RockStarPeach

(Masterpost)






A week later Dean gets a call at the garage and has to come pick Ben up from school. He was caught making out with Shelly Holt in the janitor’s closet during his fifth period Spanish class and now he’s suspended for two days.

The first thing he feels when he hears about it, much as he tries to pretend it’s not the case, is a twinge of pride.

Under different circumstances, he would have congratulated the kid. God knows Dean’s gotten in enough trouble at school for the very same thing, but it’s different now because this is Ben. It’s Dean job to keep him out of trouble, not encourage it, much as he’d sometimes like to.

And this kind of thing isn’t him, isn’t the Ben he knows, the Ben he’s spent the past half decade helping to raise. Ben has always gone to class and done his homework and if he’s interested in girls now that’s okay. That’s great, in fact, because he’s about old enough and Dean would honestly start to worry if he wasn’t trying to get a little action, but this isn’t just a harmless one off.

It’s the most recent fuck-up in an ever increasing line of fuck-ups.

Besides, Dean had assumed he’d taken his last trip to the principal’s office back when he was in twelfth grade and he’d told Mr. Marshall that he was dropping out. So a ten minute lecture from Ben’s principal on his questionable parenting hasn’t done much for Dean’s mood and as a result, any charitable notions he’d had about maybe going easy on Ben pass way before they get home.

As soon as they walk in the door, Ben makes for the stairs, for the sanctuary of his bedroom but before he can take more than a couple of steps in the direction of the staircase Dean reaches out his left arm and clamps his hand down tightly over Ben’s shoulder.

“Sit your ass down on the couch,” he growls. “And don’t even think about moving until I get back.”

Ben shoots him a dirty look but he drops his backpack on the floor and makes for the living room.

Dean’s not gone for long. Only as long as it takes to drink a glass of water from the kitchen tap and take a few deep breaths. He’s pissed at Ben and the kid needs to be punished, but Dean doesn’t want to take out the dregs of his own personal feelings of failure and inadequacy on him.

When he gets back to the living room Ben’s sitting on the couch, as ordered. He’s scrunched into the corner and he’s got his cell phone in his lap, thumbs working rapid-fire over the touchscreen.

“Put it down,” Dean says and Ben barely spares him a glance before he looks back down at his phone. Dean gives it a few more seconds and finally Ben sighs and stuffs the phone back in his pocket.

“What?” he asks. “I was in the middle of something.”

Dean considers telling Ben that yeah, he’s about to be in the middle of a severe ass-kicking, but it doesn’t exactly feel productive, so he swallows down the urge.

“The hell were you thinking?” he asks instead. “I mean, Ben. I can get behind a little lip action with a pretty girl – trust me, man – but after all the stuff you’re catching shit for, I think there are probably better times and better places.”

“So,” Ben starts, pulling his brows tight like he’s actually considering, even though Dean can tell he’s being sarcastic as hell. “You’re upset that I got caught, not that I ditched class?”

Dean’s proud of himself for not rising to the bait.

“I’m upset that you’re not acting like yourself. A little teenage rebellion is one thing, but if you keep this shit up you’re gonna screw yourself out of a good future. You don’t want that. And even if you do, I’m not going to let you. School is… you know. Important and shit.”

“Yeah, it was so important for you, when you dropped out of high school, right?”

“That was different,” Dean tells him. He can feel his jaw tightening, can hear his voice harden and he can’t stop it. It was different. “My dad needed help at the shop, we needed the money. Besides, Sam was always the brains in the family. He stayed in school and now look – fancy pants lawyer boy. Don’t you want be able to do something like that too?”

“So what? Your life would have been better if you’d stayed in school?” Ben sounds flat, bored, and it only pisses Dean off more. “If you got straight A’s and went to college like Sam you’d be happier?”

“No,” he sighs, rubbing a hand through his hair and making the short spikes stick up in all directions. Fuck, why is this so hard? Dean likes his life, wouldn’t change any of it. He likes his job and he likes his friends and sure – he misses Lisa like air, but that has nothing to do with his education. Truth is, staying in school wouldn’t have done him any good at all, because he’d still be exactly where he is.

As far as Dean’s concerned there’s not a damn thing wrong with small town life and fuck anyone who thinks you need a fancy office job and a big city apartment to be a success.

The point is, he wants Ben to have options.

But telling Ben that probably won’t make a damn bit of difference, not with Ben so hard set on disagreeing with absolutely everything Dean says right now, so he just pinches the bridge of his nose and says, “Don’t cut anymore classes.”

“Look, whatever,” Ben says, sighing and palming his pocket when he feels his phone vibrate. “Are we done?”

“You’re grounded,” Dean says and watches Ben roll his eyes as he gets up and heads for his room.

“Yeah, figured,” Ben mumbles as he stomps up the stairs and Dean doesn’t get the chance to tell him the reason Dean won’t let him piss his life away. Doesn’t get the chance to say that it’s because he cares about Ben more than he’s ever cared about anyone but Sam in his whole life.

He wouldn’t know how to make Ben believe him, anyway.

***

Four hours later, after he’s promised Jo time and half to sit in his living room and make sure Ben doesn’t leave the house, he’s out at the Roadhouse with Sam, half way through a bottle of vodka.

Most of that half is working it’s way through Sam’s bloodstream at the moment, since Dean’s more of a whisky guy, but Dean’s still got a pretty good buzz and when a pretty girl across the room smiles at him and looks him up and down, he can almost pretend that everything is back to normal again and he’s not completely responsible for making sure a whole human life doesn’t end up in the gutter.

He smiles back at the girl. He’s pretty sure he could go home with her, it’s been a little while and really, he could do with the distraction. He puts the thought on hold for the time being, decides to come back to it at the end of the night, if they’re both still interested. Right now is brother time, and it’s been even longer since he’s had any of that.

“No, but seriously,” Sam is saying, as he leans a little too close to Dean and sloshes some of the clear liquor over the top of his glass. Dean warned him not to drink it straight, but he’s glad Sam didn’t take his advice. “Sarah. I’m telling you, she’s awesome.”

“That’s great, Sammy,” Dean says and even though he knows he sounds distant, feels distant because he has so much of his own shit to worry about, he really does think it’s great. “You deserve someone awesome.”

“No, but she’s… She’s really awesome. Like… She’s so pretty and she’s so smart and she’s funny too, you know? Like she’s… awesome.”

