Chapter Text
Everything looked the same. Still, driving into Lawrence, Dean couldn’t help thinking that in the ten years he’d been gone—in all the ways that counted—everything had changed. The sky was a grim grey and the wet pavement showed how recently rain had fallen, but there wasn’t any splashing on the windshield right then. His view was clear as he navigated through familiar neighborhoods on autopilot. Everything was green with spring. Fresh new leaves on the trees, bushes, grass that looked healthy.
In the passenger seat, Sam was quiet as could be, eyes trained out his window and shoulders tense. His scent was melancholy; all mossy ozone. Dean’s was probably similar, they tended to smell a little alike especially when they were in the same mood though Sam's was underscored with the unmistakably musky scent of an alpha in contrast to Dean's omega-sweet.
The stillness between them was an uncomfortable by-product of coming back for this. The day they’d put Lawrence behind them and headed to the West Coast when Sam’d gotten accepted into his dream school on a full ride, neither of them thought they’d come back, but here they were. Dad always did get the last say.
He glanced over at Sam again, mouth half-open on a question he never got to ask, ‘cause Sam cut him off with an irritated, “Dude, I’m fine.”
So maybe he’d been a little over the top smother-y with his concern for Sam during the drive, but this had to be harder on him. Sam had been the one who’d fought the most with Dad before they left. It was him that Dad had accused of taking Dean away. Which made next to no sense since Dean was the older one, but Dad on a bender wasn’t exactly known for his rational thought process. A little too old school in his thoughts on omegas for Dean’s comfort.
Dean’s admission into The University of Kansas had been a big issue of contention between them at the time. Before Dean’d presented, Dad wouldn’t have batted his eyes twice at Dean’s ambitions, but after … after was why they hadn’t been home in ten years.
After was why when Sam applied to Stanford, Dean’d followed him instead of sticking around under his father’s thumb. The last thing he needed was to end up with even less control over his life. Married to someone because Dad decided he was too old to be unmated. As if being mated was Dean’s sole damn purpose in life. He clenched his jaw, a tick of muscle.
Being pissed at someone who’d wrapped their truck around a tree a couple days ago was useless. Being sad about it was somehow worse, but underneath the leftover righteous anger he felt, there was a smidgen of regret that they’d never get to have any kind of closure. That Dad wasn’t going to get over his pride one day and make things right with them, because that chance was gone now. Maybe along the edges, there was guilt too, 'cause Dean had done this to their family.
Even if he’d been right, and even if his life was infinitely better for his one small act of rebellion, it was his fault. If he’d been an alpha, or if he’d stayed—he pushed down on the acidic feeling that rose in his throat as he turned onto their old street.
There it was. The house they’d grown up in. Dean pulled his reliable Toyota Corolla into the space next to his dad’s Impala. He frowned at the dings and scratches that marred her paint job as he climbed out of his car.
“Baby, what did he do to you?” he ran his hand lovingly over the car’s hood, and softly murmured, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m gonna fix you up and take you home.”
Sam’s amused voice came from just behind him, “You two need a minute?”
“Have some respect, Sammy. Baby’s not that kinda girl.” Dean smirked over his shoulder, and Sam chuckled before his eyes drifted to the house and turned sober.
Dean followed his gaze and grimaced. The once bright white plastic siding of their house was dirty, dilapidated. There was a chunk missing from one of the pillars on the porch and the front steps were sagging. Windows were dusty and full of smudges, and that was just the outside.
Sam looked back at him, lips drawn down, forehead furrowed. “Looks like we got our work cut out for us. Wonder how bad it is inside?”
“Probably pretty bad.” Dean sighed. “He never liked housework.”
The ghost scent of dishwashing liquid and floor cleaner floated to the surface of Dean’s memory. The sound of their broken vacuum cleaner that barely picked up anything, but Dean always made an effort anyway.
