elementalv

Title: Out And About
Author: elementalv
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Roughly 4,450 words written for the 2009 AU/Fusion challenge. The prompt was: #70. Cas as a geeky librarian in a high school. Very geeky and VERY virgin. Dean is a jock. The rest is up to the writer as long as there’s SEX IN LIBRARY. As you can see from the rating on this, I completely failed at the one requirement of the prompt (my porn-fu is broken and only works sporadically these days). Sorry. Hope you enjoy it anyway.

~*~*~
“Um, Father Castiel?”

Castiel sighed and said, “I’m no longer a priest, Amy. You should call me Mr. Van Engelen.”

“Sorry. It’s just — you know — still kind of weird.”

“Even so, I would appreciate it if you would make an effort to call me by the appropriate name,” he said. “Now. What can I do for you?”

“We have this paper? In English?” Castiel fought back the urge to tell her to stop turning statements into interrogatives and waited for her to spit out whatever it was she needed to say, which she still hadn’t after two digressions and a wholly unnecessary question of “Mr. Van Engelen, don’t you get how totally hot Mr. Winchester is?”

“Amy? The reason you’re here?” Castiel wasn’t above praying to God that she would actually get to the point before he lost his mind and actually agreed with her as to just how very hot Mr. Winchester was. Is. Will be forever more, amen. Whatever. It wasn’t as if she needed outside confirmation of the fact, and Amy certainly didn’t need to hear Castiel’s thoughts on the subject.

“Oh. Yeah, right. So, like, there’s this paper? And I randomly decided to, you know, do like a book report? On Kurt Vonnegut?”

Castiel relaxed as Amy finally got around to saying why she was there. “Which of his books do you want to read?”

Amy blinked. “He, like, wrote more than one?”

For a moment, Castiel looked at her, then asked, “If you didn’t know that, why did you choose him as an author?”

“Because, you know? Mr. Winchester is always talking about him and stuff? So I thought it would be good to do a book report on him? But if he’s written more than one —?”

“Slaughterhouse-Five,” Castiel said abruptly, unwilling and unable to take anymore. “You’ll find it in the last aisle of the fiction section.” When Amy looked around the library, uncertain of where to go, Castiel gently turned her in the right direction and pushed her forward. And then he looked at the clock to see how much longer he had to go before he could kick all of the students out of the library and send them home for the weekend.

~*~*~
He was just getting out of his car when Anna came running out of the house, waving her arms for him to get back into the car, which meant exactly one thing and no other. Castiel looked around wildly, but he didn’t see their mother’s car. “Where is she?”

“On her way, and she’s bringing Dottie Lipshitz’s son with her. You have got to get out of here before she sees you, or you and Bozo will be on a date before you know it,” Anna said, pushing him just hard enough to make him sit in the driver’s seat.

Castiel didn’t need more incentive than that, but he felt that it was necessary to point out, “His name is Boris, not Bozo. Will you be all right?’

“Yeah, no problem,” she said, shrugging off his concern. “I’ll just tell her you left a message on my cell that you wouldn’t be home.”

“She’ll want to hear it.”

Anna looked up the street to see if their mother was on her way yet. “Which is why, as soon as you get out of here, you’re going to leave the message, okay?”

“Got it. See you later,” he said, kissing the back of her hand quickly before pushing her away to close the door. “And thank you, Anna.”

“No problem.” She leaned down and poked her head in the window. “And hey! Maybe tonight’s the night you lose that pesky virginity of yours!”

“I hate you,” he said, putting the car in reverse. “I hate you, and I’m moving out tomorrow.”

“You love me, and you know it,” she yelled, as Castiel drove away. She might have said something else, but he was too determined to avoid their mother to go back and ask. Anyway, it was unlikely she’d said anything he hadn’t already heard a few hundred times before.

And yes, very well, he did love her, which was why, as soon as he reached a stoplight, he left a message on Anna’s cell phone to get her off the hook for not keeping him their house. On its own, standing vigilant guard against their mother’s attempts to find him a “nice boy to settle down with, dear” should have been more than enough to guarantee that Castiel would always defend Anna. The problem was that if Anna hadn’t plied Castiel with liquor after he left the Church, Anna never would have known why he’d renounced his vows, and she definitely wouldn’t have explained it to their mother.

