Colours and Whites Can Mix -- As Long As You Like Pink Underwear {One}
November 17, 2010
Castiel stared blankly at the ceiling of his bedroom. He had long outgrown the glow-in-the-dark constellations that were sprinkled haphazardly across the white-washed tiles. The clowns and puppies on his wallpaper just added to the childish mess, the only true sanctuary he had ever known.
His church had always been kind to him, and it was certainly his home away from home, but something always felt wrong when he was there. A dull ache began to pound in the back of his mind whenever he went to the Sunday services, which he dutifully did every week. The throbbing would increase with the intensity of the sermons, and on several occasions, he had had to be escorted outside because of a migraine. As soon as he crossed the threshold, however, the pain would disappear.
Jimmy used to joke that either Castiel was faking, or he was possessed by a demon who didn’t appreciate Pastor Jacobson’s dry lectures. The elderly Bishop was infamous for his long, rambling sermons that often had little to do with the Bible, and more to do with his views on kids these days.
Jimmy used to joke about a lot of things.
After kissing their mother on the cheek, Jimmy ran off to join some of his buddies for a hike. Halfway up the trail, Jimmy tripped over a loose stone and startled a snake, who was more than happy to sink his fangs into the fleshy beast disrupting his nap.
Now it was just Castiel.
Castiel, whose only redeeming feature in his father’s eyes was his faith. While Jimmy had cheerfully admitted to his atheism years ago, Castiel was steadfast in his beliefs. He knew there was a God, and he was willing to devote his life to him.
Michael, the patriarch of the Novaks, was also the Stake President for eleven local wards. He had been greatly wounded by Jimmy’s atheism, but no one could hate Jimmy. Now that Castiel was nineteen, he was to fulfill his duties to his God and his church.
He became a missionary.
Today was the last day he would see his family for two years. They wouldn’t be allowed to contact one another until he completed the mission. He couldn’t return to Minneapolis for any reason. Tomorrow he would take his first ever flight on a plane to Los Angeles where he was to be paired with a complete stranger. They wouldn’t be allowed to be more than five yards apart during the time they were paired together.
Castiel sighed and rose from his bed. The cowboy sheets had been a prank gift from Jimmy the last Christmas before his death. Jimmy loved to pretend he was a cowboy and a pirate and a pioneer who got to have all sorts of adventures. Castiel, the sickly, diabetic boy, just read about them.
He made his way downstairs where the smell of fresh bread wafted from the kitchen. Rachel, his mother, was frying up what seemed to be a failed attempt at scrambled eggs. She was a sweet woman, but a terrible cook.
Castiel was the younger twin, which meant he was also the baby of the family. From his perch on the staircase, he could hear his other siblings clamoring for more orange juice.
Lucifer, or Luce, was the oldest at twenty four. He had just returned home from his own mission in Moscow. Castiel knew Jimmy would have loved to have poked fun at their brother’s new Russian accent. After Luce was Anael, or Anna, the only daughter. She was a twenty-three year old spitfire who was soon-to-be married to Pastor Jacobson’s tattooed, chain-smoking son.
Entering the dining room was easy. Avoiding the flying piece of toast was not. Luce and Anna stopped mid-food-fight to laugh at their youngest brother as he wiped the butter and crumbs from his eyes.
“Wanna join in, Cassifrass?” Anna chucked a strip of bacon in his direction. “It’s gonna be your last Novak Bacon Battle Royale for a while.”
He sat in his designated chair at the end of the table. Raising an eyebrow at his sister, Castiel placed his napkin on his lap, smoothing the edges neatly. He helped himself to some slightly rubbery eggs, a blackened slice of wheat toast, and some bacon.
The sudden silence was his cue to duck.
Four pieces of bacon hit the wall behind him with a satisfying smack. He sat back up and began to cut the crusts off his toast in an attempt to save some part of his breakfast from inedibility.
Anna huffed, “Well then.” She raised her arm to throw the next round, when fingers gently closed around her wrist. Michael had arrived.
He let go and sat at the head of the table. “I think that’s enough of that. You should save some energy for turkey bowling this afternoon.”
Anna and Luce perked up. It was a family tradition to hold a turkey bowl when the town’s small lake froze over. They used liter bottles of soda that were kept cold by sitting on the lake’s surface, the winner got their choice of soda and bragging rights for the next year.
“Really, Dad?” Luce’s eyes glinted dangerously. “Are you ready to finally go down?”
Castiel scoffed at his siblings. “No one has ever beaten him at turkey bowling. That Butterball Backcurve is undefeatable.”
“That’s right, children.” Michael sipped his orange juice impressively. “Do not tempt fate.”
The three adults who were not happy about being called children settled down and actually began eating their food.
“Besides, this is Castiel’s last day with us for a while. A good old fashioned turkey bowl will be just the good luck he needs for his mission.” Selecting the least burnt piece of toast, Michael continued. “And don’t think you’re not cleaning the bacon grease off that wall, Anael.”
