Dean and Sam could never say that they have ever seen a ten foot plasma screen in real life, but Castiel could. The angel was the very image of wonderment as the screen, which was above the string of checkout counters for the viewing pleasure of potential customers, illuminated with the Apple iMac's desktop of which it was connected to. The iTunes Visualizer vanished and was replaced with the projection of the track library, which Jody, who was in control of the computer, began to browse through.
Castiel had the misfortune of being squashed between Audrey and Nicky on the white leather sofa opposite the counter. Needless to say, he had no problem with Audrey, but turning his head and finding Nicky batting his fake eyelashes and grinning stupidly at him was an endless reminder of why it bothered him.
"What's the opposite of a prude?" Jody asked in such a way that would have echoed a Shakespearean soliloquy if it weren't for her thick accent, but was quick to curb everyone's opportunity to answer. "Don't answer that. For the pure irony of it," she scoped the three of them over the side of the computer monitor, "I'm gonna play a song from one of the most extroverted musicians in history, and the song's title, I like to think –" Her gaze stopped on Castiel, "– is relevant to you."
And with a stab of her finger on the Enter key, the screen behind her promptly lit up with the artist and song title, and music filled the room.
"LIKE A VIRGIN" - Madonna (1984)
His brow knitted indignantly at once, but then, after a second thought, he dismissively shrugged in a way that seemed to translate to, "Well... it is true".
Appalled but amused, Audrey exclaimed, "Jody!"
"Relevant!"
As Nicky sprung from his place to join her behind the counter, Audrey drew up her legs on the seat and smiled painfully at Castiel. With Nicky gone, he could have moved that one seat over but... he didn't.
"Sorry. I didn't plan on this becoming a debate about your virginity. Or lack thereof." Despite the fact that he had made no move to settle that uncertainty, she quickly added, "Don't say anything, I don't need to know, it's your business." She smiled tightly at him, either a way of reassuring him or just an expression of discomfort. "It's Jody. She's half a Nazi and half a Roman; she was just born with the gift of cruelty."
"I heard that!"
"Ungrateful is the last thing I'd want to appear as being, but I don't understand what you're all trying to do," he said, tilting his head inquisitively. "Am I supposed to do something?"
"Not really, no. It's just a thing we do with customers. We look at them, try and gauge their musical tastes, and then recommend them some music that is good but not particularly of the style they usually listen to."
"So this isn't supposed to represent me."
"God no." A thought visibly struck her. "Well in relation to this song specifically - I don't know, but this is all supposed to represent everything you're not, with the hopes that you like the change." Her regard turned mischievous. "That is unless you secretly like it, and you have this overt sexual energy you release when I'm not around."
"No, I believe you've selected accurately," he quickly answered with a decisive nod.
Grinning, she leaned back against the sofa's arm rest, blithely stretching out her stripy green legs and crossing them over Castiel's. He glanced down and then at her questioningly. Following his observation, she merely shrugged.
"Well I'm not gonna ask you to move - that would be selfish." As she shifted around to find her comfort, his eyes swept the room as if there were a certain two pair of eyes watching. If only Sam and Dean could see him now!
"You like it?"
His eyes flashed down to her. "Excuse me?"
"The music!"
"Oh."
"I'm on the fence with Madonna but I'm all for her eighties work," she pondered aloud, folding her arms over her chest. "And maybe, like, a handful of songs from the nineties."
His response was a noncommittal shrug and a shifting of eyes. There was a click of her tongue and her gaze melted into one usually reserved for little fluffy puppies. "You're such a prude, it's adorable."
"Perhaps it comes with the territory of being a believer," he retorted.
His snark was awarded with a firm but playful kick in the thigh which he merely smiled at. "Don't make me play "Like a Prayer" just to spite you."
Bantering with her was a lot more fun than with Sam and Dean. Then again, either brother lying across him in a skirt with Madonna playing in the background was an experience he wasn't keen on having. As the music began to fade, Jody's voice chimed in.
"Okay then, that was from the Queen of Pop–"
"The head bitch in charge herself!" Nicky interjected with a passionate punch in the air.
"Yeah -- and now for the King!" Her keen grin dropped to a glower. "Of Pop. Because the King is Elvis. And don't you forget it."
"That, honey, is arguable," muttered Nicky.
"What was that?" she hissed in response.
As Jody and Nicky engaged themselves in a heated debate over Elvis's credibility as the King, Castiel turned in his seat to Audrey.
"This doesn't sound like music," he observed.
And indeed it didn't. What he heard was no melody, but the sounds of a door creaking open slowly, followed by distant footsteps descending a flight of stairs, the sound of thunder and wind, a howling wolf –
"This is just the opening bit," she said dismissively. She perked suddenly with enthusiasm. "But! On behalf of Michael Jackson - Long Live the King - he'd like to say that due to his strong personal convictions, he wishes to stress that the short film for this song in no way endorses a belief in the occult."
