Une Journée Pour Se Souvenir
Chapter 1 : The Pen Drop
The translation of the story title is: A Day To Remember
Well, this is the one that received the most votes. I personally wanted to do the college one, but this is what you guys want and I'm warming up to the idea. Keep in mind that I speak a very small amount of French. If there are any mistranslations, correct me please. All right, enjoy the story (:
Lately, I've been re-watching Dawson's Creek and now I can't imagine Dean without his adorably long hairstyle…so that's the kind of haircut he has in the story.
Oh and please note that I've changed Anna's appearance and age, just because I wanted a plump old lady to be Dean's mother figure (:
Songs of the Chapter:
1901- Birdy
Remember When- Alan Jackson
What Do You Say- Reba McEntire
"Un, deux, trois! Félicitations à l'heureux couple!"
Dean Winchester inwardly groaned. That would be the third proposal of the night, and it was only six o'clock. He didn't know how much more he could take. Normally, he envied those people, the ones who made googly eyes at each other from across the table and grinned like idiots. He wanted that. He wanted someone he could hold hands with, smile adoringly at. Someone he could kiss in public and feel no shame. But Cupid's arrow always misses him and hits the closest living thing.
Dean slammed a wine glass a little too forcefully onto his server's tray and earned a few curious glances from the restaurant's occupants. He smiled at them, the same fake smile he'd used for four years now.
Le chapeau Français, the fanciest French restaurant in all of downtown New York. They were constantly packed and today wasn't any better. In fact, it was considerably worse. Valentine's Day. The day every staff member, including the manager, Balthazar, dreaded. It took every ounce of Dean's strength to drag himself out of bed that morning.
Now that the excitement of the engagement had worn off, everyone was shuffling back to their seats, ready to enjoy their meals of what was considered the best food in New York. And Dean couldn't argue. What he'd had a chance to taste had practically thrown his taste buds into a coma. Dean had never tasted anything so good in his life, and that was just the scraps from someone's unfinished patisserie.
Unbeknownst to his fellow employee's, Dean was exceptionally short on money. He lived in a shabby apartment that had three rooms: the bathroom, the kitchen and the bedroom that he shared with his younger brother, Sam. The kitchen also served as a workspace. Dean was attempting to get a degree in psychology.
He'd been fascinated with the subject since his brother was diagnosed as a manic-depressive schizophrenic. Ever since the doctor had told him that, he'd frantically searched for a college that would accept his grades. He wanted to prove to those people that they were wrong, that Sammy was just depressed. A big part of him prayed that his suspicions were true; that Dr. Harvelle had misinterpreted Sam's situation.
"Boy! Excuse me!" Dean was yanked from his thoughts by an older man in maybe his early sixties. Dean immediately started to mentally size him up. Maybe it was his psych-knowledge kicking in, but he could already tell the man was prone to anxiety attacks. By the way his hands shook, to the way his eyes never stayed in one spot for more than ten seconds, Dean knew it as easily as if the man himself had told him. But, judging from the scars on his wrinkled face, he'd been a victim of the old bitch PTSD. Most likely a war veteran.
Dean crossed smoothly to the man's table, where his wife glared adamantly at him.
"Howard! Don't yell at the boy!" she scolded. She turned to Dean and smiled. "I apologise for my husband's behavior. We're ready to order."
Dean pulled out the small pad of paper and removed his pen from behind his ear. "Certainly, Mrs…"
"Delores. Delores DeBeuford." She held out her hand and Dean shook it, kissing er knuckles like the gentleman he was raised to be. He didn't know what it was, but there was something about older people that he loved. They were wise, witty and he was convinced that every elderly woman out there had a brick in her purse.
"Certainly, Mrs. DeBeuford. And what would you and your husband like to drink? We have a fine selection of wine," said Dean, smiling crookedly down at her.
"Please, call me Delores. I'd just like white wine, thank you. Howard, what will you have?" Delores turned to her husband, who was scowling at his plate like a classic grumpy old man that was dragged out of the house to eat dinner with his wife.
"White wine," he grumbled. Delores glared at him and gave a huffy sigh. She turned back to Dean.
"Just red wine for the both of us, then." Dean nodded and turned to walk away but felt a hand tug on the sleeve of his white dress shirt. Delores pulled him down to whisper in his ear. "Water his down," she said. Dean struggled not to laugh and pressed his lips together.
