The Road to Here (Part 1)
Fic Title: The Road to Here
Author: powerfulweak
Art by: cuddle_me_carl
Fandom/Genre: SPN, Romance
Pairing(s): Castiel/Dean, brief Gabriel/Sam, brief Castiel/Michael, Brief Dean/Lisa
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~13,000
Warnings: Mentions of infidelity, alcohol as a coping mechanism
Author's Note: This was written for the spn_reversebang with art done by the wonderful cuddle_me_carl. I'd also like to extend a thank you to Stacie for beta reading this story. I guess you could call this a "Sliding Doors"/ How I Met Your Mother AU (without the dour ending)
Summary: Dean and Castiel are always is the right place, but rarely at the right time. See how their lives intertwine through broken hearts, near-death experiences and a very fateful bus ride on a journey to each other.
***
Unlike most streets in the city, Garrison Road does not follow a grid system. Twisting and turning, It follows the rise and fall of the road rather than cutting through it. Some say this goes back to the the foot paths that ran through the forest that originally stood here. Others insist that early city planners had zero forethought and perhaps too much ale. To look at it from above, Garrison Road resembles a child’s crayon scratch dragging across the landscape.
At least, that’s how it looks to Dean as he stares out of the second floor window of the church, the winding mess of Garrison Road stretching out before him. He nervously fiddles with his bow tie, tying and retying it as he watches the steady stream of people enter into the chapel below. He reminds himself that, in the scheme of things, a wedding is just one day out of the thousands and thousands of days he plans to spend with Castiel. It’s not a jumping off point, but rather a continuation in an ongoing journey, one that began two years ago only a short distance away from where he now stands.
Dean smiles to himself; maybe it’s fitting that they are getting married on Garrison Road, considering it’s where he and Castiel met.
There is a soft knock at the door and Sam pokes his head inside the room.
“We’re about to start,” he says. “You ready?” Dean glances back at his brother.
“Yeah,” he replies with an assured nod. “I’m ready for this.”
***
Four Years Ago
Castiel
Castiel weaves through the crowd, running down Garrison Road, his feet hitting the pavement in rhythmic slaps.
“Stop!” He cries out, reaching out in vain toward the retreating city bus. “Wait! Please!” He grips his messenger bag tighter to his body and picks up the pace. If he misses this bus, there won’t be another for an hour and he needs to get home if he wants to finish that data call for Crowley.
“For the love of God, Stop!” Castiel screams, causing several heads to turn in his direction. The bus jerks to an abrupt stop with a deafening screech of tires. Breathless relief runs through Castiel as he finally reaches the bus. A horn blares in the distance and he raises an apologetic hand.
“Whoa, there,” the driver says as the door swings open and Castiel stumbles up the steps. “Man, you were bookin’ it. Lucky thing I saw you.”
“Yeah,” Castiel pants, sliding his fare card through the reader. He drops inelegantly into the nearest seat, ignoring the glares of his fellow passengers. He made his ride; that’s all that matters.
***
Dean
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dean exclaims as the bus ahead of him grinds to an unexpected stop to pick up a straggler. Dean leans on the horn in frustration. He checks his phone. 6:54 p.m. Sam is due to be at the Roadhouse at 7 p.m. Dean refuses to be late for his younger brother’s surprise birthday party just because of some goober doesn’t understand public transportation.
The bus pulls away and Dean steps on the gas, speeding through traffic as much as the winding turns of Garrison Road will allow.
He doesn't notice the flashing lights in his rearview mirror until he flies through a yellow light.
“Son of a bitch,” Dean mutters, jerking the wheel to the right and pulling over.
***
Castiel
Castiel exhales in relief as soon as he steps through his front door. The apartment he shares with his boyfriend is small and slightly crowded, but it's cozy and has an antiquated feel to it that Castiel loves (even if Michael repeatedly comments that it’s haunted).
“Michael?” he calls out as he folds his trench coat over a dining room chair and sets his bag on the floor. The apartment is quiet save for the buzz of the muted tv and the sound of the shower running.
Castiel moves into their bedroom and the ensuite bathroom, Michael’s hazy form visible behind the frosted glass shower door.
