
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12910317.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Castiel/Dean_Winchester, Past_Cain/Castiel
  Character:
      Castiel_(Supernatural), Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, Bobby_Singer,
      Benny_Lafitte, Kevin_Tran, Garth_Fitzgerald_IV, Abaddon_(Supernatural)
  Additional Tags:
      Thief_AU, Thief_Castiel, Thief_Dean, Prostitution, Consensual_Underage
      Sex, Underage_Kissing, Implied/Referenced_Underage_Prostitution, John
      Winchester's_A+_Parenting, Bad_Parent_John_Winchester, Parental_Bobby
      Singer, Protective_Dean_Winchester, POV_Dean_Winchester, POV_Castiel,
      Human_Castiel, Alternate_Universe_-_Human, Top_Castiel, Protective
      Castiel, Age_Difference, Not_Beta_Read, Dean_Winchester_Has_Issues, Self-
      Esteem_Issues
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-12-04 Updated: 2018-03-17 Chapters: 6/? Words: 22954
****** It's the Getting Caught that Kills You ******
by TheReluctantShipper
Summary
     It’s not the first time Dean Winchester has had to try to pick
     pockets to make ends meet, but it always makes him nervous.
     Castiel Novak is done taking apprentices, but his instincts are
     screaming at him that there's something special about the green-eyed
     boy who just tried to steal from him.
Notes
     - This is (obviously) a work of fanfiction. I claim no ownership over
     any of the characters, or the world of Supernatural, however grateful
     for them I may be, which is hella.
     - No posting schedule, because I am a garbage person comprised of
     garbage, and cannot commit to anything but my husband.
     - The "Underage" warning is because Dean is sixteen, Cas is somewhere
     in his mid-thirties. They absolutely, 100% get it on later in the
     fic, so if that's not your jam, maybe skip over this one.
     - Shout out to the two separate people who beta'd this story and
     appeased my need to be told, "Yes, this story is interesting, people
     will want to read it, calm your needy ass down." E and A, you're both
     just lovely.
***** Chapter One *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Dean Winchester weaves through the crowd of people smoothly. He’s
simultaneously trying to be as invisible as possible and to keep the ball of
nerves in his stomach under control. Vomiting will  definitely  draw attention
to him.
It’s not the first time he’s had to try to pick pockets to make ends meet, but
it always makes him nervous. He’s only resorted to this a few times, when Bobby
doesn’t have enough work at the tavern. The way Bobby looks destroyed when he
has to send Dean away is enough to make Dean brush it off every time, make it
seem like no big deal.
Bobby has been watching out for them for years. He’s an old Army buddy of
John’s, probably the last one he still has, and Dean thinks he only lets John
come around still because of he and Sam. The only reason Dean will take the
help that Bobby offers is because Bobby  knows.  He knows what kind of position
John has put Dean into, and while he doesn’t know  exactly  the lengths that
Dean has gone to to take care of Sam, he probably suspects, and he doesn’t say
a damn thing about it.
Like the hooking. Dean’s only done that a couple of times, too, and he’s only
ever used his hand. Not because he thinks he’s better than the other kids his
age who have to sell themselves, but because that always makes him plenty of
cash to make sure Sam gets fed. There’s no need to do…  More.  Until it becomes
necessary, anyway.
Stealing just intimidates him because… Well, what if he gets caught? Who the
hell is gonna take care of Sammy? Sure, Bobby would step in, but that’s not his
job, it’s Dean’s.
The circumstances rarely come together so he has to steal at all. Bobby can
usually give him enough jobs around the tavern, as busboy or dishwasher or
whatever, that he can make ends meet, make sure the rent gets paid and the
table has at least enough food for Sam on it (and if it doesn’t have enough to
feed both of them, Dean’s not above eating whatever other people leave on
plates at the tavern). If that’s not an option, the street is usually a safe
bet to make enough cash.
It’s just every once in a while, when the cops come sniffing around to make
sure no underage people (read: one Dean Winchester) are working, Bobby has to
lay low with helping Dean. He’d hit the corner, but on nice nights like they’ve
had the last few days, there are way too many kids on the street for Dean to be
sure  that he would be chosen. Sure, he’s pretty, but there are less pretty
boys who are willing to go further for less money.
So, stealing. Not his first option, but not his worst, either.
He moves along with the crowd, eyes scanning the people around him for a mark.
Dean has no idea what the hell he’s doing, he’s bullshitting his way through
this, but he knows how to read people.
It’s a skill he picked up (had drilled into him) from John, the ability to
separate the gullible from the shrewd, the physically weak from the able, the
smart from the not so much. It’s a product of John’s paranoia, which is one of
the many,  many  reasons Dean lives his life the way he does, but it does help
out in this one aspect, so Dean’s not really complaining.
It makes sure that Dean doesn’t take risks when it comes to stealing. He
doesn’t, because Sam can’t take care of himself, twelve just isn’t old enough
to do that (Dean doesn’t see the irony in this statement). He makes sure he
stays as safe as possible, because God knows John Winchester, all around
paranoid alcoholic who Dean only sees about once every three weeks, isn’t going
to do it. He’s careful because he has someone else to look after. Dean’s life
isn’t his own, it belongs to taking care of Sam.
As he walks and ruminates, he sees his mark.
Tall, taller than Dean, but probably not forever (Dean’s only sixteen, give him
a break). He can only see him from the back, but he’s wearing a trench coat
that’s nicer than pretty much everything Dean’s wearing, dark slacks, and good
dress shoes. He’s got a mess of dark hair that hasn’t even come  close  to
being tamed. When the mark turns to look across the street, Dean sees that he’s
a knockout,  damn,  though he’s quite a bit older than Dean himself. He doesn’t
have gray at his temples yet, but it’s coming. It doesn’t lessen the appeal at
all.
The point is, though, that Dean can’t get a read on him. The man may as well be
a blank slate when it comes to ticks or tells or  anything.  Which should send
alarm bells going off in Dean’s head, but it intrigues him instead. The dude
clearly has money,  good  money, if the cell phone he pulls out to check the
time on is any indicator. He’s  ridiculously  attractive, aloof, and Dean can’t
tell if he’s aware of  all  of his surroundings or none of them at all.
Even with all of that being the case, however, the problem is that there hasn’t
been money coming in for about a week now. The cops, and Child Protective
Services, have basically staked out Singer’s Tavern, watching for Dean, so he’s
had to steer clear completely. Clear enough that he can’t even nab leftovers
from the kitchen or the clientele.
John’s been gone for almost a solid month now, so nothing there. There very
rarely is.
It’s warm out, the summer weather that drew the fair is also what’s screwing
Dean over on the hooker front (heh). There are so many people, boys and girls
alike, out on the corners that Dean would barely be able to find a place to
stand.
What all of these things mean is that Dean hasn’t eaten in two and a half days.
Sam had to skip breakfast this morning before school, which Dean  despises
doing. The rent that Dean doesn’t have the money for is almost due, too.
In short, Dean’s  desperate.
He would normally give this guy a wide,  wide  berth, but he  needs  it. If he
can get enough from this guy to not have to risk picking more pockets than
strictly necessary, it just means he can get home that much sooner.
He walks casually until he’s closer, damn near on top of the dude. He appears
to be kind of lost in his own thoughts, so Dean examines him further. Insanely
blue eyes, incredibly handsome face, a mouth made for sinning and dirty talk.
Something deep stirs in Dean, something he doesn’t let himself have because
there’s no  time  for it. Not when he’s got to dodge cops, make sure John stays
alive, and keep Sam fed  and  in school. He tries to tamp it down as much as
possible, but it’s persistent this time, the wanting of this man that Dean’s
about to rob.
In a different life, Dean would chat him up, flirt with him easily, find out if
he’s gay. See if he’s willing to take Dean home and fuck him until it feels
like his lungs are going to give out. If Dean really lets his mind wander,
he’ll imagine making the guy breakfast the next morning, the guy taking him out
to dinner. Watching movies on the guy’s couch, and maybe, maybe, maybe,
building a life with this person, this man who looks capable enough to take
care of Dean in a way that he’s really never been taken care of before.
Instead, Dean has this life. He’s not going to make anything with this man,
he’s going to  steal  from him. He shakes the cobwebs from his head.
When the crowd moves, Dean moves with it. He waits a few minutes, trying to
make sure the guy is thoroughly in his own head before casually reaching
forward and slipping his hand into the guy’s coat pocket.
Before he can do much more, long, strong fingers wrap around his wrist. He’s
been caught.
Fuck!
===============================================================================
Castiel is  done  taking apprentices. It’s not that he doesn’t like the crew he
has now. He’s just tired.
Benny is a good kid, charming and likeable. That accent is enough to make women
and men alike fall all over themselves to appease him, making them easy
targets. Castiel suspects he won’t be in the business for long, however. Benny
is too… For lack of a better term, Benny’s too  good.  Benny is also sweet on a
baker’s daughter down the street, Andrea, and has been spending most of his
time with her. Castiel can see the writing on the wall, probably before even
Benny can. Benny isn’t going to be a thief forever.
Garth is… Well, Garth is  enthusiastic,  if nothing else.
Garth gets caught more than any thief Castiel has ever seen in his  life,  but
his face is so earnest that no one wants to accuse him in the end. Castiel
almost dropped him after the second time he got caught, but something in his
gut told him to keep the kid around. He shadowed Garth the next time he went
out and just watched. He was absolutely  flabbergasted  when Garth chose a
mark, clumsily tried to pull the man’s wallet out of his coat pocket, and was
caught almost immediately. The man turned and snapped at Garth, but when
confronted with Garth’s affable personality, ended up actually giving the boy a
few dollars and walking away happy.
Castiel… Doesn’t know how that works, but it does, so he’s not going to argue
with it. Garth will either be in the business for the rest of his life, or
he’ll luck out and marry some sort of long-lost heiress. Castiel suspects there
will be very little in between.
Kevin is good at it,  very  good. Almost as good as Castiel himself. He’s
unobtrusive, unassuming, quiet, and quick. Kevin  will  be in the business
forever, though he will probably leave Castiel’s crew and create his own
someday. The thought makes Castiel sad, but very proud. Kevin has become an
extremely talented thief, and has almost gotten to the point of being able to
pull off rooftop jobs with Castiel.
So Castiel is fine. He doesn’t need more apprentices.
Which is why he’s confused as to why he’s here at the fair. He doesn’t like
crowds, or fairs, or whatever it is the fair is celebrating (later, Castiel
will find out that the most important moment of his life was at a cultural
fair, and feel like a bit of a heel). He saw the event advertised in the local
paper, and some part of him insisted that he attend.
Now he’s regretting giving into his gut. He could be enjoying a quiet,
solitary, late breakfast at home, planning the way he’ll run the crew through
their paces this afternoon. Instead, he’s here, a (admittedly unseen) part of
this throng of people, where it’s loud and crowded and  annoying.  How
incredibly irritating.
Just he’s deciding to go home, he feels a clumsy hand reach into his coat
pocket.
For a moment, Castiel is genuinely, utterly  shocked.  Someone… Is trying… To
steal from him?
The next moment, he’s incredibly amused.  Someone is trying to steal from me,
indeed.
He lets it go on for a beat, before he circles his fingers around the wrist
(bony, probably young) in his pocket. The arm jerks and tries to pull away, but
Castiel holds fast. “Oh, no, little one,” he tsks, “you’re coming with me.”
There’s no acknowledgement from the person behind him, but Castiel doesn’t need
it. The person behind him is coming with him either way.
He leads the way, hand hard on the wrist in his pocket, to an alley. Once
there, deep enough that few will be able to see them, he turns to see his
assailant.
He’s young, an older teenager. Light brown hair, probably going to darken as he
ages. Castiel notices in what he wishes was a detached manner that the boy is
incredibly  good looking, almost beautiful. Castiel guesses that he will become
more rugged as he ages, but he will still be lovely. His green eyes are
striking, though they’re wild and scared now.
“Calm down,” Castiel says serenely, addressing the panic first. “What is your
name?”
“What? I’m not telling you that!”
Castiel smirks. “Of course you are.”
The boy shakes his head. “No way, dude!”
“Little one, you do not have a choice. You tried to rob me, and while I do not
intend to bring the authorities here, if you do not tell me your name, I may be
forced to.”
To his surprise, the boy snorts. “Dude, if you were gonna call the cops, you
already would have.” The look in his emerald eyes changes from frightened to
shrewd. “I think you got some reason to not want the five-o on your ass,
either.”
Castiel frowns. “‘Five-o?’”
“The  cops,  man.”
Castiel tilts his head and studies the young man in front of him again, taking
in more detailed information in the space of seconds.  Secondhand leather
jacket, too big for him, probably his father’s. Secondhand clothes, but they
fit him better, probably from a thrift store. Dark circles under his eyes, he’s
tired. His hands look rough, probably calloused, works for a living. Thin, not
emaciated, but certainly doesn’t eat enough.
Dammit.  “Why were you trying to steal from me?”
The boy blinks. “What?” His eyes narrow in suspicion. “Why do you wanna know?”
“Answer the question.”
His eyes shift to the left. “Just wanted some cash, man, I dunno.”
“Stop calling me ‘man,’ or ‘dude.’ You will address me as sir, little one.” The
spark of defiance in those lovely green eyes sets something ablaze in Castiel,
but he ignores it for now and speaks before the boy has a chance to. “And do
not  lie to me again, I will not tolerate it. Tell me why you were trying to
steal from me.”
The boy’s eyes meet his again, searching, evaluating,  weighing  Castiel on
some scale only the boy understands or knows about. Castiel keeps his gaze
calmly, confident he will be found worthy.
“My brother,” the boy says roughly. “He’s only twelve, thirteen in a few weeks.
He’s gotta eat, and it’s my job to look after him.”
Castiel frowns. “Have you no parents?”
The boy snorts. “None that are gonna take care of us.”
“Why are you stealing? You could get a job.”
“Dude, I’m too young to get a job by six months. I already work at-” he cuts
himself off, looking at Castiel, a bit shaken. “Uh, no, I can’t get a job.”
It only takes Castiel a moment to consider all of his options.
Option one, he could summon the authorities, let them take this boy away, and
leave his brother to fend for himself in what appears to be an unpleasant home
life.
No.
Option two, he could let this boy go. He will probably to haphazardly steal his
way to someone  else,  someone who  will  contact the authorities, with the
same result as the first option.
No.
Option three, Castiel takes them with him. His gut pulls him hard in this
direction.
The thing is, Castiel always follows his instincts. They are what got him
through a dirty, crowded childhood, a home with too many mouths to feed. It was
easy for Castiel to fade into the background with his quiet demeanor there. He
was never abused in any way, but he was quite frequently ignored.
His instincts are what led him through his beginnings in theft. Clumsy,
ridiculous attempts at picking pockets in dirty alleys and in front of bars.
They are what brought him to Cain, and they’re what told him to let Cain take
him home. They were  honed  by Cain, a master at the craft, until they were
good enough to surpass Castiel’s teacher himself.
They are what told him it was time to strike out on his own. He woke up one
morning in the loft they shared and just  knew.  Cain was understanding but
heartbroken, and offered to help him set up in a new city. Castiel refused, but
he stays in touch with Cain, loves him dearly.
More importantly, they are what tell Castiel which prodigies to choose.
So, as annoying as they are, Castiel  always  follows his instincts.
He heaves a sigh, irritated at himself. “What is your name?”
“I already told you, man, I’m not-”
Castiel’s free hand whips toward the boy to wrap around the back of his neck
and squeeze, just enough to get his attention. He knows that, at some point,
this boy will be taller than him. He’s already almost there, for God’s sake.
For now, however, Castiel has this advantage. Those delightfully green eyes
