Fic: Bragging Rights (Dean/Castiel, SPN)
Since lj-cut was acting up for me last night, tonight I am posting the fic I wanted to post yesterday. Tuesday was a really, really slow day at work, and thus this fic was born. Thanks, awesomepants87 , for all the suggestions, support, and all that jazz! :oP
Title: Bragging Rights
Rating: PG
Pairing/Characters: Dean/Castiel, Sam
Genre: Humor
Spoilers: None
Warnings: None
Word Count: 3,868
Summary: Despite the fact that Castiel has spent the last few months fighting the apocalypse alongside Dean and Sam, he still doesn't quite understand the human need for humor until he's caught in the middle of a battle of practical jokes between the brothers.
Bragging Rights
The first time Castiel realizes something is going on is when he watches Dean slip something into the back pocket of Sam’s jeans right before Sam changes and they head out the door to pick up a bite to eat and hit the road. Bobby’s just called Dean with a tip about signs popping up around Elk Falls, Kansas, and they need to head out there to take care of the demons before anyone is seriously hurt.
Castiel doesn’t say anything, not even when Dean acts like nothing has happened and they pile into the Impala without Sam noticing a thing.
When they are standing in the checkout line at a KFC, the girl behind the counter is smiling up at Sam, and Sam is smiling back. Castiel recalls Dean’s lecture on ‘flirting’ a few weeks back, and watches with interest as the younger Winchester is displaying all of the “Sam flirting techniques” Dean described and told him to avoid at all costs.
A sound disrupts Sam’s conversation. The girl is silent, looks confused, before she shakes her head a bit, and continues talking. As soon as their conversation picks up again, the sounds starts once more and Castiel swears it sounds just like the whoopee cushion Dean used on him months ago, only shorter.
The sound continues at odd intervals and the girl seems to be smiling less now, her eyes flickering away from Sam. As the girl looks down to count change from the twenty Sam’s handed her, Sam glances behind him and shoots Dean a look. But Dean shrugs, acts like he has no idea what’s going on. Dean acts oblivious, but Castiel can see Dean’s hand deep in his jacket pocket, and he’s knows that look on Dean’s face. The one where Dean looks too innocent for the Dean Winchester Castiel has come to know so well.
They are walking out of the KFC, bag of chicken and biscuits in Sam’s arms, when Sam huffs out a breath. “You’re such a kid, Dean,” he says. “When are you going to grow up?”
“Seriously, Sam. I didn’t do a thing.” Castiel slides into the backseat and continues to observe the brothers as they settle into the front. “You really got to lay off those burritos.”
Castiel leans slightly forward. “Dean, weren’t you hiding something in your pocket?”
Dean just barely manages to shoot the angel a warning look in the rearview mirror before Sam is reaching across the island between them, battling Dean over the contents of his jacket pockets. Sam is big, bigger than Dean, and no matter how compact and strong Dean is Sam’s totally got the advantage. Dean puts up a good fight, but the struggle is over in only a few minutes.
“Are you serious?” Sam holds up the tiny remote control he’s wrestled from Dean. Dean smiles and laughter rings out into the car.
“Dude, you should have seen that chick’s face.”
But Sam isn’t listening. He’s ruffling around in his jacket pockets, his jean’s pockets, before he freezes.
“Dean.” It’s a warning if ever Castiel heard one.
Dean turns the key in the ignition, pulls out of the parking space and into traffic before Sam can get any ideas.
“Driving, Sammy,” Dean points out. “Mess with me now and I could hurt someone.”
Sam faces forward in his seat, a little speaker that he’s pulled out of his jean’s pocket clutched tightly in his hand.
“Don’t think you’re going to get away with this, Dean. You know what this means, right?”
Castiel glances between the brothers. Dean does not respond, but Castiel can tell by the way his smile has changed, by the way he suddenly looks eager as if facing a new challenge, that the hunter knows very well what Sam means. Even if Castiel is left confused and slightly troubled in the backseat.
* * * *
“Ever wonder why Sam grows his hair so long?”
Castiel turns towards Dean. The two of them are sitting apart from Sam, who’s at the bar talking with the girl from the mechanic store down the street. They met her earlier that evening, when Dean needed to pick up some more oil for the Impala, and it seems as if Sam’s flirting technique has at least managed to serve him right at least once. Dean is warm, this close to Castiel’s side in a corner booth of the bar, and when he starts talking again Castiel leans in, pretends he needs to hear better over the music pounding over the loudspeakers.
“Dad was off on a hunt, and we’d been at this one school for about a week. It was probably the first time we started pulling these pranks.” Dean chuckles, glances at Sam before leaning closer to Castiel in turn, voice lowering as if Sam would hear them and Dean was telling his brother’s deepest, darkest secret. “Nair,” Dean says. “In his shampoo. Had to make up some half-assed lie to keep his sorry ass out of the social equivalent of Antarctica for that one.”