“Michael?” Castiel calls out again, raising his voice above the echo of the water.
“Hey, Castiel,” Michael greets as he washes the soap from his hair. “How was your day?”
“Fine,” Castiel sighs as he sits down on top of the closed toilet. “I have to work in that Data call tonight-”
“Again?” Michael interrupts him. “I swear you do more work at home than you do at work.” Castiel frowns; he hates when Michael makes these assessments, since they are largely untrue.
“I can concentrate better here,” Castiel replies. “Less noise.” Michael hums in understanding as he suds up facial wash. A chime from a cellphone grabs both of their attention.
“Shit, I bet that's Luke,” Michael says. “He's been bugging me for weeks about the edits on his manuscript. Castiel, can you grab my phone for me?” Castiel nods and steps into the bedroom. He spots Michael’s phone sitting on his bedside table and picks it up.
Something isn't right, though. Rather than a message from one of Michael's clients, there is a small image of a very naked woman along with the message “Miss you so much baby, my bed's so cold without you.”
It has to be a wrong number, Castiel thinks. Automatically, his thumb swipes across the message, opening the text thread. His brow furrows as he reads through dozens and dozens of lewd texts between Michael and this Eve person. The chain goes back months and months; Castiel throat clenches as he realizes that this has just been happening under his nose. His expression hardens as he scans through several photos of Eve twisted into different graphic positions, her ass or tits on display in each one.
“What did Luke say?” Michael steps into the bedroom, scrubbing at his short dark hair with a towel. Castiel turns slowly to face him, his expression abject rage.
“Who’s Eve?” He asks. Michael's whole body stiffens for a moment before switching into false nonchalance.
“I have no idea,” he says, averting his eyes. “Must be a wrong number.” He busies himself with his underwear drawer. Castiel stands there in stunned silence.
“Who the Hell is Eve?” He asks again, louder this time. He holds up Michael’s phone at eye level, the text thread open. Michael looks at it, his expression blank save for a clench of his jaw.
“Does it matter?” He asks, moving past Castiel and grabbing a shirt out of the drawer..
“Of course it matters!” Castiel shouts, following behind him. “You’re cheating on me? With a woman?”
“It appears I am,” Michael says as he slips on a pair of sweatpants. He straightens up and looks at Castiel. “Honestly, I’m glad you know. I’m relieved.” Castiel’s jaw hangs open in disbelief. This moment feels so unreal, he’s almost convinced he’s dreaming.
“Why?” he finally mutters, tears beginning to sting his eyes. Michael stares at him for a moment, his expression filled with concern and pity. He opens his mouth, as if he’s about to answer, but then exits the bedroom instead.
Castiel stands there in stunned silence, mind racing to catch up with the situation. The images from Michael’s phone flash in front of his eyes and a ball of anger rises in his gut. Abruptly, Castiel rushes to their closet and grabs out a duffle bag. He throws open their drawers, haphazardly stuffing clothes and personal belongings inside.
“Castiel, what are you doing?” Michael demands from the doorway.
“Leaving,” he answers, not faltering in his packing.
“Leaving?” Michael parrots. “What do you mean? Why are you leaving?” Castiel pauses, giving Michael an incredulous look.
“Are you seriously asking me that?” he mutters. “You cheated on me Michael!”
“So?” Michael squawks. “So what? We’re adults. It happens.”
“Not to me,” he hisses as he grabs his picture frames off the dresser and throws them in the bag.
“For God’s sake, you are really going to throw away our life together over some dumb little thing?” Michael snorts. “Grow up, Castiel.” Castiel’s eyes burn into Michael.
“Your ‘dumb little fling’ has been going on for four months,” he argues. “I hardly think that qualifies.” Castiel pulls the zipper on the bag closed and steps out of the bedroom. He throws his trench coat back on, swings the strap of his messenger bag across his chest.
“I’ll get the rest of my stuff later,” he says, pulling out his keys and removing the one for their apartment. “When you’re not here.” He shoulders the duffle bag moves past Michael, opening the door.
“Oh be reasonable, Castiel,” Michael calls after him. “Where will you live? Where will you go?”
“Somewhere you’re not,” Castiel shouts as he slams the door shut.
