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Dean was going to make Sam pay for this.
He would kidnap him, break into the gym at night, and then strap him to the treadmill and make him beg for mercy.
The thought of vengeance brought a small smile to his face and distracted him momentarily from the painful stitch in his side. A moment later, he felt Sam come up next to him.
“I know that smile. You’re plotting your revenge against me, aren’t you,” Sam said, sounding – to Dean’s immense satisfaction – a bit apprehensive.
Good, he should be scared. Even if Dean didn’t quite go as far as kidnapping him, there was always the classic move of switching his hair products or toothpaste out for something else. Though of course since Sam moved in with Jess, his girlfriend of five years, that would be far more tricky to pull off than it was when they were still living together.
But he’d find a way. He was motivated.
“You don’t get to talk to me,” Dean said grumpily, pointing at Sam in an accusatory way. His words had a lot less bite than he would’ve wished seeing as he basically had to gasp for breath between each word. Sam – the little shit – looked less than impressed.
“Dean,” he started, his calm and placating tone making Dean want to punch him in the face, “I know this is hard right now but that’s because you’re so out of shape – I mean, you’ve only been running for, what, fifteen minutes? But if you come with me a couple of times, you’ll be on the same level as me before you know it.”
“Forget it Sammy,” Dean said, panting every few words, “I only came here today because mom guilt-tripped me into it.” There was a slight pause as he got his breathing under control. “Mark my words, I will never come back here.”
Sam shrugged, already turning away. “Okay Dean, I can’t make you do this. I know you were probably planning on spending the weekend watching tv, but think about it – with all that crap you eat every week, I kinda not want to have to say goodbye to my big brother prematurely.” He then walked away around the corner to the section of the gym that had all the weights, no doubt to work on his already impressive biceps and triceps.
The stitch came back in full force and Dean had to lower the speed of the treadmill so he could walk it off. Damn, now Dean felt guilty. Because truth be told, he had been planning to spend the weekend once again sitting at home in his underwear, marathoning the latest season of Doctor Sexy and eating takeout. He had become a little bit of a hermit lately, only going out when Charlie or Benny invited him, and then usually they ended up just doing something at their place, like watching movies or playing games. Often accompanied by copious amounts of junk food. As a result, his stomach had started to become a little more pudgy than before…
The thought revitalized Dean. Sam had a point, loath as he was to admit it. It definitely wouldn’t hurt to get some exercise in. Sure, his upper body strength was great - courtesy of his day job as a mechanic - but his lower body left something to be desired. Damn it, he could do this! His finger moved to press the button that would increase the pace to running speed once more.
“Excuse me, but is this treadmill taken?”
Dean sighed internally, dropping his hand. Just as he’d found his second wind, some douchebag had to interrupt him and break his concentration. Also, what kind of a question was that? It wasn’t like these treadmills had people’s names written on it, or that you could reserve one or something. If it’s free, it’s free. How hard could it be to figure that out?
He was about to deliver a sarcastic retort when he locked eyes with the guy who’d come up next to him. Blue eyes, strong jaw, messy dark-brown hair that made Dean’s fingers itch with the desire to run them through it, and – he realized belatedly as his brain caught up – a voice that was somehow simultaneously rough as gravel and smooth as bourbon. Dean’s ideal type in every single way.
Dean couldn’t help it – he stumbled. At walking speed.
He recovered quickly, pausing the treadmill and bending down with a mumbled “damn, sorry, my shoelaces got untied”. He made a show of retying them quickly, before standing up again and facing the stranger, refusing to even acknowledge the amused sparkle in his eyes and upturned corner of his mouth.
“Yeah, of course it’s free, go ahead man,” Dean said, shrugging lightly. Stay cool, you got this.
“Oh, good, it’s just that there’s a water bottle here so I thought it was already occupied,” the guy responded, gesturing towards – damn! He’d somehow put his bottle in the wrong holder.
Dean managed to keep a straight face as he took the water bottle and placed it in his treadmill’s holder. “Oh yea, that’s mine. Sorry, I guess I wasn’t paying enough attention when I put it down,” he said casually. Ok, this was good, his dignity remained intact.
The guy smiled at him and Dean couldn’t help returning it. They both turned back towards their respective treadmills, with Dean sneaking glances at the guy out of the corner of his eye.
A minute later, both men had started a new program and were jogging at a mild pace (the guy probably still needed to warm up). Really, Dean had only intended to run for maybe five or ten minutes more, but he suddenly found himself doubly motivated to keep going for at least 30 minutes. For the sake of his health, of course. No ulterior motives there.
