A/N: *singing while I sell* ...So we're all technically too young to get Marx Brothers references BUT THAT'S NOT STOPPING ME. I think you could enjoy this regardless. It's a slow start, as far as juicy love stuff goes. But it will be FUN. I'm posting now to force me to follow-through and write the rest instead of picking the beginning apart until I hate it all. As many have told you before me, reviews do indeed speed up the update process as WELL as the update quality. How amazing is that!? It's magic.
The apartment door read "Castiel J. Flywheel, Private Eye." It looked legitimate enough. It wasn't the worst neighborhood.
Castiel J. Flywheel was a two-bit detective who graciously allowed his mute cousin, Gabriel to assist on his investigations. He could hardly pay the man, but Gabriel was dumb, not an idiot. He would occasionally do other odd jobs during their down time while skillfully ignoring Castiel's brooding silences or bouts of sarcastic self-loathing.
Castiel wasn't really a detective at heart. He had been drafted at 18 and had made a very good soldier. But by the end of the war he had grown weary of the regimented life. Once he was thrown back into normal society he tried a few regular jobs and discovered he now had a serious problem with authority. It didn't work for him unless he had it, absolutely. He decided that it was time to try out self employment.
What possessed him to become a private eye is a mystery he might never solve. Though he was more than competent scientifically he tended to come off a little stiff when meeting new people. This aloof quality was dulled slightly by Gabriel's charming innocence, but it still managed to cut many of his interrogations short.
Oh well. He was good with a firearm. He kept fit. The ladies seemed to appreciate him. That had to count for something.
He scanned the newspaper for new leads or a break on a cold case. His eyes wandered over boring headlines and landed in the funnies, where they proceeded to glaze over.
An abrupt knock brought him out of his reverie.
Gabriel stood bolt upright. He was in the middle of scrambling eggs in a cast iron pan on a hot plate atop Castiel's desk. Very professional.
"Gabriel, quick - a customer!" The words crackled out of Castiel like hail down a tin roof.
In a flash Castiel was upright and stowing the murphy bed back into the wall. Gabriel shoved the hot plate under the desk and pulled a rack of drying clothes into the back room. The office was so bare that it only took a second to tidy it up. Castiel's eyes swept the room in one last inspection.
"Apron!"
Gabriel's eyes said "oh right" as he shucked off the frilly white apron he was wearing while he scrambled their eggs. Castiel opened the door and Gabriel lunged forward to stand at his side as they greeted their mystery visitor.
A middle-aged woman in a smart suit and a respectable fir strode through the door, glancing first at Gabriel before deciding that Castiel was the man in charge.
"Mr. Flywheel? My name is Ellen Singer. You come highly recommended, and I'd like to enlist your services." She offered her hand to Castiel, gracefully.
Castiel squinted and cocked his head. His client list would have to fight dirty to beat up Gabriel's vocabulary. It was pretty safe to say that none of his business was ever based on word-of-mouth marketing.
"Who recommended me highly?" He neglected Mrs. Singer's hand.
Gabriel flashed him a quick sad-clown face, then reached out to shake the hand himself, smiling wide. Mrs. Singer pulled out of the shake rather quickly. Gabriel's face fell again.
"An old friend of the family whom you served with in Europe. Ash sends his regards."
"Ah." Castiel nodded. It made sense that Ash would throw some work his way. Ash was a kind soul who didn't really seem to be cut-out for war. He had been their communications liaison, and luckily was adept enough at interpersonal communications to befriend Castiel, which was no small feat.
Mrs. Singer looked around the barren office and her face softened.
"I'd like to hire you temporarily as bodyguard for my nephew. Have you heard of Sam Winchester?"
"No."
Gabriel shook his head, yes.
"Do you listen to the radio much?"
"Yes."
Gabriel shook his head, no.
At this point Ellen pursed her lips, and decided to direct all her energy into communicating only with Castiel.
"Well my nephew, Sam Winchester is an up and coming singer. Perhaps you've heard his newest song, Your Face? Regardless, he has just recently inherited the controlling shares of Winchester's Department Store. He has decided to sell his shares and use the profits to build a music conservatory for children. It's big news because of his celebrity status."
Castiel watched and listened intently and gave a slight nod. Gabriel sat himself down at the desk, opened the bottom drawer, removed a mug and saucer and poured himself a cup of coffee. Ellen continued.
"I have been told it's just my imagination, but there have been some strange accidents around the store lately and they all seem to occur around Sam. It might be nothing, but I'd like you to stick close to Sam until the sale is final and keep an eye out for any funny business. Are you available for this position?"
Gabriel pulled last year's calendar out of the top drawer and pretended to study it carefully. Castiel eyed him warily. Mrs. Singer clearly didn't have any delusions about the popularity of the detective she was hiring. She technically hadn't even asked him to do any investigating.
"I am available to start immediately."
Gabriel tossed the obsolete calendar behind his head. He tapped his foot. His expression changed, starting at puzzled and ending in pain. He looked down to see his foot in the egg pan. At that moment Castiel sniffed, and his eyes immediately darted over to the floor under his desk.
