It was halfway through a mission in Roanoke, Virginia when the thought presented itself. The fact that there was even a remote divergence where his concentration was concerned should have been alarming enough. It plagued him enough to convince the brothers he was required elsewhere and that they could salt and burn skeletal remains without his attendance. Five minutes later, he burst through the doors of the record store in pursuit for a certain young woman.
A child's Crayola laden rendition of Castiel at this very moment would see him radiating wavy lines of blue and red; the blue representing his obvious purposefulness, and the red suggesting a slight menace. With the way he stood and the way his narrowed eyes felt around the room, he exhibited all the hallmarks of the number one cop in town about to make a huge bust, and was calculating how to approach that with decorum.
"Audrey!" he hailed in a commanding voice that would have carried across the room, but became lost within the store's booming music. Aretha Franklin's "Respect" was playing, and it was as though the universe set out to answer his impending questions on her behalf. He looked around, wondering if there was anywhere he could direct the roll of his eyes.
It struck him, then, that he had arrived during a hot hour for business. A young woman who appeared to be on the sunny side of nineteen emerged next to him.
"Good evening, sir! How can I help you?"
"Where can I find Audrey Hathaway?" he asked, never denying the scene his vigilant gaze. All he needed to distinguish her was a flash of red hair within the sea of customers.
"She's in the back room at the moment." He immediately proceeded in that direction, ignoring her protests. "Oh, but you can't go in there! Sir!"
Her youthful reluctance didn't see her following him for more than three steps, allowing him to barge into the back room without disruption.
The room was unlike the main shop floor; it was lifeless and cluttered - the quintessential office workspace. Where there were not boxes, there were filing cabinets. If the room had a color palette, it would be named "Albino Vomit", so it should come as no surprise that Audrey, who occupied the office chair in the middle of the room, attracted all attention. She sat cross-legged in the chair, holding up negative film strips to the ceiling light for examination. She jolted when the doors split opened, and Castiel swept into the room like a boss, smoldering with authority.
As though she held resistance to his glowing temperament, she smiled cheerfully and stood to grandly address him. "Castiel!"
"Sit down."
She visibly flinched, feeling her affection being repelled back at her. He sensed her gauging him for a moment; his tone, his words, his stance, his eyes, registering it all too belatedly, before she spoke finally.
"...what?"
"I said sit down," his austerity never stalling as he turned to lock the door behind him. "We need to have a little talk." The intense way he looked at her over his shoulder revealed little to what he truly intended for her immediate future.
Her gaze lingered on his act of locking the door, and there was a brief flicker of something libidinous that vanished at his added sentence.
"That doesn't sound promising," she muttered in a low but peppery tone as she lowered into her seat.
He stopped just before her desk, prompting her with his hands. "What do you know about me?"
"What do you mean?"
"You can't answer a question with another question," he echoed her words with a sharp eye.
There was another flinch before she pulled a curtain of formality over her disorientation, and emulated his solemn tone with her own. "There is an exception to that rule if the person being questioned is unclear about the essence of the question."
That was a fair point. He raised his chin, acknowledging it as such, but his eyes never lost its gleam of burning suspicion.
"You don't know a thing about me," he stated, pausing to allow his skepticism to hang in the air. "Why are you so affectionate with me?" With two hands propped against the table, elbows locked, he inclined inwards, rolling the trepidation she may possess given her guilt. "Do you know something about me?"
She didn't appear inclined to answer any of his questions. Instead, she stared, her eyes mingling with the same amount of curiosity.
"Do you believe I'm manipulating you?" she asked finally.
"Answer the question."
"You asked two."
Pause.
"Why are you so affectionate with me?"
"I'm an affectionate person."
"Do you know something about me?"
"I only know what you've willingly shared with me." There was another pause as Castiel removed his hands from the table, moving them entirely before his whole stance followed, and stood upright to consider this. "Do you believe I'm manipulating you?"
"I've been acquainted with people who are liable to do that."
"And they'd put you under the impression that you can trust them?"
His eyes flared defensively. "I never said I've fallen for their charade."
When she did not smile wryly at his defensiveness, he began to regret the confrontation, or at least the manner of which he approached it with.
