#Novak has successfully murdered me again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

themoonandotherslikeit · 5 years

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Something More Than What I Had- Part Two

Part Two - Deuteronomy

“See, I have taught you decrees and laws as the LORD my God commanded me, so that you may follow them in the land you are entering to take possession of it.” Deuteronomy 4:5

Two Months Later

Castiel ducked under the yellow crime scene tape, while Sam stepped over it. Due to his sheer stature, ducking under the tape often looked like he was limboing on stilts. Since Crowley had walked out of the precinct eight weeks before, the partners’ relationship was strained at best. They’d been virtually silent when not directly working on cases, and the kid was all too compliant when Castiel suggested that he should take back seat on the cases following Crowley’s. More than ever, he did not trust the rookie’s judgement.

“What do we have, Eileen?” Castiel asked eyeing the crime scene tech.

“It’s a weird one,” she said out loud, her hands busy with her swabs and plastic evidence bags from her forensics kit.

Sam tapped her shoulder so she would look at him. How, he signed.

Eileen raised an eyebrow with a faint smile, turning away from him. “See for yourself.” The two detectives followed her lead to the middle of the crime scene. The closer they got the more that Castiel could smell it. The smell of burning. He reached up and covered his nose with the sleeve of his button up shirt. “Be careful where you step,” she said, gesturing to the ground. There were large, long patches of grass that were burned away now just black piles of ash.

“What is this?” Castiel asked to no one in particular, as he squatted down next to the ground. He didn’t smell gasoline, or any kind of excelerant, but yet the burns were defined. They looked intentional, almost like an art installation.

“Male, mid fifties.”

“Holy shit,” Sam said, his voice was hollow, but Castiel barely noticed as he squinted to further examine the grass. “Novak.”

“What, Rookie?” Castiel asked, annoyed as his concentration broke. He turned his head and found the kid standing at the head of a body next to Eileen, who was gesturing to the victim. The burn marks went all the way up to the corpse, underneath him, and out the other side as far as he could tell from his vantage point.

The kid’s eyes were locked on the victim. He looked like he’d seen a damn ghost. “Do you need me to hold your hand?” Cas asked as he stood up, shaking his head. At some point it had to be sink or swim and with how short his patience was lately, Castiel figured that time was quickly approaching for his young partner.

“No, it’s just… the vic. You recognize him?”

He rolled his eyes. What? Was it some celebrity? Surely the Captain would’ve told them if it was someone worth getting excited over. Castiel walked toward the kid to get a better look at the victim. When he got closer, he was able to make out more details. The expensive, pressed suit, red pocket square that perfectly matched his necktie, dark full beard against olive skin, but Castiel didn’t get a sinking feeling until his eyes rested on the victims hand that rested on his chest. The sun glinted off a gold ring on his finger. “Fuck.”

“What?” Eileen asked, looking between the two. What? She signed to Sam.

“It’s Crowley,” he said out loud, fingerspelling the name to Eileen. “He’s one of our perps, but he walked. From the prostitute case.”

Eileen raised her eyebrows, grinning as the kid successfully signed prostitute.

“What do you make of the burn marks?” He asked, gesturing to the ash. He didn’t get an answer, before the rookie grabbed ahold of Cas’ arm and lead him backwards. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Just trust me, okay?” The kid grumbled, climbing up on the hood of Castiel’s squad car.

“Kid, get down!”

“Castiel!” Sam snapped, pointing at the spot next to him where he stood.

He groaned, shaking his head. Fucking kids, but he took Sam’s hand nonetheless and let himself be pulled onto the hood of the car. “Now what? Singer isn’t going to appreciate us climbing all over police sanctioned vehicles for kicks…” And then he saw it, and his jaw fell open. The burn marks came out from Crowley’s back, they were sixteen feet in length at least. “Are those… Christ, are those wings?”

He turned to Sam, who nodded in return. “I thought the markings along the edge facing his feet looked like feathers.”

“It’s ritualistic. I wonder if he was into more dark things than we thought,” Castiel agreed, staring completely dumbfounded at the scene in front of him. He’d never seen anything like it, not even in books. How did the perp get away with it? It had to take time, precision. As sick as it made him feel, he was a little impressed.

“Has to be. This isn’t a crime of passion,” Sam said, getting down from the hood of the car. Cas followed suit, and they walked back to examine the body closer. “This was planned.”

“Meticulously,” Castiel said, squinting. He crouched back down by the body to get a better look. It looked like there had been minimal struggle. He turned to Eileen. “What was the time of death?”

“Based on the scene,” she began, “it’s hard to tell. He was moved here, and killed somewhere else.”

He nodded, his eyes scanning Crowley’s coat, stopping at the disturbed pocket square. “There’s something in his pocket.” He pulled a rubber glove out of his pocket and slid it onto his hand, to keep the evidence intact. The sky was growing darker by the moment, a storm rolling in. A chill ran up the back of Castiel’s neck as he pulled out a folded piece of paper that was carefully tucked behind the pocket square.

“What is it?” The rookie asked.

Castiel squinted as he carefully unfolded the page. The paper was thin and the print small, but a passage was circled in red ink. “The Lord is my light and my salvation- whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life - of whom shall I be afraid? Psalm 27:1,” Castiel read out loud.

“It’s a Bible verse?”

Castiel nodded, standing to show Sam. “But that isn’t the alarming part,” he said slowly before pointing to the scrawl in red pen that read: ME.

Later that night

“It was seriously fucked up, Dean. No wonder Novak never sleeps! It wasn’t just the stab wound, though. I’ve seen a murder victim before. It was the rest of it.”

Dean laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He tossed an old hacky sack up in the air and caught it. He was bored out of his fucking mind. He needed to get a writing job sooner rather than later, before he turned into one of those guys who spent Friday night on the couch in pants with an elastic waistband, a bowl of popcorn, and a blow up doll that was still too tired to fuck him.

He sat up and tossed the ball into the trash. Complacency be gone! “Rest of it?” Dean asked, distracted. Sam poked his head into Dean’s bedroom, his hair up in one of those god awful man buns that made Dean a little sick to his stomach. “Fucking really, Pebbles?”

Sam exhaled out of his nose in a huff. “Shut up.”

“Need me to sleep with you tonight so you won’t get nightmares about the big bad murderer who is killing bad guys, or is Bambam going to protect you?”

“You’re such an ass,” he complained, walking back out of the bedroom.

Dean snorted and hopped out of bed, following his younger brother. “Sam, Sam, hey. I’m sorry.” He held up his hands in surrender.

“You done?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m done.”

His brother searched his eyes for a moment, as if he was trying to detect a lie. Once he was clearly satisfied, he continued. “He was moved to the scene, so it was intended for him to be found, and he had these burn marks.”

“On his body? Like the brand? That’d be some divine intervention.”

“No, not like that. It was on the ground next to his body. It almost… hell, they looked like giant wings that were burnt out in the grass.”

Dean scratched his jaw and looked at his brother. He could’ve been ten years old again. They’ve drank together, and Dean took him to the strip club for his eighteenth birthday, but Sammy was still his baby brother. At the end of the day he’d do anything for him, no matter how much he teased. “You were so fucked up a month ago about him gettin’ away.”

“I was,” he agreed with a sigh. “I just… It shouldn’t have been this way.”

