AN: This story is complete. It's 54,000 words and 12 chapters, updated daily. Dean/Cas is a thing that happens/happened/is happening (I don't know.) Warnings for language, violence, non-graphic sex, and drinking as a coping mechanism. Enjoy!
...
"Come on, man." Dean gave Cas his most winning smile, which never worked because Cas' heart was made of exasperated stone. "We haven't seen you in weeks. Why don't we ever hang out anymore?"
"I don't have time to-"
"The last time we saw you was, what? When we found that magic ball thing you wanted, that shot all that lightning and made my hair look awesome." He looked across the table to Sam for confirmation or correction on the latest heavenly weapon's unpronounceable name, but his brother was determinedly staying out of it, scanning his menu as if he didn't already know exactly what he'd order and hadn't known for the past five minutes.
Dean turned back to Cas. "This only calling when you want something habit could start to make a guy feel used." He adjusted the collar of his shirt with a snap. "Dirty. You feel dirty, Sam?"
"Not really."
"You only call when you want something from me as well," Cas said.
"And you see! That's not right. I should make that up to you. Have lunch with us and then we can go gank this ghost together."
Because who could turn down an offer like that?
Cas apparently, if the way his eyes slid over towards the exit was anything to go by.
"Ca'mawwn. It's not like one afternoon off will kill you." He nudged Cas' shoulder, and Cas swayed a few inches under the push before bobbing back upright.
"In the span of an afternoon, Raphael could kill hundreds."
"Dude, you can't go 24/7 forever. There's gotta be some down time up there." He turned to inspect the off brand Tabasco offering in the condiments basket. He didn't recognize the label. Maybe some kinda local thing? Curious, he unscrewed the cap, shook a few drops onto the inside of his wrist, and slurped it off to taste it. Too hot for its own good and with a residual flavor of...mangoes? Huh. He narrowed his eyes down at the bottle.
When he looked back up at Cas, the angel was pinning him with a withering look. Withering. Like something in his gut was shriveling up and dying. Or maybe that was the hot sauce. He hadn't come to a decision yet on whether or not he liked it.
"Down time," Cas repeated. "Yes. I can take advantage of the daily two hour span when the entirety of Raphael's forces take their communal nap."
He didn't care for Cas' newly developed, awkward sarcasm, but the guy did have a point.
Thankfully, the waitress had some kind of sixth sense for disrupting conversations that had gone off the rails and appeared with their coffees. Cas reached past Dean to slide the bowl of creamer cartons to his side of the table, ignoring the waitress in favor of carefully peeling open a creamer and continuing to be all pissy. "You refuse to comprehend how grim the situation is. This is not a human war. The enemy is more powerful than you can imagine. They do not sleep, and they can fold the fabric of time and space to suit their purposes."
This probably sounded crazy to the waitress, but Sam distracted her with shining puppy eyes and ordered an egg white Southwest omelet, chicken fried steak with onion rings, and a half order of curly fries. He had that apologetic smile, the one that assured her that he was ignoring the bickering on the other side of the table and she really ought to as well. The smile that said, "We're completely normal, they're just talking about a TV show or something, and I promise we're good tippers."
Cas peeled open another creamer and poured it into his coffee.
"Of course I don't get it," Dean said. "You'll break out in hives if you come right out and explain anything."
Cas rolled his eyes and reached for another creamer. Dean lifted his cup and took a scalding gulp, because when you drank black coffee, you could do so immediately without having to go through this fussy dance Sam and Cas liked doing.
Hold up. "Hey, can't you can fold time and space too?"
"Yes."
"Great! So you can spend the afternoon with us, and then use your super powers to time warp back and do whatever important war effort stuff you were gonna do." He grinned and clanked his mug on the table, because that settled it.
Still undecided on whether or not he liked the Tabasco, he went for a second shot.
Cas closed his eyes and breathed purposefully through his nose, his jaw clenched unreasonably tight. He looked like he was counting to ten, which tickled Dean as much as Sam's "Did you seriously shave off half my eyebrow while I was sleeping?" face. Cas didn't need to breathe, much less calming-centering-anger-management breaths. It was such a human thing, something he must have picked up on earth, even though Dean had no clue from who. (Sam always glared while he did the jaw-clench-about-to-say-something-he'll-regret pause.)
Dean watched, his tongue dragging over the hot sauce stinging the inside of his wrist. A year ago, Cas would have thrown him through a wall by now. He would have said, "I'm leaving," and vanished. Or said nothing at all and vanished. They wouldn't be having this conversation. Despite Cas' recent absence, this bickering was progress.
