Author's note: just something short, fluffy and slightly cracky I wrote as a mini-break from the angst-ridden chapter of the main destiel fic I'm working on right now... But now that I've had my fun I'll get back to the world of pain.
As usual, your comments are muchly appreciated :)
~ Imogen
Insert obligatory disclaimer re: non ownership of characters. These lovelies are all Kripke's, all the time.
It was late afternoon, and in the window of a grocery store just outside Bozeman, Montana, Dean Winchester was checking himself out.
The night before had been rough, even by his standards, and it looked like he was going to have a brand new scar to prove it. The cut ran in a jagged line over his brow, and now, staring at his slightly distorted reflection, he winced. Normally scars didn't bother him, but this was big, prominent and shaped like a goddamn lightning bolt.
The jokes had been coming non-stop since he and Sam had returned to the motel. If Dean heard one more reference to Hogwarts he was going to lose it.
With a frown, he started back down the road, plastic grocery bag swinging in his hand as he fished his cell out of his pocket and dialed. He'd been meaning to call Castiel anyway; he hadn't heard from the angel in almost a week, and even though he didn't have anything in particular he needed to talk to him about, he figured it was about time they caught up.
Castiel picked up on the first ring.
"Hello Dean."
"That was fast."
"Where are you?"
"Bozeman, Montana. Corner of Main and, uh," he looked up the road, squinting into the sun as he read the street sign on the corner, "Wallace."
"I'll be there momentarily."
Dean clicked the phone shut and jammed it back into his jeans. By the time he looked up, Castiel was striding toward him from the middle of the intersection. Lucky for him, traffic was sparse, and apparently none of the locals had noticed him appear out of thin air.
He stopped in front of Dean, his gaze immediately settling on his forehead.
"You're injured."
"Yeah, well," Dean shrugged, as if half the reason he had called hadn't been to have his scar angel-whammied out of existence, "what's new?"
Without another word, Castiel stepped close and briefly touched his fingers to Dean's brow, the flesh knitting back together in an instant, smooth and unblemished as the day he was born.
Castiel dropped his hand away immediately and took a step back, looking away from Dean to take in the surroundings.
As he rubbed his forehead, the skin still tingling from the angels touch, Dean frowned. He had noticed that the last few times he had seen Castiel, the angel had actually started to respect his repeated requests for personal space. Though he was glad that he wasn't going to have to say it again, he wondered what had caused the change. He had given up on mentioning it months ago, but then, quite suddenly, Castiel had started to make a point of putting an extra three feet space between them at all times.
It was disconcerting.
The fact that it was disconcerting was disconcerting.
He shook it off, and Castiel, who had apparently decided that the main street contained no threats, looked back at him.
"Where's Sam?"
"Back at the motel," Dean turned, walking toward the parking lot where he'd left the Impala as he called back, "Come on."
Castiel followed his eye line to find the car, and by the time Dean reached it he was sitting in the front, looking at a folded up newspaper that had been on the floor. Dean sank into the drivers seat, shoving the grocery bag into the back. As he started up the engine, loud music blared from the speakers. Castiel looked up from the paper.
"What is this?"
Dean glanced at him, then looked back into the rear-view, smirking as he pulled out of the parking space.
"A newspaper."
Castiel sighed, and Dean could just about hear his eyes rolling. He chuckled to himself; annoying Castiel was getting to be one of his favorite passtimes. As far as Dean was concerned, anything that made the guy a little more human was a good thing, and irritation brought out the best.
"I know that, Dean," he said, holding out the paper to show him, "You've circled something. Does it pertain to what you've been hunting here?"
Turning out of the parking lot, Dean glanced over at the newspaper. It had been floating around on the floor of the car for weeks, picked up in some random town two states over, and it was faded yellow from the sun. Sure enough, halfway down the page of advertisements there was a circle drawn in black marker. It read, in bold, stylised type, A FISTFUL OF DOLLARS.
It had been somewhere in Minnesota, and he and Sam had just finished a run-of-the-mill salt and burn job when they'd stumbled upon a nest of vampires. Dean had been hoping they'd be done in time to catch the late final screening in the theater's enthusiastically advertised Wild Wild Western Week, but in the end, when the vampires proved a lot more difficult to gank than normal, they'd missed it. Typical. He barely kept from pouting about it.
"It's just a movie I wanted to see."
"What is it about?"
"It's a western."
Castiel frowned, and Dean waved a hand as he clarified.
"You know, cowboys, bandits... general badassery," he winked at Castiel, "Basically my life if I rode a horse."
"Oh. I think I'd like that."
"Yeah?" Dean raised his eyebrows, trying to imagine what possible enjoyment an angel of the lord could get out of a spaghetti western, "Too bad we missed it, then."
"We could go see something else."
Castiel was sitting twisted in his seat watching Dean, a curious smile curling the corners of his mouth. Dean looked across at him in surprise.
"Don't you have, you know... important angel business to attend to?"
"Not right now. I have been, for lack of a better term, relieved of my duties."
Jumping immediately to the worst conclusion, Dean stared at him in horror.
