The porch light illuminated the cracked concrete path from the carport to Slugger's front door. Dean knew Castiel was a hair's breadth behind him. He could see his red shirt in the peripheral vision of his right eye.
With his foot on the bottom step of the stoop Dean froze. The door burst back on its hinges and there was a manifestation of angry redneck orc. Slugger was in a gravy stained white wife beater and shorts, with his black leather vest hanging open around his substantial beer gut. He was bare footed and bare headed. Sometime in the last decade the receding hairline must have got on his wick and he'd done the full head shave. His beard was a mottled mess of brown and grey tapering down to an eight inch braid that ended with a cherry red bead.
He also had a gun pointed in Dean's face. The inky blackness of the barrel was causing Dean's eyes to cross.
"Parlor's closed." Authoritative menace was still in Slugger's projection range.
Dean cleared his throat to say something to jog the old coot's memory, when a whole other world of stupid happened.
Castiel jumped in between the loaded gun and Dean.
Slugger clicked off the safety.
Time slowed down like to 'life flashing before your eyes' pace.
Dean's only thought was that he wasn't letting Castiel sacrifice himself. He didn't think Slugger would shoot, but accidents happened. No way in hell would Dean let Castiel take a bullet for him.
He grabbed him by the arms and, with as much force as he could muster, flung him to the left. Castiel stumbled but didn't go down. He flinched and cupped his injured elbow. Dean winced at the pain he had just caused.
"That was a shit move." Dean raged. "You coulda fucking been killed!"
Castiel glared back.
"Dean?" Slugger's pitch rose at the end of Dean's name. He lowered the gun.
Dean looked up and saw the twinkle in Slugger's chestnut eyes.
"Slugger." Dean responded with his back straight. He wasn't relaxing until the biker had stowed his piece.
"Well if it isn't my friend the twice dead serial killer." Slugger gave a dry chuckle but the gun stayed loose in his hand.
Dean smirked, "Don't believe the hype."
"I didn't." Slugger grunted. Finally the gun was pointed at the ground, "Come here you young fool."
Dean stepped up and was caught in a serious back slapping man-hug.
"I fucking had a wake for you after that cop station blew up." Slugger said with accusation.
"Sorry?" Dean tried to pull back.
"And another fucking one after that you and that brother of yours made headline news on your Pulp Fiction road trip."
"Would it make any difference if I told you that it wasn't us?" Dean gave a sheepish smile.
"Naw, boy. I don't give a damn. Who here hasn't killed a few men?" Slugger looked at Castiel, who was reading the situation better than Dean hoped. The former angel curled his lip and shrugged nonchalantly .
"Tattooles? That is a terrible business name, Slugger." Dean drew attention back on him.
It was Slugger's turn for the carefree shrug. "Gets the customers, Dean. Tattoos by O'Toole was too long for the signpost."
The way that rolled off his tongue told Dean it was a well used answer.
"You still in the same family business?" Slugger asked and when Dean nodded he added, "With that enormous brother?"
"Yeah. Sam too." Dean didn't want to be asked how Sam was, when he was still raw about Sam's trial wrecked body. "So? We allowed in, or are we giving the neighborhood a show?" Dean jerked his head towards the house.
"Who's this?" Slugger pointed to Castiel with the gun but kept it lowered.
"Castiel, he is my….." Dean faltered. What did he say? Friend didn't cover it. Family? Partner? Stray fallen angel? Boyfriend, ugh, not boyfriend.
"Your Old Lady?" Slugger drawled.
Dean's mouth went dry. He nodded and repeated, "My old lady? Yeah. He is. You're not shocked and appalled?"
Slugger threw back his head and laughed with that infectious chortle interspersed with snorts that Dean remembered made his belly wobble and a room of bikers spray beer through their nostrils. Castiel grinned at the spreading joyful sound. Dean wasn't sure if he was being laughed at, but he chuckled along. When Slugger finally came back to his senses he was gripping his side as if he had a stitch, "Dean, Dean, Dean, You liked riding behind Harold too much for you to be gold standard straight."