There is a feeling of triumph as he descends the stairs and leaves the apartment building, but it quickly dissipates as reality sets in. Castiel doesn’t have a plan. He followed Michael out here for his grad program. He knows people from work, but no one who he thinks would take him in for an undetermined amount of time. All of his family and long time friends are across the country. He doesn't have anything of his own out here; he doesn't even have a car. Castiel stands helplessly on the sidewalk outside of the apartment as he considers what to do next.
Only one option comes to mind. He pulls out his phone and dials a number.
“Gabriel,” he says as soon as the other man picks up, “Can I come over?”
***
As he expected, Gabriel takes him in, no questions asked.
“What are former coworkers whom you bailed out of jail once, no questions asked, for?” He asks. Castiel smiles and mumbles a thank you. He and Gabriel had worked at the coffee shop together for a year and a half until he'd gotten the job at Crowley and Associates. They'd reminded friends, with Gabriel filling the role of pseudo-older brother.
“I'm afraid I'll have to dig my air mattress out of my storage unit.” He says as Castiel drags his duffel bag through the door. “You mind the couch tonight?"
“No, that’s more than acceptable.” Castiel flops down onto the overstuffed sofa. Gabriel gives him a pained look and settles down next to him.
“Hey man, why don’t we go out tonight? Celebrate your singledom.” Castiel raises a confused brow.
“I really… don’t think that's appropriate,” he replies.
“Actually, I think it's just what you need.” Gabriel pokes a finger into his shoulder. “You can get suitably wasted, blow off some steam, maybe blow a guy, and just forget about Michael in general.” Castiel gives him a grateful smile but shakes his head.
“While ‘suitably wasted’ sounds appealing, I'd prefer as few people as possible be witness to my misery.” Gabriel looks at him doubtfully, but doesn't push the issue.
“Suit yourself.” He rises from the couch. “You don't mind if I go, do you?” Castiel waves him off, grateful to be on his own.
Gabriel leaves with the instruction not to burn the place down and that he's welcome to whatever liquor is in the house. Castiel takes him up on the offer as soon as the door closes, grabbing a bottle of tequila from above the fridge. He forgoes the glass, drinking straight from the bottle and zoning out to whatever is playing on TV.
His only plan tonight is to forget this shitty day.
***
Dean
One traffic citation and an hour and a half in rush hour traffic later and Dean is officially late for his brother’s party. The surprise party he planned, no less.
By the time he steps inside the Roadhouse, Sam’s gift tucked under his arm, the party is in full swing.
“Dean!” Jo calls out from behind the bar. “What happened to you, man? We had Garth distract Sam for an extra 10 minutes waiting for you.” Dean shakes his head dismissively as he sits down, setting Sam’s gift on the bar.
“Got fucking pulled over,” he mutters. “I wasn't even going that fast, like ten over.” Jo gives him a wry smirk as she pours a beer from the tap for him.
“Uh-huh,” she says sarcastically.
“Where is the birthday boy anyway?” Dean glances around the bar, searching for his brother. Jo tips her chin up toward the back of the room as she sets his beer down. Dean twists around to see his brother grinning down at a short guy with longish, light brown hair and a goofy smile. It's clear from how close they are standing that both men have the same idea in mind for the night.
“Looking for a little birthday nookie, I see,” Dean says. He catches Sam’s eye and gives him a weak smile. Sam nods, gives his friend a “one minute” signal, and crosses the room to meet Dean.
“Hey, man,” he says, swallowing Dean up in a hug.
“Happy Birthday, ya moose,” Dean replies. “You didn't have to stop what you were doing to see me. Go back to flirting with Santa’s elf over there .” Sam laughs and slaps his brother on the back.
“Yeah, well Ellen and Jo told me you organized this. I at least owe you a shot.” Before he can even finish the sentence, Jo sets two bourbons on the bar in front of them. Sam and Dean each pick up a glass and shoot it back; Dean snorts at the way Sam’s face twists in reaction. He grabs the package from the bar and hands it to Sam.
“Happy birthday, Bitch,” he says affectionately.
“Thanks, Jerk,” Sam replies. He tears away the paper, his face lighting up when he sees what's beneath. “Game of Thrones box set! Sweet!”
