Hey Guys! I got some great feedback so far for this fic and I am so damn excited to update the next chapter! I really hope you enjoy it, especially you, yetanotherwallflower! I do not own Supernatural but I do own this fic! This songs chapter is Mr. Pinstripe Suit by Big Bad Voodoo Daddy. Enjoy, lovely readers!

Dean could only stare with blinking green eyes at the man named Castiel who looked to be just a bit older than him. His age certainly showed in his cornflower blue eyes. There was a bit of wear, a bit of a shadow underneath his eyes. His gaze showed him to be a bit wiser, like he had seen a hell of a lot of trouble and dispair- things that would give Dean nightmares just to have a few glimpse of.

Dean licked his now parched lips, staring into those eyes that screamed of times long past.

Oh, this man was definitely hunter material.

However, his clothing sure as hell wasn't.

The only thing that stuck out like a sore thumb on the guy was the outfit he was wearing, which just exuded a "Rich Boy" attitude. He looked to be right out of some hot-shot movie star film - not some rough and tumble hunter with battle scars all over and a body stinking of alcohol. In fact the poor sap looked like he'd never thrown back a bottle of beer in his life. Well, a sober hunter would just not do for the job.

The more Dean looked at him, however, the less he really cared about how flashy the mans clothes were. In fact, just staring at the guy he could say they somewhat complimented him - hunter friendly or not. Because damn would Dean be lying to himself if he didn't think they made Castiel more attractive than any kitten at the bar.

With that nicely pressed pinstripe suit of smoky grey and the hinting of a new tight black vest underneath, he looked as if it was the first time the man was wearing it - Dean would place money on it to be true.

Then their was his shoes. New and shiny with leather oil, black and white wingtips that practically shone in the wavering light of the bar. Dean would bet a nice crisp twenty that he could see his face in them, could count every goddamn freckle on his cheeks.

All that and a sharp blue tie to match is eyes and a big heavy trench coat over his skinny arm that he was nervously plucking at with his index finger and thumb, like some dumb security blanket. Oh Dean knew he had hunter potential in him somewhere, he just did not look the part. At All.

But what really puzzled Dean to no end, was the way he was looking at this man that he had never seen before in all his thirty-years on this earth. Now, Dean knew he was not like other men - he knew that for a fact, and it was that little bit of knowledge in the back of his mind that explained to him in glaring bright red color across his brain, why oh why he was staring so intently.

Dean was different. Not totally, completely unusual, but different just the same. He shot things in the dark with a machine gun, he dug up graves and salted and burned the remains of bare boned corpses, he had a small arsenal in the back of his Cadillac that held more voodoo-hoodoo objects than any self respecting hunter should. But that wasn't the thing that alienated him, that made him so totally atypical that it could put his very life on the line by even saying it to certain folk around these parts.

He liked women. He liked them curvy, curly, and everything in between. Black haired, Brunette, Blond, Red-Head, it didn't matter to him. He had a thing for their eyes, the brighter the color the better. He had a thing for their lips, supple and soft were the best. He had a thing for their stomachs, nice and soft - kissable. He liked women.

Dean however, also liked men.

Tall ones were the best, skinny and tall. He had no preference with hair color or eyes, just as long as the mans gaze was bright. He liked them the most, men. Girls were lovely and set his heart ablaze, but looking at a man did more to him, gave him more. Instead of sending his heart aflutter it made it sputter out of control. He liked men the best.

And saying that to a room full of people in this day and age would surely get him strung up so high by a rope, he'd be swaying in the wind for days.

So Dean made sure to shut his mouth around town and to only tell a few people. Sam, Ellen and Jo were his confiding force of comfort. They swore to support Dean and not treat him like he was sick in the head and send him to a mental hospital. They listened to his rants and made sure to not ask questions when he went out late at night and came back late in the morning for work. That was it. No one else knew his struggles, and no one else should. Dean was too much of a chicken shit to tell any one else for fear of his life to end at the hand of some bigot swinging a noose.