Rachel came in with more eggs and orange juice. She surveyed the table with a disapproving glare. “Did you two waste all my bacon on another stupid Royale?”
Anna and Luce smothered laughter as their mother glared.
Castiel finished his meal and took his plate to the kitchen. He loved his family, but he had trouble being as free as they were today. He pondered their excess of energy and hoped it wasn’t genetic. Placing the dish in the sink, he caught his reflection in the window.
But it wasn’t his reflection.
A horrible shadow smirked back at him from the glass. Black shreds of wings and a tortured face were pressed up to the window, its hand left streaks of purplish-black blood as it beckoned him closer.
Castiel froze, he could feel his blood pause and then it was if his mind dissolved in a shower of sparks. He saw the creature, he saw a flash of jade green eyes, and then he saw nothing.
November 18, 2010
The weird guy was back.
Dean peeked cautiously from the safety of the restaurant’s kitchen. The cracks between the slats of the swinging doors were perfect for spying on the customers. Craning his neck for a better view, Dean studied the gigantic, plaid-clothed stranger in the corner.
Except for his height, the guy wasn’t really all that noticeable, and when he was sitting down, he blended in almost perfectly.
This was Ellen’s Roadhouse, a home away from home for all the homesick Midwesterners with an urge for beer, burgers, and Patsy Cline. It was a rustic little building tucked away from the worst of the Los Angeles bustle.
“Dean!”
Ellen was gesturing a him from her perch behind the bar. She was a handsome lady in her late forties with dark blonde hair and kind eyes. She also wanted him to serve the weird guy sitting in his wait section-which wasn’t going to happen.
Even when her eyes narrowed dangerously like that. She wasn’t going to scare him into talking with creepy guy again. No sir.
Or maybe just this once.
After arriving in California when he was seventeen, Dean did the only reasonable thing: he read the paper and applied for every non-sexual job available. After two weeks, he had only got two callbacks: handing out leaflets dressed as a taco or being a waiter. After little-to-no deliberation, he decided not to go down the dark, yet intriguing road of being a street-corner taco, and accepted the waiting position.
Ellen was good to him, so maybe he could suffer a minute with the guy.
“Chicken.” Dean leapt back from his spying when Jo socked him in the shoulder. At nineteen, she was confidant beyond her years. She may have been Ellen’s daughter, but she didn’t possess half of the finesse that her mom did. Ellen could change a situation as she pleased with as little as a raised eyebrow, but Jo always seemed to resort to violence. A fact to which his throbbing shoulder could testify.
Jo scoffed, “Don’t be such a girl, Dean. The guy probably just wants another burger, why are you so freaked?”
“Maybe because he keeps coming in and asking really personal shit about me?” Sighing, Dean leaned against a counter covered in salad supplies. “Maybe because I don’t want to tell him where I grew up and how my parents met and when I was born and where and all that stuff?”
“Maybe he likes you. You could do worse than that tall glass of water, Dean. If I went for farmhand boys who didn’t hit on my male best friends, I’d do him in a heartbeat. Look at those shoulders… ” Jo winked at him. “How about this, you take dish duty for me tonight, I’ll handle hot, creepy guy.”
“Deal.” Dean relaxed and popped a cucumber slice in his mouth. “Damn, where does Ellen get this stuff? This is a good cucumber.”
“That church on North Normandie. They sell vegetables and shit every Saturday. Ask Mom, she’d probably pick up extra for you if you ask.”
Dean spat out the cucumber with a sour look on his face. “So these were, what, grown with the power of Christ? No, thank you.”
“Whatever, Dean, whatever. I’m gonna go serve creepy guy before Mom’s head explodes.”
November 18, 2010
“Are you sure you’re all right to fly? I mean, what with your fainting spell yesterday. Maybe we could ask for some more time before you leave.” Rachel fussed with Castiel’s tie, biting her lip as she did. “What if you get sick again, sweetie?”
Castiel’s head throbbed like God himself was reaching down from Heaven to squeeze his brain. In other words, it hurt like a bitch.
He sighed, “Mom, please, I’ll be fine. I just didn’t sleep very well.”
“It’s that low blood sugar of yours. If it isn’t one thing with you kids, it’s another. Remember when Jimmy…” She trailed off, heartbroken.
“Don’t worry, Mother. Cassifrass is going to be fine in L.A. You know how boring he is.” Luce ruffled his brother’s hair. “Look at him in his monkey suit, no girl would dare to corrupt him.”
Rachel sniffled into her handkerchief. “He’d be such a handsome boy if he just did something about his hair, Lucifer.”
“Mom, I like my hair.” Castiel gave her one last hug. “I have to go now. I love you all. And I promise to monitor my blood sugar more carefully in L.A.”
“You know we won’t miss you, kid.” Anna cheerfully patted him on the back. “Now no one will stop our Bacon Battle Royales.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Anael.” Michael’s low voice spoke lightly. He stepped forward, placing the largest of Castiel’s suitcases on the ground. “Son, I want you to know that God is proud of you today. As am I.” He raised his arms as if to give his son a hug, but turned his motion into an awkward double-handed shake as Michael was not in the habit of hugging anyone, even his family. “When you return, it will be a glorious day for the Novaks.”
