Howdy folks! This week's update comes live from the Outer Banks, NC :)
I'm spending a week with friends I haven't seen in ages in a massive beach house. But don't worry! Even if my toes are in the sand, my laptop is still on my lap because I'm a workaholic XD
Since last week was pretty emotionally intense, this week finds TFW with some downtime on their hands. What sorts of tomfoolery will they get up to?
Also, there are a ton of endnotes this week lol
The mountaintops of Colorado were barely out of their rearview mirror when Sam retired to the backseat to pass out. Dean might have been plagued with the ghost sickness, but Sam hadn't all at during that 48-hour ordeal, either. Now he was making up for lost time and snoring with a vengeance. Though he'd outgrown the bench seats years ago he still instinctively knew how to pretzel his body for maximum comfort.
They whiled away the afternoon as Dean drove the Impala down from the mountains on the twisting, turning roads. Unable to help himself, he had to turn up 'Traveling Riverside Blues' to just this side of appropriate for a sleeping passenger. He tapped along on the steering wheel and his thigh as he hummed.
Cas sat silently in the passenger seat, watching the road ahead of them. Occasionally glancing over his shoulder towards Sam, then at Dean. He watched Dean's one-man show with mild interest (a solo performance because he knew better than to ask Cas to duet).
The sky around the highway became darker as they passed into a copse of pine and spruce trees. The evergreens cast deep shadows over them, to the point that Cas's eyes appeared ebony.
Dean's humming was cut short by his startled inhale of breath when he saw that out of the corner of his eye. Making sure no one was in front of him, he glanced over quickly to double-check. At the same time, they left the trees and the sunshine overhead returned the blue to Cas's eyes.
No, not returned it. Cas's eyes had always been that brilliant sky blue. The ghost sickness had warped his mind to show him what scared him the most. The Cas with the demon eyes never existed; Dean heaved an unconscious sigh of relief.
Cas must have heard the sound because he was studying him intently. Dean hated the feeling of being under a microscope. "You know, you don't have to sit here," he said roughly. "Don't need a babysitter anymore. I feel fine."
As soon as he said it, he regretted it.
Surprising both of them, Cas didn't budge. Instead, he pointedly watched the rocky outcroppings and forests they passed.
Being a dumbass, Dean decided to poke the bear. "You okay? Usually, you take off when I say something stupid."
"Resting would make sense," He reluctantly agreed, ignoring Dean's attempts to aggravate him.
"Is that what do you do when you disappear? Catnapping?"
"It's more being on standby. I'm still conscious of what's happening around us." Cas looked down at himself. "This form can be draining."
Dean ran a hand over his mouth. "Gotta admit, I prefer being able to talk to you like this, rather than, what, a voice in my head?"
"Most of the time, I agree."
"All the better to admire my pretty face, right?" Dean shot him his lop-sided grin.
The angel didn't take the bait nor elaborate; he flicked his gaze over Dean once then returned to his watch. Dean went back to listening to Zepp, and he jammed out to 'Kashmir' while he could because Sam wasn't awake to bitch about it.
When 'Stairway to Heaven' started to play, Cas turned his attention from the countryside to the tape deck. Excited at the blatent interest, Dean cleared his throat. "Well, Cas, if you're gonna stick around, we gotta start your education."
The patented head tilt was as dangerous as it was oddly cute. "Education?"
"Yup. You're going to learn about the greatest musicians ever known. Starting with one of the best: Led Zeppelin."
They talked for hours. Dean did most of the talking as he told Cas everything about his favorite bands and the periods of history that affected the music. Sam might think it was just mullet rock, but Dean loved it all the same. AC/DC's and Motorhead's bass lines were just as much a part of his heartbeat as the roar of the Impala's engine.
Just like the Impala, the music had been another of John's hand-me-downs. Now, however, the Chevy was Dean's Baby. The tapes in the ragged shoebox were not just John's musical preferences. Yeah, he still loved the classics like Journey and Lynyrd Skynyrd, but he'd also added things like David Bowie, Queen, and Nirvana.
Cas was a good listener, only interrupting to ask a clarifying question or make a quick observation. Despite his best intentions, Dean's well-defined history lesson started to devolve into a rambling tangent. He tried to talk fast because once he was told to shut up, he wouldn't finish his thoughts.
Yet Cas never stopped him. Granted, he looked more confused when Dean went off into the weeds but never rebuked him for it. That's when he realized that Cas was an angel, literally older than dirt. He'd probably watched dinosaurs walk around (memo to self: ask Cas about dinosaurs). Hell, he might have watched them evolve in real-time.
Cas had patience in spades. So if it took Dean a little longer to get to his elbow because he went around his ass, Cas probably didn't care. The worry about getting cut off and losing his train of thought abated. It allowed him to reel himself back in and return to the topic at hand.
And since Cas had been locked up for the last couple hundred years, Dean actually knew stuff he didn't. Dean Winchester, with his G.E.D. and go get 'em attitude, was teaching things to an angel. If that wasn't a kick in the pants, then nothing else could be.
Due to the summer's longer daylight hours, it was just after dusk when they rolled into a fast-food drive-thru around 9 p.m. Once he found a safe parking spot (clear lines-of-sight on the exits and far away from other vehicles), Dean pulled out one of the straws. He ripped the paper covering off and popped it into his mouth. After a few seconds of chewing until he had the right consistency, he spat the spitball through the straw and right into Sam's earlobe.