"Maybe I was proving to Mob and Danny that you could be a man and share a bike with Harold." Dean pointed out.
"You keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better. Dude I didn't say you were any less of a man, or a boy. Harold was only waiting for your 'light bulb moment'. He'll be pissed when I tell him you showed up here with your own guy."
"Is Harold still around?" Dean liked tall biker, who was a mechanic when he wasn't on the road with the Hell's Angels, and Harold had fallen hard for the Impala.
"Out West now. With a different chapter and shacked up with a housepainter called Shaggy." Slugger moved back from the doorway, "Come on in."
The door opened directly into the house-long main living space. Kitchen was to the rear. A door to the right opened into a narrow corridor off which were the two bedrooms, bath and the den which had been transformed into the tattoo parlor.
Castiel followed Dean in. All of a sudden Dean missed Castiel's overly loud whispered comments in these situations. He imagined Angel Cas would have informed him in low deep tones that Slugger had in fact not murdered anyone, or had three nipples, or asked if there was a pet cat he could converse with.
"Slugger O'Toole." The biker's outstretched hand was taken by Castiel and firmly shaken.
"Quiet one? Huh Dean?" Slugger looked over to Dean for confirmation.
Dean had stepped further into the room and was peering at two photos on the over mantle; one of Slugger with his Momma, and the other of Slugger, Harold, Mob and Dock in full regalia with their Harleys. It must have been taken before Dean knew Slugger, because Dock had been the ghost's second victim.
Castiel joined him and stood so far into his personal space that they almost touched sleeves.
Slugger reached over a low paper strewn coffee table in front of his faux-leather sofa and switched off the sports channel.
"Cas had an accident. Pedestrian hit and run." Dean pinched his nose and then sighed into his lowering hand, "He hasn't spoken since."
"Shit." Slugger nodded sagely, "That's rough. How long you been together?"
"We know each other for years." Dean replied. It must have been the right answer because Castiel wrapped his fingers around Dean's wrist and stroked his pulse point.
Slugger huffed, "And here I'd put two and two together and come up with honeymooners. You got that new love vibe."
"We do?" Dean gaped. Were they that obvious?
"No-one who knew me for more than a week woulda leapt in front of a loaded gun, but Momma always said you were a keeper Dean Winchester."
Dean flushed. "Your Momma was a good woman."
"That she was, Dean, that she was. Didn't approve of my lifestyle but accepted my boys as her own. Turned a blind eye where it mighta caused her pain but was there to bandage my wounds and your knee." Slugger moved to the kitchen area, "You wanna cold one to toast Momma McGee?"
"Wouldn't say no." Dean passed the first Bud to Castiel and took a long welcome swallow from his own bottle.
Slugger's cell phone rang with a Sandman ringtone. The biker cocked his head with a smile at Dean's matching Metallica tee and answered the call. It was a work call. Slugger rooted his diary out from under the coffee table mountain of newspapers and bike mags. While Slugger penciled in an appointment, Castiel made a note in his book. He lifted it up so Dean could see.
Dean I do not believe Slugger O'Toole is his real name.
Dean felt a glow inside. There was the not so subtle comment. Human Castiel wasn't all that different to Angel Castiel.
Slugger saw the clearly printed letters and punched Castiel in the shoulder with a grin. "Caught me quick. My name is Barney McGee. My Harley was The Irish Rover and I was drunk as a rule. Slugger stuck."
Castiel did his, 'what Dean?' face.
"There is a drinking song, Cas. Called The Irish Rover." Dean started.
"Couldn't go by Barney. Dumped it while I was still a prospect. This was back in the days before the purple dinosaur. The Flintstones hadn't done my moniker any favors, y'know?"
Dean nodded. Castiel copied him, but Dean knew that knowledge of children's television shows was not in Cas's repertoire.
