-This is (obviously) a work of fanfiction. I claim no ownership over any of the characters, or the world of Supernatural, however grateful for them I may be, which is hella.
-No posting schedule, because I am a garbage person comprised of garbage, and cannot commit to anything but my husband.
-I want to let you know that Dean is sixteen, and Cas is somewhere in his mid-thirties. They absolutely, 100% get it on later in the fic, so if that's not your jam, maybe skip over this one.
-Shout out to the two separate people who beta'd this story and appeased my need to be told, "Yes, this story is interesting, people will want to read it, calm your needy ass down." E and A, you're both just lovely.
Dean Winchester weaves through the crowd of people smoothly. He's simultaneously trying to be as invisible as possible and to keep the ball of nerves in his stomach under control. Vomiting will definitely draw attention to him.
It's not the first time he's had to try to pick pockets to make ends meet, but it always makes him nervous. He's only resorted to this a few times, when Bobby doesn't have enough work at the tavern. The way Bobby looks destroyed when he has to send Dean away is enough to make Dean brush it off every time, make it seem like no big deal.
Bobby has been watching out for them for years. He's an old Army buddy of John's, probably the last one he still has, and Dean thinks he only lets John come around still because of he and Sam. The only reason Dean will take the help that Bobby offers is because Bobby knows, he knows what kind of position John has put Dean into, and while he doesn't know exactly the lengths that Dean has gone to to take care of Sam, he probably suspects, and he doesn't say a damn thing about it.
Like the hooking. Dean's only done that a couple of times, and he's only ever used his hand. Not because he thinks he's better than the other kids his age who have to sell themselves, but because that always makes him plenty of cash to make sure Sam gets fed. There's no need to do… More until it becomes necessary.
Stealing just intimidates him because… Well, what if he gets caught? Who the hell is gonna take care of Sammy? Sure, Bobby would step in, but that's not his job, it's Dean's.
The circumstances rarely come together so he has to steal at all. Bobby can usually give him enough jobs around the tavern, busboy or dishwasher or whatever, that he can make ends meet, make sure the rent gets paid and the table has at least enough food for Sam on it (and if it doesn't have enough to feed both of them, Dean's not above eating whatever other people leave on plates at the tavern). If that's not an option, the street is usually a safe bet to make enough cash.
It's just every once in a while, when the cops come sniffing around to make sure no underage people (read: one Dean Winchester) are working, Bobby has to lay low with helping Dean. He'd hit the corner, but on nice nights like they've had the last few days, there are way too many kids on the street for Dean to be sure that he would be chosen. Sure, he's pretty, but there are less pretty boys who are willing to go further for less money.
So, stealing. Not his first option, but not his worst, either.
He moves along with the crowd, eyes scanning the people around him for a mark. Dean has no idea what the hell he's doing, he's bullshitting his way through this, but he knows how to read people.
It's a skill he picked up (had drilled into him) from John, the ability to separate the gullible from the shrewd, the physically weak from the able, the smart from the not so much. It's a product of John's paranoia, which is one of the many, many reasons Dean lives his life the way he does, but it does help out in this one aspect, so Dean's not really complaining.
It makes sure that Dean doesn't take risks when it comes to stealing. He doesn't, because Sam can't take care of himself, twelve just isn't old enough to do that (Dean doesn't see the irony in this statement). He makes sure he stays as safe as possible, because God knows John Winchester, all around paranoid alcoholic who Dean only sees about once every three weeks, isn't going to do it. He's careful because he has someone else to look after. Dean's life isn't his own, it belongs to taking care of Sam.
As he walks and ruminates, he sees his mark.
Tall, taller than Dean, but probably not forever (Dean's only sixteen, give him a break). He can only see him from the back, but he's wearing a trench coat that's nicer than pretty much everything Dean's wearing, dark slacks, and good dress shoes. He's got a mess of dark hair that hasn't even come close to being tamed. When the mark turns to look across the street, Dean sees that he's a knockout, damn.He is quite a bit older than Dean himself. He doesn't have gray at his temples yet, but it's coming. It doesn't lessen the appeal at all.
