"Baby's On Fire"

Pairings: Destiel (DeanxCastiel)
Ratings: Explicit
Warnings: Explicit scene, cockblocking, minor violence, masturbation, consensual voyeurism and exhibitionism (with sounds, not sights), and Cas is kind of a cocktease.
Words: 9217

Beta: Bree (bowtiesanddeductions)
My Tumblr: talesfromperdition

Notes: This fic was inspired by the music video for Die Antwoord's "Baby's On Fire."

The Winchesters had been living in the development for a couple of months, and it was one of the rougher places they've had to stay at, too. The development's rent was even cheaper than renting a motel, and apparently, John didn't care about the safety of his two teenage sons all that much.

Ghosts and demons, yeah. He made sure to give the room a once over to make sure it was monster-free before he left, but he obviously didn't check out the location. They were smack dab in the middle of an incredibly poor, sometimes violent population. Dean had been surprised at how loud the screaming was, and how often he didn't understand the words being shouted all over the development, but could – for the most part – catch the meaning simply because of the way the words were delivered.

That wasn't to say the others didn't speak English; no, a lot of them had really good English. Daily, Dean heard the dealer who lived two houses down screaming at his girlfriend – or one of his mistresses – that they better shut the fuck up when he was trying to sleep. He heard the single mom down the street yelling at her kids to get inside and wash up for dinner as she swore up and down that she was moving out of this shitty-ass neighborhood and go someplace safe with a yard. The guy who lived in the apartment under them had a very colorful vocabulary that he wouldn't hesitate to use if Dean walked too roughly across the floor.

But even more than the phrases he heard in English, he was overwhelmed with the other language that was constantly floating between the walls. He wasn't sure what it was – something Slavic – but he knew a couple of words in the language. Swear words, mostly, and usually because of his neighbor.

They shared a wall – Dean's bedroom and the other guy's bedroom – and the first time Dean had heard him was a week or two back. It had been quiet at first, a rumble through the paper-thin walls of the development. Dean had only met the guy once. Earlier that day, the guy waved at him while he was helping his brother bring a bag of something from their car into their house. Anyway, the guy had waved at Dean and normally, that wasn't anything that was a big deal, but for some reason, Dean was lying awake in his bedroom thinking about it when he heard the sound.

And then it got louder.

Breathless little gasps turned to long, drawn out moans. At first, Dean thought the dude was watching a porno, but when there was a thump against the wall – his head, maybe, as he leaned back – Dean realized that it was the guy.

Suddenly, Dean could picture it with clarity. His neighbor was the same age as him – seventeen or so; they were in the same class at school when either of them bothered to show up – with his dark hair resting against the wall. He was sitting on his bed, leaning back, chin angled up in the air. The dude had blue eyes, but Dean figured his eyes were closed now, his pants around his knees, a fist around his own cock.

He was either shameless or he thought he was being quiet, and Dean wasn't sure which thought excited him more.

The elder Winchester lay in bed, eyes wide in the dark, imagining the way the guy's hand moved. Did he like to draw his pleasure out, or did he want to get it done and over with? Was he touching his chest, running a hand over his naked thigh, running his fingers over his hole?

Dean couldn't believe how red he was – how embarrassed, how flustered – and it only got worse when the guy's voice picked up. His groans were deep, and Dean knew when his lips started forming words that he was cursing, that he was close.

Then, after a final, loud noise, the boy was quiet.

Dean – hard, but unwilling to masturbate to the sound of his neighbor doing the same thing – was left struggling to regain his breath, just like the other boy.

It wasn't long after that, thinking of baseball and trying to will his erection away, that Dean heard another sound. It was a small tapping on the wall that separated their rooms, and then a deep chuckle.

The boy said something – one of the few phrases Dean knew in the language: "Good night," – and then fell silent again.

Embarrassed and fully hard again, Dean threw the covers off of him and stormed into the bathroom. The guy in the apartment under them started yelling, but Dean – at least – would have the decency to do his dirty work in private.

Dean got off a lot faster than he would have liked to admit.

No, okay? Dean was not obsessed with his masturbating neighbor. He didn't listen when the brothers yelled at each other in whatever that language was, listening closely to pick up his name.

He didn't do that. Actually, Sam told him the dude's name.

The Winchesters were walking home from school, and the boy was sitting out on the porch with another boy from the neighborhood. The two were speaking in the other language, and it almost looked like a debate to Dean before he got closer. His neighbor was leaning forward, face open and eyes bright, and Dean felt himself flush.

He was flirting with the guy.

Suddenly, the idea of hearing his neighbor getting fucked against the wall was all Dean could think about, and he was desperate to get back to their own shitty apartment to take a shower. Of course, that would have been too easy. Instead, their neighbor looked over at them and caught Dean's eye. He smiled, closed lipped and private, before he moved his attention to the younger Winchester.

"Hello, Sam."

"Hey, Castiel," Sam called back, and Dean's mouth didn't fall open in surprise. His traitorous little brother would be fraternizing with their attractive next door neighbor. He should have known that only Sam would think to be friendly in a neighborhood where he was likely to get shot at for being nice. "How are you?"

"Fine," Castiel said, his accent less thick than some of the others. He spoke English – Dean realized suddenly – and God, what Dean would give to hear the man calling his name in that accent. "Is that your brother we've heard so much about?"

"Oh," Sam said, putting a hand on Dean's back and pushing him toward Castiel. "Yeah. This is Dean."

