Funny how a real life event and a real life conversation can lead to things like this... Just a likkle one again ^-^ I can't seem to write anything decent at the moment ): I don't know what's going on with the tenses in this... I have nothing to do with it. Sorry :s

So this is likely to be three chapters, because I'm basing it on my own problems at home, which I turned in to a naughty joke, in the most innocent of ways (the words "I'm having a pile of blokes over in the morning" were used) and the reply was "Sounds like the start to one of your stories" and so the idea was born – All thanks to halle mcready, please :p

So poor Cas is going to have THREE things go wrong with his lovely new house within the first month or so of living there, because if I can have those three pack up in a matter of five weeks, so can he (:

Please enjoy. And the usual warnings. I can't help myself, I will probably become rather graphic, so you twits sitting there, reading the "heavy smut" warning labels, please don't go reading it then whingeing about it afterwards. Save yourself the hassle. If you like filth, I'm your (wo)man, if not, then turn away now! Run as far as you can, and never come back! Only my Dexter/Supernatural crossover will be safe from smut! You have been adequately warned. Those of you staying for the ride, I hope you enjoy it (: Reviews very much appreciated, and I will review your work in return (:

Castiel Novak lives in rather a nice house. It was two storeys, but the upstairs windows kind of poke out the roof, so it looks more like a bungalow with high set eyes. He likes his house anyway. It has a lovely garden that stretches right around it. His closest neighbors are close enough to have a loud conversation from front door to front door with, or from letter box to letter box. They aren't so close that you can hear every time they so much as raise their voices in a debate. So all in all, it's pretty much perfect. The street is a quiet one in the suburbs. There are a few kids who like to run about in the gardens and on the sidewalks, but they all seem pleasant enough. None of them too dense to realize you don't run out in front of a car. The neighbors on one side are a family, Mom, Dad, teenage girl and a boy of eleven. He can sometimes hear the girl drama queening about something or another, but it's rare, and doesn't tend to go on long enough to become a real nuisance. The neighbors on the other side of him are a dear old retired couple, who seem to dedicate their very existence to tending to the garden and their two Persian cats. The cats have taken it upon themselves to go in to Cas' garden and pee and crap on his flowerbeds a few times. He's never complained about it, but he would certainly turn his hose on them if he thought no one was looking. Perhaps he'd settle for the sprinklers, because he could claim ignorance then.

It had been another typical day at work, sitting on his behind editing page after page of some hardly-known author's latest novel. Hardly the most thrilling occupation, but his stint as a managing director in his previous job, despite having helped him pay off the mortgage on his old house and given him the opportunity to buy this one, had turned sour after he fell out with a co worker, and the pair of them had handed in their resignations at the same time. Something more bog standard suited Cas more, and he was happier in this job than he ever had been in the last one. He had worked out that he would be able to pay the mortgage off in full over the next five years on this wage, provided all goes well. It was a great deal smaller than his old house, and not so close to amenities, but it made up for it in character. And being out of the middle of the busy city was hardly a disappointment.

A cup of coffee was definitely in order. And today's newspaper before a good old round of the news on the telly. Nothing like watching the news and daily politics to give yourself high blood pressure.

Dinner consists of a Chinese take away he'd bought on his way home, because Cas simply can't be bothered to cook tonight. It's a Friday, for Heaven's sake. Give a man a break. Saturday will probably be pizza, but Sunday. Well. Sunday will be the most beasting roast you can imagine. You name it, he's got it. Perhaps lamb this week. There's some in the freezer, and he's pretty sure the date is getting close on it. Sorted. No worries about eating this weekend.

The news serves as a fantastic source of annoyance, and Cas feels ten times more stressed after watching it than he had after having to trawl through the most mistake-ridden poem he had ever encountered first thing that morning. How some things got as far as the publishing stage, he will never know. Cas flicks for a while, as men do, then concludes that, just for a change, there is bugger all on telly, and it would make more sense to just have a nice bath and go to bed.

It's only ten o clock, but he's long past the age where he has to stay up late to be cool. Or even that being cool is an issue at all.

He likes to put on his electric blanket before he starts running a bath, so his bed is lovely and toasty for him to get in to. After that mission is accomplished, he puts the plug in the hole and turns the faucet on full. It usually only takes about five minutes to fill the bath to an acceptable level, then he tops it up with cold until it becomes a temperature that won't render him unconscious.

