For Sam
It all started with a dog, the stupid dog that Sam refused to part with. The thing was barely a runt but it made Sammy light up like the fucking sun. And Dean wasn’t going to let anything take that away from his little brother.
But of course after a night of too much drinking, Dean managed to leave the gate open long enough to stumble back into the house. He was careful enough to get in without Mary catching him, but Sam’s dog managed to slip pass Dean in his confusion.
Now Dean was stuck posting Lost Dog: If Found Please Contact Owner with the lamest picture of the dog, and Dean’s cellphone number in bold on pull away paper. He was going to find that dog if it killed him.
“Dean just leave it,” Sam protested, standing a good distance away from Dean as he staples too many into the wood pole.
“No I’ve got to fix this,” Dean fiddled with the paper until Sam pulled him away, more focused on finding the dog than arguing with Dean. Dean alone had placed over thirty flyers around the neighborhood, and Sam was fine without the neighborhood being plastered with flyers on everything on Dean’s eye level.
Dean kicked his feet as Sam led the way back home. It’s impossible to convince Sam that Dean needed to stay and post these signs, or the dog will never be found, and that would weigh too heavy on him.
But Dean had a pretty full plate of things to deal with, and he had learned long ago how to compartmentalize. He followed Sam, rolling into the motion of the week. Losing the dog was the aftermath. An issue to be dealt with later after the main catastrophe was amended. Dean just wasn’t prepared for his problems to come full circle, right back to the original, traumatic issue.
He also hadn’t meant to follow Chuck to the sleazy strip club. Dean failed to pick up on after a decade of living minutes away, and with good reason. The urge to be surrounded by half naked bodies did not attract Dean, though it didn’t deter him. It was mostly Chuck’s constant pestering that left Dean with two options, and Dean settled for a stubborn compromise to attend. It was better than spraying Chuck with cold water.
The entrance of the club alone left Dean with an unwell feeling, the air thick with sweat and pumping music. Chuck had saved some waitress from a rowdy customer, and she had repaid them with free drinks. There was no way Dean could pass for 21, but he wasn’t going to refuse a free drink. Putting alcohol anywhere Chuck was a mistake, and the drinks hit Dean before he even realized.
“See that guy, the one weird porn star outfit,” Chuck points to a man far across the room, past the general seating, which was much closer to the performance than Dean allowed them to sit. Chuck wanted to sit far closer to the stage, but Dean sat in the back corner, refusing to move an inch further. Dean wasn’t a prude or anything, he just knew the limits of his self-control.
And watching strippers with his friend was uncomfortable enough, but then the song changed to a slower melody. The sound alone demanded his attention, sending a warm, tingling sensation through his entire body. His drink disappeared with a frustrated sigh as strong, muscular figure enters the stage. The man captivated him; the sensual movement was enough to keep Dean’s eyes locked on the dark hair man. Dean sank into his seat, running his fingers over the smooth, finished glass. With his eyes locked on the man a small, deep groan escapes into the rim of his glass.
“Distracted?” Chuck joked, and Dean hung his head with embarrassment at the realization that the dancer was skilled enough to distract him for so long.
“I just really like this song,” Dean deflected as the sound system cuts to intense house music, signaling the end of the performance.
“Anyway that guy said he could hook us up with private dances with our favorite dancer.”
“Yeah but not for no reason-What did you have to do?”
“It’s a special thanks, but that’s not the important part is you and Mr. Hunky can get someone on one time,” Chuck offered, leaning back against his chair as his buzz propelled him into higher than normal self-confidence.
“I-I’m not interested.”
“Dean you were hypnotized!”
“He’s just a good dancer,” Dean defended, though it was becoming more common for Chuck to try to pair him up with every guy they meet since Dean came out as bisexual. It didn’t matter that girls were still on the menu; Chuck was convinced to be the best gay wingman “Dean could ever want”, though it was started to feel more like he was being pressured into awkward situations.
“So just watch him dance,” Chuck convinced, and gave the owner a strange hand signal.
Dean was issued a new drink, and ushered to the back room where many perverts before him had partaken in reasonably priced voyeurism. Dean’s journey ended in a small, private room with walls lined with snow leopard print wallpaper, tarnished posters and graffiti. There was a lone, black leather chair in the center of the room, with a small radio in the corner. Dean peered at the chair, analyzing it for any oddities before sitting down. His drink spills on his fingers, signaling that he might have been too drunk to be out this late.
