A/N: There is a small amount of French in this chapter. If there is anything that I think is hard to understand, I will put it in the Author's Note. Thank you!
The dinner rush was fading out, but the aching in my feet was just starting to settle in. I had had a long shift and not many tips. I sighed as I untied my apron in the small dressing room next to the kitchen. An annoying American tourist spilled red wine on my white work shirt. I peeled off the sticky shirt and threw it into the hamper to be laundered. My maroon v-neck was partially pulled over my head when my manager poked his head into the room. "Winchester?"
"Oui, Jean-Claude?" I said in a tired voice, pushing my head through the rest of the shirt.
"I need you to cover for Paul tomorrow. He is ill." I snorted in response. Paul had been 'ill' very often since he got a new girlfriend. Jean-Claude spoke harshly, "You will be here at 6 am sharp." He dramatically left the room, the door swinging loudly behind him.
I rolled my eyes and mumbled mockingly, "Bien sûr, Jean-Claude. Merci, Jean-Claude." I shrugged into my leather jacket and walked out through the restaurant. The museum was mostly empty, security guards wandering about the grand rooms. Stragglers were taking last minute pictures, posing happily in the grand rooms. Closing time was approaching quickly, but I had just enough time to stop and see my favorite painting.
Saint Michael Vanquishing Satan by Raphael hung proudly on the broad wall. This room was in the far back and not many tourists were willing to make it all the way there. It was a safe, quiet place away from all the craze of the café and the people. My eyes widened with surprise to see someone standing in front of the painting. I stood hesitantly in the entrance of the room, half-turned to go back out. The stranger turned his head, his profile just barely visible. A clear voice rang out, "You can come in. I don't bite."
I walked toward him cautiously, "Sorry, it's just that not many people are still here this late." The man nodded. We stood side by side, staring at the great work in front of us. I gave him a quick once-over. He wore a black peacoat and leather gloves. A light blue scarf was wrapped around his neck. I asked interestedly, "What are you still doing here, anyway?"
"I suppose I could ask you the same thing," he retorted.
"Yeah, well, I asked first."
"Touché," a light smile played on his lips, amusement obvious in his eyes. "I'm simply enjoying the artwork. That is the point of an art museum after all." It was my turn to be amused now. He looked back at the painting. "Now your turn."
"This," I tipped my head to gesture the painting, "is my favorite painting. I walk by this room everyday, and I always stop in to look at it." There was something about the picture that spoke to me. Triumph of good over evil, the supernatural justice. Perhaps it also spoke to the stranger. "I don't think I've ever seen you here before, though." I glanced over at him, hoping for some affirmation.
"That is because I have not been here in many years, unfortunately. My work comes before my travelling plans," he frowned slightly as he said it. I was about to ask him about his work when he cut me off, obviously wanting to move on to the next topic. "You said you came here everyday. Why?" He looked genuinely curious, his head tilted slightly.
Blush crept up my neck. The guy seemed so regal; it was embarrassing to admit my profession. I stuttered slightly, "I, uh, I work here. So I guess it's not really everyday, but y'know…" I shoved my hands deep in my pockets.
"Oh," he said and nodded.
"Yeah, oh," I said as I reached my hand up to rub the back of my neck. "It's not the most glamorous job working in a museum, but, uh, it's something." The man looked alarmed and then apologetic.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make it seem like I disapproved! I just didn't peg you for a security guard type, that's all." He raised his hands in innocence. I couldn't help but laugh at his expression. He looked vaguely confused.
"I'm not a security guard," I said as I smiled. "I work in Le Café Grand Louvre. I wait tables, but I'm hoping to actually work in the kitchen soon." A small note of optimism seeped into my words. Being a waiter was certainly not my dream, but living in Paris as a cook was.
"Ah, so you're a chef? C'est super," he grinned.
I shrugged. "In training. I mean, I want to."
"What's stopping you?" I opened my mouth to respond, but someone walked into the room. They coughed. I turned to look at them, as did my new acquaintance. It was my friend Ash, who was a security guard. We both started work at the Louvre at the same time, so we got to know each other a bit as newbies. I smiled a little as a hello, although I'm sure annoyance was discernible on my face.
"Oh! Sorry, man. Didn't mean to interrupt your date," he said, slightly uncomfortable. It was the stranger's turn to blush. His hands started to fiddle with the ends of his scarf.
I waved his apology away, "Not a date. Just got off shift." I looked back at my confidant to see how he would respond to the exchange. He was obviously embarrassed, but he hadn't protested or made the usual cry of 'not gay!' I made a silent note of this.
Ash shrugged and started back towards the exit. "Clear out, we're closing in 5." He was gone before I could even offer a good-bye.
I fished my phone and keys out of my pocket. "Sorry about that, he's a buddy of mine." The man had an unreadable expression. I hesitated a bit, "Right, well, I guess I'll see you around… I'm sorry, I don't think I caught your name?" He didn't reply. He simply turned on his heel and headed away from me. "Wait, come on! I said I was sorry! Ash just likes to assume things, he didn't really mean it." He got to the doorway and paused, his hand resting on the ornate wood. He turned quickly to look at me, making brief eye contact.
"Castiel," he said with an evident French accent. "Je m'appelle Castiel." I raised an eyebrow at the name. It was weird and unique, yet it seemed somewhat familiar. I said it to myself a few times as I found my own way out. My mind was filled with thoughts of him as I walked around the cold streets of Paris in winter, making my way to the apartments. I wondered if I would ever get to see him again and about what would happen if I did.
The apartment door creaked as I walked in. I added 'oil the doorhinge' to my ever-growing list of things to do. "Dean?" I hear Sam call out. I hung my coat on the rack. He peeked his head around the hallway corner.
"Hey, little brother. What's up?" I asked. I followed him in the short walk to the grate room. The beer I grabbed from the fridge was cold and felt refreshing to my fatigued tongue.
"Not much," he said and gestured to the open books and highlighters scattered abut the coffee table in front of him. "How was work?"
"Bleh. It wasn't the best time of my life, but it definitely wasn't the worst," I collapsed into the couch as I flashed back to long days out running errands with my mother, Mary. Shopping for longer than three hours was not exactly my idea of a fun time, and Mom sure could shop. "Besides, I met this new guy. He was pretty mysterious." Sam cocked an eyebrow. "Hey, I know you're thinking, but, uh, it wasn't like that."
Sam bobbed his head, but suspicion was clear in his eyes. "So what was his name?" He picked up one of his many medicine books and waited for answer.
I took another gulp of my beer before saying, "Castiel." Sam looked up from his book, incredulous.
"Castiel? Seriously?"
I raised my hands in defense, "I know, it's weird, but it fit him." Sam laughed boisterously. "Laugh all you want, Sammy. That's his name." The laughter faded into a content grin as he shook his head and started highlighting big words I didn't quite understand. "I can't quite put my finger on it, but I feel like I've heard it before. Any idea where?"
"Not a clue, but I'll look into it a bit."
I beamed sarcastically at him, "I knew that I could count on you to do all of my research for me." He threw a highlighter at me. I laughed at his protest. "Hey, did you get that pie from Jessica for me?" Sam suddenly looked sheepish.
"Sorry, man. I forgot to ask for it," he said apologetically.
"Sam! You had one job! You know I've been craving pie since we left the states!" I said exasperatedly.
"I know, I know. I'll ask her tomorrow."
"You'd better." I harrumphed and turned on our crappy TV, getting comfortable in the silence that followed.
A/N: Bien sûr means "of course". Thank you for reading! Rate and leave a comment :)