Save Rite
Title: Save Rite
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikific
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Cas, Sam
Warnings: Cursing. Spoilers through S8.
Word Count: 3,500
Summary: Cas considers his role in the family business.
Notes: This story occurs in the same universe as Generator, although there’s no need to read that one first.
The homeless man shivered, pulled his stained and tattered raincoat closer and nodded, keeping his eyes fixed downward as the coins splattered into the frayed baseball cap set on the ground before him. The redhead smiled and nodded at him as she passed, though he obviously didn't want to risk eye contact by looking upwards.
“Why do you do that?” snapped her male companion, who was blond and red-cheeked.
“Do what?”
“You only encourage them, you know. They’re like roaches or something.”
“Geez. He can hear you, Milton!” she hissed. She grabbed his arm and hurried him through the hissing double doors that demarcated the entrance to the Save Rite drug store on Main Street.
“I don’t care if he can hear! He’s a scumbag,” sneered Milton, making sure to shout the last in the direction of the raggedy homeless guy, who did not reply, but only slumped down a little more. “He needs to get a fucking job. They all do. Scumbag losers.”
As it was early in the morning, the drug store was nearly empty. A bored clerk sitting at the front register gave the bickering couple half a glance, and then went back to leafing through a National Tattler magazine. There was a lone customer standing at the magazine rack, thumbing through some porn mags.
“Poor guy looks like he hasn’t eaten in a week, Milton,” the redhead chided. They passed an end cap stocked with toys, and she idly tapped on a rainbow-hued plastic ball with a long red fingernail as she passed by, heading towards the back of the store.
“You know how you get money for food, Sadie? You work a job.”
“Maybe he can’t work, Milton. Have you thought of that?” They were now walking through the cold remedies. There was a guy standing there, sniffling and peering through rheumy eyes at a couple of the boxes. There were several empty stretches of shelving, where instead of product, shelf talker cards instructed the customer to inquire with the pharmacist. The cards cited state regulations regarding the products in question.
Milton testily tore a tag of paper down from below a region of empty shelf as he walked by. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’d hate to interrupt his career of being a shiftless little motherfucker with my unreasonable demands.”
“Well, now you’re just being a dick,” muttered Sadie. They had traversed the store and now stood at the back, by the pharmacy cash register, where Milton impatiently pounded on the bell placed on the desk.
“Milton, you only have to ring it once.” Sadie was rolling her eyes and holding up a package of Golden Years vitamin pills, which the box claimed were especially designed for those over age 65. She sighed and placed the box back in the elaborate tree-shaped store display that was standing by the pharmacy area.
The pharmacist emerged from the back, wearing her tightest “customer is always right” face. “Yes sir,” she inquired. Sadie yanked the bell away from Milton to force him to stop ringing it, and he glared at her, proffering the yellow slip of paper he'd just snatched from the cold remedies shelving to the young pharmacist.
“Yes sir,” repeated the pharmacist, staring at the paper. According to her name tag her name was Mina, and she was here to help you.
“You already said that,” Milton told her.
“Yes sir. How many bottles would you like, sir?” Mina asked.
“All of them.”
Mina's eyes went wide, and she looked between Milton and Sadie, perhaps thinking she had misunderstood. “I'm sorry?”
“What are you sorry for?” Milton waved a hand dismissively. “Go to the back of your little glass house, get all the bottles of Cold Eez and give them to us. Idiot.”
“I'm not allowed to do that, sir.” Mina straightened up to her full height of 5'2”, buoyed now by the rules and regulations of the great state of Michigan. “The medication in question contains pseudoephedrine, which may be used to manufacture illegal drugs.”
“Of course we're gonna manufacture illegal drugs. Why else would we be bothering with this crap? Do I look like I have a cough?”
“Milton!” Sadie warned.
“But she's an idiot, Sadie.”
“Milton, let me,” urged Sadie.
Milton grumbled but stepped aside, and the pharmacist breathed a sigh of relief as Sadie now stood before her. “About the Cold Eez, honey,” Sadie cooed. And then she leaned forward.
And then she snapped out two rows of razor sharp fangs.
Mina froze, a deer in headlights, unable to even force out a scream.
“Bite me, True Blood!” yelled the man who had just moments ago been pawing through the porn. He leapt at Sadie and, yanking her back by her red hair, beheaded her with a single swing of his razor-sharp stone axe.
Milton turned to run for the exit, but found himself blocked by the sniffling guy from the cold medicine aisle. He roared, snapped out his own set of nasty fangs, and clobbered the cold medicine guy with the store display for Golden Years vitamins as he ran past, sending him slamming into aisle, and causing boxes of cold remedies to rain down on the floor. The congested guy in turn tripped up the crazy axe guy, who had started in pursuit.