Castiel has no idea what Nair is, or exactly how it would relate to Sam growing his hair longer than Dean’s. But Dean is laughing, even after battling an especially nasty rugaru the day before, and Castiel can’t really bring himself to do anything but smile as Dean’s laughter carries over the beat of the music.
The next morning at the Riverside Café, Sam manages to lose Rocks-Paper-Scissors and gets up to go tell the elusive waitress to change Dean’s order from “extra crispy bacon” to “sausage with a side of Canadian bacon”. As the younger hunter turns his back, Dean scoots up in his seat, leans over the table and reaches out to pour black liquid from a vial hidden in his palm into Sam’s coffee.
“Dean?” Castiel is confused as Dean slips the vial back into his coat pocket, fighting the smile that’s trying to make its way onto his lips. “What are you doing?”
“Just wait.” Dean sits back in his seat, the smile gone from his face as he looks up at Sam’s return. “Change the order?” His voice is normal as he addresses Sam, and Castiel narrows his eyes at him, trying to figure out what exactly it is he’s put into Sam’s drink.
“Yeah. Next time do your own dirty work."
Dean’s only response is to flash a smile.
Sam sits down, and Castiel almost says something when Sam lifts up his coffee cup, takes a long drink. But Dean must have seen him shift in his seat, lean forward just slightly, because his hand is on Castiel’s knee under the table, and suddenly Castiel can’t say anything at all.
Sam lowers the coffee cup back onto the table, glances around the diner. The waitress has come back, and she is bearing a tray full of omelet and steak and eggs, with sausage and Canadian bacon and toast as sides.
“Thanks.” Sam smiles as the waitress finishes setting everything down on the table. The waitress does a double take, stutters for a few seconds before getting out a confused “You’re welcome?” and fleeing.
It’s Sam’s turn to look confused, and he turns to Dean.
“Should have brushed your teeth, Sammy,” Dean says.
Sam gives his brother a strange look, picks up the metal napkin holder and pulls a strained smile to reveal his teeth to his reflection.
“Dean!”
It takes a week for the black to completely fade from Sam’s teeth.
* * * * *
It takes a moment for the scene to register in Castiel’s mind. One minute, the Impala is parked next to the curb, and the next the truck in front of it is moving. Only the Impala is moving too, and Dean is standing by Castiel’s side, keys clasped in his hand.
“No!” And Dean is running as fast as if demons are on his trail after his car. “No no no no no!”
Despite Dean’s speed, and the choice words he is now throwing at the diminishing vehicles, the tow truck does not stop.
Castiel takes a few running steps after Dean, turns to make sure Sam is beside him. Only Sam has stopped moving. Instead, he’s standing calmly where Dean took off, a smile on his face, and he’s laughing as if the word “apocalypse” is a vague, distant concept.
“Sam?” Castiel stops running, body still turned towards Dean and the Impala and the growing distance between the two. Castiel feels uncertainty again, and even a little fear, and he wishes Sam would stop laughing so Castiel could be certain what’s going on and if he needs to go and help Dean.
“Calm down, Cas.” Sam spares a glance for the angel before going back to watching the scene unfold before him. “It’s alright. Just watch.” He tips his head towards Dean, and Castiel turns his head to see what Sam is trying to show him.
The tow truck comes to a slow stop at the end of the street. Castiel can’t hear what Dean is saying, but he looks like he’s yelling at the driver of the truck. The driver’s door opens, and Castiel recognizes the girl that steps out as the one Sam was talking to the night before from the mechanic shop. Dean bends at the waist, and Castiel knows he’s trying to gather his breath. Then he’s standing upright again.
“Son of a bitch! Sammy!” And Castiel can definitely hear that from where he stands.
Sam’s laughter starts all over again. “Payback’s a bitch, Cas,” Sam says as he takes a step forward. “Remember that.”
* * * * *
“Dean?”
“Yeah?” Dean has moved onto round two of scrubbing the Impala. Castiel is standing off to the side, a sponge clasped in his hand that Dean shoved there an hour ago when he’d told Sam he’d be back later, much later, and dragged Cas with him to the do-it-yourself carwash down the street.
“What is the purpose of all these ‘practical jokes’?”
Dean looks up from the water cascading off the now spotless Impala. It really wasn’t dirty to begin with, but Castiel has learned not to question Dean’s possessive streak toward his car and his need to clean it after its close encounter with the tow truck last night.
“Purpose?” Dean looks back to the car, shrugs. “Nothing.”
Castiel watches a soap bubble drip from the sponge in his hand to the pavement near his shoe. “Nothing?”
“Well.” Dean shifts his weight to his back foot, arcs the hose up high so water hits the Impala’s roof. “Not nothing. I mean, humor, right? It’s funny. Simple as that.”
Funny. Castiel looks up from the sponge and watches Dean walk around his car, completely focused upon his task. Castiel can’t quite understand what is so funny about pulling practical jokes that make at least one of the brothers embarrassed or just plain pissed at the conclusion of each prank. But maybe that’s just another aspect of "funny" and "humor" Castiel still hasn’t quite grasped yet. After all, they haven’t had much time for "funny" or "humor", what with the apocalypse and all.