“The guy is dead, Sammy. He can’t hurt anyone else. Doesn’t matter which way it happened. You’re really tellin’ me this isn’t a win?”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Sam said cautiously with a heavy sigh, leaning his body against the wall next to the bathroom door.

“Why?” Dean crossed his arms and looked up at his brother. “Seems like good riddance to me. Ain’t nothin’ worth beatin’ yourself up about.”

“Maybe… I don’t know.” Sam walked back into the bathroom, shutting the door. “We swapped one bad guy for another, you know?”

“Right, but this guy kills other killers. Crowley kidnapped and murdered teenagers.”

“The law doesn’t really work that way,” Sam laughed dryly, opening back up the door and stepping out in his pajama pants. “A vigilante is still a criminal.”

Dean frowned at him and followed him into the kitchen. “So you’re saying Batman is a criminal?”

“Batman is a comic book character, Dean.” He reached up and pulled out a jar of peanut butter from the cabinet.

“He has movies, too,” he grumbled in response.

“But yes, for all intensive purposes, Batman would be a criminal. Good doesn’t just cancel out the bad, and bad definitely doesn’t cancel out more bad,” Sam said while he spread peanut butter on a slice of bread.

He watched Sam’s wrist paint the peanut butter on both slices just like Dean taught him when they were kids, and his chest squeezed. “You’re pretty smart, you know that?”

His baby brother offered him a small smile and a nod. “Yeah, I think I know that. Learned it from you.”

“Hey,” Dean said dismissively. “No chick flick moments, okay?”

“Right.”

“Give me that.” He took the knife from Sam. “You’re not doing enough peanut butter. This is going to be a dry ass sandwich.” He scooped another dollop of peanut butter onto the bread and pushed it out evenly. “Want crust?”

“Crust is good for you.”

Dean shoved the knife back into the jar and put his hands on his hips, staring at his brother. “Jesus, Sam. Out of everythin’ you’ve gotten from me, and you still don’t get it? Food is good. It tastes fuckin’ delicious. It ain’t about bein’ healthy. How much beer and pie do you think are on that weird ass pyramid? Not enough is the answer you’re lookin’ for!” He shook his head, plucking the knife out of the jar, licking peanut butter off the blade before pressing it into the bread to cut off the crust.

“Thanks,” Sam said, smiling a bit as he took half the sandwich from his brother.

“Welcome.” The brothers pressed the sandwiches together in a cheers motion. “So, uh, how’s Novak handlin’ the case? Got his perfect panties in a bunch?” Dean asked before shoving part of the sandwich in his mouth to keep him from saying too much.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “He’s surprisingly unaffected.”

“Somehow I don’t believe you.”

“Why do you care?” Sam asked, plopping the rest of the sandwich into his mouth, some peanut butter on the corner of his mouth. Dean instinctively reached forward and wiped it off Sam’s mouth with his sleeve, like he used to when they were kids. His younger brother batted his hand away.

“I don’t care.”

“Okay, sure,” Sam snorted, unconvinced. He reached into the fridge and grabbed a beer, twisting of the cap, and leaned up against the counter, taking a swig.

“So any news on that cute lab tech?” Dean wiggled his eyebrows, redirecting the conversation far away from the stern detective with his sparkling blue eyes. “Eileen?”

“She isn’t a lab tech,” Sam complained, walking into the living room and settling onto the couch. “What about her?”

“You ask her out yet?”

“I’m there to work, Dean. You know, solve cases, catch murderers. Not socialize.”

“Well you’re doing a shit job, kid. There’s a murder you need to solve and nothin’ has gotten done about it.”

“What murder?” Sam asked, squinting his eyes skeptically.

“The murder of your goddamn social life.” Dean laughed, tossing the pillow from the armrest at his brothers head, barely missing his beer by an inch. “It’s Friday night for god sakes and you’re eating a peanut butter sandwich in flannel pajama pants.” All he needs is the blow up doll! “It’s fuckin’ pitiful.”

“Shut the fuck up. It’s my night off, and I’m gonna watch Game of Thrones. What are you doing tonight?”

“Not that.” Dean rolled his eyes with a laugh. “Come out with me. You can watch your nerd show later.”

“This is the highest rated show on television right now, Dean.”

“Hey, are you sure that Eileen is deaf? She may just be fuckin’ with you so she doesn’t have to listen to a grown ass man talk about dragons.”

Sam clicked on the television, shooting Dean a sideways glance. “You’re suck a dick.”

“I’m just kiddin’, kid.” He leaned in and ruffled his brothers hair, pulling the elastic tie, releasing his hair from the bun.

“Seriously?”

“I’ll be back late, don’t wait up.” Dean slid into his leather jacket, laughing like he was so goddamn proud of himself, because he was. “I’m going for a stiff one.” He smirked. “And maybe a drink.”

“Wear a condom!” Sam shouted, tossing a pillow at him from the couch. Dean dodged effortlessly, laughing as he shut the door behind him. He jogged down the stairs and out into the cool evening. He pulled his jacket together to keep the elements from invading.

It was rainy season in the city. Women struggled with umbrellas to keep their hair and expensive wardrobes in tact, but nothing stopped the puddles from invading their fake Prada shoes. Dean didn’t mind the rain. It cleared him of his sins and sometimes it just felt good to be in the moment without any kind of veil. Sometimes he just wanted to be.

The Winchester brothers lived close to the precinct, so Dean shouldn’t have been surprised when he entered a bar full of police officers. He shook the rain out of his hair and wiped his feet on the mat by the door. He instinctively scanned the bar for a place to sit and someone to buy a drink for when his eyes landed on a pair of slumped shoulders. Messy dark hair against a gray button up with the sleeves pushed up. Dean more often than not dated women. He was more experienced in that department, and that kept him in a place of emotional safety. Stay in your lane, he’d remind himself, but that never stopped him from flirting. It never stopped him from looking either and as he eyed the tired, disheveled man in front of him he wondered if maybe his lane could widen a little, just once.

Dean put on his best stride to approach the bar, already digging his wallet out to offer to buy the guy a drink when the man at the bar turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder. His blue eyes caught a neon sign, causing them to glow brilliantly in the low light from the bar. “Well tickle my pickle, is that you, Detective?” Dean asked with a large grin as he approached Castiel at the bar rail. He hadn’t known it was the detective at first, but the happy surprise left his stomach in knots, twisting into itself. Guess he couldn’t shake Cas as easily as he originally anticipated.

“Did I do something in a past life to warrant this terrible karma?” The detective asked, turning to see Dean and meeting him with a squint.

“Aw, terrible, really? Let me buy you a drink. It’ll bring your karma around.” Dean grinned, sitting down on the barstool next to Castiel, and holding out the cash that he’d already fished from his wallet.

“No, thank you.”

“I’ll take a scotch, neat,” Dean said offering the bartender a smile, before turning toward Castiel. The detective had a world of weight on his shoulders. It looked like he would collapse into himself at a moment's notice. So Dean offered a soft spoken olive branch. “Sammy told me about Crowley.”

“He shouldn’t have,” Novak said, taking a sip from his own glass. “It’s still an open investigation.”

“He can’t hurt anyone else. That’s a win,” Dean said gently. “Right?”

“It’s complicated,” the detective said dismissively, his eyes somewhere else.

