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He felt like a creep. Hidden inside his home office, Dean watched his new neighbour and his little son playing outside in the yard from behind the curtains.
Those two were the best thing that had happened to him in the last year. Ever since Sammy, Jess, and the kids had returned to California, Dean’s muse was gone.
He hadn’t felt like writing for over a year. Charlie had whined about having to explain it to his publisher over and over again, but as much as Dean loved her, he just couldn’t deliver. His mind was blank.
Nothing he had tried had worked, until tall, dark, and handsome and his little son moved into the long-abandoned other half of his semi-detached house. Dean had always hoped for Sammy to move in there one day. But during his short stint back in Kansas his brother had rented an apartment closer to the town centre to spend less time commuting and more time with his family.
Sam had shattered Dean’s hope completely when he returned to California. Dean couldn’t even blame him. If a big-name NGO called to finance the project of your heart’s desire, only few would be able to resist. After all, rural Kansas just wasn’t the easiest place to live if you wanted to change the world.
And Dean knew exactly what that meant. Not that he wanted to change the world, but if he could help just one child to see the world with different eyes, and a bit more colourful, he would have succeeded.
For almost everyone he was just a grease monkey who worked at Singer Salvage. Granted, they called him talented when it came to breathing new life into classic cars, but they had no idea who he really was.
Although Dean worked still full time at Bobby’s, the job was nothing more than a hobby nowadays. His royalties paid his bills.
Sam and Jess, Bobby, and Charlie were the only ones aware of his second identity. And Dean wanted to keep it that way. Nobody needed to know his face to read his books.
Dean smiled and brushed his fingers over the keys. At least, he was writing again. Charlie would be over the moon if she knew. He would tell her soon, because his book came together sooner than he had anticipated. A few more days and his draft would be done.
His neighbour had done wonders.
Looking up from his laptop to check on the man in question, Dean rolled over to the window with his office chair. Carefully, he pushed the curtain away and peeked outside.
An embarrassing cry escaped his lips when he jumped out of his skin.
Big blue eyes stared at him from outside. Mesmerised and unable to look away, Dean stared back.
Too late, he noticed the frown on his neighbour’s face. Grimacing, Dean stood up and opened the window.
“Why are you watching us?” his neighbour asked bluntly.
Hell, why didn’t Dean know his name? Had they ever talked properly? He couldn’t remember.
Dean swallowed. “I—” he started, but stopped. What should he tell handsome?
His neighbour crooked his head and squinted at him. “You don’t look evil.”
“Glad to hear, dude,” Dean shot back and rolled his eyes.
“The others told me you’re a good man, Dean, but I didn’t believe them. So, why are you watching me and Jack?”
“Jack?” Dean blinked. “Aww, right. Your kiddo.”
A little blonde head peeked over the window sill, followed by two very curious and equally blue eyes.
“Yes, Jack is my son.” His neighbour ruffled the boy’s head, before his blues focused on Dean again.
For a moment, Dean forgot to breathe, until an outstretched hand reached through the open window.
“I’m Castiel,” the other man introduced himself.
Awkwardly, Dean shook his hand. “Heya, Cas. Dean.” Scratching the back of his head, he couldn’t help but smile, before he realised, he wasn’t done yet. “I’m Dean,” he stuttered. “Dean Winchester.”
“Yes,” Castiel said and nodded. “I know.” The corners of his mouth shot up. It was a hint of a smile and Dean melted.
He could feel heat rising on his face. “Yeah,” he babbled. “Got that.”
Something tucked at his shirt, and Dean turned around. Startled, he looked at the little boy standing there, a big smile on his face.
“Hey, buddy!” Dean greeted him.
“Will you read this to me?” Jack passed him a book, before Dean could even question how the boy had entered his house.
Taking the book, Dean answered, “Sure thing.” Only then, he noticed which book it was.
Dean turned the book around in his hands. It looked well-read and loved.
“It’s his favourite,” Cas— Castiel explained. “Do you mind if I let me in?”
“Nah, come in. Mi casa es su casa.“
Too late, Dean remembered where he was right now. Nobody came into his office, because here, he didn’t hide.
The room was dynamite. Original sketches he had created for his picture books were hanging on the walls, framing his pride flag, while the writing award he won for his YA novel rested on his overloaded bookshelf. Not to mention the stacks of books he was supposed to sign this week.
With Jack blocking his way out, Dean was trapped. All he could do was wait. Resigned, he sat down.
When Cas appeared in the doorframe, Dean knew at once he had been outed. Cas’ eyes grew wide and eyes swept around the room, taking everything in. In the end, his eyes found Dean’s, and he stared at him.
“Are you—?”
Dean squirmed, but nodded eventually. There was no reason to hide any longer. “Yeah,” he admitted.
“I’ve always wanted to meet you. To thank you. Jack loves your books. I had no idea—”
“That one of the best-known authors of LGBT+ children’s lit is a grease monkey in rural Kansas?”
“That you had a very good reason to watch us.” Cas pointed at a sketch of a father and a son on the floor.
“What can I say, Cas?” Dean grinned. “I needed a new muse.”
“Glad to be of help.” This time, a broad smile spread over Cas’ face, and Dean’s heart skipped a beat.
Jack chose the moment to climb on Dean’s lap. “Stop talking. Read.”
Dean chuckled. “Alright, buddy.” Stealing one more glance at Cas who struggled to sit down on the crowded couch, Dean turned towards the book, his book, and started to read.