“I see,” Castiel says. Though he doesn’t.
Dean looks up, catches the angel not quite focused on the task at hand before Castiel can hide his distraction.
“It’s for a laugh, Cas,” he tries to explain. A smile breaks upon his lips. “Oh, and bragging rights.”
Castiel looks confused again. “Bragging rights?”
“Yeah.” Dean pauses and Castiel takes the opportunity to nod, as if he understands.
Then, “What are bragging rights?”
Dean sighs, and Castiel watches him as he points the hose to the ground, walks over to the pump that’s supplying the water. “They’re kind of like a claim to who’s the boss, who’s the king of all jokes. Like… who’s God of the practical jokers.”
Castiel stares blankly at the hunter. Dean shakes his head, chuckles, and Castiel might have once thought it was at his expense, but he watches the smile on Dean’s face turn soft as the hunter walks over to him and knows it isn’t.
“Don’t worry, Cas.” He takes the sponge from Castiel’s hand, holds the angel’s wrist with a steady grasp as he runs the water from the hose over the angel’s palm to rinse the soap off. “You’ll get it someday.”
* * * * *
Castiel isn’t sure he ever will truly “get it.” He doesn’t get it when Dean’s tapes are replaced with cassettes of Celine Dion, Michelle Branch, and Mariah Carey, or when Sam stumbles into their dark motel room after grabbing a coke and trips over a side table when the emptied light sockets don’t supply light. Nor does he understand it when Dean almost gets sick from the hot pepper gum Sam slips into the Wrigley’s pack his brother buys after their latest hunt-gone-slightly-wrong to chase the taste of goblin guts out of his mouth, or when Sam is forced to walk around in purple high tops after Dean has “accidentally” thrown his brother’s shoes out with the garbage they’ve accumulated in the Impala and the only normal shoes Sam can find in his size are found two days later in Kentucky.
Castiel has come to understand a lot of things about humanity at the Winchester’s side during this fight to end the apocalypse. He’s learned what it means to feel uncertainty, doubt, even fear. He’s also learned what it means to feel happy, content, even relaxed after a long fight has ended and they check into a motel and simply “veg,” as Dean calls it. He knows what it means to feel affection for someone, and has even learned to feel hope. He’s learned, also, after Dean dared him to eat some toast one day, what it means to feel hunger - not that he would categorize that as an emotion, really. But all of these things that are specifically human and not angel, Dean and his brother are slowly but surely coming to teach him.
Even so, practical jokes are still evading the angel’s understanding. He understands humor, in concept at least, but he has yet to feel it.
But all of that confusion and difficulty Castiel is finding in accepting the fact that practical jokes actually do have a place and a purpose in the whole scope of humanity disappears quite abruptly one evening. They have just settled into a motel that’s just a little dirtier, just a little sleazier, than Castiel’s ever managed to stay in. All of them are worn out, and Castiel is beginning to understand the concept of “tired” when Dean practically shoves Castiel down onto one of the beds and lays down next to him, insisting the angel at least try to look like he’s sleeping if only for his sake.
Dean has a gash running along his forearm, one that Sam had to stitch up with needle and thread. Dean’s still a little tipsy from the whisky he’s shot down to dull the pain, and so when he shifts in bed just a little too close to Castiel, Castiel knows the hunter won’t mind if he shifts just a little bit closer back.
When Sam gets up from his computer and goes into the bathroom, shuts the door behind him, Dean tenses beside him. Castiel turns his head just slightly to watch the hunter. When the sound of the shower comes through the bathroom door, Dean suddenly stands, makes his way to Sam’s laptop.
Castiel sits up, watches as Dean sits at his brother’s computer.
“Dean. What are you doing?”
A small, weary smile breaks out upon Dean’s mouth.
“Just playing a joke, Cas.” He doesn’t even try to hide it. And Castiel doesn’t try to stop him. He’s too tired, and Dean looks too faded for the angel to even think about questioning the hunter’s motives. Castiel can’t remember the last time Dean has laughed. It was probably two weeks ago when they left Hanson, Kentucky and Sam narrowly escaped crashing to the floor of a 24-hour diner when his shoelaces were mysteriously tied together. But two weeks is a long time when they’ve been on the run with demons on their trail and their days have been filled with dodging and fighting and uncertainty and blood.
It’s only a few minutes before Dean stands again, leaves the computer and desk as Sam left it, and climbs back into bed. When he settles down into the mattress, it’s only a moment before Castiel feels a hand in the back of his shirt, pulling him down to lay beside the hunter.
It’s a while before Sam gets out of the shower. It was a long fight, and more than one innocent civilian got caught in the demon’s crossfire. When he comes out of the bathroom, Dean is almost asleep. But as Sam walks over to the computer, wearing sweats and a white tee, Castiel feels Dean shift, sees the hunter’s eyes slide open.
Sam sits down at the computer with a sigh, puts his hand on the touch pad. He clicks something, and the change is instantaneous.