The fun begins when he returns to the bathroom to top up with cold water. He turns off the hot tap and turns on the cold one. "Oh." The water in the bath is ice freakin cold. "For fucks sakes." He checks that he has used the correct taps, and stares at the bath in confusion. He walks to the sink and turns the faucet on full blast. Cold. "Great." He turns that off, turns off the one at the bath and unplugs the bath. "Fucking boiler." Downstairs to yell at the boiler it is. The boiler had been turned off when he moved in – just a week ago, might he add – but he had turned it on, and everything appeared to be hunky dory. The days of having a landlord were long gone, and Cas suddenly wished he had returned to rented accommodation. It was so much easier to ring an agent or a landlord and bitch at them and get them to sort it out than having to go through the whole rigmarole yourself. He tinkered with the boiler for a few minutes before giving up. The blasted pilot light was out, and no amount of off/on, press reset button, turn up water pressure, swear at it, thump it or any of the usual treatment appeared to be working. "Fuck."

Cas decides sitting and sulking will have to do for now. Shock, the shower isn't electric, and it runs off the damned boiler too, so he'll have to stink for a bit longer. It's not like he even knows anyone well enough to ask if he can have a quick shower. He'll literally have to boil the kettle and fill the sodding sink and wash from that. Twenty first century, hey? He went to bed in a fine mood, and woke up not much happier the next day. So much for a new start. New house, new baby. Apparently this baby will be in the shape of a boiler.

After coffee and toast, Cas starts his mission of going through the phone book to find a plumber. The first two go to answer phone and state chirpily that they operate between the hours of 9 and 5, Monday to Friday, leave a name and number and they will get back to you. Well what use was that? Why is it that people expect things to go wrong between 9 and 5 Monday to Friday? Most of the time they wait until the blinking weekend so you can't do anything about it. In that respect, not having to wait around to contact your agent was a relief.

"Winchester Plumbing and Electrical 24/7." Cas snorts. "Let's see how '24/7' this jerk is." He dials the number and waits. It rings three times before there is a cheery response on the other end of the line. "Hi, my boiler has packed in."

There is an almost awkward pause for a moment. "Right, would you like me to pop over today and have a look at it? See if we can get it fixed for you?" He's got a thick Southern accent, and Cas kinda likes it. His voice is friendly and warm, even through the phone. Probably some trick to butter you up before he hands over the bill.

"If you wouldn't mind. I've only just moved in. Place is a bit of a tip, I do warn you," He's lying; his place is immaculately tidy, and everything is packed away, a product of his over active OCD, he just always worries that people are going to judge him. He will give the place a quick once over before the plumber arrives.

"That's not a problem." Replies Happy Winchester. "I'm sure I've seen worse."

Cas nods, then pulls a face, feeling stupid because the other man can't see the gesture.

"I can be over there for about lunch time. Say half twelve. I can grab something to eat before I arrive."

Cas blinks at the overload of information. "Sure. Thanks. See you then." He supplies his address to the plumber, then hangs up. Time to clean like a full on weirdo.

Cas barely finishes by ten to twelve, and he sets himself up a quick lunch, sure to wash everything and put it all away before the plumber arrives.

Then he starts to worry about what to do. Does he sit casually and watch telly? Or should he at least try to make conversation? He can always pretend he has unpacking or something to do, and make the excuse and run off before the plumber starts trying to get him in to some kind of one sided, awkward conversation. Yes. That will do.

12.30 comes too soon, and Cas has already dashed upstairs to put on a black shirt and some tidy slacks so he doesn't look like a total tramp. He's left the top two buttons open – casual but not whorish – and he's wearing black socks and a pair of shoes that can almost pass for slippers.

The ding dong! Of the bell frightens the life out of Cas, and he thanks his lucky stars that no one was there to see him jump out of his skin and look stupid, as he seems to specialize doing.

Cas opens the door and forces what he hopes looks more like a friendly smile and less like a forced-gosh-I-wish-you-weren't-here smile. "Come in."

Okay, he thinks he has gone gay. The man standing the other side of the door is the single most attractive person he has ever seen. He's got the dark skin of a country boy, glittering green eyes, teeth a movie star would be jealous of, and lips sent down from Heaven. The smile relaxes in to a genuine pleased-to-see-you smile and he opens the door wide enough to allow the plumber to step in.

Winchester holds out his hand. "Dean."

"Cas." He shakes hands, then heads to the boiler. "Here's the stupid thing." He thinks he hears Dean chuckle, but he can't be sure.

Dean fiddles with the boiler for a while, trying everything Cas has already tried, then he takes off the front panel and starts looking professional.

Cas watches for a while, but then is horrified when he realizes. "Would you like a drink?"

"A coffee would be great, please. Black, one sugar. Thanks."

Cas makes them a coffee each and comes back to the scene of mayhem.

"Well I think I've found our problem." Dean points at the boiler and begins to ramble on, but he would be as well speaking in double Dutch.