Dean leaned back in the chair, swishing the dry liquid for luck, but swallowing a few more gulps for courage. His eyes never leave the door, and the anticipation of it left a restless ache he could not ignore.
Dean had accepted that he isn’t particular with his partners, if he ever had them. He was stuck in high school though, where it seemed like every girl he went after had an issue with his lack of preference. But honestly, the only downside to any of this was Chuck’s constant failure at being a wingman even after Dean insisted he wanted no part in it.
“Fucking Gabriel, are you even 18,” He asked, standing in the door way. He was dressed in civilian clothes, dark washed jeans and a slim t-shirt that seemed to outline every curve in his skin.
Dean exhaled sharply, “Well yea, the guy up front-uh Gabriel-let me in, said I could get a dance with whoever I want” He leans back in his chair.
“And out of everybody you picked me?” The man teased, fiddling with the radio behind Dean. “Balthazar is very popular, but he isn’t something to get lost in.”
“I-,” Dean starts but is cut off.
“No need to explain, you locked eyes with me my entire routine, and now you’re desperate for more,” A faster song played now as the man undressed. “What’s your name?”
“Dean,” He wanted to lie, but he doesn’t, he wanted some realness to it all.
“Dean,” The word fills Dean’s ear, breathy and warm, all his skin felt tender. The dancer is no longer dressed, except for underwear that fit too snug for Dean to remain calm. He hovers over Dean, inches away. Dean attempted to close the distance, but was pushed back against the chair. “Ever had sex?” The dancer asked, his body moves in planned motion, but even when he moved closer to Dean it was still a tease.
“Why does it matter,” Dean states, he wasn’t willing to suffer any more embarrassment.
“So no? That’s really a shame,” The dancer paused, and adds, “Dean.”
Dean squirmed closer, but every instance of brief contact drives him crazy.
He danced closer as the song played out, his body against Dean’s. There was tension in the space between them, but the song ends. There was no movement, and Dean’s breathe was erratic as he attempted to recover. Dean stared, full of desperation.
“Hope you had fun Dean, next time it isn’t free,” He planted a soft, tempting kiss on Dean’s lips, and lingered just long enough for Dean to kiss back, full of recklessness and too many drinks. The dancer broke away with a smile, and left Dean frustrated.
Dean stumbled home with every part of him tingling. It’s hard to tell if it’s the alcohol or just how he moved, but it has Dean with a vulnerable, rawness. He would never see the man again. He doesn’t know his name, but he knows the reality of it. Dean doesn’t get a love story, especially with an exotic dancer. Dean’s a queer, nerdy kid in high school, the best he gets was guilty touching, or a pathetic lap dance he didn’t even pay for.
It’s Sam’s dog that matters. Dean told himself that, never forgetting, but that didn’t stop the ache for contact. The guy kissed him, that’s it. Dean had done that before, way back in junior high with Lisa behind the bleachers. But the farthest they had gone was heavy petting, and that was not enough contact to make it through high school.
Dean wanted to forget the whole night, but Chuck had other plans. Before he had even arrived Chuck had told the entire science fiction club, his homeroom and whoever else was willing to listen. Chuck told the tale of chivalry and blonde dancers, leaving Dean out of the story. The story of Dean’s dancer stayed in a small circle. Chuck had still described every aspect of the guy’s body to a very flustered Sam, who managed to give cautious support.
“He stumbled home like a love sick idiot- he walked around Lawrence Avenue at least ten times before turning in,” Chuck stated, with dramatic emphasis on his tale. That earned heartfelt laughter with Sam. Dean didn’t like to admit it, but having Sam in the high school saved him a lot of grief. Dean never had many friends, and having someone around who always had time for him helped. “And then when he finally gets in to the house, he’s such a mess he lets the damn dog loose,” Chuck finished, and the laughter ceased.
Dean didn’t dare to look at Sam, who was definitely making a very sincere bitch face. Chuck froze, offering no timely comedy relief. Dean starred at the table, trying to find a reasonable excuse. He shouldn’t be so lost, but there was a change under his skin that made him crave even the slightest contact.
“Look, Sam I fucked up,” Dean started.
“Yeah, but you spent all weekend hanging those lame posters around town. I’m not going to hate you for being drunk and stupid.”
“But what if we never find him?”
“Mom’s gonna kill you.”