"Of course, the wine was imported straight from France." Dean winked at her as he turned around. He heard her give a giggle and smiled. He carried his tray into the kitchen and snatched two clean glasses from the rack and a bottle of their fantastic red wine. As he poured the glasses, he noticed Gabriel Novak, the cook, smirking at him.
"You never turn it off, do you, Deano?" he said, expertly slicing a head of lettuce into the right sized pieces.
"Turn what off?" Dean asked, pouring the two glasses and adding the extra water to Howard's.
"That charm of yours. I swear, one of these days, some woman is gonna take it the wrong way and then you're gonna be in trouble. You know what they say, all the good ones are either straight, taken or ugly." Gabriel dumped a pile of carrots into a large pot and waggled his spoon at Dean to emphasise his point. "And you, Mr. Man Candy, fall into none of those categories."
Dean laughed and shook his head. "Gabe, you'd make one Hell of a talk show host," said Dean as he pushed through the kitchen door and back into the main restaurant.
"You know it, Doll Face!" Dean smiled and let the door swing shut behind him.
Castiel Collins read the menu curiously. He'd never been to Le Chapeau Français, though he'd been meaning to find out for himself if the food was as good as its reviews claimed. He unconsciously nudged his glasses, pushing them up from their precarious perch on the tip of his nose.
So far, Castiel was enjoying the atmosphere of the restaurant. There had been three proposals already and Castiel had clapped for every newly engaged couple. But part of him longed to be the one saying 'yes' and jumping into his partner's arms. But another, slightly larger part told him he should be content enough by himself. And if he was to be honest, he was. He liked solitude.
Solitude wasn't the same thing as loneliness, not even close. Loneliness suggested the need for another and feeling dejected or depressed when that other person didn't come along soon enough. Solitude was quite the opposite. Solitude was the need to be alone with one's thoughts. Castiel preferred his thoughts to the company of others. But still, that small part of him wanted that other person that he could wake up next to every morning, instead of a cold mattress.
He sighed and set his menu down, pulling his billfold from the pocket of his tan blazer. He opened it and gently slid the picture from its spot behind his driver's license. He ran a finger down the face of the person smiling back at him. He missed her dearly, it had been so long since he'd last seen her. He placed the picture back inside his billfold and folded his hands on the table, silently observing the large restaurant.
The heavy burgundy drapes nicely complimented the cream and wine colour scheme. Blue was more his taste, but he appreciated the atmosphere the colours created, anyway.
A waiter was making his rounds, setting out new wine glasses on each table. Castiel noticed he seemed a bit withdrawn. It wasn't like him to stare, but Castiel couldn't help but notice the rugged handsomeness that was accompanied with an equal amount of grace as he swiftly, in a rather practiced manner, placed each glass on the table. Castiel was surprised the glasses didn't shatter. He could see the taught muscle beneath the waiter's burgundy vest and white dress shirt. He tore his eyes away, feeling his face heat a bit. Why was he suddenly so drawn to this stranger?
Castiel picked up his menu and resumed reading it, soon forgetting about the handsome stranger as he tried to think back to his high school French classes. Castiel was by no means a dim-witted man, but at that moment, he was thankful that each dish had a picture beside its name.
Dean turned and checked each table. He sighed when he noticed he'd missed one near the back of the room. As he wound his way through the tables though, he stopped short. Dean's breath caught in his throat as he laid eyes on the gorgeous man that occupied the back table.
His dark hair was tousled in a way that closely resembled sex-hair. But Dean's eyes didn't stop there. They took in the lightly muscled frame hidden beneath a tan blazer, blue dress shirt and a white tie. The man's glasses balanced hazardously on the tip of his nose as he read the menu. A small line of concentration creased his forehead and Dean couldn't help but sympathise. He knew the feeling. When he'd first gotten the job, he'd avoided ready the menu as much as possible. Now, he knew a considerable amount of French, thanks to Gabriel and Balthazar and Anna, the plump, rosy-cheeked mother to them all. She'd been there long before Dean began working there, but she was the closest thing he had to a mother and he loved her as if she really were.
