They attempt the farmer's market a week after The Epic Sharing of Feelings that occurred in the wake of Dean's Boneheaded Cut-and-Run (Sam titled the latter). There are, in Dean's opinion, way too many events requiring titles in their new domestic life. Especially since, these titles are usually down to Deans stupidity and therefore significantly less awesome than, for instance, The Badass Werewolf Hunt of 1996 of That Time that Sammy Beheaded Gordon Walker with is Bare-Fucking-Hands. One more catastrophic foray into civilian life and Dean is going to have to seriously reconsider his life choices. Which is why, on this particular outing, they are determined to be as prepared as possible. Seriously, they plot the entire thing as if they were conducting a siege of a top secret demon compound. This is Castiel's second attempt to interact with the world, and Dean will be damned twice over if he lets this shit be a repeat of the Target Debacle.
The farmer's market is Cas' idea. He makes his declaration of intent over breakfast one morning.
"I can't spend my life hiding," he notes.
Which is…incredibly mature and well adjusted...then again, Dean's perspective on what qualifies as 'mature' or 'well-adjusted' might be slightly skewed. Let's be real, if Cas decided that he wanted to take up residence in the attic and refuse all interaction with the outside world for the rest of his life, Dean would probably go with it (at least for a month or two). Sam (who is probably aware of the fact that he might be facing a united front of reclusion) looks incredibly pleased at this turn of events. He's likely been planning some way to drag Cas out of the house against his will without getting the mother of all smiting glares.
So they strategize, only this time, Cas also joins in the strategy session, and it's both strange and familiar to have the three of them, heads bowed, working out a game plan, arguing and haggling and hatching out the least of all possible evils. It's Team Free Will, back together again…just with a problem that is slightly less apocalyptic, though, as far as Dean is concerned, no less important. He made a promise to Sam, to himself, to Cas that he wouldn't fuck this up, that he would do his best, and he is determined to make things go as smoothly as possible.
"But," Sam cautions, "don't go into a downward spiral when things go to hell."
That, Dean admits, will likely be the most difficult part. Neither refutes the presupposition that things will inevitably all go to hell. That's just the formula of their lives
Cas is intrigued by the prospect of another outing, seems eager to 'leave the nest' (Dean laughs at his own pun) and interact with the world a little bit. He also confides to Dean that he's nervous: "I don't understand people."
"What're you talking about? Sure you do."
Cas gives him a look that suggests his mental wiring is faulty, "I'm not."
"What about me and Sam? We're people. You do fine with us."
"You're different," Cas states, and the echo of that phrase ripples between them for a moment.
"Yeah, well, if you can handle our brand of crazy, you'll be fine with the regular folk."
Cas remains dubious, "Experience speaks to the contrary."
"You know what they say, Cas," Dean replies, "If at first you don't succeed..."
"Dean, I really don't know what they say."
"'Try, try again'," Dean supplies, "Don't worry, we're not gonna make the same mistakes. It'll be different."
And they do everything in their power to make it so. As near as they can tell, Castiel had been set off by a. the invasion of his personal space (which Dean will find ironic for the rest of forever) b. an overwhelming input of stimuli, and, finally, c. being in a strange environment, solo.
They hash this out over the kitchen table.
"So," Sam reasons, totally in his element, "We won't leave you alone. Not once."
"Sammy's right, Cas," Dean affirms, "You've got yourself two highly trained personal body guards for the afternoon."
Cas initially glares resentfully at his palms (warrior of god reduced to needing human body guards…it must be a sad come down) before he refocuses; his gaze softens and he half smiles at their statements, at the eagerness and earnestness of them, "I would never doubt you."
Dean feels like he doesn't deserve that, and Sam looks shifty, but they accept his comment without a vicious protest.
"I have more doubt in myself," Castiel supplies, "I don't want to alarm or inconvenience you if I am unable to handle the situation."
Sam fields that before Dean can even open his mouth, "One: you won't alarm us; we've seen a lot and we know the signs, we're prepared. Two: Cas, you're not an inconvenience. We want to make this possible for you and we're gonna do everything we can to make sure this goes smoothly, okay?"
Cas nods.
Dean jumps in, "Look, if we hit a worst case scenario here, we'll just safe-word it."
"'Safe word it'?" Castiel repeats.
"Yeah," Dean affirms, "if you start to feel uncomfortable you just say the word and we'll tap out ASAP. No questions, no fuss, we'll get you out of there right away."
"It's like a secret code, Cas," Sam supplies, glaring slightly at Dean, who had partially set him up to explain the phrase's larger implications, which Sam, to Dean's dismay, does not do. He does give his older brother bitch face #57: Sexual innuendos? Really? Very mature. Asshole. Dean preens a little as he smirks, and Castiel clearly recognizes that he's missing something, but refuses to pursue; it's as if he knows that it's not worth the headache it would give him, especially now that he is susceptible to headaches.
Instead, he frowns and considers their assurances.
"We can handle this," Sam promises, "you can handle this."
"We'll be right there with you the whole time," Dean confirms.
"Okay," Castiel agrees, shrugging in that stilted, awkward way of his.