Dean laughs a little, despite everything, because a drunk Sam is a funny Sam, no matter how maudlin he sometimes gets. But also because the idea of Sam, actually happy with someone, in a relationship that might really be going somewhere after the heartbreak of leaving Jess behind in California – it makes Dean happy.

He thinks maybe Sam might really have something, this time. He might get the girl and the house and the garden and the soccer games and the happily ever after, just like he’s always wanted.

Hell, if Dean’s being honest, he wants that too. Thought he had it for a while, but. Well. Doesn’t matter now. Tonight isn’t the time to think about shit like that, anyway. Tonight he needs a fucking break before he loses his shit in a major way. He needs to get drunk and play pool with Sam, needs to listen to a shitload of classic rock on the jukebox, needs to feel like he’s normal again.

And yeah, maybe he needs to get laid.

“Well, let’s just hope she doesn’t clue in that she’s too good for you, huh?” Dean teases, taking the bottle from Sam’s unsteady fingers and filling up both their glasses again. “And since you guys have been dating for a few weeks now, maybe you could bring her over to the house sometime. I promise I won’t bang her while you’re in the bathroom fixing your hair.”

“You wish,” Sam snarls, frowns and pushes at Dean with a huge, solid paw to his chest. “She’s way too awesome to fall for your shit.”

“You underestimate my ‘shit’,” Dean tells him, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head down. Sam’s so much fun when he can’t think straight. “I can get anyone to fall for it.”

“You wouldn’t,” Sam says, voice kind of light and breathy, like he can’t even bring himself to say it for real. “Dean. You wouldn’t, man. She’s… I saw her first!”

Dean laughs then, the vibrations settling deep and warm in his belly. He throws an arm around Sam’s shoulders. “Relax, Sammy. I promise to be a perfect gentleman. So hey, what do you say we shoot some stick? Five bucks a ball?”

“You’re on, jackass,” Sam grumbles, pulling out from under Dean’s arm. When he stands up he wobbles a little and Dean almost feels bad about the hundred dollars he’s about to steal from the kid.

***

It’s ten o’clock on Tuesday night, a school night. Ben’s not grounded anymore, had asked Dean if he could go get a burger with his friends after school and Dean, being amazingly cool and understanding and forgiving, had said it was fine. And it was fine. It would have been fine, anyway, but Ben’s curfew was two hours ago.

Dean’s been calling the kid’s cell phone every five minutes since eight fifteen and he doesn’t let out the breath of relief he’s been holding in until he answers the knock at his door and sees Ben standing sheepishly behind a police officer, head ducked down and hands stuffed awkwardly into his pockets.

Ben’s in shit, obviously, but he’s still alive and ultimately that’s all that matters. At least until Dean makes sure he’s not seriously hurt and he hasn’t killed anyone. Then Dean’s going to kick his ass. For all the good it’ll friggin’ do. Kid won’t listen to shit.

“Mr. Winchester?” the cop asks, and Dean’s eyes shoot up from Ben’s face to actually look at the man he’s barely noticed so far. And boy does he notice, now. The guy is… hot. Doesn’t fit any stereotypical picture of a cop that Dean’s got in his head. He’s not tall and beefy, like the kind of police officer you’d find in romance movies or theme porn, he’s not short and fat from donuts like the cops in sitcoms and he’s not skinny, nerdy glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He’s slender, looks strong, holds himself tall but doesn’t puff his chest out and the ill-fitting tan trench coat he’s wearing over his uniform is sitting on top of a very nice set of shoulders.

And his eyes. They’re certainly something. Blue and wide and they hardly blink when they stare Dean down. They match his shirt, actually, and Dean’s never really been into people in uniform (he’s got problems with authority), but he’s thinking about making an exception and taking this guy out for a spin.

At a more appropriate time, of course. When his kid isn’t facing possible criminal charges.

“Dean!” Sam hisses from behind him, elbows Dean in the ribs and Dean blinks, jerks and realises he’s been staring.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. That’s me. Dean Winchester.” He snaps his mouth shut and bites down on his tongue when he hears Sam snicker and the cop tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “Is there… a problem?”

He’s looking back at Ben now, silently daring him to make one of his usual smart-ass comments. Incredibly immature of him to egg the kid on like that, he knows. So does Ben, apparently, since he lets his eyes flicker to Dean’s before they look back to the ground. So, getting the police involved at least wipes that bored look off his face. Seems he’s able to take some things seriously after all. Good to know.

“He claims his name is Ben Winchester.” the cop says, stepping slightly to the side and guiding Ben out from behind him with a firm hand on his shoulder, “and that he lives here. Are you his father?”

“That depends,” Dean crosses his arms over his chest and stares Ben down. “What did he do?”

“He and two of his friends were found vandalising one of the walls outside the bus terminal downtown. Arrangements have been made for the three of them to re-paint the wall on Saturday morning. They’re to report to the custodian’s office at eight o’clock.”

“Son of a…” Dean mumbles, uncrossing his arms to rub his fingers over his chin, the tips scraping across his stubble. “Alright, get inside. Go to your room and wait for me. We’re gonna talk about this.”

Ben’s jaw ticks like he wants to say something, mouth off, maybe but he looks at the cop one more time and sighs, stays quiet instead and pushes past Dean and Sam and stomps up the stairs.

After a beat, Sam puts one hand on Dean’s shoulder and with a start Dean realises he’s let his eyes drift again, that he’s gaping a little and starting to glaze over while his eyes come to rest on the soft curve of the cop’s lips.

“Shit,” he says, shakes Sam’s hand off but shoots him a brief, grateful look. “Look, Ben’s not… He doesn’t do shit like this. Usually. It’s just, uh…”

“I’m gonna go inside,” Sam says, leaning over to speak lowly into Dean’s ear. “Leave this to you.”

Dean nods and Sam slips through the door, leaves it open a crack. Dean looks back to the cop and takes a breath, cringes internally because he hates that he has to apologise. He always hates when he has to apologise, especially when it’s warranted.

“Anyway, I’m sorry about this. Of course I’ll have Ben there Saturday morning and if you could just… He really is a good kid.”

Dean knows he must sound like an idiot, but he can’t help it. This is as close as he gets to begging for mercy.

“As long as he cleans up the mess he made, I won’t put this on his record,” the cop says after a beat. “But please, try to make sure he stays out of trouble.”

“Yeah,” Dean says immediately. “Absolutely. Thanks, officer…”

“Milton,” the cop supplies with a quick nod of his head. “Castiel Milton. Most children rebel from time to time. Often it’s a cry for attention, a way to be heard when they feel like nobody is listening. It’s only a problem if you fail to learn from it.”

