A Cold and Broken Hallelujah - Part 3
Gabriel decides that they have to revisit the scene of the crime, as it were. Since this is the only sign they have had so far, Castiel agrees and they find themselves sat opposite each other in Dante's grill, several plates of pie scattered across the tabletop, Gabriel tucking in randomly depending on which one takes his fancy.
Castiel looks up as the dark-haired woman who had introduced herself as Tracey approaches their table again, coffee pot in hand. She smiles fondly at Gabriel as he turns on the charm, tawny hair falling forward over his face as he turns a molten bronze gaze up towards her, lips curving in a broad, happy smile.
“This pie,“ he says, waving his fork at the lemon meringue, “divine, and I should know what I'm talking about. And this one,” the fork wobbles across the table, dropping bits of lemon creme filling to wave over the Dutch apple, “also amazing.” The last word is drawled out, slow and almost orgasmic.
Tracey's grin widens in pleasure. “Why thank you, sweetheart, ain't never seen anyone enjoy pie this much since the last time Dean was in. I'll be sure to pass on your appreciation to the kitchen.”
“Well, I have to say, even though this Dean sounds like my kinda man, I'm glad he's not here, all the more pie for me. And if the kitchen staff are as pretty as you, I'll be more than happy to pass on my appreciation in person.”
Castiel blinks and coughs, stunned by Gabriel's blatant flirtatiousness, sighing as Tracey just giggles and taps Gabriel on the upper arm with a soft “Oh, you.” before she fills up his coffee cup and darts off to the swinging doors that lead through to the kitchen.
Castiel stares at his empty, neglected cup and pouts as Gabriel laughs raucously.
They leave shortly after, Gabriel having disappeared into the kitchen for several minutes before coming out, cheek smudged with lipgloss, smirking like the cat that got not only the cream, but a catnip mouse as well.
“So was there any actual point to that visit, Gabriel? Is it not me that is supposed to be looking for this, I am beginning to believe imaginary, soulmate? I did not realise I was accompanying you on a search to find your next...” Castiel waves an arm as he searches for the appropriate word, “hook-up?”
“Do not doubt me baby bro. Remember Tracey mentioned a man, Dean? Sounds like he's a regular, especially since she knows his name. I found out that he was there on the night in question, and I also managed to find out where he works.” Gabriel waves a folded sheet of paper triumphantly.
“Now baby bro, what do you say? I think it should be along the lines of”, Gabriel drops his voice into a low growl, but also manages to make his tone camp and excited, a skill that for some reason causes Castiel to blink hard as Gabriel mocks him with, “'Oh Gabriel, you are so fabulous, I don't know how I would cope without you'.”
Castiel steals the paper from Gabriel's waving fingers and slaps him across the chest.
“Assbutt.” he mutters.
“Sorry, what was that?”
“Thank you, Gabriel.”
“Assbutt?!”
Gabriel cackles and shoves into Castiel, knocking him sideways across the parking lot.
“You're welcome. And I really need to teach you how to curse.”
3.2
It's late on Monday afternoon and Dean is curled over a drawing table, manuscript spread across the surface, faint light illuminating it from below, bringing the hidden inscriptions to life. He carefully transcribes the text, writing every fifth word on a separate piece of paper. You can never be too careful with hidden inscriptions, sometimes all it takes is for a spell to be written down to activate it and Dean has no wish to end up with a tail, or flippers or extra arms. Although, come to think of it, extra hands might come in useful, but then his whole drawer full of vintage band t-shirts would become pointless and Dean pouts slightly at that thought. He hears his name mentioned and pays vague attention to Morgan's half of a telephone conversation.
“Yes, this is Dean Winchester's office. No, I'm sorry he's not available to take your call just now, but if you could send him an email I'm sure he would be happy...”
Morgan is obviously interrupted by the person on the other end of the call and Dean unfolds himself from the chair, pushing his hands into his lower spine and leaning backwards until he feels his joints pop happily. He wanders out of his office and leans on Morgan's desk, one eyebrow raised in silent question. Morgan rolls her green eyes and frowns at the phone.
“Yes, I realise that your problem is urgent, but Mr Winchester is not taking calls, please email the office and I will pass your request onto him as soon...”
The caller obviously cuts Morgan off again and she retaliates by sticking her tongue out at the receiver, the childish action making Dean smile.
“Yes, yes Mr Novak. I will treat your message with the utmost urgency. Yes, and discretion. Yes, I will. Have a nice day Mr Novak.” The last is said with such false sweetness that Dean lets out the tiniest of snorts, eyes crinkled with amusement. He watches as she hangs up and turns to face him, crossing her eyes, before smiling and pushing him off the desk so that she can make her way to the coffee machine. She makes them both a cup before she answers Dean's silent question.
“Well, we just had a Mr Novak on the phone. Apparently he needs to talk to you in person, as a matter of some urgency.”
Dean's right hand moves up to his mouth, palm flat, before he pulls it away, almost as if about to blow a kiss, his thumb, index and middle finger flickering.