The occult? How was this related all of a sudden?
He quirked an eyebrow at her. "... what?"
"THRILLER!" she screamed, startling him.
As if on cue, Nicky ceased the middle of his argument to scream in excitement, startling Castiel as much as the sudden fanfare of the song did. He could have sworn that his scream contributed to the vibrations on the floor that the bass line of the song generated. A laugh was shared between Nicky and Audrey and she began to snap her fingers to the infectious beat, but Castiel was eager to pull their discussion back.
"What do you mean the occult?"
"You know, like zombies." She made a bizarre gesture which involved her holding up her hands formed as claws and swinging them from left to right. "Zombies!"
Castiel couldn't possibly have frowned harder in confusion. "This," he lamely mimicked her gesture, "is not the living dead."
A snort emerged from her as she desperately tried not to burst into laughter, but was spared by her two friends tugging at each of her arms.
"C'mon Audrey, usually you're the one to get the dance started!" Nicky implored.
"I don't want Cas to feel awkward by himself," she declined, shaking both their grips off of her arms and shooing them away. "You keep doing what you're doing."
And they did... while Castiel watched in horror.
"If you keep your mouth open like that, you may just attract flies," Audrey joked, and he instantly caught himself staring agape. It seemed she had been watching his reaction the entire time as opposed to the bizarre "dance", if you will, ensuing before them.
Folding his arms, he sunk back into the sofa and continued to watch in awe. "Whoever this Michael Jackson was, he had a strange interpretation of the undead."
The way she stared at him after he said this was palpable. Either she was silently judging him, or trying to form a good argument. The girl was so mercurial, and was likely to do both. Eventually, she sat up onto her knees beside him.
"I don't think anyone, no matter how religious they are," she offered him a significant look, "has a more or less accurate conception of what a zombie is. If they exist. Which they don't."
Whenever she demonstrated her - let's face it - surprising intellectual capacity, especially when it was on a subject Castiel was interested in, he was always eager push it to see how far it went.
"So this musician was religious, was he?" His narrowed eyes were a clear indication of his interest, and the earnest discussion that was to come.
"Does that surprise you?" she asked challengingly. "I mean, he was more or less of a prude like you in reality, but on stage, or in the recording studio – wooooh!" She tossed her head back and swooned. Quickly recovering, she added, "Like I said, he didn't believe in the occult, so relax." There was a pause. "Do you believe in the occult?"
"Do you?"
"I asked you first."
He raised his chin with dignity. "Yes, I do."
"Hm."
"What?"
"I don't know." She studied him dubiously. How she regarded him so easily without becoming distracted by the flailing arms and legs just ten feet before them was certainly a natural talent.
"I've just never encountered a religious person who does," she resumed. "I know most go as far as to believing in the existence of Hell, but I didn't think anyone would give a second thought of what exactly goes on on that side of the spectrum." Her eyes gleamed with a new-found intrigue in him. "So what do you believe in? Monsters? Vampires? Ghosts?"
"All of it. It's all true," he declared, his gaze insistent. "Demons are very common, vampire covens exist, and ghosts... spirits are everywhere." His eyes wandered off in thought, practically forgetting her presence. "Some angry and vengeful, lingering on earth with their personal vendettas ... some still cling desperately to the mortal world, some of them are trapped in a torturous death echo, and then there are those who haven't even become conscious of the fact that they're dead ... always needing an angel's help, these spirits."
As he became acutely aware of himself, he cast a curious glance at Audrey, who was stunned to say at the very least. For a long moment, her mouth opened and closed as words failed her.
"...really?" she slowly managed, and it was blatantly obvious that it was the only thing she could think of to respond with. Gradually, she seemed to gather her opinions once more and she continued. "So, uh... what led you to believe that? Do you think if God and his underlings exist, then there must be some sort of antithesis?"
Usually a strong defense would present itself in this situation, but instead, a red light signaling the potential for a huge argument was ahead emerged in the foreground of his mind. It alarmed him that his natural instinct to defend himself, really, did not conquer; instead, he found that he was protective of the delicate little friendship they shared. God forbid.
His gaze turned desperate. "I don't want to argue with you, Audrey."
The conversation's direction visibly dawned on her, and she reacted in kind. "I don't want to either. I'm sorry."
As the night stretched on, they had played him music from David Bowie, ABBA, Depeche Mode, Duran Duran, Soft Cell, Queen, Prince – he thought it was strange that the latter two had such monarchial names, not to mention the "King and Queen of Pop" they had referred to earlier – and the aforementioned Lady GaGa, another artist of whom Castiel thought had a peculiar name.