“Yeah,” Dean says again, frowning. His fingers flex involuntarily at his sides and he shifts his weight from his left foot to his right. His instinct, one he’ll never follow but it’s there all the same, is to hit this guy. Because he’s cutting Ben a break here, sure, but there’s a line you just don’t cross, cop or not. And what’s sort of chaffing is that he’s probably right. “You learn from it when your kids, uh… rebel?”

“I don’t have any children,” Milton answers steadily, blinking at Dean. He might as well be saying ‘I don’t see what that has to do with anything.’

“No, of course you don’t,” Dean mumbles. He just knows how other people should be raising theirs. This Milton guy might be hot, but he’s kind of an arrogant dick. So while he’d like to hit him, it’s probably best to play nice, at least until Ben’s off the hook. And, you know. He’s still hot, so there’s also that subconscious desire to be nice to him, just in case, which helps. “Anyway, thanks again. Do you maybe want to come in for some coffee or something? Least I could do after you brought Ben home safe. I’ve got pie.”

Officer Milton stands up straight at that, even straighter than before, shoulders back and chin tilted slightly to the side. “No,” he answers simply, through slightly slitted eyes and with a tight nod he turns, stalks to the end of the darkened driveway to his squad car and drives off.

O-kay. Weirdo.

He watches the taillights disappear around the corner before he turns around and steps through his front door.

“Oh, officer sexy, won’t you come in for a drink?” Sam asks in a falsetto, clasping his hands together in front of his chest and batting his eyelashes. “I just make the best darn lemonade you’ve ever tasted!”

“What?” Dean asks, kicking the door shut behind him and reaching back to secure the deadbolt.

“Dude, you were totally coming onto him.”

“No I wasn’t,” Dean scoffs. He twists his mouth up in a snarl and stalks into the kitchen to fill a glass of water. “I just asked him if he wanted to come in for a cup of joe after bringing my fucking kid home in the middle of the night. It’s called being polite.”

“It’s ten thirty,” Sam points out. “Hardly the middle of the night."

Dean ignores him in favour if drinking half the water in his glass. Honestly, he’s not even thirsty, he just wanted something to do with his hands. Something other than strangle Ben.

“Whatever, man,” Sam continues, following him into the kitchen with a snort of disbelief. “You practically swooned.”

“That was not… I do not fucking swoon, asshole. He’s hot. So what? He’s a dick, anyway.”

“So, you’re back on guys, now?” Sam asks, taking the glass out of Dean’s hand and helping himself to the rest.

“Gross, dude,” Dean teases, grinning and punching Sam in the arm. “You really want to know where my mouth has been?”

Sam lets his mouthful of water dribble back out into the glass and he puts it down on the counter. “Yeah, no.” He makes a face. “Not really. Speaking of which… You’re back onto guys?”

“What? No, I was never off guys, really. I just… There was Lisa, for a long time. And then after that I just never… Anyway, shut up.”

Dean’s a pretty opportunistic lover. He does tend to prefer women, but sometimes a dude catches his eye and… well. Who is he to say no to his dick?

“Listen, Dean, I don’t care if you want to date a guy or a girl or whatever. I really don’t, you know that. Just… Be careful. You’re really vulnerable right now and I don’t want you to get hurt, okay?”

“I’m not… You know what, Sammy? Fuck off. I’m not vulnerable. Jesus. And I wasn’t hitting on him.”

“You haven’t really dated anyone since Lisa,” Sam points out and Dean grits his teeth, because Sam has a point. “And now… Well, now you’re probably feeling pretty raw, considering. And you’ve got a lot of shit on your plate right now. If you need a little… release, there are probably better options than the cop who busted your son.”

“Sam,” Dean says, sighing openly. Yeah, Sam’s right. There are probably less complicated places to scratch that particular itch. Still, it’s not like he wanted to propose to Officer Milton, he was just being nice to a hot jerk who did him a favour. Where’s the fucking crime?

“I’ll shut up,” Sam promises, hands raised in surrender. “I’m just worried.”

“Yeah, and I’m worried that you’re gonna run off with a transvestite midget and join a travelling sideshow as the bearded lady, but I still manage to let you stick your dick where you like without making a federal case out of it.”

Sam lets out a short puff of breath and rolls his eyes. “Dean…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says, cutting him off, waving a hand vaguely in front of Sam’s face. “Fine. Look, I’m gonna head up and talk to the kid.”

“Go easy on him,” Sam calls out when Dean’s passing through the living room and all Dean does is wave at him from half way up the stairs. Ben needs easy like a fucking hole in the head.

Dean takes the few longs steps between the top of the staircase and Ben’s bedroom and pauses, raps his knuckles against the door in a rapid knock and waits for Ben’s mumbled permission to step inside.

“Ben Winchester?” he asks, smiling slightly as he crosses the floor and stops in front of Ben’s bed. “Lying to the cops already? I don’t know whether to buy you a beer or kick your ass.”

“He looked kind of stupid,” Ben says, flipping the page on his comic book and kicking one foot in the air, back and forth. His other foot kicks at his pillow and he drums at the glossy pages with his fingers. “Went for the sympathy. Figured he’d go easier on me after he met my moron dad. I didn’t know you were gonna hit on him, but nice touch. Made you look even stupider.”

“I wasn’t hitting on him!” Dean almost shouts. “What the hell is wrong with you guys? Whatever.” He takes a breath and shakes his head because this really isn’t the point. “Look, you’ve got ten minutes until lights out. For the next two weeks I want you comin’ by the shop as soon as school’s over. You’ll sit your ass down in my office and do your damn homework until I’m ready to come home and after supper you’ll go straight to your room, no phone, no TV, no sneakin’ out with your asshat friends.”

“So I’m grounded. Wow, real creative, Dean.”

“You better check your attitude, kid,” Dean tells him, voice deadly serious as he angles his head slightly and meets Ben’s eyes. Ben stops his fingers and lets the comic book flutter closed on the bed in front of him. He swallows and bites his lip. “And you better think real hard about just exactly how much bullshit I’m willing to put up with.”

“What are you gonna do?” Ben challenges, pushes up from his elbows so that he’s sitting straight and raises his chin even though his voice is shaking slightly. “Send me away?”

“You know, dumb ain’t cute on you,” Dean says and he grinds his teeth together as he turns and leaves, slams the door shut behind him.

It’s not until later that night when he’s half way through a tall boy, a bag of pretzels and an old Star Trek rerun on cable that he realises he didn’t tell Ben ‘no’.