Castiel nodded, unable to speak. The last time he had seen his father emote so much was at Jimmy’s funeral. He swallowed hard and managed to say, “I’m going to miss you, Dad.”
His father’s silent nod said more than his goodbye. This was it. He was really on the road to proving himself to God.
Picking up his bags, Castiel entered the airport. He left behind his home, his life, and his family.
If only he could get those green eyes out of his head.
November 18, 2010
Dean munched on some French fries from table six’s order. They wouldn’t notice.
“What did you do to these, Bela? These are freaking delicious.”
“I’ll never tell.” The Roadhouse’s British cook, Bela, was a real piece of work. Ellen liked her staff to be more than just good workers, she always picked ones with character-Dean was no exception. “I will say this, though; basil.”
Jo stomped through the doors, glowering at Dean. “Your glass of water won’t even let me serve him. He says he needs to talk to you.”
“Well, tell him ‘Fat Chance.’ There’s no way I’m talking to him.” Dean grabbed another handful of fries.
The doors swung open again as Ellen swept into the kitchen. Her lips were pressed into a thin line and she looked pissed. “I know Disney has plans to open a Fantasia restaurant where the plates fly themselves to the tables. But until then, what do we do?”
The puny mortals scattered under the angry god’s wrath.
Dean paused at the doors, “What about the weird guy?”
“Dean Winchester. Find your balls and serve that customer or so help me, I will…” He was gone before she could finish her sentence. Ellen smiled to herself, “I guess I still got it.”
The chastised Dean scurried out to the corner booth where the gigantor sat. “Welcome to the Roadhouse, how can I-“
“Dean? Can you sit down for a while, I really need to-“
Dean stopped him mid-sentence. “Listen, dude, I’m flattered, but I’m so not interested, okay?”
“What?” The confused puppy look the weirdo sported was almost adorable. But his freakish stalking was definitely a major turn-off. “I just need to tell you-“
“Seriously, back off. Can I get you a burger? How about another double with cheese? You want it, yes? Good. Bye.”
Dean fled back to the kitchen. He was safe behind the Employees Only sign. Or so he thought.
“Dean? I really need to talk to you. Your life may be in danger.” The stranger was even taller up close. Freaky.
“Whoa, listen, man, I don’t know what you’re smoking, but you can’t be back here. Kitchen’s off limits to the customers. Do you want the Health Department to ride our asses? Get out!” He gave him a feeble push, but the guy appeared to be made out of some type of flesh-like stone. “Who the hell are you?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! My name is-“ There was a crash, and the stranger collapsed. Bela stood over him, heavy frying pan raised in triumph.
“Get this guy out of my kitchen, Dean.” She looked the prone figure on the ground in disdain.
Jo and Ellen ran in, causing the doors to swing wildly.
“What in God’s name is an unconscious customer doing in my kitchen?” Dean had never seen Ellen so angry. She was scary enough in general, but this was way beyond normal.
“He followed Dean, Ellen. He wouldn’t stop, so I took him out. Should we call the cops?”
“Yes, Bela. Do that. I need to speak with Dean, Joanna Beth, please leave us.”
“But Mom-“
“Out. Both of you.”
They scurried away, leaving Dean alone with his scary boss and the creepy unconscious guy. This was so not what his horoscope had described this morning.
“What did he want, Dean?”
“Nothing, he was just babbling… but he did say my life was in danger or some shit like that.”
“How so?” Her gaze was sharp, like an enraged mama bear’s.
“I don’t know. He’s crazy, Ellen.”
“Okay, I’ll watch him. You get out there and tend bar for me.”
“Yeah, okay.”
November 18, 2010
Castiel had a lot of time to think on the plane.
He had no idea what the bloody creature in the window was. Was it a vision or a fever dream or something?
Whose eyes haunted his restless dreams? He knew very few people with green eyes and none of such a vibrant color. This color spoke of long walks on a Sunday afternoon, of the budding leaves of spring; it was a color he could associate with eternal happiness. But he had no clue as to whom the eyes belonged.
It was hard to concentrate when his head was hurting so much.
When he had passed out, his family had come running to his aid. They found him on the floor unconscious with a bloody nose. The incident had scared his mother into a frenzy; she was terrified that her cooking had somehow caused him to go into a diabetic coma. Within ten minutes he was in an ambulance on his way to the hospital.
That was not how he had intended to spend his last night in Minnesota.
It was reasonable for his parents to be worried. He was out cold for nearly twenty minutes and even the ambulance ride didn’t wake him up. Plus, Castiel had never been sick a day in his life. He’d never even had a cold, which was unheard of in Minneapolis, where winter temperatures often induced a heavy flu season on the communities.
At least his mother had let him leave.