"Why are you suddenly so suspicious?" she asked.
Immediately, he felt his veil of authority stripped away from him. It had become personal. He barely refrained from squirming.
"I enjoy your company," he muttered, despising how exposed he suddenly felt. "I would hate to discover that it's all just a guise."
This earned him a responsive smile, but her eyes remained guarded. "I assure you, I'm not trifling with you in any way." They stared at each other. He searched for the truth in her eyes, and she was submitting it to him to find.
"Are you always this insecure with people?" she asked suddenly, her tone comfortingly laced with humor.
His smile was cynical. "It would be unprofessional of me if I wasn't."
"Ah yes," her eyes glimmered with that very familiar curiosity of hers, "you and your mystery profession." This glint in her eye remained as she fixed him with a very prudent gaze. "With all due respect, Castiel, but if either of us is entitled to be suspicious, that would be me. I mean, you can't just be a handsome white guy with an ass that won't quit without some catch, right?"
"What?" What did she say about his... he shook his head - never mind that now. "Then why aren't you suspicious of me?"
She contemplated this for an extended moment. "I'm not suspicious per se," she conceded at length, "but I am curious. But I'm not going to hassle you about it. It is your business. However," she pointed a finger at him, "for a healthy relationship, either socially or professionally, you have to let yourself open up to people, even just a little." Her palms rose up, stopping herself. "You don't have to practice what I preach - it's just my two cents, take it or leave it."
He nodded slowly and broodingly. This seemed logical. He decided to venture this advice.
"I went to a brothel once," he revealed, very seriously, "with the intention of losing my virginity. It wasn't successful as I had scared off the prostitute."
He didn't know how to feel about her immediate reaction, which was an interesting mixture of amusement and horror. She hid her smile (or grimace) beneath her hand.
"Mea cupla," he heard her whisper into her hand.
"What's wrong?"
When her eyes darted back at him, she let out a little laugh. "I'm a friend, not a priest! Or a shrink..."
He managed a crooked smile. "I'm sorry I suspected you."
"No no," she waved him off, "like you said, it'd be unprofessional if you weren't."
"You are very understanding."
Her brow knitted and she looked at him up and down. "Now you're starting to freak me out. Like you have a dark past or something. Oh! Or maybe you have a disability! Maybe, up until recently, you were Amish!" She stopped for a beat with a contemplative look. "That last one actually makes a lot of sense."
Her theories were acknowledged fleetingly with an amused gaze, before he spoke again in a more earnest tone.
"You trust far too easily, Audrey," he said, his head tilting to one side as he appraised her with what could have easily been mistaken for admiration. "The absence of threatening objects in my possession on the night we met should not have been enough for such an immediate reprieve. I could have hurt you in another way."
"I know that. I just," she shrugged helplessly, vacating her seat, "I get a good vibe from you, that's all." She rounded the desk, progressing towards him. "You radiate this positive aura, like you've got this halo around you, and I can't help but feel safe with you. If anything, that just makes me even more curious about you. Satisfied?"
It took him a few moments to respond, as his train of thought had derailed by the way she had, rather temptingly, leaned back against the table.
"Very."
Closure, at last, reestablished their usual balance, and they basked in each other's small but genuine smiles. As they do in the angel's existence, the serene ambiance was thrown off at once.
"Whataya kids doin' in there?" clamored a Queens-inflected voice from outside, drawing both their gazes to the door. "You better nawt be havin' sex! I told you, I'd know!"
He looked back at Audrey, assuming that an exchange of bewildered glances were in order, but she appeared surprisingly unperturbed. It was though she had been conceived without the ingredient of inhibition; one could say she was disabled. It was certainly a quirk he envied. His expression momentarily morphed into something that conveyed just that, but was soon to change back to one of confusion.
"Why does she always presume that that is what's happening back here?"
Her smile became a smirk. "Because it's happened before."
There was a glint in her eye that was very easy to read. Emphatically, he gave the room a glance and then back at her.
"You?"
Her blush, added to her expression, fashioned her the very image of a minx. Pushing herself off the desk, she advanced languidly towards him, and with this new revelation, he wondered what she had planned for what lied just ahead.
