And All That's In Between (Supernatural, Sam, Castiel and Dean [gen])
Title: And All That's In Between
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam, Castiel and Dean (gen)
Author: emerald_embers
Betas: queen_insane and scarletsherlock
Written for: wandersfound
Rating: PG13 for bad language and violence.
Warnings: Some ablism on Sam's part.
Word count: 2429
Summary: Mobster AU; Sam liked to do things his own way, and so did Castiel.
Sam was used to complications. Living his life the way he chose to meant constantly juggling friends, family and work, with barely a minute of peace to spare.
Daytime meant avoiding John's idea of parenting through phone calls and mail. John liked to make up for his being an ignorant father through Sam's childhood by being overbearing in his retirement; Sam had promised to leave if John didn't stop criticising his decision to become a bouncer instead of a cop, and when John said he had better change jobs or get out of the house, Sam got out. Sometimes he regretted leaving Dean behind, but for all that Dean was a good brother, he was a better son.
If John had been like Dean, Sam might have followed them into the force - Dean was a good cop, had taken the job because he had black and white ideas of right and wrong, liked protecting the public and hunting down "bad guys". John, on the other hand, had been all too fond of using his position to act as judge and jury - he had never quite lost their grandpa's cowboy sense of justice.
Sam shared John's sense of justice, but not his hypocrisy in using it. As a bouncer for Michael's bar he kept an eye on the police as much as the patrons, slipping bribes to anyone who was happy to turn a blind eye to the booze, raising the alarm whenever one of the busy-body types approached; it wasn't really dishonesty if he knew perfectly well which side of the law he operated on. The major advantage of being on his side was a near unparalleled ability to take care of any unpleasant characters as he wished, so long as he kept Michael's name out of the mess.
Technically, he owed Michael for returning the favour. Michael had plenty of employees who could very easily have been hauled over the coals by the press or the police, but he had a talent for making bad news disappear.
Nighttime was just as entertaining, between his job and staying out of the rivalry between Michael and Luce as best as he could; Luce's bar was a nesting place for scum, and while none of his employees dared attack Michael directly, they were happy to test their luck with Sam and his colleagues. Still, at least Michael and Luce had reached a strange sort of stalemate not long after Sam started work - Hell, he'd been an awkward and involuntary participant in the most recent outburst of violence.
Nighttime also happened to bring out the handful of people Sam was willing to call friends. There weren't any girls in his life - after Jessica abandoned him to head for someplace better and Madison did her best to tear out his heart and eat it, Sam had given up on romance. Michael's bar had an interesting reputation, but most of Sam's colleagues and a few of the bar's regulars were good people to know; Castiel and Adam were some of the most entertaining characters you could hope to meet, and Hell, even Dean was bearable of an evening once the coffee stopped leaving him jittery and he was tired enough to be reasonable.
Dean was his big brother, had as good as raised Sam, so the affection there wasn't exactly hard to nail down. Dean's instincts had saved Sam's life in a very literal sense more than once, and Sam knew there simply wasn't any way to repay that, even if any actual shows of affection between the two of them only tended to show up once death was on the line.
Adam was easy to like; he had the sort of sharp tongue you only read about in books, always had something to say, and could stop or start a fight just by talking. He could hold his own in a fight if he needed to, but he was better at setting people straight with a quick one-liner, and was probably the only person amongst Michael's staff who not only avoided drink but had a clean criminal record. Whenever anyone with a warrant took a look around the bar, it was Adam and Michael who smooth-talked their way out of any further investigation.
As for Castiel, he was a different kettle of fish. Sam suspected his initial fondness for Castiel was in part because he wasn't complicated. Regardless of all his alleged adventures, Castiel lead a simple enough life; he spent his days running a jeweller's, his evenings going for coffee or keeping an eye on his twin. Jimmy matched Castiel for simplicity, was a walking advertisement of the American dream - good job, nice house, beautiful wife, perfect kids.
Of course, Jimmy didn't occasionally top up his earnings with assassinations. With most people, that would be a complication. With Castiel, it wasn't.
