Take Care of My Baby

"Tell me you're not gonna do it," is the first thing that comes out of Sam's mouth when he hears of Dean's proposition to race Dick that night.

"What's so wrong about racin'? I've done it a thousand times before," Dean protests.

"I just... have a bad feeling about him. About the whole race. Something's not right," he shrugs with a wave of his hand. It's a lame excuse, but Sam just doesn't know how else to put that sick feeling in the pit of his gut into words.

His brother just grins and pushes his shoulder playfully. "You a psychic now or what?" he asks. "C'mon, it can't be that bad. Worried he's gonna kick my ass?"

"No, I'm worried that you're gonna get in an accident, and Dick seems like the kind of asshole who'd wreck you on purpose," Sam protests, his voice becoming more earnest.

"Hey," the older man says, his demeanor softening. "Look, Sammy. Racin' brings in a pretty good paycheck, and it's fun. Dick's not gonna wreck me, 'cause I'm not gonna let him get close enough to me to do it. 'Kay?"

"Okay," Sam grumbles, though an unspoken 'but I don't like it' hangs in the air between them.

Dean can't really be upset that Sam still isn't okay with his racing, because, yeah, it's dangerous. But he does appreciate that his brother lets him do it anyway and doesn't put up too much of a fight. He really appreciates the fact that Sam will show up to all of his races to support him, even though he might not condone what's going on.

He claps his little brother on the back and stands up. "You'll make it tonight, right? Cas is comin' along this time, and it'd mean a lot if you both were there."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be there," Sam agrees. He sounds begrudging, but they both know better than that. They'll always have each other's backs. "I'll probably bring Jess along, too."

"The more the merrier," he shrugs. "I'm gonna go get Cas."

"You sure it's a good idea to bring him?"

Dean stops in the doorway, confusion filling all of his being. "Yeah, why wouldn't it be?"

"It's just..." Sam shrugs. "I don't know. He's kinda terrified of racing, and I dunno if he'll be able to handle watching you."

While his little brother has a point, Dean doesn't embrace it. "Yeah, well. He says he wants to come." And to satiate Sam, he grumbles, "Well, I'll ask him again to make sure. How 'bout that?"

Sam doesn't answer him, but his raised eyebrows cease to be raised, and he turns his attention back to whatever schoolwork he's got in front of him. Dean lingers there for a moment, wondering what motivation Sam has, but figures that, whatever it is, it's not worth worrying about. Instead, he heads off in a better direction: the bedroom, where Cas is waiting for him, albeit in a non-sexual way.

When he enters, he finds Castiel digging through one of the dressers. The man looks up at Dean almost sheepishly when he walks in.

"I don't have much to wear that would be appropriate for a race. I hope you don't mind if I borrow something of yours," he says, letting his hands fall to his sides.

Dean grins. "No. No, I don't mind." The thought of having Castiel wearing his clothes - out in public, no less - causes such a welling-up of happiness that it's hard to keep it from showing. He heads over to the dresser and fishes around for one of his shirts. He pulls out a black one that's just a little too small on him and hands it over. "Think this one should fit you."

Cas takes it, but his hand lingers on Dean's for a moment, a warm smile on his face. It's so damn cute that there's really nothing else Dean can do but pull the man over for a soft kiss. Cas happily obliges, and there they stand for a few moments, their lips barely touching. Of all the things Dean has done in his life, few are as intimate as these simple things.

They've hardly pulled apart, so when Dean whispers, "Better get changed, huh?" their lips brush together.

"Yeah." Cas clears his throat. "Wouldn't wanna make you late." He begins to strip of his shirt on sight. All Dean wants to do is stare, but dammit, he told Sam that he was gonna make sure Cas actually wanted to go, and now is really the only time to go about doing that.

"About that. The whole race thing," Dean begins a little awkwardly. "You sure you wanna go?"

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?" Castiel asks rhetorically with that little tilt of his head. He holds Dean's shirt in his hands, almost as if he has forgotten to put it on.

"It's just..." Dean makes a wide gesture with his hands. "You don't like racing. I know it scares you, and I don't want you to feel like you're forced into... y'know... going." It's a pretty lame statement, and he knows it.

