Life's Coming Attractions / SPN
Title: Life's Coming Attractions
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: SPN
Prompt: Write about your hidden talent.
Summary: Castiel's humanity offers him a vibrant imagination, and it keeps catching Dean by surprise. (Or, four ways they could have fallen in love, and one way they did.)
1.“I don’t mean to be nosy,” Nellie says (meaning a very personal question is about to be popped), “but I would love to hear how you met.”
Nellie sets the pie slices, one for Dean and one for Cas, in front of them. It’s something called Buttermilk Chess Pie; the filling is yellow, like custard, and Dean can’t decide whether he’s fascinated or revolted. He’s never been a custard fan, especially after that incident when Sammy was six. (Dean doesn’t like to talk about it.)
Castiel glances at Dean from across the checker-clothed table. Fortunately, he’s learned that the truth isn’t necessarily the best way to make friends and influence people. (Dean will never forget the interview in Waterville, Maine. It’s angels and demons. They’re skirmishing all over the globe. Dean still can’t believe they walked out of that police station in one piece.)
“I’m afraid it is not a very interesting story,” Castiel diplomatically answers, and takes a bite of his pie to prolong further discussion. Nellie, owner of The Violet Café, eagerly watches Cas chew. His expression has been one of polite detachment regarding the dessert, but it swiftly morphs into something rapturous: he takes another bite, larger this time, and states, “I have never tasted anything so delicious.”
That’s high praise coming from Cas, and it gives Dean the guts to try some himself. A moment later, he realizes the ex-nerdy dude with wings is right. Chess pie is glorious.
“Well, thank you so much,” Nellie says, beaming. “It was Henry’s favorite.”
Her expression crumples the moment Henry passes her lips, and she turns away to dab at her eyes. This woman, who’d greeted her two newest customers with a kind face and curled gray hair, is suddenly a small, frail widow in the middle of a bright but empty shop.
“Excuse me,” she chokes out. “I don’t mean-”
“It’s all right,” Castiel says, face as grave as death, and hesitantly places his hand over Nellie’s. “We read about the accident in the paper and are extremely sorry for your loss.”
“That’s very sweet, but it’s been long enough. I shouldn’t still feel so... affected.”
“Two months is not long at all. Grief takes time.”
Nellie Forrest gives the hunters a watery smile.
“You’re both angels,” she declares. “Would you care for more coffee? It’s just done brewing in the kitchen.”
She doesn’t wait for their answer; Nellie is halfway across the clean, white floor, heading for the kitchen hiding just behind a pair of blue French doors. Castiel directs his attention to Dean the second she’s gone and says, “I believe she will speak to us about her husband’s death.”
“It’s not the husband I’m concerned about,” Dean quietly replies. “Her grandson died, too. He was-what-twenty-one? They were two experienced fishermen who drowned in a totally placid lake.”
“It is unusual, but I will hate to have brought it up for no-”
Nellie returns with two cups of coffee in hand.
“I apologize again,” she says as she places the cups on the table. “It’s such bad form to become emotional in public.”
“We understand,” Castiel replies. “If it is any consolation, both Dean and I have lost family as well. We know how it feels.”
“My mom died in a house fire,” Dean supplies. “And Cas’ brother Gabe passed just last year. We’ve found it helps to talk, so we’d be glad to listen.”
Nellie swallows hard and glances at them both. “I couldn’t,” she finally protests, but it’s weak; she only needs a small push before the words will come tumbling from her mouth. “It was just so... strange. I saw it happen with my own eyes, but it must have been a trick of the light-”
“Tell us everything,” Castiel says, like his heart is completely open to her. Dean supposes it is. Cas may be human now, but he’s kept his more angelic qualities: a near-inability to lie, delight when trying new foods, intense focus on those who hold vital information, like Nellie on their current hunt. He’s still Cas, but without the mojo. That’s okay with Dean.
A half-hour later, once her story is out in the open, she busies herself with wrapping an entire chess pie to go. She looks at them and smiles. It’s a little less brittle.
“You never told me how you two came to meet,” she says, and Dean panics for a second; there’s no pie to distract Cas from saying We met when I gripped Dean right and raised him from Perdition, but Cas shocks the hell out of Dean when he responds, without missing a beat, “Dean is a mechanic and I am an accountant. My vehicle broke down and I took it to his garage for repair.”
Nellie’s eyes crinkle around the edges. “Forgive my saying so, but that sounds terribly unromantic.”
“It was,” Castiel confirms. “He was covered in grease upon our first meeting. However, he was exceptionally clean when I retrieved my car a few days later.”
“I see. He wanted to look nice when he saw you again.”
Dean feels inexplicably embarrassed by the story-it’s not even real, but he’s twitchy and warm, and has the horrible suspicion he may be blushing. He tries to nudge Cas towards the exit; they have all the information they need based on Nellie’s seemingly-impossible story, and this water demon won’t kill itself.
“And did you know?” she asks as she pushes the pie over the counter. “That he would be special to you?”
Castiel shoots Dean a look from the corner of his eye, sly as a fox, a half-smile playing on his lips.
“I knew he would certainly alter my life,” he answers, which makes Dean cough. As an angel, Cas could always sidestep the truth, but this was more like dancing around it, twisting their story into something else entirely. Sneaky little bastard.
“Ready to go, darling?” Dean places an especially sarcastic emphasis on the endearment. Castiel only looks thoughtful.
“I do not care for that name,” he finally decides. “It is too antiquated.”
“You-” A millennia-old angel, he doesn’t say, “-are complaining about antiquity?”
“I am merely stating that if you must refer to me using endearments, then ‘darling’ is not my preference,” Castiel calmly replies, and Nellie says, “It takes a while to find the right name. Henry called me-well, it’s silly, but he called me Honeybee. I was always baking sweets for the store.”
“That is a lovely name, Ms. Forrest,” Cas says, but Nellie brushes away the formality.
“You’ll find your own name soon,” she promises. “Come by and visit me next time you’re in town,” and they swear to do just that if they ever come this way again.
