Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or the characters.
Chapter Seven: Unfortunate Circumstances
By: Zavijah
"Rise and shine, Sammy!"
The boisterous tone may have been deliberate. Dean plopped down on the end of his brother's bed, bounced once, then doubled to pull on his boots. Next to him Sam stirred, emitting a groan wrought by pain. His head lifted from the pillow, taking in the early morning hour before his head plunked back down. Sam tugged at the blanket, trapped beneath Dean, and attempted to hide under it. The pulling became more persistent when his first attempts didn't yield the blanket.
"Oh you were a hoot last night Sam," Dean straightened, flashing a wide grin at the tall man trying to vainly to huddle under a blanket and bed too small. Dean bit back a laugh but didn't bother toning down the grin that broadened across his tanned features. "That red-head — what was her name again?"
Sam whined and pulled a thin pillow over his head.
"Anna. Yeah, that's her name." Dean continued cheerily. "Boy, she sure filled you to the gills. That's my kind of bartender."
"Dean, please.."
"We're going to have to ask her to water down your stuff though, because woo – you should have seen it." He leaned back against Sam's legs. "Or did you happened to catch sight of yourself in the mirror behind the bar. You were on top of the bar."
"For the love of God, Dean, shut up."
"Oh man, I haven't seen you drink that much since – " The words froze on the tip of his tongue. The pause was easily mistaken for thoughtfulness; that Dean was having trouble recalling the last time he'd seen his younger brother utterly inebriated. He remembered just fine. It had been after they buried their father. "Huh, it's been so long I can't remember."
Reaching over, Dean smacked the meat of Sam's covered thigh. "You need to bend an elbow more often."
"Never. Again." Sam growled, peeking over the blanket to spot Dean before shoving him off the edge of the bed with a foot.
Dean, expecting the retaliation, stood as Sam pushed. "Don't be that way Sammy, you just need more experience under your belt. Listen to your favorite brother–"
"–only brother–"
"–and heed his superior wisdom," Dean donned his shirt and worked on the buttons. "You need breakfast. Now, not later. Now. We'll stuff you full of bacon, eggs and whatever else I can find and you'll feel great."
There were muffled words coming through the pillow shielding Sam from the world. Dean couldn't understand a word of it, but could just as well imagine it was a disagreement toward Dean's statement. "I guess I could take you to the stables and feed you oats instead, that sound good to you Sam? Some oats and a dunk in the trough?"
It didn't take long for Sam to throw the pillow at Dean. Shortly after Sam lost the blanket. It was a good twenty minutes until Dean convinced Sam to not only get dressed, but head out together to the nearby eating house. Apparently his brother was all bent out of shape of having to share the morning any further with Dean. The older hunter did ease off - a bit. He couldn't help but pick on his younger brother. It was so normal, and normal was nice when their lives consisted of really weird shit.
From over his second glass of water, Sam glowered, "I'll never understand how you can drink like a fish and still walk the following morning."
"Because Sammy," Dean chimed. "I have the constitution of a mountain lion."
Sam snorted as he watched Dean bolt down the foot, "And the stomach of a goat."
Dean smirked between bites, but didn't speak until his plate was nearly emptied. "So, about this necklace you want to track down, you know where it is?"
"Nngh.." Sam had the glass of water pressed to his temple, and his eyes were closed. "He said he had a buyer for it, but I didn't catch a name."
Of course not, that would have made things too easy. Dean pushed the remains of his breakfast around on his plate. There were days, this one included, that Dean Winchester preferred to deal with monsters over people. At least with monsters he knew their end game. There was no need to bring in the reasons derived from the seven deadly sins to figure them out. People were just all sorts of complicated and did stupid things for even stupider reasons. Dean let out a slow breath, mentally pushing his frustrations aside to approach the situation with a simple rationalization.
First, assuming the trader indeed had a buyer for the necklace, it would have to be someone with the means to buy it.
Dean turned his gaze to the window facing the street. Grime outlined the edges leaving Dean to wonder over the last time anyone had bothered to wash it, or if it was a lost cause. Beyond the opaque glass people walked by on morning errands. Hazel eyes took them in, trying to pick out which one had the pocket bills to go through such trouble to get a fresh widower's necklace. The problem laid in the fact that everyone looked so plain.
Except a certain head of dark hair, looking more disheveled than usual, walking past the front of the eating house.
He must have tensed, or his expression gave it away, but Sam's voice broke Dean's concentration. "What did he do to you?"
"Hm?" Dean toned inquiringly, not moving his gaze away from the window until Castiel was out of sight. Only then did he blink over at Sam's doubtful look. "Who did what?"