Of course, only telling a few people meant his pickings were slim. Sure he'd go take trips to the small district down town for a romp, but then he'd hate himself after for being such a coward and usually ended up drinking himself into a damn stupor. It was not fun and he was not proud, but it had to be that way - at least that's what he had convinced himself.

But looking back at Castiel, at the mans thin pink chapped lips that Dean bet tasted better than any of Ellen's Rhubarb pie, Dean began to feel that tightness at his gut and that tug at his heart, that voice in his head reminding him that he didn't always have to hide, he didn't always have to scare himself silly with nightmares and harsh words and what ifs. He could indulge in small ways, in secretive ways until he was ready to embrace and be embraced. And boy could he see himself doing some pretty nice and intimate things with Castiel.

"Ya' just gonna' stand there all day lookin' like a dumbass, or are ya' gonna' show Castiel to the back room? Huh, boy?" Bobby's harsh voice startled Dean right from his stupor, his face flushing a horrible red, making the room seem hotter than it should have been.

"Huh? Uh, yeah. Come on, Cas." Dean spoke hurriedly, trying to not act like the biggest buffoon this side of the country.

Ellen however, seemed to catch on real quick to the Winchesters flustered face and gave him a snort of laughter and a knowing smile which Dean waved off with a quick sour frown.

He could let himself indulge in day dreams yes, but he knew for a fact that hinting to Bobby that he occasionally swung for the other team would complicate things. Bobby was a father figure to him, and he wouldn't let anything jeopardize their relationship. He could keep is secrets, it wouldn't hurt the old man.

So, sliding himself off the red leather bar stool he scrunched his fedora between his fingers and stood on his own two shaky legs to led the way.

But before he could get too far, there was that voice again, the one that set Deans bones to jumping.


Dean cleared his throat in nervousness, hoping silently that he didn't offend the guy.

"Yeah. Cas. It's a nickname - what, they don't have nicknames down in Louisiana?" Dean teased the man, looking back to see Cas' face scrunched up in confusion, his head tilted to make him look like a lost puppy.

Oh this man would be the end of him.

"No, we have nicknames in…Louisiana. It is just that I have never had the honor to uphold one." Cas reasoned, his voice still hinting with confusion and what appeared to be new found awe at even having a nickname bestowed upon him.

Damn, if he isn't the weirdest little Sheik in these parts…. Dean thought to himself with a hidden smile.

"Well, it's not that big of a deal, but since ya' don't mind it, Cas it is." Dean huffed with easy laugher as he began to walk by the Road House's tables, passing Jo along the way who was done with the record player and instead was wiping down some tables that her Mamma' said needed cleaning.

The pretty blond who was like a sister to Dean looked up from her work with a smile that shined brighter than the moon on a harvest night.

"New meat?" She asked playfully to Dean and Bobby, wiping her brow which was gleaming softly with sweat. She made a show of a grin at Cas who looked all but terrified out of his mind at the prospect of being 'new meat'.

Dean caught on real quick to the mans widening eyes and placed a hand on Cas' shoulder to calm the man down, his fingers tingling as they felt the expensive material of the dark haired mans suit.

"Relax man, Jo won't hurt ya'. She's no man hunter." Dean said, resulting in those shockingly icy eyes to smooth and relax a bit.

Jo flashed teeth at that, her smile widening.

"Oh yeah, I'm safe - but Dean here? Watch out for him. He's a real Lounge Lizard." Jo winked to Cas, the black haired man's face contorting into confusion yet again.

"What do you mean he's a Lounge Li-" Cas was about to inquire when Dean cleared his throat rather loudly, his voice rising above the crackling music, making a few of the hunters enjoying their meal or whiskey to take notice rather quickly.

"Nothing Cas, she's just messing with you. Come on, let's get you settled in with some equipment." Dean hustled Cas along inside a door painted roughly in brick red, the door knob glinting nice and pretty against the glass lamp light.