"Dean. Of course, it scares me to know that you're in danger, but you enjoy it, and I know you're capable of doing what you do. I can handle a little bit of fear for you," Cas says, subconsciously leaning into the other man's chest as he does so. Dean wraps an arm around him and kisses him again, because goddamn, he's hit the jackpot with this one.

"You better put that shirt on before I start taking everything else off," he murmurs against Cas's lips. "Doesn't sound like too bad a' deal to me, though."

"After the race," Cas tells him as he pulls away and drags Dean's shirt over his head.

Like he said. Jackpot. "You promise?"

"I promise."

"Good." With a cheesy grin on his face, he watches as he - dare he say it - boyfriend pulls on Dean's shirt. It's a little big, but Dean really likes the way it looks matched with Cas's jeans and sneakers and tousled hair. Dean wants nothing more than to throw the man down on the bed and strip everything right off of him, but he knows better.

"Well? we better get going. Don't want to be more than fashionably late," Cas smiles, tugging Dean to the exit with him.

The two make the drive in Dean's baby, while Jess picked up Sam with a group of friends. Word had spread quickly through the town that Dean was gonna race the newcomer, the Leviathans, the men that everyone is whispering about. They say that Dick Roman might just be the man to take Dean down. They say Dick Roman is dangerous, maybe more dangerous than Dean. They say he might just become a legend.

Dean hasn't heard any of these rumors. He went right home after work and didn't speak to anyone but Cas and his brother. He might be practically vibrating with nervous energy, but that's just something he does before ever race. He itches for it, for that danger and for the victory that he hopes for and often earns. He chain smokes with the window open, trying to keep the smoke from blowing too much on Cas.

Cas hasn't heard the rumors, but he's nervous for his own reasons. Dean is about to get behind the wheel and race a man that makes his stomach turn with the questionable intent that radiates from the newcomers. He holds Dean's hand to keep both of them grounded on the trip to the straight stretch of road where all the races take place.

And Sam? Sam has heard all of the rumors. He and Jess had been having lunch when Ash sat down to give them the scoop, and he doesn't like what he's heard. And that's why his stomach sits so heavy, why he's so much more reluctant to let Dean race this time around.

Dean and Cas arrive to the race road to find that everyone else is already waiting. Dick Roman has a set jaw that accentuates the fact that he's more than a little pissed, but Dean is as cool as a cucumber when he steps out of his car. He's got that swagger in his step, a cigarette hanging out of his slightly-curved lips. Cas squeezes his hand once for good luck before they head out the doors, and he joins Sam and Jess in the sidelines.

"'Bout time you showed up. Too busy swappin' spit with your boyfriend there?" Dick nods to Cas standing off to the side.

"Aw, that's cute. Dick here feels so bad 'bout himself that he's gotta talk bad about everyone else," Dean says with a sickly-sweet smile, hands in his jacket pockets and his head tilted to the side. It earns him a snicker from the crowd.

Dick doesn't have a response to that, and he flounders for a minute in fury, the tops of his ears turning red. "Where're we racin' to?"

"See that tree down there?" He points to the lone tree at the end of the road. "First one past the tree wins."

"Sounds good." Dick nods.

"One of your guys goes down there, one of my guys goes down there. Make sure the results are fair," he adds, waving at Benny, one of his drinking buddies. Dick makes a sharp motion with his head, and one of his nameless cronies follows Benny to the end of the road. "Any wagers?"

"Nope," says Dick. "Whoever wins takes the title of the best racer in the country. That's it."

"All right." He sticks out his hand, and the two shake on it.

"You boys ready?" Ash asks, throwing an arm over each of their shoulders. He's the honorary flag boy, a title he claimed before any of the girls could get to it. Nobody really questions it.

Dean and Dick get behind the wheel of their respective cars.

"Start 'em up, boys!" Ash shouts. The reaction is almost immediate. Both of the cars rumble to life as they turn their keys. The audience is dead silent in anticipation. Dean can feel his heart thumping in his chest, can feel his stomach fluttering. He stares at the road before him intensely.

Ash raises a white handkerchief slowly, drawing out the whole ordeal. Then, in the blink of an eye, he brings it to the ground.

Both cars shoot off from the start line so fast that the skirts of the girls watching are ruffled, and Ash can feel his hair being whipped back. Dean has the petal pressed solidly to the floor, keeping his baby going in a straight line path to the tree. The Coupe rumbles around him, jarring his bones, but he holds the wheel steady and takes control of the immense power.

