I'm warming up to this story. (: Not much to say other than…don't hate me. Okay? It went well with the ans I SWEAR TO GOD I AM WORKING ON The Innocent. Like I said, I have to let the Muse pre-chew before she spoon feeds, all right?
Une Journée Pour Se Souvenir
Chapter 3: Red Light District
Songs of the Chapter:
No Sound But the Wind- Editors
The Ladder- Andrew Belle
What New York Used To Be- The Kills
"That coffee good, Sammy?" Dean asked his younger brother as he sipped away at his cinnamon spice latte. Sam nodded and hummed in approval, tipping the cup to shake the last few drops into his mouth. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and sighed contentedly, leaning back in his chair, one hand resting on his stomach. Dean grinned lopsidedly at him then turned back to Castiel, whose eyebrows were somewhere near Mercury.
"I'm getting the feeling that your brother likes his coffee," said Castiel, sipping at his own plain, black coffee with sugar. Dean's was the same.
Dean smirked. "Your feeling's right. I made the mistake of introducing it to him at thirteen…" Dean grimaced. "Not the best Thanksgiving dinner I've ever had." Castiel snorted into his cup.
Castiel's black, steel framed glasses were becoming fogged from the combined steam of his drink and the cold February air. He took them off and folded them onto the hemline of his white T-shirt. With the world blurry, Castiel prayed Dean wouldn't want to go for a walk. He'd probably run everyone down with all his stumbling if he wasn't wearing his window-thick glasses.
"So, Mr. Professor, why aren't you up at NYU?" Dean asked, idly watching a child scare the living white-shit out of a flock of pigeons by throwing stones at them. He smiled. He used to be that kid.
"Tuesdays and Thursdays are my workdays. The rest of the week I'm off and I'm allowed to walk around in regular shoes," Castiel said, waving the toe of his boot at Dean. "Doc Martens never went out of style. Just…upgraded." His Doc Marten Reeds were the nicest pair of shoes he owned. Well, considering he only owned three pairs of shoes; a pair of brown fake-suede dress shoes, black dress shoes and his current footwear, that wasn't saying much. But still, they were fantastically comfortable and went with nearly everything he owned.
Dean laughed. "I agree." He moved his leg out from under the table and showed Castiel his own pair of classic boots. His had a bit more leather and weight, but they still worked with Dean. They sat in comfortable silence, Sam tapping away at the iPod he'd snatched from Dean's coat pocket.
Dean blew into his hands then rubbed the back of his neck, flipping up the collar of his windbreaker. Castiel frowned and unwound his scarf from around his neck, placing it gently over Dean's. Dean turned to him and Castiel wrapped it around twice.
"There, now you don't look like you're suffering from hypothermia," Castiel said, pointing to Dean's blue lips. Dean smiled to mask his shock at the affectionate gesture. He felt his neck muscles loosen as the warmth from Castiel's scarf seeped into his cold skin.
"T-Thanks, Cas," said Dean, shoving his hands in the warmest place he could think of; between his knees. Castiel couldn't take it anymore, he laughed. To him, Dean looked positively pitiful, but gorgeous nonetheless. Castiel abruptly stopped laughing and chewed on this. He thought Dean was gorgeous?
Well, why wouldn't he? Dean was good looking, Castiel couldn't deny it. He was evenly muscled, tanned and his personality was fantastic. Though they weren't of great import, Dean's freckles were probably the only thing that struck Castiel as 'adorable'. Dean Winchester was, as Bela would say, 'all man'.
"What's s-so funn-ny?" stuttered Dean, teeth knocking together.
"You," replied Castiel, standing and offering a hand to Dean. "Come on, let's get you inside before your fingers fall off." Dean gripped Castiel's hand as he stood, careful not to knock over any of the close-packed tables and chairs.
Sam watched it all, slightly amused.
"G-Geez, can't they turn up the h-h-h -HACHOO!-heat?" Dean sneezed loudly, earning the attention of a few people in the back of the small café. Dean shot them glares until they turned away. He sniffed.
Castiel handed Dean a napkin that could serve as a tissue. He earnestly placed his hand on Dean's arm and rubbed, creating friction that would hopefully warm him up. He hadn't stopped shivering for well over five minutes. Dean turned his head to Castiel and smiled gratefully. Castiel shrugged off his coat and placed it on Dean's shoulders, his body heat immediately warming Dean. He was still wearing Castiel's scarf.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen! Are you ready to order?" a perky blonde waitress gushed. She made Castiel's head hurt.
Sam said, "I'd li-k-ke the c-c-cinnamon t-t-t-toast, please." The waitress nodded and scribbled something on her pad, barely glancing at Sam. Her eyes were trained on Castiel, who noticed Dean's jaw clench.
"How about you?" she asked, batting her eyelashes and leaning forward a little more than necessary, giving Castiel an unwanted view of her cleavage. He kept a straight face and shook his head. Dean shivered beside him, but at least his lips had returned to a more natural color.