The boy stood – Jesus Christ, did he have any control over his body language? – completely ignoring the other guy in favor of Dean. He was leaning forward, licking his lips. He extended a hand and said, "Hello, Dean. I am Castiel. I am very pleased to meet you."

Dean reached his hand forward, taking the other boy's without a second thought. They were rough – rougher than he expected them to be – and he seemed stronger than Dean would have guessed. A firm handshake, and Dean was beat red. All he could think about was that hand around his erection and the slew of curses falling from Castiel's lips.

"I believe you are supposed to say, 'the pleasure is all mine?'" Castiel asked, squeezing Dean's hand briefly before letting it go. The boy was grinning, a secret sort of look playing on his handsome face, and if Dean were speechless and embarrassed before, it was nothing compared to now.

"Yeah," Sam said, punching Dean in the shoulder like he couldn't understand all the sexual tension flying around. "He's kind of a moron with new people, but he's a nice guy."

"We'll have to see," Castiel said, slipping his hands into his pockets, rocking his hips forward slightly. Dean resolutely kept his eyes on the man's face. "I hope to see you soon, Dean."

"Uh… yeah," Dean finally managed to say. "You probably will. I mean… we live right next door to each other."

"Yes," Castiel agreed. "And I do believe we share a wall. Please, if my sounds get too loud, feel free to come over and silence me."

"Like your TV?" Sam asked, innocent as ever.

"Oh, yes," Castiel grinned. "The TV or, how you say, music. You know," he looked at Dean, and if the elder Winchester didn't leave right now, he was going to do something he would seriously regret. "My sounds."

"Gotcha," Dean said, giving a little wave. "You know, homework calls. Talk to you later, Cas."

"Yes, Dean. I look forward to hearing from you, as well," the boy said, finally sitting back down next to the guy – who was looking pretty pissed off now – when Dean started walking away.

To be honest, Dean had expected Castiel to put on another show for him that night. Claiming he had a ton of homework to do, Dean practically locked himself in his room. The walls were so thin that he could hear when Castiel entered his room, and when he turned on the TV. He was watching a sitcom, and Dean heard the deep rumble of his voice as he repeated the lines after the characters.

Sam and Dean didn't have a TV in the apartment – the one benefit in staying in motels over mostly unfurnished apartments – and Dean found himself enjoying Castiel's voice, even when he wasn't gasping and moaning.

His imitation was decent, he didn't change his pitch for the different characters, just attempted the way the words sounded in their mouths, and when Dean heard the TV turn off and Castiel grow silent, his heart beat harder with anticipation.

Surely, Castiel would want to take some time and relax, but instead, Dean heard the window open.

All of the apartments in the complex had nearly an identical layout. From the outside, Dean could tell their rooms were the mirrored image of each other. Their windows were only three feet apart. There was a small ledge under the window, and while it would be dangerous to try and crawl from his room to Castiel's it wouldn't be impossible.

He should go to the window. He knew Castiel well enough to know that he was leaning out the window, watching over the street and smoking. But he couldn't. Instead, Dean kept his window shut. He slunk down in his bed, lying down and covering himself up.

After half an hour, Dean heard Castiel close his bedroom window. The springs of his bed squeaked while the boy got into bed, but he didn't hear another sound from the other room all night.

Dean still had a hard time sleeping.

Less than a week later, Dean was in his room and he heard laughter from the other room. It wasn't exactly uncommon to hear Castiel laughing and flirting with other guys, and Dean didn't quite know how to react.

On one hand, he was a little bit jealous. He wanted to be the one in Castiel's room, laughing and flirting until the dark haired boy would just lean in, capturing Dean's lips between his own. On the other hand, Dean knew he would be able to hear every sound. He wasn't a voyeur, not really. He'd rather get his own kicks than get himself off listen to someone else get their kicks, but there was something hot about Dean knowing that Castiel knew he could hear everything.

Like he didn't care that Dean could hear, or better yet, that he was putting on a show.

At first, Dean might have suspected the latter, but figuring Castiel hadn't really tried to talk to him outside basic pleasantries since their official meeting, Dean was sure it was really the former.

Either way, if Castiel didn't care if he was broadcasting, it's not exactly like he could get mad at Dean for enjoying the program, right?

Anyway, just as the laughing was dying down – Dean could imagine it like a movie in his head, the guy moving in to kiss Castiel for the first time – a door slammed open. It was so loud that Dean was sure it was Sam bursting into his room, but when he looked, his door was still shut.

Suddenly, three voices were yelling on the other side of the wall.

In the development, it wasn't weird to hear screaming – blood curdling, dying screams – but Dean felt goosebumps rise on his skin at the sound of it. Castiel's brother was shouting something, and the younger brother was screaming right back. The other boy stopped yelling, and Dean ran to his window.

The dude was climbing down the wall as best he could.

The yelling got quieter, further into the apartment, and Dean found himself running down the hall and down his own steps. Sam was already standing outside on the stoop, watching as Castiel's brother waved a baseball bat in the air, yelling at the boy running away. Castiel was standing behind his brother, far enough away to avoid the bat if he swung, yelling at him.

At first, Sam looked concerned, but when the elder Novak turned back to Castiel and the pair started screaming at each other, the rest of the neighbors in the complex started rolling their eyes and walking away. Dean turned to Sam and was surprised to see his younger brother was a bit red, but smiling nonetheless.

"What?" Dean asked, and Sam's smile turned into a grin.

