Disclaimer: 1) This is not a song fic, I just felt like quoting Aerosmith because I couldn't think of a better title.

2) If anyone wants translations, let me know.

Castiel Novak sighed with relief when the elevator finally announced its arrival with a ding. He usually preferred to take the stairs, but all of these New York buildings were so tall it would probably take ages for him to reach his apartment on the twenty-something floor. He pressed the button and settled himself against the back wall for the long trip up.

"WAIT!"

Castiel's hand shot out and intervened the closing doors just as a man rushed in. The second passenger leaned against the rail and took a couple breaths to steady himself.

"Thanks, man," he said with a grin. "I probably would've had to wait another hour for it to come back down."

Castiel looked at him, brow furrowed and head tilted, but said nothing. The other man reached for the buttons, but then took his hand away.

"Hey, you live on my floor! I don't think I've ever seen you around…" He frowned as he tried to remember whether or not Castiel's face looked familiar. Suddenly he snapped his fingers loudly. "You must be the new tenant that just moved in!"

Castiel gave the man a small shrug, but the stranger seemed determined to talk. He stuck his hand out and said, "I'm Dean Winchester, I guess we're neighbors."

Dean had a charming smile that seemed even lovelier with the smattering of freckles across his nose. The corner of Castiel's mouth pulled up in response as he hesitantly took Dean's hand and shook it.

"Castiel Novak. Меня зовут Castiel Novak. Очень приятно."

Dean did a double take.

"That didn't sound like English."

Castiel tilted his head again. He really wished he could understand Dean, he looked like a nice man. He was nice-looking, too, Castiel thought with a blush.

"What did you say your name was? Ca…" Dean struggled, "Cas…Castiel?"

Castiel nodded.

"Dean," he said, to confirm that they now knew each other's names.

"Castiel, do you speak any English?"

No response.

"English?" Dean sounded out carefully, and Castiel shook his head.

"Я не говорю по-английски. Я только говорю по-русски."

Dean frowned and repeated the last word.

"Russ-ki, russ-ki, russ-ki…" He muttered, trying to remember where he'd heard that before. Maybe in a movie.

"Wait. Russki. You're Russian?"

Castiel nodded, having understood "Russian." He assumed that Dean was referring to him.

"Да, я русский."

The doors opened with a ding, and both men internally cursed the elevator for going fast the one time they didn't want it to.

They awkwardly exited the small space and turned to head down opposite ends of the corridor, each man concerned with his own thoughts on the unusual meeting.

"Well, see ya, Cass." Dean said with a friendly wave as he unlocked his door.

Castiel dipped his head in turn.

"до свидания. Dean."

Dean gave him a dazzling smile before he disappeared into his apartment, leaving Castiel with a warm feeling in his chest.

He was starting to like New York already.

By the end of the next week, Dean and Castiel realized that they got home from their respective jobs at nearly the exact same time every weekday. Thanks to the subways underground, their schedules ran like clockwork, so that they arrived within a few minutes of each other. At first, the elevator rides had been awkward, with each man acutely aware that he was attracted to the other, and that there was a crippling language barrier separating them. However, the silences eventually became companionable under Dean's silly smiles and Castiel's sweet openness. They mimicked small talk with physical gestures; Dean adored the way Castiel wrapped his trench coat around his body and forced a shiver to comment on the quickly approaching winter, and Castiel laughed when Dean dramatically slumped against the elevator wall and imitated snoring to explain that his day had been exhausting.

Somehow, they managed to become good friends, even over just small increments of time. After a month or so of shared commutes up to the twenty-something floor, they began to push at their barriers. Whenever Dean came home first, he would wait outside the main entrance, looking for Castiel on the sidewalk. Whenever Castiel arrived first, he would pick up his mail and slip a piece of Russian candy into Dean's box; he began carrying a handful of the sweets in his inner coat pocket for these very occasions. And then, when the doors opened and the two men went their separate ways, they each cursed the elevator in their native tongues for moving so quickly.

Eventually Dean decided it was time he and his captivating neighbor saw each other beyond the shared spaces of the apartment building.

Not five minutes after they had said their goodbyes in the hall, (well, Castiel had said "Пока!") Dean rushed to his computer, printed a few items, then went over to knock on Castiel's door. The man was rather surprised to see him, as their exchanges had never left the lobby or the elevator before.

"Dean!" Castiel's eyebrows were raised. "Привет…?" He tilted his head in confusion and Dean's heart fluttered. He never knew a man could be so cute.

Dean's hands were a little shaky as he brought up the script to read.

"D-dobryy ve…vecher, Castiel. T-tee yell u…u-uzhin?"