widen and his breath catches as he cuts himself off mid-sentence.
Castiel lets his voice drop to a deep growl. “I believe you told you not to
call me that, little one.”
That defiance is back, though the boy doesn’t try to break his hold. “Why do
you get to call me ‘little one,’ then?”
“When you catch my hand in your coat pocket, attempting to steal from you, you
are welcome to choose something else to refer to me as. Until then, I believe I
asked for your name.”
The boy stares hard at him again, evaluating once more. Castiel lets this
happen without comment. He senses that if he pushes again too hard, the boy
will fight him, and will refuse Castiel’s offer.
“Dean,” the boy says softly. “It’s Dean, sir.”
Castiel smiles, becoming entranced by the way the boy’s face is open now,
vulnerable. He looks much younger than he has in the few minutes that Castiel
has known him.
“Thank you, Dean. And what is your brother’s name?”
“I can’t tell you that, ma-” Dean cuts himself off. “I mean, sir, I’d prefer
not to tell you that.”
“Dean,” Castiel says patiently, “I’d like to help you and your brother.”
“What?”
“You’re in a bad situation. I happen to be in a position in which I can help
you get out of it. You must come with me, however, you  and  your brother. Is
leaving your home going to be a problem?”
Dean does try to pull himself back a little bit, but Castiel holds him still.
“I can’t just go  with  you, dude! I don’t even know you!”
Castiel thinks about chastising Dean for the slip-up in calling him “dude,” but
decides, for now, to address the boy’s concerns.
“Dean, my name is Castiel. You haven’t heard of me, because if you had, you
wouldn’t have tried to steal anything from me. I’d like to offer you an
extremely valuable opportunity, but it will require that you and your brother
come live with me. You will be somewhere safe, warm, and fed.” He examines Dean
closely for a moment. “I will make sure you will be able to go to school,
should you so desire, but I’m afraid I must insist that your brother continue
to attend. You will no longer clumsily pickpocket your way through big crowds,
hoping that you do not get caught, nor will you have to continue to do whatever
else it is you feel you must do to make money.”
Because Castiel is not naive to the ways of the world, no, or the way the world
uses young men who are as good-looking as Dean. This truth usually gives him a
sort of absent-minded ache, but when he thinks of Dean giving up his mouth, or
the rest of his body, it fills Castiel with a sort of… Painful, anger
(possessiveness).  He would like to be the only one using any part of Dean, but
he resolutely pushes that thought down, down, down.
“I can help you become someone great, someone who not only has the ability to
take care of himself, but to take care of those he cares about.”
There it is, the spark. Taking care of his brother is what speaks to Dean
loudest. Castiel files that tidbit away.
“What do you want, Dean? We can part ways here, never again to see one another.
Or you can come with me, and I can change your life. What do you  want,  Dean?”
Castiel waits for the answer he knows he will receive.
Chapter End Notes
     - Feedback, it gets me hot.
***** Chapter Two *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
As Dean enters the two bedroom apartment he shares with Sam (and sometimes
John) he wonders what the hell he’s gotten himself into.
Once he said “yes” to Castiel, the older man told him to go home, pack up his
shit, and that he’d meet Dean and Sam here in a few hours. Dean gave him the
address, and with a final squeeze to the back of his neck, Castiel was gone,
disappeared into the crowd like an illusion. Dean’s still not a hundred percent
sure that he  wasn’t,  in fact, an illusion.
He starts in “his” bedroom.
One of the bedrooms is permanently Sam’s. When John is gone, which is eighty-
five percent of the time, which is  still  almost not often enough, Dean sleeps
in the other one. On the rare nights when their father is there, they keep an
air mattress under Sam’s bed for Dean. He hates that, though, because he read a
pamphlet once at Sam’s school about how important it is for kids to have their
own space. So he keeps out of Sam’s room as much as possible and stores his
clothes in an old duffel bag of John’s, trying to take up as little room as
possible.
(Dean genuinely doesn’t see anything wrong with this scenario.)
Because of this, it’s easy for him to pack his own things up. He just grabs the
bag he always keeps them in, checks to make sure it’s closed, and walks it out
to set it next to the front door. He grabs another duffel bag out of the hall
closet and goes into Sam’s room.
Dean knows Sam like the back of his hand, so he knows what Sam will want to
take, and what he’ll be okay with leaving behind. Dean wants them to leave just
enough stuff that John won’t notice that they’re gone immediately. Not that he
thinks his father will report them missing, but it pays to be careful. Just
because John Winchester has had nothing but disdain for his sons since his wife
died doesn’t mean he won’t try to keep them from finding something better.
As he packs Sam’s clothes into the bag, he thinks that the kid is hitting
another growth spurt, and he’s going to need to find a way to get him some
bigger clothes. He wonders if Castiel will be able to teach him fast enough
that he won’t have to hit the street corner this weekend. He sincerely doubts
it.
Once he zips up the duffel, he fishes an old backpack of his out of the back of
the closet and begins to fill it with Sam’s books. The kid reads like nobody’s
business, and Dean has always had trouble keeping him in books and comics, even
more trouble than keeping him in clothes that fit. He knows which ones are
Sam’s favorites, so he packs them as neatly as possible, as long with a few
comics and a couple of knick knacks that Sam keeps on the shelf.
Satisfied that that’s all they’re going to need, he takes the two bags of Sam’s
and puts them next to his own, just inside the front door. He looks around the
living room and the kitchen, but doesn’t see anything that really means
something to either of them.
It’s still a couple of hours until Sam gets home from school, so Dean doesn’t
have an excuse to avoid going down to the tavern to talk to Bobby. He locks the
door behind him carefully before he goes. It would be just his luck that
someone steal all of their stuff the day he’s taking them to live with a thief.
As he makes his way out of the apartment and toward the tavern, Dean thinks
about the absolutely insane decision he made this morning.
Everything Dean has done since he was four years old has been for Sam. Since
the moment he carried his little brother out of the fire that killed their
mother, and still managed to somehow take  both  of their parents from them,
Dean has done everything. He made his meals, a six-year-old standing on a chair
in front of the stove to cook macaroni and cheese. He shopped for him, making
sure that jeans and shirts and jackets fit. He forged permission slips, talked
to teachers, gave Sam a curfew, took him to get haircuts, and made sure he did
his homework. Dean has tried to be everything for Sam, including  careful.
Not just about the stealing or the hooking, although he’s always most scared
that he’s going to fuck up and get caught while doing those. Dean’s careful
about keeping any friends he makes at arm’s length, so they don’t know what
goes on at home. Hell, he’s careful about the friends that  Sam  has. Luckily,
they don’t spend any time at the Winchester’s apartment, per Sam’s request.
While Dean’s thinking of consequences when he keeps people away, Sam’s
embarrassed by basically their whole life. (It’s something that Dean tries not
to take personally. He never asks for clarification, either, because he  needs
to believe that it’s John that Sam’s ashamed of, not Dean himself. If he finds
out that’s not the case, it might just kill him.)
Dean is careful about making sure no one is watching too closely as he comes or
goes. He’s careful about making sure no one knows he’s not going to school.
He’s careful about getting John cleaned up and in bed before Sam gets home as
often as he can.
Dean is just…  So fucking careful.
One conversation with an incredibly handsome stranger and, on the outside, it
certainly appears like he’s throwing it all out the window. It’s completely out
of character for him, and he’s not really looking forward to explaining what’s
going on in his head to Sam or Bobby. He knows he has to, he just doesn’t know
how.
How  can he explain how  safe  and  secure  Castiel made him feel, even if just
for a few moments? How to explain the way he felt cared about when Castiel put
his hand on Dean’s neck, how he wanted to bury his face in the man’s shoulder
and let him tell Dean that everything would be okay in that silk over thunder
voice? How is he supposed to make them understand that he  is  still being
careful, that somehow he just  knows  that going with Castiel is the right
thing to do?
That all just sounds like one long, drawn-out chick flick moment, and sorry,
but  no.
When he gets to Singer’s Tavern, he’s no closer to figuring out how he’s going
to talk to Bobby about this, but it’s now or never. Especially since it’s a
fucking ghost town in here (it’s too much for the universe to give him a few
extra minutes to get his shit together, huh?) and Bobby has already seen him.
He’s waving for Dean to join him in the kitchen. Dean goes obediently, his
stomach still in knots.
Bobby’s the only person who  knows.  He knows almost all of the shit John
pulls, the disappearing acts and the drinking and the occasional thrown fist.
Bobby’s furious about  all  of it. His normally kind eyes cloud with anger when
Dean comes in with a split lip, or a blackened eye or cheek. Bobby doesn’t know
about every  single  thing, because that knowledge is for Dean and John alone,
but Bobby knows most of it. He’s the only person that Dean will feel genuinely
bad about leaving behind.
“Hey, kiddo,” Bobby says genially, washing his hands at the big kitchen sink.
“Listen, they’re still keeping a real close eye on me, but I can give you some
cash if you kids are runnin’ low.”
“Bobby-“
“Now, I know you ain’t a fan of handouts, but if it’s that big a bug up your
ass, you can pay me back.”
Guilt clogs Dean’s chest as he looks at the only adult who gives a damn about
him.  Shit.  “Bobby, no, it’s… Not about that. I mean, it kinda is, but I don’t
need money.” He takes a deep breath.  Like ripping off a Band-Aid.  “I came to
let you know that you won’t be seeing much of us for a while. I dunno how
long.”
Bobby’s face is completely unreadable now as he stares at Dean. He tries not to
fidget under the hard gaze.
“That so?” Bobby deadpans.
“Look, I got… An offer. For a job. Kinda.”
Bobby slowly crosses his arms and leans back against the sink. “Why don’t you
go ahead and tell me about this job offer you got?”
Dean runs a hand through his hair, anxiety making his stomach roll. “I dunno
how to say this, Bobby. You’re gonna think this is stupid.”
“Try me.”
So Dean spends a few quick minutes detailing what happened this morning. It’s
kind of like in those cartoons where the main character is in a barrel and he
knows  he’s headed toward the waterfall, but there’s not a damn thing he can do
about it. Dean’s that cartoon character, and for all of his desperate flailing
and half-assed explanations, he’s going down that waterfall.
Bobby’s face has smoothed out completely, unreadable again as he listens. Dean
finally gets himself to  shut the hell up  and just stares back, hoping against
hope that Bobby’s not going to tear him a new one.
“And you don’t know this fella?”
“No, sir.”
“Never met him before.”
“No, sir.”
“Cas-tee-elle, huh?”
“Yes, sir.”
Bobby rubs his whiskery chin hard. “You tellin’ me the whole truth, boy?”
Dean feels his eyebrows go up in surprise. “What, this isn’t ridiculous enough
for you?”
Bobby’s still looking him in the eye, looking for something that Dean doesn’t
understand. “And you’re sure he don’t want  anything  from you for this…
Charity  of his?”
Realization dawns. “Oh, God! Bobby, no! No, he doesn’t…  Want  anything, Jesus.
The hell kinda girl do you take me for?” Levity is his only defense, because
Bobby’s not letting up on the laser eyes thing.
“I just know that you’d do some real stupid,  dangerous  shit to take care of
Sam. I’m just makin’ sure someone’s lookin’ out for you, too.”
Dean can feel his face heat up as he blushes. As much as he wants to protest
that he wouldn’t do that, that he wouldn’t sell himself to some dude to keep
Sammy safe… That’s precisely what he does when he goes out onto the street,
isn’t it? So, yeah, if that’s what Castiel was offering, Dean would agree in a
heartbeat, and not just because Castiel stepped straight out of the wet dreams
Dean used to have.
“That’s what I thought,” Bobby says grimly.
“Yeah, yeah, shut up,” Dean grouses.
“I want to meet this guy,” Bobby says suddenly.
“What?”
“I want to meet him. Size him up for myself. Make sure he’s not takin’ you for
a ride.”
“Aw, Bobby, you don’t-“
“This ain’t a negotiation, Dean,” Bobby says firmly, steel in his voice. “I’m
meetin’ him, or I’m callin’ the cops the second I know he’s at your place.”
Dean glares, but there’s very little heat behind it. He barely wants to admit
it, but he’s glad that someone else, someone he trusts, will meet Castiel, too.
Dean knows he wasn’t taken in by good looks and blue eyes, but it will be nice
to have some confirmation that Castiel has the right intentions, at least where
Dean and Sam are concerned.
“Fine, I’ll ask.”
===============================================================================
Sam Winchester knows  exactly  how lucky he is to have Dean.
He knows that not everyone gets a big brother like his. Sam goes to a pretty
big high school, one that has its fair share of kids from bad home lives, so
Sam sees daily how much Dean does for him. He knows how much Dean sacrifices
for him, and he thinks that Dean probably hasn’t even told him everything that
he does to make sure that Sam gets what he needs.
Unfortunately, Sam is also almost thirteen years old, and he’s just been told
that Dean wants them to move in with a  stranger he met in an alley this
morning.
It takes Sam a few moments to process what Dean just said.  “What?”
“I know it’s a little unusual,” Dean says, red-faced, a hand gripping the back
of his neck, “I just think that this is probably the best thing for us-“
“Us?” Just like that, Sam is pissed. “Us? Were you even thinking about us?
Dean, what the fuck is this?”
“Sam,” there’s a pleading note in Dean’s voice that Sam ignores. “Come on, man,
you  know  I was thinking about-“
“So, what, you’re pulling me out of school so we can follow some  guy  you
found on the street?” He makes sure to put enough of a sneer in his voice for
Dean to catch his meaning. Not that Sam has a problem with Dean being gay.
Hell, Dean’s never brought a guy over, nor had a guy meet Sam, so it hasn’t
affected his life whatsoever, but fear and panic are making him want to hurt
Dean as much as he himself is hurting.
It hits the mark. Dean winces. “Sam, look, it’s an opportunity-“
Sam snorts. “Yeah, an opportunity to think with your  dick.  I cannot  believe
you’re dragging me away from here just so you can get laid.”
Dean visibly pales, and Sam regrets the words immediately. He knows that Dean
would  never  put his sex life ahead of Sam. Hell, Sam knows that there’s
nothing  Dean would put over his welfare.  Dammit.  “Dean, I-“
“No, no, I get it,” Dean says, the tiny tremble at the end of the words
probably only noticeable if one knows Dean as well as Sam knows him. “Look,
Sammy, I know I’m the stupid one. I know that you’re the smart one, and that
you’re the one that’s going places, but  I  gotta make sure you get there. So I
just need you to trust-“
Dean’s explanation, and Sam’s subsequent apology and protest that Dean is not
“the stupid one” are both interrupted by a sharp knocking at the door. Somehow,
Dean seems to tense up and completely relax at the same time. There’s pretty
obvious relief shining in his eyes when he answers the door before Sam can say
a word.
The man standing in their entryway is… Well, Sam was expecting a little more
from someone who has captured Dean’s interest so thoroughly.
He’s taller than Sam, but Dean assures Sam that he’ll be taller than everybody,
so  that’s  fine. The guy’s got dark, messy hair, what is probably perpetual
stubble, and laser blue eyes that flick over Sam briefly before zeroing in on
Dean.
“Dean,” the man says, his voice warm and gravelly and deep. “Is this your
brother?”
Dean nods and steps back. “Yeah, ma-… Uh, sir. Yes, this is Sam.”
The eyes come back to land on Sam, and he’s officially just a little
intimidated. “Sam,” the man says, “my name is Castiel. I’d like to help you and
your brother, if you’d let me.”
===============================================================================
Castiel immediately approves of the way Sam’s hazel eyes narrow in suspicion.
The skinny  (too skinny, they both are, they need to be fed before Dean goes
out, and before I get my hands on- No, no, bad Castiel)  teenager crosses his
arms over his chest and glares at Castiel.
“Why?”
Castiel tilts his head to examine the boy further. It’s clear that Sam doesn’t
trust him, which is smart. He can also feel the tension in the air, the boys
were clearly arguing when he got here. He curses himself for not waiting
outside the door and listening, but immediately moves on from the thought.
What’s done is done.
There’s also nervous tension  radiating  from Dean, who’s practically vibrating
at Castiel’s side, eyes flicking from him to Sam. Almost without thought,
