"Hey, Sammy! How'd it go?" Dean Winchester clapped his brother on the shoulder and handed him a beer. The taller brother winced outwardly and punched Dean in the arm, then took the offered beer.
"Ouch, man. I dislocated my shoulder," he replied in an exasperated tone.
"My bad," Dean said and threw his hands up. "All good though? No more vetala snatching folks in paradise?"
"For now," came a familiar, dry voice from the top of the stairs. "Mind lending a hand, Winchester?"
Dean shook his head, glaring at his little brother. "We will talk about this," he gestured towards the stairs, " later."
He passed Christa on the stairs as he jogged up to get the last bags from the car and shot her a tight-lipped grin as he checked her out. She narrowed her eyes at him and continued downward.
Christa dropped the two duffel bags on the floor and looked accusingly over at Sam, who was sipping his beer. Her eyebrow lifted in that special way she had of communicating her disdain for something. "And you, Sam? Not gonna lend a hand?" She folded her arms over her chest.
"Dislocated shoulder?" He tried.
"Stab wound!" Christa shouted back and marched over to him, yanking the beer out of his hand. "Where's my room?" She took a long swig and started down a hallway.
"Oh, this'll be real fun," Dean drawled, setting the last bags down and retreating to the living area.
Sam had grabbed her two bags with his good arm and followed her down the hall to let her choose whichever room she wanted that wasn't his or Dean's. She settled on a room a bit farther down than theirs and made a face when she opened the door. "Just what I wanted! A view of the Rockies." She turned to Sam, who was rolling his eyes, and smirked. "I'm joking. The word 'bunker' doesn't really give off resort vibes. Thanks for the hand, Sammy." She took her bags from him and dropped them on the bed. "Hey can you ask Dean what he wants to do for dinner? I'm starving. I'm going to shower, though. 25 hours in the car at once is too much." She shuddered for emphasis. The ride was long and the tension between them made it seem even longer.
"Sure. The showers are um… they're kind of communal? But since it's only us three, it shouldn't be an issue." Sam gently rotated his shoulder. It was not feeling the best after driving the last half of their trip. "Let me check your stitches, first." Christa bit her lip and nodded. She set down the beer and gingerly pulled her shirt half-off for him to inspect the stitches he'd put in her shoulder. He checked them out and nodded, not seeing any inflammation or infection to be concerned about. "Looks good. Thread should hold in the shower. Let's leave it in for a couple more days and then switch to bandages."
"Thanks, Sammy. Do you need me to wrap your shoulder?" She asked, the abrasiveness gone from her voice.
He shook his head and smiled at her, absently brushing his thumb over her bottom lip. "I'm okay. I have a sling around here, somewhere. Go shower, I'll go talk with Dean and make sure he's cool with you being here for a few days."
Christa hummed loudly in the shower. She was tempted to make use of the bathtub that looked long-neglected but it needed a really good scrubbing and she was too hungry for that.
The communal showers were around the corner from the main area of dorms. She had stolen a couple towels from the resort, not knowing when she'd have the luxury of full-threaded towels again. After wrapping herself up, she went back to her room and got dressed. Wearing a bra had seriously aggravated her shoulder wound, so she opted not to put one on and settled on an old tee from a rare concert she actually made time for in her younger years. It wasn't swampy in Kansas, but it was still hot, so she dug out a pair of her jean shorts and clean underwear and finally grabbed her worn-in cowboy boots before heading down the hall.
As she approached what the guys called the War Room, she heard Sam and Dean arguing quietly. Intrigued, she stopped behind a corner and put her boots on as she listened.
"It's only for a couple days, Dean! Come on. She just worked two cases back-to-back and there's nothing going on right now."
"This is our space, Sam. You should have at least asked me, first. Common decency, you know?"
"It's Chris, Dean," Sam groaned. "It's not like she's going to overstay her welcome – you and I both know she prefers to be alone. And we totally owe her for saving our asses in Charleston. I just figured it'd be nice to relax, just the three of us."
"Four," chimed in a strange voice. Christa blinked, taken by surprise at the third male voice. She looked behind her, confused as to where he could have come from.
"Cas. Nice of you to drop in, too. Now it's just a regular sausage party!" Dean exclaimed. Christa could imagine him throwing his hands up the way he did when he was frustrated. The sound of a chair being pulled out and then a clomp of boots carried to her ears.