Milton barreled down the aisle to the front of the store and bolted through the automatic doors, breathing deeply of the scent of freedom. But then the suddenly amazingly spry homeless guy leapt up and caught him around the waist in a flying tackle. Milton smacked face down on the sidewalk.
The furious vampire wriggled around to sit up and screamed, “Get a fucking job!” at the homeless dude, who replied by shoving his money-laden ball cap into Milton's frothing, fanged mouth.
Milton sputtered, spitting out the cap, spilling change and scattering paper bills all over the sidewalk, and opened up to take a healthy bite of the homeless guy's neck. But he found himself wrenched back by the hair, and then the crazy axe guy had his head off.
“Fucking vampires. Meth labs! I mean, come on!” Dean scowled at the lifeless vampire head he still grasped by the hair.
“Good save, Cas,” said Sam, stifling a cough, and leaning over to give his friend a hand up off the sidewalk, where he was still in the grip of the now headless vampire.
“Thank you, Sam.” Cas glanced around him. “Um, do I get to keep it?”
“Keep what?” asked Dean, letting Milton's head drop to the sidewalk, where it bounced and rolled away.
“Keep this?” Cas pointed to the crumpled bills and piles of change that had scattered over the sidewalk nearby when the vampire had spat out his cap.
“Wow, Cas, you really made out like a bandit,” said Sam, who whistled low.
Dean looked skeptical. “Wait, you got all this money just in the time you were sitting out here?”
“Yes, Dean.” Cas and Sam had both hunkered down to collect the fallen cash.
“There must be at least twenty bucks here,” said Sam, scooping quarters into his pockets.
“Wait. How did you get all this money?” Dean repeated.
“Cas must be really good at being homeless.”
Cas looked thoughtful, turning over a fifty cent piece. “I have certain issues with this money. It was gathered under false pretenses. Perhaps we could leave it as a tip for our wait person? Would that be ethical?”
“That's not a bad idea, Cas.”
“Or we could use it at slot machines,” huffed Dean.
“Gambling is illegal in this state,” Cas reminded Dean.
All three looked up as sirens began to wail in the distance. “Come on, money grubbers,” said Dean. “Let's get out of here.” Cas and Sam quickly snatched up the rest of Cas’s earnings and followed Dean along the Main Street sidewalk and off through a series of side streets, towards the spot where the Impala had been parked. “You guys hungry? We should go check out that place we saw up the road with the state’s best chili cheese fries!”
Sam sniffled. “But Dean, it’s not even ten am.”
“C’mon, Sammy.”
“I want breakfast, Dean. Not a heart attack on a plate.”
They had reached the car, Dean waiting impatiently at the driver’s side door. “C’mon Sammy! Chili cheese fries! With onions! How often do we get to this town?”
“As often as there’s meth lab vampires,” said Sam dryly. His face edged a smile, and he brought up his fists.
Dean scowled. “Oh, that! I’ll get you this time.” The brothers stared and, as Cas watched, entranced, counted off one-two-three, bouncing their right fists up and down in time.
Dean said, “Aaaaargh!” or something very similar.
“Always with the rock, Dean,” grinned Sam, opening the passenger side door. “Let’s go get breakfast.”
“Damn, being homeless is a good racket,” said Dean. The three hunters sat in red-upholstered booth in a diner many miles away from the Save Rite. While Sam, in the seat opposite Dean, sniffled and studied the menu for heart-healthy options, Cas was sorting his coins and paper money into an array of neat piles. “Is that a $50?” asked Dean.
Castiel snatched the bill back and sorted it into the correct pile. “People are insensitive. That vampire was very rude.”
“It's just, I don't remember making this kinda cash when I played Homeless Guy. Must have been a lucrative corner.”
Sam glanced up from his menu, temporarily unable to decide between an egg white omelet and a blueberry yogurt parfait. “Or have you considered Cas is just better at playing homeless than you were?”
“Must be the raincoat,” said Dean, pulling up a sleeve of the frayed coat Castiel had neatly folded up and placed between them on the seat.
Castiel scowled and smoothed down the coat. “Perhaps next time someone else could play the homeless party.”
“What are you talking about, Cas? You spent one morning on your ass on the sidewalk and you have enough for a tropical vacation and all the mai tais you can drink.”
“I find the role to be … humiliating. I think I could convincingly assess cold medicine. Or browse pornography.”
Sam snickered. “Cas,” Dean protested. “All right, first off, it's not necessarily porn.”
“Yes it is,” said Sam.
“Sam! Go back to figuring out the vitamin count of the pancakes. And second, Castiel, you gonna play Magazine Browser Guy, you gotta fight vampires.”
“I fought the vampire this morning.”
Sam was looking over his menu at them. “Dean. He saved us after I fucked up.”
“Sam, you did not fuck up. And Cas, you're not ready to be Magazine Browser Guy!”