He was just curious as to what had brought on the fainting spell.
His thoughts were interrupted by the crushing jolt one always feels when a plane lands. The stewardesses helped him retrieve his bags and he was off. The church always sent someone to collect their missionaries, so he didn’t need to worry about how he would find his new companions.
Cassteal Novack. His name was misspelled and scrawled messily on a white piece of copy paper being fought over by two twenty-somethings in suits. His welcoming committee was a short, stout fellow; a lanky European-type; and an African-American who seemed to be constipated. Charming.
“I am Elder Novak.” He set his bags down and offered his hand, only to be surprised when the shortest member of the strange group pulled him into an enthusiastic hug.
“Elder! Nice to meet you! I know we’re not supposed to know each other’s first names and all, but outside of work, you can call me Gabriel. This skinny nerd is Balthazar and the one with the stick up his rear end is Uriel, who unfortunately is your new companion.”
“Elder, there are rules!” Uriel protested angrily, before being slapped upside the head by Balthazar.
Castiel stared. This was going to be a long two years.
Balthazar spoke up, shoving the energetic Gabriel off to the side. “Welcome to Los Angeles. Our car, if you can call it that, is outside.” He had a distinguished European accent Castiel couldn’t quite place.
“Oh, and now you’re being mean to Bessie. Just lead the way out, Balthy.” Gabriel sulked, pulling at the uncomfortable black tie around his neck. “God, I hate these flipping death traps. Does Jesus really want us to choke to death just to look pretty for him?”
“Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain. Third Commandment.” Uriel’s face darkened dangerously.
Castiel could already tell that he was not going to enjoy his new companion. There was something off-putting about Uriel. He felt a sharp pain in his temples, a pounding as if someone was trying to get out. The feeling frightened him and he quickly closed his eyes, as if it could stifle the pain. The throbbing eased slightly and he opened his eyes to see his new roommates staring at him. Gabriel and Balthazar looked on with concern, while Uriel had an odd mixture of contempt and curiosity.
Balthazar sighed, grabbed one of Castiel’s bags, and left. Gabriel bounced along beside him, and stuck his tongue out at Uriel.
Despite the hustle and bustle of LAX, they somehow made it out to the car. Balthazar was right, it was hard to see the rusty pile of junk as a vehicle. It an old sedan whose formerly white paint had chipped away, leaving dark, dirty patches. One window was duct-taped shut and the back bumper was completely missing.
“Elder, meet Bessie.” Gabriel patted the hood lovingly. “She’s a good ol’ gal with quite a few thousand miles to her name. But then again, it’s rude to speak a lady’s age. Bessie, meet Elder Novak, the greenie missionary. He’s going to be riding with us for a while. What’s that?” He gave Castiel a searching look. “Yes, I think he will fit in just fine. If you say so, baby.”
Uriel glowered and opened the back door, skillfully avoiding the small avalanche of rust flakes. Balthazar shook his head at Gabriel and got in the driver’s seat.
“C’mon, greenie. Time for you to do our laundry!” The short missionary gleefully slid into shotgun.
Castiel was doomed.
November 18, 2010
Thank god his shift was over.
Dean made his weary way up the front walk of his apartment complex. He nearly tripped over the neighbors’ damn pink flamingos, but managed to catch himself on their hanging birdhouse. It broke, but fuck it, Dean could blame it on some passing hooligan.
He made it to the elevator and was just reaching his floor when he heard loud voices arguing.
“If he really had no hair, they have no business calling him fuzzy!”
A cool, British voice replied, “He was a bear, Elder, regardless of his hair-impediment, they can call him whatever they want. Anyway, it’s ironic."
“But Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn’t really fuzzy, was he?”
“Elder!” A deep voice broke up the fight. “It’s late, and the rules say we are to be in bed by nine.”
“Oh shut it, Uriel.”
As the voices came into view, Dean had to hold back a laugh. The only thing these guys had in common was their black, formal suits. They must be pledges from one of prissy private colleges down the road. This could be fun.
There was a leaping blonde midget who seemed to be the reincarnation of the Energizer Bunny… not that the Bunny had died. There was also a tall, gawky guy with to-die-for cheek bones and a permanent smirk. These two were trailed by a stocky black man with perfect posture who looked like he had something nasty stuck under his nose. They made their noisy way down the hall, seemingly oblivious to Dean standing by his door . Then the black guy stepped aside, revealing the last member of the group.
He was gorgeous.
Dean was a solid Kinsey 3 with no real preference for anyone. But now he definitely had a type.
His type was slender, but strong, like a swimmer or a dancer. His waif-like appearance was enhanced by his messy black locks and a raggedy suit that was several sizes too big. But the best part was his eyes-they were the bluest things Dean had ever seen. They were oddly familiar, and he felt prickly stirrings of déjà vu.
Of course, with Dean’s shitty luck, the blue-eyed beauty was the only one to notice him standing there.
“Elder, I think it’s time to retire.” Blue Eyes nodded at Dean, and was ushered inside by the black guy.