"Let's get down to business." Slugger planted his bottle on the worktop. "Nine years and not a peep out of you. This is no social call. Loveland got a spook? Or you got an Angel problem?"
Castiel laughed. A wheezy breathy sound. Dean rolled his eyes at Slugger, "No beef with any members. The other sort of angels, hell yeah, but what we need is an emergency tattoo."
"I've had a beer, Dean. Only one, but if you need ink, we'd better do it now before my steady hand is compromised."
"Not me, it's for Cas." Dean pulled his t-shirt off and let Slugger examine his anti-possession tattoo.
"It's good craftsmanship. I can tell it is a few years old but evenly faded and well drawn." Slugger leaned forward from the waist narrowing his eyes to take in every detail. "You wanna copy?"
"Yeah. An exact copy."
"Tat like that, for you… you're talking a hundred greenbacks."
"I have money."
Slugger raised an eyebrow. "No plastic. Reece got arrested for pulling the crap you taught him."
"Sonvabitch. They charge him?"
"Yeah," Slugger laughed, "First offence that he was nabbed for. He had a good lawyer and got community service on the city gardening team. You shoulda seen him. Seven years ago and they are still calling him Rosebush Reece if he needs taking down a peg or two."
"I've got cash." Dean thanked their foresight for keeping $200 in the emergency duffel.
"I have a package that needs dropping off in Denver, if you want to barter?"
"You still dealing?"
"Only on the side. Man's gotta make a living."
Dean shook his head. The Winchesters had never lived on the right side of the law but he drew the line at drugs, even if it was only dope. "Sorry, Slugger, we gotta head through Greeley, I'll pay up."
"I'll take a trace of your one. Where do you want it Castiel?"
"You need clean unbroken skin, right?" Dean checked.
"Yeah, don't want it to heal wrong."
"Cas take off your shirts, and show the man." Dean said gently and tried to give an encouraging smile.
Castiel was slow removing his over shirt. Dean hoped his hadn't made the elbow worse when he grabbed him. He passed the red shirt to Dean. Then painstakingly removed the Henley. He made an awkward turn round, displaying his back and chest for the tattoo artist.
"Change 'where do you want it?' for Where can I put it?" Slugger's winced at Castiel's injuries. "You taken him to a doctor?"
Dean scrubbed the back of his neck. Maybe a doctor was more urgent than the tattoo?
Slugger didn't wait for the answer, "No medics. Huh. Wanna spliff for his pain?"
"No," Dean shot out, "No drugs for Cas." The last thing in the world Dean wanted was happy-happy-high Castiel from Camp Chitaqua.
"You weren't such a prissy bitch when it was your leg swollen like a balloon."
Dean spread his hands in consolation, "Castiel doesn't use."
Cas had watched this exchange impassive. He patted Dean's shoulder and gave a slight smile. Dean knew it was alright. Castiel wasn't offended by Dean jumping in on his behalf.
"This arm is almost unmarked." Slugger pointed above the field dressing.
"Not the arms." Dean knew a demon with a hot poker could brand through an exposed mark too easily.
Castiel lifted his right hand and rubbed the skin between his left collar bone and armpit.
"Yeah. That's enough room." Slugger said with approval.
"There okay with you Cas?" Dean checked.
Castiel licked his lips and gave a quick single nod.
"I'll get set up then boys." Slugger headed for the parlor. He stopped on the way and put a CD on his sound system, "I'll give a holler in a few minutes. You might want to educate your man on real song lyrics."
The strains of The Dubliners singing Irish Rover brought Dean back a decade. He'd forgotten the words but the comical lines came back to him. He sang along for Slugger O'Toole who was drunk as a rule and even drained his drink as was the chapter's tradition when 'the ship struck a rock'. To his delight he realized Castiel was laughing too. He had his head turned to hear every word sung and he clapped his knee in mirth. Their eyes met at the end of the track. There was so much history between them, so much crap surrounding them, but if they could snatch moments like this, the struggle was worth it.