After Cas was pushed through, Dean sent the nastiest glare he could towards Jo, the blond only shrugging and going back to her work, the inklings of a smirk on her face evident. If Dean wasn't so sure she'd tear him a new one, he'd yell her ear off. The damn girl was all forked tongue and teeth. A good hunter but damn did she know how to push Dean's buttons. He'd have to never leave her alone with Cas if he wanted to keep his new blooming secret to himself.

Once inside the rather uninhabited dark room, that served as the 'interrogation' room for new recruits or to persuade information out of none-too friendly guests, Dean made his way to a set of chairs, plopping himself down in one like a cat ready for a nap.

Without a word Cas set himself down, nice and polite in the chair across from Dean, that stupid trench coat snuggled nice and warm on his lap like it always needed to be near him. Dean would have to ask the guy later about it.

It was a few seconds later that Bobby came in last, shutting the door nice and tight with his foot for privacy, his hands preoccupied with a folder and a mug of cold beer that he swiped from the bar. He sat down next to Cas with a sigh and handed the rather thin folder to the Winchester before nursing his beer to his lips.

Dean's fingers closed around the manila envelope, a string holding the thing tightly closed. Using his nails to work the knot he finally plucked the thing open to reveal a few newspaper clippings of what looked like a big old southern house with a wrap around porch and a rocking chair out front. Sitting on the porch was what looked like a chubby baby Cas, his arms trying with no avail to wrap around the waist of a man who looked to be Castiel's father.

"That is a family photo, my father, Jimmy Novak, and I at our house when I was no more than two years old." Cas spoke softly, evenly, as if his voice could barely do the picture justice. As if he longed and wished to be that kid in the photograph again just one more time.

Dean knew instantly how the other man felt. He wished he could go back to when his mother was still alive, when his Dad was still there for him and Sammy and not touring the world for Supernatural chaos. But now Sammy and him were alone and there was no hop in wishing for things that wouldn't come true. It was just nonsense.

Under the graying photo was a few newspaper clippings, some stuff about Cas and his achievements in high school and College - Well, a college man, Dean had himself a thinker on his hands!- and a resume with a list of qualifications.

Everything looked amazing, as if Cas was graced by God or something along that line. Not a blemish on his record - he could see now why Bobby had wanted him to join Team Free Will so badly. Sure, Cas was a rookie - but a Rookie with Cash and familiarity with Supernatural creatures? Jack pot.

"Well, I'm impressed." Dean sent a friendly grin to Cas, the other man returning it with a shy smile that felt a little new on his face. Dean figured the guy just didn't have reason to smile a lot.

"So, you're running away from your family? That's what it says in this telegram." Dean sat back down nice and easy in his chair, a I'm not judging you look plastered nice and soft on his face. He wanted Cas to relax, trust him enough to tell him his problems and troubles. Dean would listen. He was used to hearing all of Sammy's whiny bitch fits anyway.

Castiel seemed hesitant at first, but after a reassuring look from Bobby, to which Dean noticed calmed the man a lot, the nicely dressed man began to speak.

"I'm not exactly, running away from home, as you put it. I am merely taking a vacation, what I hope will be a long one." Tension seemed to roll off his words into the cool air of the room, the only source of light as small stained glass lamp on a chain above them.

"Trouble with your siblings?" Dean inquired, wrapping his hands together to sit them nicely on the table in front of him.

Cas visibly fidgeted at that last question, wringing his fingers tighter into the trench coat under the table. Dean almost wished he hadn't brought up the mans family - perhaps it was a touchy subject.

"Trouble is an understatement. I have five siblings and two uncles living with me, with a father who is absent most of the time." Cas sighed, his eyes glassy, misting with emotion that seemed to be hard for the man before Dean to convey.

