[SPN] time will kiss the world goodbye (2/4)

[tasogareika]

If he had a choice in this, Dean would really rather not be here if he could help it, but at the same time he knows that he can’t drag this around any longer than he already has. Sam’s been bugging him about it, and if there’s anybody Dean can’t say no to it would be his giant mangirl of a brother. So here he is now, being at the one place in all of the States that Dean would rather not be in and trying not to glare at his food as much as possible and more so at the man who sits opposite from where he is.

In the years that Dean’s been travelling through the country it seems that John Winchester hasn’t even changed a bit-and neither does he seem inclined to start on that anytime soon. Even from where he is Dean can smell the putrid stench of alcohol from his father, and it takes almost everything from inside him to simply not just bolt from the table and out of this house entirely.

Dean just isn’t sure what Sam can still see in their dad to keep sticking by him even after all the shit that their father has put both of them through-and really, Dean does still want to see the best from his dad in one way or another. But John’s broke the last straw a long time ago already and Dean has had enough of his father’s bullshit. Try as he might, there’s only so much that he can take from his failure of a father. Sometimes he can’t help but wonder just how he had idolized his father so much back when he was young when he looks at the wreck that John Winchester is now.

Sam (who is now currently sitting between them and trying very hard not to look awkward) glances between the two older Winchesters for a few moments before attempting to start conversation. “So, uh, dad, Dean’s been living in Chicago for a while now already. He’s working around doing odd jobs and stuff most of the time while working in one of the big garages downtown.”

John makes no movement or sound to show that he’s actually heard what Sam had just said, and it’s actually that which ticks Dean off more than the fact that his father apparently couldn’t even be bothered with him anymore. The thing is that Dean doesn’t care about that at all-John hasn’t been his father for the longest time just as Dean has given up on being his son. No, what really gets Dean is the way how John still doesn’t try to give a shit about Sammy even though he’s the one who stuck around when Dean couldn’t take it any longer.

A good part of Dean wants nothing more than to punch his father in the face and just yell at him about all the shit he’s pulled on the family, but a brief stare from Sam stops him before Dean can do any of that. The older Winchester sibling stays in his chair then, poking at the food on his plate as he hears his brother start to speak up again. “S’been a while since we had dinner like this together, huh? I mean, it’s great to have Dean finally coming back after all these years-”

At this point John does make a sound, although its nothing more than a disgruntled snort. Still, it’s more than enough to get from both brothers, and Dean looks up from his plate just as Sam eyes his father for a brief moment before testing his luck again. “Dad?” he asks, prodding gently.

John raises his head up at that call, and Dean steels himself as he finds himself under the careless scrutiny of his father’s dark eyes. Dean lowers his cutlery onto the plate, letting his food go uneaten as he matches the gaze with his own, not even so much as wanting to back down from that look. He’s already let John win too much by this point-now, Dean wants to prove that he’s no longer that weakling who does nothing but cower under his father’s stupid, drunken tirades.

The silence is tense and stretches on for moments without end, but Dean is the one who goes to break it, clenching his jaw as he snaps out none-too-kindly at his elder. “If you’ve got something to say, then say it.”

Sam makes an uncomfortable expression at the way Dean speaks, but John looks like he could hardly even be bothered about whatever that his eldest son says. Rather than giving him a proper answer all that John does is to lower his head back down, lips moving in a mumble that Dean can barely catch snatches of, but he’s certain that whatever that’s being said is about him anyway.

Dean feels his pulse ticking against his jaw, pulsing at the flare of irritation that surges through him as he snaps out once again. “What, are you too spineless to even talk to me properly? If you have anything to say about me, then tell it right to my-”

“You think you can use that tone on me now, boy?” John suddenly replies, eyes narrowing as he regards Dean with a look that he could only label as ‘disgust’. “Just because you’ve spent all my money across the country and dragged your useless ass back here-”

“Your money?” Dean cuts in there with a growl, anger rising up sharply from inside him. “I never even so much as touched a single cent of your money, you asshole. You’d rather use it to buy your goddamned alcohol before even spending it on your kids!”

The expression on John’s face darkens. “So now you think you can lecture me on how to raise my own children, boy?” he snarls.

“Yes, because you didn’t even bother to bring up your kids after Mom died!” Dean answers back loudly, voice rising up higher with each word. “You do nothing but get yourself piss drunk and leave Sam starving half the time! You didn’t even bother to fulfill your duty as a father!” This is seriously why Dean just can’t understand the reason why Sam doesn’t hate their father for pulling this shit on him, on them. Even with all the empathy that Dean wants to grant his father he just can’t deal with this.

The words clearly strike something within John, because in the next few moments Dean suddenly finds himself being jerked forward across the table, food already long forgotten as he stares unflinchingly right at the furious expression that is now on the elder Winchester’s face. One of John’s hands grabs roughly at the collar of his shirt, the fabric pulled around his fingers as John lurches Dean close enough so that they’re face to face and Dean can smell the putrid stench of alcohol on his father’s breath as John hisses at him. “You think you’re some hotshot now, huh?” he says, voice a low growl. “Now that you’ve got that house and a life and all that money to splurge on your bullshit-”

Red clouds Dean’s mind right at that moment, and he moves before even thinking about it, heedless to the distressed cry of ‘No!’ that Sam gives out from beside him. He swings his fist out and punches John right at his jaw, hitting his father with enough force to bruise his own knuckles simultaneously while he sends John tumbling to the ground.

“Dad!” Sam quickly cries out, hurrying to crouch down and help their-his-father up. Dean only stays where he is, chest heaving with heavy breaths as he tenses his jaw and glares down at his father, feeling wholly unapologetic for what he had just done.

“If you want to know why I left in the first place,” he starts to say, because if there’s anything he wants John to know, then this is it. “It’s because I was trying to forget about you.”

John only looks up and returns Dean’s glare with one of his own. “Get out of my house, you ungrateful brat,” he snarls out with nothing else but anger in his voice.