"Michał said, 'I don't want that scumbag motherfucker hanging out my little brother,'" Sam translated. The brothers started storming back toward their own apartment, and Dean knew Castiel was objecting. Sam continued translating. "He said, 'I don't want any scaly motherfuckers from this hood getting fresh with my little brother. They just got one thing on their minds, you hear me? One thing!'"

The younger Novak broke free, slamming the door in his brother's face. Dean didn't need a translation for the boy's angry, "Whatever!"

Despite himself, Dean found himself grinning as he watched Castiel's brother try the door handle and realize it was locked. The brothers continued yelling until eventually, the elder Novak ended up climbing in through the open front window.

"Wait," Dean said. "What's Cas' brother's name? Me-haw?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Michał. It's like Michael."

"How do you even know that?" Dean asked. "What, you suddenly speak whatever that is?"

"You're so ignorant and embarrassing," Sam hissed. "We've been living here for months. How haven't you picked it up? Or at least more of it than just the swear words?"

"I…" Dean started, but Sam stormed off in an annoyed huff, and for a moment, Dean was sure Sam was going to lock him out of their apartment too. Luckily, when he reached the door, he was pleased to find it turned. When he walked into the empty hallway – the Winchesters only had beds and the kitchen table and chairs that came with the place – he made sure all the doors and windows were locked.

He wasn't too worried about ghosts or rugarus or anything like that getting in, but people were another thing.

When Dean got upstairs to his room, he found his window open. He could smell the smoke from the next door window, and without thinking about it, he leaned forward, turning his head to look at Castiel. The other boy looked at him blankly for a second, before looking away again.

Somehow, Dean felt like he was somehow to blame.

"Hey," Dean said, feeling the window dig into his stomacah as he leaned out. "Mee-haw's a bitch."

Castiel snorted, choking on the smoke for a couple of breaths. "Michał?" The boy laughed. "You can call him Mike, you know. Everyone does."

"Like they call you Cas?" Dean asked.

"Guess mine doesn't translate all nice and American like that. I tried telling everyone my name was Jimmy but Maja down the street told everyone the truth," Castiel took a deep breath in, then held it out, passing it to Dean. For a brief moment, he thought about accepting things from guys named Don, but Castiel's name wasn't Don, and it wasn't like he didn't know where it came from. Michał grew it in his room. "The closest translation to Jimmy would be Jakub. I blew a Jakub, once. He was a wrestler."

"Oh," Dean asked, his face red. "You wrestled?"

"Nie," Castiel shook his head. "I would have liked to roll around with him for a bit, but Mike put a stop to that pretty damn fast."

Dean took a puff and passed it back. Their windows were ridiculously close together. With both of their arms stretched out, their fingers could brush together. Dean had been with guys before, sure, but none of them had ever really been as candid as Castiel. They'd always been mostly embarrassed teenagers, rutting around quickly and desperately. The boys he'd been with were nothing like the girls he usually went for, and nobody he had ever been with was like Castiel.

"It's not like you can get pregnant, right?" Dean asked. "Why does he care who you have sex with?"

Castiel looked at Dean like he had grown another head, like Dean didn't know the risks involved with any sexual encounter, like he hadn't met an older guy in an alley before and known exactly what he wanted. But Dean did – he knew – and he frowned and looked away.

"So he's worried about you. Better than having him leave for months at a time, not caring what you do."

"I suppose," Castiel said, flicking the butt into the street. Normally, in any other city, Dean would have worried about leaving stuff like that outside his apartment, but if he looked far enough down the street, he could see the house that a meth lab in it. The cops wouldn't care about them. "It's still annoying. Sometimes, you just want something filling you up, you know?"

Dean turned to look at Castiel. The boy was grinning at him again; the look was easy on his face. Dean opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

"Oh," Castiel said. "Or you filling something else up. Trust me, I'm not picky."

"I… uh… Are you…?"

Castiel laughed, throwing an obvious wink at Dean between their separate windows. "You're right. No need to have Mike threaten anyone else tonight. It requires a brave sort of man to try and sneak into my room with my brother home."

"I… uh…"

"Hopefully, he will actually leave the house sometime," Castiel continued. Dean wasn't sure if the other boy could tell how completely speechless this turn in the conversation made him, or if he could tell and didn't care. Dean kept opening and shutting his mouth like a fish, but Castiel kept smiling at him. "Well, then. I guess it will be a rain check? I hope you sleep well tonight, Dean. Sweet dreams."

Castiel had disappeared back into his room, shutting the window behind him, before Dean had even fully processed the last bit of their conversation. A rain check? Oh, God. That had to mean what Dean thought it meant, right?

Eventually, Dean pulled his body back into his room and shut the window. He lay in bed for an hour, completely sure that he was not going to get any sleep. Ten minutes later, he realized he definitely wasn't going to get any sleep when he heard Castiel's breathy moans. It was even worse this time – the boy was way more vocal – going so far as to murmur what he was doing to himself through the thin walls.

Dean could barely understand half the words, but he understood the ones that mattered. Castiel's accent was thicker as he whispered, "Going to use a finger," and "Pushing it in now," and of course, "Ah, Dean."

The elder Winchester came way before Castiel did, and he still didn't get any sleep.

Dean was well aware that he had a problem, but now he could at least name it: Michał.

Mike did nothing to leave the house. He was out of school – in his early twenties, Dean thought – but he didn't seem to have a job outside the small farm growing in his bedroom. There were many things the man enjoyed doing for fun, like walking around without a shirt on with three girls surrounding him, or blaring music from his bedroom while girls danced around topless, or having girls wrestle each other in a blow-up pool of KY Jelly in their complex's sad excuse for a shared backyard.