"They…They fight immensely. It's gotten to the point where I cannot go home for fear of their everlasting bickering. My eldest brother and my two uncles, they are the worst. They are bullies at best, always controlling what me and my other brothers and sisters do." Castiel murmured quietly, not wanting to reveal all about what Dean guessed was a truly pitiful family relationship.

At least Dean never had it that bad, to the fact where he couldn't even stand going home.

"That's rough man, real rough. I'm sorry." Dean did his best to try and convey to the man that he really did feel bad for him.

Castiel looked upward to meet the other man with a small smile of thanks that reached his eyes.

"I'm just glad to be away from them for now."

Dean nodded and smiled, trying his best to find a topic to lighten the depressing mood that was growing thick in the air.

"So, you're from Louisiana?" Dean asked with a lazy grin, one that made Bobby roll his eyes and take another sip from his bear, his beard coming back speckled with amber dew that made him look just plain ridiculous.

"Oh. Um, yes. I was born and raised there all my life." Cas lied right through his teeth, knowing damn well that it was a sin, but not seeing much choice in the matter. Bobby told him it was okay to lie in this situation, it was a white lie, nothing more. Castiel barely believed him.

Dean nodded his head, his smile never wavering.

"That so? Ever been to New Orleans?" Dean asked nice and gentlemanly, his eyes careful to look for discomfort in Castiel's eyes.

"New Orleans? Why, I - I live there! Yes, right in good old new Orleans!" He spoke rapidly, quickly, the lie eating right through his lips, making them burn. This was a horrible idea, a vile, disturbed idea. And it was all his.

"Oh? Well, ain't that just a coincidence? My Daddy worked a job there awhile ago - took Sammy, my brother, and I." Dean kept his voice nice and controlled as he red Castiel, looking to see the sweat flush against the mans neck, watching as the blue eyed man bobbed his leg up and down as if it was a nervous habit. Dean knew right then and there that he was lying, and horribly at that.

"Is that so? Well, New Orleans is lovely for a visit." Castiel panicked, feeling like he was digging himself into the deepest pit imaginable, so deep that it wouldn't even contain his older brother Lucifer. Just smile, keep smiling.

"Mhmm… It's a right damn hospitable place." Dean agrees, his eyes flickering to Bobby. The old man just kept his eyes on the rim of his almost finished beer, his teeth looking clenched in his jaw, as if he wanted to say something but thought better of it.

It was as big a tip as any to tell Dean that something was way off.

Pushing himself up from his chair, Dean walked over to the lonely metal cabinets that ran along the wall in cold colors of grey, silver, and black. It was the only decoration in the room save for the lamp, chairs and table and it made everything seem a little bit more gloomy. A little bit more like a torture chamber.

Creaking one of the drawers open Dean pulled out a bundle wrapped in soft light blue cloth, cradling it against his fingers like it was a new born baby.

From behind him Dean heard Bobby fidget in his seat, the sound of the beer mug being raised and lowered onto the table with a bit of a shake. The Winchester slowly turned around to the sound, his fingers dutifully working to uncover the clothed object that was flat against his palm. A soft tickling was heard from inside the cloth, the sound of metal hitting metal. Castiel's stomach dropped immediately.

After sitting himself down nice and comfy in his seat, Dean placed the small bundle against the plain oak wood of the table, his lips whistling a short snappy tune before his eyes shot back up to Cas, a smirk on his lips.

"Ever handled a gun before in New Orleans, Cas?" Dean asked, unwrapping the last of the soft cloth before it slipped over the wood and metal of a Colt Detective Special with a three inch barrel, the cold surface of the gun glinting in the dim light. Cas's eyes flicked to the gun for a mere second of shock before he composed himself. Lying was a sin, something he cold barely swallow. But being in the presence of a gun? He wasn't bothered in the slightest. It's not like it could kill him if Dean chose to used it - to which Castiel prayed that the hunter wouldn't. It would surely put a damper on their already straining relationship.

