Start Of Time

chapter 1

January 05th and Dean had just gotten his window fixed, the new sheet so glossy and untouched that the rest of the windows in the house looked somewhat old and out of style. Dean just shrugged it off tough, the energy to put himself to unnecessary work, just not there. He was tired, and for the first time in a long time it wasn’t about his life and how he couldn’t carry on living it anymore. He was just exhausted fixing up his new home. From the leaky pipes in the main bathroom, to the ceiling, the lights, the snow outside, and the damn window he had to fix, Dean wasn’t sure he would even have time to do what he promised to do the day he decided to hang up his hat—nothing. He had been planning on doing nothing the whole day but never got as far as to do it, even his night was busy, Sam came over with Eileen, breaking the news about their engagement.

That was quite a lot to take in and he couldn’t digest it all, not without a glass of whiskey that is. It’s not that he isn’t happy for them because he is, he really is but he's slightly jealous of his little brother too. He's doing great with his life, he went back to finish his law degree, he got engaged to the woman of his dreams and he got an amazing job at some law firm in California. He has it good, and all Dean has is his house, his dog and car. Yeah, he said it was what he wanted, peace and quiet and— God! He can never finish that line. It’s what he wanted at first, it’s what he thought he wanted but turns out that peace and quiet can get quite lonely.

He was all alone and he was fine with it until he wasn’t, until he realised that ‘fuck, I really need someone to have a drink with' and ‘it’d be great to have someone to share my thoughts with' and then ‘I want someone to hold me while I sleep and kiss me when I wake'. He wanted to share himself with another person the same way he’d notice Sam do with Eileen. They’re a beautiful couple and while Dean loves what they have, he wants what they have, he’s envious and he isn’t afraid to admit it.



♧♧♧


January 06th, Dean finds himself at a bar, dressed in one of the best clothes in his closet, the ones that make him look slightly younger and more attractive. He's wearing a white fitted shirt, a denim jacket and a pair of black skinny jeans that shows off his thighs quite nicely. He’s on the prowl and god is he a nervous wreck about it. He never really had that problem before, maybe because he’d usually only want a woman to spend the night with, but now… he’s looking for something more, and part of him is afraid that he couldn’t get it, that he isn’t enough.

He lets out a sigh as he takes a seat by the bar, his willpower to not have more than two glasses of whiskey, gone. The night hadn’t gone the way he planned, in fact it went exactly the way he knew it would. He got nothing, nothing serious at least. All the women he approached seems to only want a slice of Dean to go and nothing more. It’s disappointing to say the least but what was he expecting trying to find a life partner in a bar on a Tuesday night.

“give me the strongest of whatever you have, please.” He doesn’t really make effort to look at the bartender, his mind too preoccupied with the tick-tocks of his time running out. He can't stop thinking about it for one moment and it's starting to get on every last nerve of his.

He sits and drinks alone for about 15 minutes, drowning in self pity, before the last person he expected to walk into a bar approaches him. Dean’s not sure if it’s the fact that he’s slightly intoxicated or what but Castiel looks amazing under the red and blue florescent lights, he's glowing, the light illuminating his features so perfectly that for a second he looks like something out of a movie.

“what the hell possessed you to come here?” Deans words slurs a bit, wobbly as they struggle to make it out of his mouth.

“I could ask you the same question. I always come here Tuesdays.” Castiel answers, his presence already acknowledged by another bartender, his eyes frequently darting over to the older man as he fixes his drink.

Dean doesn’t say anything. Unsure of how to carry a conversation with a man he dislikes but just found attractive two minutes ago. He’s still not sure why that happened, why he could think of Castiel of all people in such a way.

There’s silence between them but it doesn’t bother them because for the first time since they’ve met, they’re not arguing. And there’s the fact that they didn’t go to the bar together so there’s no sense of responsibility to keep the conversation going on either of their shoulders.

Castiel speaks to the young bartender who for the life of me cannot stop fumbling while he works, poor Mick fucked up at least three orders because of his little ‘crush'. Dean notices everything and it ticks him off because it was Dean’s drinks that he messed up, and it was Dean who had to drink a damn cosmopolitan instead of the bourbon he initially ordered. He could’ve complained, hell, he wanted to throw the damn glass at the guy but he didn’t want to be known as the new grunt of the neighbourhood.

“Mick’s got a real crush on you.” Dean speaks and catches Castiel so off-guard that he darts his eyes around to see who Dean is actually speaking to. There’s no one around, nearly not close enough to hear what Dean had to say.

“What do you mean?” Castiel frowns, his head inclining as he does so.

“He gave you like two free drinks, he hinted that he’s single and he can’t stop looking at you.” He says and as he speaks, Mick watches them from a safe distance, his heart boiling over with the jealously he has for Dean Winchester.

Castiel turns his head, ever so slightly, his eyes meeting the blue specked ones of Mick Davies. He stares for a moment and tries to understand what someone that utterly gorgeous would want with him—

“No.” he tears his gaze away from the young man, his eyes not meeting Dean’s as he fixes them on his folded hands on the counter.

“I get it. You don’t swing that way.” Dean says and takes another sip from his drink, the strong alcohol lighting a fire in the pit of his belly.

