Title: La Vie en Rose (1/?)
Author: Halfblood Alchemist
Genre/Pairing: AU, Fluff/Romance, Humor, Dean/Castiel, some Dean/Sam Wesson (NOT WINCEST)
Rating: R
Warnings: Swearing, some sexual situations, mild drug and alcohol references
Spoilers: None for SPN
Word Count: WIP
A/N: I decided to do another movie mash-up! This time the story will be based off of the movie "French Kiss" starring Meg Ryan and Kevin Kline. Yes, this will also be my second fic taking place outside the United States, but this one will be more extensive. Hope you guys enjoy!
EDIT/AUTHOR'S NOTE: OK APPARENTLY BECAUSE I'M GONNA GET CRAP FOR THIS I MIGHT AS WELL PUT UP YET ANOTHER DISCLAIMER. NO I AM NOT PASSING THE MOVIE OF "FRENCH KISS" OFF AS MY OWN. I WROTE THE CHARACTERS OF SUPERNATURAL INTO THE STORYLINE BECAUSE I OUT OF MY OWN CURIOSITY WANTED TO SEE WHAT IT WOULD BE LIKE TO HAVE THEM IN THIS KIND OF SITUATION. NOT ALL OF THE STORY IS THE SAME, REACTIONS ARE DIFFERENT, THERE ARE DIFFERENCES ADDED THROUGHOUT TO MAKE THE CHARACTER PLACEMENTS BELIEVEABLE. ALSO I AM NOT TRYING TO MAKE ANYTHING FROM THIS STORY, IT'S ALL WRITTEN FOR FUN AND GAMES AND TO GIVE PEOPLE ANOTHER LOVE STORY TO ENJOY, WHETHER OR NOT IT'S A 'BASED OFF OF' STORY OR A 'MASH-UP' STORY. BUT SINCE IT SEEMS I'M GOING TO BE GETTING CRAP FOR THIS, I MIGHT AS WELL MAKE IT BOLD AND IN YOUR FACE SO YOU GET THE IDEA. ALSO IF YOU WANT TO GO ON ABOUT PLAGARIZING, TALK TO THE MOVIE MAKERS WHOM MAKE EXACT COPIES OF OLDER MOVIES FOR MONETARY GAIN. WHAT DO THEY DO? THEY CREDIT THE PREVIOUS MAKERS. SO IF IT MAKES YOU FEEL BETTER, THEN FINE, THIS IS A REMAKE AND CREDIT GOES TO THE WRITER'S OF "FRENCH KISS" AS I POINTED OUT A LOOOONG TIME AGO! AND IFI YOU DON'T LIKE IT, I HAVE PLENTY OF ORIGINAL STORIES FOR YOU TO ENJOY.
Summary: Dean and Sam, a happy couple of three years, make plans to finally settle down in the house of their dreams, when Sam leaves the country for a lawyer's convention in Paris, France. While he's away, Sam falls head over heels in love with one of the native girls and breaks up with Dean, opting to remain in France. Determined to win Sam's heart back, Dean travels to Paris to find him and take him back. On his travels, Dean meets a charming conman with a heart of gold named Castiel Molyneux, inadvertently employing his assistance through France to find his lost lover. Stolen necklaces, street fights, and 452 cheeses are all part of the road to Triumph, and both Dean and Castiel will discover love in the strangest of places.
"Welcome to Air France, nonstop Service Detroit to Paris. Our estimated flight time is seven hours, twenty minutes. Please have your seat belts fastened, and trays in the upright position before takeoff…"
Dean drowned out the rest of the flight attendant's schpiel, screwing his earbuds into his ears with shaking hands. For the seventh time since he boarded the plane, he checked his seatbelt once, twice, closing the shade of his window with a thud. Taking a calming breath, Dean closed his eyes willing his hammering heart to slow before he had a coronary right there in the seat.
He didn't belong on this plane… but damn it to hell if he was getting off now! He was on a mission; one of utmost importance and come hell or high water, he was staying on this damn plane.
The aisles were too crowded for him to escape anyway. Why, oh why did he get the fucking window seat?