“A Song of Fire and Ice,” Dean corrects. “So now I don't want to hear any more of this ‘spoiler’ bullshit. I expect you to at least be through Clash of Kings by the time the next season starts.” Sam mumbles something sarcastic under his breath, but still brings Dean in for a thank you hug.
“Alright, alright, you're welcome,” Dean says. “Now go get back to that guy who wants to jump your bones. You are not going to blame me for not getting laid on your birthday.” Sam nods and Dean watches as he scurries off to find the short guy once more.
“What about you, Dean?” Jo asks as he turns back to the bar. “You on the prowl as well?” It’s not really an unexpected question. Normally, the answer would be yeah, but Dean just shakes his head instead.
“I think I'm just going to relax tonight,” he says.
“‘Bout time!” Ellen pipes up as she sidles up next to him. “I was hoping you might start thinking about settling down.”
Dean holds up his hands defensively. “Whoa, whoa, whoa… Let's not go that far.” He takes a sip of his drink. “Just because I don't feel like hooking up does not mean I'm in the mood to settle down.” Jo and her mother exchange dubious looks.
“What?” Dean exclaims. “I'm not that much of a horndog. Besides, even if I was looking for a relationship, now is not the time. The job situation is in the air, I still have all these student loans to pay off… I'm just not in the right place for anyone.”
“Well, I tend to disagree,” Ellen replies, “but it's your life.”
“Damn straight it is,” Dean says as he takes another drink. Jo gives him a sympathetic look, wordlessly apologizing and commiserating for her meddling mother. Dean hears his name called from across the room and looks up to see Ash and Garth waving him over to play darts.
“If you ladies will excuse me,” he says as he rises from his stool. “I have a couple asses to kick at cutthroat.”
***
Castiel
Castiel’s head throbs as he rises into consciousness. It takes a minute for his eyes to focus, falling on the now-empty bottle of tequila sitting on the floor next to the couch. Castiel squeezes his eyes shut tight and groans. He turns over on the couch away from the light of the morning, his stomach protesting as he does. An annoying noise grates at his already frayed nerves; it sounds like someone chewing. Castiel opens one eye and then the other before raising his head in confusion.
A long-haired giant of a man, clad only in plaid boxer shorts, sits at Gabriel’s kitchen island, eating cereal out of a bowl.
“‘Sup?” the guys says between bites, tipping his chin up toward Castiel.
“Uh, hi,” Castiel croaks out, slowly sitting up on the couch. Castiel is still fully dressed in his clothes from yesterday, but this guy seems nonplussed to just be there in his underwear.
“You’re Gabe’s friend?” he asks and Castiel nods. “I’m Sam.”
“Hi,” Castiel repeats. He wants to ask where Gabriel is, but at that exact moment, the man chooses to step out into the living room.
“Morning, Castiel,” he yawns loudly. “Morning… uh… um…”
“Sam,” the giant supplies with a hint of annoyance.
“Yeah, Sam.” Gabriel flashes him a sleepy but flirtatious grin. “That’s right. Didn’t realize you were going to... stay so long.”
Sam shrugs. “My car is still at the bar.” He gives Gabriel a pointed look. “I’ve already called my brother. He’s coming to pick me up.” Gabriel tries to mask his relief but fails. It’s clear even to Castiel’s alcohol-fogged brain that this a one-night stand that has gone on far too long for both parties.
“Cool, cool,” Gabriel says as he glances at his phone. “What time is he supposed to be here?”
“Around 8:30, so in about 15 minutes,” Sam answers. Castiel stiffens abruptly.
“Wait a minute!” he gasps. “It’s 8:15!?” Sam and Gabriel both nod. Castiel jumps to his feet and runs through the apartment, muttering “shit” repeatedly under his breath as he splashes water on his face and squirts a gob of toothpaste in his mouth.
“Shit! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Castiel tears open his duffel bag, grabbing a random pair of pants and shirt.
“Castiel, what’s going on?” Gabriel yells after him.
“I have five minutes to catch the bus!” he shouts back. He slings his messenger bag over his shoulder and trips over his half-tied shoes as he bolts out the door.
