Bring It On Home- A Destiel AU [COMPLETED]

Chapter 3

Dean didn't see Castiel again for two weeks.

Like Jeff and Laura had said, he didn't come out much. Whatever "photography" he did, he either didn't do it very often or he did it all inside the house. Like Jeff and Laura had also noted, occasionally men with suitcases or messenger bags would drive up to Castiel's house and knock on the door, looking around coolly. The front door would swing open and they'd step inside. A few hours later, they'd emerge again.

Maybe he really was a drug dealer.

It didn't matter to Dean. Okay, it did a little, but didn't want it to. He was making a good impression at the new office and putting in extra hours, coming in on the weekends and staying late. He didn't have time to spy on the neighbor. When he came home, he collapsed in his aesthetically bare living room and watched bad horror movies on Netflix. He was glad it was fall and the grass wasn't growing very fast, since he hadn't had a chance to buy a mower yet. He called Sam regularly, and Bobby called once or twice. Jeff had him over to watch a game, and Laura turned out to be a passionate football fan. Life was good. Quiet, but good.

Then, one Sunday evening after dusk, Dean took his trash to the curb and saw Castiel at work in his garden.

It was a comical sight, really. Castiel had a child's headlamp on, the purple elastic band around his head decorated with green dinosaurs. The beam illuminated his busy hands, bare and scrabbling in the earth as he dug out weeds and shook the dirt out of their roots.

Dean couldn't help but walk over. "Gardening," he commented.

Castiel didn't look up, didn't pause for a moment. "I find..." He yanked a root from the ground and grunted with the effort. "... physical contact with nature to be deeply fulfilling."

"You know, I've heard about this wacky new thing called 'daytime'," Dean said. "It's this period of about eight to ten hours where the sky is all bright and you can see dandelions without a flashlight strapped to your head. Maybe you've heard of it?"

Castiel stopped and clambered to his feet, brushing the dirt off of his knees. "Heard of it," he replied. "Tried it. I don't care for it." He turned to Dean and the corners of his mouth turned up just slightly. "Or perhaps I just feel small in the sunlight. Exposed. In the darkness, I can imagine..." Slowly he lifted his arms, stretched wide from his body. "I can imagine that I am as large as my consciousness. That the parts of me you cannot see are merely obscured in shadow. That my body is merely the instrument wielded by a far greater and more incredible creature." He stood there a moment, spread eagle, his head tilted back, light beaming from his forehead into the night sky, and his eyes flashing electric blue.

Dean stared at him.

The guy was crazy. Crazy and high as kite. That went without saying. But for a moment...

For a moment it seemed true.

And then Castiel blinked. "I should turn this off." He reached up and turned off the headlamp, plunging them both into darkness.

It took a minute for Dean's eyes to adjust, and for a minute he couldn't see Castiel's face, just his black figure, and maybe that's why in that minute he suddenly blurted out, "Are you gay?"

Castiel stood silent. After a long pause he answered, "Does that matter to you?"

"No," Dean answered, speaking mostly the truth. "But I - I think you should know that I'm straight." He was thankful that Castiel couldn't see the embarrassed flush on his face.

Slowly, Dean's eyes were acclimating, and Castiel's face became slightly more distinguishable. He looked amused. "You think I'm interested."

Shit. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just - forget I said anything, alright?"

"It's fair, Dean." Castiel stepped forward. "You're an attractive man, and I do like you. And I like the look of you, but not in the way that you're thinking."

Dean's cheeks were absolutely on fire now. He rubbed his mouth and fought the urge to bail and run.

"You look trustworthy. You look capable. You look... " Castiel stepped even closer now, his face completely clear in the dim yellow of the streetlight down the way, and suddenly, his expression changed. Something lonely in his eyes, something earnest in his eyebrows, something hopeful in his mouth. "Can we be friends, Dean? I would very much like to have a friend."

Dean had no idea what to say, so he said, "Sure." And then he said, apropos of nothing, "You seem different tonight."

Castiel smiled softly, and he said, "I'm less cynical when I drink."

And apparently tonight they were playing Truth or Dare, so Dean asked, "Do you deal drugs?"

"No," he answered. "But I partake."

"I don't," Dean said, "and my house is clean. I really don't care, your business is your business, and you do what you want, but that is the one hard and fast rule. Alright?"

Castiel's gaze sharpened, and he asked, "Why?"

"Drug screenings. Can't risk it."

Castiel tilted his head slightly. "Try again."

Dean almost thought he misheard him. "What?"

"This is personal to you." Castiel tucked his hands into his pockets. "So tell me why you keep a clean house."

And before it, Dean found himself saying, "My brother," before he could wisely shut his trap.

And then Castiel seemed to know it all, nodding like he had unlocked the great mystery of Dean and suddenly it all made sense. "Of course, of course," he murmured, his deep voice dropping even lower. "The pieces interlock, the plot thickens, the tumblers fall into place. A younger brother."

Dean frowned. "That's not what I said."

"You didn't need to." Castiel's gaze cut right through him. "How old were you when your mother left?"

And suddenly Dean couldn't breathe, and he stumbled backwards, and he kept going, kept walking backwards. "No," he choked. "Don't. No."

Castiel's eyes went wide, and his mouth went small and tight. "Dean," he said, "I'm sorry."

Dean turned and walked back to his house, walked faster and faster until he was jogging up the porch and slamming the front door behind him, locking the deadbolt and squeezing his eyes shut as hard as he could.