2. Three months later, Sam reads about a possible haunting at a Florida college. Sam would normally be a shoe-in for the "potential student" role, but he’s laid up in bed with a monster cold, so Dean and Cas figure it’ll be just as easy for them to do the legwork. Dean lends Cas some of his most beaten threads, because the suit makes him look like a teacher rather than the average college kid.
The campus is sizable, but they find the fine arts building soon enough. According to reports, a series of student portraits have been altered overnight: seventeen paintings and eighteen charcoal drawings, each by a different artist, were found hanging with the eyes blacked out. The administration claims it's petty vandalism, but Sam's research shows the same thing happened twenty years earlier.
The woman who agrees to give them a department tour is named Ida Washington. She’s a short, round woman who jokes about everything: the weather, the floor, Castiel’s hair. She reminds Dean of Gabriel, though there’s a kindness about her that Gabriel was only beginning to rediscover before his fight with Lucifer.
“You’ll both feel very comfortable here,” Ida says as they start down the hallway. “Every walk of life comes through this building, so two lovebirds like yourselves are free to be as open as you want.”
“Lovebirds?” Dean repeats, because what the hell? Ida's face colors cherry; she's horrified by her assumption.
“Oh! Well, I just thought-you mentioned sharing a place, and I saw you both drive up in the same car.”
Dean reminds himself to give them better backstories next time. Ida is still embarrassed, so Dean cranks up the charm and reassures her that yes, she's completely right, and he's so sorry for snapping-it's been such a hassle enrolling, surely you understand.
As they approach the studios, Ida attempts to ward off the awkwardness by asking, “So how did you two meet?”
“At a restaurant. He was in a hurry and accidentally spilled coffee on my coat,” Castiel replies. Ida tsks, and Dean gives Cas an ugly look-why did Dean have to be the clumsy one? He sighs and figures this is no worse than when he and Sam are mistaken for Significant Others, and anyway, they really need to check out the painting and drawing studio before classes start at 2:00. There's no use mourning his smooth womanizing reputation when their case remains unsolved.
“C’mon, sweetpea,” Dean says, slinging his arm around Castiel's shoulders.
“I don’t care for that name, either. I am not a vegetable,” Cas points out, but they do gank the ghost that night-after a lot of heavy research at the campus library-and Dean calls him sweetpea all day, just to be annoying.
3. During late June, they find themselves in San Fransisco investigating a-yes, fine, laugh up the cliché-gay club. Dean’s totally ready to let Sam and Cas tap the place, except there are two problems: 1) Sam and Cas make the world's most awkward-looking couple, and 2) Dean just isn’t okay letting Cas traverse the world of gay dance clubs without Dean to rescue him from the inevitable groping and feather boas. For obvious reasons, Sam and Dean aren’t going in together, so that leaves Dean and Cas trying to dress the part while Sam takes phone-pictures like the punkass bitch he is.
He sobers when they drive up to the joint. Dean can already hear the bass-heavy music pounding inside, and knows he’ll hate it.
“Okay, remember, it’s probably just a fairy, but be careful,” Sam cautions. “All the vics were taken from this club."
“We know, Mother Hen,” Dean gripes. He turns to Cas, who’s in his usual place in the back, peering at the club entrance with a look of vague fascination. Dean doesn’t blame him, because there’s a guy taking a smoke break outside the door, and he’s wearing nothing but sparkling pants and pink glasses. “Ready to go, Hot Stuff?”
Cas frowns at the name.
“Lemme guess: you don’t like that one either.”
“I am not hot, nor am I ‘stuff’.”
“Just wait until you get in there,” Dean mutters as they climb out of the car. “You’ll be both.”
Dean grimaces at the shitty trance blaring out of the club’s giant speakers, but feels a hint of relief when he discovers the bar serves manly, nonthreatening beer. Cas is less fortunate: it’s clear he hates the music and crowd, and sticks close to Dean as they navigate through the throng of people, though they’re careful to brush their wrists against those they pass. Anyone inside could be the fairy (that should be hilarious considering where they are, but the comedic value runs out quick), so Bobby had lent them each a pair of iron bracelets. Iron is a powerful metal against fairies, and a simple brush will make the thing flinch away. It’s the only way they’ll find the homicidal bastard, and it’s not like a casual wrist brush will draw much attention in such an… establishment.
Twenty minutes later, no dice.
Sam is still in the car, ready to roll if their monster hightails it, but they haven’t found him yet-hell, Dean can’t guarantee it’s even at the club. They’ve brushed up against everyone at the bar; their only remaining location (besides the bathroom, and Dean’s saving that for the very, very, very last) is the dance floor itself. Dean downs the rest of his beer and nods towards the crowd.
“I’m goin’ in,” he announces. Castiel surveys the floor with the same expression he wore at the whore house.
“I will go with you,” he offers, but Dean’s sure they’ll stand out like neon lights if anyone spots Cas’ inevitably awkward attempts at dancing.
“Nah. You keep an eye on the door. And hey, if someone wants your number, don’t give it to ‘em!”
Castiel nods, like Dean’s giving his last will and testament. Dean raps his knuckles against the counter top, trying to ratchet up his confidence, and disappears into the press of people.
He’s been to high-energy places like this before. Aside from the fact everyone here’s a dude, then it’s not any different from the hundreds of other bars and clubs Dean’s frequented. It doesn’t take long for Dean to become part of the machine: he jumps and twists and smiles at the gentlemen who smile at him first, and even lets various hands and fingers touch him, because the touches don’t mean anything, and it’s not like he doesn’t do the same thing for a much different reason.
And then Dean gets lucky.
Not in the way he usually prefers, but in the way that counts: a short guy with red hair and a poor taste in belts practically leaps away from the iron cuff on Dean’s wrist. The hunter smiles innocently and apologizes for getting in the guy’s space, but he makes sure to get a good look at the fairy’s face before disappearing into the sea of revelers and moving towards the bar. Cas is exactly where Dean left him, still working on the same beer, when someone approaches Dean from the side. He’s cute, if Dean were into this scene.
“Hey,” the guy says. “C’mon and dance with me.”