Dean was sure he had a lot of sex with these girls, too, but he hadn't actually witnessed that.

Actually, he hadn't witnessed the girls topless dancing himself either, but when he and Castiel leaned out of their windows to pass a spliff back and forth, the other boy swore that he had walked in on topless dancing.

Unfortunately, there wasn't any activity that Mike really enjoyed that involved leaving the house. Dean was well aware that he wasn't the only one getting impatient.

There was no pleasing Castiel, and even with the idea of a rain check hanging over their heads, Dean caught his neighbor talking to a handful of different guys at school. The guys weren't terrible picks, but none of them were in Castiel's league. They all tried to impress him by talking about their bikes (both bicycles and dirt bikes, nobody in their development could afford an actual motorcycle), and Dean always managed to catch Castiel and some guy pressed nearly chest to chest, murmuring together in the language Dean didn't understand.

And Dean totally understood. Sex was awesome. It wasn't like he and Castiel were in a committed relationship or anything, and people have needs. All Dean could do was try his best not to look like a kicked puppy while Castiel chatted up the scaly douchebag from down the street.

He didn't realize that Castiel was doing it on purpose until about a week later.

There was no way Dean could actually see into Castiel's room from his room – unless he drilled a hole into the wall, which he absolutely did not and would not do – but he was pretty damn sure he knew what was going on in there most of the time.

On one hand, most of his activities were pretty obvious. Dean constantly heard Castiel repeating the lines to TV shows, and he hadn't realized it at first, but he was trying to mimic the American accents. Dean could also tell when Castiel was fingering himself or just jacking off based on the sounds the other boy made.

On the other hand, if an activity was not obvious, Castiel had a tendency to announce it. Once or twice, Castiel had knocked on the wall separating their rooms and said, "I'm about to do a cardio DVD so if I pass out and die, you'll have to come resuscitate me with mouth-to-mouth." Dean, of course, knew he was being teased. Castiel enjoyed running and the last time he came back from a run – sweaty and shirtless – Dean needed to lock himself in the bathroom, showering until the water ran cold.

This time, Dean heard Castiel and another male voice in his room. As always, jealously flared; however, that was somewhat quickly abated when Dean heard Castiel say, "I'm taking off my shirt."

Dean was sitting on his bed, reading a book, but he stilled at the sound of his neighbor's voice. The other man answered in his native language – he might not even speak much English, so he might have been curious as to what Castiel said – but Dean heard the dark-haired teen shush him.

"He's lying back on the bed. I'm straddling his hips, and I'm shirtless."

The guy Castiel was with made another confused sound, but with a murmur – some words Dean couldn't understand or hear anyway – he fell quiet. For a few seconds, Dean was left with nothing but the pounding of his chest. Castiel was over in his room right now on top of a guy. But he was saying everything aloud, in English, and there was only one reason why he would do that.

"He isn't nearly as cute as you," Castiel said, and Dean could hear the lust in his voice. "I'm grinding against him, and I can feel his dick getting hard, but it isn't yours. I wish it were yours."

Dean looked at his own door. It was unlocked, but Sam was at school. Even if he wasn't, his little brother didn't usually come barging in on him. Thank God Sam was a good student and actually went to school, Dean thought as he unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans.

He barely pushed his jeans down his hips and put a hand on himself when there was a loud crash from next door, again. As if Dean were the boy in the room, he quickly jumped up, trying to stuff himself back in his pants and look respectable, look as if he hadn't been doing anything. But Mike didn't see him; all Mike saw was the guy under his little brother.

There wasn't any yelling this time, apart from one terrified shout from Castiel: "Michał, the sword?"

Dean was still buttoning his pants as he ran down the stairs. When he finally got out of the apartment, everything was back in order, and he moved to stand next to Castiel as Mike ran after the boy on his bicycle, chasing him down the street with a sword.

"That sucks," Castiel frowned, crossing his arms in front of him. "It's one thing to chase a suitor off with a bat, but using a sword? That's a little uncalled for."

"A suitor?" Dean asked, bumping his shoulder against his neighbor's.

Castiel grinned, "Suitor is a nicer word than the boy I was going to ride while pretending it was you, isn't it? Is there a better word for that in English?"

"Suitor is… yes, Cas. It's a nicer word for that," Dean said, watching as Mike gave up chasing after the kid halfway down the street. He was stomping back toward them, looking bizarre wearing nothing but a Speedo and carrying a sword down the street. "You know… Sam's still at school. He will be for hours. We could just go over to my house."

"Where's the fun in that?" Castiel asked.

"Well, my dick wouldn't get chopped off by your crazy, sword-wielding brother, for one."

"Yeah, but don't you want to see where he'll go next? I think it'll be a gun," Castiel said. Dean opened his mouth to respond – oh, God, he was going to die trying to have sex with his neighbor – but Mike had caught back up to them. He started yelling at Castiel, but the younger Novak just rolled his eyes and followed his brother inside without a fight.

After Mike threatened Castiel's latest fling with a sword, a strange thing started happening. Namely, Mike started talking to Dean. It was mostly Sam's fault.

Being an eighth grader, Sam had to take home economics. Dean had always done the bulk of the cooking for the two of them – to be completely honest, he loved cooking – but Sam was desperate to learn. After setting a very minor fire in the school, he was told he needed to practice at home, and Dean would have been more than happy to help teach him if they weren't living on cereal, canned goods, and whatever he could occasionally swipe from the store.

