Might surprise some, but Cass wasn't in the habit of lying. Not straight anyway.

There really was a part for the air conditioner coming in the mail, Cass just couldn't speak to its reliability, not when he'd bummed it off an old "pal" for "services rendered" and now they were - ha! - "even." Small town shouldn't expect so much when Cass only had stolen church money to his name and dear old Larry shouldn't be so damn dumb.

That really was his "gettin' to it" threads, considering they were the only pants he owned and his shirts were blood-soaked rags. The blanket was just a little something extra.

He really didn't mind trying out "odd jobs" if it kept him around. Cass honestly thought The Big Lebrowski was shite. Hell, he'd said it just days after knowing the man, hadn't he? I'm a vampire! Not his fault people chose not to believe him.

Maybe he just didn't have the sort of 'believable' face, eh?

Point was Cass didn't lie a lot, if at all, so when he leaned across that table and told Jesse that his power or whatnot didn't have to be a curse?

Meant every word of it.

Sure, sure, sounds like a lie, because anyone spending twenty seconds in Cass' head (though who would want to, poor bastard) would know that being a vampire sucked balls. He didn't like it. Never had. Some creature tore open his neck at the tender age of nineteen and Cass had lost every shred of humanity since. He was a literal, hunted abomination, a shitty creature with nothing to offer this world, and if anyone claimed that his existence was something worth celebrating… well, Cass would laugh himself sick, then punch em' so hard they'd shit out their teeth.

But Jesse.

Jesse was one of the good ones. Cass smelled it on him the moment they met - in the starch he used to make himself approachable and the chalk dust some little kid got in his hair. What kiddie was gonna let Cass hold him, huh? That was a sign of goodness because if there was anything more supernatural than Cass in this world, it was brats under the age of five. They could sniff out shite the likes of which even Cass wouldn't touch.

For all his drinking and cussing and lapses in faith… Jesse was something decent. Had something decent, buried deep down inside where the rest of the world couldn't taint it. Didn't matter what life threw at him, that stupid little seed would always grow something worthy of Cass' awe and jealousy. He wasn't like that. No sir. But if anyone could take supernatural shite and turn it into something good? That man was Reverend Jesse Custer.

Hell, some days Cass thought Jesse could make being a vampire into something good. That if he turned him he'd somehow embrace the undead life and go do something worthwhile with it. Misery loved company, and Cass' misery was loneliest of all. But it was a horrifying justification, because fuck if Cass would do that to his only friend. He liked to think he wasn't that much of a shite. Not yet anyway.

Still, something to be said for understanding.

So Cass tried to show Jesse all this, because how the hell does such a good man not see it? Right there, in himself! Cass pointed out like a goddamn broken record that Jesse could have done anythingwith that power. The world at his fingertips and he, what? Sulks a while? Then makes Cass hop?Sing? Oh the bloody horror. Only way he was hurt by all that was in trying to fly through a wall and that was just an accident now wasn't it? Two seconds later and Jesse was standing over him, like he was actually worried if Cass was okay, and whether or not he believed it, Cass was certain of one thing: that glance held more kindness than the rest of the world had showed him in a century.

Can't manufacture that. You either have it or you don't and Jesse did.

"A person like you, Padre…"

That was it. Everything Cass had to offer, summed up in five simple words. He didn't know how else to tell him.

Cass didn't lie, so he'd readily admit that he was afraid - afraid Jesse would never see himself the way Cass did. Fucking tragedy, that would be.

But maybe something got through. A tiny spark of that coveted understanding… because when Jesse was leaning on the rancid stall of an Annville gas station, drunk on the ability to make Donnie the Dick eat his own gun… something rose up within him, in the very back of his mind. Maybe it was that seed. Or something closer to home, because whatever it was sounded a hell of a lot like Cass:

"What are you doin', padre?"

Jesse gasped. He ordered Donnie to lower the gun and the little bit of Cass within him grinned.

Two men separated by a couple of miles, which frankly wasn't much of anything at all. Cass was busy interrogating two angels - things that might threaten the Good in Jesse - while Jesse himself was walking back towards Cass, wondering why the hell he'd struggled twice to admit this to Tulip when it had slipped out so easy before…

Maybe Jesse would tell him when he got back. Let Cass know that it was hisvoice that pulled him back from a cliff Jesse hadn't even known was there. Seemed like the kind of thing he needed to hear. A part of Cass inside Jesse Custer. He'd never believe it.

Really.

Because Cass was grinning a different type of grin and telling these guys that damn straight he was good for the job. Jesse was his best mate.

…He didn't say that he was Jesse's.

Because Cass didn't lie.

Fin.

[Happier bonus!]

The two of them were driving at twilight, Jesse in the driver's seat, Cass staring out the window. Jesse flipped on the radio and paused, giving Cass plenty of time to see the station. His mouth dropped open.

"No," Cass said, slow and horrified.

Jesse turned up the volume.

"No, no, don't–oh you absolute shite!"

Replacing the sounds of crickets and the trunk's engine was a baby-boy voice, one Justin Bieber singing his heart out.

"Life's fine and dandyas long as you love me, Cass," Jesse crowed. He enjoyed his friend's grimace.

"You're a right ass, you realize this, yes?"

"But you love Justin Bieber."

"Like! I said 'like' you worthless piece of–"

Jesse cranked the volume higher.

"Hey, Cass!" he yelled, smiling ever wider. "Too bad about Cruise, huh?"

Cass' look was a study in suspicion. "Fuck no."

"Really? Don't you like him?"

"No." Cass shot up in his seat. "No I do not and don't you dare–"

"Do you like Tom Cruise?"

"IdoI'mdevastedhe'sgone - aw fuck you, Jesse Custer!"

'Good man' huh. Cass was beginning to rethink that.

Jesse cackled through the whole damn song.

Fin (again)