"What, you've never messed around at work before?" she asked, her tone steering the atmosphere effectively downwards as she sidled close. She pressed a soft kiss against his lips with the lingering hope that he would return it with more authority, and had she not used a certain two words, he would have. At his unresponsiveness, and his pensive expression, she frowned. "What's wrong?"
"I'm trying to figure out what you're doing," he answered, casting an indicative gaze down at her hands wrapped around his tie.
Her look of stark perplexity was brief but it was there, as though she reflected on her actions and then wondered how she could have made her intentions any clearer. Although a little flustered, she assumed a charming smile.
"I'm trying to mess around with you, I thought that was obvious."
He raised an eyebrow. "Is that all? Just "messing around"?"
"Yes?" she said slowly, as though he was senile.
As he hummed thoughtfully, he denied her another kiss by turning his head. She reeled back, shooting him a extremely baffled look, and he proceeded to apprehend her wrists and lower them to her sides methodically. Then, with a stiff nod, he hurried out of the room and vanished.
Sam and Dean needed an impossible door opened. It would seem that there were even more skeletal remains secreted within an abandoned cabin's crawlspace. Considering their mementos of facial bruising, they had learned this the hard way.
Without even being asked, or even having the necessity indicated to begin with, Castiel readily plucked the axe from Dean's hands and began swinging vehemently at the door, managing words between each impact.
"She says - we're just - messing around!"
Behind him, the brothers exchanged glances in their usual manner.
"So?"
Mid-swing, Castiel whipped around to them, axe still elevated at the ready, and the brothers lurched downwards in a frantic haste to avoid the swing that never came.
"So?" Castiel echoed as incredulously as he possibly could. The familiar look of confusion crossed his face as he noted their reaction, then glanced briefly at the upraised axe before lowering it finally.
"Cas, you've only known her for about three weeks," said Sam, withdrawing the axe from Castiel's custody, hesitantly doing so as though he thought the angel would lash out with the object in disagreement. "Do you really expect the relationship to develop into anything more than that?"
The angel said nothing, and simply stepped aside for Sam to complete the task of eliminating the door.
"She's a New York girl," Sam resumed. He took a heavy swing at the door, then added in more strangled voice as he pulled the axe out from where it had anchored, "New Yorkers have very dynamic lives!"
"She's not like other New Yorkers."
"Cas," came Dean's voice, in that tone which held the intent of reassuring, but never was. He clapped a hand on the angel's shoulder. "How many New Yorkers do you even know?" At Castiel's resigned sigh, he added, "She's just looking for a bit of fun! You know, girls just wanna have fun and whatnot."
"Where exactly do I reside in that notion? She can find that anywhere."
"I know that feeling," Dean replied wistfully, grinning. Castiel shot him a scandalized look; that wasn't reassuring at all! The notion of Audrey finding a little "fun" every which way, just like Dean... he barely, just barely abstained from shuddering. He roamed away, frowning at the ground.
"But she is interested in me, I know she is." When he failed to hear anymore axe-swinging, he peered back at them, and when he perceived what lied behind their amused expressions, his eyes flared. "I am not being egotistic."
"We didn't say anything," Dean's tone was derisively innocent.
"You didn't have to," muttered Castiel, his irritated gaze darting to and from either brother, "You were thinking it."
Again, there was an exchange of glances between the brothers, before comprehension blossomed on their faces.
"Let me guess," Dean began, his eyes glittering, "you read her mind too? And that's how you know for sure?" Castiel's irritated regard faltered under Dean's knowing one. "Dude, that is so nosy! That's worse than any of the nosy crap women put men through." Despite the guilt trip, he laughed. "Maybe you should sit her down, give her a lap-dance and sing "Tell Me Something Good" to her." At both Castiel and Sam's puzzled expressions, he twirled his wrists, beckoning them. "You know... You refuse to put anything before your pride," he began to sing, "I got something that will knock all your pride aside, tell me something good, tell me that you love me, tell me that you like it..." At Castiel's weary gaze, he added, "... or not."
"You are not very helpful, Dean."
"Don't blame me, blame my gender. I have too much testosterone and not enough estrogen to hatch some advice for you, Cas. Having said that, just ask Sammy next time."