Dean doesn’t even need to hear that to do so; he’s already getting the hell out of here even before John even says the words, too pissed off to even spare a look at Sam who glances at his brother with worry on his face.

They write to each other almost daily now. Admittedly, it is a bit of a hassle for Castiel since he has to drive all the way down to the lake house in order to get his letter, and there are times when it slips his mind altogether as the days just seem to blur by in his head. Still, Castiel does try to respond as soon as possible; he even starts to bring his journal around to work just so he can squeeze in his responses during the few breaks he has within his shifts. Work at the hospital is busier than ever-even Balthazar doesn’t seem to have the time to tease him these days, and that alone certainly says something about the state of their work.

After one particularly harrowing week that ended with a long thirty hour shift and an emergency CPR on one particular patient (Ed Zeddmore, twenty-three, currently warded after having fractured his shin due to falling about two meters down), Castiel finally finds himself with the time to compose a proper, normal letter instead of his usually hurried and rushed out ones (although Dean has long stopped complaining about his abysmal penmanship when it happens).

Work has been much more hectic than ever, he writes this out while sitting in bed. I’ve just been relieved after a thirty hour shift at the hospital. Not that I mind; I do enjoy my work, and Chicago is much more pleasant now after that tour you gave me. But at times when I stop it’s hard to not realize just how little company I have for myself. My closest friend also happens to be my colleague at work, and our schedules never seem to match up much-although considering how he is, I suppose that should be a small comfort of sorts.

Still, it’s not the lack of contact that irks me. A part of me still misses the lake house, and the many trees that surround it. I have always favored the trees there over anywhere else; I’ve spent my summer studying under the shade that they prove. It is a bit silly, but sometimes I do wish I could just wake up at see one of those trees again. They’re always such a pleasant sight to start the day with.

He sends the letter the next morning when he takes a ride down to the lake house before work, putting it into the mailbox. By now Castiel doesn’t feel as embarrassed as he should be when writing about these kind of things to Dean-it’s a bit of a habit now, he supposes; putting words on paper has always been much easier than saying it out properly. There’s still the barrier, that lacking element of proper contact that Castiel feels both guarded and frustrated with. On one hand this barrier is the reason why he finds it easy to write to Dean-but on the other hand there’s still the fact that they’re two years away from each other, and sometimes Castiel wants nothing more than to at least see Dean once properly.

Somehow during their conversations they’ve never made an indication about exchanging photos at all-and Castiel doesn’t really dare to bring it up either. The fear about it is irrational at best; paranoid at worst, and maybe-maybe both of them don’t want to lose the magic just yet. Seeing photos would just make it more real, more certain… and personally, Castiel isn’t sure if he is ready for that reality yet. There are still so many other things going on in his life as it is.

Castiel quickly puts those thoughts aside as he arrives at the hospital and changes into his doctor’s attire, getting ready for his shift ahead. Work for him has, at least, simmered down a bit now that most of the urgent, outstanding business has been dealt with, but things still are pretty busy for him-besides looking over the patients under his charge Castiel finds himself supervising an emergency operation for acute appendicitis, and by the time he actually registers the clock again its already past ten o’ clock at night.

While late nights are something that Castiel is accustomed to, what he doesn’t like are the late night showers that attack him while he’s making his way home. It is a bit of a walk from the car park to the lobby of the apartments and Castiel doesn’t have an umbrella with him; after waiting for the last fifteen minutes for the rain to lighten but to no avail, Castiel has little choice but to run through the rain and hope that he doesn’t get too soaked.

The rain pours on him hard and unforgiving as Castiel sprints from the car park to his destination. The man has to squint his eyes as he runs, trying to make out his path through the constant downpour of rain. The way over isn’t hard at all, but as he reaches the pavement Castiel accidentally loses his grip on his bag, and there’s a brief clatter as the bag drops, spilling out the contents that Castiel had brought back with him from the hospital.

“Damnit,” Castiel mutters to himself, swiftly crouching down as he attempts to gather his things back into the bag. Rather than lessening the rain only now seems to pour even harder, completely soaking Castiel to the bone by now and Castiel really hates these late night downpours. They’re always so hard to make out.

As Castiel reaches for his phone (thankfully waterproof) a brief flash of lightning flares from the sky, accompanied with a rumble of thunder. Castiel blinks quickly for a few moments at the bright light, shaking his head after that in order to shake off the afterimages dancing across his vision as he stands up, thankful for the fact that he had dropped his things under the tree rather than under the rain outside-

-wait, tree?

Castiel pauses as he brings his gaze towards the tree in question (a tree he’s certain hasn’t been here just seconds ago), eyes widening as he recognizes the distinctive leaves in the canopy above him. There’s no other tree in Chicago that has such leaves-except for the ones at the lake house.

The lake house… the doctor thinks to himself as he inches closer to the tree, reaching out with one hand to press his palm against the trunk while his mind whirls to the possibility of what had just happened. It surely couldn’t be possible, but…

The rain continues to pour throughout the rest of the night, but the next day is another off-day for him and so Castiel makes good use of it. He quickly heads down to the lake house as soon as he’s awake and ready to head out, trying to ignore how fast his heart is beating against his chest. He knows he’s nervous, but for what reason is something that Castiel doesn’t know. Did Dean really go out and plant a tree for him just because he said so? It’s a strange thing to get worked up about, but the fact that the tree is there just somehow truly proves that this is real. Dean isn’t some figment of his memory or the identity of some prankster like it might have been-Dean is a real person back from two years ago.

This is real.

Dean is real.

That thought runs through his head as he walks up to the mailbox and opens it, taking out the letter with slightly trembling hands which Castiel is glad that nobody will ever see. He has to take a moment to steel himself first before he actually opens it, sucking in a breath as he reads the words written on the paper, words that mean so much more now than they had ever did.