"Wait, you don't mean you've been de-winged or anything, right?"
"No, I am still an angel."
Dean let out a relieved breath.
"But evidently my 'services are not required in heaven at this time'," Castiel said the words with a bitter twist of the mouth, and looked out at the passing landscape, "I've been told to remain on Earth until I am called."
"When did this happen?"
"Around a month ago."
"A month? Why didn't you say anything? What have you been doing?"
Castiel shrugged, his gaze fixed on some distant point outside.
"I didn't think it would interest you."
There was no accusation in his tone, only finality, fact, and somehow that just made Dean feel worse about it. Before he had a chance to say anything, Castiel continued.
"This past month, when I haven't been with you and Sam, I've been observing a great many things. When you called just now, I was on a coast in Alaska," he half-smiled at the memory, "the water there is very blue."
Dean found that he didn't quite know how to respond. After a moment, he turned back to the road with a shrug.
"Alright," he said, "since you've got some downtime, we'll see what's on TV."
When they arrived at the motel, they found Sam passed out on one of the beds with his laptop still on his lap, the screen casting a blue glow over his face. Dean shoved the end of the mattress with his toe, and Sam sat up with a start, his eyes bleary with sleep.
"What the hell?"
Dean shook the grocery bag at him.
"Rise and shine, princess. Grubs on."
With a yawn, Sam got to his feet, finally noticing Castiel standing behind Dean in the doorway.
"Hey, Cas," he said, then turned to Dean, "What'd you get?"
"Funyuns," Dean pulled the packet out and threw it at Sam, "Pringles, and beer."
Sam pulled a face and put the packet onto the table.
"What? You like funyuns."
"You were supposed to be getting dinner, Dean. This isn't dinner."
"Order a pizza then."
Dean pulled a beer from the pack and cracked it open, shoving it into Castiel's hands before taking out one for himself. Castiel stared at it in confusion for a moment, then tipped it to his mouth, drinking half the bottle in one go.
Muttering to himself, Sam went into the bathroom, shutting the door loudly. Dean rolled his eyes and leaned toward Castiel.
"She's grouchy when she wakes up."
"Who is?"
Dean just shook his head, sinking down onto one of the beds and reaching for the remote control which sat on the bedside table.
"Never mind. Let's see whats on."
The motel, thankfully, had cable, and it wasn't long before Dean hit the spaghetti western jackpot. The title card for Once Upon A Time In The West rolled across the screen, and Dean's eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas. He grinned at Castiel and leaned back against the head of the bed, patting the space next to him.
"Come on, Cas, get comfortable. You're gonna love this."
Castiel sat down, his limbs stiff and awkward, and stared at the screen intently.
When Sam emerged from the bathroom, he looked from Dean, to Castiel, to the TV, and blinked. It still didn't make sense.
"What are you doing?"
"Once Upon A Time In The West is on."
"I can see that... why are you watching it?"
"I love this movie."
"Why is Cas watching it?"
"Because he's awesome."
Sam opened his mouth to ask again, but apparently thought the better of it. He shook his head and sat down on the other bed to pull his shoes on. When he stood up a moment later and told Dean he was going to go get some actual food for dinner, he recieved no further acknowledgement than a wave of the hand and a loud shhhh from his brother. He left, muttering to himself, and Dean turned up the volume.
Throughout the movie, whenever a particularly good part was coming up, Dean's eyes would flick conspicuously over to Castiel to gage his reaction. He didn't know why he was bothering-the angels face rarely betrayed any emotion-but it was a habit he had aquired through years of making Sam watch his favorite movies, and it was hard to break.
When he realised that Castiel's expression was not likely to change at all, he started to make little comments, trying to get some idea of whether or not he was enjoying it.
"This soundtrack is awesome, hey Cas? Not enough harmonicas in movies these days."
"Gotta love a stetson!"
Even with his pushing, Castiel remained mostly quiet, nodding every now and then and appearing to be deep in thought.
When the movie was nearly over, Sam walked back in to the room in time to hear Dean saying;
"I bet I could pull off a pair of cowboy boots," he grinned, nodding to himself as he pictured it, "I reckon I'd look good in cowboy boots."
Sam's laugh was more snort than anything else. Dean glanced up at him.
"What?"
"How's that cowboy fetish coming along there, Dean?"
"I don't have a fetish."
"Hey, I'm not judging!" Sam held up his hands, laughing, "So long as I don't walk in on any Brokeback Mountain reenactments, what you do with your spare time is none of my business."
He narrowly dodged the empty Pringles tube that Dean pitched accross the room at his head, and sat down on his bed to watch the rest of the movie. A moment later, Castiel turned to him with a frown.
"What do you mean, Dean has a cowboy fetish?"
Sam started laughing again, and Dean groaned.
"I don't have a-"
"He gets all hot and bothered whenever he sees a dude in cowboy boots."
If looks could kill, Sam would have been nothing but a smudge of brain matter on the carpet. Castiel just nodded. When the movie ended a few minutes later, Castiel turned to Dean with a rare smile.
"I enjoyed that very much, Dean."
Without waiting for a reply, he was gone.