With one last swing, Sam tore the door clean off of its hinges. After flinging it to the ground, he was too exhausted to speak through his panting, and instead, shot Dean a look that seemed to translate to a sarcastic expression of thanks. Dean welcomed it with a salute.
All regard for his personal dilemmas were left behind as he became overwhelmed with an elusive sensation. The brothers noted this change in the angel, and poised themselves at the ready as he held out a hand.
"I sense something," he declared vaguely, entering the cabin as though he lacked a sense of self-preservation.
"I hope it's the bones, and not another freakin' spirit!" carped Dean, drawing out a gun, following the angel along with his brother. "Angry sons of bitches, the lot of them."
His eyes were closed, hand held out to foster his sensory pursuit for any spectral movement within the vicinity. It was one thing to be interrupted, but it was another thing to raise the topic of Audrey in the middle of a job. Not only was it unprofessional, but it felt quite undignified, as though Castiel's personal life (or even the fact that he had one now) had become something of a novelty to them.
Well, to Dean.
"You know, now that you know that she likes you in that way, seeing as how you mentally probed her –" At this, Castiel opened his eyes to shoot him a withering look, "– you could have some fun with it." He remained silent with begrudging interest, which encouraged Dean to continue. "Tease her, tempt her, drive her crazy! Reel her in then throw her back out!"
"Dean... we need to focus on the matter at hand." He moved away to devote his concentration on another part of the room, oblivious to the knowing smirk on Dean's face. Dean gave it about five seconds.
Five, four, three, two...
Seething suddenly, Castiel came hurrying back. "Furthermore," he checked himself as he had begun a little too heatedly, "that's sounds unkind."
Dean's smug expression flattened. "Okay, when I said reel her in then throw her back out, I don't mean flirt with her and then push her in front of a bus, just be aloof about it. The ladies love that."
The angel dithered on the spot, clearly caught between his obligation to work and the trouble that was Audrey. Eventually, he let out an impatient, "Why?"
"Beats me," Dean replied unhelpfully with a shrug. "Unsolved mysteries."
Castiel's expression was then incredibly stern, almost comically so, marking the close of this discussion, and just when he was about to walk away, he whipped back around. "How do I do that?"
Dean had the odd grace not to laugh at his commitment. "Well, you can pretend to accidentally drop something in front of her and then bend over to pick it up. Or does that only work if you're a girl?" Castiel couldn't tell if he was being serious or not. He paused to soberly consider this, but then shook his head and regained direction. "Just keep invading her personal space, like you do to everybody."
"She doesn't seem to mind at all."
This answer genuinely startled Dean. "Okay, uhh... touch her!"
"Where?"
"Everywhere!"
Pause.
"Touch her... everywhere?" Castiel echoed doubtfully, blanching at the suggestiveness.
"Just make it seem subtle and totally innocent. Throw in a double entendre here and there, and she'll be so hot for you –"
Castiel's gaze turned cynical. "I don't think I should be taking advice from you."
Shrug. "You asked for it." He shook Castiel gently by the shoulders. "You need to take the reigns, Cas! At the moment she's leading the dance. And I'm sure there's a part of you that finds that to be completely out of order."
There was a simulated clearing of a throat, drawing both their gazes over to an amused Sam.
"Are you guys done or are you about to trade pointers on fashion?" he asked in a very sensible tone. "Though probably to the benefit of Dean's."
"Are you kidding me?" Dean exclaimed, horrified. He pointed a critical finger at the angel. "This guy doesn't even change his clothes!" He then offered Castiel his most incredulous look. "It's miracle you don't stink!"
A look of mild inquisitiveness was what Dean received in response, and with a hopeless roll of his eyes, he beckoned him to follow, resuming their duties. As Castiel silently followed the brothers into another room, he allowed himself a minute to think. Dean's advice, however gracelessly put, was somewhat logical and rated as one of the least outrageous pieces of advice bestowed upon him.
Still, perhaps he should ask Gabriel for his input too.
This was hastily edited; I might edit it a bit more later on, but I wanted to post it now. By the way, I'm impressed by the number of reviews for the previous chapter! Reviewing chapters, like a boss.
Read and review :)