Chapter 10

Dean had said he'd drop by and pick up some paper towels more than an hour ago. Ellen and Jo were upstairs, still cleaning. He'd given them all the paper towels they had in the apartment and he'd raided LOL's stash for a couple more rolls, with Jerry's approval. He'd come back down to fix them all dinner since Jo and Ellen's place wasn't going to be ready for cooking before it was time.

The door opened behind him, and Sam turned from his heating up of canned chili to see his brother coming in. There was a cut on his forehead, a bruise forming behind it, and his clothes were torn. "You've been in a fight?" Sam asked incredulously.

"Some bastard decided to go gay bashing," Dean replied casually, bringing a grocery bag and a bulk pack of paper towels over to the kitchen. "I taught him a lesson he won't soon forget."

"Are you okay?" Sam exclaimed, scrutinizing the cut. It wasn't big enough to require stitches, but that it existed at all pissed Sam off.

"I'm fine, Sammy. Nothing more than a little workout. Might have gotten worse sparring with you."

That brought to mind a time when Sam had actually beaten his brother to the ground until he could no longer get up, and Sam grimaced. "Dean, seriously, dude, are you hurt?"

"He hit me twice," Dean replied repressively. "Get over it. I'm fine."

Sam hated it when Dean got stoic, but there was no point in pursuing it. When Dean didn't want to talk, Dean didn't talk. Giving his brother one more worried glance, Sam returned to stirring the chili. Dean went into the bathroom, and a moment later Sam heard the shower come on. They had a little over an hour before they needed to head in for work, so he grabbed a plastic bag and headed to the fridge to make his brother an icepack to keep the bruise on his forehead from swelling. When Dean came out, he handed it across without a word, and Dean took it, pressing it to his face with a grimace.

At that moment, the door opened, admitting Ellen and Jo. "What happened to you?" Ellen asked immediately, crossing to the table where Dean had settled himself.

"Walked into a door," Dean said.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed, exasperated.

"What?" Dean growled, and Ellen turned, raising her eyebrows eloquently.

"He got bashed," Sam said in answer to her unspoken question. "As in gay bashing."

"Bashed?" Dean repeated. "You make it sound like a big deal."

"You didn't actually tell me what happened," Sam said.

"What did happen, Dean, honey?" Ellen asked, sitting down.

Sam didn't grin. That would be the surest way to make Ellen's effort fail, but he had a feeling Dean would find it harder to refuse to answer someone like Ellen. Jo, sure, Sam, most definitely, but Ellen had a secret weapon neither he nor Jo shared. She had a mommy vibe.

Dean shrugged. "I came out of the store to find a jerk leaning against my car. He said he'd heard about me and wanted to see the . . . what was it he said? The butch faggot? He wanted to see the butch faggot for himself."

"Oh dear," Ellen said, sounding almost sorry for the guy.

"So, he came at me with a knife, and I –"

"Knife!" Sam exclaimed. "You didn't say anything about a knife."

"I just did, Sammy," Dean said irritably. "Do you want to hear this or not?" Sam just waved at him to continue. "Anyway, he wasn't any good, so I knocked the knife under the car and beat up on him till the cops showed up."

"The cops?" Sam shook his head. "You got in trouble with the cops, and you're only just mentioning it?"

"No, Sammy," Dean replied.

"But you just said –"

"I said the cops showed up, but they arrested the other guy and sent me on my way."

Sam blinked at him. "That must have felt a little weird."

Dean shook his head. "No, what felt weird was telling them the unvarnished truth," he said with a grin, lowering the icepack and touching his forehead gingerly.

"That's quite a bruise," Ellen observed. "You're going to have one hell of a shiner tomorrow."

"So, is anyone going to feed me, or do I just have to sit here looking pathetic till it's time to go?"

Sam realized that he hadn't fed anyone and hurried back to the chili, dishing out four heaping bowls and bringing the bag of grated cheese with him. They all settled down to eat.

"How much work is it proving to be to get the place upstairs ready for habitation?" Dean asked after a while.

"A lot," Ellen said. "Maybe if we were a couple of bachelors we wouldn't care, but we're not."

"I wouldn't live there as it is now," Sam said.

"Yeah, but everyone already knows you're a girl."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'd better get ready. Time to smear some more fake tan on."

"You enjoy that, Sammy," Dean said.