“So I’ve heard.” He took the glass from the bartender and welcomed the warmth down his throat.

“Hey nerds. Sorry, the bathroom line was ungodly. I ended up peeing in the men’s,” a woman’s voice said from behind them. Dean turned to catch a redhead with a large grin, and a beer in her hand. She wore a bright pink tank top that was tied off at her waist. It had a unicorn on it. She was pretty, and fuck he was jealous.

“Shit.” Dean’s heart sank into his stomach, sending him swerving back into his own lane like he was avoiding a deer on the highway. “Sorry Cas, I didn’t know you were on a date.”

“With me?” The woman laughed shaking her head. “No offense, Sweetie, but hell no.”

“Ouch,” Castiel feigned hurt, holding his chest dramatically, and Dean had to look at Castiel and then look again. He was playing up the drama? He was playing? Maybe he was happier with Crowley dead than what Sam had originally suggested. Maybe wound up tightly wasn’t his normal resting state, after all.

“I’m single as a Pringle. Fly by the wind and all that.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Who are you?”

“Dean Winchester.” He offered his hand out to her like a total dork. He stared at his own extended hand like, what? Is this a business meeting?

“Winchester? Like Sam?”

“His big brother,” Dean said with a proud smile, the knots in his stomach untangling at the brush of their fingers. She shook his hand with an impressive grip, and he could hear Castiel snort next to him. Dean glanced at the detective to catch him muffling a laugh. Holy fuck, he’s laughing! If he was being honest, Dean didn’t think that was possible, but damn he was cute when he smiled.

“Color me surprised,” she grinned widely, letting go of his hand. “I’m Charlie Bradbury. I work at the precinct with your brother and Cranky here.” Charlie grabbed Castiel’s shoulder, shaking him slightly, invoking another smile.

Dean mirrored her smile. Seeing the detective loosen up a bit was giving him energy that pulsed through his veins like some kind of drug. “I thought I was the only one who called him that!”

“It’s a universal name.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be my friend?” Castiel grumbled at her, looking back into his glass as if there was something written on the ice cubes.

“Aw, Cas. Don’t live up to your nickname! It’s Friday night. Just let loose. In fact, let’s dance,” Charlie pleaded, offering him a hand. She wiggled her fingers at him as an invitation. She was unbearably cute, and if Dean was being honest, he could see how she would be irresistible in the same way that a kitten was. Charlie had this bright bubbly personality, matched with her fiery red curls, and glow of general goodness that radiated off of her. She was the kind of person that attracted other people.

“I don’t dance,” the detective said flatly, his nose damn near buried in his drink.

“You do now,” Charlie insisted, grabbing his hand, and yanking him out to the dance floor. She pulled the stumbling detective behind her. With her small stature, Dean knew that Castiel could’ve prevented her from pulling him out to the dance floor if he really wanted to, but he let himself be pulled anyway.

Dean finished his glass, ordering another, as he watched Charlie dance around Castiel. She bumped into him, took his hand so he could spin her. He started off stiff, looking awkward as Charlie moved his hands for him. The more embarrassingly she danced, singing in his ear along with the music, the more Castiel laughed and loosened up.

He’s got a kryptonite after all.

He watched Charlie imitate a shopping trip, miming grabbing items off the shelf and putting them in her shopping cart, while rolling her hips dramatically. She was teaching a line dance to Castiel when her eyes caught Dean’s. He laughed, shooting her a thumbs up, and took a swig from his glass. Charlie narrowed her eyes on Dean and danced over to him, leaving Castiel alone, looking unbelievably relieved. “Okay, Dean, lets go. Nobody likes a lurker.” She wiggled her fingers at him, encouraging him to join the dumpster fire that was the two of them dancing.

“You want me to dance?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“No, I’m asking you to blow up the Death Star. Yes I’m asking you to dance!”

Fuck, she’s cool. He shrugged. Watching the detective dance was a sight, but dancing with him was something else altogether. Something that he was dying to try out for himself. “Sure thing, Leia.” He finished his drink, took her hand, and let her pull him to where Castiel was standing alone.

“Detective.” He winked at Castiel and shimmied toward him, moving his shoulders, and reaching his arms like he was going to pull the detective to him. Cas turned his nose away from Dean like he didn’t notice the impossibly loud dance moves.

Dean frowned and turned to Charlie, taking her hand and spinning her in circles. “Dean I’m dizzy!” She laughed, letting go of his hand.

He glanced again at Cas. How could a man be so damn beautiful, but also be so awkward? The detective looked awkward in his own skin, tugging on a stray thread on his suspenders, his eyes trying to look anywhere but in Dean’s direction, or at least that’s what it seemed like to Dean. When Cas finally looked at him, Dean attempted to lasso him with an invisible rope, grinning widely. He was met with a hard, unimpressed stare, and Dean let his arms fall to his sides before closing the space between himself and Castiel. “Come on, don’t be a square,” he teased, shouting over the music. “You know you like it! You don’t have to fight it, Detective, you’re not on the clock!”

“I most certainly do not love it,” Novak said sharply. He was stiff as a board, standing so tightly in place that Dean worried he might pull something, or that his pretty face might get permanently stuck in a stoney scowl. All he wanted to do was reach out, touch the skin on Cas’ cheek, and blend into him. He wanted to understand him, but more than anything he wanted to kiss that annoyed scowl right off his face.

“Cranky,” Charlie and Dean said at the same time with a laugh, turning to high five each other.

“I am not cranky!” Castiel shouted with a huff. If he were in a cartoon, steam would be coming out of his ears.

“You are, man,” Dean said gently. “It’s fine. It’s just your personality. Nothin’ wrong with that.”

No person can be perfect. Gotta have one flaw, at least.

Castiel narrowed his eyes at Dean before turning dramatically, walking back to the bar. He took a step after the detective, his hand out like he was reaching for him, but he stopped with a sigh.“Did I say the wrong thing?” He asked, turning to Charlie. “I don’t get him, but he’s Sammy’s partner so I want him to like me. Ya know?”

He watched the detective push through the crowd of people, his suspenders illuminated by the strobe light. He could tell, even from this far away, that Castiel held a lot of stress in his shoulders. He walked tightly, like he was fighting a leg cramp.

“Cas barely likes himself, Dean. I wouldn’t take it personally,” she said dismissively.

“He seems to like you.”

“Well, yeah. He’s human, of course he likes me,” Charlie laughed brightly, reaching out to touch his arm.

Dean snorted. She was confident, and he had a real thing for confident women. Confident, pretty, nerdy redheads. Charlie Bradbury was a dangerous combination of everything Dean looked for in a woman. “Touché.”

“We have history, you know? We’ve known each other since high school. I’d do anything for him. He’s my person.” She squeezed his bicep gently, and Dean nodded in response. He did know. Sam was his. “Here’s the thing about Cas, he doesn’t open up easily. He’s really guarded, protected, but if you stick around and fight for it, when he does open up… it’s just, wow. He’s got the prettiest heart, Dean. It’s like stained glass.”

He could picture it, then, Castiel’s chest opening up like cathedral doors, exposing a large stained glass portrait of his heart. It would glint and glow from the sun pouring through it, creating colorful warmth that’d bathe Dean when he stood under it. He’d feel warm, he’d feel whole.