You don’t need to worry about something like that, Cas; One day, we’re going to be together in time. Even though we’re far apart from each other now, I’ll find my way to get to you. Just hang on tight until then. We’ll see each other someday. I’ll make sure of it.

Out of all the expressions that Sam has, Dean does have to admit that the flabbergasted one that his brother is currently wearing down is perhaps one of the most amusing ones that Dean has seen on him. He really can’t help but crack a wide grin on his face as he watches Sam stare at the lake house, eyes going as wide as saucers.

“This is yours?” Sam asks as he turns towards Dean, eyes still wide and bulging. “Seriously?”

Dean feels his grin widening a little more at that. “Like I said, I’m mortgaged all the way up to my freaking eyeballs, but yeah. It’s mine as far as the papers are concerned.”

Sam lets out a soft whistle, stepping closer towards the door as he finally starts to properly cast his gaze around, studying both the house as well as its nearby surroundings. “It’s beautiful,” he eventually breathes out, turning his eyes back to Dean.

The grin turns wry at that point, and Dean has to look away from Sam so that his brother doesn’t see the twist of emotions that suddenly go through him due to that comment. “Beautiful is all that this place is,” the older Winchester says back in turn as he steps towards the railings of the bridge and grabs the chain that hangs from one of the latches he had installed earlier on. Holding it tightly in his hands Dean tugs the chain, pulling up the metal mesh basket attached to the end where bottles of beer clink against each other noisily within.

Sam’s eyes instantly go wide at that point as he glances between Dean and the beer bottles that his brother is taking out from the basket. “Dude,” he breathes out, too surprised and awestruck to really say anything coherent there and then.

“You’re way too easily impressed,” Dean quips back with an amused smile as he tosses one of the bottles over to Sam before taking one out for his own. He pops the lid from his own, waiting for Sam to do likewise; once his brother gets his bottle open as well, the duo click the mouth of their bottles in a silent toast and proceed to take their well-deserved swigs and then some. Dean leads his brother through the house as they continue to down their bottles, showing him around and letting him ogle over the architecture and surroundings and other stuff that his dorky little brother goes gaga over. By the time the two of them are up on the rooftop, the older Winchester is pretty sure that he can see those anime-like stars twinkling in his brother’s eyes (yeah okay, so he does watch some anime from time to time. It’s an art form, alright? He can damn well appreciate it however he wants).

Lowering the near-empty bottle in his hand, Sam lets out another huff of appreciation as he glances around their surroundings, eyes sparkling at the gorgeous view. “I seriously can’t believe you actually own this place, man,” he says, looking back at his brother. “I mean… it’s a really fancy place, especially for you.”

Dean only shrugs, taking another swig of his beer while he casts a cursory glance of his own. “It’s nice, yeah, but it’s incomplete.”

The response takes Sam by surprise, and the younger Winchester arches an eyebrow at that. “Incomplete?” he questions, not at all certain just what his brother means.

“Yep.” The older Winchester takes a few steps forward to the edge of the rooftop, leaning against the railing to stare down at the waters of the lake that the house is built over. “I mean, you’ve got a house here right over this great lake with breathtaking scenery, but you can’t even go into it at all from the house. Right here,” he pauses to gesture at the railings beside him, “There should be like a stairway or something that people can go directly into the lake. Even if it isn’t a stairway, a porch or deck would do just as well.”

He hears Sam making a sound of acquiesce behind him, and Dean turns back around at that, this time gesturing at the scenery that surrounds them. “You’re in this box-this glass box-and you get a view of everything around you… but you can’t touch it.” A dry smile. “No interconnection between you and the world.”

Sam frowns in that deep, thinking way of this, and Dean can just hear his baby brother’s mind chugging along as he puts the pieces together. “How about the maple tree?” he eventually asks, motioning towards said tree growing right through the centre of the house.

“Containment,” is Dean’s instant response, and he pauses for a moment before adding on. “But that’s not all.” To prove his point, the older Winchester pulls out a remote from the pocket of his pants and points it to the tree, pressing the button. At the command the glass roof built over the tree begins to pull back, rolling away to the side as Sam blinks in surprise at the mechanized device.

The younger Winchester turns to his brother after a few moments, looking at the mirthless look on his sibling’s face as Dean speaks again. “Containment… as well as control.” He takes a couple of steps back, finishing the last of his beer before continuing. “This house is about ownership, Sammy. Not connection. It’s never been about connection.” He stops then, glancing down at the canopy of the maple tree-and when he speaks, his voice drops to something much softer, much more pained. “It’s always only been about him. That’s why it’s incomplete.”

Sam looks at the tree as well, silent for a few long moments before he starts, questioning quietly. “Did you remember ever being here with Mom?”

Dean brings his head up at that, looking over to his brother with a smile that says both so much and yet so little. “Once, yeah. But mostly, I remember her trying to make things work the best she could.” That is, until the accident; until she died-until John gave up on both himself as well as the world, and Dean could do nothing but hate him for it even though he did understand.

He hears Sam letting out a soft sigh then. “Are you ever gonna go into the business?”

Dean blinks at the unexpected question. “What?”

“The business,” Sam repeats himself, and the younger Winchester brings his gaze over to him now. “Picking up where Dad left off. I mean, you seriously can’t just go around doing odd jobs for the rest of your life, right?”

Now it’s Dean’s turn to sigh this time, and the older Winchester does so as he looks away, running fingers through his hair in exasperation. “Sammy, please.” He didn’t want to talk about this, not now.

“I’m just being realistic here,” his brother starts, stepping closer towards him. “You’ve got the degree in Manhattan and I’m sure we can get a revenue to start, so why can’t you-”

“Not now, alright?” Dean cuts in at that point, looking over to his brother once more. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. I’ve got other things.”

Something in that reply seems to get Sam’s attention, because his brother is suddenly frowning and looking at him in a way Dean’s pretty sure he hasn’t seem on him before. “What other things?” he hears Sam asking from him. “You got something planned already?”