Cas is in the crowd, his body drawn tight and tense as he watches the men. They're neck-and-neck for the first few seconds, and it looks like it might be a close one. He watches as Dick's T-bird, however, starts to get a little wobbly, and the man starts slowing up and falling back.

Dean shoots by the tree seconds later, and it's an undeniable win.

He has a grin on his face when he turns his Coupe around and cruises back to the crowd. All the locals are cheering for him, and he exits the Coupe to a bombardment of exuberant faces, hugs, and pats on the back. Sam, Cas, and Jess shove their way over to him somehow, and he's so damn happy that he forgets how cool he's trying to be and hands out too-tight hugs to the three of them.

"That was great, Dean!" Jess exclaims in congratulations. She, unlike Sam, has no qualms with Dean's racing; in fact, she quite enjoys it.

"Thanks, Jess," Dean smiles, kissing the top of her head. He gets a pat on the back from Sam, who still looks like he doesn't want Dean to race but is grudgingly pleased that his brother won.

And Cas. Goddamn, does Dean want nothing more than to kiss him right now, but he knows he can't. Instead, they exchange a similar type of hug that he's handing out to pretty much everyone around him, taking a moment to whisper, "Just wait 'til I get you home," in his ear.

The little shudder that Cas gives as he pulls away is incentive enough to get home as fast as humanly possible.

"Dean!" exclaims Pamela, pulling the man in question into an excessively tender embrace. "You did so good! You comin' with the rest of us to celebrate at The Roadhouse?"

Dean hesitates. He really wants to get home, because he can see Cas from the corner of his eye wearing his damn t-shirt, and it's driving him nuts. But, hell, if he doesn't go, suspicion will be raised again.

"Aw, honey, you can bring Grumpy and his girlfriend and angel-eyes, too!" Pam exclaims, punching him playfully on the arm. "C'mon, it'll be fun!"

"Okay," Dean agrees, shooting a sheepish glance to Cas, who's already rolling his eyes at Dean's worry.

"Not so fast," comes a voice from the crowd, sounding so much like a phrase from a cheesy movie that Dean almost laughs. Dick shoves through the crowd until he's nose-to-nose with Dean. "The fuck did you do to her?"

"To Pam?" Dean asks. He knows that's not what Dick is asking, but he'll be damned if he doesn't take every chance to piss off the little shit standing in front of him.

"My car, you jackass! The fuck did you do to my car?!" he demands, shoving Dean. The crowd backs up to give the two of them room.

"Hold on there, kiddo. Don't go gettin' yourself into somethin' you can't handle," Dean says in warning, backing up from Dick just slightly. "I didn't do a damn thing to your car."

"Bullshit," Dick spits. "She was runnin' just fine before you were tinkerin' around in her today."

"You were there, and you know damn well that I didn't even touch her. Cas can vouch for me, too."

"Oh, so we're all supposed to believe the two faggots, huh?"

At this point, Sam steps in, towering over Dick. "You're not gonna get far in this town with a mouth like that, 'specially not if I can say anything about it."

"Sammy, don't. I got this." He gives his little brother a steady look, letting him know that he's got himself covered. Then he turns back to Dick. "I sure don't appreciate you runnin' your mouth in this town 'bout shit that's not true."

"You know damn well that what I said was true," Dick says, quietly but deadly.

"I know that you walked in here, talkin' shit 'bout my friends, that's what I know. And you better close that damn mouth of yours before I gotta knock it shut. Ya dig?"

Dick takes the first swing. He doesn't land it; Dean grabs his fist before he can. Then, he uses the other to place a hard punch right to the center of the asshole's face. He can feel Dick's nose crunch over until it's practically lined up with his cheek, and he knows it's broken.

The man backs up, clutching his nose as blood pours from it. A string of ribald curses falls from his lips, ending with a spluttered, "You motherfucker!"

"Oh, c'mon, Dick! Don't tell me you're outta commission already?" Dean taunts. It seems as though he is, however; all of the Leviathans are swarming Dick, helping him to his feet, and dragging him back to his car.

"You're gonna pay for this, Winchester, if it's the last fuckin' thing I do! You better sleep with one eye open 'cause I swear on my fuckin' life that I'll end yours!" the man shouts, flailing against the others who hold him.

