Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I wish I did, but I don't.
Summary: The man stared at the sign for a few moments, standing there of the side of Route 12, before he turned towards the direction of the town.
Warning: Human AU
Notes: Written for the AU!Fusion challenge at deancastiel. AU #19: Cas hasn't spoken a word to anyone in years and is a drifter who works various odd jobs to finance himself. Dean is a guy with a violent temper who grew up in foster care and has just gotten out of prison for a stupid judgment call. The two cross paths in a pay-by-the-week boarding house run by an eccentric older couple (Bobby and Ellen).

Chapter 1 ~ Dream As If You'll Live Forever

Chapter 2 ~ Live As If You'll Die Today

Friday had come and gone, tucked away to Saturday morning, and Dean opened his eyes. Opened them to a perfectly white painted ceiling, to sunshine sliding over his face, and a warm fluffy comforter tucked under his chin. He closed his eyes again, quick as he could, then opened them again. Yep. Still here. He pushed himself up, feeling goosebumps rise on his bare chest as he looked around. Still the room in the Singer's house, brightened in the morning. He eyed the wallpaper, a simple design of thin blue pinstripes and he guessed that the Singers decorated their entire house this way. Simple, but beautiful.

Not that he was a fashion fucking designer, or whatever. He owned two pairs of jeans and a bunch of ratty ass t-shirts and flannels. Queer Eye for the Straight Guy would weep, to a man, for him. He snorted at the thought and pushed himself out of bed, pausing only long enough to grab one of those ratty ass t-shirts to throw over his sweatpants, before padding down the hall.

He stopped, dead stopped at the door only five feet down from his own, on the other side of the hallway. A door that was slightly open, to a room darker than his own. Where there was probably a very similar bed, and possibly a very warm body of one very Crazy Sexy (yeah he was adding that now) Roof Guy or as everyone else called him, Castiel. Of course, if he went in there and he found out it was all some sort of insane dream that his dick had concocted, he was going to be embarrassed.

And horny, but that was kind of secondary.

He sighed, took his hand away from the door and climbed down the stairs, the thoughts of sex sliding off of him as he smelled something that was - yeah. That was bacon. Honest to God flesh of the pig. He tried to run down the steps, because he wanted to get there before - before what? There were no meal lines here. He stopped, suddenly, breathed deep, and walked the rest of the way downstairs into the kitchen.

The Singers were already there - Bobby was finishing up his breakfast and Ellen was scooping out eggs and bacon onto plates for himself and Castiel, it looked like. They glanced over at him as he slid through the kitchen door, and he felt that strange feeling again, like he was being scrutinized for some kind of reaction. He shifted his bare feet on the kitchen tile, before asking roughly, "There coffee?"

Ellen nodded towards the coffee machine, and he nodded his head in turn with a quiet, "Thank you, ma'am."

He watched the corners of Ellen's lips curve upwards, "Someone was raised right, it seems. Your momma teach you such good manners?"

There was a question inside a question there. Dean didn't turn around from the coffee machine, just stared into the depths of his mug and felt a heaviness in his chest as he answered quietly, "My mom - both of my parents died in a fire when I was four. My mom was trapped upstairs, and my dad went back to get her after making me run outside with my little brother."

He finally made his hand wrap around the coffee pot handle, to pour himself a full cup, as Bobby cleared his throat. "I ... we're sorry to hear that. So it's just you and your brother?"

"Nope. Just me." Dean poured a generous amount of sugar into his cup, and finally turned to look at the Singers, his face tight. "Sammy was six months old. I went into foster care and he got adopted - because people lo-ve babies. Me, I kicked around with foster families until I found one that stuck. By that time, I was old enough to find Sammy, but ... eh. He had a whole new family, y'know? And all things considered, with me? He's probably better off never knowing his ex-con of a big brother."

Ellen and Bobby exchanged a look that couples had, where they were having some sort of conversation that Dean just wasn't following. Finally, Bobby grunted into his coffee, while Ellen gave him another one of those looks that made him feel like she was trying to dig into his skull and see his thoughts. When she spoke, her voice was quiet, "Family's family, Dean. I'm sure your brother would want to know you."

