The sun beats down on the crowd, warming everyone just enough. Alcohol is flowing freely, as it is wont to do at weekend-long music festivals, and the crowd is pleasantly drunk for the most part. There's a big stage situated in the middle of the park, and the bands have done a good job of keeping the crowd in high spirits.
Castiel couldn't have chosen a better day to let Dean get his feet wet.
The boy stands next to him without fidgeting, his posture relaxed. The only sign that he's not here to enjoy the concert with the rest of them is his eyes, which are sharp, alert. He watches and weighs each person who passes by, debating the pros and cons of each mark. The way he dismisses most of them makes Castiel swell with pride.
Picking pockets is just as much about choosing the mark as it is about stealing anything at all.
When Dean finds said mark, Castiel approves very much. The man is about Dean's height with a medium build. He's walking carefully, but not stumbling. His eyes are bleary, but not completely hazed over with alcohol. He's looking around, but not paying much attention to what he sees. He's perfect.
Almost as perfect as Dean.
When Dean casually begins to meander forward, Castiel takes a step back, loses himself in a different part of the crowd. Oh, he's never far away enough to intervene if necessary (and if anything involving Dean ever came to blows, he doesn't know how he'd react), but he's deep enough into the throng of people that Dean can't see him. As far as Dean knows, he has no safety net.
Castiel watches sharply as Dean wanders up to the guy, and the way he bumps into him looks flawlessly accidental. Dean laughs a little too loud, and the way the man grins says that he thinks he's found a kindred spirit in drunkenness. Castiel can just watch and marvel as Dean builds a friendly rapport in just seconds, and has the man leaning on him in minutes, laughing so hard he can barely stand.
He's incredible.
Christ, I want him.
When Dean starts talking to a third person, Castiel frowns but doesn't interfere. Dean has superb instincts, and Castiel trusts him, but he moves closer to the scene, anyway.
It's only another few minutes before Dean is letting his mark lean against the third man, all three of them laughing and joking. Dean salutes them, then stumbles his way to Castiel. It isn't until he's out of sight of the other men that his walk straightens out and he moves again with the unconscious grace of youth (just like he will move in my… No, no, stop it). While he is always extraordinary in Castiel's eyes, Dean blends in very well with the other members of the crowd. Only his twinkling green eyes give away that anything is amiss.
He comes to stand next to Castiel again, body language still shockingly casual. "How'd I do?" he murmurs after a few moments. It's only a subtle movement of his hand in the pocket of his jacket that shows Castiel that he has a wad of cash there.
"Very well." Castiel tries to be constructive with his praise when he's teaching his crew, but it seems to flow out of him with ease when it comes to Dean. Dean is just so good.
His crooked grin sends a bolt of emotion through Castiel's chest that he refuses to examine. "Yeah?"
Castiel smiles. "You know you did very well, Dean."
The boy laughs. "Damn right I did!" Even his little celebration is quiet enough not to disturb or alert the people around them.
"How do you feel?"
Dean's smile is bright and happy. "I feel great, Cas." His eyes are intensely green in the sunlight. "Actually, I kinda feel like this crowd hasn't given us everything it can."
Castiel cocks an eyebrow, desperately trying to quell the fire rushing through his veins at the mischief on Dean's young face. "Is that so?"
He looks around at the concert. The reasons that it was a perfect place to let Dean try his first pickpocket are all good reasons to continue. Namely, few people will be focused enough to really stop them, and when they sober up, they'll be embarrassed enough that they won't say anything about missing cash. Or, even better, they'll think they lost or spent it and don't remember.
"Very well, little one," Castiel says, his own smirk spreading across his face. "Let's get to work."
For each haul that they bring home, it's split evenly between each person who was part of the job, then into percentages.
Thirty percent, Castiel explains, goes to what he calls the "house fund." Dean takes that to mean it helps pay the bills for the apartments, as well as groceries for the shared apartment where they all have dinner together every night. Castiel explains it also pays for things like doctor's visits, dentists, and the like. "It would be terribly humiliating to be caught because someone recognized bad dental hygiene."
Another thirty percent goes into an "individual fund" that Castiel has set up in each of their names. He says it's for things like college or houses, but Dean's not thinking about any of that shit. College? Never. He's not smart enough for college. Hell, he didn't even finish high school. For Sam, maybe, so he lets that slide. But a house? The hell would he want a house for?
He thinks that until it occurs to him that, at some point, Castiel is gonna want him out of here. Sammy will probably be long gone to whatever fancy college he decides on by then. Once he realizes that he'll have to leave, as much as he wants to stay here, and as much as he doesn't want to be alone, he stays quiet about the money being put away for his future.
He just… Tries not to dwell on it.