He mentally shook himself out of it and started walking up the drive, “Kinda wishin’ we’d brought extra help. Benny and Victor offered to fly out, but I … uh,” Dean’s thoughts took a second to form into words. “I didn’t want ‘em to have to deal with this.”
“I get that. Good friends for offering, though,” Sam said as he carefully climbed the steps. He winced when one of the sagging stairs gave an ominous creak but it held under his weight. Dean skipped that one as he trailed after him. Sam glanced over his shoulder at Dean and added, “Cas, um … Cas is coming this morning.”
“Wow. Talk about a blast from the past.” Dean smiled. “Haven’t seen Cas Novak since the two of you were scrawny little seventeen year old nerdlings in graduation gowns. Do you guys still even talk?” he asked, unlocking the door.
“Duh. We’ve actually been on vacation a few times together. He still lives in Lawrence and I didn’t really plan to.…” Sam trailed off, leaving the ‘come back here’ part of his sentence unsaid.
“Huh.”
These days, he and Sam didn’t live quite as in each other’s pockets; Sam and Eileen had moved into their own little townhouse years ago. Both doctors, they pulled in decent enough pay that it was a nice one. He was proud of Sam, and he loved Eileen like a sister. He’d even learned a whole new language for her along with Sam. Learning how to sign was one of the few instances Dean could think of where he’d picked something up faster than Sam. He still liked to gloat about it now and then.
Dean did pretty well for himself, too, as a big shot editor at Sandover Publishing, so it wasn’t like Sam moving out had left him high and dry or anything. His not-quite-penthouse-level condo wasn’t anything to snub your nose at. Most days he was at work more than home, anyway, which at least partially explained why he hadn’t known Cas and Sam were still in touch.
They’d been thick as thieves all through high school, but he’d assumed they’d lost touch sometime in college like Dean had with most of his own friends. A part of Dean was glad he hadn’t, and that Sam would have some support while they were here since Eileen couldn’t make it. He was relieved that she’d decided to stay with her parents while he and Sam came back.
This wasn’t exactly gonna be a picnic—looking around at just the entry way full of trash, and extrapolating what the rest of the house would be like based on that—and at eight and a half months pregnant … this was somewhere he wouldn't want her to spend any amount of time.
With a sigh, he picked his way over the trash, Sam following behind him. “We’re gonna need cleaning supplies. Let’s take a quick look and figure out what exactly we’ll need to do.”
He glanced back at Sam, who nodded. “Sounds good. At the very least we can probably get most of the trash bagged before we need to get ready for the funeral. Maybe get some of the bedding in the laundry if the upstairs isn’t so bad.”
“Yeah. You wanna take upstairs or down here?” Dean asked, nose involuntarily wrinkled. Every mildly germaphobic bone in his body practically screamed at having to go deeper into this unkempt mess. Not to mention how awful it smelled in here. Faint traces of their dad’s once familiar scent mixed with a host of disgusting smells that Dean tried not to focus too closely on identifying.
Sam read him like a book and apparently took pity, “You take the upstairs.”
After a quick tour of their old bedrooms, and one slightly horrific peek into the bathroom and Dad’s room, Dean backtracked and stripped his and Sam’s beds. There was a uniform layer of dust that covered everything in their rooms. Like Dad had just closed the doors and never looked inside again. Something twisted in Dean’s gut, but he kept himself moving.
Sheets and blankets bundled in his arms, he carefully climbed down the stairs, eyes on his feet to make sure he didn’t miss his mark and end up on his ass.
On the second last step, his foot slipped out from under him—he barely had time to gasp out a startled, “Fuck,” before strong hands caught him and stopped him from falling.
His heartbeat picked up when his eyes focused on the face inches from his own. Warm, familiar blue. An intensely masculine scent made up of bergamot, spices and leather with a very faint trace of tobacco filled Dean’s senses and temporarily stunned him into silence. He definitely didn’t remember Cas smelling this good, but then, he didn’t remember him looking so damn alpha either.