“I am not cranky,” Castiel said, breaking the image in his mind, shattering the glass behind his eyes. He’d returned with a tray of shots in his hands, and Dean raised an eyebrow, his mind redirecting from the daydream to the real thing. “I’m not cranky, and I’m certainly not boring. You’ll see,” Castiel grumbled, meeting Dean’s eyes, before taking two of the six shots.

”Oh fuck yes!” Dean grinned and grabbed one from him, unable to resist the urge of seeing Castiel through an alcoholic lense. He clinked glasses with Charlie and they swallowed the shots together. “Guess we are in for an interesting night after all.”

After four rounds of shots Castiel proved that he indeed was not boring. Not that Dean needed any convincing. With every ounce of liquor it was harder and harder for him to pretend that everything that came out of Dean’s mouth wasn’t entertaining, despite being incredibly childish, and Dean was eating up every second of it. He was high on the sound of Cas’ laugh.

“Okay, okay, so.”

“Get on with it, Winchester.” Charlie giggled, sipping out of her Pina Colada. She’d finally given in two drinks ago stating, I don’t give a shit. I am a feminist, and I can drink a fucking flirty drink with an umbrella if I goddamn want to! “We don’t have all night.”

“Right,” Dean said, letting out a puff of air. His cheeks were warm and his head was swimming from alcohol. It was hard to focus, not taking into account the loud music pounding in the background, and Castiel’s thigh brushing his on the couch in the lounge area of the bar. It took everything in Dean not to just stare at it, the heat beneath the detective’s slacks burning a hole through his jeans. He cleared his throat, urging his leg to move away, but he pressed a little closer instead. “So, Sammy comes home the other night and starts digging around in the book shelves, and I’m like, bro what’re you lookin’ for? And he’s like, mind your fuckin’ business. That’s rude, right? Fuck, I’m his brother. Excuse me if I care. Anyway, he is looking for his old sign language books because he has a thing for your crime tech.”

“Eileen?” Charlie gasped, chewing on her cherry. “Oh my god, yes! I ship them!”

“You do what?” Cas narrowed his eyes at Charlie. One of his suspenders was slipping off his shoulder, like a girls dress strap. It felt like he was about to spill out, like Dean might get a chance to see the man behind the facade, but only if he was really looking closely.

“Ship, like relationship? Christ, Cas. You’re like an old man.” She rolled her eyes. “Hey, watch.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, waiting expectantly for Charlie to do something. She just sat there, looking serious. Her eyebrows were knit together, and her lips twitched. Suddenly it occurred to him that maybe she was just as drunk as he was. Maybe she thought she could levitate or something. “Got it,” she murmured, sticking out her tongue.

“Holy shit.”

She had tied her cherry stem in a perfect knot. She stood up and bowed, handing Dean the knot. It was a short stem, and Dean was impressed, to say the least.

“Damn, woman. You’ve got some serious skills.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Bet you can put those to use.” He leaned forward a little instinctively, feeling an emptiness as Castiel’s thigh left his, but he’d denied every advance that Dean made. Maybe he was straight. Maybe Dean was just that bad at picking people.

“And I do,” she said smoothly. “But, Deano, I hate to break it to you, you’ll never find out first hand.” Charlie reached back for her drink, sticking her straw between her lips like a tease, making Dean suck his breath in.

“Aw.” He poked out his bottom lip in a pout. “Way to set fire to that fantasy. Is it my hair?” He touched the top of his head.

“No, sweetie. It’s your penis.” She eyed his pants, biting the straw as a sad attempt to hide her smile.

“You don’t know that my penis is no good! It’s good, I promise! I have references.” Dean may have been imagining it from all the alcohol, but he could’ve sworn that he heard Castiel suck in his breath.

“Oh my sweet summer child.” Charlie touched his hand. She was kind, letting him down easy. It was unlikely that the night would end with a drink in his face, and most of the time that was all that Dean could ask for when it came to sexual advances. “I like women.”

Deans eyebrows shot up. That was unexpected. Yup, my gaydar is shit. “My fantasy is officially reignited.” He laughed, squeezing her hand in his.

Charlie rolled her eyes, pulling her hand away from his. “Good lord. you’re such a guy.”

Dean turned his head to the detective, who was surprisingly quiet during the exchange. “Cas, can you tie a knot in a cherry stem with your tongue?” He asked, eyeing Castiel, leaning in to him. The temporary distraction that he’d gotten from Charlie had dissolved as quickly as it had begun, and he was hyper focused back on Cas.

“I don’t know.”

Dean grabbed a spare cherry stem from Charlie’s previous drink and plopped it into his mouth. He locked eyes with Castiel and worked his tongue along the cherry stem, twisting it in his mouth. Dean couldn’t tell if it was the buzz, the low lightning, or if he was really seeing it right, but he could’ve sworn he saw Cas swallow.

Once the knot was secure Dean stuck out his tongue, offering up the perfect knot. “I still got it.” He grinned and winked, his eyes still settled on Cas’ blue ones. “For you, Detective.” He handed Castiel the slobbery cherry stem, and to his surprise Castiel took it, curling his fist around it. His eyes never leaving Dean’s.

Three days later

“So,” Charlie said, leaning over Castiel’s desk.

“So, what?” He glared at Charlie over the steam from his cup of coffee. He was so fucking tired. After the night at the club he had spent the rest of the weekend alone mulling over the case and eating cold Ramen. He didn't make much progress, which added to his deep seeded annoyance.

“Dean.” She poked his cheek. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean. Holy shit, he was so cute.”

“Please. He is a reckless child.” Plus, Castiel assumed by his flirtations with Charlie that he was straight, despite his earlier impression from Crossroads. He didn’t need to go down that road, no matter how boyishly handsome Dean was, and no matter how much disappointment settled into his chest when he thought about Dean’s freckled cheeks and striking green eyes. Feelings were a menace, and Castiel preferred not to have them when he could help it.

“Exactly, opposites attract.”

He rolled his eyes at that, taking a sip from his coffee. “I’m too busy for relationships.” Charlie should’ve known his situation better than anyone. He was too busy to find the keys to unlock the dozens of dead bolts locking his heart away within himself.

“I didn’t say marry him. Just like...” Her eyes glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention. “Just fuck him. You could use a release, Cranky.”

Heat rose up Castiel’s neck and into his face. “You can’t say things like that,” he hissed. His private life was private for a reason, and he’d be damned if he crossed a professional line at work.

“What? You are pent up.”

“Not that. You can’t be so explicit,” he whispered.

Charlie rolled her eyes and adjusted the butterfly clip in her hair. “Okay, right, sorry.” She huffed and leaned in closer, her eyes challenging him. “Just admit that you want to, and I’ll leave it alone.”

He narrowed his blue eyes at Charlie, begging her to shut the fuck up for once in her life. “What I want is irrelevant,” he decided. At the end of the day, she was still Charlie, and he couldn’t fake it with her.

“Well, that’s just not true.” She laughed. “Come on, just go for it. What is there to lose?”

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. He was too damn tired. Where should he even start? “Well, he’s my partner’s brother, first of all.” He took another drink of his coffee.

“You talking about Dean?” Sam asked, walking up with a fresh coffee mug in his hand.

“What?” Castiel choked on his own coffee. It burned shooting down his windpipe and for a second he felt like he was drowning. Drowning and caught.