The rest of the money is just his, though, to do whatever he wants with it. He and Cas walked away from the festival with around a thousand dollars between the two of them. It kind of boggled Dean's mind, especially when, once Cas was done splitting up the dough, he handed Dean two hundred dollars cash.
"The hell is all this for?" he asked.
Cas just raised his eyebrows. "It's for you, Dean. For whatever you wish."
He just said it so… Casually, like it was obvious that it's for Dean. Like this money that isn't for rent, or food, or school books, or anything else that he (Sam) needs, like it's all for him. He goes back into the apartment in a daze and spends a long time sitting on the couch, just staring at the money in his hand.
After not too terribly long, he gets a warm feeling in his chest. Because this is what Castiel makes him feel like. This is what it's like being taken care of. This is what it's like to not have to be scared every day of not being able to feed Sam, or that they won't have a roof over their heads. He feels a twinge a guilt about how little he's thought about John the last few weeks, but his dad hasn't reached out to him at all, and mostly? Mostly, Dean just feels grateful.
It's a dangerous emotion, but since he's certain that he can keep it secret, he lets himself bask in it before he rolls the money up and puts it in his sock drawer.
A few weeks after Dean's first job, during which they've hit several more small venues, there's a knock on the shared apartment door.
Castiel, who is running Garth through his paces with Jeff (again, endlessly, fruitlessly), frowns. The only people who have any reason to come to the apartment not only have a key, but Castiel knows where they are. Sam and Kevin are at school, Dean and Benny are hanging out in Benny's apartment, and Garth is here, with him.
Bless the boy, though, he's endlessly optimistic. "We have a visitor!"
Castiel is not so thrilled. "Indeed. Stay here, Garth."
"Whatever you say, boss."
When Castiel looks through the peephole, he relaxes. He takes a deep breath to brace himself for the whirlwind that's about to happen, then opens the door wide.
She's grinning at him, like she always does. Her bright red hair is longer than it was last time he saw her, he likes it. She's wearing her customary t-shirt and jeans, has bulky headphones resting around her neck, and her hand is held up in the Vulcan salute.
"Hello, Charlie."
"'Sup, chief? Where my bitches at?"
Charlene Bradbury, a name she chose mostly by herself, partially with Castiel's advice ("I want to be called Charlie." "And you can be called Charlie, but your full name must be Charlene." "But I hate that." "Such is life, dearest.") remains the only child who sought him out. At thirteen, she also remains his youngest apprentice.
Charlie is not a good pickpocket at all. She's a bit of a disaster in crowds. She's a passable burglar at best, although her roof work is miles ahead of her crowd work.
She is, however, an incredible cyber thief.
Castiel didn't do much to train Charlie, as she had been as knowledgeable as she could get when she'd gotten to him. What he tried to do, and what he feels he did fairly well, was to instill morals into her.
Now, he knows, Charlie views herself (rather accurately) as a Robin Hood type character, stealing from the grossly rich and giving back to the needy. She prefers animal welfare organizations, he's noticed, although she's made quite a few donations to other institutions, as well. Though he doesn't understand how her form of thievery works, he knows that it does, and he's extremely proud of her and everything she's accomplished.
After dinner that night, where there were introductions and reunions (Charlie was only here for a bit when Kevin was first brought into the crew before she left to make her own way), Charlie joins Castiel in the office.
"'Sup, chief?"
He smiles. "Hello, Charlie. Are you enjoying your visit?"
It's because of Charlie that Castiel is able to do most of what he does for his crew. She's the one who sets up bank accounts, acquires or forges school records or official documents, and has scoped out a potential mark on more than one occasion. Though she calls herself a "freelancer" now, a significant amount of Charlie's time is still spent working for Castiel.
"Good, good," she says easily as she flops down in one of the armchairs facing the desk. "Got a good crew this time."
Castiel smiles. "Yes, I think so, too."
"Kevin's still too fucking smart for his own good." She grins. "Although he's not a fan of cyber thievery."
"Kevin believes in the honor of the craft in its original form."
Charlie scoffs. "Old men, you two are kindred spirits of old men." She eyes him carefully before speaking again. "So… Dean's something else, hm?"
A surge of jealousy rears its head (she's pretty she's outgoing and vivacious she's age appropriate) before he's able to remind himself that Charlie is as gay as he himself is. He hums noncommittally.
Charlie and Dean got along very well from the moment they laid eyes on one another. Rapid-fire speech about Star Trek and Star Wars and any number of things Castiel has no frame of reference for left his head spinning. Sam's eyes were fond when he accused them of "geeking out," and Castiel got the impression that Dean doesn't have many friends, if he has any at all.
Charlie rolls her eyes. "Okay. Let's address the UST."
He frowns. "UST?"