Castiel studied him with an amused smile on his face. Dean stood mesmerized, watching those pink lips move as he softly sounded out the syllables on his own tongue. He knew that Google's translations were probably shitty at best, but he didn't have a whole lot of options. In any case, Castiel seemed to get the general idea of what he wanted to communicate.

"Нет." Castiel shook his head and patted his stomach to indicate that no, he hadn't had dinner yet. Dean gave him an uneasy smile and looked to his next lines.

"Vy… oh, god. Vy…kogda ni-nibud…uh…p-popro…poprobovat… hot dog?" He then held up the picture of the hot dog he'd printed out for Castiel to see. Cass chuckled and shook his head to indicate that no, he'd never tried a hot dog either.

"Ah…Ah-nee izvestny v New York."

Dean had decided to play the tourist card; if Castiel was new to the city, then he should experience everything that The Big Apple was famous for. Like hot dogs. It hadn't been Dean's first thought, but he figured that a trip to the Statue of Liberty or a Broadway show would have been rather forward for a man that, honestly, Dean knew very little about.

"Известный?" Castiel repeated, his lips quirking up.

"Yeah," Dean said breathlessly. "Famous."

"Хорошо." Castiel grabbed his coat, locked the door behind him, and pressed the button for the elevator while Dean watched him with his mouth open in shock. When they heard the familiar ding, he snapped it shut and jumped into the elevator, suddenly very excited. Both men were grinning from ear to ear.

It was a bit of a walk, but Dean took them to the guy he knew that had a stand about a block away from Central Park. Castiel gazed at the wonders around him as if he'd never seen them before –maybe he hadn't, nervously keeping his eyes on the ground or on a map when he was alone, so that he always knew where he was going. Now, under Dean's guidance, he could look up and appreciate his surroundings.

Dean, against Castiel's protests, paid for the hot dogs and a couple drinks, and then led them to the park to get comfortable on one of the benches that stood at its edge. The streets were bustling with people –first time visitors, old couples, young families, and gangs of teenagers, all abuzz with the excitement of their weekend plans and the glow of the city. They soon finished their food and watched the commotion of the streets in companionable silence, taking in the laughter, the fairy lights strung around the trees, the smoky haze of cigarettes, the clopping of horse hooves—

"Hey, Bobby!"

Dean tugged Cass out of his seat and over to the carriage driver that had just pulled up to the sidewalk. A gruff, older man hopped out and greeted Dean with a clap on the shoulder.

"Hey there, idjit, I haven't seen you in a while. Wanna feed the old girl some sugar?" Bobby handed Dean some sugar cubes from his pocket and left to go talk to another cabby driver.

"Hey, Baby," Dean cooed to the sleek, black mare, stroking her jaw and nose lovingly.

"Come say 'hi,' Cass." Dean nodded the other man over. He took Castiel's hand and slipped a few cubes into it, letting his touch linger just a second too long. Castiel slowly approached the large animal, his hand held out to her snout. When her lips tickled his palm as she accepted the treat, Castiel eased into a grin. The horse then swung her great dark head and nudged against his chest, forcing him back a few steps.

"She likes you." Dean's voice tinkled with laughter as Castiel recovered from the surprise. "Who wouldn't?" he added softly.

Castiel gave him a sweet smile as he rubbed Baby's belly and Dean thought, with a startle of self-consciousness, that there was a knowing look in his friend's eye.

"Hey! Can we get a ride?"

Several girls –high school or college age, Dean couldn't tell— skipped up to the two men, the ends of their skirts rustling against their thighs despite the chilly weather. Dean rolled his eyes at their giggles.

"Sorry, girls, you'll have to ask Bobby. He's the old guy with the baseball cap over there."

"Oh, we thought he was the driver," one girl said, pointing to Cass.

Another girl looked over at Bobby and exclaimed unashamedly, "Ew he's so old!"

"Come on, guys," another whined, "Let's do it anyway. I love horses!"

They all moved toward Baby, eager to pet her, but she was spooked by the squealing strangers and started to whinny franticly. Dean quickly stepped in front of them.

"I'm afraid you can't do that. It's for your own safety."

The girls pouted stubbornly.

"How come he gets to?"

Dean looked back to find Cass smoothing Baby's nose and whispering comfortingly to her in Russian. Dean's pretty sure that he heard something like "idiots" somewhere in all the muttering. He turned back to the, uh, girls.

"He's special," he stated firmly with a smirk. One girl peered around her friends to undress Castiel with her eyes.

"Yes, he is," she oozed, biting her bottom lip.

Dean's face immediately dropped into a frown and he shivered, though from the cold night air or the implications of her tone, he wasn't sure.