“Actually, I’m about to take a break. Thanks, though,” Dean answers, thinking that’s the end of it, but the stranger clamps his hand on Dean’s elbow and insists. “Just one. I’ve had my eye on you all night.”
“That’s flattering-” And creepy. “-But I’m due for a drink. My friend’s waiting for me,” but when Dean looks over, Cas is gone. It was bad enough when Cas was an angel, but even now he has a horrible habit of moving when Dean’s not paying attention.
“Really?” the guy presses. “I don’t see him anywhere.”
“That is because I am right here,” Castiel states, standing right behind the creeper. “And I do not believe he wishes to dance with you. You would do well to leave him alone.”
“Yeah? You going to make me?”
The thing is, Dean could’ve taken him. Easy. But Cas leans forward, right into the dude’s space, and says, “Yes, I will. Now remove your hand and do not disturb us again.”
And because Cas is sort of terrifying, the guy does exactly that. Dean watches him leave and then turns back to Castiel, who raises his eyebrows in silent question: did you find what we're looking for? Dean gestures towards the exit, a sign they’ve gotten all they need from here, and Cas calmly follows until they’re stopped a few feet from the door by another stranger with short, black hair and glittering shoes.
“I saw you two over by the bar. I just want to say how cute you are together,” he says, smiling wide. The music is a decibel lower by the door, so he dares to ask, “Did you meet here?”
Castiel half-smiles in his customary way, and answers, “No, we did not. He is a fireman and I am a lawyer. He saved my house from burning down.”
“That’s way romantic,” he proclaims while Dean wonders just how many stories Cas can possibly dream up about their first meeting. “You guys just look so happy together.”
“Thank you,” Castiel replies. “We are.”
4. Mobile County Animal Shelter in Alabama reports that all of its cats were slaughtered overnight, though the locks on the cages remain in perfect condition: no chains were cut, no locks were picked. This reeks of witch, though they can’t be certain until they’re inside the shelter itself. But the more Sam reads about the dead animals, the more quiet he gets; Dean’s awesome brother senses tingle and tell him he and Cas better handle this.
“So you’re interested in adopting a dog?” Harold Heyes, a shelter volunteer, asks. Cas nods while Dean notes the feline wing has been blocked off.
“We can’t adopt today,” Dean explains. “We're still moving into our place, but we’d like to know about the process.”
It only takes fifteen minutes for Harold to lay out the details, but Dean’s theory about a witch is slammed when his EMF meter goes off. He pretends it’s a phone call and shuts it down, but Cas hears it too, and meets Dean’s eye. What in the world is a ghost doing at an animal shelter?
“Anyway,” Harold concludes, “we get lots of couples who adopt, so no problems there. How long’ve you guys been together?”
“Two years,” Cas calmly answers.
“Yeah?” Harold grins. His long hair is all over the place. “How’d you meet?”
“I am an orchestral violinist and he is a sound engineer. We met at a concert when he came to fix the microphones on stage.”
Harold laughs. “That’s awesome, man,” he says.
Stick around, Dean thinks. He’s got a ton of ‘em.
5. Sam drives the last six hours to North Dakota and promptly passes out the minute they’re in the motel room, but Dean and Cas napped most of the way and aren’t quite ready to sleep.
“I assume you want to get a beer,” Cas says once they’ve brought the last duffel inside.
“We can go somewhere else,” Dean offers, though he’s in the mood for a cold one, and he spotted a dive just a few blocks west. Cas merely shakes his head and leads the way.
The stroll is nice: there's a cool breeze puffing through town, and it feels good to stretch his legs-but the bar itself is a creaky, aged hole-in-the-wall, and Dean regrets bringing Cas after all, because they walk through the door and six-seriously, six tops-patrons give the newcomers a collective stink-eye. Dean pauses in the doorway to assess the situation. Six against two are poor odds, even if the two are a Winchester and an ex-holy ass-kicker.
The bar tender raises his eyebrows.
“Well, c’mon in already,” he says. “Your types don’t find no trouble here.”
Their types? Why can Sam and Cas go somewhere without this shit, but Dean and Cas are always special to each other and lovebirds and types? Dean’s so pissed that he’s ready to leave on principal, but Cas pushes against his back to propel him onwards.
“We ain’t got nothing with umbrellas in it,” the guy explains. “Hope you two drink what regular folks drink.”
“We are regular folks,” Cas calmly explains as he takes a seat at the bar. “I will have a beer, as will Dean.”
Two bottles are set in front of them, but Dean’s still stuck on regular folks.
“Name’s Henry,” the man says. “Over there’s Jeff, Scott, Will, Terrance, and Elijah. That’s your Dean, so who the hell are you?”
“My name is Cas,” Castiel answers, voice bland but eyes sharp. Dean isn’t liking the way Henry speaks to Cas, so he takes a swig of beer to occupy his tongue.
“What kind of name is that?”
“The kind I was given.”
Henry grins. “I see. Well, look, I know everyone’s stories around here, so toss an old man a bone and tell me about yourselves.”
“Nothin’ to tell,” Dean cuts in. He doesn’t want to make conversation any more than necessary.
“Horse shit!” Elijah calls. “Henry’s right. If you ain’t got anything entertaining to say, we’ll gotta listen to Will’s tractor story again.”
Will, a huge black man, scowls over his pint.
“Better than your divorce story,” he snorts.
“Takes two hours to tell that drama,” Jeff mutters. There’s a general buzz of agreement until Henry takes back the reigns of conversation.
“At least tell us how you found yourselves in this backwater,” he coaxes. “Not a big tourist destination, unless you like trees and dirt roads.”
Dean grunts. “Hunting trip.”
“Huntin’s good here.”
“So we heard.”
“Caught yourselves anything?”
“Not yet.”
“You’ll pardon my saying so, but Cas don’t look like much of a hunter t’ me,” Henry observes as he wipes down the counter. “More like a librarian.”
Cas opens his mouth to say something-another improvised 'how we met' story, no doubt-but Dean beats him to the punch, because Cas may have a secret talent for dreaming up stories, but Dean has an imagination, too.