They'd been living in the same place for months without hearing from their dad. Money had long since run out.

It had been Sam – or maybe Castiel – who suggested Dean teach Sam over in the Novak lot. Neither Mike nor Castiel could cook, so the younger Novak figured that whatever Sam managed to burn would be a step up from Ramen. They had the money, a stove, and pots and pans, so Dean couldn't exactly say no.

To be honest, when Mike first walked into the kitchen from his bedroom, Dean expected to be threatened instantly. Any guy even remotely Castiel's age was chased on sight, even if he was only looking at the younger Novak, but Mike walked up, standing uncomfortably close to Dean while he looked into the pot Sam was stirring.

"Was this?" Mike asked. "Was he making?"

It took Dean a second to beat through the accent to understand the question. "Uh… Spaghetti. It's, you know, easy. And I didn't want him to burn your house down."

Mike looked from Sam to Castiel – who was sitting at the kitchen table doing his homework – then looked back to Dean. "You live beside us?"

"Uh, yeah. Next door."

"American?"

"Uh-huh," Dean said. Mike glared at him a second, and Dean's eyes moved past the older boy to look at the sword hanging on the wall. He swallowed and looked back at Mike. "I mean, yes, sir."

Castiel started laughing, dropping his head to the kitchen table to hide his snickers, but even Mike's handsome face twisted into a grin. "'Yes, sir,' says the American," he repeated, wrapping his arm around Dean and turning him to face Castiel. "Look at the respect, look at the manners, you learn a lot from him, yes?"

"You want me to hang out with the American more?" Castiel asked, still laughing. "Listen to me. I am American. You hear this? I'll be a movie star with this accent."

"Yes, you will be a – how they say – Bond villain."

"James Bond is British, idiot," Castiel said, rolling his eyes. Mike dismissed the complaint, and Dean tried to relax with the arm around him. It was kind of hard; after all, he'd seen this guy chase a man down with a sword for grinding against his brother. "And you are scaring the American."

Mike made some dismissive comment in the other language, but he removed his arm from Dean. "American is not scared of me. Why he be scared of me?"

"Because you're crazy," Castiel said. "And his name is Dean."

"Dean is a good name. American name. Like James Dean, yes?" Mike said, turning his attention away from the elder boys. He moved toward Sam, talking in the other language to the youngest boy. Sam was sloppy and slow with the language, but Mike seemed to enjoy teaching him. Probably because he never had to worry about Sam bringing scaly motherfuckers home.

"Like James Dean," Castiel repeated, looking up at the elder Winchester. He winked, and then settled back down to do his homework. Even with Mike in the room – and the threat he presented – Dean wasn't too afraid to sit next to him and work on their math together.

It wasn't exactly uncommon for the two Novaks and the two Winchesters to hang out, even after Sam passed the cooking portion of home economics and moved on to sewing. Everyone had missed actual meals from their childhood, and with funds, Dean was able to make quite a few decent meals. Occasionally, Mike would request something from the motherland, but they enjoyed Dean's burgers and fries all the same.

At night, when Mike's girls came over to giggle in his bedroom and Sam went back over to their apartment to go to sleep, Castiel and Dean would sit out front and have a smoke. Despite the good nature between Mike and Dean, the elder Winchester didn't want to press his luck, especially once he caught sight of the gun sticking in the front of the man's waistband.

("You're going to blow your dick off," Castiel had yelled. "You don't even need a fucking gun. Just get rid of it."

"Oy, mind your fucking business, Castiel," Mike had yelled back.)

Castiel had never invited Dean back up to his room, anyway. As the weeks dragged on and turned into a month, Dean was starting to think that Castiel was losing interest in him. They were spending a lot of time together, sure – and okay, Castiel wasn't hitting on any guy that moved anymore either – but their relationship had seemed to take a platonic turn.

Before, they would be separated by a wall, but it was fairly obvious that both of them were masturbating, thinking about the other. Now, Castiel was silent in his room and when he wasn't, it was always innocent stuff: the TV, his music, not the sounds that Dean wanted to hear.

It stayed that way until one day when Dean was reading a book on his bed, and he heard Castiel tap softly on the wall between them. The elder Winchester wished he could hide the small smile that formed on his face – he didn't know when this lustful attraction had turned into the butterflies he felt in his stomach – but he didn't hate the development. Usually, when Castiel tapped, they shared a joint from their separate rooms, but when Dean opened his window, Castiel's was still closed.

Frowning, Dean went back into the room and tapped back. Somehow, over the past couple of weeks, they managed to get a system down. He could usually tell what Castiel wanted just with the ferocity of his knocks, but this time he was at a loss.

Was he just making sure Dean was there or did he want something?

"Cas?" Dean called. The walls were thin; he didn't need to say it loud, and he heard the low chuckle as a response. For some reason, Dean felt heat rising in his body. "You need something?"

"Shh," Castiel called. The bed squeaked, and Dean could imagine the boy was sitting down, maybe lying down. Dean's heart seemed to beat faster with anticipation. "Just listen."

The younger Novak had been shameless, pleasing himself whenever he wanted, being loud and unabashed, but he had never made sure Dean was listening before. He always assumed Dean was in his room, always listening. This time, he made sure.

Dean put his hand on the wall, wishing it were gone. He wanted to see the beautiful boy laid out on the bed, wanted to feel every inch of his skin. Dean wanted to kiss it, mark it, and be kissed and marked in return.