Castiel reaches up to place a gentle hand on the back of Dean’s neck, identical
to the way he held on in the alley. He feels Dean relax beneath the touch, and
files the information away for further use.  (Not to be used in your spank
bank,  he scolds himself.)
“I have a sharp instinct about people,” Castiel says smoothly. “I believe that
your brother is singularly suited toward my line of work, and I’d like to help
him achieve his full potential. To do so, I would, of course, be more than
happy to assist you in your studies, as well.”
The surprised tense of Dean’s neck beneath his palm and the way Sam’s eyebrows
shoot to his hairline confirm Castiel’s suspicions. Dean is rarely made a
priority. In his interactions with Dean earlier this morning, it was made clear
to Castiel that Dean’s world revolves around Sam, which is admirable. Castiel,
however, does not intend to make his relationship with Dean  (a student-teacher
relationship, for God’s sake, he’s sixteen!)  revolve around anything but Dean
himself. He knows now, based on their reactions, that this will be something
new for the both of them.
“The work I do is extremely in-depth, and requires a particular setup to engage
in. I happen to have everything we need to do so in my home, and there’s plenty
of space for you to live there, as well.”
“Why can’t we stay here?”
Castiel takes a look around the dingy apartment, making sure to keep any
judgement or negative emotions off of his face. “I can certainly make sure
you’re able to stay here, if you prefer, but I live in a stellar school
district, and would be able to care for the two of you much more easily if you
came with me.” He shrugs. “Either way, the choice is yours.”
From the corner of his eye, he sees Dean look at Sam. From there, he’s able to
witness a silent conversation happen between brothers. It’s over in a matter of
seconds, and it’s conducted exclusively with facial expressions and body
language. It’s fascinating.
“Well, you’re not going without me,” Sam insists, and Castiel is fascinated
again when Dean’s face blushes bright red.  How charming,  he thinks, a bit
dazedly, to himself.
“God dammit, Sam, of course I’m not,” Dean mutters, face glowing in
embarrassment. Castiel fights not to imagine that blush travelling down his
neck, his chest, to his-
No,  he tells himself firmly. He’s usually much better controlled than this.
The boy might  actually  be making him crazy.
“Well, then,” he’s grateful that his voice is as steady as ever, “that’s
settled. Have you packed your things?”
Now Dean’s green eyes are on Castiel again, and he reminds himself firmly that
this boy is a minor, and the things that he’s thinking are very illegal. “Uh,
yeah,” Dean says, his blush still prominent. “I just, uh… Do you mind if we
make a stop?”
===============================================================================
After they drop the bags off at his car, Castiel is both intrigued and
irritated as he enters Singer’s Tavern behind Sam and Dean.
He’s intrigued because he’s never had someone care enough about the people he
takes in to  meet  him. Kevin and Garth are both orphans, and Benny’s mother
was more interested in where her next hit of whatever narcotic she was hooked
on then was coming from than where her only son was going. This will be new
territory for Castiel.
He’s irritated at himself because there is a part of him that wants to stand up
straight, address this Mr. Singer as “sir,” and generally act like he’s meeting
the parent of a romantic prospect, which is  ridiculous.  He is an adult, he
will conduct himself as such, and he will get this  wanting  of Dean under
control as soon as possible. For God’s sake, he just met the boy this morning
and he’s already obsessing over him.
He pushes his thoughts aside when he meets the eyes of a gruff older man over
the heads of the patrons scattered throughout the building. He knows
immediately that this is the person he’s here to meet.
Older, looks tired, probably gets here early and stays late. Looks angry,
probably protective of the boys, already doesn’t like me.
The man gestures for the three of them to follow him to the kitchen, so Sam
takes the lead and they obey. Castiel brings up the rear and tries very hard
not to watch the way Dean moves in front of him.
When they get to the kitchen, Bobby turns to face them. “So you’re the guy who
wants to… ‘Teach’ Dean.”
The implication behind the words makes Castiel raise an eyebrow even as Dean
sputters.  “Jesus,  Bobby, what the hell? He’s not-“
“It’s quite all right, Dean,” Castiel interrupts. He turns to Bobby. “I
appreciate that someone is keeping such a close eye on Sam and Dean. I want
nothing but the best for them, truly.”
Bobby doesn’t soften. “And what, exactly, are you intendin’ to ‘teach’ him?”
The implication again. “I intend to teach him the ways of my profession.”
“Uh-huh. ‘Profession.’”
Castiel smirks. Bobby Singer is a smart man. “Indeed.”
Sam is frowning.  “What  profession?”
“I will not speak of it here,” Castiel says simply. “There are too many people
who could overhear. When we get to my home, we can discuss it in depth, if you
like.”
“Oh, yeah, we’re  definitely  discussing,” Sam grumbles under his breath.
Castiel ignores him to focus again on Bobby. “I was told you wanted to meet so
you could put your stamp of approval on the move. Do we have it?”
Bobby doesn’t answer, just keeps his weighty gaze on Castiel. He returns it
evenly, not giving a thing away. Although, he can see how Bobby would be a good
parent. If Castiel were a much lesser man, and if he had not had to stare Cain
down like this many a time, he would feel the urge to break under that look, to
reveal his secrets in hopes that confessing would lessen his punishment.
Now, however, he’s much more used to doling out punishments than receiving
them, so he is mostly unaffected.
A small eternity later, Bobby sighs. “Where you takin’ them?”
Castiel deliberates for just a moment. There is no harm in giving this man this
information. “I live on the South Side. The apartment complex on Angel
Boulevard.”
Now, here is a bit of vulnerability in the older man’s eyes. “Can I see ‘em?”
Castiel’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Of course.”
Dean’s head whips around. “Really?”
Castiel frowns. “Why would I ask you to avoid people who care about you?” He
never intended for them to be cut off from family. He never intends  any  of
his charges to be cut off from their families, it just so happens that most of
them don’t have anyone they want to stay in contact with, anyway. Castiel’s
crew has become its own family, but he has no reason to keep Dean and his
brother from this man who clearly cares deeply for them.
Dean blushes again. “I dunno… I guess I just assumed-“
“Dean watches too many spy movies,” Sam says frankly.
Dean smacks his brother upside the back of his head. “Shut up, bitch.”
“Make me, jerk!”
Castiel smiles, listening to them argue in hissed whispers. It doesn’t remind
him of his own siblings, since he was never this close to any of them, but it’s
still pleasant to witness.
He looks over at Bobby, and sees that he’s being measured again, and he seems
to have been found sufficient.
“All right,” Bobby says gruffly. “But keep your cells on you, boys. I want to
keep in touch.”
“Sure, Bobby, no problem,” Dean says easily.
Castiel looks outside, where the early spring still makes the days end too
soon. “You are more than welcome to come back, gentlemen,” he says evenly,
looking back to Sam and Dean, “but I’d prefer to introduce you to the rest of
the crew and show you where you’ll be staying before the day ends.”
Sam sighs. “This is all so crazy,” he says ruefully, but he turns to lead the
way out of the restaurant.
Castiel smiles. Sam is a flexible child, it seems, if it has only taken about
an hour for him to go from fighting with his brother to resigning himself to
his fate. Castiel thinks he’ll get along well with Kevin.
Dean shoots Castiel a shy smile as he follows Sam out, which damn near kills
Castiel. He’s still having a hard time bringing his mind out of the gutter when
Bobby clears his throat.
It’s only years of practice that keeps Castiel from flushing guiltily. He looks
back at the man who’s essentially the father of the boy he was just undressing
with his eyes. Bobby is just staring at him again, there’s no heat or anger
there.
“I’m trustin’ you to keep those boys safe,” the man says gruffly. “Closest
thing I got to kids, and I might not know what this ‘profession’ is, but I can
tell you that I don’t mind trackin’ you down and kickin’ your ass, should
something happen to them.”
Castiel smiles.  I’m getting threatened by the boy’s father after all, romantic
intentions or no.  “I expected nothing less,” he says smoothly.
Chapter End Notes
     - Can we all just get together and pretend that, realistically,
     sometimes people let sixteen-year-olds take their twelve-year-old
     brothers away with handsome older gentlemen? Thanks. And if you think
     it's weird that Bobby just let them go, there will be explanations
     later.
     - Feedback, it gets me hot.
***** Chapter Three *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Dean cannot  believe  how well that went. He’s not even ashamed of the way he’s
kind of staring Cas in awe as the man leads back them to his car a few blocks
away.
He doesn’t know what he thought would happen, but it wasn’t this easy
transition. Beside him, Sam’s walk is loose-limbed and easy. Sam’s always been
a laid-back kid, but his quick acceptance of the situation before him thrills
Dean. It signifies  trust,  it means that Sam has faith in Dean to make these
decisions for them. Oh, sure, the reminder that Sam’s the smart one, the
important one, it stung a little, but it’s not like Dean’s never been reminded
before. And as long as he’s taking care of his little brother like he’s
supposed to, Dean’s all right with coming up in second place.
It was… Weird, to say the least, when Cas implied that the reason he wants Dean
and Sam around was because of… Well, because of  Dean.  That… Doesn’t make any
sense. In his head, he understands that Cas would have had no way to know about
Sam, or how smart Sam is, or how much  better  Sam is, since the only one of
them they saw was Dean himself. It’s just… It’s just that, even  after  Cas saw
Sam, he still made it sound like Dean was the reason he’s doing any of this. He
even put his hand on the back of Dean’s neck again, like he wanted to comfort
Dean.
And, okay, it’s not like Dean’s  never  received reassurance or comfort before.
Bobby’s been great, and ever since Dean and Sam were little, he was the one
they’d seek out when they needed an adult. As he got older, Dean’s gotten
comfort from partners, one-night stands and flings. Not long-term comfort, and
definitely not meaningful, but it’s not like Dean has been  without  any sort
of kind touch.
It’s just that… It’s that when Cas touches him, just that big, warm palm on
Dean’s neck, thumb running absentmindedly through the hair at his nape, it
feels like it’s because Cas thinks that Dean’s  worth  something, like maybe he
could  care  about Dean. It’s silly, and not something that Dean’s holding out
for. He knows his place in the world, and it’s to get Sammy off to bigger and
better things. Maybe once Sam is settled in whatever big-time career he wants,
Dean can worry about himself. Until then, it’s a no-go, and God knows Cas isn’t
gonna wait around that long.
Dean’s okay with that. It’s just a little fantasy he has, that Cas might care
about him, or take care of him, or maybe make it so Dean doesn’t feel so tired
and weighed down and a little bit scared all the time. He knows it’s not
realistic, so he doesn’t put stock into it. It’s just nice to think about.
He’s thinking so hard about these things that he almost runs straight into Cas
when the man stops on the sidewalk. Internally shaking the cobwebs from his
mind, he looks up to see that Cas’ body language has changed, subtly but
absolutely. He’s shifted so that he’s shielding the Winchesters, keeping them
behind him. Dean’s first instinct, which he follows, is to grab Sam and shove
him behind himself. His second instinct, which he also follows, is to assess
the threat, and the only way to do that is to peek over Cas’ shoulder.
A curvaceous woman stands in front of them, one hand on her hip, the other
twirling a lock of her fiery red hair around a finger. She’s smirking, but
there’s no friendliness in the gesture. Her eyes are cold and almost  lifeless,
and they’d be completely blank without the sort of unstable anger they seem to
be radiating at Castiel.
Cas, for his part, has stilled, but shows no outward signs of hostility.
“Abaddon,” he says smoothly.
“Castiel,” she purrs. “It’s been so  long,  darling.”
“Oh, I don’t know, it certainly doesn’t feel like it’s been long enough.” It’s
the first sign at all that Cas isn’t happy to see this woman.
She pouts. “Aw, is someone still sore over Boston?”
Cas doesn’t react at all. “What do you want?”
“What makes you think I want anything?”
“Because you’re a sociopath who does nothing if she does not have a reason.”
She sighs. “Oh, Castiel, always the flair for the dramatic.”
“Yes. I’ve always been told that I’m too flamboyant,” Cas deadpans.
A brilliant smile blossoms on her face. It would warm her up if it looked like
she meant it at all. “Oh, Cassie, dear, it’s so  good  to see you again. I’m so
very  glad  I ran into you. I’ve moved into town, and I’m delighted that you’re
the first to know!”
“Abaddon,” Cas says severely, ignoring her sarcasm. “Do not do anything stupid
while you are here.”
Her happy, simpering demeanor drops in an instant, and Dean realizes that this
woman is a barracuda, a wolf among sheep, a goddamn shark. She’s  crazy.
She takes a step forward, and Dean tenses when she gets up in Cas’ face. He
wants to step in, to intervene, but before he can do any such thing, he feels
Cas’ fingers brush against his own. It’s a simple touch, and just for a moment,
but it gets the message across perfectly. Dean stays where he is, fuming.
Abaddon’s pretty face is marred with a sneer. “I will do  whatever  I goddamn
please,  Castiel.  Your precious  Cain  isn’t here to protect you anymore.”
“He was just as important to you as he was to me. And I seem to recall being
able to take care of myself quite effectively.”
The sneer becomes more pronounced. “Oh, I don’t think  any  of us were as close
with him as  you  were, Cassie.”
Cas takes a deep breath, but it seems like he’s just gathering his patience
instead of being alarmed. “What do you  want,  you vile woman?”
She smiles again, and again, it doesn’t soften her face at all. “Oh, I want  so
many things. But the first thing I’m going to do is to take this town from you.
And then,” her eyes shift to meet Dean’s, and he takes a moment to be so,  so
glad that Sam’s hidden behind him, “I’m going to take all of your little
‘charity cases’ away from you.”
Cas doesn’t even bat an eye. “I’m sure that’s what you think will happen,
Abbie.”  The condescension in his voice, and his words, shouldn’t be such a
turn on. Dean has a problem. “What is actually going to happen is this.” He
leans forward, so he’s almost whispering in her ear, but Dean can hear every
word. “You may come here, and you may work here. This city is plenty big enough
for both of us. However, and I’d like you to pay attention here, Abbie, if you
lay a finger on one of my charges, you will  never  stop regretting it. Our
work isn’t the only thing I learned from Cain. Have I made myself crystal
clear?”
Satisfaction, fear, and rage flash in Abbadon’s eyes in turn as Cas talks. When
he’s done, she leans back and beams a smile at him. “It was just  so lovely  to
speak with you again, Castiel. We simply  must  catch up the very  moment  we
have a chance.”
Castiel just stares her down. “I would rather lay siege to hell than speak with
you again, Abaddon. You have your warning. I would heed it, were I you.”
She sneers again before turning to sashay away. Dean can feel that his eyes are
wide and that he’s pale as he stares after her.
“Cas,” he croaks, barely stopping himself from saying something less formal in
time. “What the  fuck  was that?”
“Language, Dean,” Cas sighs, but it’s pretty obvious that his heart’s not in
it. He doesn’t start forward again, but he glances over to where Dean has moved
to stand next to him. Sam stands on the other side, and they watch her walk
away together.
“The man who taught me the craft,  our  craft,” he says, eyes sliding to Dean
for a beat before returning to the retreating figure. “He had several students.
Cain was normally a… Very good judge of character, but he made a mistake when
he took Abaddon on. Her story was tragic, and she needed someone to help her,
but make no mistake, boys. Sometimes, when someone’s life has been hard, it…
Warps them, makes it difficult for them to think like others do. It may not be
their fault, but remember that just because someone’s past has been difficult
doesn’t mean that they deserve sympathy in our present.”
Dean whistles low. “Damn, Cas. What’d she do?”
A beat of hesitation. “A story for another time, perhaps.” Cas straightens a
little bit, which makes Dean realize that he was crouched, just a little bit,
in defense of he and Sam. “Make sure to avoid her, boys. If you see her or she
approaches you, leave immediately and come to find me. Understand?”
Dean ignores the little thrill of heat that goes up his spine at the steel in
Cas’ voice. “Yes, sir.”
===============================================================================
When they get to the apartment building that Cas and his crew live in, it’s
