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A Longing for Home

Summary:

Running late one morning, Dean Winchester bumps into the last person he expected to see: his childhood friend Castiel. Fifteen years after their fallout, things get complicated as they try to rebuild their friendship. Will Dean who is adapting to being a single father and Castiel who still struggles with his religious upbringing, be able to reconcile so many years later?
There are some things better left in the past and yet, when they get dredged back up neither of them can stay away.

Notes:

It feels very weird to put a story out into the world that you've been working on for the last six months since you-know-what-event. This is the first fic in this fandom and the first I've posted in many years but I'm very, very excited - I hope I do the characters justice :) ( this is my tumblr if you'd like to chat fandom with me)
Uptop I'd also like to thank my wonderful beta spacegirlstuff for encouraging me and giving me valuable advice. Thank you for putting up with my very specific questions!
This story will update every Sunday - the 20 chapters is an estimate and might still change :)
Thank you for reading!

Chapter 1: One.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t exactly his fault he was late.

After all Dean’s time management skills had improved since his twenties. He had found out a long time ago that facing teenagers before his first hit of caffeine was a bad idea. Most mornings he even managed to talk to his colleagues in the staff room or to go through his notes before his first class. So, this particular Tuesday morning, when his coffee machine finally broke after being on its last leg for the past three years, it wasn’t a complete disaster. He would have to stop at the small bakery just around the corner from his school and then just skip the friendly banter and head straight to his classroom. Possibly, he’d still have time to double check his plan before the bell rang.

Parking the impala on the curb he frowned at the sight in the rear-view mirror. There were wrappers and crumbs all over the back seat. His younger self would cringe if they knew how Baby was treated nowadays. With a sigh Dean resolved to clean her on Saturday.

The bakery was busy as usual in the morning, but there were things Dean minded more than waiting with the smell of delicious baked goods wafting from the kitchen.

His phone chimed as he got in line. Care to help a girl out?

Dean rubbed his face with a sigh. While he was decidedly not a morning person and had to force himself out of bed to get to work, his friend Charlie was the complete opposite. And by helping out she most certainly meant answering some obscure question for her comic book series. Sure, Dean typed back.

Within seconds he received a reply: What’s the dress code for Irish squires in the mid 17-hundreds? Dean sighed. In Charlie’s book being a high school history teacher qualified him as a legitimate source no matter how many times he tried to convince her of the opposite. And since he didn’t want her book to be taken apart by comic book nerds, more often than not, he went and read up on the subjects in actual academic literature written by actual historians. More than once, he had thought about getting her a library card.

He was so caught up in wracking his brain, whether he knew even a single thing about Irish squires, he didn’t register someone speaking to him until they said his name rather loudly. Disoriented he looked up only to stare into scarily familiar blue eyes. He blinked.

“Dean Winchester, right?” the person in front of him repeated themself.

Suddenly Dean’s mouth felt very dry. “Cas?” he asked, hoping his voice didn’t waver. “What are you doing here?”

“I believe I’m getting breakfast,” the other man deadpanned. He wore black chinos and a dress shirt and a beige trench coat, even though it was 7:30 in the morning. His hair was now slicked back and there were unfamiliar lines on his face, but there was no denying it: it was Castiel Novak in the flesh. Cas who Dean had not seen in about twenty years.

His brain didn’t seem to be able to form sentences, so Castiel continued after a pause, “I’m here for family business.” If he flinched at that it was very subtle. “I will probably be in town for a bit.”

“Right,” Dean replied, struggling for words, “well, I’m still here.”

“I can see that.”

Damn, how had his peaceful morning turned into Blast from the Past? Unsure of what to retort, Dean was relieved when the lady behind the counter turned to Cas and asked him for his order. Black tea with milk and a scone. Not much had changed there at least.

It was overwhelming seeing his best friend from years ago so unexpectedly and before he’d even had his first coffee. He was normally fine at small talk but under these circumstances, every single topic he could think of felt too heavy. Racking his brain, the best thing he could come up with was, “I’m a teacher at the high school down the road.” If Cas was surprised at his line of work, he didn’t show it then either.

“I’m glad.”

It was the nonchalance of it all that caused Dean’s brain to short circuit. He had imagined running into Castiel a million times, had even tried to stalk out his house before that had felt too creepy, and then out of the blue, here he stood in a random bakery after twenty years had passed and didn’t even seem fazed by it.

Dean ordered just a black coffee and started to fiddle with his rings. His mind was racing at a million miles per hour with all the questions he would have liked to ask right on the spot, but unfortunately, he really had to get going if he didn’t want to be late to his first class. For a moment he wondered whether he shouldn’t just walk out of the bakery without looking back on the encounter. He certainly had every right to be angry- the very last thing he needed was to be roped back into the Novaks’ shit. However, even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew even if he did that, he wouldn’t be able to forget about it so easily. Winchesters didn’t walk away until things were done.

“We should get a drink sometime,” he mumbled, trying to calm his nerves. Somehow, he’d foolishly thought he had gotten over his need for closure years ago. There was no point in making chitchat when all Dean wanted was to shake the guy. If Castiel didn’t want to meet him, it might even be better for his sanity.

“Yes, that would be nice,” Cas replied, already pulling out a pen and scribbling down what looked like his number on his napkin. “You should text me.” He handed the napkin to Dean, who found himself looking down at the numbers as if they had a hidden meaning. Well done, Winchester, getting yourself into awful situations just like the good old days. Nothing good could come of this and yet, there was no way in hell he wouldn’t text.

“Yeah,” he replied slowly, “I will.” He absentmindedly got out his wallet, paying no attention to the small photos tucked inside, and paid for his order. Cas’s sudden dumbfounded expression returned him firmly back into the present. He followed the other’s eyes and the thought hit him like a wave: they knew nothing about each other anymore. It nearly made him laugh out loud, it seemed ridiculous, that that was the case after everything that had happened, and yet Cas had no way of knowing…

“That’s my two kids,” he stated regaining the upper hand again, and this time around he couldn’t stop the sound of laughter bubbling up at the look of utter confusion on the other man’s face. Oh boy, Cas was in for a surprise.