Feeling his terror schooled slightly, Dean ran the past few days over his mind yet again, remembering his driving force for the suicide mission he now found himself a part of. He thought to that one phone call that started it all…
One Week Prior
Dean sighed, listening half-heartedly to the lecture from the other side of the room. He ignored the words as best as he could, unpacking his suitcase quickly. He ignored the sense of relief that grew with each article of clothing removed from the suitcase's interior, instead focusing back in on the conversation at hand.
"Seriously, Dean you're a freaking history teacher. I can't believe you don't wanna go to France!" Sam whined, leaning his hip against the dresser as he watched Dean work. It was almost absurd. "So what is it the French thing or is it the flying thing?"
Dean sighed again, crossing his arms over his chest. "Look, Sammy. It's not the French thing OR the flying thing. I gotta work Jury duty during that week and SERIOUSLY can't miss it. You, of all people, should understand that."
"So, just come up with something! Tell them your cousin Bridget fell in the Seine."
Dean glanced up, face deadpanned. "I'm not even gonna acknowledge that statement. They're gonna find out I don't HAVE a cousin Bridget, and I'll get my ass deported and THEN arrested."
Sam smiled, sauntering around the bed to wrap his arms around Dean's waist. "C'mon… a whole week with the man you love, in Paris? That doesn't sound appeasing?" he wheedled, nuzzling the back of Dean's neck gently.
Dean smiled, leaning back into the embrace. "I didn't say that…" turning, he pressed a kiss to those tempting lips, emerald eyes dancing with mirth. "But the whole seduction thing's not gonna work. I'm sorry. I can't go."
Sam groaned, resting his forehead on Dean's shoulder. "C'mon… it won't be as much fun without you…"
Dean chuckled, kissing him again. "I know I'm just that awesome. It's only a week, though and I'll be right here waiting for ya. Alright? I love you Sammy… Just promise to have fun, ok?"
Sam nodded, giving in finally. "Alright…" with a smirk, he jabbed Dean' in the stomach slightly. "I'll tell you how that horse meat tastes, ok?"
Dean laughed, relief flooding his being at finally being let off the hook.
Yeah, he had jury duty… but it was totally the flying thing.
A few days later, Dean heard the phone ringing from the other room and dashed as quickly as he could to catch it before he missed the call. He tripped over the cat and cursed the creature before grabbing the phone from the hook. "Hello? Hey Sammy, how's Paris?" He laughed, smiling to hear Sam's voice over the receiver.
"Dean! DEAN!" Sam shouted into the phone. Into the background, the roar of a crowd blotted out his voice.
Dean frowned, straining to hear him. "Yeah, it's me. Sammy is everything alright?" Slight panic began to gnaw at his chest. Sam sounded distressed….
"Yeah!... no… I dunno. Something happened." Sam managed to make this clear over the phone, the noise having died down somewhat. Dean imaged that he had stepped into one of those old fashioned phone booths. He shook the thought from his mind, back on the subject matter.
"Why, what's wrong?" He asked, worry growing quickly.
"I dunno… I'm just so happy. I'm so happy it's fucking insane, and I totally fucked up. I fucked up Dean but… it's destiny…" Sam broke off, sounding breathless.
Dean blinked, shaking his head. "What are you talking about? What destiny?"
"Dean… I met this woman… this Goddesse… and she's… she's gorgeous and wonderful and…" Sam paused, swallowing hard. Despite his nerves, he was positively elated. "I've never felt like this before. Never felt like this with anyone…"
Dean froze, leaning back heavily against the wall. "Goddesse…?" mentally, he cursed himself for sounding so small and pathetic but… "Sammy… w-what are you saying?" As he spoke, the strength slowly gave out from his legs, and he slid down the wall. Why was this happening?
"Yeah, Dean… she's perfect and I'm… I'm not going back to Detroit. I-I'm in love, Dean. Love like a sonnet." At his own words, Sam broke off, sorrow and guilt filling his voice. "I'm sorry Dean… I'm so sorry."
The silence crawled by; it actually took Dean a few moments to realize that Sam had finally hung up on him. Dean dropped the phone to his side, staring at the wall before him. How was this happening to him? Why him? Sammy…
"Sam…"
Dean snapped out of his revere, the sounds of an angered voice breaking through the sudden silence. Dean glanced down to see the battery symbol on his mp3 player flash before dying. "Shit…" he groaned, wrapping the cord up and tucking it away.