“I just heard you say ‘your partner’s brother’. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” Sam said sheepishly. “Sorry, Dean’s such a pain. He really does feel bad about messing things up with Crowley...”

Castiel waved him off when he realized that Sam only caught the tail end of the conversation. “It’s in the past. Best we move on?”

Charlie snorted, and Sam raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, okay. He will be happy to hear that you aren’t mad.”

“Why would he care if I was mad?” Castiel eyed him, his curiosity peaked. He placed his mug down on the desk, focusing on keeping his expression emotionless.

“Don’t know, but he asks about you every day. Probably just making sure he didn’t ruin things for me here.” Sam shrugged, putting his coffee back to his lips. “So, any new leads on the Crowley murder?”

“Nothing,” Castiel sighed, rubbing his face, Dean’s apple green eyes pushed to the back of his mind at the mention of the case.

Charlie reached forward and grabbed Cas’ coffee, taking a few eager gulps.

“Well, Dean keeps saying good riddance. So maybe we should just take it as a win.”

“Do you really believe that?” He asked, examining his partners muscles tensing in his forearms.

“Trying to,” Sam admitted, flexing his fingers, releasing the tension. “I figure it’s better than losing sleep over a scumbag.”

“Good point.” He stood up, stretching, letting his neck pop. He’d been sitting in that same damn chair for much too long. “Get back to work, Rookie. I may not have a lead, but maybe you can find something I’ve missed.” He turned his back to Sam to grab some additional papers from the filing cabinet next to his desk.

“Novak,” Sam cleared his throat, causing Castiel to glance over his shoulder. “I was wondering if you’d want to grab dinner with me sometime? My treat,” he offered with a wide smile.

“Why?” Castiel eyed him suspiciously, his eyebrows coming together.

“To say thank you,” Sam said quickly, running his fingers through his hair awkwardly. “For your patience with me. For mentoring me.”

“Wasn’t exactly my choice.” He raised an eyebrow, covering a smirk growing on his mouth with his fingers.

Charlie elbowed him in the ribs. “He would love to go. It’ll be a million times better than eating leftover pizza or Ramen noodles again. Right, Cas?”

“Right,” he mumbled. He didn’t want to be boring and antisocial, after all.

“Awesome! Just let me know when you’re free,” Sam said quickly, looking relieved.

“I will.” Cas looked at his watch and stood up. “I’ll check my calendar and get back to you.” He shrugged into his jacket and adjusted his tie.

“Where are you going?” Sam raised an eyebrow.

“Court,” Castiel grunted. “I am testifying for an old case that’s finally going to trial.”

“Ain’t no rest for the wicked,” Charlie said with a nod, before resting a hand on his shoulder. “Put ‘em away, big guy.”

Cas nodded knowingly. “I’ll try my best, ma’am.”

Later that day

“And how does the jury find the defendant?”

“Not guilty on all charges.”

The sound of the judges gavel knocking against the bench echoed through Castiel’s mind. It was haunting, like a knock on the door late at night when he wasn’t expecting a guest, or the sound of a shutter clicking against the windowpane from the wind.

Lucas Azazel’s jaundiced eyes locked with Castiel’s. He gave a sinister smile and a wink. He got off on a fluke. He was a rapist, and he’d been raping his young daughter since she was a toddler, sneaking into her room and doing unexplainable things. He did things that made Castiel lose the little sleep he got. The man was ill and dying of liver failure, which was the main reason the daughter finally came forward. She didn’t think he could hurt her anymore if the trial went exactly the way it went that day.

Even though he was a criminal, and the case was open and shut, the jury found him innocent- on a technicality. By law he was liable for what he did, because he was her father. He was in a position of trust, so even though he claimed she consented, it wouldn’t matter. He was the parent, and she was the child. Legally she couldn’t consent. The jury, on the other hand, didn’t think he was in a position of trust. They claimed she didn’t trust him because she was afraid of him. The fuck she didn’t.

Castiel pushed out of the courthouse into the rainy afternoon, past the on-lookers, past Azazel’s daughter’s muffled sobs, and past the thick, suffocating air. He gasped for breath, needing the freshness, begging for oxygen. He stumbled down the stairs and slammed his fists onto the cold, stone pillar that held up the lip of the courthouse roof. He pressed his forehead against the damp, cool stone, hoping for clarity that never came. How could he do everything right and still not be able to put the perp away? It was a fucking technicality! He was a monster and it didn’t even matter. It didn’t make a lick of difference. What was the fucking point of even trying?

Castiel couldn’t get the image of Azazel’s daughter, Jess, out of his head. Her big blue eyes spilled over with tears, her face red as she collapsed into the arms of her mother, who had stroked her hair, murmuring promises that she could never keep. Their only saving grace was that, hopefully, he was too sick to hurt anyone ever again, but Castiel wasn’t hopeful. He was rarely hopeful and every day on the job that a criminal walked, he was less and less so.

“Detective?”

Castiel let out a breath, the heat from it fogging up around his face. He would recognize that gravelly voice anywhere. “Hello, Dean.” He wanted to stay there, against the pillar, and disappear within it, but then there was Dean .

“Are you... are you okay?”

He sighed, forcing himself off the pillar, turning toward Dean. He could feel his face wilting, the lack of sleep over the trial evident in every wrinkle and sag in his cheeks and under his eyes. “Just a rough case,” he admitted. “What are you doing here?” He straightened his spine, trying to pull himself back together.

“Parking tickets.” Dean waved the papers with a sheepish smile. His eyelashes held the mist from the rain, making his eyes glisten in a way that was extremely calming.

“Parking tickets?” Castiel asked, confused. His voice was rough with emotion, as he tried his best to focus on Dean’s eyelashes, the freckles on his cheeks, anything other than Azazel and the trial. “You live in New York, why do you even have a car?”

“They’re from when I first moved.” Dean scratched the back of his neck, his cheeks pink. He looked cute, Castiel noticed. “Before I put my Baby in storage, I had her parked in the street. Didn’t realize it’d be a shit show trying to find parking in the city. Thought that Sammy would waive them for me since he’s a cop, but no dice. He’s a slut for the law, ya know?”

Castiel smiled at that, the claws that were twisted around his lungs loosened their grip, allowing him to breathe a little deeper. “Yeah, the kid sure is.”

They stood there for a moment, an electric, palpable silence between them. There was something calming about Dean’s presence, he was like a rain track, the sound of his breathing slowed Castiel’s heart rate. His fingers twitched at his side as he tried to avoid reaching his finger’s out to touch Dean’s. Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets, picking at the lint inside.

Dean chewed on his lip like he was considering something, his eyes flickering up to Castiel’s and then back down to his feet. “Hey, Detective? Would you want to get out of here? Maybe grab a bite. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. There’s a good burger place not too far,” he offered, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder.

His eyes met Deans - they were moss green and kind. He rolled a piece of lint between his index finger and thumb, considering the invitation. “Don’t you need to pay your tickets?”

Dean shrugged, shoving them hastily into his pocket. “I think I’d rather be on the run from the law than being a law abiding citizen. It’ll get Sammy in a tizzy, plus it’s a lot sexier. It fits my aesthetic.” He grinned widely.

Castiel laughed in response, running his fingers through his hair. He wasn’t quite ready to let Dean walk away from him just yet. “Burgers, huh?”