The sound of moaning breaks the silence of the motel room, and Castiel swears he can hear the sound of creaking mattress springs.
“What the fuck!” Sam is out of his seat, hitting combination after combination of keys on the keyboard. Dean is laughing beside Castiel, and Castiel sits up to give him room.
“Don’t be such a prude, Sammy,” Dean says as the sounds finally stop and Sam has shut down his computer.
“What does that have anything to do with this? Don’t touch the computer, Dean. Last time I couldn’t get any of my research-”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Sam. Just get to sleep.”
And Dean is quiet again, but as Castiel turns and faces the hunter, there’s a real smile on his face for the first time in two weeks. And Castiel finally begins to understand the reason behind these practical jokes the brothers are so intent to play on each other, even if he doesn’t necessarily understand the means they have chosen.
* * * * *
“Sam, seriously. How the hell are you doing this?” Dean reaches into his back pocket, pulls out another stack of cards he could have sworn were dollar bills just over an hour ago when they left their motel room. Each card has the picture of scantily clothed woman on it, and on the back are the names and numbers of said woman. Only now that Dean is reaching into his back pocket, the cards have also started to sport male figures as well.
“Damn it, Sam!”
The waitress holding their check is staring at the table that now displays more than a few dozen call cards. The smile she was flashing Sam has long since faded, and she’s taken a step back from the table. Castiel is surprised she hasn’t thrown the check down and left, judging by her expression.
“I got this one, Dean.” Sam’s struggling to contain a smile as he reaches into his back pocket and takes out his wallet. The smile falls from his lips the moment his wallet opens. He pulls out a handful of cards from where his money used to be.
"What the heck?” The waitress finally seems to have seen enough.
“These aren’t ours,” Sam protests, his eyes frantically appealing to Dean for help. But Dean is too busy searching his jacket pockets for cash, credit card, cell phone. Anything. But it’s all been replaced with call cards, male and female alike.
“Just give us a moment, okay?” Dean manages to sound pissed off and distracted and oh fuck all at the same time.
The waitress looks up at Castiel, the only one who isn’t pulling scantily clad pictures out of his clothing. Castiel gives a quick nod, and the waitress shoots Sam and Dean a disgusted look before walking away, leaving their check on the table.
“Sam!” Dean makes his brother’s name sound like a curse.
“Really, Dean? Would I really do this to myself?”
Dean glances up from the new cards he’s pulled out of the jacket pockets he’s already searched and emptied. “I’m thinking.” But by the expression on his face, Castiel knows he’s starting to doubt Sam’s had a hand in this.
Sam leans over the table, throwing six cards onto the tabletop that he’s just pulled out of his coat pocket. “A trickster?” he asks
“Would a trickster stoop this low?”
A look passes between the brothers, and Castiel knows if he doesn’t speak soon the two of them will be in the Impala and on a wild goose chase before the angel can stop them.
“Dean.”
“Yeah, Cas?” Dean glances at the angel. Castiel notices his gaze lingering on his pockets that seem to be empty of the troublesome call cards. “What is it?”
“There is no trickster.”
“No?” He throws a look at Sam, who shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “What is it, then?” A moment later his hands freeze in his jean pockets, and he’s staring blankly at the angel.
“Was this… ‘practical’ enough?” Castiel asks.
Sam’s mouth literally falls open.
“It was you?”
Heads turn at the sound of Dean’s voice, and Castiel waits until the other diners lose interest before responding.
“It was not sufficiently amusing? Or… practical?”
“Practical? What part of a joke is supposed to be practica-” Dean stops, comprehension suddenly making his eyes go wide. “Practical as in a practical joke?”
“Shit.” The word slips out of Sam, and then Dean is laughing. Heads are turning again, but Dean doesn’t seem to care, and neither, in all honesty, does Castiel
“Jesus, Cas. Really? Call cards? And now of all times?”
Castiel shrugs. “I thought they might be fitting.”
Dean shakes his head in disbelief, as if he can’t quite believe the form the angel’s first practical joke has taken. His laughter is restored anew when his eyes catch one card specifically, and he holds it up to Castiel. “Chastity? Really?”
Castiel is smiling then.
“Your own vice has become your downfall, Dean,” Sam says, but he is laughing now as well.
“Shut up, Sammy.” Dean shoots Castiel a look as he says, “Would you mind, Cas?” and motions toward the table.
A moment later the cards on the table have either disappeared or turned into cash, credit cards, I.D.’s, or a cell phone.
Dean shakes his head as he gathers everything up in one fist, shoves it in his jacket pocket. He grabs a twenty, throws it on the table, and starts to stand.
“Okay, you’ve had your fun. Good one, Cas,” he grumbles, but a smile still lingers on his lips and his eyes stay on Castiel as he straightens his jacket. “Let’s get out of here.” His hand reaches down, fists into the front of Castiel’s jacket, and Castiel slides out of the booth with a tug and follows Dean to the Impala.
As they pile into the car, Castiel hesitates.