"I…I have. Though I'll need a lot more practice with one than I'm used to." He managed to breath out, his eyes scanning the little weapon in front of him. In all honesty, Castiel has never touched a gun in his life. He's never had too. Resorting to such pitiful weapons had never once crossed his mind. This plan of his was definitely going to give him a big change in scenery.

"Well, we'll have to get you trained and used to it." Dean muttered to himself, flashing teeth in a grin that was meant to comfort Cas but only made him grow even more weary, his thumb swiping along his trench coat that was being bunched up on his knee.

"Well start him off on a Colt - nothing' with too big of a kick. He won't be ready for shotguns for a while." Bobby's gruff voice finally filled the silence in the room, save for Deans short nailed fingers running against the bumps of the gun.

It's like he's caressing a religious object. Castiel observes in wonder.

"Sure. We'll start small. Though it must be hard living in New Orleans and not being able to shoot a shotgun too well, what with all those shifters running round." Dean snapped the revolver against his wrist, making Cas bite his chapped lip, feeling another lie burst through his mouth.

"Ah. Yes. Very hard indeed. You cannot walk down the side of the street without smelling the scent of their fur or hearing their calls during the full moon." Cas spoke with wavering voice, his eyes flashing to Bobby silently for help but Dean only leaned forward, demanding Cas's glance on him as the hunter it back a fake frown.

"Oh really? That's funny, because there hasn't been a shifter pack in New Orleans since the early thirties - I should know, my Daddy took care of them all. So why don't you quit the bluenose act and tell me where you're really from?" Dean's eyes swerve from happy-buddy-buddy to serious in a split second, his hands stilling on the gun in his hand, the barrel pointed towards Cas threatening. Cas didn't even blink, silently congratulating the Winchester in front of him for solving the riddle. At least he didn't have to lie anymore.

"Balls!" Bobby cursed loudly under his breath, before he slammed the glass mug of beer on the table and leaned back, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles.

"You told me you were a good liar, boy!" Bobby spoke, to which Dean guessed he was gesturing towards Castiel who was running his hands soothingly over the tan overcoat, petting it almost.

"I never said such a thing. I said I would try my best at lying, and I did. Apparently my best was not good enough."

Dean huffed, his eyes never straying from Cas for even one second. He didn't want to let the man outta' his sight.

"Bobby, I swear, you better tell me what the hell is going on here!" Dean snapped fiercely to the older man, jerking his gun quickly for emphasis at Cas.

"Please, the gun waving isn't necessary. If you shoot me, I'll just heal myself." Cas sighed at Dean, as if he was wearily talking to a little child who was misbehaving, causing Dean's eyes to widen in anger. Attractive man or not, no stranger insults Dean Winchester without hearing his two cents about it!

"What are you? A Draft-Dodger? A Monster? Does Bobby owe you a favor?" Dean's voice raised above a shout, his nostrils flaring as he placed his left palm flat against the table, the gun never unsteadying from it's place near Castiel's face.

Bobby sighed in annoyance from his seated spot, looking to Dean like he was the biggest goon in the room.

"Boy, put that down before you do somethin' even more stupid." Bobby made a move for the gun but Dean pulled back, his eyes shining something fierce as he shouted once more.

"I will not! Tell me who this Wise Guy is!"

And then Dean's attention was brought back down from his screaming and hissing and spiting by the bluest color of eyes he had ever seen in his short existence.

With the most sincere expression possible, with that pretty little mouth, Castiel spoke slow and steady so as not to aggravate Dean more, realizing just how hot tempered the hunter was.

"My name is Castiel, and I am an Angel of the Lord."


Okay, so the ending is a bit meh. I blame sleep deprivation. Also, I'm sure you can tell that there are a lot of 1940's slang! Nothing a good old Google search won't elaborate - but If you would like, after every chapter I could define them under the authors notes - would that be advised? PLEASE REVIEW, I REALLY DO LIVE OFF OF THEM!