It's time for Writing Prompt Wednesday! This story was written for last week's theme, which was "Celebrity AUs."
What is Writing Prompt Wednesday?
Writing Prompt Wednesday is a feature I run on my Tumblr. Followers, readers and friends suggest themes for AUs, and I come up with a list of prompts based on the suggested them. Then, based on those prompts, anyone who wants to join in writes up a short story (or a long story, I guess) and posts it to Tumblr (or AO3, or , or wherever) and tags it Writing Prompt Wednesday!
You can read more about Writing Prompt Wednesday, and read this week's entries, at
This week, I chose this prompt:
I never wanted to be like those other celebrities who act like they're a different species than regular people, I really make an effort to try to be nice to everyone, and it's been especially gratifying that you treat me completely normally…so normally that I can't figure out how to get you to pay attention to me…
So, two days before WPW, knowing that "celebrity AUs" was my next theme, I was driving behind a taxi from a company called "Deen's Taxis" and it got me thinking...I pushed those thoughts aside until today so that it stayed just a kernel, but now that I've written all the prompts I can go ahead and play with this one (I really try not to get ideas ahead of time, but sometimes it's hard).
Oh, and guys? I don't know crap about Miami or about Vancouver and I was unusually lazy with my research this time...so forgive the probably horrible inaccuracies...
Relationship: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Characters: Castiel; Dean Winchester; Ellen Harvelle; Jo Harvelle; Ash (Supernatural)
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting; Actor Castiel; Switch Castiel; Switch Dean; Gay Castiel; Gay Dean; Homophobia; Hate Crimes; Past Rape/Non-con; Past Child Abuse; Taxi Driver Dean; Veteran Dean; Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD; Misunderstandings
Vancouver was unusually sunny and bright when Castiel boarded his plane, bound for two weeks of on-site filming in Miami. It was an annoying reversal of his expectations when he debarked to late-night darkness and pouring rain. A shapeless hoodie and a hat pulled low over his brow, ostensibly to protect him from the rain, offered scant protection from those who might pester him if they recognized him. If even one person realized who he was, he'd get swamped by fans looking for his autograph. Normally, he didn't mind, but he was exhausted, his luggage had taken an hour to appear on the carousel, and his mind was swimming with the lines he'd spent the flight memorizing. The last thing he wanted was to have to put on a show to impress the public.
Luck was with him: everyone seemed intent on keeping their faces lowered from the downpour, their eyes fixed on the ground to mind their footing. Even the TSA security guard who insisted that Castiel remove his hat didn't expose him; there was a glimmer of recognition on the guards face but she said nothing. Joining the end of a long line of people waiting for taxis, Castiel breathed a sigh of relief. He was almost done running the gauntlet. Once he was at the hotel, he should be okay.
Thoughts about the upcoming filming passed the time spent in the cab queue. There were a lot of people waiting and few cars coming in and, after how long it had taken Castiel's luggage to come down the carousel, he was last in the queue. The media had gone nuts when Castiel switched from lucrative movie roles to take the starring part on Angel Falls, but as he'd gotten older, he'd felt increasingly out of place as a leading man playing opposite women a decade or more younger than him. The plot of Angel Falls appealed to him and he appreciated how a seasonal arc gave time to develop a story more extensively than a movie could. Ostensibly, the show was a drama about small-town backstabbing, but there was a paranormal back story driving events that was getting revealed bit by bit. Better yet was the diversity of the cast - on every level, from PA to producer, an effort had been made to create a living, breathing town that reflected the actual demographics of a comparable place. The result was a wide spread of characters of different races, ethnicities, religions, and sexualities. Castiel played the town's police chief Emmanuel Allen, a middle aged man hiding his homosexuality as Castiel had never bothered to do in real life, trying to figure out the causes of the bizarre events causing chaos amongst the townsfolks. Most of the episodes took place on studio soundstage built to look like the town, but for the season finale, Allen had been called to a meeting with the FBI. The information that came out in those meetings was going to be a big reveal for the audience and Castiel was determined to do a good job. Running lines endlessly in his head, Castiel considered each way that the dialog could be interpreted, how he might react, what his directors might suggest.