taking all of Dean’s willpower to not fidget in the passenger seat of the pimp-
mobile that Cas calls a car. He tried to give the seat to Sam, both because he
would prefer Sam be the first priority here  and  to hide his own nervousness,
but Cas would have none of it  (“Get in the front, Sammy.” “Actually, Sam, I
would appreciate it if you sat in the back. Dean, get in the passenger seat.”).
Which would be fine, except that it made the whole ride awkward as hell for
Dean. The restraint it required to keep himself from reaching over and touching
Cas was monumental. The result is that he’s a little jumpy when they pull into
the parking garage.
“Do you have a car?” Cas asks, his deep, rolling voice carrying easily in the
quiet garage.
Dean shakes his head. “Nope.” At Cas’ raised eyebrow, Dean feels himself blush
a little. “Sir,” he adds hastily.
Sam frowns as he pulls the bags out of the trunk. “What about the Impala?”
“That’s Dad’s, Sammy.”
“Don’t call me that,” his little brother replies immediately, then he frowns
again. “And it’s more yours than his.”
Dean sighs. Another fight they’ve had so often that their lines are practically
scripted, rehearsed, set in stone. A fight he doesn’t particularly want to have
in front of Cas. “No, it’s not, and we’re not doing this again right now, hear
me?” When Sam opens his mouth to argue, Dean frowns and points a finger at him.
“I’m serious, Sam, not right now.”
The stubborn scowl on his brother’s face makes Dean worry that he’s not going
to drop it for a moment, but Sam finally just grabs his bags with a huff and
turns to Cas, clearly ready to go. Dean’s relieved, but he’s also kind of
embarrassed that it happened in front of Cas. To cover, he grabs his bag and
turns to meet the older man’s gaze head on, trying to control his blush.
“Lead on, sir.”
===============================================================================
As he leads them through the garage, Castiel can’t help but file quickly
through everything he’s learned about the Winchesters in the last few minutes.
For one, their father is a sore spot, but Mr. Singer is not.  Interesting.
Second, his first assumption was correct. Sam is the golden child, at least in
Dean’s eyes. Sam seems to be a bit more reluctant about that particular train
of thought, but Dean clearly lives by making sure Sam comes first.
Infuriating, but also interesting.  Because, again, Castiel has no intention of
putting Sam first. Oh, yes, he’s sure that the younger man is bright, and his
instincts tell him that he could grow to be quite the thief someday, but Sam is
not who Castiel is interested at  all.  Quick as Sam might be, both
intellectually and with his fingers, Castiel’s focus is solely on Dean.
Something about Dean tells Castiel that he could not only be good, but he could
be  spectacular.  He could rival the greats, should he get the proper training
and care. His name could be whispered amidst names like Asa Fox, Daniel Elkins,
and Cain himself, when the few people who know those particular names whisper
them at all. There will come a time when Dean can flash those beautiful green
eyes, curve his lips into that shy smile, and the world will eat out of the
palm of his hand.
This is why Castiel can’t let himself fall prey to those charms. Because not
only will Dean be good, probably better than Castiel, even, but Dean  deserves
it. His good heart and pure soul shine from him like a beacon. It’s so
painfully obvious that Dean is a good, selfless person. That kind of light,
Castiel knows, can attract darkness, both from those who covet it and from
those who seek to corrupt it. Castiel doesn’t know which category he falls into
(oh, oh, you lie, oh Castiel, do not lie to yourself, you covet the boy so
badly you can hardly breathe around it, he’s beautiful and you’re terrible,
leave him be, do not think about how he will look on your bed or taste on your
tongue),  but he is determined to protect Dean from those who would do him
harm.
Only, of course, because of what a good thief Dean will be someday.
(Oh, Castiel, do not lie to yourself.)
He shakes his thoughts away as they get to the elevator, irritated with his
lack of focus. He pushes the button for the top floor when the doors close. He
examines the boys in the reflection, and is not surprised at all to find both
of them staring right back at him.
“I own all of the apartments on the top floor,” he says in response to their
gazes. “You will be granted one to share. There are three other boys in the
crew. They each have their own apartments.” Cas nods to the younger Winchester.
“You’ll be granted your own when you come of age, should you choose to stay
with us. Until then, I must insist that you live with Dean.”
Dean’s eyes are wide. “Like… A whole apartment?”
“Indeed. You’ll have the one across the hall from my own, as our side of the
building has two-bedroom layouts as opposed to the one-bedrooms the rest of the
crew require.”  And so it will be easier for me to lure you to my own bed and-
No! No! Get a hold of yourself!
Luckily, Sam’s excited hazel eyes are enough to distract Castiel from his own
treacherous thoughts. “Two bedrooms?!” He smacks Dean on the arm. “Dude!”
“Shut up, Sam,” Dean says hastily, but he softens and smiles at Sam’s raised
eyebrows. “Yeah, yeah, it’ll be all right, just don’t piss yourself, princess.”
Sam grins at his big brother, and Castiel feels a strange warmth in his chest
as he watches them interact. He tells himself it’s just budding fondness, and
that no part of it is envy. Because that would be ridiculous. Because that
would mean that he’s envious of Sam and his interactions with Dean, and Castiel
doesn’t want any more interactions with Dean.
Lying to yourself.
Right.
Castiel clears his throat as the elevator reaches their floor. “The apartment
at the very end of our hall is one that we all use. I’ll get you the keys to
your apartment now, and keys to the communal space by tomorrow, as they must be
made.” He walks into the hall, confident the boys will follow. Hurried
footsteps behind him reward his surety.
He goes to the big shared apartment first, unlocking it and sweeping inside
ahead of Sam and Dean. The first thing he sees is Benny standing in the big,
open kitchen, in front of a pot full of something that smells incredible. The
boy turns around and grins, his ice blue eyes crinkling at the corners, his
already ridiculously full beard bunching up.
“Heya, boss.”
Castiel nods. “Benny.” He steps in to let Dean and Sam come in behind him.
“This is Dean and Sam Winchester.”
Unless one knows Benny very well, one wouldn’t see the way his shoulders
tighten infinitesimally, but Castiel  does  know Benny very well, and it’s
obvious to him.
“They joinin’ the crew?”
“Dean will be. It remains to be seen if Sam will do the same. Until then, he
will be attending school.”
Benny gives the Winchesters a long, searching look. It’s insolent, but Castiel
lets it slide. The crew is less like a band of thieves and more like a family,
at least for the boys, despite the fact that it wasn’t necessarily what Castiel
intended to do. They are important to him, of course, but the connections
they’ve all formed to one another are entirely their own. They are very close
knit.
Which is why Benny is sizing them up this way. It’s unusual for Castiel to
bring someone back without speaking to his crew first, much less two people.
Sam, as smart as he is, doesn’t seem to have noticed the other boy’s appraisal.
He’s looking around the apartment, eyes wide with wonder, drinking in every
detail.
Each apartment, even this shared one, is fully furnished with sturdy but high
quality furniture. His boys will be less likely to wander, or do something
stupid, if they have something nice to come home to, Castiel has found.
He also suspects that young Sam is looking for clues as to what Castiel’s
profession is. He won’t find any, but Castiel is glad to see him trying to
protect his brother like this, probably the only way he can. Even more
probably, the only way Dean will let him. So Sam hasn’t yet noticed Benny’s
scrutiny.
Dean, on the other hand, is meeting it head on. He’s looking back coolly, like
he has nothing to prove at all. There’s quiet strength and defiance in the way
Dean stands there, his one duffel (compared to Sam’s two, don’t think Castiel
didn’t notice) over his shoulder. Here, with Sam to protect, be it from
physical danger or simple derision, Dean is in his element. There’s no trace of
the vulnerability that Castiel knows is beneath on his young  (lovely)  face.
It’s a few moments before the tension on Benny’s features relaxes into a much
more genuine smile. “Well, the more the merrier. Come on in, dinner’s ready.”
Castiel finds himself relaxing, too. He is… Strangely invested in the crew’s
acceptance of the Winchesters, and if Benny approves it will smooth much of the
way for them. Castiel finds himself wanting this to be as simple a transition
as possible for them.
He’s starting to get truly angry with his own inability to be impartial when it
comes to these boys  (just one boy, really just the one).  It’s ridiculous, and
if he doesn’t get it under control, it’s going to become problematic. He
ruthlessly reins himself in, turning his attention back to the room.
As he does so, he realizes that the silence has gone on just a beat too long.
He straightens. “Will the others be home for dinner?” He ignores the quizzical
look on Dean’s face, the calculating one on Sam’s, and the damnably knowing
twinkle in Benny’s eye.
Mercifully, the Cajun says nothing. “Yessir. Garth’s probably already home, and
Kev’s due back from the library any second.”
===============================================================================
Dean is sure that what he’s experiencing is culture shock. Because not only is
he sitting down at a huge table with a  very  well home cooked meal in his
very  full belly, the people sitting at the table with him seem… Happy?
Family dinners at the Winchester household are  nothing  like this.
Despite the initial visual shakedown, Benny’s good people. There’s kindness in
his eyes and in his booming laugh. He seems to be the oldest of the crew,
besides Cas, and he’s one hell of a cook. Plus, anyone who feeds Sammy full to
bursting like Benny just did is definitely on Dean’s good side. He’s sitting
across from Dean, arms crossed and laughing at something that Garth’s said.
Garth is… Well, Garth’s something  else.  He’s a real happy dude, but it
doesn’t seem out of place. Garth’s optimism is a nice complement to Benny’s
big, steadying presence and Kevin’s soft-spoken brilliance.
Kevin really  is  a genius. As soon as introductions were made, he asked Sam
what he’d like to study for, and the two of them were off to nerdville. Dean is
fiercely glad that there’s someone here who puts Sam at ease.
Then there’s Cas.
Dean is discovering more and more that he has  no fucking idea  what to make of
Castiel. Oh, he’s not regretting his decision at all. He’s just had a few
moments to really  think,  and he has no idea what Cas’ endgame is. What does
he actually want with Dean? Sure, as long as he takes care of Sam, it doesn’t
really matter what happens to Dean, he’d just like to know what’s in store.
He also isn’t sure if there’s any significance to where he’s sitting, which is
directly to Cas’ right. He wouldn’t think anything of it, honestly, but there
was a  moment  when they were sitting down. Benny pointed out the places he
wanted Dean and Sam to sit. Dean caught Cas giving Benny an unreadable look, to
which Benny just grinned cheekily. Cas sat down stiffly, and though Kevin
looked surprised when he came in, he didn’t seem upset at being moved down the
table.
Even as the thoughts are circling in his mind, he sees Sam yawn for the third
time in ten minutes out of the corner of his eye. When he turns, his little
brother is rubbing one of his eyes hard. It makes him look a lot younger than
his almost thirteen years.
Dean turns back to Cas to ask about their room, but the older man is already
pushing his chair out to stand. “I’m going to show Sam and Dean to their
apartment so they can get settled in.”
Garth’s face contorts almost comically. “Oh, man! Y’all should have said
something! Y’all must be exhausted!”
Dean smiles at the genuine nature that makes up Garth. “Yeah, I’m a little
beat. Sam?”
Sam nods. “I’m pretty tired.”
Castiel is standing and nodding to Benny. “Thank you for cooking.”
Benny nods back, his eyes still twinkling with a shared secret. “No problem,
boss.”
Cas scowls, but motions for Dean and Sam to follow him. “If you’ll gather your
things and meet me at the front door, I’ll get the keys to your apartment.”
They grab their bags obediently and wait at the front door for Cas. When he
joins them, he has two keys in hand, dangling off of simple rings. He hands one
to each of them. “These are to your apartment. If you lose them, it’s all
right, I’ll just need to know absolutely as soon as possible.”
They nod and follow him out. Dean’s still feeling a little dazed by the whole
thing as Cas leads them down the hall. This morning, he woke up thinking about
how they were out of eggs and out of money. Now he’s following someone who’s
possibly the most attractive human being he’s ever seen to the home that same
guy is bankrolling for them so that Dean can work for him and Sam can go to
school. He’s also just eaten the first, even  abundant,  meal that he can
remember having in quite a while, maybe years. They’re somewhere that’s
presumably safe, warm, and away from their father.
What the everloving fuck?
Cas stops in front of a door and unlocks it with a third set of keys from his
pocket. “I’m the only other person who will have a key, which is for safety
reasons, nothing else.” He meets each of their gazes individually before he
opens the door. “I will, for no reason, enter your domain without your express
permission. This space is yours, both of you, and can be utilized however you
see fit. Is that clear?”
Dean nods, and Cas opens the door.
The apartment is similar to the one they ate dinner in, but it’s a little
bigger. There’s a big living room area, a decent-sized kitchen, the front hall
that they’re all currently gathered in, and three doors off of the main rooms.
Cas points to each door in turn. “There’s a bedroom there, the bathroom in the
middle, and another bedroom there. There are some dry groceries in the
cabinets, but we’ll go to the market tomorrow to get whatever else you need.
There are towels for the bathroom and sheets for the beds in the linen closet.”
He smiles at each of them. “I will leave you to get settled. Please don’t
hesitate to come get me if you need anything.”
Despite his words, he stands next to Dean and watches as Sam excitedly looks
around the apartment, his earlier weariness apparently forgotten. He turns back
and grins, his hazel eyes shining. “Dude! This is  awesome!”
Dean’s heart thuds in his chest as it lifts. It isn’t often he gets to see Sam
this uncaringly  happy.  The kid is zooming around, opening doors, practically
bouncing, and something in Dean aches at the sight.
“Cas,” he says softly, still watching his brother. “Can I, uh, see you outside
for a second?”
Cas’ eyebrows go up in surprise. “Of course, Dean.”
===============================================================================
This is it. He’s going to ask you how you can be such a pervert, of course he’s
seen the way you’ve been looking at him, you’re damn near a stalker, he’s going
to ask what the hell you-
The door clicking shut behind them interrupts his thoughts, and he gathers
himself to look over at the young man standing next to him.
Dean’s chewing on his lip  (dear God in heaven, lend me strength),  looking
down at the ground so Castiel can’t see his eyes. His hands are held behind his
back, a bit awkwardly around the duffle bag still slung over his shoulder. He
looks, for all intents and purposes, like he’s about to  apologize.
There’s a tense silence, then Dean lets out a sharp exhale and rubs the back of
his neck. His eyes flick up to Castiel’s. “Sorry, I’m not good at this kinda
thing.”
Castiel tilts his head. “What kind of thing is that, exactly?”
Dean takes another deep breath and finally meets Castiel’s eyes head on. “Thank
you,” he says, and the only sign of vulnerability is the way his voice wobbles,
just a little bit, at the end of the last word.
“Dean, I-“
“No, no, I’m serious, Cas.” Dean casts a fond look at the door. “I can’t… I
wouldn’t be able to do this without you, ma- uh, sir.  It’s, uh… I guess I
just… It means a lot to me, to look out for Sammy.” Dean’s sweating a little
bit  (you are not going to lick any part of him),  but his eyes are steady as
they hold Castiel’s. “I really don’t know how to repay you.”
Castiel’s mind is working a mile a minute, and none of it is virtuous. He has a
myriad of things he can think of that Dean can do to pay him back. Any number
of positions, of depraved acts, of filthy activities he wants to do with him.
Fortunately  (unfortunately),  the shadows in Dean’s eyes put a damper on his
libido. Dean is experiencing  pain  over this, over his inability to get a
decent apartment and furnish it completely, which is ridiculous. No matter what
kinds of things Castiel wants to do with him  (all kinds of things),  Dean is
only sixteen. This shouldn’t be his responsibility.
Quite without his permission, he finds himself laying a hand on the back of
Dean’s neck again. It’s tense when he first touches, but he feels the boy relax
beneath his touch and has to fight the wave of porn-worthy images before he can
speak again.
“Dean,” he puts a bit of force behind his words and squeezes, just a bit. “You
don’t have to worry about Sam anymore. I know you will, regardless of what I