Dean just keeps the smile on his face and waves. "'Kay, Dick. You do that!" he calls.

It seems to infuriate Dick even more, but by that time, his friends have restrained him in the backseat of one of their cars, and they don't hesitate to speed off in search of a hospital.

"Who's up for some celebratin'?" Dean loudly asks the silent crowd, and that gets them up in a state of commotion once again. People start cramming into cars, and those who didn't drive hitch a ride with someone else. Dean himself ends up with a carful of people: he only has one row of bench seats in the Coupe, but that doesn't stop Cas, Ash, and Jo from squeezing into the car with him. And really, Dean doesn't mind, because Cas is pressed flush against his right arm, one of his hands wrapped around Dean's shoulders in a seemingly innocuous action to make sure that everyone has enough room.

There's a lot of laughing on the way to The Roadhouse, but nothing is said that really sticks in Dean's mind. Ash cracks a joke, and everyone breaks out into fits of giggles, and it seems like they just don't stop until they're parked and piling out of the Coupe to flood the restaurant. In these times of celebration, nobody remains in their cars to take their meal. Rather, they all sit either inside the restaurant or at the picnic tables inside of it.

"Oh, great," Ellen groans when Dean saunters triumphantly inside; the kid is practically glowing, so it's obvious that he won a race. And even though she'll gripe at him for it, he brings in a damn big crowd, and race nights are her best nights.

"Aw, don't be like that, Ellen! Can't blame everyone for wantin' to celebrate my big race!" he teases back. He winks at her before heading over to his usual booth. They lose Ash and Jo to helping Ellen whip up the crazy amounts of orders that will be coming in, but they pick up Sam and Jess. The couples take their respective bench seats next to each other.

Before they're even settled, Jo is there in her apron. "All right, hot shot. You know you get a free slice of pie for winnin', so what else do you want?"

"Uh... I'll have a beer. And french fries for us all to share."

"Okay. Anything else for the rest of you?" Jo asks, looking at the others.

"Sam and I 'll have a Coke," Jess says. "And a sundae for us to share. Biggest size you got."

"Make that three Cokes," Cas adds.

"Gotcha," Jo grins, and she hands the order off to Ellen before heading to the next table.

Before Dean can even acknowledge Cas like he wants to, a group of giggling girls appears at the table, and they start fawning over Dean with words of praise, compliments about how cool he is, about what an amazing racer he is, and a thousand other things that they hope will coax the older Winchester into their pants.

Sometime during this, a waving motion catches Cas's eye from the window. He tries to ignore it for a while, since it's likely just someone partying, but soon it gets to be too much, and he glances over. And damn it, he wishes he hadn't.

Gabriel is standing there, waving to him furiously and rather obviously, and Cas wants to roll his eyes at how terribly typical that is of him; Gabriel can pull a series of pranks and have no one ever suspect him, but he has no grace with the little things.

"I'll be right back," he murmurs to Dean, who looks at him with the widest and most insecure pair of green eyes that Castiel has ever seen.

"Everything okay?" he asks.

"Mhm. I'm just going to go speak to someone. I'll be back before you know it," Cas says with the most reassuring smile he can muster, because nothing is wrong. He wants nothing more to kiss Dean just to make sure, but he quickly squeezes his hand before he gets up.

Gabriel is leaning against the hood of Lucius's Bel Air, meaning that yet another brother is milling around The Roadhouse. Cas walks over and keeps a careful distance from his brother.

"Nice shirt," are the first words from Gabriel's mouth. "That Dean's?"

"If you're here to patronize me..." Cas trails off, shaking his head. He has his arms crossed over his chest. He wants to make sure he communications that he's not amused.

"I'm not, I'm not," his brother assures him quickly. "Look, I just..." Gabriel runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. "I'm worried 'bout you, Castiel. You packed all your bags one day and left, and we hardly had any word on what happened to you."

"I didn't feel that it was anyone's business but mine."

"Yeah, okay, I get that. But, hell, Castiel. Couldn't you have just said something? Gave me a warning?" Gabriel looks so genuinely upset that it's hard for Castiel to stay mad at him. His brother scoots over and pats the hood of his car, inviting Cas to sit next to him, and with a little bit of hesitation, he does.

