Author's note: I wrote this for a kink meme challenge (Castiel gets stalked by a male secret admirer. I don't care who the stalker is, or the ending (Dean could be the one who protects him from the stalker, or Dean could be the stalker even) as long as Castiel gets stalked. It could be an au or not, I am also fine with non-con.) It's all done and posted there, but I'm revising and rewriting it and posting it here!
The man lives above the used bookstore that he owns, runs, and operates. The bookstore is popular, not as a place to buy books but as the subject of gossip: for its weird hours and its weird owner and how the store manages to stay open even though no one patronizes it, which is, in a word, weird.
People, especially the neighborhood teenagers, gossip about the owner when they don't know him. First, his name is Castiel, and even though the townspeople are no strangers to Biblical names, the name is a little too Biblical, too fringe Christianity.
He wears the same heavy trench-coat, whether the season is summer or winter, whether the time is dawn or dusk. He seems comfortable in it. Others sweat for him.
He's a silent type. He'll stare with unnervingly unblinking eyes. He watches bees a lot. He'll spend hours crouched in front of flowers, staring at them. Recently, the most interaction he's had has been with nature. For a small town, he's strange, in big, flashing letters.
But he's a nice man which people know if they talk to him. Eventually, they realize Castiel is so familiar with keeping to himself that he doesn't realize he's weird. Castiel is harmless, even sweet. He exhibits great warmth during small interactions. He seems to sense sadness, and even though he is awkward, he comforts screaming children and injured animals, crying girls and frustrated men. These intimate interactions with strangers should be the off-putting thing, but paradoxically, it is how people come to trust and love the stranger the trench-coat.
And his beauty is not of this world. His trenchcoat flutters behind him like wings. His blue eyes are ethereal. He doesn't eat or sleep much. He doesn't own a television or a computer or any technology older than a landline telephone that never rings. The books he reads are never of this century, rarely of the last. The beautiful man transcends time. His name is an angel's name, the angel of Thursday. It's a special name, not like Frederick Fowles the Second.
What is such a wonderful creature doing in a town devoid of beauty? Frederick often wonders. He decides that it's fate. He is meant to have Castiel, and Castiel is meant to be with him. Even though Castiel seems content with his life, Frederick can tell he is sad. No one in the town understands Castiel. He spends his nights alone curled up with a book (the only time he wears glasses). He has enough money to not only live but to keep his store open, but he has no one to love him. Such a beautiful creature needs love.
At first, the odd store hours made the courtship difficult. But knowing that Castiel's home was right above the store more than compensated for that. Later, when Castiel mysteriously "disappeared", the erratic store hours would be a blessing.
Castiel's obliviousness fits perfectly with Frederick's hyper-awareness of everything Castiel. Frederick trails him at the park, from store windows, on the street. He watches Castiel watch flowers. Castiel doesn't know how many meals he's skipped, or for how many hours he's been awake or how many hours he sleeps when he actually does, or when he accidentally overpays for something and doesn't hear the cashier calling him back because he'd given a twenty instead of a five. But Frederick knows all of those things and more.
In one terrifying moment, Castiel almost got hit by a car. Thankfully, the driver was more attentive than Castiel, who didn't realize what almost happened. If he had gotten hit by a car, would he have died? Would he have even been injured?
Probably not, Frederick thinks, since he's an angel. Immortal. Above this world.
Frederick becomes more daring. One night, he sneaks into Castiel's apartment. It's easy innocent Castiel leaves his windows open, his door unlocked. There are so many ways to get into Castiel's apartment that the angel is practically inviting Frederick to come in. Frederick watches Castiel read a book. The room is lit only by a small reading lamp, so Frederick lurks in the dark. Eventually, Castiel shuts off the lamp and curls up on his couch, nestled in his trench coat. It's four in the morning. Castiel usually wakes at five, if he sleeps at all.
Frederick progresses quickly. He walks from the far side of the room until he is right in front of Castiel's sleeping face, studying it. The angel is oblivious, and Frederick leans in closer. Castiel's lips are right there. Frederick might be pushing his luck tonight, doing too much, too soon, but how could he not take the risk?
He startles when Castiel stirs, moaning softly and rolling over, pressing his face against the couch cushions. But he's still asleep, still oblivious. Frederick lost the opportunity to kiss Castiel's lips, but he puts a hand on Castiel's hair and breathes in his scent: old books.
It's almost five. The less than one hour of progress was enough to heighten Frederick's spirit. He is hopeful. Castiel will be his, not one far-off day, but soon.