Ok so I'm trying to get back into writing fanfiction again!

Originally this was an idea I had for writing an original story but I decided to twist it into a Destiel!AU c:

I'm a bit rusty so give me and this fic a chance okay? Enjoy!

EDIT: I have looked through this chapter again and fixed a couple things for you new readers! Yay for editing!

Angel on the Balcony:

Chapter 1

If there was one thing that Dean wasn't used to, it was the sound of a car horn at nine in the morning.

Inhaling and exhaling the sleep out of his system in one huge breath and sigh combo, Dean Winchester slowly rolled over in bed, propping himself up on his elbows as he squinted his eyes open. Sunlight was already shining through the back window and he swore he could hear the birds chirping in the oak at the side of the house.

Just another morning in the middle of nowhere.

Until he remembered why a car horn had jarred him from his sleep.

Bed sheets already kicked around his ankles in response to the August heat, Dean slumped out of bed, scratching his stomach under a fading grey night shirt as he practically unhinged his jaw in an all-consuming yawn.

"Goddamn…" Dean mumbled, pacing across the wood-paneled floor of his bedroom, planks creaking familiarly as he swung open the door and made his way to the bathroom. Just before he reached the open door at the end of the hallway, Dean briefly stopped at the closed door to the right of his own and lifted a fist, pounding twice and pausing. It took less than fifteen seconds for an answering thud to echo back to him. By routine, Dean opened the door and leaned into the room.

"Up and at 'em, Sammy." Dean croaked, watching as the lump on the bed in the far corner shifted slightly before making any noise.

"Deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaan." The lump groaned, shifting a bit more as two hands appeared before disappearing once again and the comforter was pulled farther up, the lump now made sufficiently lumpier, "It's a Saturday. What gives?"

Dean, feeling especially older-brotherly this morning, walked to the side of the bed, grabbed the edge of the comforter, and pulled hard, revealing a fetus-shaped Sam Winchester beneath, though Dean was positive fetuses had less hair.

"Hey!" Sam protested, jerking up and swiping at Dean. However, his reactions were just behind Dean's as Dean pulled it out of his younger brother's reach.

"Neighbors are here, little brother!" And with that, Dean wrapped the blanket around himself and ran out of the room before Sam had the chance to leap at him. Once Dean reached the bathroom, he quickly locked it behind him, dropped the blanket and his boxers, and stood over the toilet. As he took his first piss of the day, Dean glanced over his shoulder at the mirror as his reflection glanced over its shoulder straight back at him.

There were some dark circles under his eyes and the front of his hair was sticking up and to the left, but other than that: the same old Dean Winchester. After he had finished, Dean stepped up to the counter and flipped on the sink. The water spat out of the faucet until the toilet finished flushing and Dean waited until the water settled in a cool stream before he cupped his hands under the water and brought it up to his face, cherishing the feeling of the water dripping down his jaw to his neck in the unbearable heat of the summer.

Suddenly, Dean heard the sound of distant conversation and, quirking an eyebrow, he turned to the bathroom window and pulled the curtain away, looking out into the front yard. The moving van was parked just up the road and already the back was being opened and furniture carried into the front yard of the neighboring house; the only house for a mile besides their own.

Watching the men carry an ornate looking armchair into the house, Dean was reminded of the last family that lived in the old farmhouse. It had been an elderly couple: an old woman whose kitchen always smelled of the pies she left on the windowsill where they temped Dean every Sunday he remembered them living there, and an old man who spent his days on a rocking chair out on the porch while he whittled away at a block of wood. Once he had made Dean a wood pistol, one that still sat on his dresser collecting dust on top of layers of thinly fabricated memories. They had moved out to a retirement home when Dean was just short of nine and no one had lived there ever since. Eight years later, the very sight of anyone walking down the cobbled walkway was something that Dean would definitely have to get used to.

Just behind the moving van was parked a red mini-van, the side door swung open with a small group of people crowded around it.

Dean immediately recognized his parents, Mary in her white night gown with the afghan from the living room thrown around her shoulders and John with his ratted night shirt and hairy, knobby legs sticking out of faded- what Dean liked to call "old-man"-shorts with probably his fifth cup of coffee in one hand and his other arm slung around his wife. If nothing else, the Winchesters had a way of making a first impression.

Though he couldn't hear exactly what was being said from where he was standing, the tone sounded friendly enough. Looking down, Dean saw that they were talking to another middle-aged couple. The man was shorter than John though they had equally scruffy beards. If there was a contest between who could look the most homeless while actually owning a home, it would be a close tie between the two as the man looked as though he had been wearing the same dressing robe for a week and had slippers to match. The woman next to him was a little more put together, her short, black hair straight and falling to her shoulders. She was wearing a respectable blue blouse with khaki shorts, though, unlike John, it looked as though she had bought them within the last decade.