“Uh, Dude, my brother can probably give you a lift if you need it,” Sam calls after him, but Castiel is out of earshot. Sam looks back to Gabriel who just gives a listless shrug as he reaches into the open cereal box and pulls out a fist full of Captain Crunch.
“That’s gross,” Sam says flatly.
“My hands are clean,” Gabriel replies, mouth stuffed with cereal. His eyes travel up and down Sam’s body and he nudges his head toward the bedroom. “Want another go?” Sam considers this for a moment, shrugs, and stands from the island.
“Let’s make it quick,” he says, letting his boxers fall to the floor as he retreats down the hall.
***
Castiel misses his bus and has to wait nearly thirty minutes for the next one.
By the time he arrives in the office, he somehow looks even worse for wear than when he started. His head throbs and his stomach feels like a witch’s brew bubbling and swirling. All he wants is to get some coffee and hide in his cubicle for the rest of the day, talking to no one.
“Novak!” A clipped, hoarse voice shouts out his name, causing him to flinch. “Are you at all familiar with our office hours?” Mr. Crowley strolls down the lane between cubicles in his direction.
“Yes, sir, I am,” Castiel mumbles. “I… I missed the bus.” Crowley gives him tight smile.
“I believe one of the requirements of your hiring here was to have reliable transportation,” he says. “Am I incorrect on that fact?”
“No sir,” Castiel swallows hard. Castiel catches of whiff of cigarette smoke and too much cologne coming off the man and the smell turns his stomach. “I promise it won’t happen again.”
“I should hope not,” Crowley replies. “This will be your second write-up in a month.”
“Yes, sir.” Castiel tries to breath through his mouth, the tequila quickly winning the revolt against his stomach.
“One more incident and-” Crowley doesn’t have a chance to finish his sentence before Castiel doubles over and vomits Jose Cuervo all over his shoes. There is a collective gasp from everyone in the nearby area. Castiel wavers on his feet but rights himself, looking up reluctantly at a seething Crowley.
“Disgusting,” he hisses, taking a step back. “Collect your things and vacate the building at once.” Without another word, Crowley turns and walks away, leaving tequila-vomit footprints in his wake.
Castiel walks on unsteady feet to his desk, grabbing an empty xerox paper box on the way. He only has a few personal items in his cubicle and it takes him no more than five minutes to grab it all. He unclips his ID badge and leaves it on the desk before turning and walking out of the office.
As he leaves, he feels a strange sense of euphoria, like a weight being lifted off his shoulders. Maybe this is good; he never liked working at Crowley and Associates anyways. Maybe this will be just the life change he needs. He already feels 75% better than he did thirty minutes ago.
… Of course, that could be an effect of the puking too.
***
Dean
Dean is waiting in the idling Impala when Sam finally tromps down the stairs of the non-descript apartment building.
“You’re early,” he says as he opens the door and slips inside.
“Your text said SOS.” Dean throws the car into reverse and backs out of the parking lot. “I’m assuming that you wanted out of there as soon as possible.”
“Yeah, well, y’know,” Sam mutters, running a hand through his too-long hair and hunkering down against the window.
“Mistakes were made, then?” Dean supplies, glancing at his brother.
“Yeah. Twice,” Sam says, shutting his eyes. They ride in silence for a long while. Dean thinks Sam is asleep until he pipes up unexpectedly.
“You interested in grabbing breakfast or anything like that?” he says.
“Sure,” Dean says, “Denny’s ok?” Sam hums in the affirmative and Dean pulls into the restaurant parking lot a few minutes later.
They both order coffee and omelets from the waitress as soon as they sit down, Dean reaching over and grabbing three sugar packets out of the caddy.
“So, you had fun last night?” he asks. “I mean at the party. I don't want the details of your sex life.”
“Yeah, Dean, of course I did.” Sam replies with a grin. “Thank you for that. Best birthday I've had in years.” Dean smiles; the most important thing about last night was Sam enjoying himself. He’s been busting his ass in law school the last three years and his birthday always landed right in the throes of finals. This was the first year that his birthday didn't come with some exam hanging over his head.
“There is something I wanted to ask you about,” Sam says. The smiles drops off of Dean’s face.
“What's up?”