"Yeah, well. I haven't had a family in a long time." He said, grabbing the plate she had put aside for him. Putting his attention firmly on the food, and not on whatever else these two wanted to say in their secret-married language.

After a moment, Bobby cleared his throat. "Since tomorrow's Sunday, and Monday you're going with S - with our son-in-law into the county seat, figured today I'd take you into town, show you around the shop. Sound good?"

Dean nodded his head, forking a mouthful of eggs into his mouth and determinedly not looking at either one of them. "Sounds good."

"We'll leave you to enjoy your breakfast, then." Ellen said, and there was something in her voice that finally made Dean look up, but they were already up - Ellen right next to Bobby, who was putting his mug down on the counter, grabbing his cane from behind the door. They walked out of the kitchen, and as the door swung out, and then in, he could see them in whispered conference with one another. Over what, he had no fucking idea - but there was that jolt of worry. Like they might kick him out. Like he might have just blown this all to hell.

He sighed into his coffee cup, closed his eyes and drank deep. When he opened them again, Castiel was leaning on the counter opposite him, dressed in jeans with a hole in the knee and a faded looking black button-down shirt, and Dean nearly snorted coffee up his nose. He managed to swallow, and gasped out, "Jesus Fucking On A Pogo - the hell did you come from?"

Castiel gave him an eyebrow of faint confusion, and he nodded towards the kitchen door, which was swinging with new intensity again. Oh. Well. Dean cleared his throat. "So, ah, hello." He fiddled with his fork. "How much of that did you hear?"

Blue eyes rested on him, steady and serious, his expression gently saying, 'Enough'. A slight head tilt forward, 'Do you want to talk about it?'

Dean shook his head. "Not really. I mean, tragic fucking early childhood aside, my life wasn't that bad, before I went to prison." He swept his fork along in his food, his voice going rough. "Okay, well, the two months before I got arrested were pretty fucked."

There was the sound of a chair scrapping across the tile, and Castiel was now seated across from him. He didn't do anything weird, like reach for Dean's hand, or go all doe-eyed. He just looked at Dean like he was listening with everything in him. There was no false sympathy, no 'oh you poor thing'. Just ... quiet. Thoughtful. Waiting.

Dean found himself answering that look, the words slow and dragged out of him reluctantly. "There were a lot of ... bad places, when I was in foster care. Nothing seriously nasty, just, people who were in it for the money. People who didn't really care. I was hungry a lot, didn't sleep well, and I learned not to trust these people who smiled when the social worker came and threaten to put me in the basement, in the dark, when the social worker left. And I went through that for three years, until Missouri."

One corner of his mouth lifted up, remembering Missouri. "I mean ... she was this mass of contradictions, y'know? Tough as nails black woman who believed in New Age crap and made extra cash on the side by being a Tarot card reader. She'd always say I ate like a horse, then give me another slice of pie. She was ... well, she was the first parent I had in years. She made me do my homework, go to bed on time, wash my mouth out with soap if I cursed in front of her. She'd ground me if I missed curfew."

He leaned back in the chair, rubbing his mouth. "When she got sick, the first time with cancer - I dropped out of school to take care of her. She let me - but when she was back on her feet, in remission ... she kicked my ass to finish my GED. Sent me to community college, after that. I took some classes, to make her happy, finally dropped out when I told her what I really wanted to do was fix cars. She got it. She was the only person who ever did get me." He stopped, and met Castiel's gaze, and swallowed. "Well ... y'know. Then."

Castiel's lips curved up at the corners briefly, and Dean felt something in his chest go warm at that. He looked back down at his plate, stabbing at his food with his fork. "Stop that. Don't go trying to make me like you." He looked up when Castiel got out of his chair abruptly, and he tried to ignore the lurch in his chest as Castiel walked behind him. Maybe the man had just decided to ignore Dean's little outburst and get his breakfast. Or just leave the kitchen altogether.