Next to the women stood a girl with bright red hair. Dean might have placed her at twelve by the look of her scrawny figure unless it hadn't been for her breasts, which clearing put her at fifteen or sixteen. Honestly, she was a nice sight with her long, wavy, red hair and longish face, high cheekbones, and deep eyes. Dean watched as she drifted away from her parents and stepped back to the car and leaned half-way into it. Dean peered closer out the window, trying to see what she was doing, though he was blocked by John's iconic ball cap.

It was only until the girl stepped back out that he saw that she had brought someone along with her. Clasping hands, she slowly guided a dark-haired boy out of the van where he then stood next to his mother and father. The first thing Dean noticed was the stiff way in which he walked and how he only stopped when his sister pulled back slightly on his arm. Dean could hear Mary and John greet him by the inclination of their voices and though Dean saw him respond by the motion of his lips, the boy stared blankly at them, as though looking as a spot over their shoulders.

Dean was drawn away from the sight, however, when a sharp banging on the bathroom door nearly jolted him right back out of his boxers.

"Jesus, Dean if you're going to take so damn long I'll just have to use your dresser!"

"And it'll be the last thing you ever do!" Dean responded, pulling the hand towel off the rack and wiping his face with it before yanking open the door. Sam stood in the doorway and- damn the kid- looked down on Dean with an irritated expression that was either the result of grogginess, or a frustratingly full bladder. Or both. Probably both.

"It's all yours." Dean said, reaching up to clap Sam on the cheek in which the younger instantly flinched away before sidestepping around Dean and slamming the door.

With a shrug, Dean went back to his room and picked up the least-smelling shirt left on the floor and a pair of cargo cutoffs and walked back down the stairs and into the kitchen. Doing a quick sweep the room, Dean did a small victory dance upon seeing John's half-eaten toast lying on the kitchen table, walked over, and promptly bit half of it off in one bite. Taking the rest of it with him, Dean pushed open the screen door, hearing it clap shut behind him as he paced across the yard where the group was standing.

Hearing the door, Mary turned around first and smiled at her older son, "There's Dean! Is Sam also up?"

"Took care of it." Dean said, though it sounded much more discombobulated through the mouthful of toast he had yet to chew.

"Is that my toast?" John asked, tone accusing but the upward quirk of his lips throwing the whole act off.

"Sure is."

The woman standing across from them laughed and Dean noticed her straight white teeth as she smiled and the way her eyes crinkled, a few of the small details he hadn't been able to see from the bathroom window. He also caught a small, interested smirk on the girl's face.

"Chuck, Tessa, Castiel, and Anna, this is our oldest son, Dean. Dean, this is Mr. and Mrs. Novak, their son, Castiel and their daughter, Anna. Castiel will be in your senior class this year."

Dean, ever the gentleman, stuffed the rest of the toast into his mouth, brushed the crumbs off on his shorts and stepped forward, holding out a hand to each of them. It was only until he reached Castiel that the handshake wasn't returned.

"Nice to meet you, Castiel." Dean offered, arm still outstretched.

"And you as well." Castiel replied, though he only looked blankly over Dean's left shoulder and all be damned if he didn't have the bluest eyes Dean had ever seen.

"Oh, Dean. Castiel's blind." Mrs. Novak offered, touching her son on the shoulder. Castiel turned his head in the direction of his mother, a look of concern on his face.

"Oh, did I-"

Dean lowered his hand and laughed gently, "No it's my bad, man." Castiel turned back in Dean's direction and smiled, scratching the back of his head, looking embarrassed despite himself.

Even after Sam came outside and introduced himself, Dean still found himself looking at Castiel throughout the small talk exchanged. Maybe it was because he just could and he knew that Castiel wouldn't suddenly glare at him and say, "What're you looking at?". But Dean felt it was different than just that, though he couldn't place the thought.

"Well I have three able-bodied men who can help with the heavy-lifting!" Mary proclaimed after they had worn through all of the talk you can theoretically have with someone you've just met, "Isn't that right, boys?"

Actually, the job did finish much faster once Dean, Sam, and John all pitched in. Slowly but surely, every time Dean stepped back into the house it began to look less like an empty shell and more like the home he remembered visiting all those years ago. All the while, Castiel sat in the same armchair in the living room, head following the sounds of the heavy footsteps, the "Right there"s, and the "A little to the left"s almost as if he could see the movement going on right in front of him. Dean tried not to stare because, though Castiel couldn't see him, Anna had already side-eyed him once or twice already for doing so.

The last piece of furniture was a wood-polished record player. Heaving it up into his arms, Dean walked into the living room where Mr. and Mrs. Novak and his own family were reclining among the still unloaded boxes.

"What about this?" Dean asked Mr. Novak, "Master bedroom?"

"Oh actually that's Castiel's. The first door on the right. I think Anna took him up there just a minute ago." Dean nodded and rounded the corner to find the stairwell leading up to the second story. Taking a deep breath, he took the first difficult step and it eventually got easier as he went trudged up one at a time. Breathing heavily from the strain on his arms and legs, Dean toed open the already agar door on the right to see Castiel lying down on the bare bed at the edge of the room.

"Hey, Cas." Dean said, walking into the room, "You think setting the record player on top of the dresser would be a good place?"