It hit with a satisfying SPLAT!
"Eugh!" Sam's long limbs uncurled like a striking rattlesnake, and Dean had to lean forward to avoid getting thumped by any flailing parts. Sam jerked upright, hair a rat's nest and half his face red from sleep marks. "Jesus, Dean, do you always have to be so immature?" He whined, voice husky from sleep as he ran his hands through his hair, smoothing it down.
"It's a gift," Dean said, laughing around a mouthful of burger. "Now eat your food."
Dean had turned the key, so the accessories stayed on while the engine cooled down. He'd swapped his Zepp for a tape of Queen's Greatest Hits, so 'Under Pressure' was playing quietly in the background as they ate dinner. Sam leaned forward and put his elbow on the back of the front seat. It touched Dean's shoulder, and he nodded to Cas.
"Dean was giving me the 'low down' on his music preferences," Cas explained solemnly.
"Oh, no, he gave you the 'Why Mullet Rock is the Greatest Thing Since Pie,' talk?" Sam asked, nose wrinkling.
Cas nodded. "It was very informative. However, the lyrics to some of the songs are lost on me. For example, Dean won't explain how women with large buttocks help the earth maintain its spin on its axis."
Both brothers stared at him in confused silence; Cas gazed at them expectantly.
Sam burst out laughing. He tumbled back into the seat; tears squeezed from his eyes. "Oh my God, Cas…!" He was wheezing in the back seat.
Dean had his hand over his eyes. "Not everything had a deeper meaning, dude." The exasperation seemed to have come from his soul; clearly, this was an ongoing discussion.
Sam reemerged. "Oh no, it does-Dean just doesn't want to explain it."
"Asshole!" Dean said and threw a fry at Sam's forehead.
"It's a sex thing, Cas," Sam said, still smirking.
"Oh." Cas seemed disappointed by that. "Then why didn't you just say that, Dean?"
Dean gawked at him. "You're an angel, aren't you, you know, innocent or something?"
The look Cas gave him could have melted the entirety of Antarctica. "I'm a Fallen Angel. Innocent is not how I would describe myself."
Sam snorted hard as he watched a myriad of emotions get into a car wreck on Dean's face.
Cas turned himself slightly from Dean to Sam, sensing which one was actually going to be helpful. "So, do all the songs just boil down to sex?"
Before Sam could respond, the tape started to play Queen's iconic 'Bohemian Rhapsody.' Silence fell over everyone as they listened to the introduction. The matching looks of something close to reverence from Sam and Dean clued Cas in just how important this song was to them. So he sat and politely listened.
"I enjoyed it," Cas said once the song was over.
"Of course you did. Even Sam, with his crappy taste in music, loves that song," Dean said. Sam glowered at him.
"Is it also about sex?"
Sam cleaned up their trash; once done, he leaned forward so he could speak between them. He tilted his head from side to side. "Well, yes and no." Dean could tell that he was winding himself up for a lengthy discussion. He eased the car back onto the highway as Sam began.
"One interpretation sees the song as a dramatized version of the singer Freddie Mercury being rejected by his Mom when he came out as bisexual. When the boy at the end proclaims nothing really matters, he's trying to get over the rejection by shutting everyone out first as a protective measure."
There were knots in Dean's stomach that had nothing to do with the road food.
"The majority of the song is about him realizing his attraction to men and how he's willing to embrace something considered taboo in order to become his truest self."
"Sam," Dean snapped, starling his brother. "Ixnay the aygay shit!" He whispered harshly, eyes darting to Cas.
Sam's jaw snapped shut with an audible click and his cheeks flushed. He leaned back and wouldn't look at Cas.
Cas frowned at them both in concern. "What's the matter?"
After a moment of awkward silence, Sam coughed. "Sorry, I was on a roll, and you probably didn't want to hear about that…."
"Why? You've given me some interesting insight into a fascinating mind." Cas seemed so baffled that Dean decided to take one for the team and get to the point.
"Our man Freddie played for both teams," Dean said like it explained everything. When Cas just blankly stared at him, he snapped. "Doesn't that bother you? I mean, Fallen or not, you're still an angel, and I'm pretty sure there's a 'don't cross swords with another dude' part in the Bible."
Cas closed his eyes, swallowed harshly, then reopened them with clear intent. "I'm only going to explain this once, so listen carefully." He leaned forward slightly. "Your translations of God's word leave much to be desired. I'm utterly indifferent to gender presentation or sexual orientation." He snapped his fingers when Dean tried to cut in. "And not because I Rebelled. All the angels and God Himself are indifferent. As long as it's between consenting adults, love is never wrong."
There was a moment of tense silence as the brother's considered that idea.
"So, just to clarify," Dean started. "God doesn't care whose bed your boots are under?"
When Cas shook his head, Sam let out a little huff and ran his hand through his hair. "Well, that's good to hear."
Dean gave Sam a discerning glance, but his brother just shrugged.
As he drove, the tension in the car broke. Cas and Sam started discussing other interpretations of BR against other Queen songs, but he tuned them out. Dean was busy mentally chewing over some things. He'd always liked the song more for its technical excellence, bouncing between styles while telling a single story. There were suddenly more things in common between him and Mercury than he wanted to admit.
Dean snuck a look over at the fallen angel in his passenger seat, talking with his kid brother like old friends. He couldn't help the little smirk that grew as he watched them.