say, but please understand that I meant it when I told you that I would be
taking care of the two of you from now on. The only thing either of you should
concern yourselves with going forward is Sam’s studies and your training.”
They gaze at each other for a long few moments, and Castiel has no trouble
imagining keeping himself locked onto those green eyes for much, much longer
before Dean speaks.
“My training,” he says slowly, “to become a thief.”
Castiel smirks. “No, Dean. Your training to become an  excellent  thief."
Chapter End Notes
     - Sorry, had to build up the angst, I know this chapter was kinda
     slow. But Benny! And Garth! And Kevin! Things will speed up soon.
     Stay with me, lovelies.
     - Feedback, it gets me hot.
***** Chapter Four *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Waking up the next morning is… Disorienting, to say the least.
Instead of in his dingy apartment, in a room that’s not  quite  his own, Dean
wakes up burrowed in soft sheets, beneath a heavy blanket. His alarm wasn’t
set, but habit has him waking up as the sun starts to spill through the window
in his bedroom.
His bedroom.
Dean takes a few minutes to wallow in it, wiggling deeper into the covers and
thinking about the differences between this morning and the one yesterday. The
difference between worrying  how  he’s going to feed Sam and wondering about
what  to feed Sam, since they have so much at their disposal. The difference
between wondering what he’ll  have  to do today and wondering what he’ll  get
to do today.  Amazing.
It all comes down to one dark-haired, blue-eyed, totally off-limits thief.
Down boy,  he tells his morning wood, which twitches and perks up at the
thought of Castiel. As sexy as his savior is (and sweet  Jesus),  Dean can’t
ruin this good thing by thinking with his dick. He can’t trash the chances that
Cas has given Sam just because he wants the older man to fuck him until his
vision is blurry and his mind is blank. Living up to the accusations that Sam
hurled at him before Cas got here yesterday just isn’t an option.
Not that Dean is under the impression that Cas would want him, anyway. Dean’s
aware that he’s only sixteen, and that he has nothing to offer Cas, but it’s a
nice little fantasy to indulge while he’s still mostly asleep and as
comfortable as he can ever remember being.
When his bladder finally takes precedence over laziness, he rolls out of bed
and throws on a pair of sleep pants that are so old they’re almost transparent
in places and hang low off of his hips. On his way to the bathroom, he bangs
his fist on Sam’s bedroom door. “Rise and shine, Sammy!”
There’s an indistinct groan on the other side of the wood. It’s just the first
of at least three times Dean will have to try to rouse Sam, so the lack of
response doesn’t bother him. He goes to the bathroom, takes care of business,
and brushes his teeth quickly. Once done, he goes into the kitchen to start
breakfast.
Cas was right on the money when he said yesterday that there are only dry
groceries in the apartment so far. But there’s coffee, which is essential, and
there’s a box of muffins from a local bakery that are about the size of Dean’s
head, so at least Sam will be fed.
He starts the coffee brewing in the coffee maker (which is loads nicer and
about ten years newer than the one they have at the old place), making it
strong enough so the smell wafts through the apartment. He also sticks a couple
of the muffins in the microwave for a few seconds to warm them up before going
to bang on Sam’s door again.  “Sam!”
“Mffngh!”
“Right.” Satisfied that Sam is slowly pulling himself from the depths of sleep,
Dean moves into the living room. There’s a little loveseat and a couple of
chairs in here, as well as a low coffee table in the middle, on which rest a
couple of remotes. Dean turns the TV on and switches the channel to a news
station. It’s something he vaguely remembers his mother doing before she died,
watching the news while she got ready to greet the day. Dean started doing it
around the time John checked out as a father, and now it’s as deeply ingrained
in his morning routine as the coffee is.
So he keeps an idle ear on the TV, listening to the newscaster’s drone while he
pours himself a cup of coffee and pulls the muffins out to put them on plates.
He brings everything back to the living room, arranges it all on the coffee
table, then goes to bang on Sam’s door again.
“Sam!  Last time! Ass outta bed, kid!”
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Sam grumbles, and Dean grins.
The younger man comes out in a t-shirt that’s too small and pants that are too
short, another reminder that he needs new clothes soon. His hair seems to be
sticking straight up from his head, making Dean laugh as he pours Sam a cup of
coffee and dumps a few spoonfuls of sugar into it. “Lookin’ good, kiddo,” he
chuckles as he hands over the mug.
Sam squint-glares at him. “Shut up, jerk.”
“Bitch,” Dean returns automatically as they both move to the living room. Sam’s
eyes light up at the sight of the muffins, and he begins to devour it as soon
as his butt hits the couch.
Dean waits to see if Sam will want another one before he eats his, purely so he
won’t have to get up again before he’s ready. It’s for naught, because as soon
as Sam starts eyeing the second muffin predatorily, there’s soft knock on the
front door.
Dean pulls himself to his feet, leaving his coffee cup on the table with a
sigh. He stretches as he walks to the door, reveling in the feeling of having
gotten a good night’s sleep. It’s not something that happens very often in
Dean’s world.
He takes a look through the peephole before unlocking the door, because he’s
not an  idiot.   When he sees wild black hair and a white dress shirt, he
doesn’t hesitate to pull the chain and open the door eagerly.
As soon as Cas’ eyes land on him, Dean remembers that he’s shirtless, his own
hair is still a mess, and the pants he’s wearing are only staying up by the
grace of God.
Smooth, Winchester.
===============================================================================
Dean Winchester is trying to kill him. It’s the only explanation Castiel can
come up with on the spot, and he’s rather impressed with himself for coming up
with even that much in the face of a very rumpled, very  shirtless  (read:
half-naked,  dear God he’s half-naked)  Dean. He had hoped, in what he now
knows was in vain, that sleep would lessen the effect that the teenager has on
him.
This is not the case.
The expanse of flesh available to Castiel’s eyes should be more illegal than
anything he’s ever done in his  life.  Dean’s chest is all tan skin, trim
waist, broad shoulders, pink nipples, and  smooth.  He’s going to be
devastating once he fills out, as if he’s not bad enough for Castiel’s peace of
mind  now.  There’s a pair of threadbare sweats hanging off of those lovely
hips, and Castiel wants to mark the skin up there, leave dark marks along the
boy’s waist, lay claim to him visibly.
He takes all of this in in the space of just a moment before he looks into
Dean’s eyes. Once his gaze is settled on the younger man’s face, Castiel feels
a bit more like he has control of himself.
Until he sees the lovely blush that blooms high on Dean’s cheeks, slowly
travelling down his neck.
“Uh… Mornin’, Cas,” Dean says shyly, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Good morning, Dean.” Dear God, when did his voice get that low? Is it always
like that? The way Dean’s eyes widen fractionally indicate that it is not. “I
hope you and Sam have settled in satisfactorily.”
“Oh, uh, yeah. The place is real nice. Thank you. Again.” Though Dean is
stuttering a bit, earnest sincerity is shining in his eyes.
Yes, the only explanation is that Dean is trying to kill him.
Castiel clears his throat. “You’re very welcome, Dean. I was wondering when the
two of you will be ready to go grocery shopping?” Thinking of how thin the
pants that Dean has on are, “We’ll get the both of you clothes, too, if you
don’t mind doing it all in one day.”
Dean frowns. “Clothes?”
Ah.  Castiel tries to be delicate here. “One of the reasons we’re able to live
here and do our work uninhibited is because we blend in. Which means that we
have to dress a certain way, at a certain… Level of quality, if you will, so
that we don’t stick out. I’ll need you and Sam to do the same.”
The frown is deepening on Dean’s face. “Uh, I mean, you’ll have to give me a
few days to come up with the money for new duds. It looks like it might rain
today, I can hit the stre-“ A deeper red blush stains Dean’s face. “I mean, I
can come up with the cash if you give me some time.”
Something hot and angry twists in Castiel’s stomach, though he’s careful to
make sure nothing of the sort shows on his face. He knows that Dean is planning
on prostituting himself for money, and he knows it’s none of his business, but
it  infuriates  him, though for a different reason than it did yesterday.
Yesterday, it was possessiveness, plain and simple.  Castiel  wants to be the
only one who has access to Dean’s body, the only one Dean is writhing in
pleasure under. He wants him moaning Castiel’s name and begging for any number
of delicious activities while Castiel and Castiel alone teases him.
It has been, however, one hell of a few hours.
Now, standing here looking at Dean, who’s still sleep rumpled and warm, it’s
protectiveness that makes Castiel burn in fury. How dare their father leave
Dean to this? What person in their right mind could look at Dean and not see
someone who needs to be protected, someone who needs to be cherished? It is so
incredibly obvious to Castiel that Dean is special, it baffles him that anyone
could treat him so callously.
He reaches out to hold the back of Dean’s neck again  (this is becoming a habit
stop it right now),  his fingers brushing the tips of Dean’s as the boy puts
his own hand down at his side. He aches to press his forehead to Dean’s, to get
up in his space, to breathe the same air the boy is, but he holds himself back.
Inappropriate, uncalled for, you shouldn’t be touching him at all, you pervert.
“Little one,” he says firmly, and he does take one  small  step closer to Dean,
a compromise between what is right and the urge to sweep Dean into his arms. “I
cannot tell you what to do with the time you are not training with me. If that…
Profession is something you’d like to continue to pursue, I will not stand in
your way. However, you and your brother are my charges now, and it is my
responsibility  alone  to provide the two of you with whatever you may need. If
you feel that you must, for whatever reason, seek out money on your own, I
won’t lift a finger to stop you.” He smiles a bit, watches Dean’s green eyes go
wider and wider. “However, today you start training for a much more lucrative
profession, and I hope it will make it unnecessary to continue the other.”
Castiel has to force the next words out, because he is so uncharacteristically
uncertain that he will be able to keep his emotions hidden. “Please,” he says
softly. “Let me take care of you, Dean.”
The silence stretches between them for a few incredibly long moments. Dean’s
eyes are flashing with emotion, making no attempt to hide the way he’s feeling.
Surprise, suspicion, awe, and gratitude shine in those green eyes, and it makes
Castiel want to fall to his knees and beg Dean to let him touch him, to let
Castiel take him, have him.
The boy is driving me insane.
When Dean speaks, it’s soft, almost like a secret, and the words hit Castiel
square in the heart.
“Okay… I mean, yeah. Uh…” Dean takes a deep breath. “Yes, sir.”
Dear God.
===============================================================================
Okay, Cas is trying to kill him. Dean doesn’t know why, but it’s the only thing
that makes  sense.
First, it was that…  Moment  they had at Dean’s front door, which will still
turn his insides into mush if he thinks about the way Cas looked at him, the
feel of Cas’ fingers against his own.
Then  there was clothes shopping. During which, Dean followed Sam around to
make sure everything fit, even made sure that everything was a little  too  bit
so that Sam has room to grow into them. While Dean was doing that, Cas was
following  him,  making sure that, piece for piece, Dean got just as many
clothes as Sam did. It was…  Unnerving.  Dean’s used to just wearing whatever
he can get his hands on. He’s never had to worry about color or fabric or  fit,
not for himself, anyway.
But there was Cas, making sure that Dean’s clothes hugged him the right way, or
commenting that a dark green Henley brought out the green in his eyes, or
suggesting that Dean look at getting himself a new leather jacket. Dean
protested a lot of the purchases Cas made, especially the jacket, but Cas just
ignored his objections and decked Dean out like a king. As uncomfortable as it
made him, there’s a pit of warmth in Dean’s stomach that won’t go away no
matter how much he tells himself that Cas does this for all of his “charges.”
After they hauled all of the clothes back to Cas’ car (and the amount of bags
that are his simultaneously boggle Dean’s mind and make him blush profusely),
the older man suggested they go to lunch before they grocery shop. Dean was
worried, because Sam is a damn garbage disposal these days, and Cas took them
to a mid-range restaurant, which usually translates to “completely out of
Dean’s range.” Cas didn’t bat an eye, though, when Sam basically inhaled twice
as much food as he or Dean did, he just slipped a credit card into the little
leather folder that the waitress left on the table, and from what Dean managed
to peek at, left her with a generous tip.
Now they’re in a farmer’s market, which is like Sam’s wet dream. Cas gave Sam a
wad of cash and said, in that serious voice of his, “I trust your judgment,
Sam.” Which, in Cas speak (which Dean is quickly becoming fluent in) means, “Go
crazy, kid.” So Sam’s darting from booth to booth, trying to look discerning as
he selects fruits and vegetables to buy. Dean thinks the kid’s probably mostly
full of shit, but he looks so happy that Dean just shoves his hands into the
pockets of his new leather coat and walks next to Cas as they follow at a much
more leisurely pace.
“He seems… Excited.”
Dean chuckles. “Yeah, he probably is. He’s kind of a health freak. They made
him take this nutrition class last year and he started in on me about ‘we don’t
eat enough vegetables, Dean’ and ‘we should go for runs, Dean.’” Dean drops his
voice down from the falsetto he was using to imitate Sam and scoffs. “Like I
had time to go for runs even if I  did  I want to, which I didn’t, because I
love myself. And the eating better thing…” He shrugs. “Dunno, that shit’s
expensive. I mean, I did what I could when I had the money, but I just…
Couldn’t always get the stuff Sam wanted.”
He sees Cas stiffen up subtly out of the corner of his eye, and Dean
immediately begins to berate himself.  Dammit.  He doesn’t want Cas to pity he
and Sam. Yeah, it was bad, but Dean’s kind of proud of the way he got them
through it. Maybe he did some shady things, but Sam never had to do a damn
thing, and the kid was always fed and clothed, even if he wasn’t eating “farm
fresh vegetables” or wearing name brand clothes.
Before he can work himself up into indignation, however, Cas speaks.
“Dean,” he says, his rumbly voice low so it doesn’t carry, “I haven’t said it
yet, but what you have done for your brother is exceptionally admirable. There
are not many people in the world who would so thoroughly put their own
interests aside to care for another. It’s remarkable.”
He just  knows  that his face is glowing bright red. “It’s nothing,” he says
softly.
Cas just hums. “It’s clearly not.”
And while they follow Sam around as he becomes more and more weighed down with
bags and packages, if maybe Dean walks a little closer to Cas so that their
shoulders brush and bump against each other… Well, maybe Dean’s all right with
that.
===============================================================================
Castiel knows that he’s going to hell for the way he thinks of Dean, and after
just twenty-four hours of knowing the boy, he also knows that he’s all right
with that.
He knows, he  knows  that he acted inappropriately at the clothing store. Maybe
Dean didn’t notice, being as flustered as the teenager was at having any
attention at all directed at him, but Castiel knew he was going overboard, and
from the knowing looks the shop assistant was shooting him, he was being
transparent. Luckily, Sam and Dean were too distracted to see anything amiss.
It is impossible, though, to ignore the way clothes  look  on Dean. It would
have taken a stronger man than Castiel is to not want to drape Dean in good
fabrics in shades that show off Dean’s own glorious coloring. He never stood a
chance.
Now, as he strides to the shared apartment to join the crew for Dean’s first
day of training, he wonders if he will  ever  stand a chance against Dean.
When he gets to the apartment and opens the door, Dean is already there in the
kitchen with Benny. Castiel can’t help but notice that Dean is wearing clothes
he got today, a dark pair of jeans and a black Henley. The sleeves are pushed
up, where his arms are crossed against his chest, and he’s laughing at
something that Benny’s said. It speaks to the long practice Castiel has had
making sure his emotions don’t dictate his actions that he doesn’t stumble and
fall flat on his face at the sight.
Garth is sitting on the couch in the living room, his nose buried in a comic
book. Upon Castiel’s arrival, he looks up and grins. “Heya, boss,” he says
easily.
“Hello, Garth.” At the sound of his voice, Benny and Dean turn to look at him.