Gesturing to Dean, Castiel said, "If you would please look past your fake eyelashes and notice that this man is in need of more assistance than I, my respect for you may reach a better level. Instead of flaunting yourself at a strange man, whose intentions you know nothing of, I would be pleased if you could take my friend's order." Castiel's tone was calm, controlled and sounded exactly like he wanted to slam his fist into the wall. Dean glanced between Castiel and the waitress, who was gaping at him.
She swung her head towards Dean, who was surprised steam wasn't coming out her ears. "Fine, then! What the fuck do you want, sir?" she spat.
Dean, well-rehearsed in the act of controlling his emotions, smiled up at her from his place in the booth. "Bacon cheeseburger, please, hold the onions." He smirked when her eyes narrowed and she scribbled something on the pad.
"Yes, sir. Right away, sir," she seethed and stalked off.
Dean sneezed and pulled Castiel's jacket closer around him, surprised by the scent that rolled off the worn leather. It smelled like wet stone, something resembling rosemary, and lemons. It was thick on the coat, but not heady like the cheap cologne that most guys wore these days.
Dean saw Sam twisting his fingers in his lap, which meant there was something bothering him. Dean turned to face his little brother.
"What's on your mind, Sammy?" asked Dean, gently pulling Sam's hands away from each other, his fingers turning purple from being twisted around.
"I h-hate my st-st-stuttering," Sam quietly stated, his head down, hair falling in his face.. Dean cocked his head to the side then reached out and brushed Sam's bangs away, showing his pitiful pout. Dean's gaze softened and he stood and wrapped his arms around his little brother.
"Sammy, don't say that. I know it's tough," said Dean, pulling away and brushing Sam's hair off his forehead.
"I know y-y-you d-do, D-Dean. But I d-d-don't like the w-w-way p-people look-k at me after th-th-they hear m-me t-t-talk," Sam said. "Like th-there's s-s-s-something wrong w-with me."
Dean pursed his lips. "There isn't a single thing wrong with you, Sam. Now, knock off that talk and throw a couple birds, okay?"
Sam nodded and Dean handed him the iPod. Dean ruffled his hair.
"Love you, Sammy."
"Thanks, Dean." And then Sam was tilting the iPod this way and that, just like Castiel remembered doing on his Nintendo. He didn't have an iPod. He had a phone, no social life and a nice quiet apartment…good enough.
Dean sat back down next to Castiel. Castiel smiled. "That was pretty good," he said. Dean shrugged.
"Sam's not the most confident person on the planet, so I have to help him through things sometimes," said Dean, rubbing his arms, hoping to warm himself the rest of the way. It felt like cold air was blowing directly onto him. He looked up and cursed, glaring at the vent above their heads.
"Common sense; there is no abundance of it here," Dean muttered. Castiel smiled and put an arm around Dean. He generally ran at a temperature, something that frustrated his doctors, and he knew he'd be able to provide some warmth.
Dean gasped as Castiel's warm arm touched the cold skin on the back of his neck.
"Jesus, you're hot." Dean froze, eyes wide, as he realized what he'd just said. "I-I uh, I…erm…"
"Relax, Dean. Sorry I'm so warm. I'm generally about one-hundred. I got it from my Da. My mom always said he was a bit of a hot-head." Castiel nudged Dean, who smiled, leaning into Castiel's warm arm.
"And he said "Sir, the steering wheel's on the left side."
Castiel nearly choked on his pop as he snorted into his cup. Dean grinned at Castiel's reaction to his lame joke. The watch on Dean's wrist beeped and he jumped. He squinted at the numbers and groaned.
"12 o'clock, time to go," he thought.
"Cas, I'm really sorry to end this, but me and Sam have to head up to Lenox Hill." Dean stood and slipped Castiel's jacket off his shoulders, reluctantly handing it over.
"W-W-Will w-we see y-you again, C-C-Castiel?" Sam asked, shrugging on his own tan jacket.
Castiel thought about it then glanced at Dean. "That depends. Do you want to see me again?"
Dean smiled. "Of course. Here's our address. Stop by sometime, Sam makes great enchiladas," Dean said. Dean scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to Castiel. He took it and stuck it in his pocket.
"I'll be sure to."
"B-Bye, C-C-Castiel."
"Goodbye, Sam, Dean."
Castiel sat at the booth for about thirty minutes more, trying to figure out how to spend the rest of his day. He could go see Bela, but he wasn't sure he was up for that. He could hang around the bus stop like the loner he was, but even he had dignity. He sighed, library it is. He had to log on to his private student (he hated the term patient, he preferred student, and it was more civil) forums anyway, catch up on how they were doing.
He slipped his arms through the sleeves of his coat and felt something was off. The fine hairs on the back of his neck rose and he turned to see the waitress from earlier watching him with a smugly satisfied expression. His eyebrows drew together in a frown, but he otherwise ignored her.
As Castiel stepped outside the shop, he saw a note taped to the bus shelter.
'Bus #362 is out of commission. Please use the bus stop at 100 Broadway in front of Borders. Our sincerest apologies for any inconvenience.'
Castiel glared at that paper as if he could burn a hole through it. He sighed, defeated in his staring contest and hunched his shoulders against the choppy wind that was picking up, throwing abandoned newspapers here and there.