“So have you decided?” All three men looked up in mild surprise at the sudden appearance of the waitress.
“I have,” said Dean, handing her the menu. “I’m having the pigs in a blanket. And coffee.”
“Strawberry yogurt parfait for me,” said Sam. “And coffee.”
“And what about you, sweetie?” she asked Cas.
“I will have coffee, please,” said Cas.
“Nothing to eat, doll?” The waitress looked disappointed.
“No, thank you.”
“Yeah, he's getting something to eat,” Dean told the waitress. “What are you getting to eat, Cas?”
“But I just want coffee, Dean.”
“Look, you decide or I decide for you.”
“I prefer to pass.”
“No. You're not skipping breakfast. All right, make that two orders of pigs in a blanket,” he told the waitress. She gave Dean an arch of her heavily plucked eyebrow, but scribbled down the order and whisked off.
“I don’t know that I can countenance eating pigs in a blanket, Dean. How are we to know if the swine in question were treated in a humane manner?”
“Because they have a warm and fuzzy pancake ranch right out back.”
Cas looked dubious.
“Look, you weren’t gonna eat anything! And I’ll tell you, the piggies are now gonna be in your stomach, and that will make them happy.” He playfully poked Cas in the midsection. “Right?”
Cas's skeptical look had narrowed to a spaghetti western-worthy scowl. He pushed the pile of coinage to the side. “I am going to go wash my hands. Money is dirty.” And so, sparing Dean a last icy look, he retreated to the men's room.
Dean stared after him, and then turned his attention to the cash. “Look at this pile.” He leaned over to whisper to his brother. “And why does the waitress chick call him honey and sweetie? What's up with that?”
“You do realize our waitress probably has grandkids your age?” Sam muttered back.
“I can be sweet.”
Sam opened his laptop and hit the power button. A mellow tone sounded. “Dean, you think maybe you need to ease up a little on Cas?”
“Ease up how? He wants to be a hunter, he needs to eat his vegetables.”
“You never order vegetables,” Sam sighed into the laptop.
“Do you get wifi here? Seriously?”
Sam spread out broad hands. “Would it kill you to let him be something other than Homeless Guy? Or even decide what he wants for breakfast?” He suddenly jerked forward, snatched up a paper napkin and emitted a sneeze that sent a couple of Cas’s dollar bills fluttering. He drew back, slightly cross-eyed.
Dean snatched at the errant money. “Cas is great at Homeless Guy. Look at all his ill-gotten gains!” Dean waved the dollars.
“You should wash your hands too, Dean,” said Cas, who was now back at the booth. “You don’t know where those dollars have been.”
Dean waved the paper money at Sam. “Now who’s being Mom? Huh?” He tossed the money back on the table and, lifting the trench coat lying on the seat beside him, scooted out of the booth. He plopped the coat into Cas’s arms and strode off.
Cas slid into the booth, still clutching his coat to his chest.
“You doin’ okay, Cas?” Sam was still dabbing at his slightly red nose with a paper napkin.
Cas bit his lip, and then carefully placed the coat once again on the seat. “Your brother. He is difficult to reason with.”
“Can’t reason with Dean.”
Cas cocked his head. “I don’t understand, Sam”
“My brother isn’t reasonable. So he doesn’t listen to reason.”
Cas frowned, and watched the waitress appeared again to pour coffee into his cup. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Cas placed the folded trench coat carefully up on top of the dresser in one of the motel suite’s bedrooms. There was a card standing on the dresser advertising the Soo Locks Engineer’s Day.
“Hey,” said Dean, coming into the bedroom. Cas did not reply.
“Hey, Scruffy,” Dean repeated. And then Cas felt arms around his waist, the press of a body on his back, and Dean’s chin resting on his shoulder.
Cas closed his eyes for a long moment, leaning his head somewhat to let Dean nuzzle his neck, savoring the contact. “You instructed me not to shave, Dean,” he grumbled. “To insure the authenticity of my portrayal.”
“Verisimilitude!” said Dean, and Cas could feel the grin. “You could get an Oscar for homelessness.” Cas tensed, and Dean pulled back. “Hey.” He gently turned Cas around to face him. Cas glared, although it was not his most convincing glare. Dean snaked some fingers into Cas’s belt loops, and then backed away, pulling Cas towards the bed. He sat down with a thump and tugged Cas over to stand between his legs. “Hey. You understand why, right?”
Cas was trying to maintain his anger, but not doing a terribly good job of it.
“I need to know you’re good, right? I worry about Sammy, and I worry about you. And that’s a lot of worry. I mean, and then we have vampires too.”
Cas relaxed a bare fraction. He nodded.
“Hey you guys! Sorry!” Sam poked his head into the room and then his whole body followed, filling the doorway. “They just hit another drug store.”
“Wait. We didn’t get them all?” said Dean, as Cas took a step back. “How many fucking meth lab vampires are there, anyway?”