Dean opens his mouth, more than ready to reply with a ‘yes, duh’ but then stops before the words can come out and snaps his mouth back shut. Okay, sure, he does have some plans, but if he has to be honest they’re nothing more than vague notions of going out to find Cas (and Jesus, Cas? Where the hell did that nickname come from all of a sudden?), wherever the hell he is. It’s stupid, Dean knows, but still… he can’t help but think about it. Cas has been more real to him than anybody else at all in these last few months, which is just plain weird because the person in question happens to be two years in the future.

But then again-Dean thinks about the tree he planted right in front of 1620 North Racine, and the following days that he spent around the tree, making sure that its growing properly until he got that letter of thanks from Cas. The tree-his tree, which he had lugged all the way from here to the apartment-had managed to survive all the way until when Cas needed it, and Dean thinks about how he hadn’t even thought about the ridiculousness of the situation. It had been an impulse more than anything, but yet it worked, and he knows that Castiel has never lied to him. Hell, the guy even admitted to him that he’s gay. Dean isn’t against it or anything, being bisexual himself-but for Cas to tell him that must have taken a hell lot of courage; it took almost everything inside Dean himself to actually tell Sam the truth about his sexuality.

“Dean?” he hears his brother prodding quietly from beside him, and Dean blinks out from his train of thought to focus back onto his brother.

“Yeah?” he eventually returns after a few moments.

Sam gives him a cursory glance before speaking. “Seriously, if you’ve got anything in mind, just tell me.”

Dean shakes his head. “No, it’s nothing. It’s just-” he pauses to shrug helplessly. “I ain’t got the time for it.”

The comment, of course, only leaves Sam baffled and confused. “What does time have to do with this?” he asks, looking at his brother with a questioning look.

Somehow the question only manages to get a small laugh out from Dean as the older Winchester looks to his brother, a mirthless smile evident on his face as he replies. “You’re just going to think I’m crazy.”

Castiel doesn’t really know exactly what makes him do it-usually he’s not so reckless like this, but after the thing with the tree the thought just came unbidden into his mind somehow all that he wants to do is this. In an impulse he writes it down into his journal and tears out the page, stuffing it into the mailbox of the lake house on his way back from work that day.

Mr. Winchester-

This is your mission, should you choose to accept it. Two years ago during your time, I was taking the 1.45 train to Madison from the Riverside station and I left something there. Something important. If you do manage to find it, would you mind placing it in the mailbox? I would greatly appreciate it.

Yours,
Castiel

Unlike the previous time, this time Castiel can’t help but think of the letter as the days pass by. It’s foolish, but after the tree… Castiel knows now that he can no longer lie to himself that Dean might have been just some prankster’s way of getting to him. A prank would never go that far, and Dean’s identity is all but cemented in his mind now. Dean is real, back in the past, and somehow fate has allowed them to know each other somehow. Everything about this feels like something out of a Hollywood movie, but yet it’s happening to him right here, right now, right this moment. If this is a dream, Castiel thinks that he might never want to wake up ever again.

So he waits, and waits-and waits, checking the mailbox every time he has a chance to but somehow nothing turns out at all. Two whole weeks pass and still there’s nothing at all from Dean. Castiel leaves a few notes of his own, inquiring about Dean to ask if he is actually okay; more than just the book, the sudden radio silence worries him as well, and Castiel does hope that the other man hasn’t gotten another cold or anything. It would be bad.

A few more days pass, and Castiel is about to put in another letter into the mailbox again when he does get a response, and he hurriedly tears the envelope open to get to the letter inside it. It’s strange, but being able to see Dean’s messy scrawl of his penmanship puts his heart at ease again, and Castiel smiles as he reads the letter.

Cas, I managed to find it. But if you don’t mind, would you let me keep it for a while? I want to look through it. I’ll return to you someday. I promise.

Of course you can keep it for a while. Now that I know you’ve got it, I can rest easy. Just return it to me once you’re done. I didn’t know you read though.

I’m not much of a book guy, but there are a few books I like. Mostly Kurt Vonnegut.

That is quite a pick.

You think so?

I’m quite fond of his works myself. I actually have a few of his books too.

Awesome. That aside though; back at the station, when I got your book? We saw each other. Or well, at least I saw you.

I don’t remember.

I guess you were too busy getting smothered by that other guy with you.

You must mean Gabriel.

Gabriel? As in the brother you keep talking about?

The one and the same.

Oh.

I may be gay, Dean, but that does not mean I happen to be dating every guy who’s physically around me.

No, no that’s not what I mean! You just looked nothing like how I expected you to look. You looked… great.

Oh. Thank you, I suppose. But I honestly don’t remember you.

Well. We can meet up in your time, right? And then you can see me for yourself.

Castiel pauses in his writing when he reads the letter, thankful for the fact that he had chosen to read it only now rather than during proper work hours. It’s nearly nine at night, and the cafeteria is long empty and void of people-which is why it serves as the perfect place for him to sit down and do his work in here. He’s always worked better with silence, although noise has never been a big bother for him; he still simply prefers the quiet, where it’s easier to concentrate.

A long moment passes as Castiel continues to stare at the letter, feeling a hard lump forming in his throat. A good part of him does want to know Dean-to see him more than just words on a paper or some figure from the past who he can never reach. He wants to know Dean as Dean, as the man who’s been writing to him all these time. He wants to see him, to confirm for himself that he isn’t just a mirage, an illusion. He wants to be sure that Dean is indeed real, and that he does exist in this world wholly and truly. But… is he up for that risk? Is he willing to take that chance, to plunge into these unknown waters?

The man only has a moment to think about it before he makes a decision. Yes. Yes, he wants to take this chance, because Dean is worth it. He is worth this.