***

Dean should be surprised, he really should, when two weeks later the same damn uniform is banging down his door and Ben is standing in front of him with that damn pathetic hang-dog look.

“Are you shitting me?” he asks, and Ben opens his mouth slightly but shuts it again quickly when Dean glares daggers through him. “What the hell?”

Sam shows up behind him then, presses his hand to Dean’s elbow and Dean jerks, looks down and realises he’s been pumping a fist over and over, a fist that could very likely end up smashed into the brick wall of the house if he doesn’t cool it. He takes a deep breath and nods at Sam, who ushers Ben inside and then he looks back at Milton.

“What did he do this time, officer?”

“Shoplifting,” the cop says. “He stole several comic books and a handful of candy bars from Star Convenience, on King Road. I managed to talk the proprietor out of pressing charges, as all the merchandise was recovered, but your son is forbidden from patronising that establishment in the future.”

“Uh…” Dean says, frowns and figures this guy doesn’t get a lot of casual conversation because he sounds kind of like a tool. His kid is a truant, nicotine-addicted, boozing, violent thief. Perfect. Better fit him for one of those World’s Greatest Dad t-shirts. “Shit. Thanks, man. You didn’t have to do that, but… thanks.”

“Of course,” Milton tells him and the tight lines around his mouth and eyes soften slightly. It’s a good look on him, even better than the bad-ass don’t-fuck-with-me look. “I’m not sure what issues he’s currently dealing with. It’s really not my business. But I can tell that he’s in pain and acting out. He needs help, not punishment.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, coughs a little, swallows and glances away and wonders if that was yet another not so subtle dig at Dean’s parenting skills. He hates playing the sympathy card, hates how people pity him, hates how weak it makes him, but he doesn’t think he’s got much choice here. Milton has been lenient so far, he’s gone above and beyond for them for no reason Dean can see and the least Dean owes him in return in honesty.

“Look, I know. Thing is, he recently lost his mom and it turns out I’m not quite as good at the whole fathering thing as we thought. It’s been… an adjustment. Again, thanks.”

He knows he sounds beyond awkward when the cop is just staring at him and he doesn’t have anything else to say besides, “Anyway, it was cool. You sure you don’t want to come in for that coffee?”

Dean’s not sure that he really wants him to, especially since he’ll probably just keep telling Dean how much he sucks at life. And he doesn’t really want to have to deal with staring the guy in the face after he just spilled such a personal piece of information, put himself out there like that. It makes him feel naked, exposed. But he’s not sure what the protocol is here and he can’t help but feel like he needs to keep offering rewards until Milton accepts, until they’re even.

Plus, he’s still really, really hot and as long as they keep meeting like this, Dean sort of wants to keep his options open. He doesn’t have to like someone to want to sleep with them. In fact, some of his very best sex has been had with people he couldn’t stand.

Milton stares at Dean for a beat too long, long enough that Dean can see the slight tightening of his throat and the way he absently licks his bottom lip that lets Dean know there’s at least some basic level of interest there. Sometimes it’s hard to tell whether people swing that way, but Dean’s gotten pretty good at reading the subtle clues. He hears the slight quickening of Milton’s breath and watches him watch Dean’s mouth very intently for a split second. But then he frowns, mouth pulling tight as he looks over Dean’s shoulder and through the crack in the door.

“That’s not necessary, Mr. Winchester,” he says when he looks back at Dean and Dean opens his mouth to protest, to say that he knows it’s not necessary, he just wants to, but before he gets the chance to say anything, Castiel’s squad car door is closing and the engine is revving up.

Huh, Dean thinks as Castiel backs out of the driveway and drives off. Maybe he’s a closet case or something. Shame.

He heads back inside and Sam hands him a beer.

“Strike two, huh?” he says, smirking a little. Bastard. “Losing your touch, old man.”

“Bite me,” Dean snaps and hands Sam the bottle back, makes to head up the stairs to talk to Ben.

“Dean, wait,” Sam says, stopping him. “Give it a few minutes, okay? Cool off a little first. Yelling and grounding him again obviously isn’t going to work. Don’t go up there when you’re on edge like this.”

Dean sighs heavily and grabs the beer back from Sam, pushes past him to the living and falls down on the couch.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, fine.”

Sam falls in beside him and they don’t talk for a long time. Eventually Sam turns on the television and Dean grabs them a couple more beers from the kitchen and by the time Dean heads to bed he’s managed to decompress enough that he actually sleeps pretty well.

***

Dean doesn’t ground Ben.

He doesn’t yell at him, he doesn’t take away his video games and he doesn’t tell him he can’t see his friends.

He takes him out to a minor league baseball game on Saturday afternoon and then stops off for pizza and ice cream before they get home. He comes home early from work every day the next week and gets Ben to help him cook supper and he tries to check over the kid’s homework and he asks him about Spanish class and what’s happening on his favourite shows.

He acts like he cares. He does care, it’s not just an act, but all that touchy-feely bullshit is really not Dean’s style and it comes off stilted and forced. Because he’s not an idiot, Ben picks up on it, misinterprets Dean’s skittish touches and awkward attempts at conversation. Thinks that spending time with him is a chore for Dean.

Fuck, what he wouldn’t give to get back what they had two years ago, the easy slide of their lives together, laughing at movies and sneaking an extra piece of pie when Lisa wasn’t looking and rebuilding an old Firebird together from the ground up on Saturday afternoons.

But now it’s all so fucking hard.

“Nobody’s forcing you to hang out with me, you know?” Ben practically snarls over his shoulder. He’s sitting at the kitchen table working a history paper and Dean’s behind him at the sink, washing dishes. Well, Ben’s supposed to be working on a history paper, but Dean’s pretty sure he’s got a Playboy tucked inside his text book.

“Yeah, I know that, Ben,” Dean tells him. Fuck, this is so fucking awkward. He dries his hands off on the dish towel and tosses it down on the counter before turning around to lean against it. “I want to. We used to hang out all the time.”

Ben snorts and shakes his head, turns back to his schoolbooks.

“Things are different now,” he says.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees. “They are.” There’s no sense pretending that’s not the case. Things are different, things will never be the same again. Dean can’t just be the cool guy who sneaks him into horror movies and teaches him how to throw a punch. He’s got to be the responsible one. “They can’t ever be like they were before, but that doesn’t mean they can’t still be good. Ben, we… Shit, I know we’re not doing such a bang-up job of adjusting to… everything… but that doesn’t mean I want to give up. Okay?”