“Dean?”
Dean stops halfway into the car, looks up. A smile is still plastered on his face. “Yeah, Cas?”
“What does one do with bragging rights?”
Title: Bragging Rights
Rating: PG
Pairing/Characters: Dean/Castiel, Sam
Genre: Humor
Spoilers: None
Warnings: None
Word Count: 3,868
Summary: Despite the fact that Castiel has spent the last few months fighting the apocalypse alongside Dean and Sam, he still doesn't quite understand the human need for humor until he's caught in the middle of a battle of practical jokes between the brothers.
Bragging Rights
The first time Castiel realizes something is going on is when he watches Dean slip something into the back pocket of Sam’s jeans right before Sam changes and they head out the door to pick up a bite to eat and hit the road. Bobby’s just called Dean with a tip about signs popping up around Elk Falls, Kansas, and they need to head out there to take care of the demons before anyone is seriously hurt.
Castiel doesn’t say anything, not even when Dean acts like nothing has happened and they pile into the Impala without Sam noticing a thing.
When they are standing in the checkout line at a KFC, the girl behind the counter is smiling up at Sam, and Sam is smiling back. Castiel recalls Dean’s lecture on ‘flirting’ a few weeks back, and watches with interest as the younger Winchester is displaying all of the “Sam flirting techniques” Dean described and told him to avoid at all costs.
A sound disrupts Sam’s conversation. The girl is silent, looks confused, before she shakes her head a bit, and continues talking. As soon as their conversation picks up again, the sounds starts once more and Castiel swears it sounds just like the whoopee cushion Dean used on him months ago, only shorter.
The sound continues at odd intervals and the girl seems to be smiling less now, her eyes flickering away from Sam. As the girl looks down to count change from the twenty Sam’s handed her, Sam glances behind him and shoots Dean a look. But Dean shrugs, acts like he has no idea what’s going on. Dean acts oblivious, but Castiel can see Dean’s hand deep in his jacket pocket, and he’s knows that look on Dean’s face. The one where Dean looks too innocent for the Dean Winchester Castiel has come to know so well.
They are walking out of the KFC, bag of chicken and biscuits in Sam’s arms, when Sam huffs out a breath. “You’re such a kid, Dean,” he says. “When are you going to grow up?”
“Seriously, Sam. I didn’t do a thing.” Castiel slides into the backseat and continues to observe the brothers as they settle into the front. “You really got to lay off those burritos.”
Castiel leans slightly forward. “Dean, weren’t you hiding something in your pocket?”
Dean just barely manages to shoot the angel a warning look in the rearview mirror before Sam is reaching across the island between them, battling Dean over the contents of his jacket pockets. Sam is big, bigger than Dean, and no matter how compact and strong Dean is Sam’s totally got the advantage. Dean puts up a good fight, but the struggle is over in only a few minutes.
“Are you serious?” Sam holds up the tiny remote control he’s wrestled from Dean. Dean smiles and laughter rings out into the car.
“Dude, you should have seen that chick’s face.”
But Sam isn’t listening. He’s ruffling around in his jacket pockets, his jean’s pockets, before he freezes.
“Dean.” It’s a warning if ever Castiel heard one.
Dean turns the key in the ignition, pulls out of the parking space and into traffic before Sam can get any ideas.
“Driving, Sammy,” Dean points out. “Mess with me now and I could hurt someone.”
Sam faces forward in his seat, a little speaker that he’s pulled out of his jean’s pocket clutched tightly in his hand.
“Don’t think you’re going to get away with this, Dean. You know what this means, right?”
Castiel glances between the brothers. Dean does not respond, but Castiel can tell by the way his smile has changed, by the way he suddenly looks eager as if facing a new challenge, that the hunter knows very well what Sam means. Even if Castiel is left confused and slightly troubled in the backseat.
* * * *
“Ever wonder why Sam grows his hair so long?”
Castiel turns towards Dean. The two of them are sitting apart from Sam, who’s at the bar talking with the girl from the mechanic store down the street. They met her earlier that evening, when Dean needed to pick up some more oil for the Impala, and it seems as if Sam’s flirting technique has at least managed to serve him right at least once. Dean is warm, this close to Castiel’s side in a corner booth of the bar, and when he starts talking again Castiel leans in, pretends he needs to hear better over the music pounding over the loudspeakers.
“Dad was off on a hunt, and we’d been at this one school for about a week. It was probably the first time we started pulling these pranks.” Dean chuckles, glances at Sam before leaning closer to Castiel in turn, voice lowering as if Sam would hear them and Dean was telling his brother’s deepest, darkest secret. “Nair,” Dean says. “In his shampoo. Had to make up some half-assed lie to keep his sorry ass out of the social equivalent of Antarctica for that one.”
Castiel has no idea what Nair is, or exactly how it would relate to Sam growing his hair longer than Dean’s. But Dean is laughing, even after battling an especially nasty rugaru the day before, and Castiel can’t really bring himself to do anything but smile as Dean’s laughter carries over the beat of the music.