Sam shook his head. “Maybe it’s a whole nest of them?”
“Fucking scumbags. I mean, why don’t they go bite people like real vampires?”
Sam snickered and Dean heaved a sigh. “So, I guess you grab your coat, Cas.”
“No.”
“Are we having this argument again?” Dean rose and stood up tall, looking down at Cas.
Cas straightened as well, his hands balled into fists. “I would like to challenge you for the role of Magazine Browsing Person.”
“What?”
“I would like to challenge you … to rock-paper-scissors!”
Dean looked at Sam, who pretended to sniffle, and then shot a glare at Cas, balling his own hands into fists. “All right. Ready when you are, angel.”
The homeless guy lolled against the wall, shifting uncomfortably in a ragged raincoat that looked to be at least one size too small. He picked up the ball cap that was lying beside him and jiggled it, muttering to himself. “Pennies? Fuck me!”
He set the hat hastily back down on the grimy sidewalk as the couple passed by. Hoodies pulled up, both of them, and she also had a knit cap underneath. Ridiculous. And both of them skinny and pale, and wearing jackets over the hoodies. He glared at them, looking them up and down, and the girl briefly met his eyes. And then they both disappeared into the drug store, as the guy muttered something in her ear.
It had to be them, didn’t it? It was pretty damn obvious.
Dean scanned up and down the street, and then, assuring himself it was deserted, slipped inside the Save Rite. The vamps were right up front, oddly enough, staring at the antacids. That was weird. Why would vamps have indigestion? He looked around, confused. He didn’t see Cas or Sam at their posts. What the fuck? This was what happened when people didn’t stick to their roles: a clusterfuck.
“We’ve talked about this.”
Dean stared up in wonder at the very large security guard who was now just a breath away, staring down at him. Dean scowled up at him. “How could we have talked about this? I’ve never seen you before?”
“Come on, buddy. Let’s take it outside.”
“But, I’m not…. Oh, I know what you think. But I’m not,” Dean babbled as the guy grabbed him roughly by the bicep and began walking him out. The clerk at the front was staring at him, seemingly terrified.
“Hey, I’m not what you think,” Dean told her as the guard dragged him through the door and gave him a push. Dean landed on his knees on the sidewalk. “Hey, watch it, buddy!” he protested.
“Get a job,” hissed the security guard, who now sported two rows of very pointed teeth.
“Fuck,” whispered Dean, scrambling to his feet. He felt for his knife as the vampire lunged.
“This is for your reading pleasure, Nosferatu!” Cas shouted, shoving a rolled up issued of Busty Asian Beauties into the vamp security guard’s mouth.
The vamp sputtered and gagged, and now grabbed Cas, who called, “Sam!”
Sam jumped out and tossed a loop of many strands of fishing line over the vamp’s head and then yanked it tight. The vampire’s hands were at his neck, and both Sam and Cas were on his back, holding him down as he struggled. Sam deftly twisted the fishing line around a nightstick, and then wound the stick around, successfully and silently garroting the vampire, who collapsed forward in a pool of someone else’s blood.
“Whoa,” said Dean, who for once couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Sam and I determined at the outset of this operation that the security guard was an undead creature,” Cas explained.
“Inside job!” added Sam.
Dean squatted down and tugged the somewhat drool-y Busty Asian Beauties magazine from the creature’s mouth. He stood. The unfortunate centerfold was now riddled with bite marks. “Well, hey.” He looked at Cas and his brother. “You’re both okay?”
“We’re fine,” Sam told him, stifling a small cough.
Dean stared at Cas, and then hooked an elbow around his neck, drawing him nearer. “You’re all right.”
Cas nodded, and Dean smiled. “Well, then, okay. Good job.”
The pale, skinny couple exited the pharmacy, paper Save Rite bag in the girl’s hand. The male of the couple glanced at Sam, Dean, Cas and the vampire corpse, and then grumbled, “Get a job,” to Dean, and departed.
“Rude bastard!” said Dean. “Hey, I’m not homeless!” he shouted after them.
Sam hunkered down and grabbed the ball cap from off the ground. He ran his fingers around inside and grinned. “Wow. Must be thirty-four, thirty-five whole cents in here. Good job!”
“Perhaps you are right, Dean, and I need to play the homeless person from now on,” Cas told him.
“Hey, I could do better!” Dean protested. Sirens were wailing in the distance, and the three began to walk away.
“It’s my turn next,” said Sam.
“Oh, you’ll just give them one of your puppy dog looks! How is that fair?” said Dean.
“And I will browse the pornography section,” said Cas.
“Okay, you are not browsing the girlie books.”
“Then I will challenge you to another match of rock-paper-scissors.”
“You’ll never win!” Dean told him. He sighed. “Can we at least get chili cheese fries this time?”