When Sam emerged from the bathroom about twenty minutes later, he found Dean fully kitted out in his pirate get up, with an unexpected addition. He was wearing a silky red scarf around his head at a jaunty angle that perfectly covered the damage to his forehead. The ends had fringe, and they dangled onto his shoulder.

"Cute."

"I won't be able to cover it tomorrow, but tonight I'm going gypsy."

"Whatever, Dean. Let's go."

Sam and Jeff worked together again, but this was Jeff's last night before maternity leave, so there were a lot of last minute instructions sandwiched in between orders. Dean bounced around the bar, looking for all the world like he hadn't had a fist fight that had started as a knife fight earlier in the day.

Jeff took a break at about eleven, leaving Sam at the bar alone. He was mixing drinks for Martin and Gerald, one of the other waiters, when he heard them talking. Their words sort of drifted through his mind as so many other conversations had all evening.

"The way he looks at him is really intense," Gerald said. "There's definitely a connection there."

"Did you see how he was staring before Dean even noticed him?" The name caught Sam's attention, and he glanced over to see Dean talking to someone he couldn't see. "It was creepy, how he stood there, motionless, just his eyes following Dean's every movement." That did sound alarming. It was distinctly possible that Martin had seen something relevant to the case.

"He's hot, whoever he is," Gerald said to Martin.

"So was Ted Bundy," Martin replied. "That didn't make him safe." He shook his head, and Sam gazed anxiously at Dean. "That guy has stalker eyes." Martin said.

Sam reminded himself that Dean could take care of himself, and that if he was talking to a suspect, barging over would not help matters. Besides, he was alone at the bar, so he couldn't exactly leave without a good reason. Still, after the afternoon's adventure, Sam wasn't really comfortable with Dean being alone with some strange guy with 'stalker eyes.'

A third waiter came up – Sam thought his name was Jericho – his eyes sparkling. "I got his name," he said excitedly. "I heard Dean call him Cas." The anxious knot of worry that had been building in Sam's chest released, only to be replaced by a new one. What was Cas so concerned about? Did the source of the angel's bad feeling have anything to do with his own?

Martin put his tray down on the bar and walked away, not towards Dean and the angel, but towards the exit. Sam shook his head and returned his focus to making drinks. He discovered that while his mind had been elsewhere, his hands had been busy. He gave Gerald his drinks, and put three of Martin's on his tray to wait for his return. Jericho placed his orders and Sam kept working. The crowd in the room parted slightly, and he could see that it was, in fact, Castiel talking to Dean. Cas looked tense, but when didn't he? Sam would have to ask Dean later what the meeting was about.

Dean pulled Castiel into a relatively empty spot between tables. He'd passed off his orders to Jericho so he could talk to the angel for a few moments. Ted wouldn't mind an unscheduled break, so long as he didn't leave the club.

"What's up, Cas?" he asked, leaning close, as Jericho hightailed it to the bar.

"You didn't answer any of my calls," Castiel said.

"I was busy," Dean said. "What's up with you, anyway? You called seven times today."

"And you didn't answer even once," Castiel replied, and Dean rolled his eyes. When had the angel turned into a mother hen? Dean had more than enough of those at the moment. "I grew worried," Castiel added. "Finally I called Sam, but he also did not answer. I went to the apartment, and Ellen told me where you'd be."

"How do you know Ellen?"

"I introduced myself," Castiel replied. "Why didn't you answer my calls? Is something wrong?"

"Dude, nothing is wrong. I'm just working a –"

A large body interposed itself between Dean and Castiel. Dean looked up and recognized Jes. Speaking of mother hens . . . Jes exuded menace in Castiel's direction. "Excuse me, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave," he said in his deep, intimidating voice.

Dean blinked. "Jes, it's fine," he said.

"This man sneaked in," Jes replied. "He was not admitted."

Castiel stepped sideways. "Perhaps we should go outside to talk," he said soberly.

"Cas, I'm at work," Dean said. "I can't just –"

"He needs to go," Jes said firmly, and Dean saw Martin walking towards them, his eyes full of self-righteous anger. With a sinking feeling in his gut, he recognized all the signs of a really nasty scene brewing.

Dean grabbed Cas by the hand and looked up at Jes. "He will," he said. "After one dance." With that, he dragged a really startled-looking Castiel out onto the floor. He pulled the angel close, grabbing his hips and forcing him to move in time with the music. "Dance, Cas, or they really will throw you out."