“Did I hear you talking to Jo and Ellen about a job in Oregon?” Dean’s shoulders sagged; this is not how he wanted to broach the topic.
“It's just a possibility,” he says.
“A possibility?”
“There is a position available in the philosophy department at a school in Portland. A friend of mine suggested my name to the department head.”
“You're moving to Oregon?” Sam asks, raising a disbelieving eyebrow.
“I don't know, maybe.” Dean shrugs. “I've put in my resume. Maybe I'll get an interview, maybe I won't.” Dean tries to keep up a nonchalant attitude on the matter. The truth is, this is the most exciting opportunity of his career so far. Aaron can't stop raving about the school or Portland in general. He's already spoken to the department head and feels very confident in how their talk went.
Sam can't stop staring at him with that weird expression though.
“You are seriously moving to the west coast?” he narrows his eyes at his brother. “After all the shit you gave me about going to school in California?”
“This is different, Sam,” Dean says. “And right now everything is hypothetical.”
“But you would move if you got the job?”
“Of course I would. I'd be stupid not to,” Dean replies. “Substituting pays the bills but it's not a career.”
Sam gives an indifferent shrug. “Just surprised you aren't looking for teaching positions in the area.”
“Who says I'm not, Sam?” Dean bites out a harsh reply. “Unfortunately, waiting for tenured professors to die or retire can take years. I don't have that sort of time.” Sam frowns, but doesn't say anything. The waitress comes and drops off their food.
“Nothing says that you can't move out there, too,” Dean offers. “Maybe reconnect with that one girl you dated in college. What was her name? Jenny?”
“Jess,” Sam corrects with a small grin. “Whatever, man. You just do what's best for you, ok?” Dean smiles and raises his coffee cup toward his brother.
“Will do, Sam.”
***
Castiel
The euphoria doesn’t last long. It’s not a day and a half later that the reality of the situation sinks in and Castiel is laid up on Gabriel’s couch, hopeless. Gabriel doesn’t say anything, just makes Castiel cups of tea and grilled cheese sandwiches. He asks Cas for the play-by-play of the talk shows or Days of Our Lives and doesn’t push him to put on pants or even leave the apartment. He gives Castiel time, or, more specifically, a month and a half.
“Cas, look,” Gabriel says as he switches off an episode of Law and Order and flops down on the couch next to him. “I know you’ve been through a lot lately.” Castiel just grunts in response.
“Losing your relationship and job in the span of 24 hours is a huge blow, I get it.” His voice is gentle and sincere, as if he’s trying to approach a skittish animal. “But don’t you think it’s time you… I don’t know…moved on?”
Castiel looks up at him with big, watery eyes. “You want me to leave?” He says in disbelief.
“No, no, no, I’m not saying you should move out. Not at all,” Gabriel assures. “But… it might not be a bad idea for you to leave the apartment or meet some people… Move past Michael.”
Castiel’s brow furrows in anger. “So you just think I should just take the shambles of my life and rebuild it?”
“Baby steps, Cas.” Gabriel holds up two hands defensively. “How about a job? I really need you to start pulling your weight, at least with the rent, y’know.” Castiel nods numbly. He’s been taking advantage of Gabriel’s kindness for too long.
“Yeah, alright,” He mumbles, rewrapping his blanket over his shoulders. “I’ll go get a paper tomorrow and-” Gabriel thwacks a newspaper across his chest.
“Way ahead of you.” He offers Castiel a wry grin. “Want ads. page E9.”
***
Dean
More than ever, Dean hates flying
“You don’t understand!” he shouts to the airline employee behind the counter. “I need to be in Portland tonight. I have a job interview in six hours.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the employee says, flashing a practiced, sympathetic smile. “We are not allowed to let anymore passengers board once the doors close.” Dean growls lowly and scrubs a hand over his face. He can’t believe this is happening. He’d been so thrilled to get the call from the school saying they’d like to meet him, but that excitement died when they said they’d already booked him a flight out there for the interview. Even aside from Dean’s intense hatred of flying, they’d booked it on the day Dean was scheduled to appear in traffic court to fight the bunk speeding ticket he’d gotten the day of Sam’s birthday party.
“If you’d like sir, I can get you booked for a flight at 10:20 tomorrow morning,” she offers, tapping on the keyboard.