The point is, though, that Dean can't get a read on him. The man may as well be a blank slate when it comes to ticks or tells or anything. Which should send alarm bells going off in Dean's head, but it intrigues him instead. The dude clearly has money, good money, if the cell phone he pulls out to check the time on is any indicator. He's ridiculously attractive, aloof, and Dean can't tell if he's aware of all of his surroundings or none of them at all.
Even with all of that being the case, however, the problem is that there hasn't been money coming in for about a week now. The cops, and Child Protective Services, have basically staked out Singer's Tavern, watching for Dean, so he's had to steer clear completely. Clear enough that he can't even nab leftovers from the kitchen or the clientele.
John's been gone for almost a solid month now, so nothing there. There very rarely is.
It's warm out, the summer weather that drew the fair is also what's screwing Dean over on the hooker front (heh). There are so many people, boys and girls alike, standing on the corners that Dean would barely be able to find a place to stand.
What all of these things mean is that Dean hasn't eaten in two and a half days. Sam had to skip breakfast this morning before school, which Dean despises doing. The rent that Dean doesn't have the money for is almost due, too.
In short, Dean's desperate.
He would normally give this guy a wide, wide berth, but he needs it. If he can get enough from this guy to not have to risk picking more pockets than strictly necessary, it just means he can get home that much sooner.
He walks casually until he's closer, damn near on top of the dude. He appears to be kind of lost in his own thoughts, so Dean examines him further. Insanely blue eyes, incredibly handsome face, a mouth made for sinning and dirty talk. Something deep stirs in Dean, something he doesn't let himself have because there's no time for it. Not when he's got to dodge cops, make sure John stays alive, and keep Sam fed and in school. He tries to tamp it down as much as possible, but it's persistent this time, the wanting of this man that Dean's about to rob.
In a different life, Dean would chat him up, flirt with him easily, find out if he's gay. See if he's willing to take Dean home and fuck him until it feels like his lungs are going to give out. If Dean really lets his mind wander, he'll imagine making the guy breakfast the next morning, the guy taking him out to dinner. Watching movies on the guy's couch, and maybe, maybe, maybe, building a life with this person, this man who looks capable enough to take care of Dean in a way that he's really never been taken care of before.
Instead, Dean has this life. He's not going to make anything with this man, he's going to steal from him. He shakes the cobwebs from his head.
When the crowd moves, Dean moves with it. He waits a few minutes, trying to make sure the guy is thoroughly in his own head before casually reaching forward and slipping his hand into the guy's coat pocket.
Before he can do much more, long, strong fingers wrap around his wrist. He's been caught.
Fuck.
Castiel is done taking apprentices. It's not that he doesn't like the crew he has now. He's just tired.
Benny is a good kid, charming and likeable. That accent is enough to make women and men alike fall all over themselves to appease him, making them easy targets. Castiel suspects he won't be in the business for long, however. Benny is too… For lack of a better term, Benny's too good. Benny is also sweet on a baker's daughter down the street, Andrea, and has been spending most of his time with her. Castiel can see the writing on the wall, probably before even Benny can. Benny isn't going to be a thief for long.
Garth is… Well, Garth is enthusiastic, if nothing else.
Garth gets caught more than any thief Castiel has ever seen in his life, but his face is so earnest that no one wants to accuse him in the end. Castiel almost dropped him after the second time he got caught, but something in his gut told him to keep the kid around. He shadowed Garth the next time he went out and just watched. He was absolutely flabbergasted when Garth chose a mark, clumsily tried to pull the man's wallet out of his coat pocket, and was caught almost immediately. The man turned and snapped at Garth, but when confronted with Garth's affable personality, ended up actually giving the boy a few dollars and walking away happy.
Castiel… Doesn't know how that works, but it does, so he's not going to argue with it. Garth will either be in the business for the rest of his life, or he'll luck out and marry some sort of long-lost heiress. Castiel suspects there will be very little in between.