The next morning at the Riverside Café, Sam manages to lose Rocks-Paper-Scissors and gets up to go tell the elusive waitress to change Dean’s order from “extra crispy bacon” to “sausage with a side of Canadian bacon”. As the younger hunter turns his back, Dean scoots up in his seat, leans over the table and reaches out to pour black liquid from a vial hidden in his palm into Sam’s coffee.
“Dean?” Castiel is confused as Dean slips the vial back into his coat pocket, fighting the smile that’s trying to make its way onto his lips. “What are you doing?”
“Just wait.” Dean sits back in his seat, the smile gone from his face as he looks up at Sam’s return. “Change the order?” His voice is normal as he addresses Sam, and Castiel narrows his eyes at him, trying to figure out what exactly it is he’s put into Sam’s drink.
“Yeah. Next time do your own dirty work."
Dean’s only response is to flash a smile.
Sam sits down, and Castiel almost says something when Sam lifts up his coffee cup, takes a long drink. But Dean must have seen him shift in his seat, lean forward just slightly, because his hand is on Castiel’s knee under the table, and suddenly Castiel can’t say anything at all.
Sam lowers the coffee cup back onto the table, glances around the diner. The waitress has come back, and she is bearing a tray full of omelet and steak and eggs, with sausage and Canadian bacon and toast as sides.
“Thanks.” Sam smiles as the waitress finishes setting everything down on the table. The waitress does a double take, stutters for a few seconds before getting out a confused “You’re welcome?” and fleeing.
It’s Sam’s turn to look confused, and he turns to Dean.
“Should have brushed your teeth, Sammy,” Dean says.
Sam gives his brother a strange look, picks up the metal napkin holder and pulls a strained smile to reveal his teeth to his reflection.
“Dean!”
It takes a week for the black to completely fade from Sam’s teeth.
* * * * *
It takes a moment for the scene to register in Castiel’s mind. One minute, the Impala is parked next to the curb, and the next the truck in front of it is moving. Only the Impala is moving too, and Dean is standing by Castiel’s side, keys clasped in his hand.
“No!” And Dean is running as fast as if demons are on his trail after his car. “No no no no no!”
Despite Dean’s speed, and the choice words he is now throwing at the diminishing vehicles, the tow truck does not stop.
Castiel takes a few running steps after Dean, turns to make sure Sam is beside him. Only Sam has stopped moving. Instead, he’s standing calmly where Dean took off, a smile on his face, and he’s laughing as if the word “apocalypse” is a vague, distant concept.
“Sam?” Castiel stops running, body still turned towards Dean and the Impala and the growing distance between the two. Castiel feels uncertainty again, and even a little fear, and he wishes Sam would stop laughing so Castiel could be certain what’s going on and if he needs to go and help Dean.
“Calm down, Cas.” Sam spares a glance for the angel before going back to watching the scene unfold before him. “It’s alright. Just watch.” He tips his head towards Dean, and Castiel turns his head to see what Sam is trying to show him.
The tow truck comes to a slow stop at the end of the street. Castiel can’t hear what Dean is saying, but he looks like he’s yelling at the driver of the truck. The driver’s door opens, and Castiel recognizes the girl that steps out as the one Sam was talking to the night before from the mechanic shop. Dean bends at the waist, and Castiel knows he’s trying to gather his breath. Then he’s standing upright again.
“Son of a bitch! Sammy!” And Castiel can definitely hear that from where he stands.
Sam’s laughter starts all over again. “Payback’s a bitch, Cas,” Sam says as he takes a step forward. “Remember that.”
* * * * *
“Dean?”
“Yeah?” Dean has moved onto round two of scrubbing the Impala. Castiel is standing off to the side, a sponge clasped in his hand that Dean shoved there an hour ago when he’d told Sam he’d be back later, much later, and dragged Cas with him to the do-it-yourself carwash down the street.
“What is the purpose of all these ‘practical jokes’?”
Dean looks up from the water cascading off the now spotless Impala. It really wasn’t dirty to begin with, but Castiel has learned not to question Dean’s possessive streak toward his car and his need to clean it after its close encounter with the tow truck last night.
“Purpose?” Dean looks back to the car, shrugs. “Nothing.”
Castiel watches a soap bubble drip from the sponge in his hand to the pavement near his shoe. “Nothing?”
“Well.” Dean shifts his weight to his back foot, arcs the hose up high so water hits the Impala’s roof. “Not nothing. I mean, humor, right? It’s funny. Simple as that.”
Funny. Castiel looks up from the sponge and watches Dean walk around his car, completely focused upon his task. Castiel can’t quite understand what is so funny about pulling practical jokes that make at least one of the brothers embarrassed or just plain pissed at the conclusion of each prank. But maybe that’s just another aspect of "funny" and "humor" Castiel still hasn’t quite grasped yet. After all, they haven’t had much time for "funny" or "humor", what with the apocalypse and all.
“I see,” Castiel says. Though he doesn’t.