"So do you want a ride or not," he said irritably, not wanting them to hang around anymore than they had to. He realized the mistake in his choice of words, however, when they all burst into giggles.

"Yeah, sure," they said, winking at Castiel. Both men blushed furiously.

The girls piled into the carriage, making a ruckus with their cheers and their laughter and, undoubtedly, trying to attract as much attention as possible. Dean shook his head and went to Baby, giving her the rest of the sugar cubes and patting her neck.

"I give you full permission to bite them," he grumbled to her.

"Dammit, Dean," Bobby was coming back up the sidewalk. "I'm too old to be dealing with teenagers anymore. Couldn't you have told them a wheel was broken or something?"

Dean shrugged and made a face to show that he shared Bobby's disgust. "You could always take them on a really bumpy route, or not give them any blankets." The older man huffed tiredly.

"Nah, I'll just park next to a pile of shit or something. I always do that with customers I don't like, and eight times out of ten they step in it." Dean chuckled and stepped back as the older man got up into the driver's seat. His good humor soured, however, when he noticed that the girls had gone back to gushing over Castiel.

"He's so hot! God, just look at that ass."

"How old do you think he is?"

"Did you hear him? I don't think he speaks English!"

"Accents are so sexy…"

"He's coming back! What do you think looks better? Should I put my hair clip here, or on this side?"

Dean bristled. He was using all of his self-control to keep quiet, though he wanted more than anything to say that 1) Castiel wasn't just "hot" or "sexy," he was downright beautiful, inside and out, and didn't deserve to be objectified, 2) he was probably still in his early to mid-twenties, but in any case it didn't matter because he was much too mature to be tempted by a group of flirty idiots (Dean hoped), and 3) Dean knew exactly where to stick her fucking flowery hair clip— Oh.

Dean's inner war was instantly quelled when he felt a soft, warm fabric against his skin.

Castiel appeared in front of him, wrapping around his neck a thick, green scarf, newly bought from a street vendor. All of Dean's previous thoughts quickly flew out the window as he focused in on the gorgeous man pressed up against him, their noses nearly touching. Castiel was unbelievably close, staring into Dean's eyes through hooded lids, a serene smile on his lips. He playfully bumped their noses together. Dean blushed.

"Shh," Castiel hushed him gently, sensing the irritation and jealousy boiling within the other man. Dean nodded dumbly and Cass patted him soothingly on the neck, like they had done to calm the mare. When they -reluctantly- pulled away, Dean caught the girls in the carriage staring at them dumbfounded with their mouths in the shape of an "O". Dean couldn't help the smug smirk that crossed his face at the sight of their expressions.

"I ship it," one of them whispered.

Bobby clicked his tongue and the carriage pulled away, leaving Dean and Castiel in peace once again. With Dean grinning like a mad man and buzzing with newfound energy.

They spent the rest of the evening walking around the shops and cafes, making jokes through hand signals and exaggerated facial expressions, and just generally having a good time. But eventually they had to make their way back home.

The elevator ride was tense, as neither man knew how to act now. Should one of them invite the other into his home? And if he did, would it just be for a drink or was it something more? Did the other man want something more? Maybe they should just go back to their usual weekday meetings…

Both passengers were jolted from their thoughts by the ding; the time had passed by too quickly and they were still unclear on the social protocol. They stepped out into the hallway, struggling to find the right words, though knowing that even if they'd found them, they couldn't use them without a translator.

Castiel opened his mouth to say something, and Dean eagerly turned to him for the answer to their predicament. But Castiel stopped short and said nothing. He was just as clueless as Dean. Dean cleared his throat, but then returned to silence, casting his eyes downward and rubbing the back of his neck. They shuffled their feet for a few bare moments before looking up simultaneously. When their eyes met, the two men instantly fell at ease, and were content to just stand there in lock of longing gazes. Finally, Castiel reached out and smoothed his hand over the scarf against Dean's chest.

"Спасибо," Castiel thanked him. "Dean."

Dean looked on at him an adoring smile and gave a single nod. They then quietly, unhurriedly, parted to their own homes.

The next Monday, Castiel didn't show up. Dean waited outside the building, pacing up and down the sidewalk for about an hour before surrendering and heading up to his apartment, incredibly disappointed. The next day was the same, and the day after. On Thursday, he ran into Gabriel in the mailroom and asked if he knew where Cass was. Gabriel lived next to him, and two doors from Dean.

"Cass? Oh, you mean Castiel, the Russian guy, right? Yeah, I haven't really seen him around, either. I think he might have picked up a class or some extra hours at work or something. I don't remember. I heard him come home late last night, though."