Really, most of Castiel’s personal problems stemmed directly from the fact that Anna was constitutionally unable to keep her mouth shut. The rest — well — Castiel was sure that if he prayed long enough and hard enough, he would eventually be able to move on and perhaps be willing to allow his mother the benefit of the doubt when it came to her matchmaking attempts. Not, of course, if it involved Bozo — Boris — or his ilk, but Castiel had faith that her taste would eventually improve. It had to — couldn't possibly get worse. In the meantime and with Anna’s help, he would simply avoid the issue.

~*~*~
Castiel ducked a roundhouse punch and fervently wished he’d followed his first impulse and gone to Hell for dinner. The Dam Sight Inn served a decent burger, and it wasn’t all that far from Chelsea. Not really. But the thought of driving any real distance had been anathema, so instead, he stopped in at Stivers, which was his first mistake, though it shouldn’t have been. Stivers was a family restaurant and didn’t ordinarily attract a rowdy crowd.

Paul Franklin fell against Castiel, and when he realized whom he’d nearly flattened, he started apologizing profusely, which meant he missed the fact that Mike Gibbs was about to suckerpunch him. Castiel made his second mistake when he yanked Paul to the side and ended up with Mike’s fist in his gut. Oddly enough, it didn’t feel quite as bad as Castiel thought it would, not at first anyway. Three seconds later, he was doubled over and hoping desperately to empty his stomach of the prime rib he’d finished fifteen minutes earlier.

In a distant sort of way, he heard Paul and Mike ramp up their argument about exactly who was responsible for making Father Castiel puke in the middle of the bar, and then someone had grabbed him by the arm and was steering him to the door. He figured it was likely the bartender, so when they hit the cold air of an October night, he was surprised to hear a familiar voice.

“Jesus, Cas. Getting into a bar fight’s a hell of a way to bust out of your shell, there.”

His stomach spasms started to calm down enough for Castiel to be thoroughly mortified by the position he found himself in as well as by the witness himself. Dean Winchester was one of the few people in town to remember on a regular basis that Castiel was no longer a priest. That he was also the reason for Castiel’s change in status was a fact Castiel had no intention of sharing with anyone. Ever. Most of his nightmares these days revolved around Anna discovering Castiel’s ridiculous longing for Dean Winchester, because he had no doubt whatsoever that she would feel perfectly free to tell everyone about it. Castiel shuddered at the thought of what Mother would do with the information, but he managed to avoid heaving again.

Once his stomach and embarrassment felt more under control, he carefully straightened up and said, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For gripping me tight and removing me from perdition.” Castiel looked back at the bar and took in a deep breath of the cool night air. The lack of cigarette smoke was a blessing in and of itself, and helped him feel somewhat better and more clear-headed.

“Yeah, well. Sorry about not getting to you sooner. Mike doesn’t usually throw the first punch until later in the night. He kind of surprised me,” Dean said as he helped Castiel to his car, a lovingly maintained black Impala. Castiel wasn’t sure of the car’s year, but he did know that fully half the kids at the high school would cheerfully sell their soul for a chance to look under the hood, let alone sit in it. And now, it seemed, that Castiel was going to sit in it himself, judging by the way Dean was pushing him into the passenger seat.

“I know Mike and Paul have their issues, but I never knew they took such — direct — measures to express them.”

Dean moved around to get into the driver’s seat and looked at Castiel out of the corner of his eye. He looked reluctant to speak, so Castiel was surprised when he did. “Tell you the truth, I think it got worse after you left the pulpit.”

“What?”

Dean shrugged. “I don’t think either of them ever wanted to show up on Sunday looking like they’d been brawling.”

“But Father Patrick —”

“Isn’t you. Sorry.”

“This — this isn’t — oh God.” Castiel put his face in his hands and wondered what, exactly, he was supposed to do with that information.

“Look, you gotta know that Mike and Paulie make their own choices, right?”

“But if they —”

“Their. Own. Choices. Remember that,” Dean said, as he pulled out of the parking lot. “One of these days, they’ll get over it and calm down again, and if I have a word with Father Pat on Sunday, I’m sure he can get that message across loud and clear.”

Castiel said nothing more as Dean headed west on Old U.S. 12. He’d been praying at home since breaking his vows, uncomfortable with the thought of attending church as a parishioner, so he hadn’t met Father Patrick, and he was completely out of touch when it came to the congregation and their upsets — which was as it should be. Despite the fact that Mike’s and Paul’s spiritual health was no longer his responsibility, Castiel felt as though he’d failed them both.

Dean broke into his thoughts to ask, “You live on Washington, don’t you?”