Very few people actively liked Castiel. He wasn't exactly a people person, and tended to be abrupt and irritable at best. Moreover, he had no qualms about killing - Castiel took on the jobs others flinched at, saw no difference between killing men or women, young or old, rich or poor.
Sam's soft spot for Castiel first developed when he realised that he seemed to live a simple life because he was a touch simple himself; Sam couldn't quite fathom how Castiel had managed to take out Crowley and Meg, two of Luce's own, but somehow thought wearing a beige trenchcoat to an assassination was a good idea.
It wasn't that Castiel was an idiot; there was a certain logic to all of his actions, but sometimes that logic just happened to be broken. The beige trenchcoat had been chosen so as not to draw attention during the day - it just hadn't occurred to him that blood spatters on the trenchcoat might become an issue. Attempting to give him directions based on landmarks was an exercise in failure because he didn't remember sculptures or skylines or window displays, he remembered street names. Everyday conversation sometimes felt like an effort courtesy of his complete disinterest in strangers' lives unless it was relevant to a job he'd taken on. Castiel wasn't exactly given to gossip.
It was only once Sam had started to think of Castiel as different, rather than just awkward, that he'd taken a liking to him. There was something straightforward to Castiel's variety of strange, and talking to him certainly broke up the monotony of conversation with anyone normal. Something about Castiel was just - old, and calm, despite his irritability.
Sam knew full well what Castiel's job entailed, the risks and the mess that came with it. That didn't mean he ever expected to start a shift with Castiel sprawling out of a car at his feet, disheveled and missing the trenchcoat, looking as if he had been beaten half to death.
It didn't take more than a second for Sam to realise Castiel's black jacket wasn't damp because of the rain; his face would have been black and blue if he wasn't so thoroughly soaked in red, and Sam flagged Adam over to persuade him to take care of door duties before he took Castiel upstairs as quickly as he could.
"Pen," Castiel spat out with a dribble of blood as Sam set him down in the bathroom. Sam didn't stop to ask, grabbed pen and paper and set both down at Castiel's side while filling up the sink.
It wasn't long before a clatter and a sudden loud burst of snoring told Sam that Castiel had passed out; Sam picked up the scrap of paper and tucked it into his pocket before setting about tidying him up.
Castiel's wounds were vicious but clean enough to treat, and all too familiar - Sam had seen wounds like this before. Dean had scars from the same bastard after sticking his nose in where Luce didn't want it sticking; Alastair worked with razors, not knives, his slices neat and deep and cruel.
After washing Castiel's wounds it was time to help dispose of any remaining evidence, and Sam bundled up the ruined shirt and jacket for washing and burning if need be, took Castiel's hands and cleaned gore from them that didn't appear to be entirely his own.
There were silver hairs here and there amongst the blood, and Sam wondered how precisely Castiel had stopped Alastair. If Sam's theory was right, maybe Catholicism was worth the time and effort - Castiel certainly seemed to have God's own luck behind him. Christ, Alastair had four inches height and at least five years' experience on him.
Sam washed his own hands again before scooping Castiel up, carrying him through to the staff room and clearing his throat until one of the waitresses caught the hint and lined the couch in newspaper sheets. Castiel had no complaints about being put down, stirred to catch Sam's wrist and demand, "Give Dean that message," before shutting his eyes again.
Sam took the paper out of his pocket, read it, and felt his stomach twist.
Luce thinks Jimmy killed Meg.
Sent Al after him. Stopped Al. Jimmy safe
Old Regent's Hotel room 402
Jimmy was a rare thing, a genuinely good guy, and if Castiel wanted Dean's help - the law's help - then he was in the sort of trouble that didn't bear thinking about.
"What does Dean know?"
"Not much," Castiel said, shifting on the couch and wincing when the motion strained a wound running from his neck to his collar. "But he has integrity, and Jimmy needs the police." He opened his slightly less bruised left eye briefly, expression deadly serious. "Sam, you make sure Jimmy stays safe."