Initially, Dean had been afraid that the angel in his head would drive him and Sam apart. That Cas would force out Sam and take his place or something. That Sam wouldn't be able to handle him becoming a freak and take off. Dean had been expecting heartbreak.
What he got instead was almost worse. Because Sam and Cas have been talking in the car for hours, Dean was tempted to aim for a telephone pole.
Dean wasn't a complete meathead; he could research lore and even find some history interesting. Big battles and campaigns or super creepy legends he could get behind.
What had started as a discussion about the meanings of different song lyrics had changed topics so many times he'd lost count. He'd kept out of it, but this went too far.
"You're talking to an angel about 'ancient grain cultivation'?" Dean spat the words out like they were rancid. Both the nerds turned to him, clearly having forgotten he was there driving the damn car.
Sam shrugged a little sheepishly. "Sorry, Cas." His voice was a little hoarse, for fuck's sake.
"Nothing to be sorry about," Cas said primly. "On the contrary, the development of agricultural technology was an exciting time for your species."
Not a telephone pole. Maybe I can run them into the world's largest ball of rubber bands or something. There's got to be some sort of upcoming tourist trap to end my misery.
There was no exit for a mystery shack, but there was an exit to a downtown area, and Dean needed to piss like a racehorse. Driving through the city close to midnight meant no real traffic and few pedestrians. One guy decided to jaywalk in front of them out of nowhere, and Dean cussed him out of his window as they drove past.
There was a motel conveniently located across the street from a laundromat. He dropped Sam off to procure a room then hit up the empty yet open 24/7 laundromat.
Doing laundry at midnight was not fun but practical. Since his return from Hell, he'd only slept a couple of times. The rest of the time, he was basically plugged into an angel battery. Not for lack of trying-he'd spent entire nights staring at a motel room ceiling. So, he'd gotten into the habit of doing their chores at night: laundry runs, washing the car, going shopping. He hadn't truly appreciated how many places were open around the clock until now.
When he grabbed the duffel bag from the trunk with their clothes and detergent, Cas was standing next to him. "You don't have to hang around," Dean said.
"I'm aware," Cas said, not looking at Dean. There seemed to be more on Cas's mind, but he settled on, "I prefer keeping your company."
Dean bit back the urge to snap at him, about personal space and alone time and not needing his hand held. Barely. Deflated, he mumbled, "Just don't bitch at me if you get bored."
"Cas, what are you doing?"
The angel had his arms crossed and was leaning against a folding table in front of a dryer. The way Cas never took his eyes off of it, you'd think the answers to the Universe were inside, tumbling around with the brothers' jeans and flannels.
"I find the repetition soothing."
Heaving a world-weary sigh, Dean lazily flipped through the men's health magazine. His ass was falling asleep in the cracked plastic seat; he couldn't get comfortable no matter how he adjusted himself. It had already been a few hours, and he was crawling up a wall. He tossed the magazine back onto the pile of out-of-date tabloids left on an empty counter. Despite having looked through all of them he couldn't remember a damn thing.
Stretching his arms over his head made his back crack in protest. The hunting lifestyle was not easy on the body, and this was after he was resurrected. It wasn't uncommon for hunters to barely make it to forty or to get there and have bodies like ninety-year-olds.
Dean went and leaned on the same table next to Cas while mimicking his stance. After about twenty seconds of watching the clothes in the dryer, he could feel himself go cross-eyed.
"Yeah, well, it's giving me a headache," Dean groused as he rubbed his temple.
Saying nothing, Cas just reached out and touched his forehead with two fingers. With that gentle tap, the headache was gone along with a few other aches and stiff muscles.
"Shit, Cas, you didn't have to do that," Dean muttered.
Cas just rolled his eyes and went back to watching the dryer.
The surprisingly clean laundromat was empty, though another load was spinning around in a dryer several machines down the wall. The woman who had brought in those clothes was now sleeping, still wearing her scrubs and reclined in her Honda's front seat out in the parking lot.
An off-duty nurse was probably one of the few people who could watch Dean scrub bloodstains out from his jeans and not think twice about it. In fact, she gave him pointers; though he was having trouble remembering them.
Their dryer went off, and Dean hauled the clothes out and onto a nearby table and let them sit for a moment. The industrial-strength dryer meant the clothes were too hot to handle for a couple of minutes. Once cool enough, he folded the laundry with quick, practiced motions, separating his and Sam's stuff as he went.
Cas watched with the same intense scrutiny he gave everything. It surprised Dean how quickly he'd acclimatized to having a permanently grumpy shadow. Wordlessly, he shoved a pile of mismatched socks towards Cas and showed him how to sort and fold them into little balls.
I just made a literal Angel do laundry. Dean had to pause for a moment to absorb that thought.
After he folded one of his Led Zeppelin t-shirts, he took in Cas's form and huffed a little laugh. "You're like a cartoon character," he said, apropos of nothing.
Cas squinted at him and Dean, embarrassed, continued, "Okay, yeah, I can see how that seems out of left-field. I just mean you don't change your clothes or anything."
Holding two different socks in his hand, Cas placed them on the table and looked down at himself. "I'm a mental projection, Dean. Why would I change my clothing?"
Dean shrugged with one shoulder. "I dunno. People change their looks all the time." He held up one of Sam's old indie band t-shirts, merch from a garage band he'd listened to at a party at Stanford. While most memories of his college days seemed too twisted up with grief and regret, Sam managed to hold onto the shirt and slept in it often."Sometimes there's a deeper reason, and sometimes it's just fun to switch things up. Try something new."