There was no reason the scenes needed to be done in Miami, except apparently the show had the budget to do so and the general consensus was that beautiful, exotic locales were a draw for the viewers at home – that and the fact that theoretically the town of Angel Falls was in Florida even though in the first 20 episodes there wasn't a single shot of any place that resembled Florida.
I don't understand, was Allen's blank reaction to the FBI agent, a character named Henriksen, as the man explained to him that the supernatural existed, what has any of this to do with me?
"Hey!"
But this means everyone in the town is in danger! It's my job to protect them – to protect all of them!
"Dude, this century?"
How am I supposed to keep something like this a secret?
"Fuck it, fine, if you like standing in the rain..."
Castiel snapped out of his reverie to find that he was the only person in the line and a disgruntled cabbie was circling back to the driver's side of his black, rain-drenched car, muttering under his breath.
"I'm sorry," Castiel said. The taxi driver stopped and turned, shoulders hunched against the driving downpour. "Thank you, yes, I'm ready to go."
"Awesome," said the cabbie dryly. His voice was low, face shadowed by a hat and the darkness of the night. He came around, unlocked the trunk, and waited for an invitation before loading Castiel's luggage effortlessly. As he did, Castiel climbed into the back seat, all too aware of how damp his hoodie had gotten. Despite the warmth of the evening, he shivered.
"Want the heat up?" asked the cabbie, settling into the front seat. The cab was a gypsy, a Lincoln town car with a lot of leg room, a meter, and a picture of the driver in a plastic case attached to the back of the front passenger seat. Castiel shrugged indifferently.
"Whatever you're comfortable with, I'll be fine. I'm staying at the Mandarin Oriental – I've got the address if you need it," Castiel said, digging into his pocket for his phone.
"Wow, high roller," the cabbie whistled, impressed. "Don't bother with the address, I know where it is." Starting the engine, the cabbie turned the heat up, rolled his window down a crack, looked over his shoulder to check for nonexistent oncoming traffic, and hit the road. The first few minutes of the drive passed in silence, and then the cabbie said, "you one of those fares interesting in being left the hell alone, or you want to chat?"
"I suppose I'm fine regardless," said Castiel with a smile. "What would you want to talk about?"
"First time in Miami?" the cabbie asked gruffly.
"I was here once before, a long time ago." Castiel leaned over slightly to read the name on the driver's license – Dean Winchester – and the photo showed a man with tanned skin, a wash of dark freckles over his nose, a strong chin, and clear, pale eyes that might have been blue or green, it was hard to tell in the low-quality photo. "Spent about a month."
"Work or pleasure?"
"What, is this an interrogation?" Castiel's smile broke into a laughing tone.
"Sorry, my bad – just tryin' to get to know you, make small talk." Dean caught Castiel's eye in the rearview mirror and gave him a smirk. "Talk about something other than the rain. Most people who get in the cab want to talk about themselves and encouraging that helps pass the time, ya know? Most folks are more interesting than they give themselves credit for. As I said, if you don't want to, no pressure."
"I'm here for work," said Castiel. "But I like my work, so it's not bad. Before you ask – I'm an actor. So, what about you – you live in Miami for a long time?"
"20 some-odd years," Dean said as he pulled onto a ramp and slowed, waiting for an opportunity to merge. Despite the late hour – well after midnight – traffic was fairly heavy on the highway, and a constant stream of headlights sailed by them in the left lanes. "It's as good a place as any, I guess."
"That's the least enthusiastic I've ever heard anyone about this city," said Castiel. "Most people say they really like it."