Well, this was going to be fun.
Two
Castiel stared blankly at the ceiling of his bedroom. He had long outgrown the glow-in-the-dark constellations that were sprinkled haphazardly across the white-washed tiles. The clowns and puppies on his wallpaper just added to the childish mess, the only true sanctuary he had ever known.
His church had always been kind to him, and it was certainly his home away from home, but something always felt wrong when he was there. A dull ache began to pound in the back of his mind whenever he went to the Sunday services, which he dutifully did every week. The throbbing would increase with the intensity of the sermons, and on several occasions, he had had to be escorted outside because of a migraine. As soon as he crossed the threshold, however, the pain would disappear.
Jimmy used to joke that either Castiel was faking, or he was possessed by a demon who didn’t appreciate Pastor Jacobson’s dry lectures. The elderly Bishop was infamous for his long, rambling sermons that often had little to do with the Bible, and more to do with his views on kids these days.
Jimmy used to joke about a lot of things.
After kissing their mother on the cheek, Jimmy ran off to join some of his buddies for a hike. Halfway up the trail, Jimmy tripped over a loose stone and startled a snake, who was more than happy to sink his fangs into the fleshy beast disrupting his nap.
Now it was just Castiel.
Castiel, whose only redeeming feature in his father’s eyes was his faith. While Jimmy had cheerfully admitted to his atheism years ago, Castiel was steadfast in his beliefs. He knew there was a God, and he was willing to devote his life to him.
Michael, the patriarch of the Novaks, was also the Stake President for eleven local wards. He had been greatly wounded by Jimmy’s atheism, but no one could hate Jimmy. Now that Castiel was nineteen, he was to fulfill his duties to his God and his church.
He became a missionary.
Today was the last day he would see his family for two years. They wouldn’t be allowed to contact one another until he completed the mission. He couldn’t return to Minneapolis for any reason. Tomorrow he would take his first ever flight on a plane to Los Angeles where he was to be paired with a complete stranger. They wouldn’t be allowed to be more than five yards apart during the time they were paired together.
Castiel sighed and rose from his bed. The cowboy sheets had been a prank gift from Jimmy the last Christmas before his death. Jimmy loved to pretend he was a cowboy and a pirate and a pioneer who got to have all sorts of adventures. Castiel, the sickly, diabetic boy, just read about them.
He made his way downstairs where the smell of fresh bread wafted from the kitchen. Rachel, his mother, was frying up what seemed to be a failed attempt at scrambled eggs. She was a sweet woman, but a terrible cook.
Castiel was the younger twin, which meant he was also the baby of the family. From his perch on the staircase, he could hear his other siblings clamoring for more orange juice.
Lucifer, or Luce, was the oldest at twenty four. He had just returned home from his own mission in Moscow. Castiel knew Jimmy would have loved to have poked fun at their brother’s new Russian accent. After Luce was Anael, or Anna, the only daughter. She was a twenty-three year old spitfire who was soon-to-be married to Pastor Jacobson’s tattooed, chain-smoking son.
Entering the dining room was easy. Avoiding the flying piece of toast was not. Luce and Anna stopped mid-food-fight to laugh at their youngest brother as he wiped the butter and crumbs from his eyes.
“Wanna join in, Cassifrass?” Anna chucked a strip of bacon in his direction. “It’s gonna be your last Novak Bacon Battle Royale for a while.”
He sat in his designated chair at the end of the table. Raising an eyebrow at his sister, Castiel placed his napkin on his lap, smoothing the edges neatly. He helped himself to some slightly rubbery eggs, a blackened slice of wheat toast, and some bacon.
The sudden silence was his cue to duck.
Four pieces of bacon hit the wall behind him with a satisfying smack. He sat back up and began to cut the crusts off his toast in an attempt to save some part of his breakfast from inedibility.
Anna huffed, “Well then.” She raised her arm to throw the next round, when fingers gently closed around her wrist. Michael had arrived.
He let go and sat at the head of the table. “I think that’s enough of that. You should save some energy for turkey bowling this afternoon.”
Anna and Luce perked up. It was a family tradition to hold a turkey bowl when the town’s small lake froze over. They used liter bottles of soda that were kept cold by sitting on the lake’s surface, the winner got their choice of soda and bragging rights for the next year.
“Really, Dad?” Luce’s eyes glinted dangerously. “Are you ready to finally go down?”
Castiel scoffed at his siblings. “No one has ever beaten him at turkey bowling. That Butterball Backcurve is undefeatable.”
“That’s right, children.” Michael sipped his orange juice impressively. “Do not tempt fate.”
The three adults who were not happy about being called children settled down and actually began eating their food.
“Besides, this is Castiel’s last day with us for a while. A good old fashioned turkey bowl will be just the good luck he needs for his mission.” Selecting the least burnt piece of toast, Michael continued. “And don’t think you’re not cleaning the bacon grease off that wall, Anael.”