Kevin is good at it, very good. Almost as good as Castiel himself. He's unobtrusive, unassuming, quiet, and quick. Kevin will be in the business forever, though he will probably leave Castiel's crew and create his own someday. The thought makes Castiel sad, but very proud. Kevin has become an extremely talented thief, and has almost gotten to the point of being able to pull off rooftop jobs with Castiel.
So Castiel is fine. He doesn't need more apprentices.
Which is why he's confused as to why he's here at the fair. He doesn't like crowds, or fairs, or whatever it is the fair is celebrating (later, Castiel will find out that the most important moment of his life was at a cultural fair, and feel like a bit of a heel). He saw the event advertised in the local paper, and some part of him insisted that he attend.
Now he's regretting giving into his gut. He could be enjoying a quiet, solitary breakfast at home, planning the way he'll run the crew through their paces this afternoon. Instead, he's here, a (admittedly unseen) part of this throng of people, where it's loud and crowded and annoying. How incredibly irritating.
Just he's deciding to go home, he feels a clumsy hand reach into his coat pocket.
For a moment, Castiel is genuinely, utterly shocked. Someone… Is trying… To steal from him?
The next moment, he's incredibly amused. Someone is trying to steal from me, indeed.
He lets it go on for a beat, before he circles his fingers around the wrist (bony, probably young) in his pocket. The arm jerks and tries to pull away, but Castiel holds fast. "Oh, no, little one," he tsks, "you're coming with me."
There's no acknowledgement from the person behind him, but Castiel doesn't need it. The person behind him is coming with him either way.
He leads the way, hand hard on the wrist in his pocket, to an alley. Once there, deep enough that few will be able to see them, and he turns to see his assailant.
He's young, an older teenager. Light brown hair, probably going to darken as he ages. Castiel notices in what he wishes was a detached manner that the boy is incredibly good looking, almost beautiful. Castiel guesses that he will become more rugged as he ages, but he will still be lovely. His green eyes are striking, though they're wild and scared now.
"Calm down," Castiel says serenely, addressing the panic first. "What is your name?"
"What? I'm not telling you that!"
Castiel smirks. "Of course you are."
The boy shakes his head. "No way, dude!"
"Little one, you do not have a choice. You tried to rob me, and while I do not intend to bring the authorities here, if you do not tell me your name, I may be forced to."
To his surprise, the boy snorts. "Dude, if you were gonna call the cops, you already would have." The look in his emerald eyes changes from frightened to shrewd. "I think you got some reason to not want the five-o on your ass, either."
Castiel frowns. "'Five-o?'"
"The cops, man."
Castiel tilts his head and studies the young man in front of him again, taking in more detailed information in the space of seconds. Secondhand leather jacket, too big for him, probably his father's. Secondhand clothes, but they fit him better, probably from a thrift store. Dark circles under his eyes, he's tired. His hands look rough, probably calloused, works for a living. Thin, not emaciated, but certainly doesn't eat enough.
Dammit. "Why were you trying to steal from me?"
The boy blinks. "What?" His eyes narrow in suspicion. "Why do you wanna know?"
"Answer the question."
His eyes shift to the left. "Just wanted some cash, man, I dunno."
"Stop calling me 'man,' or 'dude.' You will address me as sir, little one." The spark of defiance in those lovely green eyes sets something ablaze in Castiel, but he ignores it for now and speaks before the boy has a chance to. "And do not lie to me again, I will not tolerate it. Tell me why you were trying to steal from me."
The boy's eyes meet his again, searching, evaluating, weighing Castiel on some scale only the boy understands or knows about. Castiel keeps his gaze calmly, confident he will be found worthy.
"My brother," the boy says roughly. "He's only twelve, thirteen in a few weeks. He's gotta eat, and it's my job to look after him."
Castiel frowns. "Have you no parents?"
The boy snorts. "None that will take care of us."
"Why are you stealing? You could get a job."
"Dude, I'm too young to get a job by six months. I already work at-" he cuts himself off, looking at Castiel, a bit shaken. "Uh, no, I can't get a job."
It only takes Castiel a moment to consider all of his options.
Option one, he could summon the authorities, let them take this boy away, and leave his brother to fend for himself in what appears to be an unpleasant home life.
No.