She kept track of supplies and chatted happily with Gabriel while he cooked. She also helped Dean with his rent, even though he'd tried to refuse, but she had practically shoved the money down his throat. Now, it was an unspoken tradition for the two. Anna would give him an envelope with two-hundred dollars inside to pay his rent, bills and Sam's medication. Dean knew he needed it, so he didn't argue when she left it in his coat pocket in Balthazar's office.
Dean realised he'd been standing there, staring at the stranger like an idiot and swallowed, looking at his feet, before shuffling forward. He nervously approached the gorgeous stranger's table placed a wine glass in front of him.
The man glanced up and closed the menu, giving Dean a warm and dazzling smile. Dean swallowed again.
The stranger's smile faltered a bit at Dean's silence and Dean mentally slapped himself upside his head. The guy probably thought he was mental!
"Uh, good evening. My name's, uh, Dean and I'll be your server tonight," Dean fumbled. He mentally cringed at how stupid he sounded.
"Castiel," he said, holding out a hand. Dean shook it cautiously, ignoring the sparks of electricity he received from those calloused fingers.
"Nice to meet you," Dean mumbled. "What would you like to drink?" Dean removed the small pad of paper and pen from behind his ear. His hands were shaking so bad that the pen slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor. Immediately, Dean bent to pick it up. Unfortunately, so did Castiel.
Dean let out a grunt of surprise as his forehead connected with Castiel's. Castiel did the same and clapped a hand to his forehead as his glasses fell to the floor.
Dean fell backwards onto his arse and felt his cheeks flame bright red. He quickly scrambled to his feet and snatched Castiel's glasses from the floor.
"I am so sorry!" said Dean, placing them in Castiel's hand. Castiel waved a hand at him, his other still clutching his forehead.
Castiel chuckled. "Don't worry about it, Dean. See, they're not even scratched." Castiel pointed to his glasses and smiled.
But Dean was still mortified. "No, let me buy you your dinner or something, to make up for it." Oh shit. Now he'd done it. He couldn't afford to buy this guy's dinner, but his brain was too slow at the moment to keep up with what his mouth was saying.
"Really, it's not-"
"Please." Dean gave him an unintentionally pained look. Castiel swallowed and frowned.
"All right."
Dean wanted to buy him dinner. Castiel couldn't understand it. All he'd done was bumped heads with the other man. But Dean seemed anxious to make it up to him and he wasn't taking no for an answer.
Dean waited patiently by Castiel's table, looking increasingly worried. Castiel looked up from his Caesar salad (the cheapest thing on the menu) and met Dean's impossibly green eyes. The other man quickly looked away, his tanned cheeks tinted pink.
"Why don't you have a seat, Dean? I shouldn't be too long," Castiel said, gesturing to the empty chair across from him. Dean obliged and sat, looking everywhere but at him. Castiel took a bite of his salad and swallowed, never taking his eyes off Dean. It was a bad habit of his. It was probably due to the fact that that's what he'd been doing for the past five years; studying people for his major in psychology.
Castiel finished the last of his salad and wiped his mouth on his napkin. Dean stood and took Castiel's plate and glass. He took his billfold out of his pocket and looked inside with dejected eyes. He bit his lip and set the money on the table. The salad was about twenty dollars, expensive but manageable. But to Castiel, the look on Dean's face when he had to place that money on the table made it look like he was handing over half a million.
Castiel grasped Dean's wrist as he turned to walk away. Castiel stood. "Thank you, but no. I'm not going to let you pay for my food." Dean opened his mouth to speak but Castiel interrupted him. "No buts." Dean's vibrant green gaze locked on Castiel's bright blue one. Castiel's hand (of its own accord) reached up and tucked Dean's bangs back behind his ear.
"C-Castiel?"
Castiel dropped his hand and stepped back, not exactly sure what had just transpired between them, but it frightened him. He backed away and threw a twenty on the table.
"Goodbye, Dean, nice to meet you," said Castiel, rushing out of the restaurant, leaving Dean to watch his retreating back.
Well? Was it what you expected? I'm taking a bit of a hiatus on The Innocent, now that I have the proposal out of the way. Gotta let the Muse shape the idea.
Trnaslations:
Un, deux, trois! Félicitations à l'heureux couple! - One, two, three! Congratulations to the happy couple!
Le Chapeau Français- The French Hat
Thanks for reading everyone! This is what you all voted for, so I hope it's all right! (:
Shave Less, Braid More,
Dublin O'Malley
XOXOX