Dean looks up, catches the angel not quite focused on the task at hand before Castiel can hide his distraction.
“It’s for a laugh, Cas,” he tries to explain. A smile breaks upon his lips. “Oh, and bragging rights.”
Castiel looks confused again. “Bragging rights?”
“Yeah.” Dean pauses and Castiel takes the opportunity to nod, as if he understands.
Then, “What are bragging rights?”
Dean sighs, and Castiel watches him as he points the hose to the ground, walks over to the pump that’s supplying the water. “They’re kind of like a claim to who’s the boss, who’s the king of all jokes. Like… who’s God of the practical jokers.”
Castiel stares blankly at the hunter. Dean shakes his head, chuckles, and Castiel might have once thought it was at his expense, but he watches the smile on Dean’s face turn soft as the hunter walks over to him and knows it isn’t.
“Don’t worry, Cas.” He takes the sponge from Castiel’s hand, holds the angel’s wrist with a steady grasp as he runs the water from the hose over the angel’s palm to rinse the soap off. “You’ll get it someday.”
* * * * *
Castiel isn’t sure he ever will truly “get it.” He doesn’t get it when Dean’s tapes are replaced with cassettes of Celine Dion, Michelle Branch, and Mariah Carey, or when Sam stumbles into their dark motel room after grabbing a coke and trips over a side table when the emptied light sockets don’t supply light. Nor does he understand it when Dean almost gets sick from the hot pepper gum Sam slips into the Wrigley’s pack his brother buys after their latest hunt-gone-slightly-wrong to chase the taste of goblin guts out of his mouth, or when Sam is forced to walk around in purple high tops after Dean has “accidentally” thrown his brother’s shoes out with the garbage they’ve accumulated in the Impala and the only normal shoes Sam can find in his size are found two days later in Kentucky.
Castiel has come to understand a lot of things about humanity at the Winchester’s side during this fight to end the apocalypse. He’s learned what it means to feel uncertainty, doubt, even fear. He’s also learned what it means to feel happy, content, even relaxed after a long fight has ended and they check into a motel and simply “veg,” as Dean calls it. He knows what it means to feel affection for someone, and has even learned to feel hope. He’s learned, also, after Dean dared him to eat some toast one day, what it means to feel hunger - not that he would categorize that as an emotion, really. But all of these things that are specifically human and not angel, Dean and his brother are slowly but surely coming to teach him.
Even so, practical jokes are still evading the angel’s understanding. He understands humor, in concept at least, but he has yet to feel it.
But all of that confusion and difficulty Castiel is finding in accepting the fact that practical jokes actually do have a place and a purpose in the whole scope of humanity disappears quite abruptly one evening. They have just settled into a motel that’s just a little dirtier, just a little sleazier, than Castiel’s ever managed to stay in. All of them are worn out, and Castiel is beginning to understand the concept of “tired” when Dean practically shoves Castiel down onto one of the beds and lays down next to him, insisting the angel at least try to look like he’s sleeping if only for his sake.
Dean has a gash running along his forearm, one that Sam had to stitch up with needle and thread. Dean’s still a little tipsy from the whisky he’s shot down to dull the pain, and so when he shifts in bed just a little too close to Castiel, Castiel knows the hunter won’t mind if he shifts just a little bit closer back.
When Sam gets up from his computer and goes into the bathroom, shuts the door behind him, Dean tenses beside him. Castiel turns his head just slightly to watch the hunter. When the sound of the shower comes through the bathroom door, Dean suddenly stands, makes his way to Sam’s laptop.
Castiel sits up, watches as Dean sits at his brother’s computer.
“Dean. What are you doing?”
A small, weary smile breaks out upon Dean’s mouth.
“Just playing a joke, Cas.” He doesn’t even try to hide it. And Castiel doesn’t try to stop him. He’s too tired, and Dean looks too faded for the angel to even think about questioning the hunter’s motives. Castiel can’t remember the last time Dean has laughed. It was probably two weeks ago when they left Hanson, Kentucky and Sam narrowly escaped crashing to the floor of a 24-hour diner when his shoelaces were mysteriously tied together. But two weeks is a long time when they’ve been on the run with demons on their trail and their days have been filled with dodging and fighting and uncertainty and blood.
It’s only a few minutes before Dean stands again, leaves the computer and desk as Sam left it, and climbs back into bed. When he settles down into the mattress, it’s only a moment before Castiel feels a hand in the back of his shirt, pulling him down to lay beside the hunter.
It’s a while before Sam gets out of the shower. It was a long fight, and more than one innocent civilian got caught in the demon’s crossfire. When he comes out of the bathroom, Dean is almost asleep. But as Sam walks over to the computer, wearing sweats and a white tee, Castiel feels Dean shift, sees the hunter’s eyes slide open.
Sam sits down at the computer with a sigh, puts his hand on the touch pad. He clicks something, and the change is instantaneous.
The sound of moaning breaks the silence of the motel room, and Castiel swears he can hear the sound of creaking mattress springs.