The shouting had not ceased; in fact it only grew more frustrated. Dean looked up to see a young man, clad in a brown leather coat holding a duffel bag and standing at the head of the aisle with one of the flight attendants. He continued his tirade, angry French words punctuating the stuffy air inside the plane. As Dean watched, he saw the man pull a ticket out with flourish and brandish it in the woman's face.
The attendant looked it over before glancing about the cabin. The moment her eyes landed on the empty seat next to Dean, he knew what was coming next. 'No, no, no…' he thought, shooting the woman a pleading look.
It didn't work.
She pointed in the direction of the seat, muttering something in French to the irate passenger.
The moment he turned, Dean found himself momentarily stunned. The man was gorgeous. Dark, mussed hair hung over his brow and down the back of his neck, a fine sheen of stubble on his sharp jaw. Intense blue eyes met his for a moment, before the Frenchman rolled them in exasperation, snatching the ticket back from the attendant.
Dean shook himself back to his senses, looking straight ahead at the seat in front of him. He fisted one hand into the pockets of his suit jacket, drumming his free hand on the top of his denim clad knee in a nervous tick. He lacked music at this moment, having forgotten to charge his music player before his hasty departure. Fuck it was hot in that plane, and creepy was coming down the aisle right now, all tough and scary and sexy looking. Shit, he needed some music. What was that song? How did it go again?
Oh yeah…
"I hate Paris in the springtime
I hate Paris in the fall
I hate Paris in the summer when it sizzles
I hate Paris in the winter when it drizzles
I hate Paris, oh why oh why do I hate Paris?
Because my love is there... with his SLUT girlfriend."
Dean hissed the last line in contempt, feeling a little bit better about himself. He blinked his eyes open, having the distinct feeling someone was watching him.
Dean turned slightly, coming eye to eye with the Frenchman at his right. Awkward moments aside, he took a moment to appreciate just how blue the guy's eyes were. "Sorry…" Dean murmured, blushing heavily under the intense gaze bestowed upon him. "Sorry, this is my first time flying so I'm just a little nervous."
The French guy didn't so much as blink.
"Do you speak any English?" Again, no response from his seat partner. "Didn't your mother ever teach you about staring?" Now Dean was just getting agitated. He shifted in his seat nervously again, shooting what he hoped looked like the glare it was supposed to be, feeling his cheeks flush in embarrassment.
The Frenchman blinked a few times before smirking a little devilish smirk. "What do you think, the plane is going to crash and we're all going to go up in flames? I assure you if that happens, you won't feel a thing." As he spoke, the words flowed out in a gravely low tone Dean did NOT suspect from the slight man. His thick accent heightened the intensity of his voice, momentarily distracting Dean from his little freak-out.
Dean shook himself back into the present, honoring the man a nasty look. "You're French aren't you?" he seethed, slouching in his seat with worry. Beneath him the wheels began to turn, taxiing the plane out from the gate to the runway. Oh God, I can't do this…
The Frenchman smiled, extending a hand to him. "Castiel Molyneux at your service." His greeting was promptly ignored. Undeterred, he continued on. "I'm curious, how did you get around your whole life or did you just stay in your house with the doors all locked?"
Now the guy was just starting to get on his nerves. "I get around like every other normal American in my country: a car. Now would you please stop staring at me?" Dean was near hysterics now, hyperventilating in the seat.
From beside him, the man Castiel chuckled with mirth, grinning like an idiot. "It is incredible. Every muscle in your body is tensing up. Even your nostrils are closing up, how do you do that?" he leaned forward, leaning his elbow on Dean's armrest in a hard display of personal space invasion. "Do you ever wonder if it's actually the plane you're afraid of?"
Dean blinked, successfully distracted from the growing speed of their take-off. "What do you mean?" he asked, glancing at Castiel with confusion.
Castiel smiled triumphantly, reaching over to pull the shade back up. He laughed to see Dean squeeze his eyes shut against the rushing images past his window. "It is obvious it is not the plane you fear. I know your type."
Now Dean was really interested. "What type is that?"