He grabbed his duffel bag to pack away the folded clothes, trying and failing to keep them in some semblance of order. Afterward, he scooped up Cas's pile of paired socks and threw them inside. Before he zipped up the bag, he noticed the two loners Cas had been holding.
"My apologies, Dean. I couldn't pair them."
"'S'okay, man, the sock-goblins probably stole the other two." Enjoying Cas's bewilderment, he grabbed the socks and folded them together. "Sometimes it's better to have a good enough match than a perfect one," Dean said sweetly and tossed them in the bag.
He checked the time on his watch and then peeked outside. Aside from the nurse sleeping in her car, the laundromat parking lot was empty. When Dean let out an unintentional sigh, Cas turned to him. "Something the matter?"
Rather than blow off Cas's question, Dean tried to be honest. "I'm not tired exactly," he started. "But, I feel a little weird? I'd probably try to drown it out with cheap whiskey, but you are not conducive to getting buzzed. I dunno, like my brain is full, and nothing else is sinking in?"
Dean scrubbed a hand over his face hard and grunted in annoyance. "Shit, I don't have to deal with nightmares every night; being plugged into an angel battery ain't the worst thing that's happened to me. I shouldn't complain."
Putting a hand on Dean's forearm, Cas shook his head. "Humans need to rest. Being plugged into 'an angel battery' doesn't negate simple biology. You need sleep. You might not be exhausted per se, but your mind can only handle so much input without a break. I'll see if I can dampen my grace's effect on you-maybe you'll be able to sleep."
Dean opened his mouth to tell Cas not to worry about it. He could deal with it as he dealt with anything; on his own. Seeing Cas's earnestness, he sighed. "Guess it's time to lay my weary head to rest, huh?"
Sam was watching another true crime documentary when he opened the door for Dean. He blinked a couple of times as he entered the room. "...Really?"
While this crappy motel room didn't exactly have a stupid theme, it was its own kind of unique monstrosity. Dean had to just soak it in as his brother shut and locked the door. "What the...there's, like, fifty shades of beige in here, man."
Everything was some type of light brown: the comforters and bedsheets on the beds, the ratty rug, the faded wallpaper, the armchairs with the cigarette burns, the...everything. The wallpaper was patterned with spots, the carpet had different squares, and the bedspreads had stripes. Every contrasting pattern known to man was in that room and all of them in shades of light brown.
Sam laughed softly. "Makes me miss the place that thought the different singing fish were high-end art pieces." He grunted when Dean shoved the duffel of clean clothes into his arms/stomach.
After cleaning up in the bathroom (how were there that many different shades of brown?!), Dean returned to the room wearing sweatpants and a threadbare yet soft Metallica shirt. He plugged in his phone, checked his gun had a bullet in the chamber and tucked it under his pillow.
Sam raised an eyebrow when Dean burrowed under the covers on his bed."I thought you don't sleep anymore," he commented.
"Gonna try," was Dean's muffled reply since he had face-planted into a pillow flatter than paper.
"I'll make sure the rave starts in an hour, then."
Dean rolled his eyes and turned away from his brother. He closed his eyes and tried to get comfy but the mattress was exceptionally lumpy. 'Comfy' would last about sixty seconds then he had to readjust. The droning of the narrator should have helped him along but he just lay there, sometimes huffing an irritated sigh.
Just before he called it quits and watched TV with Sam, Cas sat on the bed next to him. Despite knowing Cas was literally in his head, this was pinging Dean's radar as something way more intimate. Though fully clothed, he still felt the urge to pull up the blanket and hide from Cas's intense gaze.
He touched two fingers to Dean's forehead yet again. This time it was as if a whirlpool had opened up beneath him. "Sleep Dean." Cas's quiet command was the last thing he heard before he was sucked down into the dark, dreamless sleep.
A pillow smacking into his face ripped Dean from his rest. His hand was already under his pillow, fingers around his gun until he heard Sam cackling.
"Fuck you," Dean groaned, both exasperated and relieved it was just Sam.
"For the spitball," His brother explained in lieu of a greeting. Sam was already fully dressed and freshly showered. He hunched over on the edge of his bed, trying to balance his laptop on his knees. "Great. No internet," Sam grumbled.
Dean sat up and rolled his shoulders, cracked his back. Man, even the shitty motel room mattress couldn't ruin how good he felt. He shuffled his posture so his little brother didn't get a good view of just how good he felt. Whoops.
"There's a McDonald's down the block we can hit up," Dean offered. He waved in the vague direction he'd seen it while stifling a yawn.
"Hey man, do you think we can stay here a day or two?"
Sam had aimed his question towards indifference, but even Dean half-asleep could see how haggard he looked. "Yeah, we earned the day off."
"We?" Sam scoffed as he ran a hand through his damp hair. "Who exactly had to get into a fistfight with a ghost to save your dumb ass?"
"Bite me, bitch." His comebacks weren't very good pre-caffeinated.
Once his morning wood situation had worn off enough not to be an embarrassment, Dean stood with a dramatic groan and stretched, scratching his stomach idly.
After a restful night, a hot shower, a shave, and clean clothes, Dean felt like a new man. He hummed to himself as he dropped his dirty clothes into his duffel. When he turned around, Dean's jaw almost fell to the floor. "Holy…"
Cas was back. But the black trench coat and blazer were gone. While the black dress slacks and shoes had stayed, he had changed the rest of it.