Letting out shaky breath, Castiel can do little to hold in the sudden jolt of nervousness that he feels as he steadies his pen again, starting to write down his response. We can try it. Why don’t you call me on July 10th, 2010 at about-he pauses to check his watch, noting the time. At about a quarter past nine PM-

Without warning, his cell phone abruptly starts to ring just as Castiel finishes writing out the end of the ‘M’, and the suddenness of it all nearly causes the man to fall out from his chair. Fortunately, Castiel does manage to steady himself before something like that can happen, but he remains stock still after he’s straightened himself, doing little else but to stare at his phone in disbelief. Could it really be…?

Dean, the doctor thinks in a rush as he reaches out for his phone and grabs it. Another moment passes by as he continues to stare at the phone, but soon Castiel shakes himself out from his trance and picks up the call. He hears the rush of his heartbeat pumping nervously like a jackhammer in his chest as he steels himself, trying to sound as calm as possible as he half-stutters into the phone. “…hello?”

“Cas?”

“…yes?” he replies after a pause, quite unable to believe this. Was this really happening-

“Hey, bro! It’s me!”

Castiel instantly deflates at that, closing his eyes to let out a breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding back. Of course it wouldn’t be possible-how could it? He hadn’t even sent the letter yet… although really, Castiel supposes he isn’t one to really talk about time paradoxes like that. Still… “Gabriel,” he eventually manages to sigh out, already moving to snap his journal shut and pack his things up from where they had been strewn across the tables. “Is something the matter?”

“I heard from Bal you’re still in the hospital, so I thought I’d give you a call. You haven’t eaten yet, right? Let’s go and take a bite together.”

Despite the vague sense of disappointment he feels inside, Castiel still can’t help but smile at his brother’s offer-he hasn’t been able to see Gabriel at all ever since he moved to Chicago, so being able to see him now would be a good thing for both of them. It has been quite a while since they last saw each other, after all. “I would be amendable to that.”

One hour later, Castiel found himself at the nearby pizza place poking at slice of a poor imitation of a Hawaiian pizza with Gabriel sitting opposite of him and currently munching down one of the other slices.

“This is such a poor excuse for dinner,” the elder of the two sighs out melodramatically once he had swallowed his slice down. “I would have totally gone for Il Mare-that fancy restaurant near the park, if you've actually seen it-but tables are reserved until freaking October.” A disgruntled expression crossed Gabriel’s face then. “Seriously, Cas, people these days. Don’t they have anything better to do than cause misery in other people's lives?”

Castiel can’t help but let out a mildly amused sound on his own end, shaking his head slightly. “It’s the best restaurant in town, Gabriel. Of course tables are going to be snapped up like crazy.”

“Still,” Gabriel attempts to counter back. “It’s our reunion. We should have made it a good one.”

The words only cause Castiel to roll his eyes. “You know how much I detest such gaudy events,” he returns.

Gabriel does nothing but pout in response, a mock expression of hurt on his features. “C’mon, Cas. It doesn’t hurt if it’s only once in a while, right?”

“Yes, but having to go through one almost every weekend while I was still busy studying does not count as ‘once in a while’,” Castiel returns dryly, pointedly looking down to his food after that to concentrate on cutting his pizza into small, more edible slices.

The elder Glaser lets out another melodramatic sigh once again. “I can’t believe you’re still hung up about that,” he half-mutters out, the tone of his voice easily showing his exasperation.

Castiel takes a moment to chew down his food before replying. “I am only stating the truth.”

Gabriel snorts at that. “And the truth is that you do enjoy it.”

The words make Castiel pause halfway from eating another part of his pizza slice, looking over to his brother with one raise eyebrow and nothing but confusion on his features. “What?”

“You don’t remember?” the other returns, now pointing at Castiel with the end of his fork. “About two years ago, the first time you came over to my place here? You were making out with this really hot guy.”

Castiel would have really rather not remembered it-since he mostly only remembers the aftermath, and his brother's very unhelpful suggestions-but now that Gabriel’s brought it up the memory rushes back to him, unbidden, and the younger Glaser instantly feels his face heating up as his brain unhelpfully recalls the incident. “It’s-Gabriel-”

“It’s just too bad he never showed his face again,” Gabriel sighs out, shaking his head mournfully. “Otherwise you two would have gotten married in Vegas or something by now.”

“It was just a kiss,” Castiel manages to hiss out finally, even though he knows that his face is pretty flushed at the moment-but dignity aside, he really does need to make his point clear here. “There was nothing more than that, alright?” He pauses to let out a sigh of his own, forcing himself to cool down and focus back to the topic at hand. “I can’t believe you even remember that.”

Gabriel shrugs. “Hey, that was pretty much your first and only kiss. Of course I would remember it.”

Castiel can only close his eyes upon hearing that and sigh once again.

Brothers these days, seriously.

When Dean finishes his shift at the garage, he finds himself pleasantly surprised when he steps out to see Sam waiting for him next to the Impala.

“Sammy?” he starts, not quite sure what else to say at the sight of his younger brother standing in his fancy lawyer outfit while being surrounded by scrap metal and men in overalls.

Sam breaks out a small grin, somehow finding a sense of amusement in Dean’s bewilderment. “I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d just drop by and stuff. Maybe get a lift if I’m lucky enough.”

Dean snorts at the latter comment. “I knew you had something up your sleeve, bitch.”

“Jerk,” comes the familiar responding jibe, its impact lessened by the growing smile on Sam’s face.

The older Winchester grins back and throws his towel over to Sam, ignoring the following outburst from his younger brother. He takes a moment after that to fish for his car keys, letting out a sound of triumph once he gets them out and proceeds to unlock the doors of the Impala.

“You’re an asshole at times, you know that?” Sam grumbles once the doors are unlocked, shooting Dean a brief scowl before throwing the towel back to him.