“Best in New York.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

A half hour later

Sitting across from Dean Winchester at a crappy diner was the last place Castiel expected to be on that rainy afternoon. “Alright, it’s judgement time.” Dean grinned, holding a greasy french fry between his fingers.

Castiel chewed his bite of burger thoughtfully. It was delicious, and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he had to give Dean that one. He knew a good burger. “Damn, you’re right.” He allowed the smallest smile to peek out from behind the burger, before taking another bite.

“I knew it!” Dean grinned wildly, shoving his fry into his chocolate milk shake, and plopping it into his mouth eagerly.

“That is disgusting,” Castiel commented. And juvenile.

“What? Do you live under a rock, Detective? This is a damn delicacy.” Dean dipped another fry in the shake. “Open up.”

“No way.”

“Open up, or it’s gettin’ all over your face and as funny as that’d be I’m sure you’d be pissed. That’d be a shame ‘cause I kinda think you’re havin’ fun.”

He rolled his eyes in response and opened his mouth, allowing Dean to place the fry on his tongue. There was something incredibly erotic about being fed by Dean, his eyes partly closed, only showing a tint of green as the sweet and salty snack touched Cas’ tongue. Dean ran his tongue over his own bottom lip, mimicking Castiel as he tasted the snack. Their eyes met, Dean’s finger brushing Castiel’s bottom lip. It was intimate, like they were the only two in the diner, in the world. “Fine, you’re right,” he said, breathlessly. “It’s delicious.”

“Told ya.” Dean smiled.

Who would’ve known that Dean Winchester had an award winning smile? No matter how annoying he was, Castiel couldn’t help but smile when Dean did. It was infectious. He would give anything to watch Dean smile over and over again, and he had not realized until that moment.

“Glad to see you aren’t pissed at me,” Dean said, dipping another fry.

“I was never pissed at you.”

“Sure.”

“I wasn’t,” Cas said flatly. “Being pissed would indicate caring.” He shrugged dismissively, staring back at his plate.

“Right. The cold, hard detective has no feelings. I buy it.”

“It’s my aesthetic,” he teased, using Dean’s words against him, his eyes flickering up for just a second, catching Dean staring intently. Castiel swallowed hard, feeling his cheeks heat up under Dean’s gaze.

“Right.” Dean snickered in response. “Guess we are quite the pair.”

“I suppose we are.”

Castiel settled on Dean’s lips, and he had this extreme urge to lean across the table and taste the milkshake on them, but he refrained. Everything he told Charlie before was true. Dean was likely straight, Cas didn’t date, and even if he did, he would not date Dean Winchester.

“Want to talk about what happened back at the courthouse?” Dean asked casually, pulling apart the paper wrapper from his straw.

“Not really.”

“Well, I’m here if you change your mind.”

“Trying to get a story for the paper?”

“Nah, just trying to be a good friend.” Dean eyed Castiel. “Hope you’d think a little more of me, Detective.”

“I do,” he admitted. He knew that Dean wouldn’t exploit him. He was a good man. He could tell by the way he protected Krystal at the club, and the way he was around Sam. He was a smartass, but he was a good man nonetheless. His eyes met Dean’s and suddenly he wanted to tell him everything. “The longer I’m in this job, and the more evil I see... the less I can sleep. Sometimes I feel like I’m just doing damage control. It’s hard to get a conviction, even on a true criminal. How am I supposed to sleep at night knowing that?”

“I bet it’d be hard.”

Dean was looking at him, his eyes flickered up to Cas’, and he sucked in his breath, his lips parted, his eyebrows furrowing for just a moment.

“It is,” he agreed, pressing his own lips together, trying not to breathe in every one of Dean’s exhales. The table suddenly felt incredibly small, and Cas was conscious of the toe of Dean’s boot brushing against his dress shoe.

He reached forward and touched the top of Castiel’s hand, and Dean brushed his fingers along his knuckles. They both let out a breath that they’d been holding, as if their hands touching gave them permission.

“You can’t save them all, Cas.”

“I was just telling Sam that…” Castiel laughed bitterly, before letting out a ragged sigh. “And what about the ones I can’t save?” He asked desperately, his eyes wet along the edges. He twisted his fingers up, touching the length of Dean’s fingers. They were surprisingly soft, apart from a small callous on his middle finger from where his pen rested. “What about them? All of that up to God?”

Dean smiled sadly and shook his head, opening his palm wider, allowing Cas to run their fingers together absentmindedly. “Sammy may believe that, but I don’t. I don’t think God cares about us anymore. It’s just up to us.”

“Us?”

“Humankind,” Dean clarified smiling sheepishly. “But maybe you and I, too.” He squeezed Castiel’s hand, causing his heart to flutter under Dean’s touch.

“Our mom… I dunno if Sammy told you, but she died when he was a baby.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, feeling sick. There was so much death. He could feel Dean’s fingers chill under his, and Castiel brought his other hand on top of Dean’s to shield him from whatever pain that he could.

“She was murdered. It was arson, but the police didn’t ever bring anyone in. There wasn’t enough evidence...resources. It’s not right. Sometimes it feels like there’s no fuckin’ justice.”

Castiel would’ve thought that Dean would be worked up, exasperated, but in reality he looked more sad. He looked defeated. “Sometimes it does.”

“Don’t you wish you could do more, Detective?”

“Every day.” He released Dean’s hand, letting his palms fall to his lap. He looked down at his burger and suddenly he wasn’t hungry. His stomach churned again.

“The system is broken, Cas. I just hope I can do my part.”

Castiel thought about that, while breaking up a fry on his plate. Dean was a reporter, and they always felt like enemy number one to a police officer. Everything that was written in the Times felt twisted. It felt a little too much like propaganda, but if it were Dean... Dean, knowing what he knew about Castiel and Sam, saying all the right things about justice. Maybe he could make a difference. Maybe he could instill change.

“You seem thoughtful, Detective. What’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours?”

Castiel looked up at him, alarmed. His brain ran a circle, trying to find something to say. Anything to say. “Sam... Sam asked me to dinner.”

“Like a date?” He chuckled. “No offense, but I don’t think you’re his type.”

“No, not as a date.” Castiel laughed awkwardly, shifting in his seat. “He invited me out to say thank you for mentoring him, but truth be told, he’s teaching me a few things.”

“The kid’s good for that.”

“He is.”

“I wouldn’t be who I am without Sam. He is good. Better than I’ll ever be.”

“I hope he can be that for me, too.” Cas smiled, looking down at his lap.

Dean reached forward and hooked his index finger under Castiel’s chin, tilting it up. “Detective, you are good.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Bad people don’t carry this much guilt. Your shoulders are heavy. Maybe it’s time you let someone else carry some of that burden.” He smiled warmly at Castiel, almost as if to say I’ve got strong enough shoulders to carry the weight for the both of us.

Two weeks later

Castiel loved New York City. He was one of those New Yorkers that had it in his blood. He wasn’t a dreamer, someone who came over from Podunk Nowhere to try his hand in the arts. He wasn’t filled with love, hope, and Chanel No 5. Castiel was a New Yorker. His blood was dirty rainwater, subway tickets, and Nolita’s twenty-four hour pizza. He held his computer bag close to him, the strap across his chest like a seat belt. The air had a brisk chill, despite the exhaust pumping out of the cabs and into the street. He wanted coffee, needed some sunlight, Charlie insisted on it, and he couldn’t get what Dean said about his mom out of his head. So he left his shoebox of an apartment and went in search of caffeine.