Lost for a moment in his own mind, Dean barely heard the sound of Castiel's nightstand drawer opening. He couldn't hear the small click of the lube top opening, but somehow he could see it if he closed his eyes. He knew that was what Castiel was doing.

The other boy went slowly; Dean could tell by his sounds. He ignored his erection in favor of spreading his knees apart, head lying back against the pillows. There was no sound at all until the small hiss: the lube was too cold on his hole. Still, the boy pushed on, giving a low moan as he spread it around, making sure he had enough on his fingers before pressing in.

Castiel always made the same noise as he first pushed in when he fingered himself. It was a gasp – almost like he was always surprised by the feeling – followed by a short, soft sound. It was almost like a whine or a whimper. Of all the sounds he made, that sound seemed to be the most private, the most real. Dean pressed his forehead against their shared wall, wishing he was there to see the faces the boy made along with the sound.

Dean could hear Castiel's breathing through the wall. Already it sounded strained, and the boy hadn't even started moving yet.

But when he did start, the sounds were delicious.

When he first started listening to his neighbor masturbate, Dean was sure he was putting on a show, trying to rile Dean up. The boy would moan too loudly – nobody Dean had ever been with had ever been that loud – but the more time that went on, the more the elder Winchester realized that it wasn't so.

Castiel was just extremely vocal in bed.

And when the boy started moving his finger inside his own hole, his soft sounds gained force. Whimpers turned to groans, and the deep sound sent a spark down Dean's spine. Normally, the boy would fumble with his belt, take out his cock, and pleasure himself right along with his neighbor; however, this time, it felt different.

This time, he wanted to hear every sound without distraction.

Dean could tell Castiel added another finger by the catch in his voice. The low moans died suddenly, only to come back stronger and with a slightly higher pitch to them, something that sounded a little more desperate.

The boy could find his own prostate easily – Dean could remember hearing him wailing with pleasure before – but he seemed to be ignoring it now. Although obviously enjoying the feeling, Castiel wasn't rushing to get himself off, and for some reason, that only added to the excitement for Dean.

Long minutes went by, and then two fingers turned to three, marked with a squeak in the bed as Castiel dug his heels into the mattress to lift his hips. The sound he made was strangled – needy and careless – and Dean could imagine how his neighbor's body was tinted pink with his arousal.

At this point, Castiel was usually lost to the outside. Dean could start banging on the wall, Mike could knock the door down, and Castiel wouldn't stop. The entire development could be up in flames, but the boy was gone, too focused on his own pleasure. He wouldn't stop for anything.

That's why when Castiel whimpered, followed by heavy panting, Dean lifted his head from off the wall. The elder Winchester frowned at the white space that separated him from his neighbor, clearing his throat and asking, "Cas?" His voice was rough, spent, as if he had been the one moaning for the past several minutes.

For a long moment, Dean heard Castiel trying to regain his breathing. If Dean didn't know Castiel better, he would have figured his neighbor had come, but there was no way. Castiel wasn't quiet at any point in the process; his climax was always a loud production. He was murmuring swear words that were tinted with frustrated tears, and Dean smoothed his hand over the wall, as if patting the barrier between them could comfort his friend.

"You okay, Cas?" Dean called again.

"Yeah…" the boy said. There was a creak in the mattress. Castiel was standing up. His footsteps were heavy, and Dean heard the rustling of clothes, the click of the belt. "I was just… I didn't want to get off."

"Why not?"

"Saving it for later. Just… Just trying to prepare myself."

"You're," Dean's throat seemed to close. He was prepping himself for later. He would need to be open and relaxed for later. For someone. For someone else. Dean's heart was already racing, but his tongue suddenly felt thick in his mouth. "Are you going somewhere with someone?"

Dean heard Castiel snort. His footsteps got louder; he was approaching the wall. When he placed his hand over the barrier between them, he hit it hard enough for Dean to hear where he was. "You're an idiot."

"You mean –"

"Michał is going to drop off some product later," Castiel said, his voice dropping to a deep rumble. "I figured we'll have at least fifteen minutes, if you're interested."

"Trust me," Dean said. "I'm very interested."

"Good," Castiel said – Dean could hear the smile on his face – and he walked away from their shared wall. Dean heard Castiel's bedroom door shut behind him.

It was difficult for Dean to focus on anything when he knew what Castiel was planning for them. He couldn't settle down. For ten minutes after Castiel left his room, Dean paced around his bed, trying to calm himself down. It felt like an electric current was running through his body, making it impossible to do anything but pace, but eventually he opened his window (not to check and make sure Mike's car was still there. It was, by the way, but he didn't open the window just to check. No, of course not.) and made his way back to his bed.

He sat down and pulled his book closer to him.

Five minutes after that, Dean heard a car door open and close, then Castiel's footsteps rushing in the room, followed by frantic pounding on the wall between them.

"Dean," Castiel called. "The car's gone."

The promise of Mike being gone set Dean's heart rate skyrocketing. He threw the blanket back and ran to the window, looking down over the front driveway. He saw the car driving off down the street.

Mike was one of the few people in the complex who had his own car, even though he never really drove. He never really even left the house. Dean knew that Mike wouldn't be gone long, and they didn't have time to waste.

Castiel leaned out of his window just as Dean was lifting himself up to the frame. It seemed so stupid, once his feet hit the little ledge between their windows, and in hind sight, it might have been faster to go around, but Castiel was grinning, hanging out the window to grab on to Dean, trying to drag him into the window.