"Well that's wonderful. I can have my driver take us to the store to meet Sam right now, if you'd like."
Castiel scowled as he watched his breakfast melt onto the soul of Gabriel's boot. If Mrs. Singer had noticed the stench of burnt boot, she wasn't letting on. He nodded and gestured towards the door, allowing Mrs. Singer to pass through in front of him and lead the way to her sleek, black DeSoto.
Gabriel waved, merrily until the door clicked shut, at which time he flew off the desk chair with a silent howl, flinging his burning boot at the wall.
Winchester's was the city's premier department store, boasting seven different levels of shopping extravagance. From bassinets to fishing nets, you could find it all at Winchesters.
And that's where Sam Winchester sat now, staring out of his 12th floor office window. His aunt Ellen had phoned him that morning and asked him to meet her at the store. The request made him a little uneasy, even if it did provide him with a fantastic excuse to run into Jess from the music counter, and maybe even take her out to lunch.
"Winchester's sells everything, right? So where's the pie? Do we sell pie?"
Dean Winchester, Sam's older brother, sat hunched over on a stiff couch staring at his hands hungrily. His sandy hair had just recently grown out of its army regulation cut, and it was coiffed into a slick Clark Gable.
"Why don't you call down and order some pie to be sent up to us executives?" Sam taunted.
"Because I am not an executive. I am a mechanic in a monkey suit. Why doesn't partial-store-owner Sam call down and get them to send up some pie for his un-famous brother slash bodyguard?"
Sam narrowed every feature on his face into a series of thin lines.
"Hey, you inherited just as much as I did. I still don't understand why you signed your half away to me." Sam stood up, moodily and put his hands in his pockets.
"Because I'm fine, Sammy, and you're going places. It just makes sense. Unlike your haircut."
Sam ran his fingers through his admittedly long brown locks.
"I just can't bring myself to get it cut."
"Okay, whatever Samson."
"Would that make you Delilah?"
"You know what? Maybe I'll ask that little blonde downstairs at the music counter if she thinks you need a haircut. There's your Delilah."
Sam blushed and looked away.
Ellen Singer knocked on the door, then entered without waiting for reply. Sam and Dean watched intently as she was followed almost too closely by a nice-looking man with sparkling blue eyes, unruly hair and a tan overcoat.
"Sam, Dean, this is Castiel Flywheel. Castiel, this is Sam and Dean Winchester."
Castiel stepped forward to shake hands with Sam and Dean, politely.
"I wasn't aware there were two Winchesters." His gravely tambre gave Sam and Dean a start.
"Ah. Of course. I forgot to mention Dean. Dean fixes automobiles for a living. He signed his half of the inheritance over to Sam, and he isn't a well-known face around town."
Dean and Sam huffed and shifted as Ellen highlighted the stark differences between the two brothers.
"I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting to see you this afternoon, Dean. It's a pleasant surprise."
She smiled genuinely, and Dean returned the grin. No matter what they slung at him, he was fond of his family.
Castiel cleared his throat, knocking the party back on course.
"Sam, I have retained Mr. Flywheel here to accompany you about your business the next couple of weeks, at least until the sale goes through and the press settles down a little."
Sam's eyebrows flew sky high while Dean's face went from passive to possessive.
"Hey wait a minute, I'm Sam's bodyguard. I put a suit on and everything."
Castiel examined Dean in his suit. It was well-fitting, and disguised all traces of his work as a mechanic. So well so that Castiel imagined if Dean stood still enough in the lobby he could be mistaken for a manequin.
Ellen hardened her manor and took a step forward, abandoning a bit of her upper-class airs.
"And who's going to watch you, Dean? If someone's really after Sam you think they're going to be too stupid to realize he's got a brother hanging around to inherit it all? Please."
Dean flexed his jaw, but had no response. Sam sighed and placed his large hands on his aunt's shoulders.
"No one is after any of us, Aunt Ellen. But if you want Castiel to stick around until the end of the sale then that's fine too. Whatever makes you feel better."
Suddenly, outside the office there was a crash. A woman screamed. A shrill whistle sounded out like a bird of prey, and Castiel immediately rolled his eyes. He stepped over to the door and pulled it open wide, just in time for Gabriel to roll into the room and hop to his feet in a fighting stance.
"Gentlemen, meet my associate, Gabriel. He doesn't say much." At that moment Castiel was greatful for the fact that Mrs. Singer had already paid him his retainer fee during the car on the ride over.
Gabriel dropped his dukes and jutted his hand out to shake with Sam and Dean, happily.
Sam and Dean exchanged a look as they took turn shaking hands with the frenetic man, but neither of them were able to resist smiling back when he met their gaze with his enthusiastic grin.
"Well this has been great," Sam cut in, "but if we're all done I think I'm going to go down to the music department and check on my sales." He looked at the floor, one hand concealed guiltily in his pocket as he picked his way out of the office.
Dean rolled his eyes and huffed off after Sam.
Castiel narrowed his eyes and followed Dean.
Gabriel took Ellen's hand and kissed it gingerly, before bowing gracefully and backing out of the room.