“You know you love it,” Dean teases back in return, continuing to grin as he turns around to call for Bones (currently occupying himself with a half-deflated spare tire) to get into the car as well-the golden retriever follows him to work from time to time, and the dog is smart enough to stay quiet and not get into trouble so Bobby had been pretty good in allowing Bones to stick around when he’s brought over. It’s one of the many things that Dean appreciates his boss for.

Sam lets out a small snort of his own at the sight of the dog coming over, arching up an eyebrow. “You even bring your dog to work? Seriously?”

Dean shrugs. “What can I say, I’m a dog guy.”

“Never imagined that this day would come,” the younger Winchester remarks with an amused gleam in his eyes. “Next thing I know, I’ll be getting invitations to the wedding.”

The comment only causes Dean to roll his eyes. “Well, I know for sure now who to not invite when that happens.”

Sam opens his mouth then, more than ready to shoot back with a scathing remark of his own before he’s suddenly interrupted by a series of barking coming from Bones. The two brothers instantly pause in their age-old bickering to turn around the regard the golden retriever with scrutiny, Dean himself looking rather perplexed at his pet’s sudden outburst. “Bones-” Dean tries to start, about to ask if there’s anything wrong but before he can say anything more than that the dog just suddenly bolts, barking non-stop as it runs off without warning.

Dean doesn’t even think twice then on what to do next; he shouts at Sam to take care of the car as he takes off after Bones, chasing his dog down to wherever the hell the golden retriever is darting off to. The man swears under his breath as he runs, wondering just what the hell has gotten into the dog to just suddenly take off like that-he sure hasn’t done anything like that before, and Dean can’t really see any reason why Bones would suddenly start now. Damnit, maybe he should have gotten a proper collar and leash like he had been planning to for a while already. Bones had never given him any reason to worry, but now with this…

Now wasn’t the time to think about this though. Dean mutters a few other choice words as he pushes himself to move faster, keeping the golden retriever in his sights the best he can. Damn, he never knew that Bones could run this fast; sure he had run around with his dog a few times, but they were jogs at best. To think that he could actually move this fast-Dean makes a mental note to actually properly check out the statistics of the golden retriever breed later once he got his dog back. Maybe he should have actually done that when he made the decision to keep the dog.

The man calls out Bones’ one more time as he follows the golden retriever across one of the mini-bridges in the nearby park, but the dog pays no heed to the name and seems to just quicken its pace instead. Dean swears again and tries to catch up, but Bones stamina must be something else because the dog just dashes off into the distance, completely disappearing from his sight a few moments later. By now Dean can’t help but stop because he’s out of breath and his joints hurt after all that sprinting-and he’s seriously, seriously not in the shape to go running around and chasing his dog like this. The man bends over, steadying himself his hands on his knees as Dean gets his breath back, squinting upwards as he makes out houses in the distance and wonders if Bones ran into any of them.

It’s really not a comforting thought.

“Son of a bitch,” comes the swear as Dean straightens himself back up, still breathing heavily as he looks at the houses for another few more moments before starting to make his way towards them. If Bones really had run into one of them he’d just get his dog back, apologize and make a trip to the nearby pet store later to get a leash. After this incident, Dean really doesn’t want to take any more chances.

Walking closer towards the houses, he calls out for Bones once again. This time though, the bark he hears back sounds like a proper reply, and Dean follows it down over to the first house that he saw from the distance earlier. It’s a pretty big and fancy looking place for his tastes, three stories high and complete with porch, front yard plus the shiny white picket fence. Whoever owns this place must certainly be one heck of a guy.

He hears Bones barking again from nearby, and Dean brings his head down this time to see a vaguely familiar-looking short, mousey-haired guy who’s currently holding a heavy-looking box in his hands and seems to be glancing between him and his dog in amusement. “I take it that this canine is yours?” the man asks, nudging at the golden retriever now currently busy with sniffing at his shoes.

“Yeah,” Dean answers, nodding before he crouches down and gently tugs Bones away from the other guy’s shoes. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“You should keep a better eye on him,” the man remarks, wry amusement bleeding through his voice.

Dean lets out a grunt of agreement as he scratches Bones by the back of his ears, hearing a soft, apologetic whine from the golden retriever that Dean can’t help but sigh at. “Yeah, I know. But Bones never ran off like that before.”

“Must be my charm,” comes the amused response, and Dean can’t help but snort at those words as he gets back up, content to let sleeping dogs lie for the moment (ha). As he dusts his hands off with the backs of his jeans the other man continue to speak, although it sounds more like something to himself rather than an actual, proper conversation. “I should get one for my bro though once he’s settled in. He goes gaga over dogs.”

“Sounds like a plan there,” Dean returns, looking up now, and he pauses for a moment to properly scrutinize the other man standing before him. He doesn’t know why, but Dean is pretty sure he’s seen him somewhere before… “Uh, have we met?”

The man only arches up an eyebrow in response. “If we had, I’m sure I would have remembered a pretty face like yours,” he says, and Dean blinks at the words, totally taken aback by it.

“Uh,” he starts eloquently.

The man grins a little, finding amusement in Dean’s loss of words. “You’ll do just fine, chump,” he starts, and manages to balance the box around one arm instead so that he can reach out with his now-free hand in a handshake. “Name’s Gabriel. Gabriel Glaser.”

Dean freezes entirely once he hears the name, stopping halfway in reaching Gabriel’s hand as he properly recalls when he had seen the man from-back at the train station, when he had picked up that book for Cas. He remembers the other being there, alright, but back then he had been far more distracted by the fact that he was actually seeing Cas, to see exasperated smile on his features or the way Cas’ face lit up when he was with his brother. Dean can’t help but wonder if that’s the same expression that Cas puts on in their letters, if he smiles in that same way when Dean complains to him about his work or some small, frustrating thing that happened to him that day. God, he wants to see Cas so much it physically hurts.

He manages to get out from his thoughts when Gabriel waves his free hand in front of him. “Yoohoo, anybody home?”