“She’s not gonna know,” Dean threatens. Mary has always been strict, especially since the accident.
Mary always wanted a family, but not one all for herself. She never expected to raise two boys by herself, working crazy hours at a job she didn’t even like. She thought she would have more than two boys, she expected a husband, maybe a dog and a full house. Mary and John had what little happiness they could find, even when money was tight. Mary would take care of Dean when she could, leaving for work as late as she could just so he would be alone the shortest amount of time. John did his part at first, but then he came home late, and then not at all.
Out of everything, Mary expected identifying John’s body to be the last thing on her list. She never expected he would drive drunk, or end up with his car wrapped around a pole. Or having to sit Dean down weeks before Sam’s first birthday and watch her son break apart. Most of all, Mary never pictured the emptiness she would feel.
Dean did not want to end up like his mother. He would not end up in this town. Not alone. Not at all. He was going to go somewhere. At least that’s what he told himself.
“Oh, Mom will know,” Sam said with a wicked smirk, and Dean can’t help but sigh. Sam has always been a snitch. Dean has not learned to deal with that.
Mary did know, and sooner than Dean expected. You don’t come home stumbling drunk without me knowing were that last words Dean heard before he was locked in his room for the weekend.
Dean tried to listen to his mother. He knew that he would only make her more furious if he left, but Chuck could only be stalled for so long. As Dean snuck through his second story window, falling down into the bushes, he left the thought of punishment behind him. Mary could kill him in the morning.
“What was so important it couldn’t wait til-I don’t know-normal human hours,” Dean sighs, but he knew exactly where Chuck was headed.
“I don’t know Dean- maybe the only place in this whole town that will give us drinks, sex and tasteful cleavage.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“You have no idea,” Chuck said, leading them into the night, and in the direction of the club. Dean didn’t want to believe that he had been thinking of this place all week, but as the excitement peaked on his skin Dean knew he was lost.
The walk seemed shorter drunk, but Dean was not complaining. The pink neon lights that read The Carousel, with a dark, black door lined with dark black velvet. It was truly a sight. Especially knowing a dark haired dancer might have graced Dean with his presence.
“I solved all our problems,” Chuck shouted into the night.
“With what, dick?” Dean quipped as he made his way to the door. There was a strange excitement washing over him as his hands grasped the handle.
“Woah Dean, these people are not objects, you should treat them with respect,” Chuck joked, giving away a small smirk.
“You’re an asshole.”
“Hey I found Sam’s dog, I thought you’d thank me, you know worship me and adore me, the usual,” Chuck pointed to a small poster, with FOUND DOG, PLEASE CONTACT ME in bold, and a small picture with contact information.
Sam’s dog looked happy, and the picture seemed recent. He copied the information into his phone, and paused to gather himself. Dean might not die tomorrow after all.
The phone dialed with no answer, the voicemail played, “Is this-When do I know when to…This is C-.” Dean had no time to deal with some weird guy who picked up random street dogs. Well Sam’s random street dog.
“Yeah, hi. I’m Dean and that dog, you know the big ugly mutt, and it’s in the poster…by the striper club?” Dean paused, unsure of what to say, “It’s my little brother Sammy’s dog and if he’s lost forever and it’s all my fault-so yeah anyway my name’s Dean Winchester and I’d like my dog back.”
“That was deep.”
“Oh shut the fuck up,” Dean did not make his way into the club, and he did not wait around for the dancers to get off their shifts, though it’s all he thought about. He was obsessive, and crazy, and there was no way he was going to let Chuck know.
They end up on the grass field of Lawrence football team. The only light is the faint brightness of the moon hidden behind thick clouds, and the flicker of a lighter over the end of the joint. Chuck never left his house empty handed, but he never really left if his parents weren’t giving him trouble.
There is a haze of smoke between them, and neither one of them felt compelled to speak beyond small laughter and frequent coughing. “This shits too harsh,” Dean said as he passed the joint back.
“Everything about this town is harsh,” Chuck had a small smile that faded too quickly for Dean to realize it was ever truly there.
The stadium lights flicked on, as if it were a signal of how late it was. Dean’s phone rang for the third time, but this time it read MARY. Dean would be lucky to make it to the morning.
“Excuse me,” The voice was far away, but neither man wanted to find out where, nor who, it came from.
Dean ran as a reflex, leaving Chuck behind at first. They ran until the high school was in the distance. With their backs against one of the many trees on Dean’s block they break into a wild laughter. Dean pushed away how dead he would be, and stumbled home.