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikific
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Cas, Sam
Warnings: Cursing. Spoilers through S8.
Word Count: 3,500
Summary: Cas considers his role in the family business.
Notes: This story occurs in the same universe as Generator, although there’s no need to read that one first.
The homeless man shivered, pulled his stained and tattered raincoat closer and nodded, keeping his eyes fixed downward as the coins splattered into the frayed baseball cap set on the ground before him. The redhead smiled and nodded at him as she passed, though he obviously didn't want to risk eye contact by looking upwards.
“Why do you do that?” snapped her male companion, who was blond and red-cheeked.
“Do what?”
“You only encourage them, you know. They’re like roaches or something.”
“Geez. He can hear you, Milton!” she hissed. She grabbed his arm and hurried him through the hissing double doors that demarcated the entrance to the Save Rite drug store on Main Street.
“I don’t care if he can hear! He’s a scumbag,” sneered Milton, making sure to shout the last in the direction of the raggedy homeless guy, who did not reply, but only slumped down a little more. “He needs to get a fucking job. They all do. Scumbag losers.”
As it was early in the morning, the drug store was nearly empty. A bored clerk sitting at the front register gave the bickering couple half a glance, and then went back to leafing through a National Tattler magazine. There was a lone customer standing at the magazine rack, thumbing through some porn mags.
“Poor guy looks like he hasn’t eaten in a week, Milton,” the redhead chided. They passed an end cap stocked with toys, and she idly tapped on a rainbow-hued plastic ball with a long red fingernail as she passed by, heading towards the back of the store.
“You know how you get money for food, Sadie? You work a job.”
“Maybe he can’t work, Milton. Have you thought of that?” They were now walking through the cold remedies. There was a guy standing there, sniffling and peering through rheumy eyes at a couple of the boxes. There were several empty stretches of shelving, where instead of product, shelf talker cards instructed the customer to inquire with the pharmacist. The cards cited state regulations regarding the products in question.
Milton testily tore a tag of paper down from below a region of empty shelf as he walked by. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’d hate to interrupt his career of being a shiftless little motherfucker with my unreasonable demands.”
“Well, now you’re just being a dick,” muttered Sadie. They had traversed the store and now stood at the back, by the pharmacy cash register, where Milton impatiently pounded on the bell placed on the desk.
“Milton, you only have to ring it once.” Sadie was rolling her eyes and holding up a package of Golden Years vitamin pills, which the box claimed were especially designed for those over age 65. She sighed and placed the box back in the elaborate tree-shaped store display that was standing by the pharmacy area.
The pharmacist emerged from the back, wearing her tightest “customer is always right” face. “Yes sir,” she inquired. Sadie yanked the bell away from Milton to force him to stop ringing it, and he glared at her, proffering the yellow slip of paper he'd just snatched from the cold remedies shelving to the young pharmacist.
“Yes sir,” repeated the pharmacist, staring at the paper. According to her name tag her name was Mina, and she was here to help you.
“You already said that,” Milton told her.
“Yes sir. How many bottles would you like, sir?” Mina asked.
“All of them.”
Mina's eyes went wide, and she looked between Milton and Sadie, perhaps thinking she had misunderstood. “I'm sorry?”
“What are you sorry for?” Milton waved a hand dismissively. “Go to the back of your little glass house, get all the bottles of Cold Eez and give them to us. Idiot.”
“I'm not allowed to do that, sir.” Mina straightened up to her full height of 5'2”, buoyed now by the rules and regulations of the great state of Michigan. “The medication in question contains pseudoephedrine, which may be used to manufacture illegal drugs.”
“Of course we're gonna manufacture illegal drugs. Why else would we be bothering with this crap? Do I look like I have a cough?”
“Milton!” Sadie warned.
“But she's an idiot, Sadie.”
“Milton, let me,” urged Sadie.
Milton grumbled but stepped aside, and the pharmacist breathed a sigh of relief as Sadie now stood before her. “About the Cold Eez, honey,” Sadie cooed. And then she leaned forward.
And then she snapped out two rows of razor sharp fangs.
Mina froze, a deer in headlights, unable to even force out a scream.
“Bite me, True Blood!” yelled the man who had just moments ago been pawing through the porn. He leapt at Sadie and, yanking her back by her red hair, beheaded her with a single swing of his razor-sharp stone axe.
Milton turned to run for the exit, but found himself blocked by the sniffling guy from the cold medicine aisle. He roared, snapped out his own set of nasty fangs, and clobbered the cold medicine guy with the store display for Golden Years vitamins as he ran past, sending him slamming into aisle, and causing boxes of cold remedies to rain down on the floor. The congested guy in turn tripped up the crazy axe guy, who had started in pursuit.