Sam didn't need to be told twice, knew exactly how he would be acting if he ever had to stop someone attacking Dean, grabbed his own coat and nodded to Adam as he left.
Dean looked pleasantly surprised when Sam turned up, despite John having ordered Sam on several occasions to stay away from the house, and Sam handed over the message, waited for Dean to finish reading. Watching the smile disappear from Dean's eyes was a sad thing, but the fact Dean looked concerned rather than panicky felt like a good sign, felt like he knew what he had to do.
"Cas is the jeweller, right?" Dean asked, and Sam nodded, watched Dean gather up his coat and wallet before taking a step back so Dean could walk out and close the door. "Any reason Luce thinks his brother's the killer?"
"No idea," Sam answered, the lie coming easily after years of practise. "Jimmy's about as dangerous as a housewife."
"You'd be surprised what a housewife can do," Dean replied, easily, before catching Sam's eye. "And Cas. He know why Luce would get that idea?"
"You'd have to ask him."
Dean gave Sam a long, measuring look before sighing and shrugging his shoulders. "Fine. I'll see what I can do about Jimmy, but I'm going to want a word with Cas once his brother's safe. You make sure Cas doesn't get any ideas about leaving town though, right?"
Sam nodded. "Don't think he'll be going anywhere for a while. How'd you know Cas, anyway?"
"Aren't many people around who report guys pawning off stolen jewellery," Dean replied. "Question is, how do you know him?" Sam didn't have an answer for that, breathed a sigh of relief when Dean didn't wait for one, answering his own question with, "I'm not an idiot, Sam. I know Michael serves booze, and I know Cas is a regular."
Sam let himself laugh; Castiel was far from dry, yes, but it wasn't exactly the reason Michael kept him around.
Everyone knew Luce was smart enough not to have any direct links with Alastair, but that didn't make Alastair a ghost. Jimmy's survival of the attack, not to mention Castiel's, meant there were witnesses to a hit; Luce didn't slip up often, and even partial evidence of a mistake on his part was worth holding onto.
What little colour Castiel had in his wound-free skin soon returned on his hearing of Dean's assurance of Jimmy's safety. The whole mess was far from over - Luce thinking Jimmy responsible for Meg's death meant someone knew Castiel's face, knew it was connected with her murder. If Alastair had been sent, it meant Luce had taken it personally - it meant no easy way out for Castiel, no means of buying peace. Moreover, handing Jimmy to the police for safety meant any Novaks would be under their scrutiny for some time to come.
Castiel didn't seem to mind as much as Sam had expected him to. The day job covered the bills, and he seemed more preoccupied with Jimmy's health than anything else - all the worrying made it pretty clear Sam's suspicions about Castiel were right, and the guy was human after all.
Michael seemed to agree that Castiel's leaving his service for the time being was a good idea, and Adam arranged a leaving party that felt much more like good riddance than a celebration of what work Castiel had done for them.
It was strange seeing Castiel during the day in normal surroundings, and awkward knowing that he had never actually asked others to accompany him to his coffee afternoons. Sam had never quite realised the height difference between himself and Castiel, though he supposed anyone would look taller if they were carrying a rifle most of the time.
A rain-sodden copy of The Times didn't quite convey the same sense of menace, and Sam stuck his finger in the middle of the pages, pulling the paper down so Castiel could see him.
"Enjoying your retirement?"
Castiel rolled his eyes before folding up the paper and swatting Sam on the shoulder with it. "Sit down. You're taller than my neck can handle."
Sam took the seat opposite him, eyed up the fading bruises and still livid scars covering his skin. "Are you allowed out in daylight? You'll be scaring the kids."
"Yes," Castiel replied, and Sam couldn't tell what he was agreeing to, or whether he was being sarcastic. Awkward silences were par for the course with Castiel, caffeine apparently failing to make him much more of a conversationalist, but Sam had a feeling it was a bigger step than Castiel let on when he announced he would be visiting Ellen's coffee shop every Thursday.