Option two, he could let this boy go, probably to haphazardly steal his way to someone else, someone who will contact the authorities, with the same result as the first option.
No.
Option three, Castiel takes them with him. His gut pulls him hard in this direction.
The thing is, Castiel always follows his instincts. They are what got him through a dirty, crowded childhood, a home run with too many mouths to feed. It was easy for Castiel to fade into the background with his quiet demeanor there. He was never abused in any way, but he was quite frequently ignored.
His instincts are what got through his beginnings in theft. Clumsy, ridiculous attempts at picking pockets in dirty alleys and in front of bars. They are what brought him to Cain, and they're what told him to let Cain take him home. They were honed by Cain, a master at the craft, until they were good enough to surpass Castiel's teacher himself.
They are what told him it was time to strike out on his own. He woke up one morning in the two bedroom loft they shared and just knew. Cain was understanding but heartbroken, and offered to help him set up in a new city. Castiel refused, but he stays in touch with Cain, loves him dearly.
More importantly, they are what tell Castiel which prodigies to choose.
So, as annoying as they are, Castiel always follows his instincts.
He heaves a sigh, irritated at himself. "What is your name?"
"I already told you, man, I'm not-"
Castiel's free hand whips toward the boy to wrap around the back of his neck and squeeze, just enough to get his attention. He knows that, at some point, this boy will be taller than him. He's already almost there, for God's sake. Those delightfully green eyes widen and his breath catches as he cuts himself off mid-sentence.
Castiel lets his voice drop to a deep growl. "I believe you told you not to call me that, little one."
That defiance is back, though the boy doesn't try to break his hold. "Why do you get to call me 'little one,' then?"
"When you catch my hand in your coat pocket, attempting to steal from you, you are welcome to choose something else to refer to me as. Until then, I believe I asked for your name."
The boy stares hard at him again, evaluating once more. Castiel lets this happen without comment. He senses that if he pushes again too hard, the boy will fight him, and will refuse Castiel's offer.
"Dean," the boy says softly. "It's Dean, sir."
Castiel smiles, entranced a bit by the way the boy's face is open now, vulnerable. He looks much younger than he has in the few minutes that Castiel has known him.
"Thank you, Dean. And what is your brother's name?"
"I can't tell you that, ma-" Dean cuts himself off. "I mean, sir, I'd kinda prefer not to tell you that."
"Dean," Castiel says patiently, "I'd like to help you and your brother."
"What?"
"You're in a bad situation, and I happen to be in a situation in which I can help you get out of it. You must come with me, however, you and your brother. Is leaving your home going to be a problem?"
Dean does try to pull himself back a little bit, but Castiel holds him still. "I can't just go with you, dude! I don't even know you!"
Castiel thinks about chastising Dean for the slip-up in calling him "dude," but decides, for now, to address the boy's concerns.
"Dean, my name is Castiel. You haven't heard of me, because if you had, you wouldn't have tried to steal anything from me. I'd like to offer you an extremely valuable opportunity, but it will require that you and your brother come live with me. You will be somewhere safe, warm, and fed." He examines Dean closely for a moment. "I will make sure you will be able to go to school, should you so desire, but I'm afraid I must insist that your brother continue to attend. You will no longer clumsily pickpocket your way through big crowds, hoping that you do not get caught, nor will you have to continue to do whatever else it is you feel you must do to make money."
Castiel is not naive to the ways of the world, or the way the world uses young men who are as good-looking as Dean. This truth usually gives him a sort of absent-minded ache, but when he thinks of Dean giving up his mouth, or the rest of his body, it fills Castiel with a sort of… Painful, angry possessiveness. He would like to be the only one using any part of Dean, but he resolutely pushes that thought down, down, down.
"I can help you become someone great, someone who not only has the ability to take care of himself, but to take care of those he cares about."
There it is, the spark. Taking care of his brother is what speaks to Dean loudest. Castiel files that tidbit away.
"What do you want, Dean? We can part ways here, never again to see one another. Or you can come with me, and I can change your life. What do you want, Dean?"
Castiel waits for the answer he knows he will receive.
-Feedback, it gets me hot.