Milton barreled down the aisle to the front of the store and bolted through the automatic doors, breathing deeply of the scent of freedom. But then the suddenly amazingly spry homeless guy leapt up and caught him around the waist in a flying tackle. Milton smacked face down on the sidewalk.
The furious vampire wriggled around to sit up and screamed, “Get a fucking job!” at the homeless dude, who replied by shoving his money-laden ball cap into Milton's frothing, fanged mouth.
Milton sputtered, spitting out the cap, spilling change and scattering paper bills all over the sidewalk, and opened up to take a healthy bite of the homeless guy's neck. But he found himself wrenched back by the hair, and then the crazy axe guy had his head off.
“Fucking vampires. Meth labs! I mean, come on!” Dean scowled at the lifeless vampire head he still grasped by the hair.
“Good save, Cas,” said Sam, stifling a cough, and leaning over to give his friend a hand up off the sidewalk, where he was still in the grip of the now headless vampire.
“Thank you, Sam.” Cas glanced around him. “Um, do I get to keep it?”
“Keep what?” asked Dean, letting Milton's head drop to the sidewalk, where it bounced and rolled away.
“Keep this?” Cas pointed to the crumpled bills and piles of change that had scattered over the sidewalk nearby when the vampire had spat out his cap.
“Wow, Cas, you really made out like a bandit,” said Sam, who whistled low.
Dean looked skeptical. “Wait, you got all this money just in the time you were sitting out here?”
“Yes, Dean.” Cas and Sam had both hunkered down to collect the fallen cash.
“There must be at least twenty bucks here,” said Sam, scooping quarters into his pockets.
“Wait. How did you get all this money?” Dean repeated.
“Cas must be really good at being homeless.”
Cas looked thoughtful, turning over a fifty cent piece. “I have certain issues with this money. It was gathered under false pretenses. Perhaps we could leave it as a tip for our wait person? Would that be ethical?”
“That's not a bad idea, Cas.”
“Or we could use it at slot machines,” huffed Dean.
“Gambling is illegal in this state,” Cas reminded Dean.
All three looked up as sirens began to wail in the distance. “Come on, money grubbers,” said Dean. “Let's get out of here.” Cas and Sam quickly snatched up the rest of Cas’s earnings and followed Dean along the Main Street sidewalk and off through a series of side streets, towards the spot where the Impala had been parked. “You guys hungry? We should go check out that place we saw up the road with the state’s best chili cheese fries!”
Sam sniffled. “But Dean, it’s not even ten am.”
“C’mon, Sammy.”
“I want breakfast, Dean. Not a heart attack on a plate.”
They had reached the car, Dean waiting impatiently at the driver’s side door. “C’mon Sammy! Chili cheese fries! With onions! How often do we get to this town?”
“As often as there’s meth lab vampires,” said Sam dryly. His face edged a smile, and he brought up his fists.
Dean scowled. “Oh, that! I’ll get you this time.” The brothers stared and, as Cas watched, entranced, counted off one-two-three, bouncing their right fists up and down in time.
Dean said, “Aaaaargh!” or something very similar.
“Always with the rock, Dean,” grinned Sam, opening the passenger side door. “Let’s go get breakfast.”
“Damn, being homeless is a good racket,” said Dean. The three hunters sat in red-upholstered booth in a diner many miles away from the Save Rite. While Sam, in the seat opposite Dean, sniffled and studied the menu for heart-healthy options, Cas was sorting his coins and paper money into an array of neat piles. “Is that a $50?” asked Dean.
Castiel snatched the bill back and sorted it into the correct pile. “People are insensitive. That vampire was very rude.”
“It's just, I don't remember making this kinda cash when I played Homeless Guy. Must have been a lucrative corner.”
Sam glanced up from his menu, temporarily unable to decide between an egg white omelet and a blueberry yogurt parfait. “Or have you considered Cas is just better at playing homeless than you were?”
“Must be the raincoat,” said Dean, pulling up a sleeve of the frayed coat Castiel had neatly folded up and placed between them on the seat.
Castiel scowled and smoothed down the coat. “Perhaps next time someone else could play the homeless party.”
“What are you talking about, Cas? You spent one morning on your ass on the sidewalk and you have enough for a tropical vacation and all the mai tais you can drink.”
“I find the role to be … humiliating. I think I could convincingly assess cold medicine. Or browse pornography.”
Sam snickered. “Cas,” Dean protested. “All right, first off, it's not necessarily porn.”
“Yes it is,” said Sam.
“Sam! Go back to figuring out the vitamin count of the pancakes. And second, Castiel, you gonna play Magazine Browser Guy, you gotta fight vampires.”
“I fought the vampire this morning.”
Sam was looking over his menu at them. “Dean. He saved us after I fucked up.”
“Sam, you did not fuck up. And Cas, you're not ready to be Magazine Browser Guy!”