Rachel came in with more eggs and orange juice. She surveyed the table with a disapproving glare. “Did you two waste all my bacon on another stupid Royale?”
Anna and Luce smothered laughter as their mother glared.
Castiel finished his meal and took his plate to the kitchen. He loved his family, but he had trouble being as free as they were today. He pondered their excess of energy and hoped it wasn’t genetic. Placing the dish in the sink, he caught his reflection in the window.
But it wasn’t his reflection.
A horrible shadow smirked back at him from the glass. Black shreds of wings and a tortured face were pressed up to the window, its hand left streaks of purplish-black blood as it beckoned him closer.
Castiel froze, he could feel his blood pause and then it was if his mind dissolved in a shower of sparks. He saw the creature, he saw a flash of jade green eyes, and then he saw nothing.
November 18, 2010
The weird guy was back.
Dean peeked cautiously from the safety of the restaurant’s kitchen. The cracks between the slats of the swinging doors were perfect for spying on the customers. Craning his neck for a better view, Dean studied the gigantic, plaid-clothed stranger in the corner.
Except for his height, the guy wasn’t really all that noticeable, and when he was sitting down, he blended in almost perfectly.
This was Ellen’s Roadhouse, a home away from home for all the homesick Midwesterners with an urge for beer, burgers, and Patsy Cline. It was a rustic little building tucked away from the worst of the Los Angeles bustle.
“Dean!”
Ellen was gesturing a him from her perch behind the bar. She was a handsome lady in her late forties with dark blonde hair and kind eyes. She also wanted him to serve the weird guy sitting in his wait section-which wasn’t going to happen.
Even when her eyes narrowed dangerously like that. She wasn’t going to scare him into talking with creepy guy again. No sir.
Or maybe just this once.
After arriving in California when he was seventeen, Dean did the only reasonable thing: he read the paper and applied for every non-sexual job available. After two weeks, he had only got two callbacks: handing out leaflets dressed as a taco or being a waiter. After little-to-no deliberation, he decided not to go down the dark, yet intriguing road of being a street-corner taco, and accepted the waiting position.
Ellen was good to him, so maybe he could suffer a minute with the guy.
“Chicken.” Dean leapt back from his spying when Jo socked him in the shoulder. At nineteen, she was confidant beyond her years. She may have been Ellen’s daughter, but she didn’t possess half of the finesse that her mom did. Ellen could change a situation as she pleased with as little as a raised eyebrow, but Jo always seemed to resort to violence. A fact to which his throbbing shoulder could testify.
Jo scoffed, “Don’t be such a girl, Dean. The guy probably just wants another burger, why are you so freaked?”
“Maybe because he keeps coming in and asking really personal shit about me?” Sighing, Dean leaned against a counter covered in salad supplies. “Maybe because I don’t want to tell him where I grew up and how my parents met and when I was born and where and all that stuff?”
“Maybe he likes you. You could do worse than that tall glass of water, Dean. If I went for farmhand boys who didn’t hit on my male best friends, I’d do him in a heartbeat. Look at those shoulders… ” Jo winked at him. “How about this, you take dish duty for me tonight, I’ll handle hot, creepy guy.”
“Deal.” Dean relaxed and popped a cucumber slice in his mouth. “Damn, where does Ellen get this stuff? This is a good cucumber.”
“That church on North Normandie. They sell vegetables and shit every Saturday. Ask Mom, she’d probably pick up extra for you if you ask.”
Dean spat out the cucumber with a sour look on his face. “So these were, what, grown with the power of Christ? No, thank you.”
“Whatever, Dean, whatever. I’m gonna go serve creepy guy before Mom’s head explodes.”
November 18, 2010
“Are you sure you’re all right to fly? I mean, what with your fainting spell yesterday. Maybe we could ask for some more time before you leave.” Rachel fussed with Castiel’s tie, biting her lip as she did. “What if you get sick again, sweetie?”
Castiel’s head throbbed like God himself was reaching down from Heaven to squeeze his brain. In other words, it hurt like a bitch.
He sighed, “Mom, please, I’ll be fine. I just didn’t sleep very well.”
“It’s that low blood sugar of yours. If it isn’t one thing with you kids, it’s another. Remember when Jimmy…” She trailed off, heartbroken.
“Don’t worry, Mother. Cassifrass is going to be fine in L.A. You know how boring he is.” Luce ruffled his brother’s hair. “Look at him in his monkey suit, no girl would dare to corrupt him.”
Rachel sniffled into her handkerchief. “He’d be such a handsome boy if he just did something about his hair, Lucifer.”
“Mom, I like my hair.” Castiel gave her one last hug. “I have to go now. I love you all. And I promise to monitor my blood sugar more carefully in L.A.”
“You know we won’t miss you, kid.” Anna cheerfully patted him on the back. “Now no one will stop our Bacon Battle Royales.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Anael.” Michael’s low voice spoke lightly. He stepped forward, placing the largest of Castiel’s suitcases on the ground. “Son, I want you to know that God is proud of you today. As am I.” He raised his arms as if to give his son a hug, but turned his motion into an awkward double-handed shake as Michael was not in the habit of hugging anyone, even his family. “When you return, it will be a glorious day for the Novaks.”
