A/N - After Pac Man Fever ...
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1:00am Friday.
Castiel grabbed hold of the spare mop and helped Dieter, the bus boy and general dogs' body, wash down the stone flagged area in front of the main bar and across the wood of the dance floor.
Officially Castiel's shift was over. However he found a simple pleasure in these final actions before the manageress kicked him and Dieter out, and locked up The Grapevine for the night.
Three weeks ago the angel had wandered into the dance club seeking to drown his aching muscles and heart in hard liquor. Tessie took one look at his suit and coat combo and had assumed that he had come to be interviewed for the cloakroom job. Remembering to keep his cover as not-an-angel-of-the-lord, he protested that he had no social security number. She had stuck her hip out, planted a hand on it, and laughed long, "You think you are the first alien I've had working off the books? Cash-in-hand, no benefits, cops or likely suits and you go out the fire exit at the back of the cloakroom. Capisce?"
Wide-eyed Castiel nodded, discovering that action indicated he had accepted the job. Stumbling block one of many was his name. He didn't have one. Rejecting Novak as disrespectful to Jimmy's surviving family, Castiel sucked in air and stuck a hand out, "Castiel Lawrence."
"Theresa Blair. Manager and pain in your butt. Be here at eight sharp tomorrow. Shift until closing Thursday to Sunday. Minimum wage. Tips are your own. Wear your tie."
Dieter clapped a hand on his shoulder and bade him goodnight before heading home to his student digs. Castiel turned the opposite direction and began walking.
He spent the hours of darkness winding his way through the central business district. He made his way out through streets that gave way to wide boulevards of stores accepting early morning deliveries and garbage collectors. Finally as dawn broke he found himself in a community that was new to him. Careful in choosing, he picked an empty house. If it was a rainy morning he would try and pry open a window. On a dry day he would pick a spot on a back porch. He preferred a large yard with grass lawn and high private fencing. Today the wide lawn ended in a summerhouse. A simple deadbolt released letting Castiel find a deckchair and a picnic blanket amongst the gardening items.
A scant three hours of necessary sleep brought Castiel to a sunbright windy morning. He had not truly had human sleep, letting a lingering tendril of his grace make him aware of any returning homeowners or unexpected gardeners. Stretching his limbs and smoothing the wrinkles from his clothes, he headed back towards the commercial centre. He dug into his jacket pocket pulling out the billfold of his wages. He peeled off a twenty and put it in his coat pocket. The first food emporium he encountered on this day's route was a Biggersons. Castiel cleared his throat at the counter, speaking for the first time since Dieter and he parted ways. Two burgers and a vanilla shake refueled Castiel for the next twenty four hours. The florescent lit restroom revealed stubble darker than Tessie Blair would approve. He shrugged his shoulders and began the walk to the showers of the YMCA.
Crossing the intersection by the theatre, he inadvertently ran his hand along the bonnet of a black Chevy impala stopped at the lights. The driver was a grey haired businessman. Castiel stumbled to the kerb. His mind filled with images of grey-haired Dean and his white-haired self sitting on a cabin stoop sharing a beer. He caught a lamppost to steady his body and mind. There were too many possible futures, far too many of which ended in unbearable tragedy. He blanked his thoughts. Another concentrated effort allowed him to feel his burden; The Angel Tablet. It was safely tucked in its secret covert.
Two blocks closer to his shave and shower there was an old graveyard surrounded by high wrought iron fencing and a refuge for feral cats. Castiel had rested here before. He pushed open the creaking gate and made his way to the central dried up fountain. The noon high sun beat down tipping the long grasses to the brown end of the spectrum. Once he had stolen a few moments of solitude he would continue on his way, ending finally at The Grapevine. On his nights off he walked a varying circuitous route which brought him to the Kino Royale, where he schooled himself on classic cinema and new foreign language releases. A tabby with a kink in her tail chased two marmalade kittens around a subsiding tomb. Exasperated, she yowled at her charges. The plea translated in Castiel's knowledge as 'Children, too hot, come home."
"Come home."
"Come home, Cas, I need you."
The words echoed and looped.
"Not like this Dean." Castiel whispered into the warm breeze.
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Paul sighed as he pulled his white vest top over his damp hair. He was the last in the locker room. Tugging his jeans over his barely dry legs he could hear Leslie laughing at him, telling him that he marveled how a guy patient enough to sit in a fire station for hours on end waiting for a call, couldn't dry himself off after showering or tolerate the time it took to tidy away his crap. His guts twisted seeing Leslie's bright blue eyes and cheeky grin in his mind.
"Fuck you, you Dear-John-leaving bastard." Paul snatched his Nikes from the wooden bench and bent over to put them on.
"Are you not over that crap ex of yours?"
Paul spun around inelegantly flopping his large body against the wall of lockers. It was Gillian, the only woman on the team, wiry and red haired with the feistiness that came with her coloring.
"Shit, Gill, I thought I was locking up."
"You are Big Boy. I forgot my kindle. The kids' bedtime story is on it. Not worth living if I arrive back without it." Gillian grinned. "So what made you think of the sack of crap?"
"Gill, please. You know we're not officially over. He has gone to..."
"I know 'find himself'. Bullshit new-age hippy crap. If he wanted religion you could have brought him down to St Michael and All Angels. I told you Father Moran has a radically modern view of Lesbian Gay issues."