She was about to turn the corner and make her presence known when the strange voice said, "Christa Edelwood, why are you eavesdropping?"
Her eyes went wide and she turned the corner, eyeing the stranger suspiciously. "Who the fuck are you? One of Dean's friends?"
"Um, well, yes, technically. I suppose we are friends." The stranger glanced down at Dean as if double-checking his statement. Dean just rolled his eyes and took a long swig of beer. He was sitting in a chair, boots up on the table. Sam had found a sling and was standing opposite Dean. "My name is Castiel, to answer your first question."
Christa's jaw dropped as she put tidbits of information from the corners of her mind together, like a jigsaw puzzle. Before she could say anything, he was in front of her and had his fingers on her forehead. She felt a stinging in her shoulder and it felt like the breath had been knocked out of her. She gasped and stepped back, lightly putting a hand on her injured shoulder. "What was that?"
"You were injured and it was going to get infected. I healed you." His eyes narrowed and he regarded her for several moments; Christa stepped back, a feeling of unease coming over her.
Christa couldn't believe the level of nonchalance in the voice of Castiel. She also couldn't believe, if she remembered correctly, that she was in the presence of an Angel. Speechless, she watched Castiel do the same to Sam. Sam sighed deeply and rotated his shoulder, then flung the sling off. "Thanks, Cas."
"So, you're Castiel? Like, the Castiel," she blurted out. "An honest-to-God Angel? Semi-omniscient, sent-by-God Angel?"
Castiel eyed her suspiciously this time and nodded slowly. "Yes, but you already knew that. Why are you asking redundant questions?"
"Cas, I think she's a bit uh, overwhelmed," Dean smirked, immensely enjoying seeing Christa freak out. He checked her out again, appreciating the very short denim shorts and had a flashback to tugging them off of her; he'd spent his alone time thinking about that a few times while he had the place to himself. "Heh," he vocalized and then downed the rest of his beer. "I'm starving! Let's go eat."
Castiel shifted, looking uncomfortable, "Dean, you are not starving. I think we should talk." He glanced over at Christa, who had stepped closer to Sam and was also still staring at Castiel as if she were in a trance.
"It can wait, man. We're hungry and Sammy's been in the car for 25 hours."
This seemed to get Christa to snap out of it, as she retorted, "Uh, so has Christa!"
Dean waved his hand at her in his "I don't care" way and Christa glared at him.
"I will wait here, then, as I do not need to eat food." Castiel stated monotonously. Christa almost laughed at how robotic he sounded, but bit her lip and grinned instead.
"It was very nice to finally meet you, Castiel," Christa said as Sam placed a hand on her lower back and they headed up the stairs.
Castiel didn't respond, but Christa could feel his eyes boring into her back until she was inside the garage. She shivered, hard, and Sam withdrew his hand. "You ok?"
"Yeah, fine. Just… had a weird chill," she forced a smile up at him and then slid into the backseat of the Impala, completely at unease.
The diner Dean and Sam frequented while "home" was pretty busy, but they apparently had a booth that was always reserved for them. It was a round booth, capable of seating up to eight people and Christa had to admit she was impressed the owners would give up the possibility of money for some guys who could barely afford to feed themselves most of the time. A thought occurred to her that the Winchesters probably saved a life and it made more sense. Dean slid in and Christa slid in on the opposite side and Sam sat next to her. She was the middle of a Winchester sandwich and pushed aside the dirty thoughts that immediately popped into her head.
They waited until they ordered to broach the topic of Christa's eavesdropping. Sam was the first to ask, as usual. "So how much did you hear in the bunker?"
Christa sighed and shook her head, "Not a lot. Just seems like you guys need to sort some things out between you two. I'll be on my merry way just as soon as something comes up, so," she paused and sipped her Coke, "you know. Don't let me get in your way or whatever." She leaned back, glancing from one brother to the other as they sat in relative silence. Nobody else said anything. "Well alright then. Good talk." She pushed down the uneasy feeling, trying to ignore it.
They all finished impressive portions of food. Sam had gotten up to use the restroom and Christa could just feel Dean eyeing her in that semi-sleazy way that he'd perfected by eighteen. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye and he was indeed smirking. "Can I help you, Winchester?"