Castiel nodded, unable to speak. The last time he had seen his father emote so much was at Jimmy’s funeral. He swallowed hard and managed to say, “I’m going to miss you, Dad.”
His father’s silent nod said more than his goodbye. This was it. He was really on the road to proving himself to God.
Picking up his bags, Castiel entered the airport. He left behind his home, his life, and his family.
If only he could get those green eyes out of his head.
November 18, 2010
Dean munched on some French fries from table six’s order. They wouldn’t notice.
“What did you do to these, Bela? These are freaking delicious.”
“I’ll never tell.” The Roadhouse’s British cook, Bela, was a real piece of work. Ellen liked her staff to be more than just good workers, she always picked ones with character-Dean was no exception. “I will say this, though; basil.”
Jo stomped through the doors, glowering at Dean. “Your glass of water won’t even let me serve him. He says he needs to talk to you.”
“Well, tell him ‘Fat Chance.’ There’s no way I’m talking to him.” Dean grabbed another handful of fries.
The doors swung open again as Ellen swept into the kitchen. Her lips were pressed into a thin line and she looked pissed. “I know Disney has plans to open a Fantasia restaurant where the plates fly themselves to the tables. But until then, what do we do?”
The puny mortals scattered under the angry god’s wrath.
Dean paused at the doors, “What about the weird guy?”
“Dean Winchester. Find your balls and serve that customer or so help me, I will…” He was gone before she could finish her sentence. Ellen smiled to herself, “I guess I still got it.”
The chastised Dean scurried out to the corner booth where the gigantor sat. “Welcome to the Roadhouse, how can I-“
“Dean? Can you sit down for a while, I really need to-“
Dean stopped him mid-sentence. “Listen, dude, I’m flattered, but I’m so not interested, okay?”
“What?” The confused puppy look the weirdo sported was almost adorable. But his freakish stalking was definitely a major turn-off. “I just need to tell you-“
“Seriously, back off. Can I get you a burger? How about another double with cheese? You want it, yes? Good. Bye.”
Dean fled back to the kitchen. He was safe behind the Employees Only sign. Or so he thought.
“Dean? I really need to talk to you. Your life may be in danger.” The stranger was even taller up close. Freaky.
“Whoa, listen, man, I don’t know what you’re smoking, but you can’t be back here. Kitchen’s off limits to the customers. Do you want the Health Department to ride our asses? Get out!” He gave him a feeble push, but the guy appeared to be made out of some type of flesh-like stone. “Who the hell are you?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! My name is-“ There was a crash, and the stranger collapsed. Bela stood over him, heavy frying pan raised in triumph.
“Get this guy out of my kitchen, Dean.” She looked the prone figure on the ground in disdain.
Jo and Ellen ran in, causing the doors to swing wildly.
“What in God’s name is an unconscious customer doing in my kitchen?” Dean had never seen Ellen so angry. She was scary enough in general, but this was way beyond normal.
“He followed Dean, Ellen. He wouldn’t stop, so I took him out. Should we call the cops?”
“Yes, Bela. Do that. I need to speak with Dean, Joanna Beth, please leave us.”
“But Mom-“
“Out. Both of you.”
They scurried away, leaving Dean alone with his scary boss and the creepy unconscious guy. This was so not what his horoscope had described this morning.
“What did he want, Dean?”
“Nothing, he was just babbling… but he did say my life was in danger or some shit like that.”
“How so?” Her gaze was sharp, like an enraged mama bear’s.
“I don’t know. He’s crazy, Ellen.”
“Okay, I’ll watch him. You get out there and tend bar for me.”
“Yeah, okay.”
November 18, 2010
Castiel had a lot of time to think on the plane.
He had no idea what the bloody creature in the window was. Was it a vision or a fever dream or something?
Whose eyes haunted his restless dreams? He knew very few people with green eyes and none of such a vibrant color. This color spoke of long walks on a Sunday afternoon, of the budding leaves of spring; it was a color he could associate with eternal happiness. But he had no clue as to whom the eyes belonged.
It was hard to concentrate when his head was hurting so much.
When he had passed out, his family had come running to his aid. They found him on the floor unconscious with a bloody nose. The incident had scared his mother into a frenzy; she was terrified that her cooking had somehow caused him to go into a diabetic coma. Within ten minutes he was in an ambulance on his way to the hospital.
That was not how he had intended to spend his last night in Minnesota.
It was reasonable for his parents to be worried. He was out cold for nearly twenty minutes and even the ambulance ride didn’t wake him up. Plus, Castiel had never been sick a day in his life. He’d never even had a cold, which was unheard of in Minneapolis, where winter temperatures often induced a heavy flu season on the communities.
At least his mother had let him leave.
He was just curious as to what had brought on the fainting spell.