“Yes. Near Clairdale Court.” After a moment, Castiel blinked and realized — “My car.”

“We can come get it in the morning. I don’t think you’re in any real shape to drive right now, are you?” Castiel’s gut still ached with a dull, thudding intensity. He could probably drive, but Dean had a point, and if he didn’t have to drive, there was no reason to push it.

They made the rest of the brief drive in silence, Castiel speaking up only when Dean parked in front of his house, where he saw his mother’s car sitting in the driveway. “Damn it.”

Dean’s laughter was short and sharp. “Never thought I’d hear you swear, Cas.”

“My mother.” He shot a guilty look at Dean. “I’d hoped to avoid her this evening by going out for dinner.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“She — she’s been trying to arrange dates for me.”

“Oh yeah? Lemme guess — Margie Petrelli?”

For a moment, Castiel thought to avoid answering entirely, but Dean had been helpful earlier, and Castiel had never learned the trick of lying in response to a direct question. “Boris Lipshitz.”

“Dude!” Castiel tensed up, waiting for the rest of Dean’s reaction. He doubted it would be violent — Dean was essentially a kind man — but nor did he think it would be — “Boris Lipshitz? You can do way better than that. You think he’s in there with her?”

“I —” Castiel truly didn’t know how to respond.

“Bet he is,” Dean said thoughtfully. “Tell you what. I’ll go in with you, just to keep the lions at bay.”

“No!”

“Come on. Your mom isn’t that bad. She’s kind of fun.”

“She’ll think you and I — Dean, please. You don’t want to go there.”

Dean just grinned at Castiel then got out of the Impala, and Castiel’s stomach flipped in a way that had nothing whatsoever to do with Mike’s fist. He got out slowly, unwilling to go into the house to watch the train wreck he knew was on the horizon. Dean turned around and continued walking backward, a big smile on his face.

“Come on, Cas. What’s the worse that could happen?”

~*~*~
Three hours later, Castiel finished the last of the Pepto Bismol and wondered gloomily if he could go next door to borrow a bottle of whisky. Or perhaps rum. Something, anyway, that might dull the headache that arrived shortly after they’d walked in to find that Boris was irritated and Mother was — Mother.

“Annelies!” Dean had said, all but picking Mother up in a hug that was absurdly affectionate. “Cas didn’t tell me you were here waiting for us, otherwise, we’d’ve been home sooner.”

Castiel’s mouth had dropped open a little, but before he could correct the lie, Anna had come in from the kitchen with a serene, “I told you not to worry, Mother. Dean Winchester is perfectly respectable, and you know it.”

“And you couldn’t have told me who was with my baby boy?” Mother had demanded, swatting the back of Anna’s head as she did so.

While Dean had covered for them, Castiel had gone to the whisky, only to be stopped by Anna, who had hissed, “Is this really a good time to be drinking?” as she sent a suggestive look in Dean’s direction. He’d nearly hyperventilated at the thought that Anna knew about his feelings for Dean and that she’d managed not to say anything to anyone, which was so far beyond out of character for her that he’d been tempted to see if she was possessed. But then she added, “I’d be surprised if the whole town doesn’t already know, what with Mother’s matchmaking, but do you honestly want Dean Winchester to figure it out?”

He’d blinked then said, “He already knows why Boris is here.”

“Oh,” she’d said, deflating. “Pour one for me while you’re at it. Mother’s been worse than usual. Did you know she’s been talking about starting a PFLAG group at the church?”

A loud burst of laughter came from the kitchen, and Castiel leaned his forehead against the mirror over the sink. In theory, he should be out there rescuing someone from someone else, but he couldn’t help but think that he was the one who needed rescuing from the lot of them. So far, the only good that had come of Dean’s self-invitation was the rather sullen departure of Boris. Judging by the look he’d sent in Castiel’s direction, he rather suspected that Mother had promised Boris his suit would be met with favor.

And dear God in Heaven, Castiel thought, when did my life start looking like the plot of an overwrought Harlequin romance?

Someone, likely Anna, pounded loudly on the bathroom door, and Castiel jumped at the sudden noise. He yanked the door open to find Dean on the other side — Dean with his wide, devil-may-care grin; Dean with his green eyes that had led Castiel to think inappropriate thoughts in the pulpit; Dean with a face beautiful enough to make angels weep.

Dean.

Castiel swallowed hard and said, “Yes?”

“Come on, time to walk me to my car. I’ll be back in the morning to pick you up.”