What he did not see coming, and maybe he should have, was Castiel's hand sliding around his shoulder, to his neck, tilting Dean's chin upwards so he's looking up into intense, so blue eyes and framed with the most amazing eyelashes Dean's ever seen on a man, and that mouth that Dean kind of hoped, maybe, to drag kisses out of again. Though it seems he doesn't have to wait, because Castiel leaned over him and pressed their mouths together, lips moving over his so lightly - so tantalizingly slow - that the heat that had pooled in Dean's stomach from earlier came back with a hard and heavy jolt.

He wasn't entirely sure what happened next, but when he heard Bobby Singer come back towards the kitchen, calling his name, he has his hand in Castiel's hair, Castiel's hand was sliding under the neck of his shirt and Dean's sporting the biggest hard-on that ever existed. It's not unlike his pants suddenly became three hundred times too small, which makes all the harder to let the other man go so he can pick up his coffee cup and try to look normal, like he wasn't trying to get his tongue as far as he could down Castiel's throat as he could, or if Castiel wasn't going to try and strip him naked in the kitchen.

Surprisingly harder than it looked, as Bobby came banging into the kitchen, "Hey have you seen - oh. There you are, Castiel. Ellen was wonderin' if you'd help her with the gutters today."

Dean, somehow, managed to turn and look at Castiel without wincing, and found the man calmly eating his breakfast, fork sliding through eggs and bacon as if all that was happening in here was two guys sharing a meal and not saliva. The man had some sort of amazing talent of nonchalance as he nodding agreement to Bobby's question, and seriously, Dean needed to figure out how the fuck he did that. Maybe ask him to give Dean a few pointers, because he was pretty sure he's starting to look a little crazed, still staring at Castiel like Castiel's done something and Castiel was looking as smooth as butter in comparison.

Bobby's voice finally cut through Dean's distraction, and he turned back, pulling his expression into something not like a startled deer, as he answered gruffly."Yessir."

Without, you know, not actually knowing what he agreed to.

"All right - I'll see you in fifteen minutes by the car, then." Bobby nodded his head. "You boys enjoy your food. Castiel, when you're done, go find Ellen. She'll be in her office."

Dean blinked after him, and then let out a soft curse as he realized that he just agreed to get his ass in gear when his brain was going one way and his dick wanted to be in the man behind him. He wolfed down the rest of his food, slurped his coffee and hoofed it for upstairs, stopping at the kitchen door to glower back at Castiel, who was still eating breakfast as if without a care in the world. Dean glared at him, and Castiel just lifted a piece of bacon to his mouth and gently - carefully - slowly crunched down on it.

And then the bastard licked his lips.

Dean looked at Castiel. Looked at the time. Let out a sharp growl as he jabbed his finger in the other man's direction, "You ... sonnvabitch. I'm getting you for that. Later.done.

Singer's Garage was a modest establishment - and Dean got why Bobby hasn't gone out of business when so many other car places probably did. Bobby Singer has a blunt honesty, a simple way of explaining why such-and-such a repair is going to cost so much, and how he was willing to negotiate. He seemed to know all his customers, and he wasn't afraid to call them 'idjits' for letting their cars get in the wrong way.

Dean was worried about being the stranger in a town that seemed to be in each other's pockets, and he did get a number of wary glances. Until, weirdly, they asked him where he was staying and he answered that he was staying at the Singer's boarding house. Like magic, he could almost see their shoulders relax, and the smiles that flashed over their faces were genuine. It was fucking baffling, and he had got to wonder about Ellen's reputation in this town. Either they fear her or they trust her implicitly. Or ...both. He wasn't not sure - he just hoped the protection lasts.

He was up front at the cash register, trying to figure out all the function keys, when the door leading to the outside and not the garage jangled open. He tilted up his head just as he's figured out how to pop open the cash register, and found himself staring at a police officer.

She was wearing the atypical glasses, blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun and her hands crossed over her very nice chest. Something in Dean's stomach tightened at the sight of her, because he could tell that whoever this woman was, she doesn't approve of him sitting behind the counter. Which of course is the moment the drawer clings open and he's faced with law enforcement and a drawer filled with money.

Seemed like a good idea to close it, clear his throat, and get off the stool. Meet this particular problem head on. His voice was rough and distrustful, "Can I help you, Officer?"