"It wasn't my intention. I was upset, and I didn't think," Cas tells him quietly, staring down at his sneakers. For the first time since moving out, he feels guilty for hurting his family.

"Yeah, well. I guess I can forgive ya. Zach and Michael were always pretty big dicks to you. Can't really blame you for finally gettin' fed up." At that, he gives an amused little snort. "Gotta hand it to you, though. It was pretty great to see how the two of them lost their heads when they found out you were gone, and then... damn, when they heard you were livin' with the Winchesters? Pretty sure Zach's face invented a new shade of red, that's how mad he was."

Even though it shouldn't, it does cause a certain kind of pride to well up in his stomach, replacing the dread that had rooted there when he first saw his brother.

"They didn't try to get ahold of me." It was meant to be a question, but he already knows that it's a statement of fact. He looks up at Gabriel, who in turn ducks his head and rubs at the back of his neck.

"Ah... no."

Cas nods. He really isn't surprised.

"They, uh... didn't really want anything to do with you after that. They were mad about that Winchester kid already, but they started gettin' suspicious that something funny was going on. They kinda..." he heaves a sigh at this, like he doesn't want to say it, "decided you weren't part of the family anymore."

"Oh." He still isn't surprised, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. It feels as though his throat is constricting, and there's a stinging in his eyes until Gabriel throws a comforting arm around his shoulder and gives him a relatively awkward hug.

"Look, kiddo. I... I don't care what you're doin' with Dean. I won't tell a soul, and I won't make you tell me anything you don't wanna. And I'll be honest; that kind of thing isn't somethin' I'd touch with a ten foot pole," he says, a little bit of amusement leaking through with that last statement. "But you're still my little brother. Nothin' will change that. And I'm not the kind of person who's gonna make you feel bad just because of something I don't believe in."

The words warm Castiel's heart to the point where he struggles for a response for a few minutes. He returns the hug, murmuring a quiet, "Thank you," because it's the only thing that he can get out of his mouth.

They pull apart and Gabriel ruffles Cas's hair with his familiar smile on his face. "Aw, don't mention it, little bro."

Cas hesitates before he asks his next question. The answer could potentially hurt him more than Zachariah and Michael's scorn, but he has to know.

"Lucius and... and Anna? Are they...?"

"They're not mad at you, if that's what you wanna know. They don't believe all the crap that Zach and Michael are spittin' out. But, y'know. They miss you, too," Gabriel tells him. There's no hint of a joke in his voice, though Cas knows he'd never pull a prank that hurtful.

"That's good," he says on an exhale of relief, and he glances around. "Are they here?"

"Yeah, they're wanderin' around here somewhere."

Cas nods and makes a mental note that he'll have to say hello if he sees them.

"Well," says Gabriel, pushing himself up from the hood of the Bel Air. "I'll let you get back to celebratin'. Remember to be safe and use protection and all that."

"Gabriel," Cas scolds him with a roll of his eyes.

"What? I'm your big brother; gotta act like it!"

Despite himself, Castiel finds that he's laughing. He and his brother exchange another hug and say their goodbyes before Cas heads back into The Roadhouse. By now, everyone has given their personal congratulations to Dean, and the food is starting to be served, so most people have retreated to their respective tables. He slides into the seat next to Dean quietly.

"Hey!" the man exclaims in greeting, though it's muffled due to a mouthful of pie. "Where'd you go? We got our food already!"

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Sam reprimands him. "It's gross."

"Oh, bite me." Dean says it with a mouthful of food just to spite his brother. Then, he swallows his food and turns back to Cas. "Well?"

"Gabriel was here, so I went to talk to him," Castiel says nonchalantly. He reaches for a french fry.

"He was? Did it go okay? He's not mad at you, is he?"

"No. He's actually quite supportive of my decisions."

"Oh. Well, that's good." Dean sounds about as relieved as Cas feels. He pushes his pie over to the man next to him. "Wanna share?"

"Woah, Dean Winchester sharing his victory pie? Is Hell frozen over?" Sam asks sarcastically. Dean's glare is so immediate that Jess snorts and almost chokes on her Coke from laughing.

"Can it, bitch."

"Whatever, jerk. You're just in denial."

It speaks volumes that Dean does nothing more than roll his eyes in response to Sam. Instead, he hands Cas a fork with a soft smile on his face. "Well, dig in."