“I’m sure Anna —”

“No need to drag her out of bed,” Dean said, winking at Anna, who had the temerity to blush. Castiel really hated her right at that moment, and he meant it, too. Dean took him by the arm and said, “Come on. Much as I like your mom and sis, I’m pretty sure they don’t want to watch us saying goodnight.”

“Of course I do!” said Mother. But before Castiel or Anna could respond, Dean was hustling him out the back door and into a night that had gone from cool to cold.

“Damn. Didn’t think the temperature would go down so quick,” Dean said. “Sorry about not stopping for your coat.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Castiel said. “The air is helping to clear my head.”

They reached the Impala, and Dean faced Castiel. “Yeah, well. Look — I just wanted to apologize.”

“Apologize? For what?”

“For not believing you when you said it would be bad. Should’ve known you wouldn’t lie about a thing like that.” Dean glanced over Castiel’s shoulder then added, “But I’m not sorry about doing this.”

This turned out to be a goodnight kiss that turned Castiel inside out and downside up and rightside left. For a moment, a very brief moment, Castiel rather thought Dean was making the effort as a way to appease his mother and sister, but that didn’t explain Dean’s low growl a moment into the kiss. Nor did it explain the way he yanked Castiel closer and groaned when Castiel opened his lips. And it really didn’t explain the insistent shift of Dean’s hips into his nor Dean’s hardness matching his own, because none of that could be properly seen from the house, not with the Impala in the way.

Castiel gripped the lapels of Dean’s coat and hung tight as his legs weakened, only to find himself propped up just enough by the insertion of Dean’s thigh between his own. And dear God, the pressure wasn’t quite enough to provide any measure of relief, but it was more than enough to send Castiel’s mind into a thousand directions at once, with none of those directions leading him back to sanity.

Instead, it was Dean who did that when he finally ended the kiss. “Um, yeah. Probably not — I mean — um. Tomorrow. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Morning?” Castiel asked, still trying to gather his wits.

“Yeah,” Dean said, staring at Castiel’s lips. “Say around eight? We can — um — breakfast. Then —”

“Car,” Castiel said, and he really hoped he didn’t sound as breathless as he thought he did, but Dean didn’t seem to notice.

“Yeah. Car.” Dean released Castiel slowly, and after two attempts, he managed to get the car door open. “Um. Good night.”

Castiel blinked then shivered, nodding as he walked backward up the drive. A moment later, Dean left, and Castiel was left to fend off questions both Mother and Anna.

~*~*~
There was a time when Castiel could have sublimated whatever desire he had into good old-fashioned hard work: oiling the wood of the pews, ironing his vestments, dusting his bookshelves. Any task, no matter how mundane, was fair game as long as it allowed him to get lost in the rhythm and effort of the job. Saturday morning, as he waited for Dean to appear — and Castiel had absolutely no doubt that he would — there was little he could imagine doing that would make him stop thinking about the kiss they’d exchanged the night before.

It had been both far more and far less than he’d expected. Far more in that his physical reaction to a mere — mere? — kiss had been extreme, or so he thought. And far less in that he’d eventually realized the earth hadn’t actually moved; it only felt like it had, which meant that not only was Castiel’s life taking on the shape and tone of a Harlequin romance, it was also being scored with music by Carole King. As he wondered if he could get Tapestry from iTunes, Dean pulled up. Castiel half expected him to take the bad-boy image to the extreme by simply honking and waiting for Castiel to appear, but no. He turned off the engine and came up the walk, Like any proper suitor would, Castiel thought with a tinge of hysteria.

Anna came up to the window and said, “Nice to see he knows how to treat a boy right.”

“I will kill you,” he muttered.

She kissed his cheek. “Maybe, but not today, because today, someone is actually taking you out. Just remember that Van Engelens don’t put out on the first date.”

Before he could point out that he’d been conceived on their parents’ first date, Dean was ringing the doorbell, and Anna was answering. Castiel couldn’t quite bring himself to do more than stare at Dean, who was dressed in — no. Castiel refused point blank to catalog what Dean was wearing. Granted, he was the only one who would know how pathetic he was for noticing the way the soft denim hugged Dean’s legs or the way his black leather jacket seemed to mold Dean’s arms, but Castiel had limits. He was sure of it. Mostly.

“I’m ready,” Castiel said abruptly, breaking into whatever Anna was saying. And it must have been bad, because Dean shot him a look of pure gratitude before opening the door again to back out onto the porch.