Dean blinks, taking a moment to compose himself as he properly faces Gabriel and reaches out with his own hand this time. “Sorry. Name’s Dean Winchester.”

“Dean-o it is, then,” Gabriel returns with a grin, reaching out once more so that he can properly shake hands with Dean. “Great to meet you.”

“Same here,” Dean returns (perhaps in more ways than one), drawing back his hand and finally studies the boxes that Gabriel is busying himself with. It only takes a moment to figure out what the other man is holding happens to be boxes of various alcoholic drinks, and he can’t help but raise both of his eyebrows at that. “Need a hand with these?” he eventually asks.

Gabriel smiles. “I’d appreciate the extra hands.”

A few minutes later, Dean finds himself helping Gabriel in heaving up his many boxes of alcohol, half-wondering what the other intends to do with all of it while he listens to Gabriel’s genial chatting. “-got some business around here, so I’m staying here for a couple of years to get things going. Mostly small stuff, but they’re gonna be big one day, you’ll see.”

“Yeah?” Dean can’t help but question, feeling a bit too skeptical at the confidence that Gabriel seems to be displaying. He’s pretty sure Cas had mentioned something about his brother being in some trouble or other in one of his letters before.

“Yep,” the shorter man answers all too-easily, complete with confident grin on his face. “What about you? You been here long?”

“About half a year,” Dean answers as he puts the boxes in his hands down onto the ground. “I’ve got a place up on a lake.”

Gabriel blinks at that. “Huh.”

There’s something about the response that clearly seems to be suggesting something, and Dean’s just about to prod and ask for more when he hears a familiar beeeep coming from around the corner. The two men turn around to see the Impala driving up the street, stopping at the road in front of Gabriel’s house. Sam comes out through the driver’s side of the car moments later, looking up at Dean with an amused look on his face as he closes the door.

“Looks like you found him,” his brother starts, gesturing to Bones (now currently lying on the grass and enjoying the setting sun).

Dean breaks into a small smile. “Yeah.”

Gabriel peers between the two Winchesters before looking back to Dean. “You didn’t tell me you were taken, Dean-o,” he remarks with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows.

“Wha-” Sam starts before he gets the message and instantly cringes up. “No, ugh. Dean’s my brother, man.”

The answer does nothing to lessen Gabriel’s leering. “I’m always open for threesomes.”

“Can it,” Dean barks out, rolling his eyes-now this he had heard from Cas before, although he had no idea Gabriel’s legendary flirting would already start this quickly. Biting back a sigh, he gestures between Gabriel and his brother, introducing them to each other. “Gabriel, Sam. Sam, Gabriel.”

He can see his brother already starting to put on one of his man bitchfaces, but that quickly melts away when Gabriel extends out a hand for a handshake and Sam takes it. “Nice to meet you, Gabriel.”

“And the same back to you,” Gabriel answers with a smile now. He turns back to Dean once the introductions are over, looking at him as well as Sam while speaking. “Just so you guys don’t think I’m going to be drinking all of these-not that I can't, but-” he pauses to gesture at the boxes at their feet “I’m actually going to have a bunch of peeps over tonight; friends and locals all welcome. That includes you two.”

Sam blinks at the invitation. “A party? What’s the occasion?”

Gabriel responds with a snort. “Please. Do you always need a reason to host a party?” He shakes his head at that. “But if you must know-it’s my brother, Cas. He finally got the time to come down here from Madison, so I’m having a proper house-warming-slash-birthday celebration for him. It’s his birthday today.”

His birthday? Dean really has to pause at that, confused for a moment before he remembers that he actually never knew when Cas’ birthday is-he had never asked, and Cas had never said anything about it so Dean had been content to keep the status quo like that. To be honest, it had already completely slipped his mind, but now…

This time round its Sam who has to snap Dean out from his daze, snapping fingers in front of his brother until Dean flinches at the sound to turn around and scowl at Sam. “What?” he starts, voice coming out in a frustrated snap.

All Sam does in return is to give Dean one of his bitchfaces before turning back to Gabriel. “I’m pretty sure we can make it. What time’s the party?”

“Eight o’ clock sharp,” Gabriel answers as he casts another inquisitive look between the brothers. “Cas won’t be around until about nine though, so there’s no rush.”

Cas. Fuck, he’s going to see Cas.

“We’ll be there,” Dean instantly responds without thinking, mind already starting to whirl with thousands of emotions that Dean couldn’t even begin to start making sense of. After the train station he thought that might have been his one and only chance to see Cas, but somehow… now, right here, he’s going to see him again. And Dean sure as hell isn’t going to waste this chance like the last time, when he couldn’t do anything but watch Cas’ face disappear along with the train into the distance.

Gabriel takes a moment to blink at the fast reply, but soon breaks into an easy grin. “Excellent. I’ll be seeing you then.”

Dean nods, taking a few steps back and then turns around to walk back towards the Impala. Bones gets up without a word and follows behind this time along with Sam, who does nothing but shoot curious glances towards his brother as they get back into the car. It is only when they’re inside the car does Sam speak up, looking at Dean with concern as he asks in concern. “You sure you’re okay, Dean?”

The older Winchester looks at Gabriel’s house one more time before he turns to face the front, steeling himself with a deep breath before reaching for the ignition. “I’m fine, Sammy. In fact, I’m just peachy.”

He doesn’t even need to turn his head to know that Sam is rolling his eyes. “Of course you are, Dean.”

Bones barks out his agreement from the backseat behind them.

“You know, according to most accepted social norms nobody should be drinking alone after ten unless they have a valid reason to.”

Castiel turns around at the sound of his friend's voice to see not one, but two familiar faces looking right back at him. A smile crosses Balthazar's lips as the elder doctor casts an inquisitive look at him, arching up an eyebrow. “What's your excuse?”

Rather than dignifying Balthazar with an answer, Castiel turns his gaze over to the other figure half-draped over his friend and tries not to sigh at the obviously tipsy, half-drunk state his brother has already landed himself into. “Gabriel.”