The relentless bickering between Nicky and Jody, and their occasional dancing, seemed to exhaust them of all their energy, and eventually they bid their goodbyes and goodnights, leaving the angel and the red-haired young woman alone in the store. Of course, Nicky didn't leave without making Castiel uncomfortable for one last time; what appeared to be an innocent handshake was just a scheming way to put a scrap of paper with his phone number and Twitter address into his palm.
Jody, too, didn't leave without a lasting word.
"Goodnight darlings! Don't have sex in the back room, because I'll know!"
And what a word.
Castiel stared speechlessly at the door as it slammed shut. Her remark didn't seem to faze Audrey the slighest, as she turned around and clasped her hands together with a smile usually only practiced by sugary ballet teachers.
"Okie-dokie then, time to clean up!"
Castiel sized her up suspiciously when she moved towards him. "Clean -- clean up what?"
"The store!" she answered matter-of-factly, veering around his rigid figure. "They left me to do the closing up, duh."
"I see," he sighed, letting loose the mysterious tension he didn't know he had been harboring. What was wrong with him tonight? Either he was getting stupid, or his mind was becoming perverted. It was all Dean's fault! No, it was her fault for provoking him!
"Or..." she interrupted his frenzied thoughts. Whirling around to her, he saw that she was now behind the counter, one hand rifling through a drawer. Her hand stopped on something as Castiel moved to her side of the counter. "Or," her shady gaze pulled over to him. "...we could do something else."
He certainly wouldn't admit to himself how much her words excited him.
She hoisted herself to sit on top of the counter, and with a finger, she beckoned him to come forward.
"Come here."
What was she up to? Cocking his head suspiciously and allowing his gaze to fall briefly to her legs dangling over the counter, he smoothly drew nearer. He stopped just before her, knowing that one step closer would have them in an extremely compromising position. Though, she seemed oblivious to any innuendo when she forced him that much closer, until he was trapped between her legs. Before he could react, the indecent illusion was shattered when she held up tiny bottle of liquid eyeliner. She grinned like a four year old holding a crayon. This couldn't be good.
"What are you doing?" he asked, watching her unwind and extract the brush applicator. All tension vanished as if he had been doused with cold water when she held him by the chin and hovered the brush underneath his right eye.
"You'll see," she cooed in a sing-song voice, focusing on the design she began to paint onto his face. Well, it was too late to pull away now.
The music, which had been alive and well in the background, faded into a different song. The change had her pausing for a moment, and realizing what the song was, she threw her head back and laughed.
""Vogue"! The computer loves me!"
Not only did she have little regard for personal space as much as he, she also didn't seem to have any qualms about him staring directly at her as she worked. He had never met someone so unnaturally at ease... disregarding the earlier moment when he had called her out on her attraction to him, to which he was surprised was not manifesting itself right now. Honestly, they were practically doing exactly what Jody forbid them to do!
Castiel tried desperately to think of something else, otherwise she would eventually be physically detecting his thrill. Oh Lord...
Her work! That was a subject that wasn't bound to become suggestive in any way!
"I want to ask you something."
"Mhm?"
"Do you work here?"
He felt her pause from her work, and her eyes drifted off somewhat in consideration.
"No," she eventually said, regaining her direction. "Jody owns the place and Nicky works here, and there are some other sales assistants. Since I know them well, they allow me to come here anytime I want and help. And, like today, sometimes I close the store for them."
"And you get paid?" Yes, he was totally fascinated by her salary...
"Nope," she smirked a little, "I don't need the extra money." His full attention hooked on the word "extra". She withdrew her hands completely and smiled, returning the eyeliner brush back into its pot. "Believe it or not Castiel, I'm pretty well off."
Before he could respond to that, she gripped his shoulders and pushed off of him, hopping off the counter and onto her feet. One hand was briefly buried in the drawer once more and, like a shot, reemerged with a hand mirror, to which she held up to his face.
Good God. He had a freaking lightening bolt on his face! What was that all about?
"Look at you!" she enthused. "Lookin' fierce, Castiel! I dub you Lord GaGa!"
"Why a lightening bolt?"
"It's very David Bowie, don't you think?" They exchanged glances over the mirror, hers approving and his bewildered, before he lifted a finger to touch the design. She immediately slapped him on the shoulder with the hand mirror.
"Don't touch it!" she yelled. "It's not dry yet!"
He held up his palms in defeat before burying them in the pockets of his trench coat. They fell into a silence that would normally be awkward (on his part), but music thankfully filled that void. When he saw that she needed privacy and complete concentration to count out the cash registers, he moved from the counters and patiently pursued the aisles instead. The clings and clangs of all the coins being tossed and counted echoed across the room, and he become profoundly aware of how it slowed all of a sudden.
"I like this song," he heard her wistfully say from across the room. "It depresses me."