“Yeah, good talk,” Ben says and slams his history book shut. “I’m done. Can I go to my room?”

He doesn’t wait for Dean to answer before he takes his things and disappears up the stairs.

***

The social worker comes to check up on them after three months. It’s a scheduled visit, something about making sure Ben’s in a suitable environment or whatever, that his needs are being met and he’s able to… love long and prosper. Dean doesn’t really know, kind of tunes out during the lecture parts of the monthly phone calls from Candice, but this is her first visit and Dean’s a little nervous. She says it’s pretty standard in situations like theirs, but Dean can’t help feeling like she’s coming for a reason, especially given how well things haven’t been going.

Sam assures Dean that yes, this is normal, that no, the system does not have it in for them and they’re probably just coming to check and see if Ben has a roof over his head, three squares a day, isn’t covered in bruises and that he’s going to school.

And, well. Check marks all ‘round, most of the time. So they have nothing to worry about.

She’s young, Candice. Younger than Dean had pictured and pretty, with bright blue eyes and long dark hair. She’s nice, not pushy or nosey and she’s so smooth Dean almost doesn’t even realise he’s being interrogated. All three of them are on their best behaviour and they don’t lie to her when she asks how everything is going (because Dean suspects she’d see right through it) but they assure her they’re dealing, insist they’ll be okay. Ben’s where he wants to be and Dean wants him there, too.

She listens and makes notes and talks to them all on their own and takes a tour of the house. She leaves Dean with some pamphlets and a few phone numbers for some hotlines and she tells Ben that the school councillors are there to help, but she smiles genuinely at them when she goes and she doesn’t mention anything about taking Ben away.

Overall, it could have been worse.

***

Dean’s in the middle of a load of laundry in the basement when he hears the doorbell ring and immediately his stomach drops.

Ben’s not due home from Jesse’s house for another hour, but somehow Dean gets the feeling that he’s back early and he’s in trouble again. Call it father’s intuition.

He slams the dryer door shut and turns the dial, swears under his breath and goes up the stairs.

“Sam,” he can hear his brother saying, as he closes the basement door behind him and starts through the kitchen. Then quieter, more gentle, in a voice that sends a slight shiver over his skin, “Nice to meet you, Sam.”

Castiel Milton. Fuck. It’s not like Dean wasn’t expecting it and honestly, there’s a small twinge of excitement at the idea of seeing the guy, but Dean’s starting to miss the days where he only had to deal with school principals, instead of law enforcement.

“Your boyfriend’s here,” Ben snaps at him, elbowing past him on his way to the stairs leading to the second floor. “And it wasn’t even my fault this time. If you care.”

“Ben,” he starts, but he doesn’t give it much effort, just lets Ben storm off to his room and by the time he’s at the front door Milton is giving Sam a cool smile and stepping inside the house.

“Thank you. If it’s not too much trouble,” he says and Dean frowns at Sam when Milton nods at Dean and makes his way into the kitchen, following Sam’s gestures of direction.

“Coffee,” Sam answers the unspoken question and Dean’s mouth drops open.

“He comes in when you ask him?”

“Maybe he’s just got good taste,” Sam says, smirking. Dean rolls his eyes but follows the other two into the kitchen and loads the coffee maker with grinds.

“Is anyone pressing charges?” Dean starts out by asking, crosses his arms over his chest and stands up as tall as he can. Stupid move, trying to intimidate a cop, especially one he wants to fuck, but it’s behaviour he picked up back in his pre-teen years and he’s never quite shaken it.

“No,” Castiel tells him. “The house he was at was… loud. There was a party. Alcohol being served to minors, though I did not catch Ben with a drink in his hand when I was called there.”

Well, that’s good news, at least.

“So why the chauffeur home? If he didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I didn’t say he was entirely without cause for reprimand. He was, uh… hesitant to leave on his own. Told my partner to… mind his own business. He hit him with a water balloon.”

Dean can’t help it: he laughs.

“Dean,” Sam hisses with wide eyes and Milton just glares.

“Yeah,” Dean says, turning around to get three mugs out of the cupboard. “Yeah, I know. Sorry. Just… Can’t say I haven’t done the same thing, once or twice.”

“Dean, shut up,” Sam whispers when he gets up to grab the creamer from the fridge. “That’s probably not gonna help, you idiot.”

“This is hardly a joke, Dean,” Milton tells him and Dean freezes with his hand on the pot full of freshly brewed coffee, because it’s the first time the cop has called him Dean and not Mr. Winchester. He kind of likes it. “Rules and laws are in place for a reason, they are to be followed completely. I’ve been lenient so far, done what I can to keep Ben out of serious trouble because I am… sympathetic to your situation. But if his behaviour continues or escalates, I’ll have no choice but to take further action. He’ll likely be assigned community service, or given a curfew.”

“Might be good for him,” Dean mumbles as he pours the coffee into the mugs that Sam’s placed next to him. Together they bring them to the table and the three men help themselves. “Sorry about all this, man. Really, I know he needs to smarten up and I know what I mentioned the other night isn’t an excuse, but we’ve all kind of been going through a lot and Ben’s taking it a lot harder than… than I thought. He’s really not a bad kid, though and I don’t… Anyway. I’ll get on it. Fix it.”

Milton looks from Dean to Sam and back again and then he blinks, a slight tension seems to leave his entire body as his shoulders relax and his face softens just the tiniest bit. “That’s…This must all be difficult.”

“Yeah. Ben just moved in with us a few months ago, had to leave all his friends behind, change his whole life so... It’s been an adjustment. I try talking to him, try punishing him, try being his best friend, but nothing seems to get through.”

“Some people tend to do better when speaking with someone else, someone not as close to home. Someone who’s trained in human behaviour.” Castiel takes a drink from his cup but his eyes don’t leave Dean’s. “Perhaps you’d consider letting Ben spend some time with a professional. It could help him, where you can’t.”

“You mean like a shrink?” Dean asks, tensing up and pushing back in his chair away from the table, away from Milton, where he’d started to lean a little too close.

“I mean like a psychiatrist, yes.”

“No,” Dean snaps, gripping his mug tighter, because he’s willing to admit when he’s screwing up and he’s willing to listen when he’s called out on it, but hearing someone he barely knows telling him Ben needs a shrink? Fuck no. “I don’t think that’s really for us.”

“Dean. Maybe you should…” Sam starts, reaching across the table to place a hand on Dean’s shoulder. The touch, while usually a grounding welcome these days, might as well be a slap and Dean flinches, grits his teeth and shakes Sam off. He doesn’t want to hear it.