“So have you decided?” All three men looked up in mild surprise at the sudden appearance of the waitress.
“I have,” said Dean, handing her the menu. “I’m having the pigs in a blanket. And coffee.”
“Strawberry yogurt parfait for me,” said Sam. “And coffee.”
“And what about you, sweetie?” she asked Cas.
“I will have coffee, please,” said Cas.
“Nothing to eat, doll?” The waitress looked disappointed.
“No, thank you.”
“Yeah, he's getting something to eat,” Dean told the waitress. “What are you getting to eat, Cas?”
“But I just want coffee, Dean.”
“Look, you decide or I decide for you.”
“I prefer to pass.”
“No. You're not skipping breakfast. All right, make that two orders of pigs in a blanket,” he told the waitress. She gave Dean an arch of her heavily plucked eyebrow, but scribbled down the order and whisked off.
“I don’t know that I can countenance eating pigs in a blanket, Dean. How are we to know if the swine in question were treated in a humane manner?”
“Because they have a warm and fuzzy pancake ranch right out back.”
Cas looked dubious.
“Look, you weren’t gonna eat anything! And I’ll tell you, the piggies are now gonna be in your stomach, and that will make them happy.” He playfully poked Cas in the midsection. “Right?”
Cas's skeptical look had narrowed to a spaghetti western-worthy scowl. He pushed the pile of coinage to the side. “I am going to go wash my hands. Money is dirty.” And so, sparing Dean a last icy look, he retreated to the men's room.
Dean stared after him, and then turned his attention to the cash. “Look at this pile.” He leaned over to whisper to his brother. “And why does the waitress chick call him honey and sweetie? What's up with that?”
“You do realize our waitress probably has grandkids your age?” Sam muttered back.
“I can be sweet.”
Sam opened his laptop and hit the power button. A mellow tone sounded. “Dean, you think maybe you need to ease up a little on Cas?”
“Ease up how? He wants to be a hunter, he needs to eat his vegetables.”
“You never order vegetables,” Sam sighed into the laptop.
“Do you get wifi here? Seriously?”
Sam spread out broad hands. “Would it kill you to let him be something other than Homeless Guy? Or even decide what he wants for breakfast?” He suddenly jerked forward, snatched up a paper napkin and emitted a sneeze that sent a couple of Cas’s dollar bills fluttering. He drew back, slightly cross-eyed.
Dean snatched at the errant money. “Cas is great at Homeless Guy. Look at all his ill-gotten gains!” Dean waved the dollars.
“You should wash your hands too, Dean,” said Cas, who was now back at the booth. “You don’t know where those dollars have been.”
Dean waved the paper money at Sam. “Now who’s being Mom? Huh?” He tossed the money back on the table and, lifting the trench coat lying on the seat beside him, scooted out of the booth. He plopped the coat into Cas’s arms and strode off.
Cas slid into the booth, still clutching his coat to his chest.
“You doin’ okay, Cas?” Sam was still dabbing at his slightly red nose with a paper napkin.
Cas bit his lip, and then carefully placed the coat once again on the seat. “Your brother. He is difficult to reason with.”
“Can’t reason with Dean.”
Cas cocked his head. “I don’t understand, Sam”
“My brother isn’t reasonable. So he doesn’t listen to reason.”
Cas frowned, and watched the waitress appeared again to pour coffee into his cup. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Cas placed the folded trench coat carefully up on top of the dresser in one of the motel suite’s bedrooms. There was a card standing on the dresser advertising the Soo Locks Engineer’s Day.
“Hey,” said Dean, coming into the bedroom. Cas did not reply.
“Hey, Scruffy,” Dean repeated. And then Cas felt arms around his waist, the press of a body on his back, and Dean’s chin resting on his shoulder.
Cas closed his eyes for a long moment, leaning his head somewhat to let Dean nuzzle his neck, savoring the contact. “You instructed me not to shave, Dean,” he grumbled. “To insure the authenticity of my portrayal.”
“Verisimilitude!” said Dean, and Cas could feel the grin. “You could get an Oscar for homelessness.” Cas tensed, and Dean pulled back. “Hey.” He gently turned Cas around to face him. Cas glared, although it was not his most convincing glare. Dean snaked some fingers into Cas’s belt loops, and then backed away, pulling Cas towards the bed. He sat down with a thump and tugged Cas over to stand between his legs. “Hey. You understand why, right?”
Cas was trying to maintain his anger, but not doing a terribly good job of it.
“I need to know you’re good, right? I worry about Sammy, and I worry about you. And that’s a lot of worry. I mean, and then we have vampires too.”
Cas relaxed a bare fraction. He nodded.
“Hey you guys! Sorry!” Sam poked his head into the room and then his whole body followed, filling the doorway. “They just hit another drug store.”
“Wait. We didn’t get them all?” said Dean, as Cas took a step back. “How many fucking meth lab vampires are there, anyway?”