“He owns a bookstore, actually,” Dean lies. “Back in New York.”
Cas turns to Dean. His expression is unreadable.
“It’s how we met. See, I’m in civil construction, and the street needed pavin’. My crew blocked his store entrance for nearly a week.”
Scott whistles. “Bet that got your little man in a New York snit.”
“You bet your ass it did. Every day he came stormin’ outta his little book store to give me hell. Anyway, we finally got done and moved up to the next block, except he started bringing me coffee on my breaks. It was November. We were freezin’ our balls off.”
“After a few days, Dean finally accrued the nerve to visit my store on his off hours,” Cas cuts in. “He brought me-”
“Pie. To have with all that coffee Cas was brewing. It took him ages, but he got around to askin’ me out.”
“Due to Dean’s inability to do it himself.”
“Horseshit!” Dean declares, tipping his bottle in Elijah's direction to thank him for the phrase; Elijah tips his in return and takes a drink. “But we had a problem. Cas’ brothers are dicks. They didn’t like me.”
“They simply disapproved,” Cas says. “However, they have... come around since then.”
“Road crew worker wasn’t good enough for Cas. That’s what they thought.”
“Fortunately, I had thoughts of my own.”
“That’s right. He practically rebelled and flew the coup. The guy’s a firecracker,” Dean says, grinning, because seriously? He's proud of Cas. Yeah, okay, the details of their story aren’t true-Cas the bookshop owner, Dean the engineer, their prolonged romance-but the basic rebellion theme stays the same, and it’s a pretty awesome reality check.
“You know what firecrackers get around here?” Henry asks, retrieving two more bottles. “A free round. Sounds like you boys deserve it.”
Castiel graciously thanks him, but looks at Henry as though he can’t quite figure him out.
“You will forgive my ignorance, but I understand this region does not always welcome...”
“Fairies?” Will helpfully suggests. “Hell, Henry’s the biggest fairy in town. Everyone knows.”
“And you do not care?”
Will shrugs his enormous shoulders. “Why should we? Ain’t our business. Besides, Henry’s-what?-forty-nine? Fifty? No fairies ‘round here that’ll fit the bill. Our boy’s all alone.”
Castiel frowns. “I am very sorry to hear that. You are a good man.”
Henry waves the apology away, like he doesn’t care. Bull, Dean thinks; he's been in that boat and knows how fast it sinks.
“It’s nothin’. Someone’s gotta take care of these morons anyway,” he says, nodding towards the rough-and-tumble group. “Where else would they go to escape the wife for a few hours? They drag their sorry asses in here and bitch, bitch, bitch. It’s like a hick version of ‘Sex and the City’.”
“You would watch that show,” Will says. Henry flips him off.
“Terrance here’s the only one who ain’t worn the ball and chain,” Scott informs them. “He’s dated every woman in town. Hell, he had Lydia Loredo-a real looker, Lydia-waitin’ for a ring, but he never got around to it. Guess he’s taken our horror stories to heart.”
Elijah, the divorcee, nods sagely.
“Seems to us Terrance an’ Henry are gonna be loners ‘til the end,” but Dean sees the way Terrance’s eyes flick towards an oblivious Henry, and he gets why Lydia Loredo doesn’t have a ring, why Terrance stays quiet when Will says there are no fairies ‘round here that’ll fit the bill.
When they’re ready to leave, Dean pays and tips generously. He asks for a good breakfast place; Scott recommends Mae’s up the street, which has good coffee and sweet pancakes. Dean remembers it for tomorrow morning.
“Thanks for everything,” he says, and motions for Cas to follow. “C’mon, bluebird. We still got a long trip ahead,” and they leave with a chorus of cheerful goodbyes at their backs.
5 1/2. “Bluebird,” Cas echoes as they head down the sidewalk. Dean’s not sure where the name came from, either, though he suspects it has something to do with Cas being a blue-eyed guy who used to have wings. He shrugs.
“Sure. ‘Darling’ wasn’t a winner. Niether was ‘sweetpea’ or ‘hotstuff’, if memory serves. Gotta call you something if we’re gonna keep having epic romances.”
Castiel stops. The sidewalks are empty; most of the stores are closed. It’s dark and chilly, but Dean doesn’t feel cold.
“If I am to have such a name,” Castiel says, sounding reasonable, “then perhaps we should have a real romance to go with it.”
Dean stares. This is-this is supposed to be a joke, the result of everyone assuming untrue things about the relationship between them, but it doesn’t feel that way, not since the first time Cas weaved a story about how they fell in love to a woman named Nellie, who was desperate for a happy ending, even if it wasn’t hers.
Dean continues to stare, maybe too long, because Cas looks away and rubs the back of his neck.
“And perhaps,” he continues, uncomfortable for the first time since the brothel, “I presume too much.”
Dean isn’t sure what to say-he’s never kissed a dude, but this is Cas. Cas, who’ll make up stories, and kick Dean’s ass if necessary, and always come back if Dean is ever left behind.
“Hey,” Dean says, stepping closer. "How many stories about us have you dreamed up?”
Cas smiles.
“Dozens,” he quietly answers.
“Yeah? Which one’s your favorite?”
His smile widens until it’s a full grin, scrunched nose and all.
“The one where I am an angel, and you are a hunter, and you kiss me for the first time in North Dakota,” he answers. Dean swallows hard. He doesn’t deserve this, but he’s somehow won it, and has no intention of looking a gift-horse in the mouth.
“Me too,” he replies, pulling Cas closer. “That’s my favorite, too.”
He slips his arms around Cas’ waist; Castiel’s arms wrap around Dean’s neck, and they hesitate just a moment. Castiel has not become soft. He doesn’t wilt beneath Dean, or blush, or tremble; Dean, in turn, doesn’t slam Cas against a wall or jab his tongue down the guy’s throat. But they do hold on, because they survived everything to end up here-on a street Dean doesn’t know, in a town he’s yet to navigate-and that makes them one lucky pair.
“Bluebird,” Dean murmurs.
Cas breathes deep and closes the distance.
FIN.
Imagination is everything. It is the preview of life's coming attractions.