“Sam,” Dean all but growls and Sam lifts his hand, palm facing forward in silent surrender and takes a sip from his mug so Dean knows he’s done talking. For now.

When he turns back to Milton, he’s looking at Dean’s shoulder – where Sam’s hand had just been – with a slightly furrowed brow.

“Look, I appreciate the thought. And I appreciate you being so cool about all the shit Ben’s been getting into. But I mean, he’s not into drugs and he hasn’t joined a gang or shot anyone yet. I’ll deal with it.”

“Of course,” the officer nods but he reaches into his coat pocket for his wallet and slides a white business card across the table towards Dean. “I don’t mean to overstep my bounds, but…”

“Dr. Anna Milton?” Dean asks when he picks up the card.

“My sister,” Castiel says. “She specialises in children. And she’s very good. In case you change your mind.”

“Yeah,” Dean says and though he has no intention of calling this Dr. Anna Milton, something stops him from throwing the card away and he tucks it into the drawer of his bedside table before he falls asleep that night.

***

Jesse’s grounded for two weeks after the party he threw while his parents were out of town and Lucas has managed to find himself a girlfriend, so Ben’s been spending a lot of time at home by himself.

Dean doesn’t want to jinx it by saying anything, but he notices that Ben’s come home with Bs on two assignments in that time and that a girl from school called Beth (who is on the honour role and the debate team and plays piano – yes, he phoned her mother, so what?) has been calling. Ben hasn’t once broken curfew, has kept his mouthing off to a minimum and he’s even voluntarily done the dishes. Three times.

He also hasn’t seen or heard from anyone in uniform since that Saturday night.

Dean wants to think it’s the start of an upward swing, but he’s hesitant to get his hopes up.

***

Dean waits until Sam gets home from work on Thursday night before he shrugs on his jacket and grabs his keys.

“Goin’ out?” Sam asks, blinking a little at Dean’s haste.

“Yeah. Goin’ kind of crazy in here,” Dean admits. He hasn’t left the house except for work since Ben’s taken to hanging out there and he needs a change of scenery, desperately.

“Want some company?” Sam offers and reaches to grab his coat off the hook where he’d just hung it up.

“Nah,” Dean says. “Just need a breather. Take a drive, maybe. You stay here and…”

“Dean,” Sam sighs. “I know you don’t want to leave Ben on his own right now, because you don’t want to rock the boat or whatever, but you’ve got to give him some space. Constantly looking over his shoulder isn’t going to make anything better that isn’t getting better already.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s not even that, really. I just need some time alone, you know?”

Sam just looks at him, but he lets go of his jacket and slips his shoes off.

“Sam. Come on. Everything is fine. I just need like, an hour.”

“Sure,” Sam says. “Hey, maybe try and get laid. Might lighten you up a little.”

“Please,” Dean scoffs, grinning at his brother. “That’d take longer than just an hour.”

“Somehow I doubt that. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you hook up bar bathrooms in less time than it takes me to order.”

Dean just grins wider, because Sam might be exaggerating, but he’s not really wrong.

“Anyway,” Sam says. “Have fun.”

“Thanks, Sammy.”

Dean drives.

He drives about three blocks until he realises where he is and he didn’t go down this street on purpose, he really didn’t but as he pulls up to a red light outside the police station he’s already wondering if Milton is inside. It’s not like he’s thinking about going in to say ‘hey’ or anything equally stupid, but despite the rocky first couple of meetings, there’s something about the guy that seems to have gotten under his skin.

Something about his ass, maybe. Or his fingers. Or lips.

Or… maybe Sam was right and he really needs to get laid.

A car horn sounds behind him and he snaps his eyes forward, sees the light has already turned green. He sighs and hits the gas, turns the corner and pulls into the parking lot of a coffee shop. He could use some caffeine.

He gets out of his car and heads across the parking lot, but stops short and cracks a small smile when he sees two cops coming up the path toward the front door.

Milton is one of them. The other is probably his partner. He’s a little shorter than Milton, a little blonder and he smiles a little wider. They’re not looking in Dean’s direction so he takes a few seconds and watches them, the other guy’s arm slung over Miltons’s shoulder as they walk side by side. They stop in front of the door and exchange a few words before Milton’s partner throws his head back, laughing at some unheard joke and walks off.

Dean follows Milton inside and watches him walk up to the counter to place his order. He doesn’t quite hear what he asks for but that doesn’t stop him from sidling up next to him, smiling at the server and saying “Make it two.”

“Dean,” Milton says, short and slightly higher than normal as he turns around.

“Officer,” Dean greets in return, with a slight nod and a smile. He’s got his trench coat folded over his arm and Dean sort of wishes he’d put it on. It looks good on him. Very Columbo. “Let me get this. Least I could do.”

Milton opens his mouth but closes it again quickly when Dean reaches over him and hands the teenager a five dollar bill.

“You have time to sit?” Dean asks, once their drinks are passed over to them. “Or are you in a hurry?”

“No, I…” Milton starts, stops and clears his throat. “I have time. And I’m not currently on duty. There’s no need to call me ‘officer’. Castiel will do.”

“Good,” Dean smiles, raises an eyebrow, then gestures toward a table by the window. “After you, Castiel.” The name sounds a little weird on his tongue, but whatever. It suits the guy.

Dean takes the seat across from Castiel and at first it’s a little awkward. Dean fiddles with one of the sweetener packets in a bowl on the table and Castiel stares. Castiel comments on the weather and Dean mentions that the coffee is good today. Castiel agrees and says they have decent sandwiches, too. Dean tells him he likes ham and feels like kind of an idiot.

He’s usually good at this.

Then Castiel asks how Ben is doing. Dean answers, says Ben’s doing fine but he’s out tonight to get a break from all that, so he’s a little stiff and short in his response.

Dean doesn’t want to talk about Ben tonight, doesn’t want to talk about Sam or Lisa or any of his problems. He wants to have a good time, wants good company and the view isn’t too shabby from this side of the table, so instead of family, Dean talks about everything else.

He tells Castiel about his garage and his friends and how he loves to go camping in the spring. Tells him he’s a baseball fan and he likes beer and burgers and he’s afraid of flying. Tells him how he’s got a wicked sweet tooth and how Cool Hand Luke is his favourite movie and that anyone who doesn’t love Zeppelin needs a swift punch in the neck.