“That's not an excuse,” the older Glaser retorts, pointing his index finger at Castiel's face. “So not an excuse. You're an assbutt, Cas.”

This time, Castiel does sigh. “Please take my brother home, Balthazar.”

“I would really love to,” Balthazar starts with a sigh of his own. “But unfortunately, the boyfriend's commands trumps the commands of the boyfriend's brother. Gabriel's quite intent on drinking you under the table tonight.”

Castiel eyes his brother at that comment. “In this state?” he can't help but question, because while Gabriel's alcohol tolerance is pretty good, it's also a fact that Castiel could beat almost anybody under the table almost any day. It's not something that Castiel does flaunt out, but at least it ensures that he doesn't do anything foolish while under the influence. Gabriel's done more than enough of that for both of them.

Gabriel narrows his eyes at the comment, and the finger pointing is back-this time almost right at Castiel's face. “You can't back out of this one, Cas. The drink's on me!”

“The offer of unlimited alcoholic consumption does not tempt me, Gabriel,” Castiel deadpans back to his brother, barely even batting an eyelash.

“Come oooon.” Gabriel's pouting now, a full-on childish pout Castiel knows that Balthazar has never been able to wholly resist but unfortunately has little effect on the younger Glaser himself. “It's your birthday, bro! Celebrate a little!”

“I'd rather not,” Castiel returns dryly this time round.

If anything, the pout only grows even more pronounced at the answer. “Party pooper,” he half-mutters out, dropping his arm.

Balthazar sighs once more, shifting around in order to help Gabriel down onto a nearby seat before getting one himself right beside Castiel. The younger doctor watches, making no protest as he watches his friend calling out a set of drinks for both of them. Castiel accepts his drink once it arrives, sipping at it while Balthazar downs about half of his drink in one go.

“You really shouldn't keep so much to yourself, you know,” the older doctor says after swallowing down his mouthful of alcohol. “Gabe might now show it, but he's been pretty worried about you these days.”

Castiel lowers his glass at the words, closing his eyes to let out a soft hiss of breath. “There is nothing that he should be worried about, Balthazar.”

“Even if he isn't, I am,” Balthazar returns with a small but pointed roll of his eyes. “Honestly, all these months of being in Chicago and you two have only met once? There's no reason why you two shouldn't be meeting every weekend.”

Perhaps, Castiel pauses to think to himself at that point, that Balthazar does make sense there. While he knows that his and Gabriel's schedules tend not to work well, at the same time he has been neglecting his brother quite a fair bit. The thought of that feels Castiel with a fair amount of guilt-after all, it isn't as if work has been the only thing that occupies him these days. There are the letters with Dean, and the trips to the lake house do take up a fair bit of time, as much as Castiel tries not to admit it; the place is located on the outskirts of the main city after all.

Staring down at his drink, Castiel remains silent for a few beats before speaking. “...you are right. I will put in more effort to spend time with Gabriel in the future.” After all, he can write a letter at almost any other time-he really should be paying more attention to his brother.

“As long as we're on the same wavelength here,” Balthazar says, downing the other half of his glass and proceeding to call for another before he talks again. “Although I do wonder-just what do you spend your free days doing?”

The question takes Castiel quite a bit in surprise, and the younger doctor makes a start, blinking a few times. “Um, well...”

“I see you writing quite a lot nowadays,” the older doctor continues on, head inclining just a little. “Either that, or you're reading a letter of sorts. Happens during almost every break we have in the hospital.”

Castiel flusters a little then, because he wasn't aware of the fact that he had been that wholly obvious. “Ah, that-”

A wry smile curls up at one of the corners of Balthazar's lips then. “Is it a love letter?”

“No!” The protest comes out in a near-shout from Castiel's lips before he can properly register it, and the man quickly quietens down after that sudden outburst. “It's just... a long-distance relationship.”

Balthazar raises an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “How long?”

Castiel gives a helpless shrug in response. “Just... long.” Long in ways that nobody would have ever thought impossible, but yet it was happening right in his life. If he had to be honest, Castiel would call his relationship with Dean the best and worst thing in his life-best because in Dean he had found somebody to admire and like, and worst because he knew that he would never be able to see him properly. This wasn't even a matter of distance or situation-this was about time, and there's no way anybody can go against it like that.

Balthazar lets out a small hum in return, swirling his drink around idly. “How did you two meet?” he eventually asks.

“We've never met,” Castiel answers without a beat.

The older doctor blinks, clearly taken aback. “What?”

“We've never met,” Castiel repeats himself, shrugging again. “We just write letters to each other.”

“You're kidding,” Balthazar deadpans, but Castiel shakes his head, leaving Balthazar very much bewildered and confused. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” the younger doctor intones back, taking another sip of his drink. “It's kind of funny, really. I mean... he's going to be the one guy I can never see, but yet there's nothing more I want to do than to actually see him, even if it's just for one time.” And the things he could say to Dean, to see him wholly and truly-to see him smile and laugh when they talk and his frowns when he complains about Bones dirtying the floor. What he wouldn't give just to see Dean, but yet Castiel knows that it will never happen so easily.

Balthazar gives him a sympathetic glance then. “It must be hard,” he muses quietly as he places his glass down. “But I'm sure if he's meant for you, then you'll see him one day.”

Castiel feels his lips curling into a small smile at that, feeling a surge of gratitude at his friend's words. “I hope that can be the case-”

He doesn't know what actually triggers it, but at that moment he finds his mind rewinding to the party that Gabriel had hosted for him two years ago-the same party that Gabriel had brought up in their conversation in their previous meeting. He remembers what Gabriel had said about that 'hot guy' who Castiel kissed back then, and as he thinks about that the face of the person in question suddenly becomes clear in his mind, along with a name that he now knows all too well.

Dean Winchester.

“Oh god.”

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