“Well come on, then. Day’s a wasting, and I’ve got plans.”

Anna handed him his coat and said something else, but really, she couldn’t possibly expect him to pay attention with Dean right there, could she? No. Of course not. Castiel followed Dean onto the porch and said, “Plans? I thought we were just getting breakfast and my car.”

“Yeah, sure. That and more,” Dean said. He opened the passenger door for Castiel, but before he could get into the car, Dean was — was —

Dear God, Dean was kissing him again, this time in full view of every house on the street, and if his neighbors hadn’t yet guessed or known why Castiel was no longer a priest, they would know now. But then Dean nudged a thigh between Castiel’s legs, just as he’d done the night before, and Castiel stopped thinking about much of anything except how to get Dean to change the angle and pressure just enough to make him —

“Good morning,” Dean said, his voice husky.

“Good morning,” Castiel meant to say. Instead, he whimpered a little as Dean pushed him onto the passenger seat before bending down to put Castiel’s legs into the car as well. Dean shut the door, and by the time he was settling into the driver’s seat, Castiel had collected enough of his wits about him to actually say, “Good morning. That — that was —”

Dean grinned at Castiel and said, “Yeah, that was, huh?”

There wasn’t much more to be said to that. Dean clearly knew what he’d been doing when he kissed him like that. It had been a deliberate act and one that he’d known Castiel would accede to. After all, he’d consented the night before, so there was no reason to think he wouldn’t this morning. Still, Castiel felt a bit odd about it, no matter how good the kiss was — and yes, it had been good. More than good, and if they’d been anywhere but his driveway in the middle of the morning, Castiel was quietly certain his virtue would no longer be intact, so to speak. But no matter how good the kiss had been, there’d been something a bit off in Dean’s behavior this morning. Something hadn’t quite meshed with the kiss from last night.

After they turned onto Main Street, he said, “Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas?”

“Why did you kiss me just now?” It wasn’t much, just a waver of the steering wheel under Dean’s hands, but it was enough to convince Castiel that he was correct in thinking the kiss hadn’t been quite what Dean meant him to believe it was.

“I, um, I wanted to.”

Over the course of the ten years that Castiel had served God a priest, he’d found that the best way to get people to talk was to say nothing. Eventually, they filled in his side of the conversation in their own mind and responded out loud to whatever they thought he was about to say. It had never felt like a particularly honest way of communicating, but it was certainly effective — a fact which Dean was currently busy proving all over again.

“And yeah, okay, maybe I didn’t have to do it in your driveway —”

Castiel stared at Dean’s profile.

“But you know, why not? I mean, it’s not like no one knows about you, right? Not with your mom trying to pimp you out to anyone and everyone —”

At that, Castiel raised his eyebrows.

“I mean, come on! Bozo Lipshitz? Everyone knows Dottie’s mouth is even bigger than your sister’s —”

Castiel firmed his lips to keep from laughing, though he suspected Dean might take it the wrong way. And he was right about that, as it turned out.

“Not to say anything bad about Anna, but, well. She talks. A lot. You know?” Dean glanced over at Castiel and muttered, “Of course you know.”

When Dean said nothing else, Castiel finally told him, “I’m aware that my sexual orientation isn’t as private a matter as I would have hoped to keep it. I was just a bit surprised that you were so willing to announce your own in such a blatant manner.”

“‘Blatant manner?’ Who the hell talks like that?”

“I do. And you haven’t answered the question.”

Dean pulled into the parking lot of the Wolverine — which was exactly the wrong direction to go to get back to Stivers — and he sat there for a moment before saying, “Look. Last night — I was just — I didn’t want your mom to think it — you and me —was a complete lie, you know? Because she was watching out the window. Her and Anna both. And the way they were standing there, I couldn’t just — I didn’t want them to think I was there just to get them off your back. So I kissed you. Only —”

Castiel let that “only” hover between them for a long moment before saying, “Only it didn’t quite work out that way.”

Dean continued to look straight ahead as he laughed at that. “Got that right.”

He could probably let it go at that, say something to let Dean off whatever hook he thought he was on, but Castiel wasn’t feeling particularly generous. Not with — and he cringed at the wording that came to mind, though it was accurate — not with two soul-shattering kisses between them. He asked again, “Why did you kiss me this morning?”

Dean let out a heavy breath and said, “Because I wanted to know if last night was a fluke or if — if it was real.”

“And which is it?”

In answer, Dean leaned across the seat to kiss Castiel yet a third time.