He asks Castiel about himself and ventures a little closer, inches his chair forward and leans in so that he’s angled towards him and his knuckles are resting just a few inches from Castiel’s on the table, listens to Castiel tell him about his sister and his brother and his partner on the force. About how he loves to cook and how he adopted a stray cat and how he got into police work in the first place because he wanted to help people, yes, but he’s also come to really dig the power it gives him.

It’s like a guilty secret, his eyes dart away for a split second and he doesn’t blush but it’s pretty damn cute all the same.

Dean learns that Castiel’s older brother, Gabriel, has been in and out of correctional facilities since he was fifteen, that their father left them not long before that and their mother was distant and uninvolved. Castiel believes that if Gabriel had been given some direction, some help and offered a second chance by the police officer that arrested him and the judge that sentenced him to juvenile detention for his first break and enter offence (a library – and nothing was stolen or damaged, save the lock he picked), things would have turned out differently.

It explains a lot about Castiel, actually, and why he is the way he is, why he does what he does. Maybe his sister, too.

He’s in the middle of telling Dean all about how much he enjoyed majoring in English at college when Dean shifts his arm slightly and places two of his fingers on top of Castiel’s slightly curled fist. Castiel stiffens and stops himself mid-sentence, mouth still open on his next word as he looks down at their hands with a furrowed brow.

Dean clenches his teeth and takes his hand back right away, wraps it back around his empty cup and forces a smile, nodding for Castiel to continue. What the fuck? Things were going well, they were actually getting along for a change, they were talking and laughing and Dean was getting signals, he’s sure he was getting signals.

He’s sure Castiel watched a little too closely while Dean licked a stray drop of coffee off his bottom lip and he’s sure he leaned in a little too close when he handed Dean a stir stick and he’s absolutely certain that Castiel swallowed thickly and his breathing sped up when Dean leaned over him, breath hot against his ear for just a second, in order to put down the donuts he’d bought them.

And those things? Those things are fucking signals, those are unspoken ways of saying that he’s interested and physical contact is the natural next step. Dean knows this. Dean’s a fucking expert at this, but it seems like Castiel has a different playbook or something because he doesn’t finally relax and start talking again until Dean pushes back in his chair, putting even more space between them.

He moves on to tell Dean about helping his sister paint her house – purple and aqua and yellow, because Anna likes bright colours – and then starts in on the time his partner, a man named Balthazar (and he’d thought Castiel was weird), took him to Vegas for the weekend and he spent the entire time reading a book and watching Balthazar get lap dances.

Dean laughs and thinks that sounds a lot like him and Sam, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead he launches into a story about how he wanted to be a firefighter when he was a kid and he doesn’t even notice when he starts to lean across the table again. He notices though, when Castiel starts to lean too, when his smile is soft and genuine and his head his slightly tilted in Dean’s direction when Dean gets to the part about how now he can’t imagine doing anything other than fixing up cars.

“It’s good that you love what you do,” Castiel says. “I don’t think I would be happy being anything other than an officer of the law. It feels… right.”

“It suits you,” Dean tells him. “And I love cars, I do, but there are times when I’m just happy to be doing anything that’s not in an office. I think I’d kill myself if I had to work in a cubicle.”

Castiel lets out a small chuckle at that. “I’m happy to be unconfined a lot of the time as well, though I’m less dramatic about it.”

Dean rolls his eyes but he’s still smiling.

“Yeah. Sammy though, he’s a lawyer. If he’s not in an office he’s in the library and if he’s not in the library he’s in court. Has to wear a suit all the damn time. I don’t know how he does it.”

And just like that, whatever warmth and invitation he’d seen in Castiel’s eyes abruptly disappears. He freezes, then pulls back, his eyes go blank and his posture is so stiff that Dean can’t possibly interpret it as anything other than sharp and sudden rejection.

“Something I said?” Dean asks, confused and cold and he tries not to sound bitchy but he sort of can’t help it. Castiel is sending some seriously mixed signals here and Dean hates teases. Really, it’s so much easier when people are clear about their intentions. Who needs all the extra bullshit?

“No,” Castiel answers, shakes his head once and pushes his long empty mug forward. “It’s late. I should get home.”

“It’s not even ten o’clock,” Dean counters. “We’ve hardly been here an hour.”

“And yet I’m sure you’re expected, somewhere,” Castiel says, his low voice almost a growl as he narrows his eyes slightly at Dean. Dean swallows, tugs at the collar of his t-shirt like it’s choking him. Yeah, cop was definitely the right career choice.

“Wait, Cas, I…” Dean starts and pushes up out of his chair, gesturing stupidly between Castiel and the table, like it’s somehow going to make him change his mind.

“Goodbye, Dean,” Castiel says. “And good luck with your son.”

Dean watches him leave and wonders if he’s ever put up with this much trouble before on the outside chance at a roll in the hay. And he wonders, after tonight, if that’s really all he wants.

One night stands and casual sex have always been more than good enough for a long time, but things are different now. Now, suddenly, totally innocuous things – like liking the way someone scratches their neck or getting lost in an easy smile – those things hold so much more weight because they might really mean something now. They’re allowed to mean something now, because his happily ever after with Lisa isn’t an option. He might actually like this guy and it sort of scares the fuck out of him.

He knows he’s probably in a bad place in his life right now for an inappropriate crush and he’s half tempted to give up completely, especially given how hard Castiel has been to get a read on, but something tells him he won’t. The guy is bizarre but Dean doesn’t try to kid himself that he’s not interested.

But men aren’t usually this much trouble. It’s one of the reasons he likes them.

Maybe Sam’s right. Maybe he’s losing his touch.

***

Ben invites Beth over for a date.

Dean and Sam clear out and give them full run of the living room so they can order a pizza and watch a couple movies and Dean pokes his head out every once in a while and watches from upstairs, just to make sure everyone is fully clothed.

When Beth’s dad shows up at midnight to pick her up, Dean spends five minutes asking the guy about his job and where he goes on vacation and his favourite pizza toppings, until he’s satisfied that he’s just as nice an innocuous as his wife and daughter. They’re good people, the Harpers, and Dean hopes that Ben and Beth will start to spend more time together.

She’s a good influence, clearly.

***

Jesse’s let loose on the world again on a Monday and Ben begs off dinner with Dean to go get pizza with him. The night ends without incident and Dean heaves a tremendous sigh of relief when Ben makes it home by ten without a police escort.

“Hey, dude, I was just about to watch Batman. Wanna pull up a seat?”

“It’s ten,” Ben says from the doorway. “On a school night.”