His dress shirt was now charcoal gray, and over it was a black, form-fitted waistcoat that was the coolest/hottest thing Dean had ever seen on anyone. A blood-red tie with gray, diagonal stripes was tucked under the waistcoat. The bastard had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows to show off tanned, muscular forearms. His chest and shoulders were broader than Dean ever would have suspected.
Dean's brain was trying to figure out how fewer layers = a larger, bulkier Cas, but his CPU was about two seconds from the blue screen of death. Hell, there was probably smoke coming from his ears.
Cas stood up straight and said in the most serious tone possible, "I took what you said into consideration."
There was a little twinkle in his eyes as he put his hands out to the sides: what do you think?
I'm pretty sure I died in my sleep; what happens next will determine if I'm in Heaven or Hell.
When Sam saw Dean ogling nothing he touched his brother's shoulder. "Oh, hey, Cas! You look good," he said easily.
Dean whirled on him. "You can't just say he looks good!"
"Why?" Both Sam and Cas were watching him.
Dean was blushing fiercely. "Because...just because!"
Sam ignored Dean's oafishness. "What prompted the wardrobe change?" he asked as he shoved his laptop into his ratty Stanford-era backpack and then slung it over his shoulder.
Dean couldn't understand how Sam could be so casual about it. Then again, all the blood in Dean's body was going in one direction, and it wasn't towards his brain.
Cas ignored Dean's crisis and peered down at himself.
"While this face is similar to my last vessel, the rest of the form itself was stolen from another. It's what angels do; taking someone's body as their vessel." Cas glanced up at Dean. "As you succinctly put it, I'm no longer a true angel. I want to differentiate myself; become my own individual."
Puffing his chest out, Cas gave them a proud smile. "I decided to take a page out of humanity's book. Try something new. I conceived of the outfit myself."
The smile fell slightly when he turned to Dean. "Seeing the ghost sickness using that form to torment you was also a deciding factor," Cas quietly confessed.
Dean didn't want to admit how much that made him feel better. Cas's admission meant they'd both overcome that curse. Dean wasn't the only one who needed his ass saved.
Sam's stomach growled loudly. "Sorry, can we walk and talk?"
Cas apparently decided to cut Dean some slack because he disappeared again. Now he could try and regain some semblance of self-control. He thought Cas hit his buttons before, but now? His brother was kind enough not to say anything, but that was because all the teasing was done with animated eyebrows and smug smirking.
Desperate for coffee and Wi-Fi, they walked from their motel to the local McDonald's a few blocks away on the corner. The breakfast rush was slowing down, so they grabbed a booth farthest from the line. Sam set up his laptop and scanned the news outlets for cases when Dean returned with their breakfast.
Before he started to eat, he pulled out his new Bluetooth and handed Sam one. He'd grabbed them at one of their various pit-stops; the magenta pink earpiece was worth Sam's middle finger. Still, they slipped them on at the same time. Dean shuffled, so the tips of their boots touched under the table.
"Hey, Cas, are your ears on?" Dean asked.
Sam grinned when Castiel blinked into existence next to him in the booth, across from Dean. His head tilted in contemplation. "Why do you have an earpiece, Sam?"
"So we can both talk to you on a 'conference call while we're in public,'" Sam said. "As someone who also is also attached to Dean's hip 24/7, I know I'd relish being able to talk to someone else, anyone else, sometimes."
"Hey!" Dean protested. "I'm a joy to be around."
"Clearly," Sam and Cas said in sarcastic tandem.
Cas put his arms on the table and clasped his hands together as he glanced around at the other customers. Dean tried desperately not to dribble his coffee onto his lap as he drank, but Cas was distracting as fuck. His junk appreciated the lack of coffee burns when Sam began a fifteen-minute 'Internet Basics 101" lesson for Cas and he was hidden behind the laptop screen. Small mercies.
"So now you can look up stuff if you're bored at night or whatever," Sam offered at the end.
The idea of Cas surfing the internet and discovering porn made Dean choke on a hashbrown. Would he be interested in anything? Or are angels junkless? Would he just stare at the screen in complete confusion? Well, he's Cas; he'd do that anyway.
Dean, lost in his thoughts, missed how Cas was squinting hard at him.
If angels aren't junkless, does Cas have a type?
A crystal clear image of him, grinning like a dork behind the wheel of the Impala, flashed through his mind. Window down and the breeze ruffling his hair, golden-green eyes bright, and an explosion of freckles across his cheeks-he'd never imagined himself in such vivid detail. That's weird.
Dean stared at Cas suspiciously, but the angel was steadfastly paying attention to whatever Sam was explaining. He slightly shook his head. Come on, Dean, get over yourself.
As Sam pushed the computer over so Cas could practice using it, he said to Dean. "So, what do we do on a day off?"
"I forgot those exist; I don't remember," Dean joked and sipped his coffee. "Might hit up a thrift store. Could always use some new tunes."
Sam looked at his shirt, faded green with ragged edges. "Yeah, I could use a new shirt too."
"Oh no," Dean said, waving a finger at Sam. "That's not happening. We've been down this road. Clothes come brand new from Wal-Mart or wherever only. Not going through that shit again."
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and hissed. "It was an accident-could have happened to anyone!"
Curious, Cas leaned around the laptop screen and glanced between them. "What happened?"
"Oh, just Sam finding and buying the only haunted flannel from a Nebraska thrift store last year," Dean snickered.