It wasn't explicitly an invitation, but Sam was more than happy to treat it as one.
The End
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam, Castiel and Dean (gen)
Author: emerald_embers
Betas: queen_insane and scarletsherlock
Written for: wandersfound
Rating: PG13 for bad language and violence.
Warnings: Some ablism on Sam's part.
Word count: 2429
Summary: Mobster AU; Sam liked to do things his own way, and so did Castiel.
Sam was used to complications. Living his life the way he chose to meant constantly juggling friends, family and work, with barely a minute of peace to spare.
Daytime meant avoiding John's idea of parenting through phone calls and mail. John liked to make up for his being an ignorant father through Sam's childhood by being overbearing in his retirement; Sam had promised to leave if John didn't stop criticising his decision to become a bouncer instead of a cop, and when John said he had better change jobs or get out of the house, Sam got out. Sometimes he regretted leaving Dean behind, but for all that Dean was a good brother, he was a better son.
If John had been like Dean, Sam might have followed them into the force - Dean was a good cop, had taken the job because he had black and white ideas of right and wrong, liked protecting the public and hunting down "bad guys". John, on the other hand, had been all too fond of using his position to act as judge and jury - he had never quite lost their grandpa's cowboy sense of justice.
Sam shared John's sense of justice, but not his hypocrisy in using it. As a bouncer for Michael's bar he kept an eye on the police as much as the patrons, slipping bribes to anyone who was happy to turn a blind eye to the booze, raising the alarm whenever one of the busy-body types approached; it wasn't really dishonesty if he knew perfectly well which side of the law he operated on. The major advantage of being on his side was a near unparalleled ability to take care of any unpleasant characters as he wished, so long as he kept Michael's name out of the mess.
Technically, he owed Michael for returning the favour. Michael had plenty of employees who could very easily have been hauled over the coals by the press or the police, but he had a talent for making bad news disappear.
Nighttime was just as entertaining, between his job and staying out of the rivalry between Michael and Luce as best as he could; Luce's bar was a nesting place for scum, and while none of his employees dared attack Michael directly, they were happy to test their luck with Sam and his colleagues. Still, at least Michael and Luce had reached a strange sort of stalemate not long after Sam started work - Hell, he'd been an awkward and involuntary participant in the most recent outburst of violence.
Nighttime also happened to bring out the handful of people Sam was willing to call friends. There weren't any girls in his life - after Jessica abandoned him to head for someplace better and Madison did her best to tear out his heart and eat it, Sam had given up on romance. Michael's bar had an interesting reputation, but most of Sam's colleagues and a few of the bar's regulars were good people to know; Castiel and Adam were some of the most entertaining characters you could hope to meet, and Hell, even Dean was bearable of an evening once the coffee stopped leaving him jittery and he was tired enough to be reasonable.
Dean was his big brother, had as good as raised Sam, so the affection there wasn't exactly hard to nail down. Dean's instincts had saved Sam's life in a very literal sense more than once, and Sam knew there simply wasn't any way to repay that, even if any actual shows of affection between the two of them only tended to show up once death was on the line.
Adam was easy to like; he had the sort of sharp tongue you only read about in books, always had something to say, and could stop or start a fight just by talking. He could hold his own in a fight if he needed to, but he was better at setting people straight with a quick one-liner, and was probably the only person amongst Michael's staff who not only avoided drink but had a clean criminal record. Whenever anyone with a warrant took a look around the bar, it was Adam and Michael who smooth-talked their way out of any further investigation.
As for Castiel, he was a different kettle of fish. Sam suspected his initial fondness for Castiel was in part because he wasn't complicated. Regardless of all his alleged adventures, Castiel lead a simple enough life; he spent his days running a jeweller's, his evenings going for coffee or keeping an eye on his twin. Jimmy matched Castiel for simplicity, was a walking advertisement of the American dream - good job, nice house, beautiful wife, perfect kids.
Of course, Jimmy didn't occasionally top up his earnings with assassinations. With most people, that would be a complication. With Castiel, it wasn't.
