A/N: WOW! I'm really late with this update, sorry about that. As always, I have never been to France and do not pretend to be an expert with the language. If I make any errors, please let me know!
His eyes were wide with expectancy, eyebrows slightly raised. I stammered over words, trying to form a coherent sentence. Sam saved me from responding first. "I'll be back later. You two," he gestured vaguely to us, "have stuff to work out." He fumbled for his coat as he practically sprinted for the door. Cas had kept his hand firmly on my shoulder, like he was holding me upright. Though I did feel particularly faint, I shook him off and headed to the couch. He sank down next to me into the worn leather. I kept my mouth drawn together, waiting to wake up from this bizarre dream.
"Dean, I know that it's hard to believe, but—"
"It's not," I said sharply. He looked taken aback. "No, it actually makes perfect sense." He frowned, obviously confused. I kept going, "Yeah, see, the camera flashes, the soccer game out of nowhere, hell, even all the people staring at you on the street: it all just makes so much fucking sense now." He looked away, lips pursed in idle shame. I scoffed loudly, "Prince; I can't believe I didn't see it before." I shook my head with exasperation. He didn't reply. Instead, he seemed to be very intensely studying the back of his hand. "Prince Fontaine? Un-fucking-believable." I pushed off the couch, about to make my way to the door. Cas caught my hand, stopping me in my tracks.
"Look, I know that it's stupid and you probably think I'm the most pompous asshole of all time now, but I want you to know that that is not true," he tried to assure me.
"What? The stupid part or the pompous asshole part?" I interjected spitefully.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Both, I guess." This small gesture that just screamed Cas to me melted some of the ice that had found its way into my heart. Silence persisted between us. I dropped back into the couch. I shut my eyes tightly. Colors swirled when I opened them to look at Cas. His shoulders were hunched forward like they carried the weight of thousands of others, which I supposed they did if he was truly royalty.
"Why didn't you just tell me?"
"I tried."
I snorted, "Bullshit."
His eyes snapped to mine. A spark of passion, maybe anger, lit them up. "I did."
"You should have tried harder, then."
"It's not really something you can bring up in casual conversation," his eyes started to squint at me in frustration. "Je vous prie de bien vouloir m'excuser." (I beg you to forgive me) Sorrow ran deep in his eyes, going beyond this incident. There was so much I wanted to say, to ask, to yell at him for, but I couldn't express any of it. I had never been in a situation like it before and I wasn't handling it well. I searched for the right words, but it felt like I was grasping at straws.
"Whatever," was the most I could manage. Another awkward silence bubbled up. I could hear the kitchen clock ticking with every passing second. Cas looked like he was also at a loss for words, if not resigned. I sighed heavily, getting up from the couch. This was something I needed time to come to terms with. I opened the front door for Cas to leave. He stood up slowly and walked to meet me. He stopped in the door frame. He turned around to look at me.
"I didn't... I didn't know it would go this far." Honestly wrung through his words. His blue eyes were wide with sadness. Part of me wanted to grasp his shirt and pull him back into the room, to just forget about what had happened. But the rest of me looked at him and saw a golden crown perched precariously on top of his dark curls and could not see beyond it. I swallowed hard and looked away, my jaw clenching. "Dean," he touched my shoulder lightly. "I'm sorry." I shook off his touch.
"Yeah, well, I'm sorry, too." The door closed on him with a resounding thud.
When I was a kid, we lived in a quaint house in Kansas. We weren't the perfect family, but my mom always made sure our Christmas card was perfect. John always had a just a bit too much to drink after work and picked fights with Mary about bills and shit I didn't think was worth fighting about. It was never physical or anything, just a constant plague of arguing. Other than that, we were relatively normal. Sam had a golden retriever he named Rocket. I hated Rocket. He was always using my G.I. Joe's as chew toys and slobbering all over me. I definitely preferred our cat Clyde. He would sit in my lap whilst I did schoolwork.
One day my mom pulled into the parking lot of Lawrence High School. I looked out the window forlornly. My best friend James had left for some boarding school in Minnesota and I was left alone. Well, mostly alone. Lisa stood out front in the center of a large group. Her iconic cherry flavored lollipop dangled out of her heavily glossed lips. The black and red cheerleading uniform displayed prominently on her body. Her teeth showed a dizzying white when she spotted my mom's new black car. I sighed unhappily. My mom ducked her head to press a kiss on my forehead, but I dodged it. Sam had his nose buried in a too-thick book in the back seat. I slumped my way out of the car, punctuating my exit with a loud slam of the door. My mom's eyebrows drew together in concern. She tried to mouth the words 'I love you', but I shrugged it off and began the ascent into the world of high school. I wrapped my arm around the waist of Lisa as she blabbered off about a pyramid gone wrong during the previous day's practice. Her words melded together with those around her and it all turned into a jumble I couldn't follow.