He came to the cross section and saw the long line of cars. If you've ever lived in the good ol' NYC, you know that it's you or them. But frankly, Castiel didn't feel like fearing for his life, so he turned around and walked back to the coffee shop, slipping into the old alley on its left. The alley was narrow and he had to climb over an abandoned Dumpster to continue through. But other than that, it was a particularly clean alley. There were no homeless men, no lost pets and a small amount of trash.
Thud. Tap.
Castiel froze mid-stride, halfway down the alley. He turned and saw a hulking figure walking behind him.
Nothing to worry about. Maybe other people use this as a shortcut, too. Calm down, calm down, calm dow-
"Hey, you! Just hold on a second!" Castiel turned and saw it was a man, and he was very close. Castiel's heart hammered in his chest as the giant man closed the distance between them. Twenty feet. Fifteen. Ten. Shit.
Castiel turned and ran. He didn't know why, but his instincts were telling him to get the Hell out of there.
Thunderous footsteps followed close behind and Castiel willed himself to run faster. The footsteps were getting closer.
Castiel had never been good at sports, save for wrestling, maybe. But wrestling wouldn't do him any good in a fight with a guy twice his size. State Champion or not, Castiel feared for his life.
A hand snatched his shirt collar and he was jerked to a stop, letting out a gurgle as he was hauled backwards.
Suddenly, he was in the face of a man he had never seen in his life. He had no recollection of him. And he would have remembered this man, with his scarred face and beefy stature.
He held Castiel by his shirt, causing his feet to dang a few centimeters above the ground.
"Who are-" Castiel was slammed into the brick wall of the alley. "-you?" he groaned.
"Your worst nightmare. You think you can just insult Jenny and get away with it? Huh, Jackass? Answer me!" He pulled Castiel back and slammed him back into the wall, knocking the air out of his lungs.
"I-I don't know!" Castiel gasped. The stranger pulled his fist back and slammed it into Castiel's middle. Castiel cried out in pain, dropping to his knees as the man released his shirt. He was relieved to be on solid ground. But his relief was short lived as a knee connected with his nose, knocking him onto the pavement where he sprawled face down on the dirty cement.
He got to his hands and knees, spitting out dirt and blood. Hard rubber sole slammed into his side, knocking him to the ground again. His chest felt like it was on fire, his mouth filled with thick, salty blood and grime. He spat and coughed onto the concrete, his breaths rattling out of his chest raggedly.
A foot stomped on his ankle and Castiel screamed, the pain white hot. A kick to the stomach. A kick to his face. A kick to his ribs. He heard so many things cracking, he was surprised he hadn't dissolved into a puddle of skin and shattered bones.
"You-" A hand yanking him up by his hair, a slap stinging his already swollen cheek. "-will not. Insult-" A knee in his stomach, knocking the wind from him yet again. He coughed and spluttered, only to cry out in agony from the burning in his chest. –Jenny again." Slap. "Understand? DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?" He screamed into Castiel's face. Castiel whimpered and nodded, unshed tears flowing down cheeks and stinging the cuts on his face.
"Good." Castiel was dropped to the cold pavement and he thought it was over. He was wrong. A swift kick was delivered to the back of his head, causing him to see stars, the world going fuzzy and grey. The ground beneath him shifted as he watched a pair of black Jackboots clumped towards him. He flinched as the stranger crouched down in front of him, an evil smirk twisting his mouth.
"Hey, pal. How you doing?" He tsk-tsked. "You don't look like you're doing too good. Well, nothing I can do for you," he said, standing up and shrugging. Castiel rolled his eyes upward to stare at him. The man gave him a lopsided grin. "Oh, one more thing." WHAM! Castiel's face was met with the solid rubber of his boot. He head snapped back and he felt the flesh above his lip that connected to his nose tear in two. Castiel's fingernails scrabbled on the cement as he convulsed in pain, blood running in his eyes and painting the lenses of his glasses a bright red. The glass was shattered beyond repair, the frame twisted and digging into his skull.
Clump. Clump. The Jackboots appeared again and the man peered down at him. He bent down by Castiel's ear and gently brushed his blood matted hair away.
"When you get to Hell, tell 'em Michael Novak sent ya. Sleep tight, don't let the homeless animals bite…but they might." And with that, Michael stood and walked away, roaring at his own joke.
That was the last sound Castiel heard as lost consciousness; the cold, bitter laughter of a heartless man and the echoing of Jackboots on cracked cement, a joyful whistle accompanying the two.
Wow. This was pretty long. To be honest, I saw it reaching 2,600 and I thought I should probably slow it down a bit. I don't want people to expect me to roll out 3,000 a chapter. It's a lot harder than it seems. People who actually write their own FanFics know how demanding it is.
Anyway, I was gonna use Jimmy, not Michael, but it seemed a bit of an oxymoron. Jimmy adores God in SPN, and Michael…I'm not sure. But he's still a jackass. Hmm, I shall ponder this…
Anyway, you know the drill! :D
Reviews are accepted, not required, but loved.
Shave Less, Braid More,
Dublin O'Malley
XOXOX