Castiel gives them a perfunctory nod. “Dean. Benny.”
“What’s up?” Benny asks.
“I believe it’s time to begin Dean’s training.”
Garth hops to his feet. “I’ll start up Jeff.”
Benny heads toward the door. “I’ll go get Kevin.”
Dean is frowning as the other boys flee the room. “Who the hell is Jeff?”
Castiel chuckles. “You’ll see.”
They watch in silence as Garth goes to each room of the shared apartment and
pulls what looks like random pieces of abstract art from the walls and into the
living room. Once he has all of the pieces there, he begins to assemble them,
clicking them into place next to one another. After a few minutes, and after
Kevin and Benny have joined them and are also watching Garth work, a mannequin
with a blank face, about as tall as Castiel himself, is standing in the living
room, facing them.
“Holy shit,” Dean says softly, eyebrows raised.
Kevin has a bundle of clothes in his arms, and with Garth’s help, they dress
the mannequin quickly in boxers, a pair of slacks, a button-up shirt, and a
zip-up hoodie. He also has a hat on, which does nothing for Castiel’s purposes,
but it seems to amuse Garth and Benny, so he lets it slide.
“Dean,” Kevin says proudly. “This is Jeff.”
“And Jeff is the mark,” Garth says, holding his hand out to Castiel.
From his pocket, Castiel produces a long strand of string with bells tied on at
seemingly random intervals. He hands it to Garth, who begins winding the string
around Jeff strategically, the way Castiel showed him months and months ago.
Once he’s wrapped, Jeff looks like a normal mannequin, who happens to also be
covered in string.
Dean’s green eyes are sharp with interest, and there’s a subtle tension in his
spine that Castiel knows well. It’s hunger.
Oh, yes, you will be amazing.
“Jeff has a wallet in his front right pocket, one in his back pocket, and one
in the left pocket of his hoodie,” Castiel says seriously. “Your job is to take
one of these. Any of them, for now, it’s your choice. There’s only one caveat,
which I’m sure you can guess.”
“Gonna go out on a limb and say it’s ‘don’t ring the bell,’” Dean says dryly.
“Very good.” Castiel nods to Kevin. “A demonstration, please.”
Kevin nods and starts at the other end of the room. He meanders forward,
pulling his phone out of his pocket, looking for all the world like a normal
teenager, and not one of the most gifted pickpockets Castiel has ever had the
pleasure of watching work. He comes to stand next to Jeff, eyes still on his
phone. There’s seemingly no action, then Kevin walks away, as if he was waiting
at a crosswalk and just got the signal that he could go.
Now, of course, he drops character, grins smugly, and waves the wallet he took
from Jeff’s pocket.
Castiel smiles back. “Well done, Kevin.”
“Holy shit,” Dean says again, suitably impressed.
“Indeed.” Castiel waves his hand. “Now, Dean, I’d like you to attempt to do the
same.”
There is no declaration of surprise, or protest that he doesn’t want to train
in front of the rest of the boys. Dean just nods, that glint in his eyes, and
takes his position where Kevin started.
It’s clear from the beginning that he’s tense, too wired to be successful.
There’s a sort of nervous energy floating around him, but he’s also determined,
steady in his desire to prove himself. He stands next to Jeff, one hand
casually in his pocket, the other tapping his thigh in a random staccato.
Castile sees his hand move toward the mannequin’s pocket, but Dean is fast as
he takes the wallet.  Unbelievably  fast. How the  hell  did Castiel feel him
in his own coat pocket before Dean got away yesterday?  You’re going to be
better than I am, even.  Regardless of how fast he is, four bells ring.
Four bells.
Only  four bells.
The reason the mannequin, the clothes, the string, and the bells are set up the
way they are is deliberate and well thought out. It’s Castiel’s own design,
built to let the bells ring at the  slightest  movement, the  slightest
provocation. It builds skill, it makes the practice tense enough to pay
attention, but the sound is light enough that it doesn’t induce panic. It took
him a year to perfect it, and when he showed it to Cain, he was  well
rewarded.
So the fact that Dean set  only  four bells off on his  first try  is making
Castiel’s head spin with possibilities. Dear  Christ,  he isn’t going to be
good, he’s going to be  great.  Castiel  knew,  of course, he has these
instincts for a reason, but for the first time, he thinks that maybe he won’t
be the best person to train Dean.
“Dammit.” The spat word brings him from his reverie enough to see Dean frowning
down at the wallet in his hand.
“That was  amazing,”  Benny says with feeling.
Dean looks up and frowns at the Cajun. “But… I mean, the bells rang.”
“Only  four,”  Garth is ever cheerful. “That’s  still  less than I ring when I
practice with Jeff.”
Kevin is nodding. “That’s true. That was really impressive, Dean.”
Dean turns a calculating eye onto the mannequin. “Yeah,” he says, clearly
distracted. “Yeah.”
And here, here is why Castiel  should  be training Dean. Dean needs
reassurance. Dean does not believe he is good enough, or that he will be good
enough. Dean needs someone he  trusts  to say the words.
“It was well done,” he says simply.
Green eyes snap up to his own, and a genuine smile graces Dean’s lovely face,
and Castiel is doomed.
“Thanks, sir.”
===============================================================================
The same abstract art that makes up Jeff is featured in each apartment on the
floor that Castiel owns. Once Garth shows him how to disassemble and reassemble
the mannequin, Dean seems to settle into his own thoughts. He listens to the
rule about the mannequin not being assembled after he goes to bed (if the only
incriminating evidence is art on the walls, the police can’t claim anything
untoward is happening), then quietly helps Benny with dinner for the team. When
Sam gets back from school, he and Kevin go to the end of the table and start
talking about something that Castiel cannot for the life of him follow.
Dean is soft-spoken all through dinner.
That night, Castiel goes to sleep to the faint sound of bells ringing over and
over again, late into the night.
Chapter End Notes
     - Feedback, it gets me hot.
     - Also, fuck this chapter, because I struggled with it and rewrote it
     for a week before posting it, so just... Fuck this chapter. If you
     hated it, tell me so we can gossip about it behind its back.
***** Chapter Five *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
A few weeks after Dean and Sam move in, Castiel is watching the sun go down
from the bedroom window in the shared apartment. He had the bedroom converted
into a study when he purchased the floor he and his crew live on. It’s where he
conducts a majority of the paper side of the business, and where he brings
associates to meet with him.
Now he sits at his desk, which faces the big window, and watches the sunset as
he contemplates.
The Winchesters have settled in beautifully. It was a bit of a gamble, but
Castiel went ahead and paid to have Sam enrolled in the same private school
that Kevin attends. The boy is flourishing there, receiving high marks in all
courses. The only reason Castiel knows anything about it is because Dean
frequently brags about Sam, about how smart his younger brother is. Sam will
blush and protest, but Dean hears nothing of it and continues to sing Sam’s
praises. Sam never says anything about his own accomplishments, but Castiel is
glad that he at least shares them with Dean, and that Dean shares them with the
rest.
It’s the  only  thing Dean shares.
Castiel supervises each of Dean’s training sessions (and if Benny gives him a
cocked eyebrow at that, at least  Garth  has the decency not to say anything),
so he knows very well that Dean is exceptional. He knows that, in just a few
weeks, Dean has mastered working with Jeff. Castiel is even planning on taking
Dean with him to a music festival this weekend to work the crowd, to see him in
action. It’s the fastest he’s ever taken a student from the mannequin to the
street.
He wishes he could make Dean see his  worth.  Where Castiel sees someone who
has mastered pickpocketing in a remarkably short amount of time, Dean sees
someone who didn’t get it right on the first try. It’s extremely frustrating.
He’s shaken from his thoughts by a soft knock on the door. “Come in.”
Kevin enters the room looking nervous, and Castiel immediately puts all of his
concerns aside to focus on his charge. “Kevin? Is everything all right?”
Kevin gives a jerky nod that Castiel in no way believes. “Yeah, yeah,
definitely.” He swallows hard. “I, uh, wanted to let you know that we’ve had
some reports about that new gang? That Abby lady?”
Castiel nods gravely. “Abaddon, yes. Go on.”
“Uh, just that she’s definitely making waves. Smash and grab jobs, no finesse
at all,” the disdain in Kevin’s voice makes Castiel swell with pride, “but
they’re definitely, uh, making an impression. Public awareness will be up.”
Castiel nods. “We have plenty saved. It won’t hurt us overmuch to stay away
from building and burglary work for a few weeks until it dies down.” When
Kevin’s eyes dart away, Castiel tilts his head. “Was there something else?”
“I just… Sam says that he was with you when you guys ran into her.”
“He was.”
“He says that she… Uh, that she threatened us.”
Ah.  That’s what Kevin is concerned about. “Kevin,” he says firmly, making sure
his voice is confident, “I will let no harm come to any of you. Please do not
worry yourself overmuch. I will deal with Abaddon, should she become a
problem.”
It works, it must, because there is relief in Kevin’s eyes. “Of course, I know
that. Sorry.”
“Do not apologize, I appreciate the vigilance.”
“Okay. I’m gonna, uh, go to bed.”
“Good night, Kevin.”
“’Night, boss.”
As soon as the door is shut behind the teen, Castiel turns to stare out the
window again. He steeples his fingers and rests his index fingers against his
chin as he watches the sunset.
He  is  concerned about Abaddon. She’s a wild card, completely “off her
rocker,” as Dean would say. She holds a grudge against him, and Castiel still
doesn’t have a clear picture as to why. Not that it matters.  None of it
matters. She won’t be putting a hand on any of his crew.
Castiel sighs deeply, settles into his chair, and thinks.
===============================================================================
Bobby Singer trusts Dean Winchester implicitly with the care of his younger
brother.
Bobby has watched helplessly as Dean has sacrificed over and over again, has
given up nights and weekends and things he’s wanted or needed to make sure that
Sam comes first, that Sam is taken care of. Bobby is furious that Dean ever
felt he needed to do so, and he hasn’t spoken a kind word to John Winchester in
almost a decade because of it.
So when Castiel came sniffing around, Bobby was prepared to tear the man apart
limb from limb to make sure he wasn’t taking advantage of Dean. Bobby knows
that Dean  would  let himself be taken advantage of, without missing a beat, to
make sure that Sam is taken care of. No matter how much it would hurt Dean, as
long as Sam is safe, he would do  anything.
Castiel was a surprise in many ways. He’s intelligent and observant. His speech
was quiet but powerful, like he knows he doesn’t  have  to be loud to be heard.
The way he dresses is nice but not overly so, not enough to draw attention to
himself.
Most important for Bobby was that, when Castiel was in his kitchen, he had eyes
only for Dean.
Maybe it’s sappy, and maybe it was stupid to let them go. But Castiel looks at
Dean like Dean is  worth  something, like Dean is  valuable.  Bobby knows that,
of course, and he knows that Sam does, too, but it’s something that others so
rarely see in the boy. Bobby couldn’t help but trust that Castiel was going to
take care of the Winchesters.
A few weeks after he sees them for the last time, he still believes that.
When he sees Dean come into the tavern, the sight of him strengthens that
belief tenfold.
Dean’s eyes are bright as he scans the dining room for Bobby. His hair has been
cut recently, and not by his own scissors this time. He’s putting some weight
on, so he’s losing the gaunt look he’s always had. His clothes are, like
Castiel’s, nice, but not too nice.
Probably most strikingly, there are no bruises on Dean’s face.
Maybe seeing this teenage boy on the verge of health isn’t  that  big a deal.
Maybe seeing his green eyes sparkle wouldn’t strike anyone else like it is
Bobby. But Dean Winchester, as he is right now when he sees Bobby and grins
wide and guileless, is one of the best things he’s ever seen.
===============================================================================
Sam gets home from school that night exhausted but happy. He tosses his bookbag
into one of the armchairs in the living room and plops down onto the couch next
to Dean.
Dean’s eyes are glued to the TV, but he still asks, “How was school, kiddo?”
Sam shrugs. “All right.”
This is a lie. School is  great.  It’s  amazing.  Sam has never been to a
private school before, and he’s never been so  challenged.  There are some
classes in which he has to  work  to keep up with the rest of the class. It’s
exhilarating.
His only wish is that Dean would come with him.
His brother looks over and grins. “Yeah? They teaching you how to keep that big
head of yours screwed on straight?”
Sam would say that he doesn’t know where Dean got the idea that he’s not very
smart from, but it would be a lie. He knows that, until Sam himself was old
enough to know how to fight back, their father spent Dean’s life telling him
that he’s not smart, he’s just a soldier, he’s worthless. Sam has tried to tell
Dean that none of that is true, but he thinks that his words fall on deaf,
unbelieving ears. When Cas told Sam about the school, he asked about Dean
attending, too. Cas answered that it was Dean’s choice, and Dean scoffed when
Sam confronted him about it.
“The book learning’s all about you, Sammy, I’m just making sure you get there,”
was all he said.
No amount of protest from Sam has changed Dean’s mind so far, which is annoying
as hell.
“Something like that,” he murmurs.
The only saving grace of the situation is that Dean seems to be on track to
being a very,  very  good thief. Yeah, normally Sam would have some strong
words about that, he would protest and fight and scream until Dean wasn’t doing
something illegal to put food on the table. The look of pride on Dean’s face
when he was finally able to use Jeff without ringing of the bells, though,
erased all doubts from Sam’s mind. Is it illegal? Yeah. Immoral? Definitely.
But the shaky confidence in Dean’s eyes when Castiel praised him for his work
is worth more than any of that, in Sam’s book.
Not to mention it’s all so  interesting.
Sam doesn’t want to be a thief. He’s actually thinking about being a lawyer,
both because it’s fascinating and because he thinks his brother might need to
be bailed out of jail someday, and it’s about time he was able to help Dean.
The way that Castiel does theft, and therefore is teaching his crew how to
steal, is kind of amazing.
It’s things like making sure you brush your teeth with flavorless toothpaste
before you go out, to make sure you don’t smell like whatever food you just ate
or  minty toothpaste. It’s the selection of clothes for the day of “going out,”
to make sure that you perfectly blend into the crowd you’re in. It’s the way
you walk, the way you talk, it’s so in depth. Sam has seen the way Castiel
speaks normally, upper class, but he can also slip into the vernacular (which
was hilarious), or curse like a sailor, and none of the words sound rough or
unfamiliar on his tongue.
It’s worth mentioning that watching Dean practice his upper-crust speech has
had Sam in stitches every time he hears it, too. He’s getting good, though, and
he’ll get even better.
So, yeah. Sam wishes Dean wasn’t doing this. He wishes they had any sort of
normal childhood. He wishes that Dean didn’t feel responsible for him. It’s one
of only two real downsides to this whole thing.
The other downside, of course, is the  tension.
Every time Cas and Dean are in a room together, well, Benny calls it “eye
fucking.” Garth always protests and calls it “eye making love.” Kevin and Sam
both think it’s just ridiculous. It’s incredibly obvious that they want each
other. The other boys lament that they haven’t fallen into bed together yet,
but Sam usually stays quiet when they discuss his big brother and their
fearless leader.
Because Sam knows  why  they haven’t.
For Castiel, he thinks it’s about Dean’s age and his own position of authority.
He thinks Cas doesn’t want to take advantage of Dean, or to use his own power
over him to do the same.
For Dean, it all comes back to self-worth.  Sam doesn’t see any situation in
which Dean feels like he’s good enough for Castiel, no matter how much bullshit
that may be.
So Sam doesn’t get mad when they make goo-goo eyes at each other. He doesn’t
really complain when you could cut the tension with a knife. It doesn’t bother
him that they seem to orbit one another very carefully, never coming too close,
but never going too far, either.
It really just breaks Sam’s heart.
“Earth to Sam,” Dean is saying. “You ready for dinner?”
===============================================================================
Dean takes his place next to Castiel at the dinner table after he’s helped
Benny pass the food around, and for the five hundredth time, marvels at what
his life is now.
Cas says he’s taking Dean to some sort of outdoor concert this weekend, and he
is  stoked.  Jeff is all well and good, after all, but he’s not a real  person.