They must’ve been the only two people in the entire gym who weren’t listening to music on their phones or mp3 players. This meant there was a clear opportunity for conversation. And despite the less than ideal start, Dean was definitely interested in getting better acquainted with this man, who was obviously a seasoned runner because those legs and thighs were just to die for and he wasn’t even breaking a sweat yet.
Dean spent the next few minutes thinking of the best way to approach this conversation, all the while matching the guy’s steady increase in pace.
But before he could break out his opening line – which would’ve been amazing because he can charm the pants off anyone and has awesome game, thank-you-very-much – the guy beat him to it with a question of his own.
“Are you okay? Your breath sounds very irregular. You should take it easy. Don’t want to overdo it, right?” His facial expression was neutral and friendly, but Dean could hear the challenge in the guy’s voice. And yeah, maybe he had noticed that he was sweating and panting yet again, but who was that guy to comment on it?
What Dean did next was a bad, bad idea. But he couldn’t help it. Never let it be said that Dean Winchester ever backed away from a challenge.
“Dude, I’m fine,” Dean managed to get out without having to pause for breath. “I’m just not at my ideal speed yet and it’s putting me off.” He increased the pace of the treadmill even more, moving from a quick jogging speed to a medium running speed. The sudden increase was brutal, and he had to grit his teeth and focus on his breathing to keep up.
Next to him, the guy matched his increase in speed with a shrug and a “suit yourself”. Smug bastard wasn’t even breathing all that quick. Where was he hiding that extra lung because Dean sure could use one right now.
Five minutes later, Dean was dying. Because he was concentrating on his breathing so much, he managed to keep himself from hyperventilating, but the stitch was back with a vengeance and the pain was almost unbearable. His leg muscles were also starting to ache. He couldn’t keep this up much longer. Blue eyes was gonna beat him, and he was gonna have to go off with his tail between his legs. It wasn’t fair, anyway. Dean had been running for fifteen minutes already before the guy had even shown up!
Distracted by his thoughts, Dean didn’t noticed the oncoming leg cramp until it was too late. With a cry, he lost his balance, falling off the treadmill onto the gym floor with a hard thump.
Luckily, the floor was slightly padded, and while he’d banged his knee and elbow quite hard against the treadmill, his head had been spared from any injury. It hurt a lot, though, what with the cramp still raging, and Dean was curled in on himself moaning softly in pain and cradling his leg when he felt a hand touch his shoulder. He looked up to see the guy looking at him in concern.
“Are you okay, Dean? Let me see,” he said, gently pulling Dean’s arms away from his leg and checking to see the damage. He wasn’t bleeding, thank god, but a big bruise was slowly blossoming on his kneecap and upper leg.
“We need to stretch your leg to get rid of the cramp,” the guy said, moving Dean into a different position that would allow him to do just that. “Here, let me.” He carefully stretched Dean’s leg, and the relief was almost immediate, though it was tempered with the pain his new bruise was causing.
Dean inspected his elbow, and found no blood there, either. All in all, he was damned lucky. That fall could’ve been a lot uglier.
Through the haze of pain he registered an almost pleasant feeling. It was coming from his leg, the one with the cramp that had now passed. It felt like…
The guy was softly stroking and squeezing his leg. Running his warm hands up and down his calf almost reverently, still looking at him in deep concern. Dean’s cheeks warmed slightly. He was pretty sure that this wasn’t strictly necessary to help get rid of a cramp, but he wasn’t about to complain.
“Dean, are you alright?” The guy asked again.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for the help.” He waved away a nervous gym employee that had been hovering nearby, assuring him that he wasn’t seriously injured.
He turned back to the guy, meeting his gaze. And this time, now that the pain was receding into a dull, manageable ache, Dean realized what was wrong with the guy’s words.
“How do you know my name?” He asked, narrowing his eyes.
The guy’s reaction was immediate. His face turned completely red, easily beating out Dean’s earlier discrete blush, and he averted his eyes.
“I am a friend of Sam’s actually,” he mumbled. “He talks about you a lot.”
Dean sat up a little straighter. “What? How?”
“I‘m head of accounting for the law firm he just started working at. We meet regularly for lunch and during staff meetings,” he explained, recovering calm composure. “He may have mentioned me before? My name is Castiel Novak.”