She arched one eyebrow, put her hands on hips somewhere between slender and nicely rounded, and yeah - that does it - she was hot and intimidating, which meant Dean was watching himself two-fold around her. Her oval face was about as welcoming as the rest of her stance, so that helps. "You must be the new tenant out at the Singers."

"Yes ma'am." Dean allowed, watching her warily as she stepped closer.

"Well, you aren't the one who doesn't talk, obviously, so that must make you the ex-con." She doesn't move towards him - she doesn't have to and she knew it. "They're good folks, the Singers. You'd best not make them regret their decision to help you."

Dean felt his jaws twitch, his hands going a little tighter. "Wasn't planning on it."

A soft, distrustful snort, and Dean imagined if he could see her eyes behind the glasses, they'd be outright suspicious. "Yeah, people like you never do."

'People like you' sparked his temper, and he was about thirty seconds from asking this short piece of ass just where she got off talking like she knew him - knows his life and knows his own personal sins - when the door leading from the garage opens and Bobby limped in. He blinked at Dean, then at the officer, back and forth for just a second, before his eyes narrowed in on the girl and he gruffed out sharply, "Joanna Beth Singer-Wesson, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

The change in the officer's - Joanna Beth Singer-Wesson's face was classic little girl getting caught, as her sunglasses came off her face and Dean saw for the first time, Ellen's brown eyes. Then her gaze went down and guilty, before she put on a quick and bright smile. "Oh, hi, Daddy."

"Don't you 'Oh hi, Daddy' me, Joanna Beth." Bobby grunted at her. "I've seen that look when you broke your Momma's lamp and I've seen it when I caught you coming in after curfew. Just what do you think you're doing in here, with Dean?"

"I - uhm - we're just talking. Shooting the shit, that sort of thing." Joanna's hands were off her hips and she was playing with a golden band on her finger, and it slapped Dean sideways to realize, that was Wesson's wife. Suddenly he had a lot more respect for the man's balls.

It was also why he had no problem drawling as offhandedly as possible, "Yeah, just talking in a vaguely threatening way. That kinda thing."

Joanna Beth was giving him the dirtiest look and Bobby was giving her one of his - and now Dean couldn't help but wonder how he didn't notice the two are related. They both have the same 'don't make me kick your ass' look about them, hands down. He wasn't not sure where the blonde hair came from, but he guessed Ellen's side of the family.

Oh, right, Joanna Beth, and he was kind of liking the perverse and childish thrill of calling her by her full name, was still glaring at him. "I'm just trying to see what kind of man is staying with my family, Daddy. I don't want another Ruby."

"Your Momma said he's all right, I got him working at my store - and you know damned well what your husband will think of you coming in here and trying to strong-arm his client." Bobby poked a finger in his daughter's direction. "Now you scoot on out of here and leave poor Dean alone. Man's got a world of work to pick up on and you're distractin' him."

Joanna Beth sighed, walked over to her father and placed a kiss on his bristled cheek. "Yes, Daddy. I was just on my way to work anyways. I'll see you tomorrow for dinner?"

Bobby nodded his head, and even though he looked gruff, there was affection crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Now scat."

Joanna Beth gave Bobby a warm smile, before she shot a warning look over to Dean. "Goodbye, Dean."

Dean couldn't help the smirk on his face, just as much as he couldn't help the almost mock-cheerful tone of his voice. "You have a good day there, Joanna Beth."

The look she gave him back was pure piss-and-vinegar, and despite it all, he felt kind of good about that. At least there seemed to be one person in this family with their head on straight. He gave Bobby a sideways glance, and said as he went to sit back on the stool and work on the register again, "Your daughter's one tough woman."

"Yeah, she gets that from her mother. Takes a lot to handle a Harvelle woman, I'll tell you that much." Bobby said dryly, and when Dean looked up he found Bobby's eyes on him. "You seem to handle her all right, all things considered."

He nearly hadn't, but that was neither here nor there. Now he knew what to look for, well, it'd be a lot easier holding his tongue and his temper. He shrugged, in response. "Well enough, I suppose. But I sure as Hell got a lot more respect for Wesson. Man's got to have steel ones in his belt."