"Most of the people at the Mandarin Oriental sure would," Dean said wryly. "Miami's great if you got money. For the average Joe, though...well, folks need cabs here, and I own my car so I set the hours. I get by." He paused. "Crap. Don't let me get maudlin on ya – if you're looking for things to do, there's plenty that's fun, some kick-ass restaurants, that kind of thing. I'm good for pointers, if you need anything."
"Really? You do food recommendations?"
"Comes with the territory," shrugged Dean against the cushioning on his chair. "People treat cabbies like a concierge – expect us to know all the local shit. I'm happy to help, though it's a little late for a meal on a week night, most of the night spots close by one this time of year."
"I'm fine, I ate a meal on the plane," said Castiel. "Maybe tomorrow?"
"Woah, little early to ask me out," Dean said with an easy laugh, obviously unoffended, obviously joking. "But I can hook you up with a ride, if that'd help you out."
"That would be very helpful, yes," Castiel nodded. "I'm in town a couple weeks and I won't have a rental. I could use someone I can rely on to give me a ride."
"Rely on, huh?" Dean shot him a sardonic smile. "Well, I can't promise I won't have another fare when you get in touch, but here's my digits." Without taking his eyes from the road, Dean grabbed a card from a holder on his dashboard and passed it back. It was simple and unadorned: his name, profession, phone number and e-mail, the kind available cheaply from printers on the internet, but it projected a simple professionalism and good judgment. "I'm Dean, by the way."
"Cas," replied Castiel warmly, using his preferred nickname, the one he told people he hoped to be friends with, the one that helped ensure that members of the public didn't identify him out from his name. 'Castiel' wasn't exactly inconspicuous as first names went. Even though Castiel had said he was an actor, Dean didn't show any signs of recognition, either of Castiel's face or of the nickname.
"Nice to meet you, Cas."
They made small talk for the rest of the short trip. Dean had an easy manner, though the longer they spoke the more Cas sensed an underlying bitterness beneath his words. Castiel doubted most people would have noticed; Dean had professional good humor down to a science, joking without getting too personal, skilled at keeping conversation going. Underneath that, though, Castiel recognized lingering unhappiness, could sense the undercurrents of dissatisfaction. It wasn't surprising; Castiel thought most people would be unhappy if their life put them in the position of having to work driving a cab through the long night in order to make ends meet. That Dean put on a bold front impressed Castiel. Castiel wasn't the only actor in the car.
When they pulled up to the hotel, brilliantly lit and gleaming on a pier sticking out into the pitch black waters of the ocean, Dean hopped out and retrieved Castiel's luggage from the trunk. The uniformed night valet took it from Dean, giving Dean's blue jeans and wet, ratty flannel a disdainful look that guaranteed that Castiel would be giving him a meager tip. Dean, on the other hand, earned every penny of his sizeable gratuity.
"Thank you," Castiel said warmly. In the light of the entry foyer, it was easier to make out Dean's attractive appearance. The eyes that had looked pale in his DMV shot were deep forest green in the night, his skin even more tanned than it had been, his body lean and obviously muscular beneath his casual attire, his cheeks feathered with stubble. Castiel thought they were probably around the same age.
"Night, Cas," Dean replied, knuckling his forehead apparently unthinkingly. "You sure you don't want change?" Castiel shook his head. "Thanks, man, I owe you."
"Not a penny. Yhat's the whole point of my not wanting change," laughed Castiel. "By the way – you said you might be busy with other fares tomorrow. What if I scheduled an appointment – say, 10 PM pick up for dinner? From here? I expect you to be ready with a couple good recommendations. I don't know any local restaurants."
"Works for me," said Dean with a grin, pocketing the money. "See ya then." Dean gave the valet a cocky wink and returned to the driver's seat, and Castiel headed into the hotel's lavish lobby to check into his room. Evenings when he wasn't working were one of the worst parts of traveling for shoots; hotel rooms alone at night were a drag and he'd lost interest in the nightlife years before. Turning 40 had that effect.
I wonder what Dean would say if I did ask him out on a date.