Cas picks up the words 'valve' and 'needs to be replaced' and nods and hums at the appropriate junctures. He has no idea what Dean is on about, but he agrees with him.

"You watching the game tonight?"


Dean nods. "Not a baseball fan, huh?"

"I like baseball, I just don't really... You know."

Dean smiles, and Cas finds that he likes his smile. He wants to see it more. And that makes him feel really, really gay.

"I don't have sports channels anyway."

"I see." Dean seems tense for a moment, and he looks back to the boiler. "You new around here?"

Cas nods.

"I thought you sounded a bit out of townish."

Whatever that was supposed to mean, Cas played it safe and nods again.

"Well I'm on call 24/7," He points to the motif sewn on to his overall suit and grins proudly. "So if you need anything." He indicates the boiler. "Boilers fixed, washing machines. A drinking buddy."

Cas laughs at this. "I don't really drink."

"You should." Dean answers. "It's fun."

Cas shakes his head. "I'm too old for all that malarkey."

It's Dean's turn to laugh. "Old? What are you, thirty?"

"Next month, yes. How did you guess?"

"Must be counting the wrinkles."

Cas gapes at the other man, but it turns in to a laugh as Dean starts laughing and shoves him playfully.

"I'm only joking, Cas." He swipes his coffee from the side and takes a sip. "Lovely coffee, thank you." He sips again. "Seriously, though. I've only been here a little while myself. My brother is living in California, going to law school, and my Uncle is in South Dakota. So other than my annoying co tenant, I don't really know anyone around here."

Cas sips his coffee. It's easier than talking. There again, he'll be classed as rude if he doesn't. And that might lead to having to wait until next week to get someone out again to fix his boiler. By which time, his skin and hair will be tearing themselves off and crawling to the neighbors' house for a bath. "Well, I have your number."

Dean grins again. "You do." He finishes his coffee, rinses the mug, then claps his hands together. "Right, I will order the valve today, and I should have it by Monday lunch timeish. Will you be home?"

"I'll be at work, but I get back about 6."

"6.30 any good then?"

Cas is slightly taken aback by the plumber's eagerness. "Um, sure, if you're sure?"

Dean nods. "You don't want to be without a boiler any longer than necessary."

"You're telling me."

"I'd come back sooner, but I haven't got the part, and they won't deliver on a Sunday." He looks genuinely annoyed.

"It's fine. The company I work for have showers, so I will probably shower there on Monday at lunch time."

Dean looks away from Cas when their eyes meet, and he looks to the floor. "That's lucky."

"Yeah." Cas decides it's time to take conversation to the door and begins the goodbyes. It's getting too awkward for his liking.

"The place isn't a tip, by the way." Dean comments as he opens the door. "You're just a fuss pot." He says it fondly and smiles again.

"I can never get a place clean and tidy enough."

"OCD." Dean states. He nods, as if OCD is a personal enemy of his own. "I get it."

Cas narrows his eyes. It feels like the plumber is hanging on for some reason. "Thank you, for coming out."

Dean smiles again. "You're more than welcome. I will see you on Monday, and we'll get the 'stupid thing' up and running for you."

Cas flushes at Dean's use of his own term from earlier on, and he looks away. "Sorry. It just annoyed me. I've only just moved in."

Dean nods. "When I first moved in to my apartment, the front door fell off."

Cas laughed again. "No way?"
"Way. I opened the door and it cracked me one in the shins. I was raving. Took the landlord damn near a week to sort it." Again back to not missing having a landlord. "Gabe and I took it in turns to sleep in the living room in case anyone walked in."

Cas whistles. "I'm not surprised. I don't miss landlords."

Dean chuckles. "I wish I could afford to buy, but with Sammy's school fees and all that, I just can't manage it."

Cas felt a swell of admiration for the plumber and he put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "That's really kind of you,"

Den shrugs. "He's my little brother. Our parents aren't around to pay for him, so someone's gotta."

"I'm sorry."

Dean waves his hands. "They died a long time ago."

"I'm sorry." Cas repeats.

Dean smiles gently at Cas. "Thanks."

Cas nods.

There is an epic pause and awkward moment, where Cas removes his hand, and they both look at one another, not quite sure of what to do, then Dean breaks it. "Monday."

"Monday." Cas reiterates.

They exchange good byes, then Cas retreats back in to his house. He decides now is a good time to watch the wildlife documentaries he has recorded, and try to forget about the handsome plumber, and his almost over friendliness.

Funny he ends up watching the game.

So there's chapter one. Any good? Rubbish? Input? I have a pretty good idea where this is going, but it looks like it might be a bit longer than I originally thought! See how it goes, I spose (: