Disclaimer: I own nothing of Supernatural. Actually, I don't even own this idea. The fic prompt came from tumblr users benedlunds and gabriel-stole-the-tardis. I think, from that latter username alone, we can figure out just how south this whole damn thing is gonna go.


Jimmy Castiel Novak (Castiel was a much cooler name than Jimmy, according to his wife, so his first name was often ignored, despite the part where he felt much more like a Jimmy than a Castiel) was a fine, upstanding Christian man. He was in marketing, and had finally gotten out of the black hole that was radio commercial time sales, instead taking up employment with a media distribution company that needed better marketing strategies. That, however necessitated relocation.

His wife, Amelia, and their daughter Claire hadn't wanted to move, but some things weren't precisely negotiable. Amelia was a housewife, anyway, and she had no other option if she wanted the family to keep its income. Castiel regretted forcing her to do this, but in the end, he told himself that the bigger paycheck would make the move more bearable for all involved.

It was a beautiful wooded area in Sabattus, Maine. Lovely little Number 3813 Lucien Street. Not too crowded, but close to Main Street and any number of churches just down the road, which Castiel was pleased to note. There were also a few shopping districts a stone's throw away, which Amelia was pleased to note.

"Please - no, that's mahogany - please, don't - oh!" Castiel stumbled over the words as the movers juggled the gorgeous dining room table his great-great-uncle had carved before he died, almost dropping it on the cement. Castiel could feel every inch of him clench in terror. God, no. Not that table. He should have moved everything in himself, no matter how heavy it was.

Actually... Why not?

"Er, gentlemen? Could you set that down for a moment - no, not like that! There we go, thank you," Castiel said nervously. "You know, I believe I may have a handle on this myself from this point on. Thank you for your time. Do you need me to sign something, or...?"

"We'll mail you the bill, sir. Now, you're sure you don't need any help with this? Stuff's pretty heavy."

"Quite sure I've got it, thank you," Castiel said. The 'Please don't ever touch my belongings again' that flashed through his mind went unsaid. He waved the movers off, then turned to stare at the furniture that had yet to be hauled out of the second truck. The first truck, which had housed all the boxes on their journey from Illinois to Maine, had mercifully already been unpacked. Castiel wasn't sure his back would have forgiven him if he tried to haul the boxes full of books into the house and up the stairs.

The furniture, though... that might be a issue. That was one big couch, now that Castiel thought about it, and delicate Amelia could only be expected to haul so much, as she had continued to remind him throughout the move.

"Need some help?" a warm, rough voice asked. Castiel's head jerked up. Where had...?

A young man, probably in his mid to late twenties, leaned on the fence separating the properties. He had tousled short brown hair and a tan, which brought out the freckles lightly dusting his nose. His massive grin was infectious, though, and Castiel found himself smiling shyly back.

"I take it that we're new neighbors, huh?" the man asked. "Unless you pissed off the movers and they dumped you and your stuff in the wrong part of town."

"Er, no, no, nothing like that," Castiel said. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mister...?"

"No Mister. Dean Winchester. Howdy." He stuck out a hand and it didn't escape Castiel's attention that this guy was ripped. He looked like he could break a man's neck with his bare hands. He took the hand and gave it a firm shake, determined (for some bizarre reason) not to look weak in front of his new neighbor.

"Jimmy Novak."

Dean frowned, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. "You don't look much like a Jimmy, gotta say."

He smiled awkwardly. "Amelia says so, too. Er, that is my wife." Had he imagined it, or had Dean blinked as soon as the word 'wife' happened? "She only calls me by my middle name, and so I suppose it kind of stuck."

"So what's your middle name?"

He scratched the back of his head. "It's - well, really, it's kind of embarrassing... I think it's a ridiculous name, but she seems to like it, and, well - ugh. I mean, I suppose it's grown on me a little -"

"Oh, out with it."

"..Castiel," Castiel muttered.

"Castiel?" Dean repeated. "You've gotta be joking."

"I did tell you it was a ridiculous name."

"No! Are you kidding? That name is kickass! It sounds all..." Dean wiggled his fingers. "I dunno; it just sounds awesome. I'm with your wife on this one. You don't mind if folks call you Castiel? Or, actually, can I call you Cas?"

"Er, certainly?" Castiel said. He really was not used to being bowled over. Dean obviously had a very strong personality.

"All right then, New Neighbor Cas. I actually came over here 'cause it looked like you were out some workers. Need a little brawn to haul your stuff? I can't picture the Missus carrying that piano in," he said.

"Really? You would? Thank you so much; I wasn't sure how I was going to get all of this in there without breaking it, but... I can't imagine the movers doing much better in that regard."

"Anything I can do to get you settled in, man," Dean said, flashing that star-bright smile of his again. With little more effort than it would have taken to breathe, Dean jumped and swung his legs over the fence. "Should I get the other end of this table here?"

"Yes; please."

"Okay, I got it."

"Are you certain?"

"I got it! We're good. Six inches clearance on this side."

The two of them slowly walked the table up the driveway and into the house, Castiel maneuvering the objects behind him with Dean's instruction.

They reached the dining room before Amelia came out of the bedrooms in the back. "Oh! I'm sorry, but honey, who's this?" she asked, shooting furtive glances at her husband, clearly asking Who the hell is this man and are one hundred percent positive he's not here to kill us all in our sleep?

"My apologies. Amelia, this is Dean Winchester. He's our neighbor and kindly offered to help me bring in the rest of our things. Dean, this is my wife, Amelia."

"Nice to meet you, ma'am," Dean said, smiling. Somehow, it didn't look like the same smile Castiel had gotten earlier.

"Er, nice to meet you, too," she said warily, shaking hands with Dean before quickly retracting her hand and tucking it under her arm. "I'll just... go see if there's anything more I can carry in," she said. She hurried off.

Castiel was utterly unaware of whatever had just happened, but Dean seemed all right with whatever it was, so that had to be a good sign. As long as his prized mahogany family heirlooms didn't end up scraped and ruined against the cement, he was pleased.

If he also secretly wanted to see that impossibly bright smile of Dean's again, paired with the flex of those arms, he certainly wasn't going to mention it.


(A/N): I don't even ship Destiel. Why the fuck am I writing for it. Seriously. It was just such a good plot bunny, it had to happen. I want to work multiple perspectives in on this one, so I might swing back and forth between Cas's and Dean's points of view.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SIS. YOU WANTED ME TO WRITE IT SO I SAT DOWN AND GOT SOME SHIT DONE. AWW YISS.