"Thanks for getting here so early, Dean," said Castiel, stifling a yawn. It had been a busy couple weeks, working twelve hours or more to get all the footage they'd need, and his flight left at 6:30 in the morning. Given that he was still on Pacific Time, he wasn't sure why he'd bothered going to sleep the night before.
"Late, for me," Dean shrugged. "Overnight fares are few and far between but the ones I get tend to be large enough to balance things out. And there's always folks who need pick up early in the morning."
"Do you ever sleep?" joked Castiel. Dean scowled at the valet until the sneering fellow gave over trying to get Castiel's luggage into the trunk and let Dean do it. Since Castiel had arrived in Miami, Dean had shown up every time Castiel had called for a pick up, regardless of how early or how late. He'd driven Castiel to filming locations, to meals, to the movies, and back from everything. There'd only been twice when he'd said he was completely unavailable because he was too booked up. Castiel had never been the kind to have a personal driver before, but it was nice to have someone reliable come get him, nice to be greeted by a friendly, handsome face, nice to pass the time in the car – sometimes quite long, depending on the traffic – with someone amiable. Dean was rough around the edges but intelligent and insightful, and they had a lot in common.
"No sleep 'til Brooklyn," Dean joked. "Seriously, I'd drive you to Brooklyn if you paid me enough."
"Why not fly to Brooklyn?" Castiel asked. "Driving seems...inefficient."
"Don't like planes," Dean said, his tone ice cold and closed off in stark contrast to his usual smiles and wry humor.
I wonder what happened to him. I want to know so much more than it'll ever be my place to ask.
Neither said anything as Castiel got comfortable in the now-familiar backseat and Dean took his place behind the wheel. Normally, they picked up their conversations wherever they had left off their previous ride. They'd talked about music and theater, about night life and drinking and parties, about movies and TV shows, and Dean had dropped enough casual hints to make it clear that he had pieced together Castiel's identity and that he didn't give a shit. The previous night they'd been discussing travel. As it turned out, they had in common having seen large swathes of the US. Neither went in to much detail about the circumstances of that travel, though Dean had implied that his had been done in the company of members of family, and Castiel played it close to the vest that much of his had been due to the vagaries of his time in the foster system. Normally, when Castiel had conversations about travel it was with other stars and they talked about all the gorgeous places they'd stayed, the spectacular sights they'd seen, the lavish meals they'd eaten, the famous people they'd done extravagant things with. He appreciated that his experiences and Dean's were more similar than that. They each had favorite diners and had visited random roadside attractions and could describe any number of generic small towns and boring highways. They'd left off laughing about how endless driving across Texas was, but Castiel couldn't find any enthusiasm for resuming the topic. All it did was remind him of how far he was about to travel, how far away Dean would be after this.
Crush on the cabbie. Great job, Cas.
But he's smart and interesting and interested and doesn't seem to give a shit who I am. That's a combination I don't find often. He's gorgeous and he's about my age.
But I don't even know if he's interested in men or if he's available. Someone his age? I bet he works as hard as he does to support a family.
...why would that have to be the case? I work hard and I don't have a family...
"Dean?" he asked hesitantly. The roads were empty so early and what little time remained for them to spend together was rapidly passing. Castiel knew it bothered him more than it should have, but he couldn't help how he felt.
"Yeah?"
"I wanted to thank you for how helpful you've been these past couple weeks," said Castiel. "This trip has been far more pleasant than I anticipated and a lot of that was down to you."
"Hey, I just provide a service, you happened to find it helpful..." Dean shrugged. Castiel desperately wanted to meet Dean's eyes, read his expression, but Dean didn't glance up at the rear view mirror and his expression was shadowed strangely, dark in the night only to be highlighted starkly each time they passed beneath a street light.
Of course it's nothing more than that to him. It'd be foolish of me to assume more. A waitress is friendly knowing that customers expect good service and might leave a bigger tip if she's agreeable. Dean is doing nothing different from that and it's entirely appropriate. And it did earn him some very good tips.