-Albert Einstein
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: SPN
Prompt: Write about your hidden talent.
Summary: Castiel's humanity offers him a vibrant imagination, and it keeps catching Dean by surprise. (Or, four ways they could have fallen in love, and one way they did.)
1.“I don’t mean to be nosy,” Nellie says (meaning a very personal question is about to be popped), “but I would love to hear how you met.”
Nellie sets the pie slices, one for Dean and one for Cas, in front of them. It’s something called Buttermilk Chess Pie; the filling is yellow, like custard, and Dean can’t decide whether he’s fascinated or revolted. He’s never been a custard fan, especially after that incident when Sammy was six. (Dean doesn’t like to talk about it.)
Castiel glances at Dean from across the checker-clothed table. Fortunately, he’s learned that the truth isn’t necessarily the best way to make friends and influence people. (Dean will never forget the interview in Waterville, Maine. It’s angels and demons. They’re skirmishing all over the globe. Dean still can’t believe they walked out of that police station in one piece.)
“I’m afraid it is not a very interesting story,” Castiel diplomatically answers, and takes a bite of his pie to prolong further discussion. Nellie, owner of The Violet Café, eagerly watches Cas chew. His expression has been one of polite detachment regarding the dessert, but it swiftly morphs into something rapturous: he takes another bite, larger this time, and states, “I have never tasted anything so delicious.”
That’s high praise coming from Cas, and it gives Dean the guts to try some himself. A moment later, he realizes the ex-nerdy dude with wings is right. Chess pie is glorious.
“Well, thank you so much,” Nellie says, beaming. “It was Henry’s favorite.”
Her expression crumples the moment Henry passes her lips, and she turns away to dab at her eyes. This woman, who’d greeted her two newest customers with a kind face and curled gray hair, is suddenly a small, frail widow in the middle of a bright but empty shop.
“Excuse me,” she chokes out. “I don’t mean-”
“It’s all right,” Castiel says, face as grave as death, and hesitantly places his hand over Nellie’s. “We read about the accident in the paper and are extremely sorry for your loss.”
“That’s very sweet, but it’s been long enough. I shouldn’t still feel so... affected.”
“Two months is not long at all. Grief takes time.”
Nellie Forrest gives the hunters a watery smile.
“You’re both angels,” she declares. “Would you care for more coffee? It’s just done brewing in the kitchen.”
She doesn’t wait for their answer; Nellie is halfway across the clean, white floor, heading for the kitchen hiding just behind a pair of blue French doors. Castiel directs his attention to Dean the second she’s gone and says, “I believe she will speak to us about her husband’s death.”
“It’s not the husband I’m concerned about,” Dean quietly replies. “Her grandson died, too. He was-what-twenty-one? They were two experienced fishermen who drowned in a totally placid lake.”
“It is unusual, but I will hate to have brought it up for no-”
Nellie returns with two cups of coffee in hand.
“I apologize again,” she says as she places the cups on the table. “It’s such bad form to become emotional in public.”
“We understand,” Castiel replies. “If it is any consolation, both Dean and I have lost family as well. We know how it feels.”
“My mom died in a house fire,” Dean supplies. “And Cas’ brother Gabe passed just last year. We’ve found it helps to talk, so we’d be glad to listen.”
Nellie swallows hard and glances at them both. “I couldn’t,” she finally protests, but it’s weak; she only needs a small push before the words will come tumbling from her mouth. “It was just so... strange. I saw it happen with my own eyes, but it must have been a trick of the light-”
“Tell us everything,” Castiel says, like his heart is completely open to her. Dean supposes it is. Cas may be human now, but he’s kept his more angelic qualities: a near-inability to lie, delight when trying new foods, intense focus on those who hold vital information, like Nellie on their current hunt. He’s still Cas, but without the mojo. That’s okay with Dean.
A half-hour later, once her story is out in the open, she busies herself with wrapping an entire chess pie to go. She looks at them and smiles. It’s a little less brittle.
“You never told me how you two came to meet,” she says, and Dean panics for a second; there’s no pie to distract Cas from saying We met when I gripped Dean right and raised him from Perdition, but Cas shocks the hell out of Dean when he responds, without missing a beat, “Dean is a mechanic and I am an accountant. My vehicle broke down and I took it to his garage for repair.”
Nellie’s eyes crinkle around the edges. “Forgive my saying so, but that sounds terribly unromantic.”
“It was,” Castiel confirms. “He was covered in grease upon our first meeting. However, he was exceptionally clean when I retrieved my car a few days later.”
“I see. He wanted to look nice when he saw you again.”
Dean feels inexplicably embarrassed by the story-it’s not even real, but he’s twitchy and warm, and has the horrible suspicion he may be blushing. He tries to nudge Cas towards the exit; they have all the information they need based on Nellie’s seemingly-impossible story, and this water demon won’t kill itself.
“And did you know?” she asks as she pushes the pie over the counter. “That he would be special to you?”
Castiel shoots Dean a look from the corner of his eye, sly as a fox, a half-smile playing on his lips.
“I knew he would certainly alter my life,” he answers, which makes Dean cough. As an angel, Cas could always sidestep the truth, but this was more like dancing around it, twisting their story into something else entirely. Sneaky little bastard.
“Ready to go, darling?” Dean places an especially sarcastic emphasis on the endearment. Castiel only looks thoughtful.
“I do not care for that name,” he finally decides. “It is too antiquated.”
“You-” A millennia-old angel, he doesn’t say, “-are complaining about antiquity?”
“I am merely stating that if you must refer to me using endearments, then ‘darling’ is not my preference,” Castiel calmly replies, and Nellie says, “It takes a while to find the right name. Henry called me-well, it’s silly, but he called me Honeybee. I was always baking sweets for the store.”
“That is a lovely name, Ms. Forrest,” Cas says, but Nellie brushes away the formality.
“You’ll find your own name soon,” she promises. “Come by and visit me next time you’re in town,” and they swear to do just that if they ever come this way again.
