tense atmosphere.
Dean ate with muted enthusiasm compared to his breakfast behavior. Castiel ate his food mechanically, unsure what to do about his surprise houseguest. On the one hand, Dean was a temporary problem, so there was no point in trying to be too friendly with him. But, on the other hand, Castiel’s lonesome and Dean's so utterly different from Benny. He was physically appealing in a way Castiel had never experienced before. Dean’s face was not just handsome–he was perfectly symmetrical. He never thought such a thing was possible. Dean was this eclectic mix of full eyelashes and lips with a rugged voice and exaggerated swagger.
Castiel couldn’t believe he was enjoying a stranger’s company so much.
He wanted to ask what was wrong, but it wasn’t his place to be concerned. Yet…what if Dean was on the run from the law when he crashed? What if he’s a charming serial killer? Castiel shook his head. Been reading too many thrillers.
Once dinner was cleared and dishes were done, Dean wandered around the small cabin, studying the small decor pieces Castiel had collected from town, mainly from the dumpsters behind the craft store (run by a friendly lady named Donna). Castiel stood with a dish towel in his hands, rubbing the same patch of countertop repeatedly as he nervously watched Dean. He suddenly stopped before a bookshelf filled with his most important items, holding pride of place by the fire. There were rocks, dried flowers, several dozen small wooden statues, and many books on true crimes and urban legends. On a bookshelf by itself was a single book series, Serpentus by Ben Remington, save for the latest one he couldn’t get from Benny. With the weather outside being frightful, this would be a great night to be curled up under the warm blankets with some tea and a new book, but alas.
Dean looked at the Remington books for several minutes, his face devoid of emotion. Eventually, he looked up at Castiel and said stiffly, “Hey, Cas, if someone gives you a crappy white elephant gift, you know you don’t have to keep it, right?”
Castiel stopped and tilted his head in confusion at Dean. Was he making fun of his reading taste? While it’s true that the concept wasn’t his usual genre, that’s what made it so fun. Two demons escaped hell, only to find they had dug out onto the surface of an alien planet with colonist cowboys and extraterrestrials. It was a cowboy-centric, comedic space opera with some of the best character writing Castiel had ever read.
Castiel walked over to the bookshelf and picked out the first one, showing Dean the post-it notes along the edges of the pages. Dean took it and flipped through, eyes growing wide. “I’ve only seen high-school girls annotate their books that much,” he sneered.
Castiel, hurt, pulled the book away from Dean’s hands and replaced it on his shelf. Dean probably only reads the articles in porn magazines, if he reads at all, Casriel thought sourly. The complete dismissal was just like being back at the foster home again. All alone, despite there being a dozen other kids his age, no one understood him or his interests.
Dean’s voice cut through the fog, and there was less venom this time. “Hey, I was just kidding, Cas.” He glanced at the books again, then gave him a small, secret smile. He bumped his shoulder into Castiel’s. “Thing is, I…like them, too,” Dean said awkwardly. “Can you tell me…er, write to me what you get from them? They’re just space cowboys.” He sounded both flippant and genuinely curious. Maybe it was the queer characters that made Dean uncomfortable? Castiel didn’t know. What he did know was that Dean had opened a gate he shouldn’t have, and now Castiel was all too happy to discuss his favorite series.
For the next few hours, Castiel and Dean talked. Castiel wrote his thoughts down, and Dean replied. He made a joke at first about having left the “high school note era far behind him,” but he didn’t make Castiel feel shameful about it. They shared cold beers as the discussion ranged from character arcs to themes to allegories and metaphors. Castiel knew the series better than anyone, or so he thought. But Dean was the first person he’d met who knew just as much if not more. It was almost like getting a glance into Ben Remington’s actual brain. They also argued over context and subtext and got into such heated fights about interpretation and death of the author that they were both breathing hard like they’d gone five rounds in the boxing ring. It was the most fun Castiel had ever had in an argument. Because, at the end of the day, the topic was safe. It wasn’t human rights, politics, or religion, just a story series. Castiel grinned, loosened up from the alcohol and stimulating conversation.
“Well, look at that,” Dean said cheekily and winked at him. “I wasn’t sure if that smile was a feature or a bug. Glad to see it’s a permanent thing.”
Castiel’s cheeks heated at the words and Dean’s attention. He stood up and stretched until his back popped. His notebook was full of their conversation, and it was strange to see his comments become more jumbled as he became more passionate. His wrist was sore, and his fingers cramped from writing so fast. But Dean understood most of his handwriting, which was great.
It was getting late, and Castiel rose with the sun daily since there was always too much to do. He went to the bathroom to get ready for bed and watched Dean throw on a couple more logs as he pulled out clothes and a toiletry bag from a duffel bag. As he brushed his teeth, Dean gave Dozer some belly rubs. Dozer really was taken in by this man.
Once Dean disappeared into the bathroom, Castiel made a complete circuit of the cabin, locking doors and windows. Dean had collected enough wood to last overnight. Castiel tucked his hunting rifle and Glock into his loft area. His body ached from the day’s exertions and the crappy night of sleep before that. Castiel wished for his bed more than anything. So, he would sleep upstairs tonight, and Dean could take the couch, as he did last night.
Castiel turned around just as Dean popped out of the bathroom, and OOFH–
–They collided and landed on the floor.
“Shit, Cas, you ok?” Dean hissed in a pained breath and held a hand to his forehead.