He didn't even notice the change in song. Angling his head slightly as if it helped him hear the song over those noisy coins, he stopped, turned and stared across the room at the plasma screen.
"IMAGINE" - John Lennon (1971)
Dean had mentioned this song in passing (with some resentment, too), Sam had it on his iPod, but God forbid if Castiel ever knew how to use that thing.
"Why do you like the song if it depresses you?" he asked, regaining his step.
"Musically, it's very good," her voice was both pensive and distracted, "Lyrically... it's just so honest. With such honesty you'd think a bit of sugar coating came with it but this song's so unadorned yet straightforward. It's so real. It's like, the feeling you get from the song, that sort of peace? - you can only get if it wasn't all, y'know, just imagination. Fanciful notions of a world without borders, the simple but scary idea of no Heaven or Hell –"
Here they go again...
"You made no claim of belief in such a thing. Therefore how can it possibly scare you?" he asked, pausing from leafing through a random selection of records.
"Remember, this song was composed in a very condemning age. What wasn't scary and controversial within the shadow of the second World War, with Hitler and his Third Reich? The subject of religion in particular. People were very conservative those days."
He stared at her. She felt his gaze, and when she peered up and saw that he was incredibly taken by the topic, she properly paused from her task.
"I'm not afraid of the notion of there being no Heaven or Hell. If there is, I'm pretty sure I've been good enough to be given the nod to access Heaven's pearly gates. If not, what happens? I just stop existing? Okay then, I'll take that. It's not like I'll mourn myself, since I won't even exist!" She then resumed her duties. "But back to the point, the song did elicit a substantial amount of controversy, as it did challenge religion in some way. John Lennon wasn't trying to be edgy, he was trying to be blunt ... in a subtle way."
With a closing nod, she shut the cash register and wandered into the back room with the day's earnings. As usual, Castiel prolonged the discussion.
"I don't understand why this musician would want this type of world," he said, louder than usual so she could hear him, as his fingertips danced casually over the spines of the records. "He sounds anti-religious, anti-nationalistic –"
"Keep in mind that the song is called "Imagine", Castiel," he heard her muffled voice from the back room. "Besides, do you know what a world like that is called?" There was a sound of a steel door slamming shut, possibly the store's safe, and she appeared at the door once more. "Utopia."
"Heaven," he determined aloud.
"No no, not Heaven," she smirked; her stride towards him (well, the aisles) was quick and purposeful. "Heaven suggests religion, as does Hell. Utopia is manmade, the way Dystopia - which I suppose is along the same lines as Hell - is manmade."
"And people find that frightening?"
"Well," she began; there was a long pause. She was clearly having difficulty forming a strong argument while tidying up the record banks as quickly as she could. "To those who invest so much of themselves into a religion find the very idea of it not existing frightening. I assume it's like a personal attack on their pride and dignity and virtually the point of their very existence. You don't find it frightening?"
His face clouded. Technically, Castiel knew his fate. He couldn't die since he wasn't living. He was ... unborn. Unmade. The ultimate fate of all angels was to either exist forevermore or to die and stop existing completely. No after life existed for them; their home was the after life of mortals, and that was their Earth, their "now".
"I haven't really thought about it."
His answer had her stopping completely.
"How strange."
"Why?" he asked, taking an inquisitive step forward.
She turned to face him, and regarded him with the sort of enigmatic curiosity he often gave her. "Isn't that the whole point of investing yourself into a faith? Entrusting your belief to there being an after life, Heaven, a haven for indulgence, and that there are, to put it casually, guidelines you must follow to be entitled access and signs directing you down the path to get there? What else could you want out of that?"
It made a lot of sense, but because he was not human, these ideals did not apply to him.
"Stop thinking right now, Castiel," she suddenly threw in. Refocusing, he was met with her regretful gaze. "I don't want you doubting yourself because of me. I just like talking to you," she smiled faintly. "Especially with that stuff on your face."
"I enjoy your company too." His eyes darted; that wasn't just a reply, that was an honest acknowledgment. And it unnerved him.
Sensing his demeanor but not quite knowing what was wrong, she took his hand and crept her fingers under his, entwining them together and giving him a reassuring squeeze. Once the nice, storybook moment was over, she tugged him in direction of the exit. "C'mon, we gotta go. It's time to lock up."
At this, he released her hand, despite how pleasant it had felt, and drew back immediately. "You expect me to go out there looking like this?" he asked, casting a paranoid glance at the nonexistent mirrors around him.
"You scared?" she teased.
He bristled and straightened up, "I'm not afraid of anything."
With a patronizing grin, she gestured for him to lead the way.
Do these long chapters bother any of you? Let me know; I'm the type of person who is inclined to avoid stories with long-ass chapters like this. If they're too long, I'll split future chapters.
Read and review :)