As if he had the world's greatest secret in his hands, Castiel leaned back, honoring Dean with a gorgeous smile. "You're afraid to live. Really live. You are afraid of life. You are afraid of love. You are afraid of sex."
Dean stared at him, thoroughly scandalized. "WHAT? What the hell's the matter with you, you don't even know me!" he raged, forgetting about the shuddering plane around him. He had a reputation dammit, and no Frenchman was gonna ruin it for him!
Castiel laughed, listening to Dean flounder under his gaze. Perhaps his plan was working after all…
"And yeah ok there was a couple months where I just didn't feel like it, but that was a long time ago and I was in between teaching jobs! Don't judge me, you're just some nicotine saturated, hygiene deficient drunken Frenchman!" Dean rattled on, now completely forgotten about the take off.
Castiel glanced over Dean's shoulder and smiled, the grin much gentler than previous. "Look at that fantastic view…" he breathed, turning Dean to face the window.
Dean blinked, stunned by the sight. He made it. He made it up into the air without dying! He was so enthralled, he didn't even notice Castiel stand and leave the seat at that moment.
Castiel headed down the aisle towards the rear of the plane, pulling out a cigarette as he walked. Lighting the paper cylinder, he smiled watching Dean's eyes bore into the beautiful scenery below him.
Mission accomplished.
Castiel pulled two bottles of vodka from his pocket, pouring a glass for himself. Glancing at Dean, he offered the second bottle with a smile.
Dean took the glass in a tentative hand, eyeing the small man next to him. "T-thanks…" he murmured, taking a sip of the strong liquor.
Castiel nodded, and the two fell back into silence.
"C-Can I ask you something? It's Castyel right?"
Castiel shook his head, correcting his pronunciation. "Now you were going to ask me something?" He prodded, leaning towards Dean.
Dean shied away from him slightly, feeling a bit claustrophobic. "D-do I really look like the kind of guy that doesn't know how to have a good time? I'm not normally this reserved but… well…" Dean broke off, looking a bit ashamed.
"Ehm… you were how old when you lost 'it'? You know you're eh… flower."
Dean, again, looked scandalized. "Dude, my flower is none of your business!" he snapped, taking a heavy drink to drown it out.
Castiel laughed, shaking his head with bewilderment. "I'm only asking because I'm trying to read you properly. You see, there are two kinds of people. Some who guard their virginity like a precious gift, while others rush into it, impatient to wait for the day they set it free."
"Lemme guess, you rushed."
"Like a bull."
Dean snorted, glancing at Castiel through narrowed eyes. "Yeah I got a picture in my mind, it's pretty damn clear… How young?"
Castiel thought for a moment, biting his lip. "Thirteen."
Dean started, nearly dropping the glass. "THIRTEEN?"
"… You're right… I was twelve. Her name was Megara, she was the village putain or prostitute. She was not beautiful but she had this mouth on her… I swear it was another world. But I did not have enough money for the kissing, just the sex."
Dean stared at him confused. "Wait, I don't get it… not enough for the KISSING?"
Castiel shrugged, leaning back in his seat. "It always costs more to kiss a prostitute. It's just the way it is."
Dean nodded in understanding. "Ah, that makes sense. A kiss is so intimate… you just get lost in the kiss…" He trailed off; realizing the look Castiel was shooting him. Clearing his throat, Dean shrugged noncommittally, burying himself in the vodka. "I meant that the kiss is where the romance is…"
Castiel smiled, draining the remainder of his vodka. "Now you. Tell me about your deflowering."
Dean frowned, twiddling his thumbs quietly. "Alright… ok you're right I didn't rush but I didn't hide either. I was seventeen… high school prom. Behind the bleachers during the dance. Guy's name was Andrew, and we were getting pretty hot and heavy. We had just gotten to the good part, when his girlfriend walked past the bleachers and found the both of us screwing around on the ground. She turned us over to the principle and we both got suspended for a month."
Castiel laughed, nodding slightly.
"So yeah, the first time was bad but then it got better and then I met Sammy and it's been great ever since." As he spoke about Sam, Dean trailed off, remembering the words Sam had said to him over the phone. "… Can I as you something?"