Castiel touched his face and nodded—no major injuries to report, except that to my pride.
His lips tingled. Had they…kissed? In the collision?
He watched Dean diligently for his reaction, but he was still groaning about getting another goose egg, so maybe he was just misremembering what happened. He got up first, then helped Dean to his feet. Castiel led Dean to the kitchen and turned on the light but didn’t see another knot forming on his face. He looked fine.
Really fine.
“Uh…thanks for checking, Nurse,” Dean joked.
They stood awkwardly for a moment before shuffling past each other to go to the loft and the couch. “Night, Cas,” Dean said as he pulled out his phone to check for signals, but there still wasn’t any.
Castiel waved to him before climbing up the loft and flopping into the queen-sized nest there. He settled down and watched from on high the flickering fire and Dozer passed out in front of it. Dean tossed and turned a few times before finding a comfortable angle and passing out. The exhaustion from the day’s events and the previous night’s lack of sleep hit him. He was asleep before he hit the pillow.
~*~
The following day arose, and Castiel knew he would have to figure out some excuse to leave for a bit. He needed to check the spring and confirm everything was still in working order. The snow shouldn’t have affected anything, but he was still antsy to check it out. His throat was sore from the dry air in the cabin. Tea would help after he ate breakfast.
The winter air seeped into his bones, leaving his exposed skin cool. Even with the warm air rising from the stove all night, he was still a little chilly this morning. The loft was nice since he could keep an eye on his entire kingdom like a bird. But he couldn’t enjoy the warmth of the fireplace nor cuddle his dog at night. Dozer wasn’t quite coordinated enough to get up the ladder on his own. Castiel groaned and stretched his hands over his head.
Don’t worry. That’s simply something to improve in the next place.
Castiel groaned and stretched his hands over his head. He wanted to bury himself back into his bed. Come on. Just because there’s snow outside doesn’t mean the chores stop.
As Castiel sat up, a scent in the air beside woodsmoke made his nose twitch like a rabbit’s.
Wait, woodsmoke? The fire would be just embers by now…Castiel glanced down to see some bustle of activity below him. Dozer was walking around, tail wagging in time to his steps, as he followed around a man in the living room.
Castiel’s heart stopped momentarily until he remembered his temporary house guest. Not a robber–just a Dean. Here, until the plows can clear a path, likely a few days since they were high on the ridge.
Castiel woke early but not happily about it. It took a few hours and several cups of coffee to sufficiently resurrect him every morning. Dean being in his space without that buffer time put him on edge. He pulled on his hoodie, handmade socks, and sweatpants and climbed down the short ladder on autopilot. Castiel landed with a grunt, and both Dozer and Dean grinned at him.
Dean lifted a coffee mug in his direction. “Morning, Grumpy,” he teased. “I’ll be out of your hair most of the morning. I think I can fix Baby with the tools you have in your garage. That alright?”
When Castiel nodded, Dean continued. “I restarted the fire, let the pup outside, and made myself some eggs. Coffee is already brewed, too.” Dean had the gall to beam at him.
Castiel nodded his thanks, but his face fell as he glanced around. The metal kindling bucket was out of place, messy, muddy pawprints were all over the floor, and the smell of eggs made his stomach roll.
“Anything wrong?”
He deflated and shook his head. Instead, he took the pan to the sink and quickly washed it to remove any remaining egg mixture.
Dean stood up, motioned to the pan, and scratched the back of his head. “Ah, shit. Need me to wash it?”
Castiel shook his head and waved away Dean’s offer to help. What he needed was his morning in peace. Dean’s presence was grating on his nerves, and he was frustrated that his routines were all being thrown off. He needed Dean out of the way. Reluctantly, Dean sat at the tiny table, but his body language showed how he did not want to be there. During the time it took Castiel to wash and dry his pan, Dean moved four times, made three different sighs, and was currently tapping on the table to a song only he could hear.
The vein on Castiel’s head pulsed in time to Dean’s fingers. He wasn’t hungover; he was used to exceedingly stronger stuff, but he still felt gross.
Four different sighs.
Castiel was going to kill this man before the snow melted.
Maybe even before the sun was fully up.
As he placed the pan on the stove and fished out a fresh coffee mug, he contemplated how best to dispose of the body. There are several ponds that are pretty deep, and I have some extra concrete bricks from building the garage. Or mulched? The garden would appreciate the additional nutrients. Too bad I don’t have pigs yet. That would solve the problem very quickly.
Dean must have read the frustration on his face because he downed the rest of his coffee in one gulp and rushed out the door to the garage. Castiel was left standing in the messy chaos.
He made breakfast, angrily sat at the tiny table, and poured some brewed coffee.
The coffee was different.
Dean had done something to it. Did it taste…better? Castiel was torn because it tasted smoother, but he didn’t like his routines changing this much. As he continued to sip, he felt the frustration leaving him.
Across the tiny cabin, through another set of windows, Castiel watched a white-tailed deer munching on one of the wild bushes by the house. He smiled as he watched her and moved carefully to avoid startling her.
Castiel reached out to turn on the radio, but his hand fell through a space instead. He stared at the space where his radio usually lived, confused at its absence.
Sudden rock music blared from the direction of the garage and split the peaceful morning. Chaos ensued. Dozer howled, and birds and other animals around the cabin took off in fright, including the deer.
Castiel was so startled that he dropped his cup of coffee. As he watched the cup fall, his only thought was: That’s it; Dean’s getting mulched.