Very few people actively liked Castiel. He wasn't exactly a people person, and tended to be abrupt and irritable at best. Moreover, he had no qualms about killing - Castiel took on the jobs others flinched at, saw no difference between killing men or women, young or old, rich or poor.
Sam's soft spot for Castiel first developed when he realised that he seemed to live a simple life because he was a touch simple himself; Sam couldn't quite fathom how Castiel had managed to take out Crowley and Meg, two of Luce's own, but somehow thought wearing a beige trenchcoat to an assassination was a good idea.
It wasn't that Castiel was an idiot; there was a certain logic to all of his actions, but sometimes that logic just happened to be broken. The beige trenchcoat had been chosen so as not to draw attention during the day - it just hadn't occurred to him that blood spatters on the trenchcoat might become an issue. Attempting to give him directions based on landmarks was an exercise in failure because he didn't remember sculptures or skylines or window displays, he remembered street names. Everyday conversation sometimes felt like an effort courtesy of his complete disinterest in strangers' lives unless it was relevant to a job he'd taken on. Castiel wasn't exactly given to gossip.
It was only once Sam had started to think of Castiel as different, rather than just awkward, that he'd taken a liking to him. There was something straightforward to Castiel's variety of strange, and talking to him certainly broke up the monotony of conversation with anyone normal. Something about Castiel was just - old, and calm, despite his irritability.
Sam knew full well what Castiel's job entailed, the risks and the mess that came with it. That didn't mean he ever expected to start a shift with Castiel sprawling out of a car at his feet, disheveled and missing the trenchcoat, looking as if he had been beaten half to death.
It didn't take more than a second for Sam to realise Castiel's black jacket wasn't damp because of the rain; his face would have been black and blue if he wasn't so thoroughly soaked in red, and Sam flagged Adam over to persuade him to take care of door duties before he took Castiel upstairs as quickly as he could.
"Pen," Castiel spat out with a dribble of blood as Sam set him down in the bathroom. Sam didn't stop to ask, grabbed pen and paper and set both down at Castiel's side while filling up the sink.
It wasn't long before a clatter and a sudden loud burst of snoring told Sam that Castiel had passed out; Sam picked up the scrap of paper and tucked it into his pocket before setting about tidying him up.
Castiel's wounds were vicious but clean enough to treat, and all too familiar - Sam had seen wounds like this before. Dean had scars from the same bastard after sticking his nose in where Luce didn't want it sticking; Alastair worked with razors, not knives, his slices neat and deep and cruel.
After washing Castiel's wounds it was time to help dispose of any remaining evidence, and Sam bundled up the ruined shirt and jacket for washing and burning if need be, took Castiel's hands and cleaned gore from them that didn't appear to be entirely his own.
There were silver hairs here and there amongst the blood, and Sam wondered how precisely Castiel had stopped Alastair. If Sam's theory was right, maybe Catholicism was worth the time and effort - Castiel certainly seemed to have God's own luck behind him. Christ, Alastair had four inches height and at least five years' experience on him.
Sam washed his own hands again before scooping Castiel up, carrying him through to the staff room and clearing his throat until one of the waitresses caught the hint and lined the couch in newspaper sheets. Castiel had no complaints about being put down, stirred to catch Sam's wrist and demand, "Give Dean that message," before shutting his eyes again.
Sam took the paper out of his pocket, read it, and felt his stomach twist.
Luce thinks Jimmy killed Meg.
Sent Al after him. Stopped Al. Jimmy safe
Old Regent's Hotel room 402
Jimmy was a rare thing, a genuinely good guy, and if Castiel wanted Dean's help - the law's help - then he was in the sort of trouble that didn't bear thinking about.
"What does Dean know?"
"Not much," Castiel said, shifting on the couch and wincing when the motion strained a wound running from his neck to his collar. "But he has integrity, and Jimmy needs the police." He opened his slightly less bruised left eye briefly, expression deadly serious. "Sam, you make sure Jimmy stays safe."