“What the fuck!” Sam is out of his seat, hitting combination after combination of keys on the keyboard. Dean is laughing beside Castiel, and Castiel sits up to give him room.
“Don’t be such a prude, Sammy,” Dean says as the sounds finally stop and Sam has shut down his computer.
“What does that have anything to do with this? Don’t touch the computer, Dean. Last time I couldn’t get any of my research-”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Sam. Just get to sleep.”
And Dean is quiet again, but as Castiel turns and faces the hunter, there’s a real smile on his face for the first time in two weeks. And Castiel finally begins to understand the reason behind these practical jokes the brothers are so intent to play on each other, even if he doesn’t necessarily understand the means they have chosen.
* * * * *
“Sam, seriously. How the hell are you doing this?” Dean reaches into his back pocket, pulls out another stack of cards he could have sworn were dollar bills just over an hour ago when they left their motel room. Each card has the picture of scantily clothed woman on it, and on the back are the names and numbers of said woman. Only now that Dean is reaching into his back pocket, the cards have also started to sport male figures as well.
“Damn it, Sam!”
The waitress holding their check is staring at the table that now displays more than a few dozen call cards. The smile she was flashing Sam has long since faded, and she’s taken a step back from the table. Castiel is surprised she hasn’t thrown the check down and left, judging by her expression.
“I got this one, Dean.” Sam’s struggling to contain a smile as he reaches into his back pocket and takes out his wallet. The smile falls from his lips the moment his wallet opens. He pulls out a handful of cards from where his money used to be.
"What the heck?” The waitress finally seems to have seen enough.
“These aren’t ours,” Sam protests, his eyes frantically appealing to Dean for help. But Dean is too busy searching his jacket pockets for cash, credit card, cell phone. Anything. But it’s all been replaced with call cards, male and female alike.
“Just give us a moment, okay?” Dean manages to sound pissed off and distracted and oh fuck all at the same time.
The waitress looks up at Castiel, the only one who isn’t pulling scantily clad pictures out of his clothing. Castiel gives a quick nod, and the waitress shoots Sam and Dean a disgusted look before walking away, leaving their check on the table.
“Sam!” Dean makes his brother’s name sound like a curse.
“Really, Dean? Would I really do this to myself?”
Dean glances up from the new cards he’s pulled out of the jacket pockets he’s already searched and emptied. “I’m thinking.” But by the expression on his face, Castiel knows he’s starting to doubt Sam’s had a hand in this.
Sam leans over the table, throwing six cards onto the tabletop that he’s just pulled out of his coat pocket. “A trickster?” he asks
“Would a trickster stoop this low?”
A look passes between the brothers, and Castiel knows if he doesn’t speak soon the two of them will be in the Impala and on a wild goose chase before the angel can stop them.
“Dean.”
“Yeah, Cas?” Dean glances at the angel. Castiel notices his gaze lingering on his pockets that seem to be empty of the troublesome call cards. “What is it?”
“There is no trickster.”
“No?” He throws a look at Sam, who shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “What is it, then?” A moment later his hands freeze in his jean pockets, and he’s staring blankly at the angel.
“Was this… ‘practical’ enough?” Castiel asks.
Sam’s mouth literally falls open.
“It was you?”
Heads turn at the sound of Dean’s voice, and Castiel waits until the other diners lose interest before responding.
“It was not sufficiently amusing? Or… practical?”
“Practical? What part of a joke is supposed to be practica-” Dean stops, comprehension suddenly making his eyes go wide. “Practical as in a practical joke?”
“Shit.” The word slips out of Sam, and then Dean is laughing. Heads are turning again, but Dean doesn’t seem to care, and neither, in all honesty, does Castiel
“Jesus, Cas. Really? Call cards? And now of all times?”
Castiel shrugs. “I thought they might be fitting.”
Dean shakes his head in disbelief, as if he can’t quite believe the form the angel’s first practical joke has taken. His laughter is restored anew when his eyes catch one card specifically, and he holds it up to Castiel. “Chastity? Really?”
Castiel is smiling then.
“Your own vice has become your downfall, Dean,” Sam says, but he is laughing now as well.
“Shut up, Sammy.” Dean shoots Castiel a look as he says, “Would you mind, Cas?” and motions toward the table.
A moment later the cards on the table have either disappeared or turned into cash, credit cards, I.D.’s, or a cell phone.
Dean shakes his head as he gathers everything up in one fist, shoves it in his jacket pocket. He grabs a twenty, throws it on the table, and starts to stand.
“Okay, you’ve had your fun. Good one, Cas,” he grumbles, but a smile still lingers on his lips and his eyes stay on Castiel as he straightens his jacket. “Let’s get out of here.” His hand reaches down, fists into the front of Castiel’s jacket, and Castiel slides out of the booth with a tug and follows Dean to the Impala.
As they pile into the car, Castiel hesitates.
“Dean?”
Dean stops halfway into the car, looks up. A smile is still plastered on his face. “Yeah, Cas?”
“What does one do with bragging rights?”