Arguing about how you don't have time for coffee, while sitting in a diner, pouring creamer after creamer into a mug, kind of proved Dean's point for him. Clearly, Cas wanted to be there. He had time, heaven blew, and greasy dinners were awesome.
Cas poured creamer number five, and the coffee (not that it really counted as coffee anymore seeing as it was now 90% milk and the color of nougat) was about to overflow down the sides of his mug. He reached for a sixth, and Dean snatched it out of his hand, dropped it back in the creamer bowl with its friends, and slid the whole thing back towards the condiments basket. Without comment, Cas finally turned his attention to actually drinking.
His mug made it half way to his mouth before his back stiffened and his head snapped around. Dean blinked and, with the deep beat of wings, a woman—all bright blue raincoat over business attire, dark hair, and piercing eyes—stood in front of their table. Cas stared back, his eyebrows raising and lips parting in surprise or awe.
Then the head tilt.
Then the squint.
She let him go through the whole sequence before speaking, her voice like a river, something powerful and dangerous.
"I need your help."
A shiver swept over Dean's skin, and he smothered the reaction with a dense layer of irritation. He'd just won his argument and whoever this chick was was not going to drag Cas back to heaven for a war council or for shepherding clueless angels. Bros before hoes, man. Eatings before meetings. Food before...stupid heaven crap. He glared and made his voice as intimidating as possible. "We're in the middle of something."
It took a moment for her eyes to drag away from Cas and focus on Dean, at which point he kinda wished he hadn't said anything.
"Dean." Like a freaking laser in his brain. Damn. A blink, and her head swiveled, and Dean could breathe again. "Sam. May I join you?" She stared at Sam until he shifted uncomfortably.
"Sam," Cas said, "please make room for her to sit."
"What? Oh yeah. Here." He shuffled down the booth, cramming all the crap (a coat and a bag and a...second coat?) against the wall, and gave the angel way more space than her small vessel needed. She sat primly, touching the vinyl seat as little as possible, her back straight, her hands folded on the table in front of her. She and Cas stared at each other again, holding their own creepy telepathic conversation.
And that shit needed to be broken up, because Cas looked more interested in this than he had about anything in months, and that made Dean bristly and in dire need of onion rings. "Alright, you're sitting down, now who are you?"
The interruption didn't work because they kept staring, surely blocking Dean out of more than half the conversation, even as Cas answered. "She's a friend." He sounded a bit like he was puzzling it out as he spoke, not sure who she was or what label to use until they rolled off his tongue.
"Is this about the war?" Sam asked, his voice hushed and excited. He'd twisted in his seat with his shoulders curled, like he was ready to pounce on new information.
Geeze, not him too.
For everyone's safety and as the constant voice of reason in their group (true story), Dean would remain skeptical and refuse to be taken in by any of this.
He gestured at Cas. "Yeah. You part of the Foot Clan here?"
She broke away from her stare down to raise her eyebrows at him. She was cute. Still an angel and probably awful. But cute. "I understand that reference," she said. "The Foot Clan battle the mutated turtles, and Raphael is the turtle in the red mask." Her eyes skirted away, and she nodded, approving of the metaphor or assuring herself that she'd caught it correctly.
Dean blinked at her, then sat back in his seat, changing his assessment from cute to almost hot. "Wow."
Sam's whole face shifted, flattening out, and he leaned in even further. "You understood a ninja turtle reference?"
"I watched the first film during movie night," she said.
And...what?
"Movie night?" Sam asked.
"Movie night!" Dean repeated, letting approval that bordered on glee into his tone.
He needed to know all about this immediately. Since when did angels do movie night? Did some dead projectionist have a drive-in heaven that they all visited? Did they all still wear their suits when they went? Who picked the movies? And why the hell wasn't Cas going to these?
"No down time, my ass."
Cas clearly didn't understand that hearing all about this mysterious movie night was infinitely more important than whatever else they had to talk about and got them back on track. "She fights against Raphael, if that's what you mean. She's on my side."
And the eye contact was back, Cas and some goofy angel locked together like they were the only two beings in existence. "Always."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Alright. Alright. Break it up. You got a name, sunshine?"
She considered. "You may continue to call me that, if you want, as I'm sure it's as good as any other nickname you'll come up with."
"What? Sunshine?" Sam asked. "Seriously?"