The woman at the coffee counter smiled at him when he ordered his Americano, but he looked right past her. It wasn’t his intention to be rude, he just hadn’t been sleeping. He needed more than the single mug he was given, he needed an IV drip.

Growing up gay made him a tough child, one not to be messed with. He didn’t have any other choice but to create a hard outer exterior. Sometimes distance was the only way. Castiel punched a little boy in the school yard for calling him a faggot. He went to the principal’s office and was given detention for fighting. Castiel’s mother threatened to move them to Staten Island, and he never hit another child again. He walked through the hallways with his head down, his brown locks in his eyes. He could be himself in college. He could fall in love someday. He didn’t have to be so gay. He didn’t have to get in fights.

“Let people see what they want to see, Castiel,” Gabriel told his little brother, as he dabbed Castiel’s black eye with an ice pack.

He winced, the pain radiating through his cheekbones and into his nose. “Why do they care, anyway?”

“Kids are bored. Nosey. Mean.”

“They aren’t mean to you,” he countered, eyeing his older brother with his one good eye.

“That’s because I’m funny. I laugh at myself so they can’t.“

“You aren’t funny,” Castiel said, scrunching up his nose.

“Hey! I’m hilarious!”

So, if someone hit him, he let them. He didn’t fight back, even though he wanted to. Things were strict in the Novak house, growing up. The boy’s father was a police officer, a Captain, like Singer. He was rugged, stiff, and angry. He was ex-military, only no longer active duty due to an escalated case of sleep apnea. He raised his boys with a heavy hand. Home was just another place that Castiel had to hide.

Charlie had been his friend long before they were co-workers. She’d been a thorn in his side since they were fifteen years old. They were each other’s beards, prom dates, and everything in between. She was a beacon in the darkness that was his life. For awhile he suspected that he’d never love someone as much as he loved her. That maybe romance wasn’t in the cards for him. That was until Cas met him.

Inias was his next door neighbor. His father was a military man like Castiel’s. They spent the New York summer when they were seventeen working on an old ice cream truck. They’d lay in the grass in the park after a long day, plucking bubble gum eyes out of the frightening cartoon ice cream bars.

“These are disgusting,” Inias mused.

“You love them,” Castiel combatted, squinting at the beautiful blue eyed boy next to him. He didn’t know if he was gay. He didn’t think he could ask. He didn’t know what he’d do if he lost Inias. There was something fragile between them. He couldn’t risk breaking it and ruining everything.

“You have me confused with someone else.”

Castiel shook his head with a wide smile and looked at the melting Tweety Bird. Inias was right, of course, it looked like a horror movie character. A wax sculpture, melting in the hot sun. The grass tickled Castiel’s ears, and the heat felt good on his skin. “I wouldn’t confuse you, Nias. Trust me.”

The boy propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at Castiel. “You wouldn’t, huh?”

“That’s what I said,” he deadpanned, not looking at his friend.

“What if I looked like this?” Inias asked, putting the ice cream bar too close to Cas’ face.

“God, quit! You’re going to get it on me.” He swatted at Inias like he was annoyed, but the boy knew better.

“No I won’t!” Inias said, right as he pushed the ice cream bar into Castiel’s lips. “Oops, shit, you made a mess.”

“You’re dead.”

They chased each other until the ice cream was melted and they were covered in melted dairy and artificial food coloring. They laid in the grass again laughing, staring at the too-blue sky. The day was clear, and the sky was endless despite the skyscrapers cutting into it. Castiel could’ve stayed like that forever, laying in the grass with the boy he wasn’t supposed to like.

He didn’t expect it when it happened, when Inias leaned over and pressed a sticky, artificial strawberry flavored kiss to his lips. It was brief and quick, but it left Castiel breathless. His first kiss. It was in the middle of Central Park, on a sunny summer day, with the boy from next door. It felt like a dream.

Castiel’s father had caught them in his bedroom a month later. They had been stripped down to their underwear, Inias’ hand on Castiel’s bare chest, Castiel’s lips on Inias’ throat. It was incriminating. Mr. Novak went into a blind rage, and Castiel woke up in the hospital a day later with a broken cheekbone, wrist, and heart. Inias was gone, off to a private Catholic school out of state.

He had moved in with Charlie after that, never looking back, and when he was eighteen, his father died in his sleep. He still hadn’t heard from Inias, but he hoped that the boy from next door was still alive.

He knew a little something about wanting answers. He didn’t have the resources to fight his own demons, but Dean’s? He was a detective after all. Maybe he could take a look at Mary Winchester’s old cold case. He couldn’t do right by his first love, but maybe he could do better for Dean.

He took a sip of his coffee and opened up his laptop, immediately typing away.

One week later

“Hey Sammy so I was thinkin’...” Dean poked his head into the bathroom as Sam brushed through his hair, he squinted at his brother through the mirror. “You goin’ somewhere?”

“Just dinner.”

“Dinner? Is it a date?” Dean teased.

“No.” Sam glared at Dean through the mirror, placing the brush on the counter. “I’m having dinner with Novak.”

“So it is a date! Do you think that’s appropriate, to be taking your partner out, Sammy? Unless! Is he your partner partner?” Dean waited for Sam to counteract, Jesus Dean, he isn’t gay. Stop making it weird!

“Shut up, jerk,” Sam said instead.

“Bitch.” Dean grinned widely, taking the lack of denial as a win. He folded his arms across his chest, leaning against the doorframe while Sam gargled mouthwash and splashed his face.

When he looked up at met Dean’s eyes in the mirror, he rested his palms on the sink. “What, dude? Can I help you?”

“You seriously not gonna invite me?”

“You want to go? I got the impression that you and Novak didn’t get along.” Sam dried his face with the hand towel.

“We had a moment.” Dean shrugged, the picture of Cas’ face as he tasted the french fry covered in milkshake still perfectly preserved in Dean’s mind.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“What I just said. We’re good. Let me go to dinner, and you can bring that cute crime scene tech, too.”

“Like a double date?”

“You said it, not me,” Dean said with his hands up, grinning widely. It wasn’t the worst idea that Sam ever had, and the concept got Dean’s stomach flipping.

“Christ, Dean. No,” Sam groaned, but Dean knew the look on his face. His eyebrow was quirked and his dimple was making an appearance on his left cheek. He was considering it.

“It won’t be a date,” Dean promised. He wouldn’t take the detective out to dinner with his brother for a first date, after all. “I was kiddin’, but it may be a good opportunity to get to know everyone better. We can even invite Charlie!”

“You know Charlie?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. I met her. She seemed rad.”

“Rad?” Sam raised his eyebrow. “What’s going on with you?”

“Just say yes,” Dean begged trying out Sam’s patented puppy dog eyes. “I’ll call Charlie, and she’ll get the tech.”

“Her name is Eileen.”

“Fine, she will get Eileen to come. Come on, Sammy! Live a little!” Dean ruffled his brother’s hair. When begging didn’t work, his next go to was to be as annoying as possible. He wasn’t proud of the tactic, but it was effective.

“Okay, okay! Just get off my back.” Sam swatted at his brother and tried to fix his mop again.