That sharp, darkly stubbled jaw, high cheekbones and those blue, blue eyes. Shoulders broad in a faded grey t-shirt that was snugly fitted, and once he’d helped Dean get to his feet on the floor, only a couple inches shorter than him. They still hadn’t said anything. Cas was looking at him with an intense scrutiny that Dean should’ve found uncomfortable, but instead he was looking at Cas exactly the same.
Dean’s attraction to him was instant, a hot flush that spread down his chest and settled low in his belly. Embarrassment heated Dean’s cheeks as Cas’s nostrils flared—there was little doubt that Cas’d picked up on the sharp burst of arousal in his scent. Dean wet his lips and watched Cas track the motion, hands still warm on Dean’s waist. If it wasn’t for the pile of laundry in his arms, Dean was sure he’d‘ve plastered himself to Cas already. When’d Cas gotten so goddamn hot?
They were startled out of their little staring contest when Sam popped around the corner. “Oh. Hey, Cas. Guess you found Dean.”
“Hello, Sam. I—” Cas finally seemed to notice that he was still holding onto Dean, and he let his arms drop to his sides. “Yes.”
Dean narrowed his eyes at the knowing smirk on Sam’s face. “I slipped on the stairs. Cas caught me.” Sam’s smile just grew. “Shut it, Samantha. Did you see if the washer and dryer are useable?”
“Laundry’s piled up about yea high,” Sam held his hand up next to his waist, “but it looks like the machines work. I’ll go throw those in the washer and then we can go grab cleaning stuff.”
“Actually,” Cas spoke up, “I have stuff in my trunk. I stopped on the way over when you texted, Sam.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Dean said gruffly.
Cas nonchalantly shrugged a shoulder. “I didn’t mind.”
“Well, thanks,” Sam said with one of those dorky dimpled grins. “Saves us some time. Maybe we’ll even get most of this done today.” Dean looked skeptically at him, and Sam changed tack, “Or at least done enough that it’s not so bad for you when I fly home tomorrow.”
Resigned, Dean let out a gusty sigh, “Yeah, okay. Here,” he handed Sam the laundry and glanced at Cas. “C’mon, let's go grab the stuff from your trunk. I hope you brought bleach. We’re gonna need so much bleach.”
By the time he was ready to call it quits for now, Dean had dusted and vacuumed (with the same goddamn broken vacuum) both his and Sam’s room. He’d opened the windows to air them out and then he’d extremely grudgingly donned a pair of thick rubber gloves and tackled the bathroom.
Now it was sparkling and Dean was sweaty with the exertion of scrubbing pretty much every surface clean. Beads of perspiration dripped down from his temples and collected in the hollow of his throat. His black t-shirt was sticking wetly to his back. All in all, he felt pretty gross.
“Dean?” Cas’s voice close behind him made him jump upright from where he was bent over turning off the bathtub faucets.
“Jesus, Cas!” he exclaimed, one hand clutched to his chest like a chick in a B-movie horror flick as his heart raced with sudden adrenaline. Thanks to the cleaners he’d used, he hadn’t even smelled Cas before he’d scared the shit out of him.
Cas’s lips twitched up at one corner, “I brought you this,” he held out a bottle of water.
“Oh. Just lemme wash my hands,” Dean said, pleased. A thorough hand wash later, Dean reached out and took the offered bottle. “Thanks.”
Greedily, Dean rapidly uncapped it and pursed his lips around the mouth, he chugged the water down in big swallows. Around the bottle when he caught Cas watching the bob of his throat with rapt fascination, Dean smirked.
There was a darker pink flush to Cas's cheeks than he’d had when he’d walked into the bathroom, his scent sparked deliciously. Like him, Cas was dishevelled, skin damp with sweat, hair stuck up in a way Dean’s fingers itched to comb through. He looked dangerously gorgeous and all sorts of dirty images flashed through Dean’s mind.