Gabriel shrugged, then waggled his eyebrows. "Maybe he's got a booty call," he joked before waltzing out and leaving Dean absolutely worried.

Did Dean make Castiel feel uncomfortable? Did he just need some extra money, or was he purposefully avoiding Dean? Was Castiel seeing someone?

Dean dreaded the idea that maybe he'd read the signals all wrong –that maybe Castiel was just being nice and didn't actually like him, but didn't know how to tell him in English.

As Dean fretted over the possibility of never seeing Castiel on friendly terms again, he opened his mailbox- a relieved smile washed over his face.

Inside, there were three little candies with Russian writing on the wrappers.

The candies appeased Dean and his worries. He lamented the loss of seeing Cass every day, but was comforted by the fact that the Russian stayed in contact with him. Sometimes Castiel put post-it notes of smiley faces on Dean's mailbox, and on Sundays Dean slipped a few comic strips from the newspaper along with crude translations under Castiel's door. He had purchased a Russian dictionary and a "basic phrases" learning CD that he listened to whenever he cleaned his apartment, and he practiced every day. They often left each other presents, too. Dean would occasionally pick up a slice of apple pie from his favorite bakery for Castiel to find when he got home, and once, when Dean was sick, he opened his door to find a container of homemade mushroom soup, a jar of honey, and some tea bags.

Still, the separation weighed on him, and Dean wondered if he would ever get to see his friend, in person, ever again.

He entered the elevator and sighed. It had been nearly two months already, and he really, really missed seeing those beautiful blue eyes light up whenever they had a funny miscommunication. As the doors began to close, Dean's eyes closed with them. He thought back to that night out when he and Castiel had walked the streets with barely an inch of space between their shoulders, enjoying their city and each other's company, laughing about—

"WAIT!"

Dean's hand shot out to stop the doors just as they were about to seal and he stepped back to let the other person step inside.

"What floor?" Dean asked robotically, his finger poised over the dozens of buttons on the wall. When there was no response, he looked up at his fellow passenger. Time itself stopped. Castiel stood there with that soft, adoring smile on his lips.

Dean's throat went dry and he suddenly forgot all the Russian he had learned in the last few weeks, and his brain stumbled to keep up with what was happening. Castiel was here. Right here. And Dean realized that he couldn't give a damn if he had forgotten to speak English- he was just happy that Cass had returned to him.

Castiel took a step closer and smoothed his hand over Dean's scarf, which had become a little dirty and worn over time. He locked his gaze with Dean's and his heart hummed with delight to see those amazing eyes visibly brighten. Dean's soul was truly beautiful.

Dean swallowed and nervously smiled at the other man. He could do this. If anyone had any faith in him, it was Cass. Deep breath.

"Здравствуйте, Castiel."

"Hello, Dean."

A/N: Just wanted to add some of my thoughts after reading reviews (thankyouthankyouthankyou for those, by the way!):

You're probably disappointed about the end. I would be, too. They didn't even kiss, goddammit! At least in Love Actually they kissed. But as much of a slave as I am to Hollywood endings, I wanted this story to be about how love doesn't need a spoken language to be communicated or expressed (I mean, just look at Baby, the horse). Don't get me wrong, I love words of love. Words of love, of both the flowery and the broken, raw kinds, are incredibly beautiful and honest. But sometimes we take acts of love, especially the small gestures, for granted. And it wasn't really even through the little affectionate touches and the cutesy gift-giving that Castiel and Dean expressed their love; they proved it in caring for each other -they waited in the lobby and tried to make conversation and took on the challenge of learning each other's language and customs. They genuinely gave each other their attention, and showed that they were willing to step out of their comfort zones and put effort into the relationship for the other person.

Okay, yeah, I kind of wanted to write in a kiss, too. I will be the first to admit that I often feel unsatisfied when that particular moment doesn't make an appearance in a love story. However, The Kiss has been overwhelmingly advertised and overused -so much so that we have been trained, like Pavlov's dog, to expect it as the reward that "seals the deal" in the end. But we all know that a kiss is not the only way to express one's feelings; there are numerous representations of love, and sometimes they are as simple as the act of getting to understand the other person better, learning their ways instead of having them conform to our own. I think that that's the kind of love we need to give more attention to in our everyday lives.

But just so we're clear: none of this applies to the actual show Supernatural. Dean and Castiel just need to fucking kiss already or something because I keep getting mixed signals from them and if the writers truly want them to be together in the end then they had better get their shit together and make something happen and stop teasing us.

But I digress.

-M

P.S. This is dedicated to a friend who lives literally on the other side of the world, and whom I have not seen in person for a couple years. She has taken classes on American culture and Pacific Coast history, just like I am now studying her native language.