She tilted her head and stared off into space. "It's pleasant."
Sam looked like he thought Sunshine might be having some sort of angel crazy time, and he had a severe need to do something about it. He turned to Dean with his patented "Well? What are we going to do about this? I'm a sad, scared sasquatch" look. Cas narrowed his eyes, clearly disapproving of anyone accepting one of Dean's nicknames without protest, and Dean found himself grinning. "Fantastic!"
Cas' suspicious look turned on him, but their waitress returned, with her impeccable timing, their plates balanced along one arm, and a fresh mug and a carafe in her free hand. She smiled at Sunshine. "How you doin', Sugar? What can I get ya'?"
"I don't—"
"She'll have a coffee," Dean said, helping Sam shift the plates around. Dean passed Sam the pepper and Sam shifted the plate of curly fries in front of the angels so they could pick them apart, glare at them, and then diagnose the half-dozen spices used for flavoring. Over their flurry of activity, their practiced dance of hands and plates, the Winchesters beamed at their waitress, who poured Sunshine her coffee and topped off Dean's cup with a wink before spinning away.
Reaching past Dean again, Cas grabbed the creamer bowl, and moved it around the curly fries to Sunshine's side of the table. "Why are you here?" Cas asked. Despite the grumpy question, his voice was kind.
"I need your help," she repeated. She plucked up a creamer and peeled it open, pouring it gently into her coffee as she spoke. "Raphael has taken the boys hostage. I need to rescue them."
A shadow passed over Cas' face.
"The boys?" Sam asked, pausing with his fork full of omelet almost to his mouth.
"The humans I watch over."
Huh. Now, it wasn't every day they heard about an angel that gave a crap about humans, much less specific humans. Sam and Dean exchanged a glance.
"You some kind of guardian angel?"
"No," Cas and Sunshine said together.
Sam scrunched up his forehead. "Why would Raphael kidnap your—your humans? What's special about them?"
Angel vessels probably. Or they weren't actually human. Maybe fallen angels who didn't remember who they were. Or psychic kids that the angels would want to destroy or use as weapons and want to control. There had to be a reason some random kids had their own guardian.
Sunshine scrunched up her face and spoke as if it was difficult for her to admit. "Raphael knows I'm fond of them. He took them to bind my hands. If I move against him," she shrugged, and it looked like a completely foreign gesture on her, stiff and purposeful, "they die. They're my weakness, and it was only a matter of time before he came for them."
Cas's hand tightened on his coffee mug. He looked ready to punch something. "Of course I'll help you."
"Thank you, Castiel." Then they were staring at each other again, and didn't notice the look Dean traded with Sam to make sure they were on the same page. Agreement that rescuing human hostages needed to be done? Yep. Suspicion that this story seemed a little too aligned with shit Cas would drop everything for? Yep. Probably a trap? Yep. Understanding that they were going to go anyhow, because that's just what they did? Yahtzee!
To stare at Cas, Sunshine had paused before pouring creamer number four. Dean jerked his head at it. Sam threw him a face but lifted the creamer bowl away from her and asked, "So what can we do?"
"Nothing," Cas said.
Sunshine frowned over the rim of her mug, sounding perplexed. "We need their help."
"It's not their concern."
"We can't get into the complex unless someone takes down the wards."
Sam frowned. "Why would angels ward someplace against themselves?"
"Raphael left them in the care of humans. The devout. I can't get to them, and I suspect they think I wouldn't harm their captors."
"Would you?" Sam asked.
She turned her look on him, but didn't answer. Her eyes were storms and ocean swells. Sam swallowed.
"It's not their fight," Cas said.
"No," Dean said, letting out a huff of breath and going back to his steak, "but we're going anyway."
"Dean."
"Dude. No. Look, this is our kind of gig. Screwing up angel plans. Helping people. You need us and we're coming." He took a bite, locked eyes with Cas, and chewed, trying to get the point across that—whatever this thing was—he shouldn't go in without backup.
Cas looked pained. He pressed his lips into a tight line, holding back a brand new bickering session. He slumped in defeat, his fingers drumming against his mug. "You're not going to enjoy this. It's a bad idea."
Dean shrugged. "Yeah. Probably. So we'll just finish up here, get the ghost, and hit the road."
Sam groaned. "The ghost still? Seriously, Dean?"
"It's a problem."
"Not really."
"The ghost has yet to hurt anyone," Cas agreed.
"Not yet."