Dean hadn't planned on going to a museum on his random day off. He'd parted ways with Sam when his brother wanted to check out the local bookshop in the downtown area. Dean was heading to a thrift store, going over a mental list of cassette tapes to find or ones to replace. He paused on the sidewalk in front of a weathered, wooden sign welcoming walk-ins to a Civil War museum.
He didn't have a history boner for 'the war between the states' specifically, but he thought Cas might like it. After all, there were two brains in here now, and he didn't want Cas bored out of his. Besides, battles were cool, at least.
Keeping his earpiece in, they opted for the self-guided tour. The building was small, but the exhibits, artifacts, and giant placards of battle maps on the walls were surprisingly interesting. For example, on display was a misshapen conglomerate of metal from when a Confederate and a Union soldier's bullet hit each other in mid-air and melted together.
Or a tiny blue bottle that had rusty nails and blood capped inside. The Witch Bottle was a charm buried under fireplaces and was supposed to trap spirits. Drawn by the blood, the spirits would get hung up on the nails inside. Previous entanglements with witches meant Dean wanted to give the bottle a wide berth. Cas made him read the full story on a placard. A Union Cavalry Officer had created that little hoodoo bottle to try and protect his soldiers while they were entrenched behind enemy lines. That was pretty badass.
The bottle prompted Cas to compare angelic and human warfare. Except for the wings and magic, apparently, there wasn't much of a difference. Flanking maneuvers and guerillas tactics were the same everywhere.
A few other people were milling around the exhibits. A group of seniors was checking out a display about famous movies and TV shows filmed in the area. Memories of being a PA on the haunted movie set were actually some of the good ones he had, so he made his way over. As Cas trailed behind him, an older lady in a hot pink tracksuit walked right through Cas, and Dean freaked out for a second.
Cas sincerely thanked him when they left the museum. Dean rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged; he hadn't done that much.
After meeting back up for lunch, the brothers snuck into a showing of The Dark Knight. It was awesome. Initially, Dean was sad Cas chose that time to tap out. However, it meant he got to fling popcorn at Sam in the dark theater for most of the movie instead of trying to explain everything to Cas. Heath's Joker couldn't completely topple Jack Nicholson's, but it was a close call.
They sat through the end credits, and Dean chewed his lip in thought. If he was Batman (not if, of course, Dean was Batman), what did that make Cas? The chaos-creating supervillain or the tragic anti-hero? Both? Did that make him a Joker Dent?
He was way too sober to try and puzzle that one out.
Dinner was at a sports bar nearby, where they nursed their beers and fell into their hustling routine for the evening. Cash was needed to keep them fed and the Impala's tires turning. They'd won a few games already-maybe the thrill of victory was what sent Dean's mind where it shouldn't have gone.
While lining up a shot, he wondered how Cas would look leaned over a pool table. He could see it so clearly: ass that wouldn't quit no longer hidden by the trench coat. Those fingers curled around the cue stick, his eyes intensely staring at the billiards. Maybe he'd rake his hands through his messy hair between shots and-
Someone's bitching broke his reverie. Despite shaking his head, Dean couldn't rescue his shot. While Sam swooped in and saved the day, Dean excused himself to the bathroom to readjust some things. Dean's beginning screw-up dragged the game out longer, but Sam won the whole pot in the end.
Once he pocketed the cash, Sam yawned dramatically and checked his phone. "Think we should turn in?"
"You can head back if you want," Dean said. "I feel fine. Not really in the mood to stare at the walls all night." Guess I'm plugged back into the angel battery.
It was close to midnight, so he chucked the keys to his brother. "You know the rules, Sammy. Use protection and put a sock on the doorknob if you have company over. If it's twins, then you gotta share."
Sam looked sufficiently grossed out when he drove away for Dean to consider it a win. The motel was about a mile from the bar, and it was a decently mild night, so Dean decided to walk. He hadn't gotten very far when a storefront caught his eye.
The arcade was closed and locked up, but Dean paused in front of the window to check out the lit-up games inside. Dean never got to play games like that as a kid or teen. Hell, the only time he tried a Striga also tried to swallow Sam's soul, and John ripped him a new one. Still, those lights drew him like a moth to the flame.
He followed an alley behind the storefront to a nondescript door that led to the arcade shop. Glancing around and seeing no one, Dean picked the lock and let himself in with relative ease.
He clapped his hands together, excitement strumming through him. There were various options, from pinball games and sports games, beat 'em ups, and other cabinets. But one cabinet, in particular, caught his attention: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles co-op, circa 1989.
Suddenly, Dean beamed with a brilliant idea. "Hey, Cas, wanna be my player two?"
With a rustle, Cas was surveying their surroundings with curiosity. Dean got a few precious seconds to drool over his new appearance.
"It's a game shop," Dean explained once he swallowed the extra saliva. He ran his hands over the buttons. "Always wanted to play but never stayed anywhere long enough," Dean said wistfully. "Wanted to leave my name on the top score. Just once, you know? Like when people carve their initials into a tree."
At Cas's apparent confusion, Dean chuckled awkwardly. "Wanna help me beat the game?"
"You want me to play a game with you?" Cas clarified. Maybe it was because of Dean's evident enthusiasm; either way, Cas softened a little. "You'll have to show me what to do."
Grinning, Dean snapped his fingers and bounced over to the register on the other side of the shop. A few seconds later, he stuffed several handfuls of small bills and quarters into his pockets. With a quick boost over the counter, he returned to Cas.