“Yeah, it is,” Dean agrees, smiles at the kid and ten minutes later they’re sitting next to each other on the couch with a giant bowl of popcorn between them. It’s quiet, but it’s comfortable and when they run out of popcorn Dean gets up to make them more. He brings licorice, too.

“Thanks,” Ben says, when the movie has finished and the credits start to roll. “You can be kind of awesome, sometimes. When you’re not being a total drag.”

Dean doesn’t answer, just pats the kid on the back and watches him head upstairs to bed.

It’s been a good night, he figures. Things are looking up.

***

Saturday afternoon rolls around and Sam lays into Dean pretty hard when he realises that Dean has finished off the cereal, the orange juice and the bagels and that they’ve got nothing in the cupboards for lunch either, except for a can of Spaghetti-Os. Given that neither of them has even eaten Spaghetti-Os in over fifteen years, the freshness is suspect and they’re not willing to risk it.

“So go shopping, bitch,” Dean tells him, the words coming out sticky and muffled around a spoonful of peanut butter.

“Dean, you were supposed to stop by the grocery store on your way home yesterday.”

“You didn’t write a list,” Dean points out and washes down his peanut butter with the last swig of juice.

“You can’t just look in the fridge and figure out what we don’t have any more of? How did you even survive on your own before I moved in?”

“Fine,” Dean shrugs, tossing the spoon into the sink. “I’ll go.”

“Get more than just candy, Dean,” Sam calls out as Dean crosses the kitchen and through the living room, where Ben’s sitting on the couch watching television. Dean smirks and grabs his keys off the table.

“Sure. Hey Ben, wanna come to the grocery store?”

“Hell yeah,” Ben says, jumping up and shutting off his show. “We’re out of pie. And Cheetos.”

“Shit,” Dean hears Sam curse from behind him as he opens the door and motions Ben outside. He laughs then, throws his head back and cackles when Sam grabs his coat and follows them to the car.

***

Dean is rounding the corner at the end of the cereal aisle – Ben and Sam still about half way down arguing over whether to get the kind loaded with sugar or the heart-healthy, low cholesterol, flax and bran crap – when Dean nearly runs smack into the solid chest of the guy who’s standing in front of the olive oil.

“Shit, sorry man,” Dean says, taking a step back. “Wasn’t looking where I was goin’, I guess. I… Cas?”

“Hello, Dean,” Cas answers with a nod. Shit, he’s never once seen this man in all his years in Lawrence and suddenly he’s fucking everywhere. Maybe it’s a sign, or some shit.

“Hey. You look…” he pauses and lets his eyes drift up and down Castiel’s body, takes in the soft fit of his t-shirt and the way his faded jeans hang off his hips and hug his thighs. He’s never seen him out of uniform and he likes it. The skin around his neck is so damn temping where the pale green of his shirt exposes more skin than the tight collar of his police shirt and Dean has to stop himself from reaching out and touching it. “Uh, good. The whole casual thing really suits you.”

Castiel blushes faintly at that.

“Grocery shopping requires less formal dress than police work,” he says and when Dean smiles Cas smiles back.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Dean says, gesturing to his own clothing – a grease-stained t-shirt and a pair of jeans with more holes than material. Which, actually is what he wears to his job, but the point is, Saturday morning shopping trips to Dillon’s aren’t exactly black tie.

“You look good, as well,” Castiel says and even though he says it like he might as well be mentioning the fact that it’s a nice day out, Dean knows he’s not imagining the way Castiel’s eyes linger a little too long over his legs.

“You should see me in a suit,” Dean says with his voice pitched low, leaning forward conspiratorially. “It’s my own personal nightmare, but I’ve been told I clean up good.”

“I’m sure,” Cas agrees and he looks towards the bottles on the shelf again. Dean smiles and angles himself so they’re standing side by side.

“Extra virgin,” he says after a moment.

“Excuse me?”

“That’s what everybody says, right? Extra virgin. It’s supposed to be better, or healthier or something. I don’t know, man. I always buy whatever’s on sale.” Dean grabs a bottle off the shelf, even though he’s pretty sure they don’t need any. Castiel takes one as well, a different brand, the most expensive one and Dean snorts.

“Show off,” he teases.

“This one is superior,” Cas says simply. “I see no sense in wasting money on sub-standard ingredients.”

Cas cooks, Dean remembers, so he’s not surprised this is the kind of thing that’s important to him. He feels the same way about car parts.

“Yeah, I get that. Maybe one day I’ll get you to show off your fancy cooking skills for me. Teach me a thing or two.”

Castiel clears his throat and takes half a step away and Dean’s smile fades.

“They offer classes,” Castiel tells him. “At the community centre. If you’re interested in improving your skill.”

Okay, Dean’s absolutely certain that he’s being more than obvious here, has been since day one so either Cas is just really fuckin’ slow (which he seriously doubts) or he’s being deliberately obtuse. Either way, Dean’s done with what tiny vestige of subtle he’s been playing at. He’s going to give this one more shot and then cut his losses.

“So listen, Cas,” he says, reaching out to rest his hand over Castiel’s elbow. “I’ve been sort of… flirting with you.”

“Yes,” Castiel agrees, meeting Dean’s eyes and when the silence drags on a little too long, Dean clears his throat and then frowns.

“Oh. Okay.” So, not an idiot then. Good to know. “So do you uh… do you maybe want to go out sometime? Dinner, movie…” Hot sex. “You know. Date stuff?”

Castiel tenses and he shoots a look over Dean’s shoulder. Dean follows it and can’t hide a smile when he sees that Ben won this round and there’s a jumbo sized box of Lucky Charms in the shopping cart.

“I hardly think that’s appropriate,” Cas says, sharp snap of his voice interrupting Dean’s internal celebration over the cereal. He sounds clipped and short and Dean feels like the temperature drops a few degrees when Cas is suddenly a good foot further away from him and still moving back.

“Uh…” Dean starts, thoroughly confused and he just stands there, blinking like a moron when Cas turns up the next aisle and disappears from view. Wow, he must take the whole not mixing business with pleasure thing pretty damn seriously. “Okay then,” he mumbles. “I’ll see you… later.”

Dean lets out a rough breath and coughs a little when he feels a hand slam into his back. Sam pushes the shopping cart in front of him and takes the bottle of olive oil out of Dean’s hand, puts it back on the shelf.

“Wow, Dean,” he says. “This is really getting sad.”

“Shut up,” Dean grumbles and snatches the cart from Sam, pushing it toward the frozen food. He needs some damn ice cream.

Part 3