“My interview is at 8:30,” Dean mutters. This was not supposed to be such a close call, unfortunately, the cop who pulled him over never appeared in court and the judge spent an hour giving him the benefit of the doubt before throwing out the case. The delay had thrown off Dean’s entire schedule and led to him running late for the flight. He’d driven as fast as he was legally allowed, but by the time he was through check in and security, the doors of the plane were already closed.
“Please,” Dean begged. “Please. Is there anyway you could just open the door? They haven’t even pulled away yet. I have my ticket and everything; I can’t stress how important this is.” The woman just gives Dean a sympathetic look.
“I apologize, sir, but there is nothing else I can do.”
***
Dean is pissed.
He’s pissed at the airline and the school and the fucking traffic cop for not showing up. It’s late as he drives down the deserted highway, away from the airport, fuming to himself. He’s tried several times to contact anyone at the school but he knows that is a fruitless effort. Even if he did get ahold of them and explain the situation, it wouldn’t look good for Dean. After the money they’d spent on the plane ticket and how much they emphasized face-to-face interviews when he brought up the idea of a Skype call instead, he knew his chances were boned. Word had already gotten around about the position and he’d heard from some of his friends and colleagues that competition was very high.
Dean sighs; it’s just his luck for shit like this to happen. Everytime he has a good opportunity, life has a way of throwing a spanner into the works and fucking everything up for him. Sure, Dean made a lot of sacrifices growing up for his family, especially Sam, but isn’t karma supposed to pay off eventually?
Dean looks down at the dash, noticing the dial on the gas gauge hovering right above E. In the distance, he spots a Gas n’ Sip. Maybe he can pick up a six-pack and drown his sorrows for the remainder of the evening. Just as he gets within a half mile of the station, though, the glowing blue sign shuts off and the whole station goes dark; they’re closed.
“Story of my life,” Dean mutters as he drives on past the unlit station.
***
Castiel
Castiel is miserable.
Working at Crowley and Associates was never a ball of laughs, but it had been a great deal better than the Gas n’ Sip. His feet and back ache from standing for 12 hours behind the counter, there is a deep gash on his hand from trying to fix the slurpee machine, and his head throbs from the combined smell of industrial cleaner, old coffee and exhaust from outside.
Maybe he should have been a little pickier when it came to choosing a job, but he’d felt so guilty mooching off of Gabriel and was eager to pay him back. The manager Nora had hired him on the spot, telling Castiel how keen she was to fill the graveyard shift; that should’ve been Castiel’s first clue.
He knows he should be happy just to be employed, but after losing the job that he felt was going to become his career, working at a gas station feels like stagnation. Gabriel usually points out how pretentious that sounds, but Castiel has always been the type of person to believe in fulfillment, professionally, romantically and personally. Life is about living, not just surviving, and currently that is all he is doing. Hell, he’s barely making enough to afford his storage unit.
Castiel stares at the clock on the wall; five minutes until closing. He glances out to the road; There are no cars in sight, the only light coming from the yellow street lamps. No one will care or notice if he closes up early. He moves from behind the counter, grabbing his coat and Gabriel’s car keys from the backroom. He locks the front door and moves toward the back of the building, flicking off the lights on the main electrical panel one at a time, the store growing darker with each switch. With the final flick, the store is plunged into darkness. Castiel moves blindly through the building and out the back door, locking it behind him and jogging toward the car.
***
Dean
Dr. Cain looks like a reject from “Easy Rider” and talks like a character out of a Tennessee Williams’ play; not at all what Dean pictured when he thought “academic.” A lion’s mane of salt and pepper hair hangs around his face, framed by a full beard which he dabs with a napkin after each sip of his coffee. He sits in the booth across from Dean, hands casually clasped together on the table, considering him with stoic blue eyes.
“Well?” he asks
“I don’t know,” Dean mumbles in response, anxious at being put on the spot. When he’d received the call from Dr. Cain, he didn’t realize that it was because he was being considered for a teaching position. Dean’s not even sure how the man got his name.
He fiddles with the school brochure in front of him, smiling students looking back at him from the glossy cover beneath the words “Berens Community College”.