The game booted up, and Cas watched with interest as the four turtles, their character options, appeared. He paused at one. "Raphael is not a...turtle." He had to speak a little loud over the iconic TMNT 8-bit theme music.
"Yeah, he is. He's the loner badass with anger issues," Dean said without missing a beat. He divided the quarters into stacks of four and lined them up where the screen met the control panel for easy access.
"No, Raphael is an Archangel and is the guardian to the prophets," Cas explained.
Dean laughed. "You're telling me you're related to a Teenage Mutant Ninja Angel, Cas?"
Cas sighed heavily. "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"
Dean gave him the basic breakdown of the game: how the joystick and buttons work, what they did, and the goals for the game. It would be them versus the hordes of Foot soldiers and other baddies to save April O'Neil from the Shredder, their arch-nemesis. Dean was almost vibrating with excitement.
They failed the first stage spectacularly.
Cas was still trying to figure out how to control his avatar, and Dean was too distracted by the gun show happening next to him.
After feeding more quarters into the machine, they tried again. This time Cas started to understand the mechanics, and Dean was beginning to enjoy himself immensely. For several minutes, the only sounds were the muted fighting sound effects, the game's music, and the clicking from the buttons. The silence wasn't awkward but companionable as they navigated the first stage.
"By the way, Cas, uh, your new look?" Dean licked his lips. "Definitely knocked it out of the park. Kinda glad no one else can see you, or I'd be constantly beating people off with a stick."
Cas raised an eyebrow but didn't take his eyes off the screen. "That's not a part of any human mating ritual I'm aware of."
Dean's character died under a pile of enemies, and he didn't even care. Maybe the red lights around them would hide the blush on his face.
After a few stages, Cas started telling Dean where to watch for enemies and how to attack them or defend his back.
"Cas, chill out, dude. It's a game."
"If you'd listen to me, we could fight more effectively."
Dean snorted. "You didn't even know what an arcade game was twenty minutes ago. Who made you an expert?"
"I was Heaven's foremost strategist," he answered simply.
Dean whistled, impressed. "Nerdy little dude like you was the man with a plan, huh? That's badass, Cas."
When they got to the end of the stage, and the menu asked for more quarters to go on, Dean clapped Cas on the shoulder with a cheerful smile. "All I'm saying is that this is a game. Just something fun to kill time. It's not the Tet Offensive."
The next round went better. Dean (as Michelangelo) and Cas (as Leonardo) started working together to defeat their enemies. Cas would clear out upper-level areas while Dean worked the first floor. If one got stuck in a corner the other stepped in. Soon they were working together to deal with the hordes of soldiers and mutants. The progression was cool to watch, and he was having fun.
Seeing April in her signature yellow jumpsuit prompted Dean to ask a question.
"So, Cas, when you were on Earth, did you leave behind a string of broken hearts?"
"No? I was trying to heal people, not hurt them."
Dean hissed as he was cornered by a couple of enemies. "No, like, did you have a bunch of, you know, women you loved and left?"
Cas didn't even pause. "Why not include men in your question? They make up almost half your population."
That threw Dean for a loop, and he died on his last life; They would have to start the stage over if they wanted to continue. Cas was watching for his response.
"Right. Forgot about the indifference thing. So...did you sleep with anyone while you were on Earth?"
"No."
Dean frowned in confusion. "Wait...you're a virgin? But you said you weren't 'innocent'?"
Cas matched his confusion. "I'm not innocent. Do you know how many mortals and angels I've killed in my time?"
It wasn't a joke. It was said in Cas's usual deadpan but Dean still barked out a laugh.
"Let me get this straight. You never did a little cloud seeding? You were on Earth for centuries, and no one offered to show you how extra appreciative they were when you helped them?"
The questions had started out teasing but by the end, Dean was a little offended on Cas's behalf.
If Cas was offended by anything, it was probably the tone Dean used because he rolled his eyes. "I was busy being a fugitive from a higher angelic authority."
"Well, if Heaven wasn't breathing down your neck, would you have? Did you ever get close?"
Cas thought for a moment. "No. I may have helped humans, but I never made such an impactful connection to want to have sexual intercourse with any of them."
Dean hummed as neutrally as possible. "Sucks you won't have that chance, man. Sex is awesome."
Cas cleared his throat. "I'm sorry that my presence is interfering with your ability to seek out...um... companionship."
Internally, Dean died at that and the unsure look on Cas's face. Still, he managed to wink at him. "Yeah, you'd think an angel would make a better wingman." He joked as he nudged Cas's shoulder with his own. "It's fine, Cas. I'm fine, promise."
The idea of a one-night stand now with a strange woman felt a little gross, honestly. The consent issues alone. He shoved that thought away because they were about to get to the Shredder and they needed to be at their A-game.
They played and talked until they were on the list of winners with top scores on the last screen. Dean shot Cas a shit-eating grin as he cheekily typed in DESTIEL.
"Shouldn't it be DeanCas?" Cas questioned.
"No, all the great couples have a couple name. Like Bradgelina."
"We're a couple-?"
"-of friends," Dean quickly added. Then he slung his arm over Cas's shoulder and smiled. "We make a pretty good team, don't we?"
"Once you started listening to me, yes."
"The best partnerships are all about compromise, buddy."
"Well, it is easier for two people to go halfway than for no one to go anywhere," Cas said sagely.