"The bartender," Sam's fingers flicked toward the window as emphasis. "He must have done something to you to earn that look."
Dean shrugged, "Don't know what–"
"You said you were talking with him last night, a talk that left you and him bloodied."
"I don't like the guy, Sam." Dean stated plainly in hopes of shutting his brother's trap. "It's nothing more than that."
The conversation likely wasn't improving Sam's mood from being hung over. "Fine, but you know we have to watch him, right?"
"Oh I'll watch him."
Sam rolled his eyes, "I mean watch as in protect him. If that old woman, or this banshee, came to his window, it might have been targeting him."
"In that case, I'm not watching him."
"Yes you are, Dean–"
The older hunter slammed his fork into his plate, "What? No. You do it."
"Dean, look, if it wasn't him, then it might have been you. So you're both possible targets and frankly, with those stitches you keep ripping, you're in no condition to be hunting. You should be resting. So would it kill you to–"
"Yes!" Dean protested. "Yes, it will kill me."
Sam leveled a stern look on him.
"Maybe." The older hunter pouted before shoving his plate toward the edge of the table. He didn't like sitting around on his ass, injury or not, when there was a dozen other things he could be doing. Useful things, and not babysitting after the jerk that had helped in popping a couple of the stitches on his side. "What do you expect me to say to him, Sam? Oh hey, this might sound crazy and all, but I think a banshee might be coming to kill one of us, so let's camp out together in a salt ring."
Sam shrugged, which only served to further outrage Dean.
"I held a knife to his throat, Sam, he's not going to want to be in the same room with me, especially not alone."
"Jesus Dean, what did the guy do to you?"
Dean frowned as the conversation had looped back to Sam's original question. He no more had an answer to it now than he did then. At first it was the inability to pinpoint what it had been that set Dean off. This time, with the repeating question, Dean was forced to admit to himself that Castiel had done nothing to him. Immediately Dean tried to combat against the idea. No, no, Castiel had acted suspiciously and Dean had just noticed it. But, his conscious quietly argued, everyone was suspicious in Dean's eyes.
"Fine," Dean growled as he stood from the table. "I'll try it your way, but if he's too much of a pain in my ass, I'm leaving him to fend for himself."
"Fair enough."
Dean headed for the door with Sam not far behind, "What are you going to be doing?"
"Finding our buyer."
The walk back to the saloon passed in silence. Dean watched his feet pass over the planks in the walkway as he contemplated how he was going to convince Castiel to hold up in a room with him while Sam went around looking for the necklace. Images sprang to his mind of the bartender gagged and tied to a chair. He could work with that idea, or at least put it on the back burner. He would try to talk to the guy first, because no doubt Sam was going to hover over his shoulder to make sure he played nice.
Sure enough, as soon as Dean stepped into the saloon and headed toward where Castiel appeared to be setting up stock for the day, Sam was right on his heels. Close enough that when Dean abruptly stopped, Sam bumped into his side. He shot his younger brother a look to make him back off a few paces. Dean took a moment to prepare himself - rolling his shoulders and neck, drawing in and holding his breath. He was going to be calm. Calm. Dean let out the air and strode over to the bar. "Hey Cas - er, Castiel."
Blue eyes flicked up to the mirror behind the bottles, meeting Dean's gaze through the medium, then he returned his attention to his work. "May I help you?"
The cordial way Castiel responded made Dean want to be difficult with the man. It wouldn't kill the man to show a bit of annoyance. Dean had assaulted him yesterday and he was damn sure it hadn't been forgotten considering he could see the bruise coloring Castiel's jaw even under the five o'clock shadow. Dean studied the man in the mirror, feeling the smallest tinge of guilt at the red split near the corner of Castiel's lips. He debated with the idea of apologizing, at least until he remembered they were even as far as exchanging blows went.
Dean shifted his gaze to examine his own reflection and instantly scowled. For crying out loud - why hadn't Sam said anything. Dean had taken a hit to the nose, but where his bruising showed up was in faint dark circles around the inside corner of his eyes. Looked like a damn raccoon. Dean shook it off and pinned his gaze on Castiel's turned back. "I think we got off on the wrong foot."
Castiel continued to set up his bottles.
Feeling his jaw tense up with irritation, Dean pivoted to look at Sam. His brother gave him a patient look, gesturing with hands for Dean to remain calm. Dean rubbed at the scruff on his jaw, shaking his head in disbelief that he was going to go through with this stupidity. He swung back around, "Listen. You don't like me, I don't like you and we both got our reasons. My reason is better but regardless let's just put our differences aside and have ourselves a talk."
Which would mostly consist of Dean talking and Castiel listening. The bartender must have sensed this, because Castiel did little but glance back up in the mirror for a brief few seconds. The soft clink of bottles tapping together was the only response.