The lights were on in the house. It was nearly four in the morning, everyone should have been asleep. The smell of bud stuck to Dean’s clothes as he made his way to the door. He prepared for the worse.
“Dean Winchester, where on earth have you been!” Mary called from the kitchen. There was coffee brewing, and his mother was still in her waitress apron. She just had to get out late today.
“Nowhere,” Dean refused to be babysat by his mother, he was graduating in June, and he didn’t need to be watched anymore.
“Are you drunk?” Mary reached out, cupping his face before he pulled away.
“No, I’m fine,” Dean made his way to the stairs, wanting to leave everything behind him. He knew Mary had stayed up with the coffee pot waiting for him. And he knew she had to wake up in the morning to make it to her real job, where she teaches a few classes down at the community center. She didn’t need to waste her time on Dean.
“So just high then?” Mary corrected him with a small smile, offering whatever food she was making instead of a lecture. Mary was the best thing that ever happened to Dean, and Sammy. Any other mom would have gotten them wrong. Its times like this were Dean wondered how different his life would be if Mary was the parent he lost instead of John.
Dean sat with his mother while she drank her coffee, and he ate the leftovers from dinner he had just a few hours ago. Sam had made some concoction with Mary before she had left for work, but it did not taste as terrible as Dean had feared.
It when he sobered up that Mary decided to lecture him, though sparing him from a crueler fate of yard work or worse, actually doing chores. He headed off to bed, grateful that the week had finally ended. He needed Saturday.
The sun peaked through the curtains as the small buzzing noise from his pants wakes him up. He managed to search with his eyes still closed, picking up the phone without checking the screen. “Hmm?” He managed, as he was not capable of real words before noon on a Saturday.
“Dean,” The man stated, his voice was deep, rough, and alerted every part of Dean’s senses. He was awake now.
“Yeah that’s me,” Dean said, praying that the man was as pleasant looking as his voice suggested. His hand shook as he held the phone, unable to relax enough to sound intelligent.
“I found your…Sammy’s dog, he is very friendly but he does not respond to his name,” The man explained, there was a lot of noise in the background but none that Dean could pick up on.
“Oh that dog has never been that-trained? I’ve been searching everywhere, when exactly could I pick it up?”
“Any time before five,” The man paused, and a silence fills the conversation, “My name is Castiel, I should have started with that.” There was a small, amused chuckle.
Dean wrote down the address, and moved on to the next stage of the plan. He had no idea who that man was, and he was not going to find out alone.
Dean made his way to Sam’s door, opening it without knocking. The room was empty, expect for the slight movement on the bed. Dean did not entertain the idea of what Sam could be doing. He turned his head away, not wanting to see anything risqué.
“Hey-you’re obviously busy but-,”
The movement stopped under the covers, and there was a small noise before Sam peered out of the covers. “It’s not really a good time Dean.”
“Oh I know,” Dean doesn’t meet Sam’s eyes.
“No, you really don’t,” Ruby made her appearance out of the covers, getting up to gather her clothes. She only had an oversized shirt that he had seen Sam wear numerous times.
“Let me just say goodbye to Ruby,” Sam said, getting up to help her gather her clothes.
“No its fine, just uh- no glove no love,” Dean shut the door behind him. He had seen the worst thing in his entire life, he didn’t mind if he was murdered. He always thought he would be the first out of anyone to get laid, but his brother had beaten him, and numerous times by the look of it.
He made his way down the street, and on to Main Street. He sent Chuck a message with his location, and a This is where I died if you don’t see me Monday message. The walk was shorter than expected. The apartment complex was decent looking, with brown brick walls and old, discolored windows. The bushes around the complex were trimmed, and no strange characters were hanging around the door.
He buzzed himself in, making his way to the right floor. Castiel must be on good terms with his landlord, because there was no way Sam’s dog obediently made his way upstairs.
The third floor was a short elevator ride, but every passing moment felt like a century to Dean. He rang the doorbell and waited.
The door opened, revealing a shirtless man with dark bedhead. Dean’s whole body shook at the realization that he had met this man. He smirked at Dean like he could eat him alive. “Was I really that good?” He joked, pressing his body as close to Dean as he could without actually touching him.
Dean could feel the breath in his ear as he managed, “I’m-I’m Dean, for the dog?”