Bobby gave him an odd look, and a warm sideways smile. "Yeah - that runs in his family." He jerked his chin. "When you're done, we've got a tricky fuel line problem. Thought our new expert might want to take a peak."

Dean got off the stool, and in about twenty minutes forgot all about what perturbed him about Bobby's smile, and how it seemed the older man knew something that Dean just didn't.

Epilogue ~ Live As If

If someone had asked him later, Dean wouldn't have ever been able to tell you what the hell he and Sam talked about that afternoon. There was a sort of vague outline of events - talking about their parents, Sam being eager for any detail Dean could remember. Exchange of life stories, horror stories. Girls they had loved, girls who had never loved them. He sort of remembered about the way Sam lit up whenever he talked about Jo and Mary, and he kind of wondered if he looked the same way when he was talking about Castiel.

Gabe rejoined them, told them Cas was out of surgery, that he hadn't woken up yet. Again, the details were vague in Dean's brain - Gabriel talking about his life being a book agent for one of the most paranoid little hobbit writer in the world, something about Jo and Sam both being really big fans of the hobbit writer ... eh. It was talking about life - real life - and Dean kind of had the feeling he had been hit with so many frigging shocks, surprises and miracles that his brain just couldn't take anymore. Three in one day was quite fucking enough.

Or at least, so he thought.

It was well on three in the morning when Dr. Garrison reappeared at their little circle in the waiting room, his smile broad in a way that just made Dean feel fucking good about the world. He leaned back against his chair, shoulder brushing against Sam's, looking up at the doctor hopefully, "Well Doc, what's the prognosis?"

"He's going to make a full, and uncomplicated recovery. We got to it, just in time." Dr. Garrison said, and Dean could have kissed him for that. He might have offered him a blowjob afterwards for the next words out of his mouth. "He's awake, and he wants to see you, Dean. He asked for you, very specifically."

Gabe joked from his spot right across from Dean, relief clear in his tone and cheery gaze. "Oh, I see how it is. Hey Dean, when you see my little brother, tell him just because you taught him complicated hand signals to spell out your name -- "

"You want a hand signal?" Dean flipped him the bird, smirking. "There's your hand signal."

Dr. Garrison was looking from Dean to Gabe with a puzzled look, speaking a little carefully, "I don't see why he would - there wasn't any damage to his vocal cords from the fever. He did sound a little rough, but I'm assuming he just has a normally low voice -- did I say something wrong?"

For a moment, it took Dean a moment to organize his thoughts enough to speak words that made sense outside of his own brain. "He - he spoke. He actually asked for me, by name, with his own voice?"

He couldn't blame Dr. Garrison for looking at him like he was a complete loon, but Dean sincerely hoped he overlooked that shit and just gave him a goddamned answer. The doctor finally spoke, a little more suspicious than before. "Ye-es. Now what - "

"What room?" Dean said sharply, already moving for the stairs, not looking to see if anyone was following him or not.

"He's in room 2074 -- I really want to know what's going on, here..." Dr. Garrison's voice faded away as Dean pushed open the door to the stairs and took them two at a time. He really, seriously tried not to run all the way there, but it was a fast walk down the hall to Castiel's room. He pushed open the door, breath harsh in the back of his throat, as his gaze fell on the dark haired man lying in the hospital bed, looking out the window with a faraway look in his eyes. He wet his lips, and said, almost fearfully, "Cas?"

The change was instantaneous - Castiel turned his head, his expression becoming softly warm and attentive as he looked back at Dean. Then, almost bashfully, his lips curved up into a small smile, he spoke in a quiet, gravely voice that reminded Dean of cold nights and rough sex, of whiskey with a touch of smooth bourbon, and all he said were two little words.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean felt his control slipping away from him, as his face burst into a brilliant smile and his entire fucking body lit up like someone set off a firecracker in his chest and well ... well.

Seriously, what else could he do at that moment, but close the space between them, and kiss Castiel - his Crazy Sexy Sneaky Roof Guy, all his, right back against the mattress, until they were both breathless, hard and hungry? Until Castiel growled at him him to lock the door in that voice? Really, did he have any kind of choice?

So that was exactly what he did.