"You're not working today," Dean concluded.
Sam, sensing some lit fuse in the works, chose then to jump in and damper the situation. "What my brother means is that we have reason to believe your life may be in danger and it would be best if you avoided public places."
Dean felt the way he'd put it was better, more simple and better yet – less namby-pamby sounding.
Castiel finally turned and slowly looked from one brother to the other. Dean could read the suspicion there, even if the mask Castiel wore was, for the most part, indifferent. The bartender busied himself behind the bar, and Dean found himself a bit awed when a glass was set in front of him and a finger of whiskey poured. Castiel set the bottle on the bar before addressing Sam. "You think this because of why?"
Dean smirked to himself, noticing that he wasn't t he only one that stumbled a bit when presented with Castiel's short-spoken ways. He hide his amused smile behind the glass of whiskey.
"Because.. erm.. "
Castiel didn't break eye-contact, and even though Sam struggled for words, the bartender didn't look away. Dean stifled a chuckle.
"There's been two deaths in the last two days, both of them happened right outside your business. Dean said–"
"Dean?"
Sam paused, thrown off-kilter by being interrupted mid-speech. His pointed awkwardly at where Dean leaned against the barn. "My brother, Dean." Sam looked between the other two, ending on Dean. "He doesn't even know your name?"
"We didn't have time to exchange pleasantries," Dean managed to say without laughing.
His brother's expression edged toward pissed, likely more to do with Dean's brazen attitude than the subject at hand. His voice remained level, "Dean said someone came to your window so.."
Dean caught the look from the corner of his eyes and quickly picked up where Sam trailed off, "So it looked like one of the men we've been hunting and for some reason he's after you. Tonight," He grinned through the familiar lie, "You and me are going to be bunkies."
Sam didn't look too pleased by the turn Dean had chosen in their story, but all the same he lifted the silver-pointed star of the long dead U.S. Marshal. It was hard for anyone to argue against that badge. Which would probably explain the overly smug look on Dean's face.
"What does this have to do with banshees and demons?"
Dean choked, sputtering on the last of his drink. The whiskey dripped down the front of his chin. He set the glass against the bar while putting forth an uneasy smile. "Aha.. Cas.. you.. joker you."
Sam was not fooled, but he did little more than glare disapprovingly at Dean. That was the perk about being in a public place, and having a third party witness, Sam wasn't likely to pitch a fit. All the same, Dean avoided meeting Sam's gaze. Instead he turned toward the mirror behind the bar to mop at his chin.
"Deal with this, Dean." With those words, Sam headed for the street.
"You better bring me some grub later!" Dean called after him. Then, as soon as the batwing doors went still, Dean let the smile drop and drilled the bartender with a glare. "This is how it's going to work. I'm going to make a quick stop by the general store, if you're not here when I come back I will hunt you down and shoot you on the principle you wasted my time. Comprende Pancho?"
Castiel's eyes narrowed in question, but after a moment he responded in a defeated tone of voice, "Do I have a choice in the matter?"
"No."
Castiel's head shook in a way that reminded Dean of Sam's eye rolls. Still, he didn't argue. "I will need to find someone to fill in for my unexpected absence."
"Do what you need to do," Dean mused while checking his empty glass for any last drop of whiskey - of which he quickly threw back before moving toward the exit. "And do it quick. Like I said, you better be here by the time I get back."
"It's redundant."
Dean paused where he had his hand on the smooth curve of one of the batwing doors. He thought better of turning around and asking for clarification, because the answer he was likely to get would probably irritate him more than the original statement. All the same, Dean found himself pivoting over heel to peer back at the bartender. "What's what?"
"Redundant," Castiel repeated. "It is redundant to go through the trouble of protecting me only to keep threatening my life."
The older hunter grit his teeth. Various responses flew through his head, mainly about how it was Sam that wanted to protect Castiel, and Dean was only doing it to appease his brother. He couldn't care less about Castiel. He pushed open the door, "Just be here."
And he left.
A/N: Something of a filler chapter that took me a while to write, oddly. Now that I'm done with it I debate just skipping it, but whatever. If I did, I'd spend the next chapter explaining why Dean was back in a room alone with Castiel. As much as I don't care for Sam, it's ridiculously easy to write him in a scene with Dean. They just constantly pick at each other when they're not talking about a case. I enjoy it, I hope it's interesting enough to the readers. If someone skimmed over it all, well, let me know. I try to keep things as fluid and flowing as possible. I also post this as I write it, so I won't be surprised that sometime later I will look back and go 'God, why did I write this stupid chapter'.
Thank you for the reviews! I love to hear the feedback :)