Dean just grinned at him, unsure if the dopey feeling on the inside was translating to his face. His musing was cut short when a cop car pulled into the parking spot in front of the game shop.
"Shit!" He used his t-shirt to wipe his prints from the game. Then, he ducked and wiped off the register before he snuck through the store and out the back door. Another wipedown of the lock and doorknob, then Dean ran.
Dean ran so fast he barely felt the ground under his feet. He flew down the alley, away from the store, back in the vague direction his mental map assured him was their motel. After several blocks with no one chasing them, Dean stumbled to a halt.
He leaned against the wall and laughed to himself, body shaking with adrenaline, lungs sucking in the stale air most cities had.
Cas appeared in front of him. "I tried to give your legs a boost; did it help?"
Dean nodded. "That was you? Hell yeah. I've never run that fast before," he said.
Still panting, he led his head thunk back against the wall and closed his eyes. "Thanks for being my player 2, Cas," he grinned. "You probably had other angelly business to do, but-"
"-I enjoy our time together, Dean," Cas cut in gently. "Today was enjoyable. Thank you."
What a second, was this a date? We did things together. We went to a place together...uuuuhhh
Dean hadn't had many dates. His relationships were one-night stands. He didn't date; it wasn't safe and he didn't stick around. Yet that didn't stop the fact that he'd done more date shit with a hallucination today than he had with a real person in his life.
And he'd enjoyed every minute.
When he opened his eyes, Cas was keeping an eye out back down the alley, offering a perfect view of the curve of his neck, his Adam's apple, and the stubble along his jaw. Dean swallowed.
"They probably won't look too hard. Not like I broke anything. Hell, I didn't even take a penny out of there." Dean assured them both. He sucked in a breath. "Hey, Cas…?"
When Cas gave him his full attention, he felt weak in the knees. "Yes, Dean?"
Licking his lips, Dean closed his eyes and leaned forward to press their lips together gently.
Cas's lips were dry yet soft-they felt so real against his own it was insane. He made a little noise of surprise that Dean wanted to make him repeat over and over. Instead, he pulled back to find Cas was staring at him, eyes wide in shock.
I just kissed Cas...who's a hallucination...and a literal angel… never mind a guy; holy shit!
While one of those would have been enough to make Dean panic, all at once was about to give him a stroke.
Ironically his saving grace was the sound of his phone going off in his pants pocket. It kept him grounded in reality. They stared at each other as he answered it; Cas's face was unreadable.
"Hello-"
"Hi Dean," Sam cut in with forced casual air that made Dean's hackles rise. "Just wanted to let you know I'll be staying out late. Poughkeepsie's a real funky town, and I didn't want you to wait up for me."
Drop everything and run. I'm compromised.
His stomach dropped out from under him. Before panic could set in, Dean put the phone on speaker. There was a scuffle on the other end of the line. A man let out a grunt of pain, then a new man's nasally voice was on the phone.
"Castiel?" The new voice called out. They shared a look of concern.
"The angel joyriding Dean Winchester, are you there?"
Dean coughed and spoke up. "Yes, that's me." He tried to emulate Cas's formal monotone, but all he got was an unimpressed eyebrow from the angel in question. "Who are you, and where is m-Sam Winchester?"
"Name's Nextus. Sam and his demon traitor girlfriend poked their noses where they shouldn't. I have no beef with you, angel, but we need Mr. Winchester back in Hell. My terms are thus: I give you time and place; Dean sells his soul for immediate collection; Sam and the traitor go free. Don't care where you go but you can't stay in the meatsuit."
Dean cleared his throat. "I bring my vessel to you and no harm befalls me?"
Nextus chuckled. "None at all. I may be a demon, but I'm a demon of my word. Tell me your next vessel. I'll even fetch 'em myself."
Dean was unsure if that was a jab at Cas's deceased bloodline or if he was trying to offer something and was being a real asshole about it. He decided it was both.
Dean pulled from his other pocket a crumpled receipt and a pen he'd stolen from the arcade. "Time and place?"
The demon spouted off an address. Cas took the pen and wrote 2 hours from here, southwest.
Dean did a double-take. "You want to meet in an hour? I don't have working wings. You'll have to give me some time."
The demon snorted so hard he coughed. "Well, I'll give you an hour, and every fifteen minutes you're late, I'll break something important."
"If any harm befalls Sam Winchester, you'll not live long enough to regret it," Cas growled, hands clenched into fists at his sides. Dean relayed the message with as much fury he could manage.
Nextus hummed nonchalantly, but Dean could hear the toothy smile. "I suggest you drive fast, then."
1) I based the downtown area the guys were in on a real place near me known as Old Town in Petersburg, VA. The city was under siege in the Civil War, and many of the buildings proudly show off their shrapnel damage. The two bullets are a genuine artifact, as is the Witch Bottle and the story of the Union Cavalry Officer (In fact, where's an article I wrote about it!). Movies like Lincoln and Harriet and TV shows like Turn, Mercy Street, and Fear the Walking Dead have been filmed there.
Since the guys never visited VA in the show, I plan to write a fic series of them checking out some of our creepiest legends and places. Until then, I hope you appreciated the history lesson!
2) What do you think of Cas's new look? I literally tripped over these images and knew I HAD to work it in. Talk about character development!
3) My beta and friend Static_Saturn was the one who helped me with the Bohemian Rhapsody breakdown and interpretation and I am so grateful for it. Thank you!
4) So, what did y'all think? What was your favorite part/s? What's going to happen next?