Dean is excited to get out into the real world to put himself to the test. Cas
says he thinks Dean will do really well, and Dean’s starting to believe him
despite himself.
He passes food around for everyone, just letting the chatter of the crew wash
over him. Garth’s kind of loud, pitchy voice is always light and cheerful. The
dude  radiates  happiness, and it’s hard to be annoyed with him for it because
he’s so damn  nice.  Kevin is quiet, but smart, with a cutting sense of humor
that almost always catches Dean off guard. Benny’s voice is deep, and the Cajun
accent hides the fact that he’s shrewd as hell, taking in everything around him
and drawing conclusions without a damn bit of it showing on his face. Sam, of
course, is always nerding out at the table. The only reason his nose isn’t
shoved into a book right now is that Cas forbids it at the dinner table.
And then, of course, there’s Cas.
Dean is  aware  of Cas in a way he’s never been aware of another human being.
Every word that rumbles out of Cas’ mouth sends shivers up and down Dean’s
spine. The spark of pride in Cas’ eyes during their lessons has Dean’s chest
puffing up and his own lips pulling up into a smile. Warmth always seems to
radiate off of Cas, seeping into Dean’s bones and making him feel safe.
Dean has never wanted someone like he wants Cas, nor has he ever been so sure
that he can’t act on it.
It’s not the age thing, God knows Dean’s done shadier shit with older men. It’s
just…  Cas.  Cas is smart, and good at the job, and caring, and a whole host of
things that Dean is not. Dean’s not oblivious, he knows that Cas wants him, but
if they gave it a shot, and when it went downhill (because it  would  go
downhill), where does that leave Sam? Homeless? Back in public school? Now that
they’ve had a taste of this, Dean’s not willing to let his little brother go
back to that.
Not while he can do something about it, anyway.
So Dean smiles and jokes around with the crew, and hopes to God that Cas
doesn’t notice that he’s avoiding his gaze.
===============================================================================
That night, back in his office, Castiel picks up the phone and dials a number
that he still has memorized by heart.
“Castiel,” the smooth voice says, and he feels parts of him relax that he
didn’t realize were tense.
“Cain,” he says warmly. “How are you?”
The older man hums. “I’m doing well. The bees are thriving, you know.”
Castiel smiles. “You and your bees.” His tone is warm with affection.
“I’m going to assume that you weren’t calling just to make fun of me,” Cain’s
voice is as fond as Castiel’s is. “Is there something wrong, dear?”
Castiel heaves a sigh. “Several things.”
“Start with the least troubling, we’ll work our way backward.”
He runs a hand through his hair. He knows it does nothing to help its
unruliness, but it’s an old habit that he can’t seem to break, especially late
at night when his mind is heavy with worries. “Well… It’s a boy.”
“Isn’t it always?”
“He’s just… He’s  wonderful.  He’s thoughtful and kind, he takes care of his
younger brother, he’s entirely selfless.” He’s rambling, God help him.
“You’ve taken him as part of the crew?”
“I have.”
“How is he?”
“He’s…” Castiel closes his eyes. “He’s  incredible.  I daresay he rivals you or
I.”
“That’s quite a compliment coming from you.”
“I mean every word.”
“What is the trouble then, love? Don’t tell me he’s hideous, you’ve never been
that shallow.”
He smiles ruefully. “I wish that was the problem. No, he’s extraordinarily
beautiful.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
Castiel is quiet for a moment before answering. “How did you handle your
attraction to me?”
Cain doesn’t miss a beat. “I fucked you, dear.”
Castiel is surprised into long, loud laughter. When he gets a hold of himself,
“Before  you fucked me.”
“I was  seducing  you,” Cain says, his deep voice smug as hell.
Castiel rolls his eyes. “You’re insufferable.”
“You love me.”
“I do.”
Cain hums. “What’s holding you back from making this boy yours?”
“He’s a  boy,  Cain. He’s sixteen.”
“So were you.”
Castiel sighs and leans back in his chair. “So I was.”
“What’s the real problem, Castiel? Don’t lie to me anymore, love.” There’s
steel in Cain’s voice, just a touch of the old hardness, and though Castiel is
much more used to ordering his partners around now, it still makes him shudder
with a whisper of want.
“He’s… Softer than I was,” he says gently, an apology in his tone. “He has
suffered so, so much. I do not wish to add to his suffering, and I do not wish…
I don’t want him to think he’s beholden to do this for me, or to let me do this
to him, as some sort of payment for making him part of the crew.”
There are several beats of silence while Cain absorbs that. “Can you not just
tell him that?”
“I don’t think he would believe me.”
All those years ago, when Cain first propositioned Castiel, when he was still
mostly long, skinny limbs and a burning desire to prove himself, it was easy to
enter their arrangement knowing that it was entirely separate from their
lessons. It was easy to let Cain rule him in bed, then argue with him while
they talked about jobs. When they fell in love, it was easy to just let one
another take over their whole lives. It wasn’t until Castiel started to feel
restless that it became clear that, as long as they’d been together, it wasn’t
to last. Sometimes, on his dark or difficult days, Castiel wonders if he didn’t
make a mistake.
Although, thinking of Dean’s shining green eyes or the smile that’s getting
quicker and easier every day, it’s hard to believe he didn’t make the right
call.
“I don’t want to hurt him any more than he’s been hurt.”
“Oh, my,” Cain says, and the love in his voice makes Castiel beam. “You don’t
just  want  him, you want  him.”
He sighs. “I do.”
“Well, that’s a bit of a different animal, isn’t it?” Cain muses. “I advise
patience, Castiel. You are impossible not to fall in love with, and if you’ve
been making moon eyes at him like you did at me, he will come to you
eventually.”
“I did  not  make moon eyes at you!” Castiel splutters indignantly.
Cain chuckles. “Darling, that’s  all  you made at me.”
It’s so easy to slip back into this banter with Cain. “You fell in love with my
youthful elegance.”
He can hear the smile in Cain’s voice. “That I did, my love. That I did.”
Castiel is struck with a fierce yearning for the man on the other end of the
line. He knows he did the right thing, that at some point, he would have felt
smothered and stifled if he’d stayed. It’s moments like these, though, when he
misses his life with Cain terribly.
“I love you, you know,” he says softly, smiling wistfully.
“And I you, my dear,” Cain responds immediately. “But I think that I will not
be the sole inhabitant of your heart soon, hmm?” There is no jealousy or
bitterness in his voice. When Castiel told him that he needed to go, Cain sent
him with his blessing.
Castiel’s smile widens. “I think… You may be right.” He lets his smile slip
away as he remembers, again, that Dean is not his only concern.
Cain, ever the mind reader, beats him to the punch. “What else is bothering
you?”
“Do you remember Abaddon?”
Chapter End Notes
     - All feedback is appreciated. The good, the bad, and the ugly, I
     welcome it all.
     - *squinty eyes* This chapter can also go fuck itself. Vigorously.
***** Chapter Six *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The sun beats down on the crowd, warming everyone  just  enough. Alcohol is
flowing freely, as it is wont to do at weekend-long music festivals, and the
crowd is pleasantly drunk for the most part. There’s a big stage situated in
the middle of the park, and the bands have done a good job of keeping the crowd
in high spirits.
Castiel couldn’t have chosen a better day to let Dean get his feet wet.
The boy stands next to him without fidgeting, his posture relaxed. The only
sign that he’s not here to enjoy the concert with the rest of them is his eyes,
which are sharp, alert. He watches and weighs each person who passes by,
debating the pros and cons of each mark. The way he dismisses most of them
makes Castiel swell with pride.
Picking pockets is just as much about choosing the mark as it is about stealing
anything at all.
When Dean finds said mark, Castiel approves very much. The man is about Dean’s
height with a medium build. He’s walking carefully, but not stumbling. His eyes
are bleary, but not completely hazed over with alcohol. He’s looking around,
but not paying much attention to what he sees. He’s perfect.
Almost as perfect as Dean.
When Dean casually begins to meander forward, Castiel takes a step back, loses
himself in a different part of the crowd. Oh, he’s never far away enough to
intervene if necessary (and if anything involving Dean ever came to blows, he
doesn’t know  how  he’d react), but he’s deep enough into the throng of people
that Dean can’t see him. As far as Dean knows, he has no safety net.
Castiel watches sharply as Dean wanders up to the guy, and the way he bumps
into him looks flawlessly accidental. Dean laughs a little too loud, and the
way the man grins says that he thinks he’s found a kindred spirit in
drunkenness. Castiel can just watch and marvel as Dean builds a friendly
rapport in just seconds, and has the man leaning on him in minutes, laughing so
hard he can barely stand.
He’s incredible.
Christ, I want him.
When Dean starts talking to a third person, Castiel frowns but doesn’t
interfere. Dean has superb instincts, and Castiel trusts him, but he moves
closer to the scene, anyway.
It’s only another few minutes before Dean is letting his mark lean against the
third man, all three of them laughing and joking. Dean salutes them, then
stumbles his way to Castiel. It isn’t until he’s out of sight of the other men
that his walk straightens out and he moves again with the unconscious grace of
youth  (just like he will move in my… No, no, stop it).  While he is always
extraordinary in Castiel’s eyes, Dean blends in very well with the other
members of the crowd. Only his twinkling green eyes give away that anything is
amiss.
He comes to stand next to Castiel again, body language still shockingly casual.
“How’d I do?” he murmurs after a few moments. It’s only a subtle movement of
his hand in the pocket of his jacket that shows Castiel that he has a wad of
cash there.
“Very well.” Castiel tries to be constructive with his praise when he’s
teaching his crew, but it seems to flow out of him with ease when it comes to
Dean. Dean is just so  good.
His crooked grin sends a bolt of emotion through Castiel’s chest that he
refuses to examine. “Yeah?”
Castiel smiles. “You know you did very well, Dean.”
The boy laughs. “Damn right I did!” Even his little celebration is quiet enough
not to disturb or alert the people around them.
“How do you feel?”
Dean’s smile is bright and happy. “I feel great, Cas.” His eyes are intensely
green in the sunlight. “Actually, I kinda feel like this crowd hasn’t given us
everything it can.”
Castiel cocks an eyebrow, desperately trying to quell the fire rushing through
his veins at the mischief on Dean’s young face. “Is that so?”
He looks around at the concert. The reasons that it was a perfect place to let
Dean try his first pickpocket are all good reasons to continue. Namely, few
people will be focused enough to really stop them, and when they sober up,
they’ll be embarrassed enough that they won’t say anything about missing cash.
Or, even better, they’ll think they lost or spent it and don’t remember.
“Very well, little one,” Castiel says, his own smirk spreading across his face.
“Let’s get to work.”
===============================================================================
For each haul that they bring home, it’s split evenly between each person who
was part of the job, then into percentages.
Thirty percent, Castiel explains, goes to what he calls the “house fund.” Dean
takes that to mean it helps pay the bills for the apartments, as well as
groceries for the shared apartment where they all have dinner together every
night. Castiel explains it also pays for things like doctor’s visits, dentists,
and the like. “It would be terribly humiliating to be caught because someone
recognized bad dental hygiene.”
Another thirty percent goes into an “individual fund” that Castiel has set up
in each of their names. He says it’s for things like college or houses, but
Dean’s not thinking about any of that shit. College? Never. He’s not smart
enough for college. Hell, he didn’t even finish high school. For Sam, maybe, so
he lets that slide. But a house? The hell would he want a house for?
He thinks that until it occurs to him that, at some point, Castiel is gonna
want him out of here. Sammy will probably be long gone to whatever fancy
college he decides on by then. Once he realizes that he’ll have to leave, as
much as he wants to stay here, and as much as he doesn’t want to be alone, he
stays quiet about the money being put away for his future.
He just… Tries not to dwell on it.
The rest of the money is just his, though, to do whatever he wants with it. He
and Cas walked away from the festival with around a thousand dollars between
the two of them. It kind of boggled Dean’s mind, especially when, once Cas was
done splitting up the dough, he handed Dean two hundred dollars cash.
“The hell is all this for?” he asked.
Cas just raised his eyebrows. “It’s for you, Dean. For whatever you wish.”
He just said it so…  Casually,  like it was obvious that it’s for Dean. Like
this money that isn’t for rent, or food, or school books, or anything else that
he (Sam) needs, like it’s all for him. He goes back into the apartment in a
daze and spends a long time sitting on the couch, just staring at the money in
his hand.
After not too terribly long, he gets a warm feeling in his chest. Because  this
is what Castiel makes him feel like. This is what it’s like being taken care
of. This is what it’s like to not have to be scared every day of not being able
to feed Sam, or that they won’t have a roof over their heads. He feels a twinge
a guilt about how little he’s thought about John the last few weeks, but his
dad hasn’t reached out to him at all, and mostly? Mostly, Dean just feels
grateful.
It’s a dangerous emotion, but since he’s certain that he can keep it secret, he
lets himself bask in it before he rolls the money up and puts it in his sock
drawer.
===============================================================================
A few weeks after Dean’s first job, during which they’ve hit several more small
venues, there’s a knock on the shared apartment door.
Castiel, who is running Garth through his paces with Jeff (again, endlessly,
fruitlessly), frowns. The only people who have any reason to come to the
apartment not only have a key, but Castiel knows where they are. Sam and Kevin
are at school, Dean and Benny are hanging out in Benny’s apartment, and Garth
is here, with him.
Bless the boy, though, he’s endlessly optimistic. “We have a visitor!”
Castiel is not so thrilled. “Indeed. Stay here, Garth.”
“Whatever you say, boss.”
When Castiel looks through the peephole, he relaxes. He takes a deep breath to
brace himself for the whirlwind that’s about to happen, then opens the door
wide.
She’s grinning at him, like she always does. Her bright red hair is longer than
it was last time he saw her, he likes it. She’s wearing her customary t-shirt
and jeans, has bulky headphones resting around her neck, and her hand is held
up in the Vulcan salute.
“Hello, Charlie.”
“‘Sup, chief? Where my bitches at?”
===============================================================================
Charlene Bradbury, a name she chose mostly by herself, partially with Castiel’s
advice (“I want to be called Charlie.” “And you can be called Charlie, but your
full name must be Charlene.” “But I hate that.” “Such is life, dearest.”)
remains the only child who sought  him  out. At thirteen, she also remains his
youngest apprentice.
Charlie is not a good pickpocket at  all.  She’s a bit of a disaster in crowds.
She’s a passable burglar at best, although her roof work is miles ahead of her
crowd work.
She is, however, an incredible cyber thief.
Castiel didn’t do much to train Charlie, as she had been as knowledgeable as
she could get when she’d gotten to him. What he tried to do, and what he feels
he did fairly well, was to instill  morals  into her.
Now, he knows, Charlie views herself (rather accurately) as a Robin Hood type
character, stealing from the grossly rich and giving back to the needy. She
prefers animal welfare organizations, he’s noticed, although she’s made quite a
few donations to other institutions, as well. Though he doesn’t understand how
her form of thievery works, he knows that it does, and he’s extremely proud of
her and everything she’s accomplished.
===============================================================================
After dinner that night, where there were introductions and reunions (Charlie
was only here for a bit when Kevin was first brought into the crew before she
left to make her own way), Charlie joins Castiel in the office.
“‘Sup, chief?”
He smiles. “Hello, Charlie. Are you enjoying your visit?”
It’s because of Charlie that Castiel is able to do most of what he does for his
crew. She’s the one who sets up bank accounts, acquires or forges school
records or official documents, and has scoped out a potential mark on more than
one occasion. Though she calls herself a “freelancer” now, a significant amount
of Charlie’s time is still spent working for Castiel.
“Good, good,” she says easily as she flops down in one of the armchairs facing
the desk. “Got a good crew this time.”
Castiel smiles. “Yes, I think so, too.”