The screeching of metal against metal pulled me out of my haze. I turned my face to the street. A black car was wrapped around a crumpled red Viper. Horror seized up through me. Screams punctuated the air. I ran hard up the sidewalk, ignoring the calls of my name. When I got to the car, I could see the severity of the damage. Sheets of metal were curled up everywhere, fire reaching through the cracks. I heard Sam's small voice calling for help. I peeked through a gap in the metal where the back seat window should have been. Sam's large eyes stared up at me, filled with fright. The door was destroyed, the frame sticking out at some points. I yanked desperately, trying to pry it open. Streams of blood formed on my palms. I gave up on the door and went around to the back. The back window was still mostly intact. "Sammy!" I shouted gruffly. Smoke dried my throat. "Cover you head!" I punched through the glass with a stray piece of machinery. It gave way quickly, shards of glass raining down into the remnants of our car. Sam cried out in pain. I leaned through to undo the seat belt. I pulled Sam out, doing my best to avoid glass clinging to the edging. Tears poured down his dirty cheek as he sat on the asphalt. I crouched down next to him, inspecting his wounds. Thankfully, they were restricted mostly to tears and scratches. I hugged him tight to me. Sam asked for mom, his cries and sirens distorting the message. My eyes snapped open. "Mom?" I called out. I ran to the driver's side. I saw the blood pooling out of her temples. "MOM!" I tried to get to her, but the thick arms of a firefighter constrained me. I wailed loudly as he dragged me away, my feet kicking against the air.
In the months that followed the death of Mary Winchester, emptiness hung over me like a veil. Dad stayed out longer and came home reeking of alcohol. I was forced to step up and take care of Sam. The paint on the white picket fence chipped away and a stillness seeped through every crack in the house. It took every ounce of strength I had not to break down. Sam was the lucky one. He was younger and didn't have the chance to connect with Mary the way he had with John. I don't think that he really remembers her all that well. Nine years later and I still felt the dull ache of loss every day.
I had run away to Paris with Sam when John died so that I could avoid facing his death. I shoved my feelings deep down inside of myself and covered them with a new job, a new home, a new distraction. But now that my most recent distraction had blown up in my face, I was left feeling defeated. Memories of Dad surfaced and festered around the edges of my heart. I tried to push them away by being angry at Castiel, but it was unsuccessful. I fell into a meaningless routine, now carrying the weight of a lost father and a lost possibility of a future and friendship.
When I went back to work the next day, Jean-Paul blocked my way. "Winchester, you have the whole week off. Prince Fontaine requested it." Surprise flitted through me briefly, though it was replaced with sourness at the casual use of 'prince'.
"Prince Fontaine can go fuck himself, yeah?" His jaw swung agape. I shoved past him and headed to the kitchen. Claire was back to chopping up fruits and vegetables for prep. It was odd to think about how brief a time had past since I had last seen her, yet so much had happened. She waved pleasantly, but I ignored it. I didn't much care about keeping up with social pretenses anymore. I just wanted to focus on my own work for once.
I grabbed my waiter's apron from the hook in the dressing room. I found Luc watching the small shitty TV in the back of the kitchen. It was separated by tall storage cabinets. Two cheap portable chairs sat side by side. We used it during downtime and when we were avoiding Jean-Paul. He looked up when he saw me. He smiled happily. "Rebienvenue!" he said. (Welcome back) I nodded in return. "Good vacation?" he said while turning back to the TV. He clicked through the channels.
I shrugged. "Fine, I guess." He made a small noise of acknowledgement. I patted the pockets of my apron, finding them empty. I groaned, realizing I had lost all my supplies to the weekly laundry while I was gone on my brief vacation. I rummaged through the drawers behind me looking for a new pen. The door swung open loudly from the front. I could hear the stomping against the white tile, and muffled conversations.
"LUC! Viens ici!" Jean Paul shouted. (Come here)
Luc shot up from his chair. "Gotta run," he mumbled. He dropped the remote into his chair and slid pass me.
"Good luck," I called after him. He looked over his shoulder and winked. My cheeks tinged pinked. I immediately felt a stab of regret. Maybe I had only known Cas for 3 days, but they had to have been the 3 best days of my life. The small flirtation felt like cheating to my tender heart. I looked back to the TV. Luc didn't turn it off in his escape. I leaned over and picked up the remote. The English news channel was playing. Luc probably chose it for my benefit. My lacking French vocabulary was well known amongst my coworkers.
I paused to watch what the anchors were saying. A pale woman with a severe haircut was rattling off information about a surprisingly innocent story about a cat fashion show. I was about to turn off the TV when the story changed. An image of a familiar face appeared in the left corner. Her melodic voice read out, "Belgian Royalty abandons annual ambassador meetings in Paris. Prince Castiel Fontaine was spotted at the airport this morning on his way back to Brussels. He was supposedly staying for the duration of the conference as the representative of Belgium. We can only wonder about what caused his brash exit until an official statement is given. In other news…"
I clicked off the TV. I stared at the blank screen. He told me he had gotten an extension on his visit the other day. Obviously, he was skipping out early. I stood dumbfounded. I hadn't planned on forgiving him for lying right away, but I never expected him to leave before we ever had a chance to work it out, or at least talk about it again.. Maybe being with me wasn't worth the effort for him. He was a prince after all, and he couldn't waste any time on a commoner like me.
I dropped the remote in disgust. I shoved the chairs recklessly back into their hiding cabinet. I grabbed my handful of pens and headed back out to the dining room to start my shift.
A/N: Hopefully, I won't be as blocked with the next chapter. Thanks for reading! Rate and all that jazz.