“I know it’s a lot to consider, Dean,” Dr. Cain says. “I’m sure you have other offers and other schools looking to hire you, but I truly feel that you would be a good fit at Berens, particularly in the Theology Department.” Dean glances up, brows drawn together.
“That’s my question,” he says. “How did you even find out about me?”
“I was at a conference with a colleague of yours about a month ago… Professor Lafitte? He spoke very highly of you.” Dean’s blinks in surprise.
“Lafitte?” he asks, blinking in surprise. “Benny mentioned me?” Dean hasn’t spoken to Benny in almost 4 years.
“Yes, a great deal, actually,” Cain nods, taking a sip of his coffee and dabbing at his mouth with the napkin. “You made quite an impression on him.”
“And you want to hire me off of his word?” Dean asks.
“Of course I did my own research into you as well,” Cain replies, making Dean feel strangely vulnerable. “I particularly enjoyed your thesis on the mythology of North America. It was very well done.” A small smile crosses Dean’s face; he’s still pretty proud of that paper.
“I’ve gotta say, this is the strangest job interview I’ve ever had.” Dean admits, glancing around at the bustling coffee shop.
“I prefer not to be constrained by an office environment,” Dr. Cain says. “I feel public spaces such as this provide a calming atmosphere and puts people more at ease.” Dean hums in understanding and idly stirs his coffee. They talk for close to another hour with Dr. Cain spending as much time talking about Berens’ theology department as he does asking Dean about his own life.
“I’m not asking for your decision right away,” Dr. Cain says,“Take a week and consider it. I know we don’t have the same distinction as other schools. We’re just a small community college, after all.” Cain punctuates his sentence with a sip of his coffee and another dab at his mustache.
Dean nods. “Yeah, I’ll, uh… I’ll think about it.” he says. Dr. Cain gives an appreciative nod and glances down at his watch.
“I’m afraid I have an appointment in a short while,” he says, rising from the booth and pulling a small, white card from his wallet. “Whatever your decision, I look forward to your call.” He hands the card to Dean and bids him a goodbye before exiting the cafe.
Dean sits there for a few minutes, studying the card and considering his options. He can’t deny this is a great opportunity; It’s not like teaching positions fall into his lap every day. Still, though, a burr of doubt clings to the back of his mind. What if another offer comes along with better pay or more prestige? What if Aaron frinds another position for him at Western Oregon? Then again, Berens is local, meaning he wouldn’t have to leave his friends or family behind.
Dean gives a heavy sigh and slips the card into his pocket. He stands to leave, pulling a couple bills from his wallet and throwing them onto the table. He notices the school brochure still sitting on the table and considers grabbing it until his phone chimes with a text message. Dean pulls the phone out of his pocket and smiles at Sam’s message. He taps out a reply as he exits the cafe, leaving his empty coffee cup and brochure forgotten on the table.
***
Castiel
Castiel waits in line for coffee, staring up at the menu board. He hates the idea of spending what little money he has on overpriced espresso, but he can’t stomach another cup of the watery, bitter crap that Gas n’ Sip calls “coffee”. Just the thought of it almost makes him gag.
Castiel dreads going into work tonight. Every minute he spends behind that damn counter feels like stagnation. He tries looking for other jobs, but he keeps seeing the the same rhetoric each time- two years experience needed, specialized degree required, some
qualification he doesn’t have, blah, blah, blah.
It should not be this hard to get an entry level position.
Castiel groans and scrubs a hand over his face, his frustration palpable. His eyes drift to a nearby table, falling on a glossy brochure sitting next to an empty coffee cup and a couple of dollar bills. The cover features smiling teenagers in staged classroom settings, the words “Berens Community College” running along the top of the page.
Castiel stares at the booklet with interest. It's not like this is the first time going back to school has crossed his mind, but never has the reminder be so blatant. Cost is Castiel’s biggest barrier, but maybe there is a program or payment plan and the school would be willing to work with him. Community college isn’t that expensive, right? He can't possibly be the only person struggling to get a fresh start. Maybe finding this brochure is just the sign he needs.
Castiel hesitates for a moment, wondering if maybe the table’s occupant will return, before reaching over and grabbing the brochure.
Part 2