Sam shook his head. “Maybe it’s a whole nest of them?”
“Fucking scumbags. I mean, why don’t they go bite people like real vampires?”
Sam snickered and Dean heaved a sigh. “So, I guess you grab your coat, Cas.”
“No.”
“Are we having this argument again?” Dean rose and stood up tall, looking down at Cas.
Cas straightened as well, his hands balled into fists. “I would like to challenge you for the role of Magazine Browsing Person.”
“What?”
“I would like to challenge you … to rock-paper-scissors!”
Dean looked at Sam, who pretended to sniffle, and then shot a glare at Cas, balling his own hands into fists. “All right. Ready when you are, angel.”
The homeless guy lolled against the wall, shifting uncomfortably in a ragged raincoat that looked to be at least one size too small. He picked up the ball cap that was lying beside him and jiggled it, muttering to himself. “Pennies? Fuck me!”
He set the hat hastily back down on the grimy sidewalk as the couple passed by. Hoodies pulled up, both of them, and she also had a knit cap underneath. Ridiculous. And both of them skinny and pale, and wearing jackets over the hoodies. He glared at them, looking them up and down, and the girl briefly met his eyes. And then they both disappeared into the drug store, as the guy muttered something in her ear.
It had to be them, didn’t it? It was pretty damn obvious.
Dean scanned up and down the street, and then, assuring himself it was deserted, slipped inside the Save Rite. The vamps were right up front, oddly enough, staring at the antacids. That was weird. Why would vamps have indigestion? He looked around, confused. He didn’t see Cas or Sam at their posts. What the fuck? This was what happened when people didn’t stick to their roles: a clusterfuck.
“We’ve talked about this.”
Dean stared up in wonder at the very large security guard who was now just a breath away, staring down at him. Dean scowled up at him. “How could we have talked about this? I’ve never seen you before?”
“Come on, buddy. Let’s take it outside.”
“But, I’m not…. Oh, I know what you think. But I’m not,” Dean babbled as the guy grabbed him roughly by the bicep and began walking him out. The clerk at the front was staring at him, seemingly terrified.
“Hey, I’m not what you think,” Dean told her as the guard dragged him through the door and gave him a push. Dean landed on his knees on the sidewalk. “Hey, watch it, buddy!” he protested.
“Get a job,” hissed the security guard, who now sported two rows of very pointed teeth.
“Fuck,” whispered Dean, scrambling to his feet. He felt for his knife as the vampire lunged.
“This is for your reading pleasure, Nosferatu!” Cas shouted, shoving a rolled up issued of Busty Asian Beauties into the vamp security guard’s mouth.
The vamp sputtered and gagged, and now grabbed Cas, who called, “Sam!”
Sam jumped out and tossed a loop of many strands of fishing line over the vamp’s head and then yanked it tight. The vampire’s hands were at his neck, and both Sam and Cas were on his back, holding him down as he struggled. Sam deftly twisted the fishing line around a nightstick, and then wound the stick around, successfully and silently garroting the vampire, who collapsed forward in a pool of someone else’s blood.
“Whoa,” said Dean, who for once couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Sam and I determined at the outset of this operation that the security guard was an undead creature,” Cas explained.
“Inside job!” added Sam.
Dean squatted down and tugged the somewhat drool-y Busty Asian Beauties magazine from the creature’s mouth. He stood. The unfortunate centerfold was now riddled with bite marks. “Well, hey.” He looked at Cas and his brother. “You’re both okay?”
“We’re fine,” Sam told him, stifling a small cough.
Dean stared at Cas, and then hooked an elbow around his neck, drawing him nearer. “You’re all right.”
Cas nodded, and Dean smiled. “Well, then, okay. Good job.”
The pale, skinny couple exited the pharmacy, paper Save Rite bag in the girl’s hand. The male of the couple glanced at Sam, Dean, Cas and the vampire corpse, and then grumbled, “Get a job,” to Dean, and departed.
“Rude bastard!” said Dean. “Hey, I’m not homeless!” he shouted after them.
Sam hunkered down and grabbed the ball cap from off the ground. He ran his fingers around inside and grinned. “Wow. Must be thirty-four, thirty-five whole cents in here. Good job!”
“Perhaps you are right, Dean, and I need to play the homeless person from now on,” Cas told him.
“Hey, I could do better!” Dean protested. Sirens were wailing in the distance, and the three began to walk away.
“It’s my turn next,” said Sam.
“Oh, you’ll just give them one of your puppy dog looks! How is that fair?” said Dean.
“And I will browse the pornography section,” said Cas.
“Okay, you are not browsing the girlie books.”
“Then I will challenge you to another match of rock-paper-scissors.”
“You’ll never win!” Dean told him. He sighed. “Can we at least get chili cheese fries this time?”