It took some time, but soon enough, Dean was crashing onto the floor in Castiel's bedroom.

He'd never actually been in the space before, and even though he didn't want to waste any time, he couldn't help but look around. The bed was at least a full, the TV was big, and the posters around the room were mostly of American movies.

"This is… um… a nice room that…"

"Clothes off," Castiel demanded, grabbing Dean's arm and pulling. Together, they managed to get him on his feet again, and together they stripped him down. The second Dean's shirt was up and over his head, he felt Castiel's lips on his skin. Castiel kissed like he had been dying to taste every inch of Dean's skin, and Dean couldn't help it when he placed his hands on Castiel's face, redirecting his head so Dean could press their lips together.

Everything was rushed.

Clothes were stripped off quickly, and there wasn't time for the boys to appreciate each other's bodies. Somehow, in Dean's mind, he knew if they could just do this once – one time without Mike catching them and killing him – he would be able to convince Castiel to come to his house. They would be mostly alone there; they could take their time and really explore one another, but this was not that time.

Once they were both naked, Castiel guided them toward the bed. He pushed Dean down, and the elder Winchester moved toward the center. Castiel followed him, wrapping his arms around Dean's shoulders and sitting himself in the elder boy's lap. For a brief moment, Dean stopped moving, looking over the other boy. His pupils were blown wide with lust, his hair was a mess, and his bottom lip was caught between his teeth.

Dean wrapped his arms around the other boy's waist, looking down to take in the sight of him. He was muscular, strong; his skin was tanner, his cock just a bit thicker. Dean wrapped his hand around his neighbor's erection, looking back up at his face when Castiel hissed.

"I'm…" Castiel started to say, but favored actions instead of words. He pushed at Dean's shoulders, laying him back on the bed. He grabbed a condom from the nightstand, turning to put it on Dean. After situating himself again, he reached his hand back, gripping at Dean's cock and holding it steady.

"Wait," Dean said. "You're still, you know, right? I don't want it to hurt."

Castiel turned back around to face Dean, a smile on his face. He leaned over, pressing a short, reassuring kiss to his friend's lips. The elder Winchester moved his free hand around Castiel's shoulders, trying to keep him there. They kissed – lazy and slow – for a moment, before Castiel sat back up.

"I promise that I'm ready for you."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Dean," Castiel smiled. "I wouldn't hurt myself. You wouldn't willingly hurt me, either. Trust me. I was very thorough."

"If you're sure…"

"Trust me," Castiel repeated. He leaned forward, grabbing the lubricant from the nightstand, pouring some onto his hand. When he reached back this time, he moved his hand over Dean's cock, spreading the lube over the condom. Dean's breath hitched in his throat, and he made a quiet, pleased sound. Castiel smiled. "I will make this feel very good for you, Dean. Trust me."

Dean tried to laugh, but it came out as a groan instead. "Isn't that my line? I want it to be good for you, too, Cas."

"Then we will be good to each other, yes?" the boy said, smile still on his face. This time, when he held Dean still and lowered himself, Dean didn't object. Castiel had prepared himself less than half an hour ago; Dean hoped he would still be loose enough. He didn't want to hurt him.

With Castiel on top, he was at least able to control his decent. Dean swore he felt every inch as he sank down. He paused a few times, leaning over to kiss Dean, as he relaxed and stretched to accommodate him. Before long, Castiel was seated all the way down, his fingers digging into Dean's chest, his cock left abandoned against Dean's stomach.

The elder Winchester ran his palms over Castiel's thighs. He seemed calm, soothed, but Dean's eyes never left his neighbor's face, looking for any sign of discomfort. "You okay?"

"Mmhmm," Castiel groaned, his half-lidded eyes finding Dean's. "You?"

"You feel amazing, Cas," Dean admitted, flushing at his own honesty.

"Then let's start moving."

Castiel was the only one who moved initially, raising himself up to lower himself down again. His went slowly, letting both of them get use to the feel of his movements, before he started moving faster. Dean kept his hands on Castiel's thighs, rubbing his thumbs against the skin, feeling the flex of the muscles as he worked. Images of the boy running through the development flashed through Dean's mind briefly, and he knew the boy's stamina would be amazing when they had the time to put it to the test.

But they had to hurry; Mike could be home at any time.

Dean bent his knees, digging his heels into the mattress so he could thrust up into his neighbor. Up until this point, Castiel had been trying to stay quiet; however, as soon as Dean started moving, Castiel got louder.

Sometimes his head would tip back, exposing his throat, as he let out a long, deep sound. Other times, his head would fall forward, resting his chin against his chest as he pressed down on his palms, making his rise and fall more shallow, causing him to give off little grunts and gasps of breath.

The elder Winchester was addicted to the sounds, and he mimicked them without realizing. Spurred on by how vocal his partner was, Dean didn't want to hold his own pleasure back. He gripped Castiel's hips, pulling him down toward him as he thrust up into his heat, and groaned.

It didn't take long. They were both on edge from before – Castiel from fingering himself and Dean from listening to it – and after Dean stopped holding himself back, he saw that Castiel was watching him, listening to their shared pleasure. Castiel took his cock into his hand, jerking himself in time with their movements. He sank himself down on Dean's cock and stilled. Although for the most part, Castiel's sounds had been incoherent, Dean could make out one syllable as Castiel was coming all over the elder Winchester's chest: "Dean!"