"Gillian." Paul rolled his eyes at the consistent efforts of his colleague to bring him back into the fold. He had made the mistake of confessing to being an altar boy in his youth, and Gillian had pounced on him ever since.
"Just saying. What you doing tonight?" Gillian retrieved her kindle from her locker and was turning away to head home.
"Thought I might go to Geary's. See if there is anyone who fancies a game of pool." Paul mentally added, see if Dean is back and wants to avoid playing pool by going back to my place.
"Geary's? Honestly I despair. I thought you gay boys had better taste. See ya later Loser." Gillian winked at him and did an L sign with her fingers on her forehead.
"You are such a child, Gillian!" Paul called after her, laughing to himself.
Watch back on, sweater over tee and backpack of essentials all in place, Paul made a final check of the station. He set the alarm on his way out, cursing modern day vandalism that meant even a fire station had to have a burglar alarm.
Huffing a sigh he turned to face the setting sun and saw the Impala parked across the street. A smile broke out on his face. Dean was there with the rays of sun lighting his body in a halo and obscuring his face to Paul's eyes. He raised a hand to wave. Dean waved back. Something warm settled in Paul's belly. He hefted his bag over his shoulder and dodged an aging Ford Taurus to dash across the road.
"Dean! You're back, man, and a sight for sore eyes." Paul caught the other man in a one armed hug around the brown leather of his jacket. He could feel Dean stiffen before relaxing to clap Paul on the back.
"Hey." Dean said sort of shy, and Paul melted all over again.
"Hey yourself. How did the job go?" Paul dumped his bag on the dusty ground and turned to face Dean. The angle of light was different here and Paul could see every beautiful feature of his friend's face. He hadn't told Dean he was beautiful. He wanted to, but there was something skittish, new, and fragile about their ithing/i and Dean's slow acceptance of his sexuality. Paul couldn't risk it, not for his own pain if he was rejected, but for Dean's heart.
He knew Dean had deep seated issues, maybe even deeply hidden heartbreaks, but the man was the silent type. Not that they didn't talk, chat, laugh. Dean had the most outrageous stories, but there was a barbed wire fence that was protecting Dean's core. Paul thought sometimes when they touched fingers across a sticky Geary's table, or lay spent after a mutual hand job on Paul's sofa, that Dean was letting him in, just a fraction. It was enough. Paul was not one to push, he had been burned too badly in his own life.
"X-box or Geary's? I have to warn you that some douche has stolen the blue number two ball, so we could improvise to play one-pocket?"
Dean smiled, "Nominating pockets sounds good. If I never see a video game again it will be too soon."
"Huh?" Paul smacked Dean on the shoulder, "What man? You have a virtual reality disaster while you were gone?"
"Man!" Dean grinned wide.
"Good hunt this time? You get your bounty?" Paul got a dreamy look on his face.
"Earth to fire officer Kerry."
"I can just see you as Lee Majors."
"You think I'm the bionic man?" Dean snorted, "No-one spent six million dollars on me."
"I can't understand why," Paul teased back and leaned against the hot black door of the impala. "Not that show. Come on Dean. Remember The Fall Guy? Lee Majors played Colt the bounty hunter. The cool truck. Jody in her daisy dukes shorts."
"You noticed the girl?"
"Hey I was in elementary school. I noticed Lee Majors."
"No bounty this time. I was helping a friend. She is like a little sister to me and Sam. It worked out in the end."
"Well you know what they say. A good deed…"
"…never goes unpunished." Dean finished.
"No Dean." Paul rolled his eyes. "So shines a good deed in a weary world."
"Are you quoting Shakespeare at me?" Dean eyed him suspiciously.
"Lawks, no. Willy Wonka."
Dean snorted a laugh, "Depp or Wilder?"
"Wilder all the way." Paul said emphatically.
"I hear you." Dean licked his lips and gave another amused slight snort.
"So you ready to brave Concordia's Tex Mex takeout. Burrito Surprise?"
"Can't. I'm sorry dude. I came to say goodbye. We have a lead on the guy we were chasing our tails around Oklahoma for. Sam and I, we are heading out tonight." Dean looked away as if he did not want to see the disappointment in Paul's eyes.
"Okay," Paul tried to smile but it was a sorry effort. He had no claim on Dean's time or on Dean really. "When will you get home?"
"Thing is. The way things are. I don't know." Dean pulled the impala key from his jacket pocket.
"Will I keep a bottle of Heineken on ice for you?" Paul sucked in his lip, hoping Dean was not leading in to break off their 'thing'.
"That would be good, great." It was Dean who pulled the firefighter in for a deep hug. Paul wasn't letting him go without a memory and he wrapped his arms tight around Dean's body.
"I'mma gonna open a hugging booth." Dean chuckled into Paul's ear.
"Did your other customers do this?" Paul kissed Dean's temple. "Or this?" He tilted Dean's face with his hand, touched his lips on a lower freckle, then claimed soft lips with the tip of his tongue, let Dean open up for him allowing him entry and then bringing them to where they melted into each other.
"Gotta go." Dean whispered pulling his head back. "Sammy's waiting."
"You take care, Dean Winchester." Paul swallowed hard. "I'll be here when you get home."
Dean nodded as he made his way around the trunk to the driver's side. "Thanks man, awesome."