Castiel nodded. "I'm all ears." He leaned forward like he was hearing some conspiratorial secret. He didn't miss the way Dean leaned in as well, the two sharing a secret from the rest of the patrons sharing their tight quarters.
"Do you believe in destiny, the love that lasts forever?"
Castiel bit his lip, quirking an eyebrow at him. "That's not a very interesting question, Dean. It 's a question for little girls."
"I'm just saying, do you believe in one love between a couple that can't be changed?"
Castiel frowned, glancing at the seat in front of him for a moment. "… I loved my mother."
Dean, already feeling a bit fuzzy around the edges, laughed. "Oh I get it… monogamy is like eating home for the rest of your life, and you like to go out to a different restaurant every night, eh?" As he spoke, he jabbed Castiel in the stomach, feeling something solid against his side. "Hey, what's that?"
Castiel all but panicked. He leapt to his feet, looking flustered and shocked. "Careful! I eh… I-I have to go!" he stammered, slithering down the aisle towards the back of the plane.
Dean blushed, downing the rest of his drink in one go. "That was weird…" he murmured, unable to hide the flush on his cheeks. Really weird…
Castiel turned to the mirror in the bathroom, glancing at himself briefly. He untucked his blue shirt, letting a little cloth torpedo fall from the underside of his shirts. He unwrapped it quickly to reveal a small little plant within the burlap.
Setting the plant into the sink, he turned the water on, letting it flow over the bound roots for a few minutes. With a smile he pulled another cloth wrap from his pocket and laid it across the counter reverently. Patting it dry, he unwrapped it to reveal a diamond necklace, the price tag still attached to it. Within the cloth wrap, a piece of paper sat, protected from the water in the plant.
The worth of the necklace was scrawled across the paper in his handwriting: $200,000 diamond necklace. Castiel smirked, wrapping the necklace up again before hiding it within the burlap wrap on the vine.
Never let it be said that Castiel Molyneux was an incompetent thief.
Pocketing the plant, he slipped out the door and headed back to his seat. What he saw made him pause.
Dean was sleeping , leaned up against the window in his doze.
Castiel bit his lip, glancing up at the overhead compartment. What's the best way to smuggle an illegal plant, and a stole multi-thousand dollar necklace? Use someone unsuspecting. Perfect.
Castiel reached up and unzipped Dean's backpack with a deft hand. He slipped the wrapped vine and necklace into the bottom of the compartment before zipping it back shut.
Success. Now he just needed to stick with him until he least expected it, and he was off on his own.
In the terminal, Dean leaned against the walkway, feeling a bit hung over. "Ugh… why did you let me drink so much?" he groused, glaring at the man next to him.
Castiel shrugged, letting out a puff of smoke casually blowing it in Dean's face. "I didn't do anything, you did it yourself. Come, I'll give you a ride into Paris it will save you a lot of money."
Dean shrugged, ignoring him slightly. "Fine… I'm staying at the George V…"
Castiel blinked, eyes widening. "No shit?" he gave a low whistle, the conversation ending there. As they prepared to leave the terminal, a security guard waved Castiel over, wand in hand. "Eh… I'll meet you outside." He murmured, secretly glad he'd ditched the vine already.
Castiel kept his eye trained on Dean, as the security guard rifled through his belongings. "Sir, I need to you step.." The guard didn't even finish.
A short man with light brown hair and a jolly gleam in his hazel eyes stepped forward, waving his officer's badge before the guard. "That won't be necessary. Give him his paperwork, and his belongings."
Castiel blinked, a smile growing on his face. "Gabriel, you dog, what are you doing here?"
"What, a cop doesn't deserve a vacation?" the officer Gabriel threw an arm around Castiel's shoulders, guiding him away from the security booth. "I believe you still owe me that drink, Castiel."
"I know I do, Gabe but eh… what if I called you on Monday?" the thief murmured, looking around for Dean. DAMN! He lost him!
"Why wait until Monday when we got all the time in the world now?"
Castiel frowned, glancing around one last time for Dean. He was nowhere to be found. "… alright we can. Let's go." He said, following the cop in the opposite direction. The opposite direction from Dean, the vine and that bloody fucking necklace.
Shit…
TBC…