“Yeah, I'll wish him luck. Or was that for me?” Morgan's laugh follows Dean back into his office. Pretty soon the phone call is forgotten as Dean loses himself in his work. He doesn't notice Morgan slipping in to place a pile of printouts on his desk, and again an hour later with a plate of sandwiches and a can of juice. His concentration breaks in the middle of the afternoon when his stomach growls loudly, enquiring as to whether a demon had slit his throat without him noticing. Dean rubs his stomach absently before noticing the plate on his desk and he devours the sandwich gratefully, chasing it down with the now warm soda.
After wandering out into the main office and thanking Morgan he attends to the pile of printouts, his spine grateful for the change in position. He comes to the last one and realises it is a copy of the email from Mr Novak.
To: DWinchester@arclib
From: Castiel.Novak@hotmail.com
Subject: Regarding Telephone Call
Dear Mr Winchester,
I telephoned earlier today in an attempt to speak to you regarding a matter of some urgency. However, I
was stymied by your rather overzealous secretary. I would be most grateful if you could contact me as
soon as possible.
Yours faithfully
Castiel Novak
Dean grins at Morgan's additions, the WTF scrawled above the word 'stymied', the wide-eyed smiley face over the word 'overzealous' and logs in to respond.
To: Castiel.Novak@hotmail.com
From: DWinchester@arclib
Subject: RE: Regarding Telephone Call
Hello,
I apologise for my secretary but I do not take calls. Because of the nature of the work I am involved in
I prefer to deal with clients via email. All messages are screened for both viruses and spells. If you wish
us to assess an artefact, please contact the main reception on 555 1102 and they will happy to arrange
an appointment for you.
Yours
Dean
He reads the email through, corrects the spelling mistake and fires it off. It isn't long before a small chirp announces that he has a new message from this Castiel Novak.
Dear Dean,
Thank you for your response. This really is a matter I would prefer to discuss in person, is it possible to
arrange an appointment, perhaps sometime tomorrow?
Yours faithfully
Castiel Novak
Dean blinks, this guy is persistent. He eyes the email, almost as if it would pop out of the screen, the letters sinking their sharp edges into his skin like tiny teeth. He shudders and banishes the weird image, but something about this whole situation has his instincts working overtime and they are almost all clamouring 'Danger Will Robinson.' But Dean knows he's going to answer, curiosity and his gung-ho attitude have already got him into more than trouble than he can remember and why should he stop now?
Plus, he's still got enough equipment that he can be prepared for certain eventualities and it's better to see this guy now and find out what exactly has his panties in a twist, rather than put him off and risk winding him up even further. He emails Mr Novak back with a time and place and then finishes work early. He's got preparations to make and he wants to make sure he's as ready as he can be.
---II---
Castiel sighs with relief when Dean agrees to meet him, and then begins to feel rather strange, his heart rate accelerates, his skin feels clammy and his body's temperature regulation system seems to be malfunctioning. His stomach churns but Castiel knows he is not hungry. After two days of feeling at odds with himself he almost races along the corridor and pops into Gabriel's office, surprising Gabriel so much he almost topples right out of his chair, which is reclined precariously, Gabriel's feet resting on his desk as a medical soap plays out on his computer screen.
“Knocking, Castiel. It's a habit you seem to have forgotten.”
“Gabriel, I think there is something wrong. Dean Winchester has agreed to meet with me but now I think I may have to cancel, I am feeling most peculiar.”
“Exactly how peculiar?”
Castiel lists his symptoms, watching as Gabriel's face changes from mildly worried to understanding to amused.
“You're nervous bro. Getting all worked up over your date.” Gabriel cackles just a little before he snags a chupa-chup and offers another to Castiel .
“No, no thank you. Nervous? Why would I be nervous? I am a warrior, I should not be worrying about a mere human, if he is not the one I will just leave, he cannot hold me against my will.”
“Ah, but what if he is the one? I think that may be your problem, there. You're actually going to have to try and be polite and function like a 'real boy'.” Gabriel makes silly air quotes and grins at Castiel's perplexed face. Castiel opens his mouth as if he is about to say something in response, closes it and frowns and then just turns on his heel and leaves. He manages to ignore the shouted “You're welcome!” and the accompanying peal of laughter.
The frown lasts all the way down to the car park and into his car before it slides off his face and Castiel slumps forward, forehead resting on the cool leather of the steering wheel, a soft sigh gusting out over plush, pale lips. He gives himself a minute before he straightens up, hands automatically smoothing out his shirt, but ignoring the tie, its knot loose and comfortable. It's still another couple of minutes before he can finally put the car in drive and begin to make his way to the library.
3.3
Dean's managed to snag one of the small reading rooms upstairs for his meeting. For some reason he doesn't want Mr Novak in his office even though it would have made the whole thing easier. He also manages to persuade Morgan to come in on her day off, bribing her with a packet of M&M's and the promise that he will do his best to find a new fuel pump for her Buick. It's been long enough since he had a talk with Bobby and at least this will give him an excuse, so he's definitely getting the better end of the deal, especially after he snaffles a large handful of the peanut-chocolate goodness.