2. Three months later, Sam reads about a possible haunting at a Florida college. Sam would normally be a shoe-in for the "potential student" role, but he’s laid up in bed with a monster cold, so Dean and Cas figure it’ll be just as easy for them to do the legwork. Dean lends Cas some of his most beaten threads, because the suit makes him look like a teacher rather than the average college kid.
The campus is sizable, but they find the fine arts building soon enough. According to reports, a series of student portraits have been altered overnight: seventeen paintings and eighteen charcoal drawings, each by a different artist, were found hanging with the eyes blacked out. The administration claims it's petty vandalism, but Sam's research shows the same thing happened twenty years earlier.
The woman who agrees to give them a department tour is named Ida Washington. She’s a short, round woman who jokes about everything: the weather, the floor, Castiel’s hair. She reminds Dean of Gabriel, though there’s a kindness about her that Gabriel was only beginning to rediscover before his fight with Lucifer.
“You’ll both feel very comfortable here,” Ida says as they start down the hallway. “Every walk of life comes through this building, so two lovebirds like yourselves are free to be as open as you want.”
“Lovebirds?” Dean repeats, because what the hell? Ida's face colors cherry; she's horrified by her assumption.
“Oh! Well, I just thought-you mentioned sharing a place, and I saw you both drive up in the same car.”
Dean reminds himself to give them better backstories next time. Ida is still embarrassed, so Dean cranks up the charm and reassures her that yes, she's completely right, and he's so sorry for snapping-it's been such a hassle enrolling, surely you understand.
As they approach the studios, Ida attempts to ward off the awkwardness by asking, “So how did you two meet?”
“At a restaurant. He was in a hurry and accidentally spilled coffee on my coat,” Castiel replies. Ida tsks, and Dean gives Cas an ugly look-why did Dean have to be the clumsy one? He sighs and figures this is no worse than when he and Sam are mistaken for Significant Others, and anyway, they really need to check out the painting and drawing studio before classes start at 2:00. There's no use mourning his smooth womanizing reputation when their case remains unsolved.
“C’mon, sweetpea,” Dean says, slinging his arm around Castiel's shoulders.
“I don’t care for that name, either. I am not a vegetable,” Cas points out, but they do gank the ghost that night-after a lot of heavy research at the campus library-and Dean calls him sweetpea all day, just to be annoying.
3. During late June, they find themselves in San Fransisco investigating a-yes, fine, laugh up the cliché-gay club. Dean’s totally ready to let Sam and Cas tap the place, except there are two problems: 1) Sam and Cas make the world's most awkward-looking couple, and 2) Dean just isn’t okay letting Cas traverse the world of gay dance clubs without Dean to rescue him from the inevitable groping and feather boas. For obvious reasons, Sam and Dean aren’t going in together, so that leaves Dean and Cas trying to dress the part while Sam takes phone-pictures like the punkass bitch he is.
He sobers when they drive up to the joint. Dean can already hear the bass-heavy music pounding inside, and knows he’ll hate it.
“Okay, remember, it’s probably just a fairy, but be careful,” Sam cautions. “All the vics were taken from this club."
“We know, Mother Hen,” Dean gripes. He turns to Cas, who’s in his usual place in the back, peering at the club entrance with a look of vague fascination. Dean doesn’t blame him, because there’s a guy taking a smoke break outside the door, and he’s wearing nothing but sparkling pants and pink glasses. “Ready to go, Hot Stuff?”
Cas frowns at the name.
“Lemme guess: you don’t like that one either.”
“I am not hot, nor am I ‘stuff’.”
“Just wait until you get in there,” Dean mutters as they climb out of the car. “You’ll be both.”
Dean grimaces at the shitty trance blaring out of the club’s giant speakers, but feels a hint of relief when he discovers the bar serves manly, nonthreatening beer. Cas is less fortunate: it’s clear he hates the music and crowd, and sticks close to Dean as they navigate through the throng of people, though they’re careful to brush their wrists against those they pass. Anyone inside could be the fairy (that should be hilarious considering where they are, but the comedic value runs out quick), so Bobby had lent them each a pair of iron bracelets. Iron is a powerful metal against fairies, and a simple brush will make the thing flinch away. It’s the only way they’ll find the homicidal bastard, and it’s not like a casual wrist brush will draw much attention in such an… establishment.
Twenty minutes later, no dice.
Sam is still in the car, ready to roll if their monster hightails it, but they haven’t found him yet-hell, Dean can’t guarantee it’s even at the club. They’ve brushed up against everyone at the bar; their only remaining location (besides the bathroom, and Dean’s saving that for the very, very, very last) is the dance floor itself. Dean downs the rest of his beer and nods towards the crowd.
“I’m goin’ in,” he announces. Castiel surveys the floor with the same expression he wore at the whore house.
“I will go with you,” he offers, but Dean’s sure they’ll stand out like neon lights if anyone spots Cas’ inevitably awkward attempts at dancing.
“Nah. You keep an eye on the door. And hey, if someone wants your number, don’t give it to ‘em!”
Castiel nods, like Dean’s giving his last will and testament. Dean raps his knuckles against the counter top, trying to ratchet up his confidence, and disappears into the press of people.
He’s been to high-energy places like this before. Aside from the fact everyone here’s a dude, then it’s not any different from the hundreds of other bars and clubs Dean’s frequented. It doesn’t take long for Dean to become part of the machine: he jumps and twists and smiles at the gentlemen who smile at him first, and even lets various hands and fingers touch him, because the touches don’t mean anything, and it’s not like he doesn’t do the same thing for a much different reason.
And then Dean gets lucky.
Not in the way he usually prefers, but in the way that counts: a short guy with red hair and a poor taste in belts practically leaps away from the iron cuff on Dean’s wrist. The hunter smiles innocently and apologizes for getting in the guy’s space, but he makes sure to get a good look at the fairy’s face before disappearing into the sea of revelers and moving towards the bar. Cas is exactly where Dean left him, still working on the same beer, when someone approaches Dean from the side. He’s cute, if Dean were into this scene.
“Hey,” the guy says. “C’mon and dance with me.”
