Wednesday
Castiel sat at his desk, staring at the computer screen and fidgeted with a pen. He was replaying his conversation with Dean, and with each replay, it got worse and more dire, and the lump in his stomach just kept growing.
Meg came into his office and set a bottle of water and two Tylenol onto his desk. When Castiel failed to acknowledge her and she noticed his distracted look, she sat in the chair opposite him and simply waited. A minute later, Castiel glanced away from the computer and jumped slightly when he noticed Meg. The woman simply arched an eyebrow.
"I think I might have messed things up," Castiel said, then swallowed the pills with a mouthful of water. "With Dean," he clarified.
"What happened?"
"Dean said he's going to start looking at local properties for rent and plans on moving out here around Christmas time."
"Well, that's fantastic news!" Meg said with a big smile on her face. Which fell when she saw Castiel's face flush and shoulder slump. "What happened, Clarence?"
"See, that's how I should have responded," Castiel replied, waving a hand in Meg's general direction. He scrubbed both hands through his hair. "You ever have a practice conversation with yourself before the real conversation with the other person? And invariably it ends up being a two-sided argument with yourself?"
"What happened, Clarence?"
"Instead of just accepting his decision - which I already knew was the only decision that made the most logical sense - I started arguing with him about it. I mean, it's what I want, and I'm trying to talk him out of it!"
"Why were you arguing with him, then?"
"I can't be the reason he's moving nearly a thousand miles away, Meg. What if it doesn't work out and he resents me for making him move?"
"Well, first of all, what if it does work out?" Meg countered. "And second of all, it's not up to you to decide why he's going to move here or not move here. Or move to Alaska if that's what he gets into his head to do. You're not responsible for his actions. You're not making him do anything. Isn't that what you told him when he was feeling guilty about what Lucien did to you? You just need to accept whatever he decides to do."
"So how can I make it up to him?" Castiel asked, looking at his friend and confidant and life guide with sad eyes.
"Oh, I have an idea for a starting point, Clarence," Meg said with a smile as she stood.
Dean used the blasting music to keep his thoughts at bay. He concentrated on finessing the shapes needed when making a straight razor, leaving the last of the Bowie and Santoku blanks to Benny. He desperately needed to not be inside his head right now, because he'd only drown in worst case scenarios. Like he always does. He looked up from the power hammer he was using when the lights in the smithy flashed on and off three times. That was the signal that someone was in the front office. He'd gotten the idea to use the flashing light system from his sister-in-law as it's commonly used in homes of deaf people, since they can't hear a doorbell. In the smithy, the forges, the machines, and the music often drowned out any noise coming from the front office.
Dean set the razor blank on the workbench and headed to the office.
"Garth! Hey, man, what are you doing here?" Dean asked with a smile as he entered the office.
"Got a special delivery for ya, Dean!" the skinny man said with a toothy smile. He set a tan bakery box on the counter.
"I didn't order anything, dude," Dean said. "And I don't think Benny did either."
"Oh, it's for you," Garth assured the confused man. He took out his phone and headed out of the office, typing as he went. "Have a good day, Dean!"
And with that, he was gone. Dean frowned, looking at the box, cut the twine and lifted the lid. His phone vibrated in his pocket and he opened the phone while taking in the vision of a blueberry pie with sanding sugar glistening on the latticework crust before him. He spared his phone a glance, and then smiled.
Castiel to Dean: I am berry sorry. Blueberry emoji
Dean to Castiel: Pie and apology accepted.
The day was suddenly looking better. And tastier, as Dean eyed the pie.
Dean stuck his head through the door into the smithy. "Oi, Benny!" Dean hollered. Benny looked up from his work. "We're taking a break. There's pie!"
Thursday
"You're not going to like what I have to say."
"Come on, Rafa," Castiel whined as he pulled his shirt back on. The farm's human doctor was making notes on his tablet.
"Castiel, you can barely rotate your shoulder, how do you expect to swing a sword?"
"I can't sit this weekend out, Rafael," Castiel grumbled. If he were 37 years younger, he'd be pouting and giving the doctor a side eye. As it was, the side eye was barely contained.
"All right, let's compromise," Rafael replied, trying not to sound like he was talking to a 4-year old. "You can do the first joust, and we'll see how you feel before the subsequent jousts. But under no circumstances are you to participate in the melee."
Castiel sighed and nodded his head in acquiescence.
"And I'm letting Meg know what I just told you," Rafael said, glancing up at Castiel from the tablet.
"Seriously?!" Castiel complained, throwing up a hand. "Stop treating me like a child, Rafa!"
"Stop sounding and behaving like a child," Rafael retorted. "Look, Castiel, you're not in your twenties anymore, where you bounced back in a couple days from an injury like this. Hell, you're not in your thirties anymore either. As you age, your injuries will take longer to heal, some may never heal completely, and you'll have more and more lingering effects from the injuries that do heal."