Plenty of people had taken advantage of Castiel: some supposedly his friends, some significant others, some colleagues, some complete strangers, all banking on his fame and wealth. Despite Dean's words, though, and despite his own thoughts, Castiel couldn't credit that Dean was like those people had been. Dean's self-deprecation was of a piece with the things he'd said that subtly hinted at his low opinion of his worth and the indications of an underlying sense that Dean felt that he was wasting his life.
He's not wrong. As smart and personable as he is, he could do so much more than be a taxi driver. If he persisted in doing this because it made him happy, because he loved Miami, or something like that, it'd be one thing, but he's obviously miserable...
"So, you think you'll be back in Miami for more work...?" Dean asked. His eyes finally flicked to the rear view mirror and, as they passed beneath another street lamp, Castiel was caught by a gleam of dazzling deep green that took his breath away.
"Unfortunately, probably not," said Castiel. Dean hit the brakes as they took a ramp off the highway, the large terminals of the airport starkly lit by flood lights off to their right, and Castiel felt the distance passing as an unjustifiable tightness in his chest. "I'm currently working on a TV show. We don't often do on-location shoots, it's not in the budget."
"Makes sense," Dean nodded and Castiel easily convinced himself that he imagined the hint of disappointment in Dean's voice. Signs pointed the way to the departure gates for Air Canada and Dean followed where they indicated. "Well, if you do come back, you know where to find me." There was a pause, a little too long, and Castiel forced himself to keep silent though he allowed his imagination to toy with the implications of Dean's words. "If you still need a taxi, I mean." Embarrassment was obvious in Dean's tone and his were eyes fixed on the road before him, and Castiel could only wonder if he was indulging in pure fantasy.
Wondering was pointless. They'd never see each other again.
Unless...
They pulled up to the brightly lit drop-off area and Dean immediately stopped the car and hopped out to get Castiel's luggage out. Reluctantly, Castiel followed, stepping out. He already had the fare ready, crumpled in his pocket, a fifty dollar bill for the twenty five dollar fare. By the time he'd stood and gotten himself straightened out, Dean was already done with the luggage. He slammed the trunk closed and started towards the driver's door, no mention made of payment.
"Dean!" Castiel said, voice harsher than he meant it to be, and Dean froze like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't.
"Have a safe trip, Cas," said Dean lamely, eyes fixed on his car door and escape. Circling the car, Castiel caught Dean in a rough embrace, loose enough to pass as friendly, close enough that he could feel the strength of Dean's muscles and smell aftershave and leather. Given half a chance, Castiel could lose himself in that smell. I really do like him a lot. Maybe, somehow, this doesn't have to be the last time I see him? He dug the money from his pocket and pressed it into Dean's hand.
"Thanks, Dean. I'll keep in touch."
Oh God, why did I say that?
Dean didn't answer, not when his fingers closed around the offered money, not when Castiel released the hug and stepped away, not when Castiel hurried back to his luggage, not when he went to the curbside check-in where a bored, wilting agent waited to help him.
Who keeps in touch with their cabbie?
Chastising himself, Castiel quickly got set, granted the agent's request for an autograph and turned to enter the terminal.
He must think I'm so weird.
Dean was still standing next to his car, watching Castiel wide-eyed. Castiel froze.
"Um...I'd like that, Cas," Dean said. His awkward body language, the uncertain expression on his face, the uncomfortable way he ruffled his hair with one hand, all projected such a picture of bemused shyness that Castiel's heart melted. He didn't move until Dean finally looked up to see the warm smile that Castiel couldn't keep from his face, and he had the gratification of seeing Dean give him an embarrassed one in return and a small wave.
I wish I was staying another week. Another month. Maybe I'll come back when we're done filming.
If you've heard the Harry Chapin song "Taxi," it has definitely been in my head while I've been working on this story. Mine's not at all the same story, but I had that flavor in my head...I have no idea if that shows or not, but there we are...
More later today!