Oh. Oh! Sam had indeed mentioned him before, once. Said he was this weird but cool guy, that he thought he was just Dean’s type and that he was happy to introduce the two of them. Dean had brushed Sam off with some kind of bullshit excuse that he was too busy to date, and it hadn’t come up again. He hadn’t truly believed that Sam even knew what his type was.
He was wrong. Sam evidently knew him better than he’d thought.
“Uh, yeah, actually he did. It’s good to meet you, though I’ll be honest here, you haven’t really seen me at my best.” Dean smiled self-deprecatingly. He stood up, then, holding out a hand to Castiel who took it gratefully.
Castiel smiled back. “I believe you. Don’t feel bad about cramping up – it can happen to anyone, especially when they’re not frequent runners. Although,” he paused, throwing Dean a mock stern look, “in your case I believe it happened because you pushed yourself too hard.”
“Hey,” Dean exclaimed, feeling the need to defending himself, “you kinda goaded me there man, admit it! What was I supposed to do, back down?”
Castiel coughed, looking somewhat embarrassed. “I will admit to trying to motivate you to keep running, as Sam had mentioned to me that you could do with the exercise. I just didn’t think you’d take to the challenge with quite such vigour and try to match my pace. Your brother failed to mention just how strong your competitive spirit was.
Hah! If Sam played down Dean’s competitiveness he must’ve really been serious about presenting a good image of Dean to Castiel. He must really want them to work out. Come to think of it…
“So…” Dean raised his eyebrows, “is it a total coincidence that you’re here on the same day I decide to come in for the very first time, or did a certain someone who bears an uncanny resemblance to a sasquatch tip you off?”
Castiel’s deer-in-the-headlights look gave him the answer.
“I see. I bet he pointed me out to you too, didn’t he? So you could come and run on the treadmill next to me?”
Castiel’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry Dean,” he said contritely. “I just…really wanted to meet you and when Sam said that you weren’t interested in a formal date, I thought that meeting you in a more casual way might be better.”
That was one hell of a confession. It took guts for Castiel to admit it, thereby leaving him vulnerable and open to rejection should Dean wish to turn him away. However, rather than thinking about rejection, Dean chose to focus on feeling incredibly flattered that Castiel had wanted to meet him so badly he’d conspired with his little brother. Sure, it was a bit weird, but he trusted Sam not to set him up with a creepy stalker.
“Oh wow, that, uh, actually makes sense.” Okay, this was the part where Dean was supposed to segue into asking Castiel out, because – let’s face it – despite everything that had happened so far, he was definitely still interested in getting to know Castiel better and finding out if those smooth, warm hands were good at other things besides calf massages...
Completely oblivious to the fact he’d obviously let the silence stretch on for a tad too long, Dean was startled by a soft cough from Castiel. “I’m sorry,” he said, his body language shutting down, “I’ll just go, this was a bad idea anyway and look how it turned out. I’m so sorry to have bothered you, Dean. Goodbye.”
As he turned away, Dean moved on instinct, lunging forward and grabbing Castiel’s t-shirt with a cry of “wait!”
If only he hadn’t missed the sports bag on the ground between them.
Oh crap, not again, Dean thought as he went down, taking Castiel with him.
Dean landed rather softly on top of Castiel, who’d taken the brunt of the fall. Luckily, due to the padding and the fact that they were far enough away from any exercise machines, no real harm was done.
This meant that both men - after exchanging assurances that they were fine – realized at the same time that their entire bodies were now in contact with each other. For what felt like the hundred time today, they both flushed faintly and couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdness of the situation.
“So,” Dean smirked, finally feeling like he had the upper hand, “You caused me to fall off my treadmill, I accidentally drag you down with me. I think that makes us even now.”
“No,” Castiel replied, amusement dancing in his eyes. “I don’t think we are. It was not my fault your leg cramped and you fell, whereas in this scenario you clearly are the culprit, unintentional or not.”
“So what do you suggest then?”
“I must insist you let me take you out to dinner.”
Dean pretended to consider it. “Okay, but…” He moved his mouth closer to Castiel’s, until they were only an inch or two apart. “Only if I get to give you the best post-first date kiss you’ve ever had.”
The joy that lit up Castiel’s face was a wonder to behold, and Dean hoped he’d get to see it many times from now on.
“I don’t know Dean, I’ve had some pretty great post-date kisses. Not sure you can make good on that promise,” Castiel answered teasingly, stroking his fingers lightly over Dean’s arms.
“What can I say? I like a challenge.”