His thoughts were interrupted by the crushing jolt one always feels when a plane lands. The stewardesses helped him retrieve his bags and he was off. The church always sent someone to collect their missionaries, so he didn’t need to worry about how he would find his new companions.
Cassteal Novack. His name was misspelled and scrawled messily on a white piece of copy paper being fought over by two twenty-somethings in suits. His welcoming committee was a short, stout fellow; a lanky European-type; and an African-American who seemed to be constipated. Charming.
“I am Elder Novak.” He set his bags down and offered his hand, only to be surprised when the shortest member of the strange group pulled him into an enthusiastic hug.
“Elder! Nice to meet you! I know we’re not supposed to know each other’s first names and all, but outside of work, you can call me Gabriel. This skinny nerd is Balthazar and the one with the stick up his rear end is Uriel, who unfortunately is your new companion.”
“Elder, there are rules!” Uriel protested angrily, before being slapped upside the head by Balthazar.
Castiel stared. This was going to be a long two years.
Balthazar spoke up, shoving the energetic Gabriel off to the side. “Welcome to Los Angeles. Our car, if you can call it that, is outside.” He had a distinguished European accent Castiel couldn’t quite place.
“Oh, and now you’re being mean to Bessie. Just lead the way out, Balthy.” Gabriel sulked, pulling at the uncomfortable black tie around his neck. “God, I hate these flipping death traps. Does Jesus really want us to choke to death just to look pretty for him?”
“Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain. Third Commandment.” Uriel’s face darkened dangerously.
Castiel could already tell that he was not going to enjoy his new companion. There was something off-putting about Uriel. He felt a sharp pain in his temples, a pounding as if someone was trying to get out. The feeling frightened him and he quickly closed his eyes, as if it could stifle the pain. The throbbing eased slightly and he opened his eyes to see his new roommates staring at him. Gabriel and Balthazar looked on with concern, while Uriel had an odd mixture of contempt and curiosity.
Balthazar sighed, grabbed one of Castiel’s bags, and left. Gabriel bounced along beside him, and stuck his tongue out at Uriel.
Despite the hustle and bustle of LAX, they somehow made it out to the car. Balthazar was right, it was hard to see the rusty pile of junk as a vehicle. It an old sedan whose formerly white paint had chipped away, leaving dark, dirty patches. One window was duct-taped shut and the back bumper was completely missing.
“Elder, meet Bessie.” Gabriel patted the hood lovingly. “She’s a good ol’ gal with quite a few thousand miles to her name. But then again, it’s rude to speak a lady’s age. Bessie, meet Elder Novak, the greenie missionary. He’s going to be riding with us for a while. What’s that?” He gave Castiel a searching look. “Yes, I think he will fit in just fine. If you say so, baby.”
Uriel glowered and opened the back door, skillfully avoiding the small avalanche of rust flakes. Balthazar shook his head at Gabriel and got in the driver’s seat.
“C’mon, greenie. Time for you to do our laundry!” The short missionary gleefully slid into shotgun.
Castiel was doomed.
November 18, 2010
Thank god his shift was over.
Dean made his weary way up the front walk of his apartment complex. He nearly tripped over the neighbors’ damn pink flamingos, but managed to catch himself on their hanging birdhouse. It broke, but fuck it, Dean could blame it on some passing hooligan.
He made it to the elevator and was just reaching his floor when he heard loud voices arguing.
“If he really had no hair, they have no business calling him fuzzy!”
A cool, British voice replied, “He was a bear, Elder, regardless of his hair-impediment, they can call him whatever they want. Anyway, it’s ironic."
“But Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn’t really fuzzy, was he?”
“Elder!” A deep voice broke up the fight. “It’s late, and the rules say we are to be in bed by nine.”
“Oh shut it, Uriel.”
As the voices came into view, Dean had to hold back a laugh. The only thing these guys had in common was their black, formal suits. They must be pledges from one of prissy private colleges down the road. This could be fun.
There was a leaping blonde midget who seemed to be the reincarnation of the Energizer Bunny… not that the Bunny had died. There was also a tall, gawky guy with to-die-for cheek bones and a permanent smirk. These two were trailed by a stocky black man with perfect posture who looked like he had something nasty stuck under his nose. They made their noisy way down the hall, seemingly oblivious to Dean standing by his door . Then the black guy stepped aside, revealing the last member of the group.
He was gorgeous.
Dean was a solid Kinsey 3 with no real preference for anyone. But now he definitely had a type.
His type was slender, but strong, like a swimmer or a dancer. His waif-like appearance was enhanced by his messy black locks and a raggedy suit that was several sizes too big. But the best part was his eyes-they were the bluest things Dean had ever seen. They were oddly familiar, and he felt prickly stirrings of déjà vu.
Of course, with Dean’s shitty luck, the blue-eyed beauty was the only one to notice him standing there.
“Elder, I think it’s time to retire.” Blue Eyes nodded at Dean, and was ushered inside by the black guy.
Well, this was going to be fun.
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