A tiny prick of guilt poked at him. He was going to his dad’s funeral in a few hours and here he was in his house, having less than pure thoughts about Sam’s best friend. There was probably something wrong with him, but the heat in Cas’s eyes when he dragged them up to Dean’s face as he finished … was kinda worth it. Maybe Cas could offer exactly the kind of distraction that Dean needed this weekend. The kind he would’ve been out looking for as soon as Sam left anyway. He licked his lips and watched Cas mirror him. Hot.
“Guys!” Sam called up the stairs.
Right. Dean blinked and focused. “Yeah?”
“Did you get the bathroom done? ‘Cause I think we should shower pretty soon if we’re gonna make it on time.” His footsteps stomped up the stairs, and Cas ducked back out of the room just as Sam reached the top.
“Yeah, I’m done. I call first dibs though!” Dean quickly answered.
“Fine,” Sam replied, as he glanced in the door. “Do I even wanna know what it looked like before?”
Dean’s shudder was answer enough, he figured.
Cas’s gaze lingered on Dean a moment longer and then he turned to Sam, “I’m going to head home to get cleaned up as well. I’ll meet you at Paradise Garden Memorial?”
Sam nodded. “Sounds good, Cas. I’ll walk you out. Gotta grab our bags from Dean's car anyway.”
They both headed for the stairs while Dean stood, kinda dumbfounded in the doorway. “Guess I’ll just wait here, then,” he mumbled to himself.
At the top of the stairs Cas glanced back at him with amusement in his eyes. “I'll see you later, Dean.”
Dean’s cheeks burned, probably red, he hadn’t meant for Cas to catch that. “Uh … yeah. Um, see you.”
The little smile on Cas’s lips widened just before he disappeared from view. Dean tipped his head back, eyes closed, a thrum of want humming under his skin. God, he really hoped Cas would be down for some mutual relieving of tension once Sam headed home. At least the thought gave him something to look forward to.
It didn’t take long for Sam to clomp back up the stairs and toss his duffel bag to him. Dean thanked him and took it into his room. He dropped it on the bed and unzipped it, rifling through until he found a towel. He deliberated over what he was gonna wear this afternoon before he settled on a pair of fitted black jeans and a dark blue denim shirt. Sam would probably be pissed he hadn’t actually packed anything nicer, but Dean didn’t really feel like being stuffed into a monkey suit. This was uncomfortable enough.
After he’d laid out his clothes on the bed, he grabbed his towel along with his travel kit and headed back into the bathroom. He hung up his towel on the door, set his travel kit on the counter next to the sink. Methodically, and half on autopilot, he got out his shampoo and body wash, stuck them on the shelf in the shower.
Tiredly, he turned on the water and let it warm up as he stripped out of his sticky clothing. He left them in a pile by bath tub so that he could step out onto them to dry off. Dad’s bath mat hadn’t been salvageable. He valiantly focused on not visualizing it as he stepped under the hot spray of the shower and tugged the curtain closed. He grimaced at it, and decided he’d grab a new one tomorrow morning. Bleach only did so much.
For a moment he just blocked everything out as he tilted his head back under the water, letting the heat and soothing pressure against his scalp relax him a little. The dull ache in his chest that he’d been pushing down ever since Bobby had phoned them with the news swelled up a little and threatened to choke him. Swallowing hard, he reached for his shampoo, uncapped it and poured a generous amount into the palm of his hand. He set it back down and rubbed his hands together, the peppermint scent of it familiar and comforting.
Unhurried, he massaged it into his hair and let its tingly cooling sensation distract him a little. Maybe his eyes stung a bit, but he tried desperately to ignore that along with the lump in his throat. He rinsed his hair out and washed up with the same brand of old spice body wash he’d been using since the first time he’d needed to buy his own.
Then he stood there under the hot water, and told himself to get it together. He’d known this trip was gonna bring up a lot of shit that he'd buried down deep, but he’d really thought he’d handle it better than he was. Not be at risk of falling completely apart on the first day back. He hated feeling weak like this, like he was proving Dad right.