Dean made a "who me?" face and shook his head. Christa's eyes narrowed as she regarded him. "I like those shorts," Dean said with a devious grin. "I liked them better on the floor, though."
Christa took a deep breath and decided not to react violently. There was no use denying she had enjoyed herself in Charleston or that she hadn't thought about it since. "I bet you did," she muttered. Then, Dean's warm hand was on her thigh, his pinky finger pointed towards her as it slid under the frayed hem of her shorts. A tingle went through her entire body, as if he'd shocked her. "Dean," she warned, her voice low.
"Mm, that sounds so much better when you scream it, sweetheart," he murmured, watching her closely.
A faint pink crept up her neck to her cheeks and she was taking deep breaths through her nose while trying not to react, despite the slow burn building between her legs. "I'm not doing this right now," she finally said. Sam rounded the corner and she hurriedly slid out of the booth and met him at the door, all smiles. Dean noticed the way Sam put his hand on her lower back as they walked outside together and could have sworn he felt a small twinge of envy. He wondered if they'd hooked up in Florida.
When they got back, Castiel pulled Dean into the library to talk. Sam sat down at the table in the War Room and immediately got on his laptop while Christa went to the kitchen for beers. She rolled her eyes dramatically and groaned when she walked in and saw Sam on his computer.
"Oh come on, Sammy! We're relaxing, remember?" She set a beer next to him and hoisted herself onto the table next to that.
"Well, I figured since Castiel was nice enough to heal us, why not see if there's anything out there?"
"Workaholic," Christa enunciated each syllable and closed his laptop.
Sam's hazel eyes flashed up to her. "Chris, I was doing something."
Christa drank from her beer and held his out to him again; her eyebrows rose as if she were daring him. He finally took it from her and had a sip. She lowered her beer and smirked at him when he looked away and sat back, his bottom lip sticking out just a bit. "I know something else you can do."
His eyes darted around the room before landing back on her, annoyance replaced with intrigue. "And what is that?" Sam pursed his lips together and made a show of letting his gaze drop down her entire body, then back up to her smirking face.
Christa bit her lip and leaned closer to him, setting her beer down on the table behind her. "You can take out these unnecessary stitches," she almost whispered, her voice somehow dripping with seduction.
Sam blinked and got up, walking out of the room. Christa laughed, confused, and leaned back again, finishing her beer. She was pleasantly surprised when Sam returned holding a pair of tiny scissors. "Take off your shirt," he ordered. Unabashedly, she pulled off the concert tee. It wasn't anything he hadn't seen before, but she saw Sam's eyes go wide and glance around again. "Oh, um, I didn't realize."
Her eyebrow lifted in amusement and she held the shirt in front of her bare breasts to help Sam relax a little. He visibly did and then leaned down to cut the thread out that remained. Christa watched as the thread holes closed instantly. "That is some freaky shit," she muttered. Her blue eyes went to Sam's face; first his lips, then his eyes. She leaned up to close the distance between them and her lips brushed against his.
He groaned softly and pulled away, placing a kiss on her forehead, instead. "Sorry, Chris," he whispered. "Just… not out here, ok?" Sam Winchester's signature puppy eyes convinced her to nod her head and sit back. He left the room to presumably return the scissors to their storage place. Christa looked down at her shoulder again, inspecting the faint scar that remained. A few inches of steel knife had dug its way into her flesh, but she could barely tell.
"Hey, whoa!" Dean's voice came from behind her. "I didn't know Topless Tuesday started early!"
Christa, still with her back to him, rolled her eyes and pulled her shirt back on. "You've seen 'em before, Winchester. Don't get so excited."
"Don't feel like you have to be dressed on my account," he quipped as she turned around. He met her gaze with a signature wink as he raised a beer bottle to his lips.
"Or mine," Castiel chimed in, walking into the room. "For I have seen the naked human form from the time God molded it out of clay. There is a reason He thinks you are perfect."
Christa's eyes widened as she gave a befuddled look; Dean chuckled in response and shrugged. "Anyway. Sam was just helping me get the rest of the thread out," she explained.
"Lucky Sam," Dean said, a bit gruffly. Christa's only response was to childishly stick her tongue out at him. Thankfully, Sam walked back into the room and looked around, sensing discomfort. He swore that he could never leave these two alone in the same room without nearly starting World War Three.
"So who's up for movie night?" He asked cheerfully.