Dean followed as Castiel tightened around him and started to move again.

Castiel stilled for a second time, panting and holding himself up by his arms. There wasn't much of a break before Castiel moved off of Dean – both of them making a small sound when Dean slipped free of Castiel – and Dean stood up, taking the condom off, trying to hide it in a tissue before throwing it away. The dark haired teen met Dean as he turned around, kissing him as he cleaned his own come off Dean's chest with another tissue.

Everything would have worked perfectly, if only Dean had gotten dressed and left. He enjoyed cuddling as much as the next guy, but he never planned on kissing Castiel for long minutes, eventually letting the boy lead him back into the bed. They settled in under the covers, Dean in Castiel's strong arms, and continued kissing.

It might have been that they were both distracted, so they didn't hear the car pull up out front or the doors slam. Dean swore he never heard Mike come home, but one minute, he and Castiel were kissing, and the next, Mike was bursting into the door.

Castiel was right. This time he was waving around his gun.

Dean tried jumping out of bed, but he was tangled around Castiel and still naked. Mostly, he just fell out of bed, trying his best to cover himself as he stood back up. Castiel's window was still open, and Dean wondered if he could jump from a second story window and still run away before Mike killed him.

Before he even made a step to the window, though, Castiel was throwing the blankets off of him, standing up to face his brother. Even with a gun in his hand, Mike was not the angrier of the two brothers; Castiel was fuming.

He threw the punch before Dean realized what was going to happen. The gun was dropped on the floor as Mike moved one hand to his cheek, the other one outstretched to block a second punch. Castiel didn't throw another one; instead, he picked up the gun.

The Novaks had been silent up until this point, but suddenly, the pair of them started shouting at each other. Dean couldn't understand it – they were so loud and so angry that he doubted he could understand even if it was in English – and just as soon as they started yelling, they stopped.

Castiel was frowning at Mike, confused and angry, but Mike was grinning back. The elder Novak turned to Dean and said, "You two get dressed. I'm not talking to you until you put your fucking dicks away."

Dean's heart was still beating wildly, but Castiel had the gun. Mike wouldn't be able to shoot him as he was getting dressed, and Dean decided he'd have more dignity if he died with his clothes on, anyway. The elder Winchester started getting dressed before Castiel made a move to do the same, but after a couple of tense moments, the younger Novak put the gun on the stand – far enough away from Mike so that he couldn't grab it – and started pulling his pants back on.

Even though Dean was completely dressed, he wished he had more clothes on, like a hoodie or a parka or something, just so he had more layers between him and the elder Novak. The look on Mike's face wasn't the same murderous rage he had seen before, but his cheeks were red and he was frowning at Castiel.

Once Castiel had pants on, he stood shirtless and picked the gun back up, but kept his arm limp at his side. He didn't point it at his brother.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment.

It was awkward, and even though Dean was sure he was involved in the fight, for the most part, he had been ignored. That is, until Mike turned toward him, crossed his arms over his chest, and said, "I told him not to fuck with any scaly motherfuckers from this hood."

Dean figured it would be better if he didn't say anything. He wanted to look down, but submitting would somehow be worse. Dean forced himself to look at Mike.

"Just now when we were yelling, I told him that you weren't one of them. You're not one of us. You don't count."

The elder Winchester frowned, not quite sure what Mike was saying. He looked at Castiel – who still looked pissed off – and he said, "He means you're different."

"How am I any different from any of them?" Dean asked.

Mike laughed. "Are you kidding, those fuckers have one thing on their mind. You… okay, you're a teenaged guy, so you have that on your mind too – obviously – but you think about other things. You make sure the bastards don't get to your brother, and you make sure he's doing good in school and that he's fed. You take care of him. You take care of Cas, and me, too. You are good, not like them."

"I'm…" Dean started. "I'm not, you know. I'm just like them."

"Nah," Mike grinned. "You're just too stupid to see it. But I'm not. And Cas isn't. He knows a good thing when he sees it."

"I'm just going to leave, you know," Dean said. "My dad's going to come back and drag us off again. It's not like I've got a ring or anything."

For the first time since Mike burst in, Castiel smiled. He smiled at Mike, who grinned back at his brother and said, "You Americans are so stupid."

"But they are cute," Castiel added, handing the gun back to his brother.

Mike held the gun up, taking the clip from the weapon and showing it to Dean. "It's not loaded. You think I will point a loaded gun at an American in this neighborhood? No way. I am just trying to scare you. You fuck up my brother, and I will fuck you up. Yes? We are in an understanding?"

"Michał," Castiel said, turning pink.

"I understand."

"Good. Great, even," Mike said, putting the clip back in the gun and walking over to Dean. He threw his arms around his shoulders easily, bringing him into a side-armed hug as if he were family. "Your little Sammy will be home from school soon, and I think we should have snacks ready for him. You'll teach me to make brownies, yes?"

"Uh… yeah, sure," Dean said, looking back at Castiel. His neighbor grinned at him and started looking for his shirt.

It was later, in the kitchen after the brownies were already made and half eaten by Sam and Mike, that Dean realized what the Novaks had meant about Americans being stupid. John would be back – he always came back – but it had been months. It could be even more months before he returned. And watching Mike help Sam with his math while Castiel stood beside him, helping him make Kiełbasa, he knew that he had been stupid.

Mike had been right. He wasn't one of the scaly motherfuckers from this hood. And neither were the Novaks. They were all more than that. They were all family.