"So, your diagnosis is I'm getting old, and I need to adjust my mindset and my lifestyle to accommodate my oh-so nearing geriatric years," Castiel remarked. "I can't imagine what my brothers feel like these days. Maybe we need to step up training the younger generation of fighters and riders. I'll have to make a note of that, in case I forget between now and getting back to my office."
Rafael shook his head and smirked, watching Castiel leave his office. He sent a quick message to Meg, because he knew Castiel would try every trick in the book to get into the various fights this weekend.
Castiel's bad mood lightened somewhat later that morning when he took Claire over to Naomi's studio. Claire had a couple gowns to try on for any final adjustments before they got packed away with the other faire garb.
Claire disappeared into the dressing room with Naomi to try on the first gown. Several minutes later, the changing room curtain was pulled back and Naomi escorted the little girl to the large mirror.
As Claire admired herself in the mirror, Naomi explained her thought process in designing and creating this gown. "Once again, I went with the dark blue linen, but the style this time is a fitted doublet with a full skirt with the gray embroidery at the cuffs and along the hem at the front of the skirt. This is meant to be worn with the coif spread out on her shoulders and off her head. I think the dark fabric sets off her blonde hair and the silver chainmail wonderfully. And this way, she can be feminine and militant."
Castiel nodded his approval and watched Claire look herself over in the mirror. "This is a fantastic style for her, Naomi, you hit the nail on the head with this. Maybe next year, you can make her a couple split skirts so she can ride astride. I know it's not a medieval thing, but it's definitely convenient. I have a feeling she'll be participating a lot more in future faires."
Naomi grinned at Castiel's observation and touched Claire on her shoulder. "Okay, you, next gown."
Claire gave a final twirl and headed back into the dressing room. Several minutes later, Naomi pulled back the curtain and out stepped the little girl. Her eyes were bright with excitement and love and her face could barely contain her smile. As she serenely made her way to her father and the large mirror, Castiel suddenly had a vision of Claire as an adult, in a gown of white, slowly making her way down the aisle at her wedding. He blinked and the vision was gone and he smiled at his daughter.
"This one is mostly a combination of medieval and fantasy," Naomi said, looking at Claire in the mirror. "Sage green silk short-sleeved kirtle with 4-inch wide yellow, orange, and red woven trim at the neck, the cuffs of the short sleeves, and the hem of the gown. And then sage green chiffon bell sleeves that end at the wrist."
"Were you watching Lord of the Rings when you came up with this?" Castiel asked with a grin.
"I may have," Naomi answered with a laugh. "What do you think of the gowns, Claire?"
Claire looked at herself in the mirror with a critical eye. "I look like a princess in this gown, and the one you made for me a few weeks ago. And in the other gown, I look like a squire, which I also like. I love them, Naomi! You're a magician!"
The young girl and the costumer went back into the changing room, and Naomi was handing the new outfits over to Castiel in short order. "I'm looking forward to designing and sewing some new gowns for Claire for next summer," Naomi said with a smile, waving the father and daughter out of the studio.
Castiel messaged Anael to pick up Claire as they made their way to the large 18-wheeler that carried the costumes and other gear. Once Claire left with Anael, Castiel hopped into the large trailer to look over his own gear and garb, not quite trusting Gabriel, and certainly not trusting Lucien, to have packed all of his stuff.
The only sound in the shop was the sandy scritching of a well-honed razor along a scalp, shaving off a week's worth of stubble. Donna gently turned Dean's head for better access and Dean, as usual, enjoyed watching a mistress at her craft in the mirror's reflection.
"So next week you'll be coming in for your post-faire haircut, hey?" Donna asked, wiping shaving soap off the blade and bringing it back to Dean's scalp.
"I dunno," Dean said with a lopsided grin. "I may keep it a while longer, I kinda like it. Regardless of what Sammy thinks."
"Your brother givin' you a hard time about it?"
"He's my baby brother, he's supposed to give me a hard time about stuff."
"What does Castiel think about your hair? Donna asked with a grin on her face and a smile in her voice.
"I've never asked him, but I know his daughter thinks they're cool."
"Then there ya go!" Donna replied, giving one last swipe with the razor. She toweled off any remaining soap, went to the warming drawer, and wrapped Dean's head and face in a hot, damp towel. Dean groaned in ecstasy.
"Donna, I think that's my favorite part of this whole process. It feels sinfully wonderful. Or maybe wonderfully sinful."
Donna whisked the quickly cooled towel off Dean, then unsnapped the cape around his neck. She cleaned up a missed spot, and Dean levered himself out of the barber's chair. He handed her $40 and a hug.
"Drive carefully, Dean!" the barber called after him as he left her shop.
He headed home, pulled Baby into the garage, went over the inventory on the trailer behind the RV one last time, went over the fridge and various cupboards in the kitchen, and checked the drawers in the RV's bedroom. He glanced at his watch; it was time to head for the last weekend of Bristol.