Sunshine held a curly fry between her fingers, twisting it like she could uncurl it. Her eyes darted back and forth between Dean and Cas. For a second, Dean thought she'd comment on something that would make Dean irritable. Instead, she asked, "Ghost?"
Cas sighed. "They are on a standard salt and burn. We should leave them to it."
"Hell no. You're not getting out of this."
"Where is this ghost?" Sunshine asked.
Dean pointed with his fork in the general direction. "Up the road at an old bed and breakfast. He rises up out of the lake and looks in people's windows while they're sleeping."
"Do you know the identity of this ghost?"
"Not yet. We were—"
She popped the curly fry in her mouth and vanished.
Dean blinked. "Huh."
"I guess you were boring her," Sam said.
"Why am I the only one who cares about this ghost?"
"Trust me, we have no idea why you care about this ghost."
"You cannot come with us," Cas said. "She has plans beyond a simple rescue mission."
"Think we're just gonna let you go off on your own with Roger Ebert?"
"I don't know who that is, but if you come, you'll draw Raphael's attention, and he will capture you just as he did Sunshine's--" he said the name like it tasted bitter, "-friends." The last word was bitter too.
"Like he doesn't already know how awesome we are."
"Look Cas," Sam said, "we know the consequences. We know that she's probably up to something, because everybody is always up to something. But we'll risk it. We want to help."
"You do not know the consequences," Cas grumbled. "You don't—"
Sunshine popped back into place, startling Sam, who'd leaned a bit too far into her space while she was gone.
"The spirit's name is Alexander Talbot. He died in a canoe accident in 1998."
"Did you...just go talk to him?"
She blinked slowly. "You said it was important." She reached for another fry, plucking it between thumb and forefinger.
Dean found himself grinning again. "Finally. Someone understands."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Do you know where his bones are?"
She closed her eyes and thought about it really hard.
"His body was never recovered," Cas said, and they looked to see his eyes closed as well.
"So he's at the bottom of the lake?" Dean asked. "How the hell are we supposed to—"
Cas disappeared.
"—Sonuvabitch." Dean tossed his fork onto his now empty plate with a rattling clank. "They're gonna do this whole thing without us."
Sam shrugged. "Beats renting scuba equipment to stop a ghost that's not bothering anyone."
"Bitch."
Sunshine peeled apart two fries that had stuck together, holding one up to the light to inspect it, letting it dangle. "This is why Castiel doesn't accompany you on salt and burns," she explained. "They're trivial with his assistance and they leave you feeling unfulfilled and inferior."
"Inferior?"
"You should ask his assistance to stop a minor deity or a horde of some kind," she suggested. "He would also enjoy a sea monster."
"There are sea monsters?"
"Yes." She twisted her gaze from her fry to Dean, and said in all seriousness, "If you want to give him a challenge, he'd also have difficulty with air guitar. And self-serve frozen yogurt. And...twitter? Is that the name?"
Dean stared at her. Sam nodded, his jaw slack.
She nodded back. "It's confusing. He'll do it incorrectly if he hasn't already made the attempt. It should amuse you."
Dean swallowed, stuck on air guitar. "Well, that's all...good to know."
She smiled and ate another fry.
Cas blinked back into the booth, his wet hair plastered to his head and his clothes dripping with lake water. Then Dean blinked and he was dry again, although the smell of lake had already clung to the booth. "I've taken care of the ghost."
"Did you get the bones out of the lake before you burned them, or did you just set them on fire underwater?"
Cas looked puzzled. "I assumed the method of their destruction was up to me."
"I'm just curious, Cas."
"Oh." He reached for his coffee again. "Yeah, I just burned them where they were."
"And that worked?"
Cas took a drink and looked at him with raised eyebrows over the rim of his coffee.
"Right. Stupid question. Of course it worked."
"Can we leave now?" Sunshine asked.
"Yeah," Dean said as Cas said, "They're staying."
Cas glared and then hunched in on himself, his huge trench coat shoulders up around his ears. Dean ignored him, pulling his wallet from his back pocket to dig out some bills.
"I helped you dispatch the ghost, and I had lunch with you, as you wanted," Cas said. "Now I'm leaving."
"And we're leaving with you. Deal with it. We're done talking about it." Dean tossed some bills on the table and grinned at Sunshine, who would take him along no matter what Cas had to say about it.
Sam rubbed the bridge of his nose, probably wishing the angels would leave without them just so he didn't have to put up with anymore bickering.