“Actually, I’m about to take a break. Thanks, though,” Dean answers, thinking that’s the end of it, but the stranger clamps his hand on Dean’s elbow and insists. “Just one. I’ve had my eye on you all night.”
“That’s flattering-” And creepy. “-But I’m due for a drink. My friend’s waiting for me,” but when Dean looks over, Cas is gone. It was bad enough when Cas was an angel, but even now he has a horrible habit of moving when Dean’s not paying attention.
“Really?” the guy presses. “I don’t see him anywhere.”
“That is because I am right here,” Castiel states, standing right behind the creeper. “And I do not believe he wishes to dance with you. You would do well to leave him alone.”
“Yeah? You going to make me?”
The thing is, Dean could’ve taken him. Easy. But Cas leans forward, right into the dude’s space, and says, “Yes, I will. Now remove your hand and do not disturb us again.”
And because Cas is sort of terrifying, the guy does exactly that. Dean watches him leave and then turns back to Castiel, who raises his eyebrows in silent question: did you find what we're looking for? Dean gestures towards the exit, a sign they’ve gotten all they need from here, and Cas calmly follows until they’re stopped a few feet from the door by another stranger with short, black hair and glittering shoes.
“I saw you two over by the bar. I just want to say how cute you are together,” he says, smiling wide. The music is a decibel lower by the door, so he dares to ask, “Did you meet here?”
Castiel half-smiles in his customary way, and answers, “No, we did not. He is a fireman and I am a lawyer. He saved my house from burning down.”
“That’s way romantic,” he proclaims while Dean wonders just how many stories Cas can possibly dream up about their first meeting. “You guys just look so happy together.”
“Thank you,” Castiel replies. “We are.”
4. Mobile County Animal Shelter in Alabama reports that all of its cats were slaughtered overnight, though the locks on the cages remain in perfect condition: no chains were cut, no locks were picked. This reeks of witch, though they can’t be certain until they’re inside the shelter itself. But the more Sam reads about the dead animals, the more quiet he gets; Dean’s awesome brother senses tingle and tell him he and Cas better handle this.
“So you’re interested in adopting a dog?” Harold Heyes, a shelter volunteer, asks. Cas nods while Dean notes the feline wing has been blocked off.
“We can’t adopt today,” Dean explains. “We're still moving into our place, but we’d like to know about the process.”
It only takes fifteen minutes for Harold to lay out the details, but Dean’s theory about a witch is slammed when his EMF meter goes off. He pretends it’s a phone call and shuts it down, but Cas hears it too, and meets Dean’s eye. What in the world is a ghost doing at an animal shelter?
“Anyway,” Harold concludes, “we get lots of couples who adopt, so no problems there. How long’ve you guys been together?”
“Two years,” Cas calmly answers.
“Yeah?” Harold grins. His long hair is all over the place. “How’d you meet?”
“I am an orchestral violinist and he is a sound engineer. We met at a concert when he came to fix the microphones on stage.”
Harold laughs. “That’s awesome, man,” he says.
Stick around, Dean thinks. He’s got a ton of ‘em.
5. Sam drives the last six hours to North Dakota and promptly passes out the minute they’re in the motel room, but Dean and Cas napped most of the way and aren’t quite ready to sleep.
“I assume you want to get a beer,” Cas says once they’ve brought the last duffel inside.
“We can go somewhere else,” Dean offers, though he’s in the mood for a cold one, and he spotted a dive just a few blocks west. Cas merely shakes his head and leads the way.
The stroll is nice: there's a cool breeze puffing through town, and it feels good to stretch his legs-but the bar itself is a creaky, aged hole-in-the-wall, and Dean regrets bringing Cas after all, because they walk through the door and six-seriously, six tops-patrons give the newcomers a collective stink-eye. Dean pauses in the doorway to assess the situation. Six against two are poor odds, even if the two are a Winchester and an ex-holy ass-kicker.
The bar tender raises his eyebrows.
“Well, c’mon in already,” he says. “Your types don’t find no trouble here.”
Their types? Why can Sam and Cas go somewhere without this shit, but Dean and Cas are always special to each other and lovebirds and types? Dean’s so pissed that he’s ready to leave on principal, but Cas pushes against his back to propel him onwards.
“We ain’t got nothing with umbrellas in it,” the guy explains. “Hope you two drink what regular folks drink.”
“We are regular folks,” Cas calmly explains as he takes a seat at the bar. “I will have a beer, as will Dean.”
Two bottles are set in front of them, but Dean’s still stuck on regular folks.
“Name’s Henry,” the man says. “Over there’s Jeff, Scott, Will, Terrance, and Elijah. That’s your Dean, so who the hell are you?”
“My name is Cas,” Castiel answers, voice bland but eyes sharp. Dean isn’t liking the way Henry speaks to Cas, so he takes a swig of beer to occupy his tongue.
“What kind of name is that?”
“The kind I was given.”
Henry grins. “I see. Well, look, I know everyone’s stories around here, so toss an old man a bone and tell me about yourselves.”
“Nothin’ to tell,” Dean cuts in. He doesn’t want to make conversation any more than necessary.
“Horse shit!” Elijah calls. “Henry’s right. If you ain’t got anything entertaining to say, we’ll gotta listen to Will’s tractor story again.”
Will, a huge black man, scowls over his pint.
“Better than your divorce story,” he snorts.
“Takes two hours to tell that drama,” Jeff mutters. There’s a general buzz of agreement until Henry takes back the reigns of conversation.
“At least tell us how you found yourselves in this backwater,” he coaxes. “Not a big tourist destination, unless you like trees and dirt roads.”
Dean grunts. “Hunting trip.”
“Huntin’s good here.”
“So we heard.”
“Caught yourselves anything?”
“Not yet.”
“You’ll pardon my saying so, but Cas don’t look like much of a hunter t’ me,” Henry observes as he wipes down the counter. “More like a librarian.”
Cas opens his mouth to say something-another improvised 'how we met' story, no doubt-but Dean beats him to the punch, because Cas may have a secret talent for dreaming up stories, but Dean has an imagination, too.
“He owns a bookstore, actually,” Dean lies. “Back in New York.”