Dean grabbed Sam by the face and placed a big wet kiss on his cheek. “Thanks, bro.”

“Gross, get the fuck off of me.” Sam laughed, shoving him out of the bathroom.

“You love me!” Dean called back, feeling his heart pound in his chest. He went into his closet to find something to wear, because he was seeing the detective, and damn it if it made him sound like a chick, but he was fucking excited.

“Do not!”

Dean made good on his promise and Charlie arrived with Eileen at the restaurant promptly at eight o’clock. Castiel arrived five minutes late. He looked a little more casual than Dean and Sam were used to seeing him. He wore a nice pair of dark jeans, with a light blue button up untucked and a tweed blazer. Dean raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t had a professor fantasy before that exact moment. He adjusted his red flannel, suddenly not feeling as attractive as he had a moment before, and he ran his fingers through his hair nervously.

“Rookie.” Castiel raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t tell me you invited the entire precinct.”

“I didn’t.” Sam smiled awkwardly. “Dean invited himself.”

“And everyone heard and couldn’t wait to spend time with me.” Dean batted his eyelashes at Castiel, taking a step closer to him.

“I’m so sure.”

“Eileen, this is my brother Dean,” Sam spoke out loud, fingerspelling Dean’s name slowly.

“Dean,” Eileen said, offering her hand.

He took her hand and kissed her fingers. “M’lady.”

“Alright, bitches, let’s eat,” Charlie said with a wide, toothy grin.

“Good idea,” Cas said, looking a little green.

They settled into their seats and the waitress came around getting their drink orders, Sam ordering an iced tea, and everyone else ordering beer and wine. His cheeks grew pinker by the second, and Dean smirked at his brother. Eileen tapped Sam’s arm and signed, okay? He nodded, offering her a smile, and she laughed in response.

Dean leaned over next to him where Castiel was sitting. “So, Detective. Want me to order for you?”

“No.” He sat up a little higher in his chair and glared at Dean. “I can order for myself.”

“Yeah, Dean, he isn’t some bombshell,” Charlie whispered from Dean’s other side. How he got stuck between them was beyond him. He’d been so focused on sitting next to that fucking tweed blazer that he didn’t notice Charlie on his left until he was already settled. “He can order for himself.”

Dean smirked, realizing that Charlie hadn’t been let in on their burger date. “Yeah, but my taste is better. Right, Cas?” Castiel looked uncomfortable, and the fact that Dean was getting under his skin was lighting him on fire. He wanted to press the detective’s buttons until he burst.

Sam’s eyes widened at the two of them. “Am I missing something?”

“No,” Cas said quickly, shooting Dean a look. “Nothing to miss.”

“Uh huh.” Dean shrugged, moving his attention back to his menu.

They all got to talking about work. Eileen explained to them some different deaf jokes, and Sam laughed along with her, his eyes bright and shiny. Dean smiled to himself; it was nice to see his little brother wrapped up in something that wasn’t murder. Someone alive.

“So, Dean,” Charlie said, leaning into him. “You’re a writer?”

“I am. A journalist.” He smiled widely, proud to finally be talking about something that he could really participate in.

“But he used to write all kinds of crazy stories growing up,” Sam said, taking a bite of his salad. “He wrote all kinds of short stories about monsters.”

“Creepy.” Charlie grinned. “I love a good horror story.”

“So do I.” Dean met her smile. He could almost see it then, Cas’ tweed jacket slung over the back of his couch, he and Charlie teasing the detective until his cheeks pinked up.

“So, what brought you to journalism instead of creative writing?” Castiel asked, mindlessly poking his dinner salad with his fork.

“I wanted a job,” Dean laughed.

“How’s that working for you?” Sam asked with a shit-eating grin.

Dean flipped him off.

“Are you working on anything right now?” Eileen asked, watching his lips for a response.

He glanced at Castiel with a smirk. “Yeah, I’m workin’ on somethin’.”

Heat crawled up Castiel’s neck at the double meaning of his words, and Dean noticed that he adjusted his collar to try to cover his growing embarrassment. “Got a little somethin’,” Dean murmured, taking his napkin, patting some non-existent dressing off Cas’ lip. “Got it,” he whispered devilishly. Another button was pressed, and Dean intended to find them all and learn what they each did.

Charlie snorted, since she apparently wasn’t as blind as the rest of the group, and Castiel shot her a look in response.

“Anything interesting?”

“Still decidin’,” Dean said with a wicked grin.

“I’m going to use the facilities,” Castiel announced, clearing his throat as he stood up. He moved his napkin from his lap and back onto the table. Nodding to the group, he quickly walked to the back of the restaurant.

“I’m gonna go, too. Be right back.” Dean said not a moment later, winking at Charlie, glad that Sam was wrapped up in a sign language conversation with Eileen. He was still pretty bad at signing, so it took all of his attention.

Dean followed the signs to the bathroom, but before he pushed in, he noticed the back door propped open. His palm moved from the bathroom door and walked out into the night air.

Castiel was pressed against the stone wall, sucking in smoke from his cigarette.

“Stressed out, Detective?” Dean asked, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, watching the detective suck the smoke into his mouth and let it back out. He wondered if Castiel knew how erotic he looked when he smoked, with his lips curled around the cigarette, and the way his eyes rolled back in his head, his shoulders relaxing with the breath.

“To put it mildly,” Cas said coolly, the nicotine seeming to do its job to calm him down. “What’re you doing out here, Dean?”

“Checkin’ on you.” He put his hands in his pockets. Now that they were alone there was a new pit growing inside of Dean’s stomach. “Am I... am I making you uncomfortable?”

Castiel coughed in response, as if the smoke went down the wrong tube in his throat. “Are you... Why would you be?”

“Because I’m trying to flirt with you,” Dean said with an estaterbated groan, as if it was obvious. “And damn it, my gaydar is usually shit. So if you’re not into it then you’ve gotta...”

“I am gay,” Castiel said quickly, his eyes immediately widening, as if he couldn’t believe the words came out of his mouth.

Dean smiled widely, letting out a sigh of relief. He moved away from the wall, taking a step closer to the detective. “So does that mean you are into it, Cas? Because if not, this is a real weird way to turn me down.”

Castiel took one more puff of his cigarette before stomping it out on the damp sidewalk. He turned to Dean. “I’m not...” He paused, licking his bottom lip as if he was choosing his words carefully. “Opposed.”

Deans grin grew even wider, his arms falling from their crossed position back to his sides. “Color me surprised, Novak. You like my antics after all.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

He took a step closer to the detective, almost closing the space between them. “Then what would you say? Is it my bad boy aesthetic? I’ll have you know, I still haven’t paid those parking tickets.” Dean pressed his palm above Castiel’s head on the brick wall. He could feel Cas’ breath on his lips as he looked down at the detective, not trying to conceal his smile.

“You’re a regular degenerate.” Castiel smirked up at him a bit, quirking his eyebrow. “I may have to bring you in for that.”

Dean’s heart skipped a beat as he let out an airy, breathless laugh. “You’ll have to catch me first, Detective,” Dean murmured before taking Castiel’s cheek in his free hand, closing the space between them completely, pressing his lips to Cas’ in a hard, urgent kiss.

Read Part Three

Masterlist

Art by @cryptomoon

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