The coffee machine finishes its happy burbling just as the door opens and Morgan's familiar figure enters followed by what must be the impatient Mr Novak. Dean thinks he's seen him somewhere before, the dark, finger-mussed hair, the broad shoulders under a dark shirt and tie, those eyes, blue and focussed. Dean feels a strange burst of heat spiralling up from his stomach, can't tear his gaze away from this man. Dante's - the thought pops into his mind - that's where he had seen him before, and he can't seem to stop his feet from moving him across the floor towards the door.
“Mr Winchester.”
The voice is deep, gravel-edged and whisky-warm and all Dean can do is blink, head nodding as Castiel reaches out a hand towards him, fingers brushing over his shoulder. Heat burns through him and Dean jerks back, smacking hard into the edge of the table. Morgan's voice breaks through the spell and Dean turns to blink at her as she does her job, offering Mr Novak a seat before enquiring whether he would like a cup of coffee and how he wants it. She automatically pours Dean one and sits so that she can see both Dean and Castiel.
Castiel breaks the slightly awkward silence.
“I would really prefer to talk to Mr Winchester alone?” The tone is slightly questioning at the end, as he raises one eyebrow at Morgan.
“Do you happen to speak ASL?” Morgan's tone is pert, and she is obviously unaffected by whatever spell Mr Novak is working on Dean. Dean turns his hands to Morgan, fingers moving steadily, his gaze still fixed on Castiel. He watches as Castiel's cerulean gaze drops to his hands before shooting back up to his mouth and then his eyes.
“You're deaf?” Castiel's voice cracks in surprise. “But how can that...”
He cuts his question off at Dean's sharp gesture that even Castiel can translate.
“Dean can hear perfectly well, he just doesn't speak.”
“Can't speak or doesn't speak?” Castiel realises his question was probably rude when Morgan's eyebrow's disappear under her fringe and Dean rocks back in his seat slightly.
“I'm sorry, that was probably rude,” he says, tone of voice belying the words, “But it is important as to why I am here.”
Dean's hands flicker, Castiel watching the shaping intently as Morgan translates.
“Yes, you are rude, and why exactly are you here?” Dean's hands move again and Morgan smirks at him.
“Yes, I know that's not what you said Dean, but I don't think I want to translate all those adjectives, and can you even use that word in that context?” Dean smiles at her, green eyes crinkling at the corners, lips parting in a silent laugh and Castiel would do anything to have that look directed at him.
“Once again, I apologise. I have been informed that my people skills are perhaps in need of work, but I am short of time and therefore I should probably apologise for any future mistakes to avoid repetition. My name is Castiel; I work for Malakhim Incorporated and...”
Once again Castiel was cut off mid sentence, this time by Dean rising to his feet so quickly his chair rocked backwards, threatening to topple over before it righted itself.
/You angel?/ Dean hardly waits for Morgan to translate before he continues, gestures sharp, hands slapping and the finger shapes almost audible as his hands fight to express his emotions.
/I can't believe you're a freaking angel, coming in here asking for our help. Didn't your Father think we had enough problems without sending us a bunch of dickless wonders to help screw things up even more? You think you can come in here and ask for my help when Sammy used to pray to you every day for help and no-one answered, when we were injured and bleeding after hunts, when our father died? Where were you lot then, where were you when I went to Hell?!!/
By this time Dean's gestures are barely comprehensible, the last gesture slicing down across his body and Dean pauses, shaking. Morgan has given up any attempt to translate long ago, Dean's hands turned to Castiel, his face taut with fury. Dean reaches out and yanks the door open, ignoring the blaze of heat that runs up his arms as he places both palms flat on Castiel's chest and literally pushes him out the door.
/You have no rights here, no right to come asking me for help or whatever it is you want./
“Mr Winchester, Dean, please just listen...”
Dean cuts him off again with a gesture, single finger raised before he closes the door in Castiel's face, slumping back against the cool wood. He raises dazed green eyes, too many emotions swirling through him, and he can't make sense of it, just wants to, needs to get out. He sees Morgan staring at him, eyes wide, lips parted in shock and he circles his fist over his chest, unable to do anything else, before he turns and yanks the door open for a second time, pushing past Castiel who hasn't moved, still with shock and surprise.
Later he'll be able to recall the hurt look in those deep blue eyes, the way that Castiel's lips are parted softly in worry, the small furrows in his brow, but now all Dean can see is the corridor and the door at the end and he flees.
He doesn't remember the drive home, doesn't remember anything until he finds himself in the garage, hand curled into a fold of tarpaulin. He eases the edge up, finding the lock almost by touch rather than sight, hears the slight clunk as the locks unlatch. The back door opens with a slight creak, the familiar sound bringing the sting of salt to Dean's eyes. He crawls in, the interior dim, the car still mostly covered with the tarpaulin. The smell of old leather and warm metal is heavy in the stale air and Dean breathes in the memory, burying his face in the back of the seat as he curls up as small as he can. The door swings softly closed behind him and Dean lets out a hitched breath, curling tighter in on himself, wrapping himself in the warmth and safety of the Impala, of home.
On to Part Four