 “Kevin’s still too fucking smart for his own good.” She grins. “Although he’s
not a fan of cyber thievery.”

 “Kevin believes in the honor of the craft in its original form.”

 Charlie scoffs. “Old men, you two are kindred spirits of old men.” She eyes
him carefully before speaking again. “So… Dean’s something else, hm?”

 A surge of jealousy rears its head  (she’s pretty she’s outgoing and vivacious
she’s age appropriate)  before he’s able to remind himself that Charlie is as
gay as he himself is. He hums noncommittally.

 Charlie and Dean got along very well from the moment they laid eyes on one
another. Rapid-fire speech about Star Trek and Star Wars and any number of
things Castiel has no frame of reference for left his head spinning. Sam’s eyes
were fond when he accused them of “geeking out,” and Castiel got the impression
that Dean doesn’t have many friends, if he has any at all.

 Charlie rolls her eyes. “Okay. Let’s address the UST.”

 He frowns. “UST?”

 “Unresolved sexual tension.”

 Unbelievably, he feels himself starting to blush. “I have no idea what you’re
talking about,” he says, voice tight with tension.

 She nods wisely. “So… We’re lying to ourselves?”

 Not to ourselves, no.  “Charlie, nothing is-“

 She holds a hand up. “No use lying to me, chief. Not only do I know you, I
have eyeballs, and have therefore been witness to the pining.”

 He considers for a moment, trying to deceive her again, but gives it up as a
lost cause. “Yes, well, I don’t intend to act on the pining.”

 “Why?”

 He looks up at her with a cocked eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

 She shrugs. “He clearly wants you back. Why not make a move?”

 “He’s sixteen, Charlene.”

 She makes a face. “Don’t call me Charlene. And so?”

 “He’s a child.”

 “So he’s old enough to put his ass on the line for you, but not old enough to
get into that sweet ass?”

 “… Must you be so crude?”

 She beams. “Alas, I must.” Sobering, “Seriously, Cas. What’s going on?”

 He runs a hand through his hair. “He’s sixteen, Charlie, and he has
experienced so few good things in life. He’s… Faced a lot, with remarkable
poise for his age.”

 “So shouldn’t you want to give him some of the good things he’s missed?” she
suggests gently.

 “I cannot take advantage of him like that.”

 She smirks. “From what I saw today, he wouldn’t mind getting taken advantage
of.”

 He sighs. “Charlie, it’s… I am the first adult with the means and inclination
to take the responsibility off of his shoulders, to take care of him. It… Any
feelings he has are clouded by that. Misguided hero worship at most.”

 There’s deep sympathy etched onto her features now. “And, let me guess, you’re
not just gonna  talk  to him about this.”

 “It would be taking advantage. I don’t… He might feel obligated to indulge my
feelings to keep his place here, especially for Sam. Even if I insisted that he
wasn’t beholden to me…” Castiel shrugs. “It’s enough of a consent issue that
I’m not willing to move forward.”

 Charlie is frowning, but she doesn’t argue with him, for which he’s grateful.
It’s strange enough talking about this with someone who’s just a few years
older than Dean himself, but Charlie was one of his  charges.

 “Well, that blows, chief.”

 “Indeed.”

 “Well, onto brighter subjects, I’ve been teaching the children how to
internet.”

 Castiel smiles, thankful for everything that Charlene Bradbury is. “And how
has that gone for you?”

 “Well, Sam showed some interest in my kind of work, so point one for me. And
Garth, weirdly enough, has got some serious hidden talent.”

 “I refuse to be surprised by anything Garth does anymore.”

===============================================================================
Dean is shooting the shit with Benny in the Cajun’s apartment after dinner,
thinking that it’s about time to head back to his own place, when Benny gets
that look in his eye.

 “So… Castiel.”

 Dean groans. “Not again, Lafitte.”

 Benny is on some sort of mission from hell to get Dean to confess how he feels
to Cas, which is never going to happen. He doesn’t bring it up every time they
hang out alone, but often enough that Dean usually makes sure at least one
other person is with them.

 Dean just doesn’t know how to explain how much better Castiel is than him.
Dean was barely able to take care of Sam, who is just one kid, and Cas has all
of  this.  Cas is a famous thief, and Dean is some nobody he rescued.

 He leans his head back against the couch, his eyes closed. Normally he laughs
it off, makes a joke at his own expense, but somehow it’s not coming to him
today. “He’s not looking at me twice, Benny,” he says softly, a rare moment of
pure honesty. “Hell, I’m nothing.”

 There’s a beat of silence, then a strong hand clapping down on his knee. He
raises his head and looks directly into Benny’s ice blue eyes.

 “Nothing, you ain’t, brotha,” he says gently, and it takes Dean a moment to
even parse out a meaning through the accent. “And besides, if you don’t think
he’s been looking, you ain’t been paying attention.”

 That’s enough of that. “Come on, Benny, you know everyone’s got an eye on my
sweet ass.” He smiles dashingly to sell it.

 Benny rolls his eyes, just like Dean wanted, but he does not stop talking,
which is not what Dean wanted. “Joke all you want, Dean. I think the two of you
are dancing around each other for no reason, is all.”

===============================================================================
It takes Dean a long time to fall asleep that night, wondering if Benny is
right about the way Cas looks at him, wondering if it even matters.

===============================================================================
That night, Cas and Charlie meet in the office again, this time for business.

 “All righty,” she says, settling at the desk and cracking her knuckles. “What
am I looking for here?”

 He’s leaned against the desk next to her, staring out the window, frowning.
“Abaddon must have a plan of some sort. I need to know if we can find out what
it is.”

 “… And whatever other dirt I can dig up on dear old Abbie, so we can take her
down, right?”

 Castiel smiles vaguely. “Do whatever you feel is right, Charlie.”

 She pats him on the hip without looking up from her computer screen. “Aw, Cas.
I was gonna do that, anyway.”
Chapter End Notes
     - Feedback gets my motor running.
     - Come see me on tumblr!
     - I promise that we'll have some plot soon, instead of just pining
     and picking pockets.
     - Sidenote: "Pining and Picking Pockets" would have been a great
     title for this story.
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