“Well…Dean, I guess were just intertwined,” He practically swallowed Dean’s name in his throat.
“Are you-,”
“Castiel Novack, writer, exotic dancer, and occasionally I rescue dogs, though the owners are never as appealing as you,” His hand ran over Dean’s face, and down his body, slowly.
“Can I?” Dean asked, his body tingling under touch.
Castiel did not answer. He grabbed at the small of Dean’s back, pulling him inside. He pinned Dean against the wall, pressing all his weight against him, and waited.
“Last time we never got to the good part,” Castiel said, looking into Dean’s eyes, and waited for a reaction as he kisses Dean’s jaw, making his way to his neck.
Dean filled in the distance, trying to find Castiel’s lips. He had not expected this. The heat of contact drove him crazy, the tingling sensation faded into an ache that demanded to be filled.
Castiel met Dean’s lips, kissing him eagerly, yet soft. It was too much for Dean, who had gotten exactly zero make out opportunities since freshman year. He pressed every inch of himself against Castiel, clinging to his lips, digging his fingers into his skin. Dean used him like an anchor to this world, to reality, out of the dark clouds of loneliness that hung onto him. It was relief, finally.
Castiel stopped, pausing to examine Dean. The small tears that made their way down Dean’s face are wiped away. “Are you crying?” Castiel asked, he does not look at Dean the same way. Concern had replaced his passion.
“I’m an idiot. I’m happy-I don’t know why this is even happening. I sure as hell didn’t expect you or this or anything I just don’t,” Dean couldn’t find the words for the confusion, or how overwhelming everything was.
“You don’t think you deserve to be loved?”
“You don’t love me, you just met me,” Dean separated himself from Castiel. He ruined everything in the end, he always did.
“I love things about you, like your beauty, and your dedication to your family, but we aren’t talking about me,” Castiel did not let Dean alienate himself, though.
“I’m just an idiot-besides if someone wanted me they would have said something. If anyone wanted me they would have said something. But they haven’t,” Dean shouted, his hands balled into fists. He’s ruined the mood, ruined his only opportunity.
“You’re lonely?” Castiel held Dean against him, and Dean allowed himself to expect it. It was pity, but at least it was something.
“I mean I have friends, but Chuck has the waitress, Sam has Ruby, who do I have?” Dean knew he had Mary, Sam and Chuck no matter what, but it didn’t feel the void.
“You have no confidence Dean, that’s your problem. I have never wanted to fuck any of my customers, yet you show up to my door and I have this urge to never let you leave my bed,” Castiel shared with a devilish smirk. He ran his hand in Dean’s hair, offering the comfort Dean had been craving.
“Maybe next time we’ll actually make it to the bed,” Dean said, though he wasn’t sure if Castiel would even want him around.
“Let’s get the dog out of the way first.”
“Then I won’t have an excuse to come over,” Dean said with the brightest smile.
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Castiel placed the softest kiss on Dean’s lips before disappearing into another room. A mutt ran to Dean, jumping into his lap with a familiar excitement.
“Maxwell is a strange name Dean,” Castiel pointed out, handing him a lease. Dean stared down at the dog, whose body shook with excitement. It was just a walk for Dean, but it was coming home for a mutt on the road. Besides, Ruby could distract Sam fo only so long, eventually he would wonder where Dean went.
“Yeah, well now he’s a giant cock block too,” Dean joked as he pulled on the lease, and headed for the door. He could stay if he wanted to. Hell, Dean could get lost for the day here.
“I doubt we would have gotten that far,” Castiel teased as he stood as close to Dean as he could, leaning his body against the door as he let Dean out.
“Hey, I’m a charmer,” Dean said with a smile, but he didn’t have the heart to head to the elevator. They lingered for a moment. “Goodbye Cas.”
“Goodbye, Dean,” The door did not close. Castiel peered at Dean, waiting. Dean stood nervously, he knew he had to leave but he couldn’t find the will to leave.
“Will I…see you again?”
“Of course, Dean,” Castiel grinned, and continued, “I think we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other.”
Dean found peace with that, and the desire to head back home. Maxwell had been the worst dog in a lot of ways, he pulled on walks and chewed almost everything, but as long as he made Sam happy Dean was content. And finding hot, caring neighborhood guys was always an added plus.
“I guess things are looking up,” Dean admitted as he strolled home. He laughed to himself, “Let’s see how long that lasts.”