“I actually do.” He speaks after a beat. His voice tremulous and his words lacking the confidence he never thought he wouldn’t have when admitting something so fucking normal to a stranger. It could be the fact that part of him— the very tiniest part in him— actually likes something in Dean and he’s afraid that he wouldn’t accept him, or the fact that after all of these years of being afraid to live with freedom and pride, he’s still afraid, still cautious of bigoted people filled with irrational hate and anger. He still fears that.

“y-you’re gay?” Dean couldn’t have possibly asked that question in a more ‘what the fuck?’ way and if he could slam his face against a wall right now, he would.

“I mean, I’m not grossed out or… it’s just that I didn’t think—” he falters and stops himself before he says anything else that would make him look like a bigoted little fuck.

There’s a pang of regret in both Dean and Castiel’s guts and if they could rip that feeling out with their bare hands, they would.

“Right. I think I should leave now.” Castiel stands to his feet, his gut in his throat, the effects of the couple of beers he spent a whole hour sipping on, gone.

Dean wants to stop him, apologize for being an idiot but the idiot in him doesn’t let him. He watches as Castiel walks out, his shoulders heavier than what they looked when he entered the bar. He disappears behind a small crowd of people and before Dean knows it, he’s gone.

He sits alone once more, drowning in self-pity and now, hatred.


♧♧♧


January 10th. Dean had not seen Castiel since the bar incident and a part of him is grateful for that. A part of him believes that Castiel’s forgotten all about it and is by now so caught up in grading his students work that he couldn’t be bothered by Dean. Part of it is true, Castiel had been busy, his mind too preoccupied to think of his probably homophobic neighbour, but he hadn’t forgotten anything, though a big part of him wishes he could— that he could forget about Dean in the process too.

The impala is perfect and up to par but Dean is under it, trying to fix it— trying to keep his mind busy, to not think about what horse crap his life is, especially compared to his brother’s. He needs to do this, anything to forget about everything. Even Castiel, who for some reason can’t stay the hell out of Dean’s mind.

“alright, that ought to do the trick.” He slides out from under his car, his clothes and hands covered in motor oil. He gets up and his attention diverts for a moment when he spots Mick exiting Castiel’s house, the raven haired man following suit, his shoulders relaxed and his hair disheveled as he saunters, escorting the bartender to his car.

Their eyes meet for a moment and Castiel wishes that his fence was higher as he takes Dean’s expression however he wants it. He glares at him, the snide comments from Dean echoing in his head.

Dean doesn’t say anything, he just looks away, feeling like he deserved that look from Cas. He wanted to apologize right then and there but as you probably guessed, the words got tied up into knots in the roof of his mouth and he couldn’t even say so much as a ‘hi.’.

Dean tends to his not broken car again as he listens to the sound of Mick’s BMW roar to life. The sound fades within minutes and he takes that as cue to climb out of his car and march over to his neighbour’s house.

He knocks three times and steps back, swaying from heel to heel as he waits.

The cherry door creaks open just as Dean is about to knock again. His right fist hovers in the air as his eyes meets Castiel’s. They’re blue, beautiful and enticing, so much so that Dean almost forgets what he came here for.

“Did you come to hate crime me?” the voice snaps him out of his daze and he lets down his hand, letting it fall to his side as he registers Castiel’s accusatory words.

“Was what happened at the bar not enough for you, Dean?” Dean doesn’t answer. How could he when his neighbour hardly gives him any chance to breathe.

“man, I swear once you pulled up with that 80 year old muscle car that reeks of white supremacy and homophobia I should’ve known—”

“Dammit, Novak!” Dean interrupts. His tone, surprisingly, isn’t harsh though he wishes it could’ve been for Cas insulting him and his car like that, but he lets it go. It’s not worth the fight.

“I’m trying to apologize for what happened and you ain’t makin’ it easy for me.” He adds.

“Oh, right, of course. Why don’t I just hand you your apology in a silver platter and you can just hand it right back, yeah?” the sarcasm in his tone is laced with hurt and Dean can hear it.

“Cas, man. I’m really sorry. I had more than a few drinks in and you kinda took me by surprise there. I really didn’t mean to react the way I did and If I could take it back, I would.” He says, still swaying from heel to heel, unable to stop.

“You and I never see eye to eye, in fact we don’t fucking like each other but I wouldn’t intentionally hurt you, especially not in the way I’ve done. It was a poor reaction, trust me, I don’t care who you fuck and don’t fuck.” He’s always sucked at apologies but when Dean does apologize, he truly means it.

“I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear you blame the beer somewhere in that—”

“Come on. I’m not blaming it on alcoh— okay, look. I take full responsibility for my actions. I’m sorry, okay.” He presses a hand against his chest, his brows raised with remorse.

Castiel waves him off, the pathetic pained look Dean is giving him like torture.

“It’s fine.” He says, his hand on his door, ready to close it and get some shut eye for a few hours before Kelly brings Jack home.

Dean nods lightly before shoving his cold hands back into his pockets and stepping off the porch. He turns back for a brief moment and finds Castiel still looking it at him, his expression nonchalant and unreadable.

“—just get the fuck out of my yard, Winchester.” And there he is, classic Cas.

Dean disappears and Castiel shuts his door before heading up to his room for a well deserved nap, the lack of sleep finally catching up to him.