Poor Grammar
Castiel tries hard to heed Sam's warning. Over the weeks following their last conversation, Cas keeps busy with errands and work—anything that would stave the distraught Winchester brother from his thoughts.
The hum of his desktop computer doesn't bring him into the quiet daze it normally does. Fact checking articles and editing words doesn't calm his nerves or cradle him in the expected. Even his walks through the local library, skimming the shelves for something new, something adventurous to distract him from his own lack of adventure, doesn't offer any solace. Nothing works. Nothing brings the worst-case-scenarios to a screeching halt in Cas's head. He only sees Dean, lying cold and gray in a pool of his own vomit. Or the Impala, wrapped around a pole, with Dean mangled inside. Or, almost worst of all: Dean alive, and alone, deteriorating with no one around to care.
Cas began his Saturday, planning on going to the store and meeting with the accountant about his mortgage; factual, predictable things that he knew he could depend on. But today is no different. He woke up with nothing but Dean plaguing his head. The drive to the store seems long, longer than it has been on past weekends. He tries to think of other items he forgot to put on his list, but worry distracts him. Has Dean gone to the store? Has he eaten anything good lately? Is he okay? The market whizzes by his driver's side window, his grocery list lying, forgotten in the ashtray. The world is suddenly speeding by- nothing but a haze of broken promises. Cas soon finds himself at Dean's door, knocking wildly, as if the house were about to explode.
Cas looks around the slatted walls- leaning a little to see if anything on the inside is viable through the window. After a few excruciating moments, the door opens. Cas jumps at the sight of not-Dean, but a tired looking woman with blurry red lips standing in front of him.
"Yeah?" she says with all the eloquence of a dying fish.
"Oh, um, hello. May I speak to Dean please?"
"Who?" The woman's face twists in apparent disgust at the sound of a question being directed at her. Cas peers around her bony side and sees the familiar outline of Dean, draped across the armchair in the living room. His gurgled snores making their way to Cas's ears.
"Um, him . . ." Cas says, pointing at the unconscious man behind her.
"Oh, I thought he said his name was Don." The woman says with a snort.
"It's Dean." Cas retorts dryly.
"Yeah, whatever. Anyway, as you can see, Dean is sleeping."
Cas stares angrily at the careless woman. Dean could suffocate on his own vomit and she would probably scoff at the hassle of calling an ambulance.
"I, umm, thank you for watching him but, you can take your leave, mam. I will watch over him now."
The woman shoots the man a bewildered glare, drawing her hands to her hips, fingers playing wickedly with the belt loop on her jean skirt.
"I ain't going anywhere honey . . . not until that dude wakes up and gives me my money."
Cas fidgets in his place on the doorstep. He knew that this woman was probably a prostitute but the fact that she just came out and said it like that is making him very uncomfortable.
"Well, it does not look like he is waking up any time soon, mam, so I can have him call you when he does. He can pay you then." Cas smiles at his own, seemingly reasonable solution.
The woman gapes blankly at the trench coated being in front of her, just before letting out a manly chortle.
"Oh sweetie, that's not how this works! I don't leave without my money, that way, I can go to bed tonight with all my teeth—you understand?"
Cas didn't but he could understand that this issue would not go away until Dean rousted himself or until Cas took care of it.
"How much does he owe you" Cas finally asks, fingers slipping into the folds and dancing along the seam of his wallet in the pocket of his coat.
The woman smiles victoriously.
"Two hundred and fifty."
Cas's eyes shoot wide, his mouth bounces open as words begin to crawl out. He pauses for a moment before snapping his jaw closed again. He knows that whatever he says, probably won't sway this woman. He decides to silently curse his luck instead.
Cas begrudgingly opens up his billfold and pulls out the three-hundred dollar bills he had took from the safe, with every intention of depositing them in the bank.
"I only have three hundred, do you have change?" Cas asks, hopefully.
The woman just glares at him, a smile twitching onto her stained lips.
"Where do you think I would be hiding change, honey?" she does a little spin in place, showing off her painted on clothing, making Castiel acknowledge her lack of pockets.
"Well, where do you plan on keeping this then?" Cas asks curiously, flicking the money between his fingers, unknowing of how snarky he is coming off.
The woman's grin grows wide as she snatches the folded bills from his outstretched hand. She begins hiking up her skirt, slowly- dancing her hips back and forth to non existent music. She stares deeply at Cas, leaning slightly forward, to reveal the shadowy gap between her breasts. Cas peers at her, curious still at what this woman is attempting to do or why she is staring at him so intensely. The short hem of the woman's jean skirt is soon hitched up over the bones at her waist, exposing a bright red thong with "I'm No Angel" written on the front in white, jagged letters.
Cas cocks his head to the side, and the woman smiles the same victorious smile she had on before. Eyes still locked on Cas, she slips her finger underneath the fabric of her panties and pulls them slightly to the right. Cas catches a glimpse of recently shaved skin, puckered and red with razor burn. The woman slides the money behind the taut fabric with her other hand and the releases it, the elastic snapping back making her yelp a soft "Ooh!"
Cas looks up at the woman's grinning face as she pulls the edges of her skirt back down her sides.
"That is poor grammar." Cas says finally as the woman's hands returns to her hips.
Her eyes dart down quickly, looking over herself; confusion flushing her face as she tries to figure out the man's intention."What?"
"Your undergarments—they should read I am not an angel. More words, less capitalization." Cas nods thoughtfully down to the woman's waist and gives a small smile, hoping he has helped her with an unknown indiscretion.
The bony creature returns the blank, cocked head expression Cas gave her earlier, just before flicking her hands up in the air and pushing past him and out the door.
"Whatever buddy!"
Cas watches as she walks away, over accentuating the swivel of her hips and giving a fluttery wave to the neighbor who is getting his mail.