Sam didn't need to be told twice, knew exactly how he would be acting if he ever had to stop someone attacking Dean, grabbed his own coat and nodded to Adam as he left.
Dean looked pleasantly surprised when Sam turned up, despite John having ordered Sam on several occasions to stay away from the house, and Sam handed over the message, waited for Dean to finish reading. Watching the smile disappear from Dean's eyes was a sad thing, but the fact Dean looked concerned rather than panicky felt like a good sign, felt like he knew what he had to do.
"Cas is the jeweller, right?" Dean asked, and Sam nodded, watched Dean gather up his coat and wallet before taking a step back so Dean could walk out and close the door. "Any reason Luce thinks his brother's the killer?"
"No idea," Sam answered, the lie coming easily after years of practise. "Jimmy's about as dangerous as a housewife."
"You'd be surprised what a housewife can do," Dean replied, easily, before catching Sam's eye. "And Cas. He know why Luce would get that idea?"
"You'd have to ask him."
Dean gave Sam a long, measuring look before sighing and shrugging his shoulders. "Fine. I'll see what I can do about Jimmy, but I'm going to want a word with Cas once his brother's safe. You make sure Cas doesn't get any ideas about leaving town though, right?"
Sam nodded. "Don't think he'll be going anywhere for a while. How'd you know Cas, anyway?"
"Aren't many people around who report guys pawning off stolen jewellery," Dean replied. "Question is, how do you know him?" Sam didn't have an answer for that, breathed a sigh of relief when Dean didn't wait for one, answering his own question with, "I'm not an idiot, Sam. I know Michael serves booze, and I know Cas is a regular."
Sam let himself laugh; Castiel was far from dry, yes, but it wasn't exactly the reason Michael kept him around.
Everyone knew Luce was smart enough not to have any direct links with Alastair, but that didn't make Alastair a ghost. Jimmy's survival of the attack, not to mention Castiel's, meant there were witnesses to a hit; Luce didn't slip up often, and even partial evidence of a mistake on his part was worth holding onto.
What little colour Castiel had in his wound-free skin soon returned on his hearing of Dean's assurance of Jimmy's safety. The whole mess was far from over - Luce thinking Jimmy responsible for Meg's death meant someone knew Castiel's face, knew it was connected with her murder. If Alastair had been sent, it meant Luce had taken it personally - it meant no easy way out for Castiel, no means of buying peace. Moreover, handing Jimmy to the police for safety meant any Novaks would be under their scrutiny for some time to come.
Castiel didn't seem to mind as much as Sam had expected him to. The day job covered the bills, and he seemed more preoccupied with Jimmy's health than anything else - all the worrying made it pretty clear Sam's suspicions about Castiel were right, and the guy was human after all.
Michael seemed to agree that Castiel's leaving his service for the time being was a good idea, and Adam arranged a leaving party that felt much more like good riddance than a celebration of what work Castiel had done for them.
It was strange seeing Castiel during the day in normal surroundings, and awkward knowing that he had never actually asked others to accompany him to his coffee afternoons. Sam had never quite realised the height difference between himself and Castiel, though he supposed anyone would look taller if they were carrying a rifle most of the time.
A rain-sodden copy of The Times didn't quite convey the same sense of menace, and Sam stuck his finger in the middle of the pages, pulling the paper down so Castiel could see him.
"Enjoying your retirement?"
Castiel rolled his eyes before folding up the paper and swatting Sam on the shoulder with it. "Sit down. You're taller than my neck can handle."
Sam took the seat opposite him, eyed up the fading bruises and still livid scars covering his skin. "Are you allowed out in daylight? You'll be scaring the kids."
"Yes," Castiel replied, and Sam couldn't tell what he was agreeing to, or whether he was being sarcastic. Awkward silences were par for the course with Castiel, caffeine apparently failing to make him much more of a conversationalist, but Sam had a feeling it was a bigger step than Castiel let on when he announced he would be visiting Ellen's coffee shop every Thursday.
It wasn't explicitly an invitation, but Sam was more than happy to treat it as one.
The End