"Unresolved sexual tension."
Unbelievably, he feels himself starting to blush. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he says, voice tight with tension.
She nods wisely. "So… We're lying to ourselves?"
Not to ourselves, no. "Charlie, nothing is-"
She holds a hand up. "No use lying to me, chief. Not only do I know you, I have eyeballs, and have therefore been witness to the pining."
He considers for a moment, trying to deceive her again, but gives it up as a lost cause. "Yes, well, I don't intend to act on the pining."
"Why?"
He looks up at her with a cocked eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
She shrugs. "He clearly wants you back. Why not make a move?"
"He's sixteen, Charlene."
She makes a face. "Don't call me Charlene. And so?"
"He's a child."
"So he's old enough to put his ass on the line for you, but not old enough to get into that sweet ass?"
"… Must you be so crude?"
She beams. "Alas, I must." Sobering, "Seriously, Cas. What's going on?"
He runs a hand through his hair. "He's sixteen, Charlie, and he has experienced so few good things in life. He's… Faced a lot, with remarkable poise for his age."
"So shouldn't you want to give him some of the good things he's missed?" she suggests gently.
"I cannot take advantage of him like that."
She smirks. "From what I saw today, he wouldn't mind getting taken advantage of."
He sighs. "Charlie, it's… I am the first adult with the means and inclination to take the responsibility off of his shoulders, to take care of him. It… Any feelings he has are clouded by that. Misguided hero worship at most."
There's deep sympathy etched onto her features now. "And, let me guess, you're not just gonna talk to him about this."
"It would be taking advantage. I don't… He might feel obligated to indulge my feelings to keep his place here, especially for Sam. Even if I insisted that he wasn't beholden to me…" Castiel shrugs. "It's enough of a consent issue that I'm not willing to move forward."
Charlie is frowning, but she doesn't argue with him, for which he's grateful. It's strange enough talking about this with someone who's just a few years older than Dean himself, but Charlie was one of his charges.
"Well, that blows, chief."
"Indeed."
"Well, onto brighter subjects, I've been teaching the children how to internet."
Castiel smiles, thankful for everything that Charlene Bradbury is. "And how has that gone for you?"
"Well, Sam showed some interest in my kind of work, so point one for me. And Garth, weirdly enough, has got some serious hidden talent."
"I refuse to be surprised by anything Garth does anymore."
Dean is shooting the shit with Benny in the Cajun's apartment after dinner, thinking that it's about time to head back to his own place, when Benny gets that look in his eye.
"So… Castiel."
Dean groans. "Not again, Lafitte."
Benny is on some sort of mission from hell to get Dean to confess how he feels to Cas, which is never going to happen. He doesn't bring it up every time they hang out alone, but often enough that Dean usually makes sure at least one other person is with them.
Dean just doesn't know how to explain how much better Castiel is than him. Dean was barely able to take care of Sam, who is just one kid, and Cas has all of this. Cas is a famous thief, and Dean is some nobody he rescued.
He leans his head back against the couch, his eyes closed. Normally he laughs it off, makes a joke at his own expense, but somehow it's not coming to him today. "He's not looking at me twice, Benny," he says softly, a rare moment of pure honesty. "Hell, I'm nothing."
There's a beat of silence, then a strong hand clapping down on his knee. He raises his head and looks directly into Benny's ice blue eyes.
"Nothing, you ain't, brotha," he says gently, and it takes Dean a moment to even parse out a meaning through the accent. "And besides, if you don't think he's been looking, you ain't been paying attention."
That's enough of that. "Come on, Benny, you know everyone's got an eye on my sweet ass." He smiles dashingly to sell it.
Benny rolls his eyes, just like Dean wanted, but he does not stop talking, which is not what Dean wanted. "Joke all you want, Dean. I think the two of you are dancing around each other for no reason, is all."
It takes Dean a long time to fall asleep that night, wondering if Benny is right about the way Cas looks at him, wondering if it even matters.
That night, Cas and Charlie meet in the office again, this time for business.
"All righty," she says, settling at the desk and cracking her knuckles. "What am I looking for here?"
He's leaned against the desk next to her, staring out the window, frowning. "Abaddon must have a plan of some sort. I need to know if we can find out what it is."
"… And whatever other dirt I can dig up on dear old Abbie, so we can take her down, right?"
Castiel smiles vaguely. "Do whatever you feel is right, Charlie."
She pats him on the hip without looking up from her computer screen. "Aw, Cas. I was gonna do that, anyway."
- Feedback gets my motor running.
- Come see me on tumblr at TheReluctantShipper!
- I promise that we'll have some plot soon, instead of just pining and picking pockets.
- Sidenote: "Pining and Picking Pockets" would have been a great title for this story.