Sitting up, Cas nodded, inclining his head towards Dean, "Yes that's a good spot for it." Dean, eager to relieve himself of the heavy weight and hard edges, hurriedly paced across the room and dropped the record player on top, adjusting it afterwards so it didn't teeter off the edge.

"Anna told me that there's a door on that wall leading to the balcony." Castiel said.

Glancing over his shoulder, Dean saw a plain white door with a shiny gold knob next to the window, "Sure is." He replied, "Actually my room has a balcony too. Right next to yours."

"Is it nice?"

Dean had to ponder the question a bit. Until he was about thirteen, Mary hadn't allowed for him to use the balcony. She had always said it was rotting and that if he wasn't careful it would break from underneath him. Though, as he got older and found new and more interesting ways to injure himself, the balcony became an issue pushed to the back of their minds. However, Dean did sometimes lie out there to watch the stars when it was a clear night, or just to get some fresh air every once in a while.

"Yeah, it is." Dean replied simply. Castiel made a content noise and Dean wasn't quite sure what to follow up with until he heard Mrs. Novak calling up the stairs for them all to come down. Dean could hear the floorboards creak as Anna made her way from her room to their room, smiling briefly at Dean before going to Castiel and guiding him up and out of the room. Dean followed closely behind.

Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, Dean's nostrils were promptly graced with the smell of fresh baked apple pie and he could feel himself on the verge of drooling as the three of them entered the kitchen. There on the counter was the gift to God's great earth, its crust a golden brown and Dean could even see some apple filling oozing between the slits of crust. He stood on the other side of Castiel as Mrs. Novak stood up and smiled before them all.

"Mary has been so kind as to make us all apple pie while we were moving furniture! And it does smell absolutely delicious!" Mary smiled and looked directly at Dean with her next statement.

"Well, I've had practice with this one around." Dean grinned and shrugged good-heartedly while Sam simply rolled his eyes with a matching grin.

"So thank you Winchesters for all you've already done for us. I'm sure this is the start of a wonderful friendship. Let's eat!" With that everyone let out a cheer and Mr. Novak began to cut the pie into even slices as John helped distribute them among everyone. There was whipped cream set out but unlike his heathen brother, Dean believed adding anything to a perfectly good piece of pie was an abomination. He saw Castiel shake his head when Anna offered to put whipped cream on his slice and Dean felt his respect for the guy heighten just slightly.

The Winchesters left the Novaks to unpack the remainder of their things and it wasn't until the sky had darkened and the stars had come out that Dean stepped out onto his balcony and saw Cas on his own, sitting in his desk chair and looking out over the expansive corn fields that made up their backyards. Their houses were situated so closely next to each other that with Dean's balcony stretching all the way to the left edge of their house and Castiel's balcony stretching all the way to the right side of his house, when Dean stood on the left edge of his balcony, he was only three arm reaches away from where Castiel was sitting on the right edge of his balcony. From where he was standing, Dean could hear the sound of music drift from the record player at Castiel's feet, the scratchy sound of The Beatles catching in the warm, summer breeze.

Before he said anything, Dean simply watched Castiel. He watched as Castiel stared out past where the fields met the darkened horizon of the night sky. He watched as his dark hair lifted with the breeze, falling into his face and how he left it there and stared anyway, a tan trench coat hanging over his shoulders like a blanket whose sleeves swayed in the wind. The music stopped and Dean could hear nothing but the rhythmic spin of the record before the next song, Let It Be, faded in.

And Dean considered that for a moment, letting Castiel be and simply walking back inside and falling into bed like he should, like what his drooping eyelids, and his strained muscles called him to do. But instead he leaned over the balcony railing.

"So how do you like it up here, Cas?"

Rather than looking surprised to hear him, Castiel didn't so much as turn his head before replying, "Nice. Like you said."

Dean then noticed what looked to be a giant furball with legs jump onto Castiel's lap, promptly rubbing itself up underneath his chin, purring loudly enough to be heard over Paul McCartney's "Let it be~". Dean could see Castiel smiling through a mouthful of tail as he scratched behind the ears of what Dean had determined to be cat.

"His name is Baldy." Castiel spoke, petting down the cat's back. He paused for a moment before turning his head towards Dean, "The irony is intentional."

The dry, monotone way in which Castiel had said the last sentence startled a laugh out of Dean, "I figured, dude." Castiel smiled again and Dean couldn't help but join him. There was a prolonged silence as Castiel looked out again and Dean looked at Castiel.

"What is it like out there?" Dean could see Castiel bite down on his lip, worrying the skin there, anticipating the answer, torn between excitement and dread, "Is it beautiful?"

Dean looked out at the same view he had seen all of his life. But this time he tried to really look. He tried to look out at the expanse of land like he had never seen the rows of corn or wind barriers of trees, or like he had never noticed the sheer distance in which they stretched endlessly left and right-so far that he couldn't see the neighboring town. Like the single, two-way stretch of road, the sight of everything simply went on and on and on.

"You know what, Cas? It sure is."

Updating may be spontaneous due to school craziness!

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