Cas turns to Dean. His expression is unreadable.
“It’s how we met. See, I’m in civil construction, and the street needed pavin’. My crew blocked his store entrance for nearly a week.”
Scott whistles. “Bet that got your little man in a New York snit.”
“You bet your ass it did. Every day he came stormin’ outta his little book store to give me hell. Anyway, we finally got done and moved up to the next block, except he started bringing me coffee on my breaks. It was November. We were freezin’ our balls off.”
“After a few days, Dean finally accrued the nerve to visit my store on his off hours,” Cas cuts in. “He brought me-”
“Pie. To have with all that coffee Cas was brewing. It took him ages, but he got around to askin’ me out.”
“Due to Dean’s inability to do it himself.”
“Horseshit!” Dean declares, tipping his bottle in Elijah's direction to thank him for the phrase; Elijah tips his in return and takes a drink. “But we had a problem. Cas’ brothers are dicks. They didn’t like me.”
“They simply disapproved,” Cas says. “However, they have... come around since then.”
“Road crew worker wasn’t good enough for Cas. That’s what they thought.”
“Fortunately, I had thoughts of my own.”
“That’s right. He practically rebelled and flew the coup. The guy’s a firecracker,” Dean says, grinning, because seriously? He's proud of Cas. Yeah, okay, the details of their story aren’t true-Cas the bookshop owner, Dean the engineer, their prolonged romance-but the basic rebellion theme stays the same, and it’s a pretty awesome reality check.
“You know what firecrackers get around here?” Henry asks, retrieving two more bottles. “A free round. Sounds like you boys deserve it.”
Castiel graciously thanks him, but looks at Henry as though he can’t quite figure him out.
“You will forgive my ignorance, but I understand this region does not always welcome...”
“Fairies?” Will helpfully suggests. “Hell, Henry’s the biggest fairy in town. Everyone knows.”
“And you do not care?”
Will shrugs his enormous shoulders. “Why should we? Ain’t our business. Besides, Henry’s-what?-forty-nine? Fifty? No fairies ‘round here that’ll fit the bill. Our boy’s all alone.”
Castiel frowns. “I am very sorry to hear that. You are a good man.”
Henry waves the apology away, like he doesn’t care. Bull, Dean thinks; he's been in that boat and knows how fast it sinks.
“It’s nothin’. Someone’s gotta take care of these morons anyway,” he says, nodding towards the rough-and-tumble group. “Where else would they go to escape the wife for a few hours? They drag their sorry asses in here and bitch, bitch, bitch. It’s like a hick version of ‘Sex and the City’.”
“You would watch that show,” Will says. Henry flips him off.
“Terrance here’s the only one who ain’t worn the ball and chain,” Scott informs them. “He’s dated every woman in town. Hell, he had Lydia Loredo-a real looker, Lydia-waitin’ for a ring, but he never got around to it. Guess he’s taken our horror stories to heart.”
Elijah, the divorcee, nods sagely.
“Seems to us Terrance an’ Henry are gonna be loners ‘til the end,” but Dean sees the way Terrance’s eyes flick towards an oblivious Henry, and he gets why Lydia Loredo doesn’t have a ring, why Terrance stays quiet when Will says there are no fairies ‘round here that’ll fit the bill.
When they’re ready to leave, Dean pays and tips generously. He asks for a good breakfast place; Scott recommends Mae’s up the street, which has good coffee and sweet pancakes. Dean remembers it for tomorrow morning.
“Thanks for everything,” he says, and motions for Cas to follow. “C’mon, bluebird. We still got a long trip ahead,” and they leave with a chorus of cheerful goodbyes at their backs.
5 1/2. “Bluebird,” Cas echoes as they head down the sidewalk. Dean’s not sure where the name came from, either, though he suspects it has something to do with Cas being a blue-eyed guy who used to have wings. He shrugs.
“Sure. ‘Darling’ wasn’t a winner. Niether was ‘sweetpea’ or ‘hotstuff’, if memory serves. Gotta call you something if we’re gonna keep having epic romances.”
Castiel stops. The sidewalks are empty; most of the stores are closed. It’s dark and chilly, but Dean doesn’t feel cold.
“If I am to have such a name,” Castiel says, sounding reasonable, “then perhaps we should have a real romance to go with it.”
Dean stares. This is-this is supposed to be a joke, the result of everyone assuming untrue things about the relationship between them, but it doesn’t feel that way, not since the first time Cas weaved a story about how they fell in love to a woman named Nellie, who was desperate for a happy ending, even if it wasn’t hers.
Dean continues to stare, maybe too long, because Cas looks away and rubs the back of his neck.
“And perhaps,” he continues, uncomfortable for the first time since the brothel, “I presume too much.”
Dean isn’t sure what to say-he’s never kissed a dude, but this is Cas. Cas, who’ll make up stories, and kick Dean’s ass if necessary, and always come back if Dean is ever left behind.
“Hey,” Dean says, stepping closer. "How many stories about us have you dreamed up?”
Cas smiles.
“Dozens,” he quietly answers.
“Yeah? Which one’s your favorite?”
His smile widens until it’s a full grin, scrunched nose and all.
“The one where I am an angel, and you are a hunter, and you kiss me for the first time in North Dakota,” he answers. Dean swallows hard. He doesn’t deserve this, but he’s somehow won it, and has no intention of looking a gift-horse in the mouth.
“Me too,” he replies, pulling Cas closer. “That’s my favorite, too.”
He slips his arms around Cas’ waist; Castiel’s arms wrap around Dean’s neck, and they hesitate just a moment. Castiel has not become soft. He doesn’t wilt beneath Dean, or blush, or tremble; Dean, in turn, doesn’t slam Cas against a wall or jab his tongue down the guy’s throat. But they do hold on, because they survived everything to end up here-on a street Dean doesn’t know, in a town he’s yet to navigate-and that makes them one lucky pair.
“Bluebird,” Dean murmurs.
Cas breathes deep and closes the distance.
FIN.
Imagination is everything. It is the preview of life's coming attractions.
-Albert Einstein