After that initial hurdle, the strategy session continues. They decide that they'll go early in the morning.
"We'll only have to deal with old folks and toddlers," Dean notes, "Not the hipster, poser, middle-aged lady crowd."
Cas frowns speculatively, "What are hipsters and posers?"
"Douches," Dean supplies.
"I see," Cas is still frowning.
Sam just rolls his eyes and sighs, "Stop turning him against people."
Dean rears back, mock offended, "Cas is a big boy, he can make his own decisions, Sammy. Isn't that right, Cas?"
Cas rolls his eyes in an almost perfect approximation of Sam's expression, "I don't think Sam was suggesting that I couldn't. Can we continue? Please?"
"Thanks, Cas," Sam nods to Dean with a tight 'I told you so' bitch face (those are so frequent that Dean doesn't even bother attributing numbers to them).
"Fine, I see how it is."
"Anyway," Sam continues blithely, clicking vaguely at his laptop, "The market opens at 7:00; I figure we can head over at 7:30. It's not like we're not already awake anyway," the last bit is a comment that was probably just throw away and said without any conscious thought, but everyone stills, especially Sam, who immediately backtracks, "I just meant that, um, we've been waking up early."
"We know what you meant," Dean glowers at his brother, who wilts slightly beneath his gaze. They are up early because Cas has nightmares almost every night, sometimes multiple times a night. His screams rouse everyone from sleep, and make it difficult to go back. It's not like they haven't built a life on four hours of shut-eye, and it isn't like they don't all have their own nightmares, but, fuck, Sam is supposed to be the fucking sensitive one.
A muscle in Cas' jaw jumps and he looks torn between extreme embarrassment and wrath.
"I'm sorry," Sam offers sheepishly.
Dean's glare suggests that if Sam says something like that to Cas again Dean will break his nose and Sam seems to believe that's fair. You are no longer allowed to lecture me on being compassionate, Dean conveys with his eyes.
"It's true, Sam, there's nothing to forgive."
They continue somewhat stiltedly after that.
The safe word is 'Christo,' it's been a pseudo safe word for a long time anyway.
"Seriously, Cas," if you feel weird about anything…"
"I understand."
Sam seems inordinately pleased. Cas seems subdued and thoughtful. Dean is edgy and trying to cover it with good humor rather than maudlin sulking. He's been extra careful about that lately. Cas needs the support, and the poor bastard is extra sensitive to Dean's moods. Sam would have been a much better choice for the duckling-esque imprinting, but he's not sure if Cas had a choice or if he would have made the wise decision if he'd been given the chance. He's really not very logical where Dean is concerned, unfortunately.
Sam goes to work in the library; Cas will undoubtedly join him after he's done picking absently at the fruit on his plate.
"Penny for your thoughts, Cas?"
Cas sighs, "What?"
Dean rolls his eyes torn between exasperation and burgeoning fondness, "Talk to me. What's going on?"
CAs shifts slightly, prods a piece of melon quite sharply with a fork.
"I can't help but feel that this is a mistake."
"The field trip tomorrow?"
He nods, sporting one hell of a constipated expression. Somehow it makes him look young all of a sudden.
"Hey," Dean offers, "we don't have to go if you don't want to. We can send Sam to pick us up some more of that cobbler and whatever green shit he's into—," the tiniest smile creeps up the edge of Cas' mouth, so Dean continues, "—and you and me will hang out here. It's not a big deal."
"It feels like a 'big deal,'" Cas ducks his head slightly, as if to hide his face, "Perhaps I was precipitous in my suggestion."
"Pecipitious?"
"Hasty."
"Maybe it's like ripping off a band-aid?" Dean suggests, and Cas grimaces, "It hurts at the beginning but then it wears off, you just gotta tear it. No hesitation."
"That is not a pleasant experience, Dean."
"Dude, I know," he sighs, "Look, I'm gonna level with you here; this has to be your choice. You have a choice, and this one? It's not heaven or hell or end of the world. And I've got your back no matter what."
Cas scrunches his mouth and tilts his head, "Life is filled with choices."
"Yeah, ain't it great?" Dean grins wolfishly.
"It's a bit overwhelming," Cas admits with a rueful, dazed shake of the head.
Dean chuckles, "Understatement. Taking orders is a cop-out; choices are hard, but what the hell would we have without that?" Besides wings.
Cas considers this carefully, so carefully, in fact, that he turns extremely contemplative for the rest of the day, and Dean worries that he did something extremely wrong. He becomes so concerned that he voices his anxiety to Sam in a moment of extreme desperation, and Sam looks at him like he's grown a second head and then like he's too cute for words, which does not improve Dean's nerves.
"Shut up," he barks as he stalks away.
Cas has been working with Sam on the library, organizing, translating, and compiling lore. Most of the information is stuff that Cas already knows, but each new discovery sets Sam to skipping.
If he says "So get this!" one more time, so help him, Dean is going to throw him out of the window. Bobby is torn between annoyance and rapturous longing. He's dying to get his hands on the books more and more every time Sam calls him half singing his latest finding.
Cas spends the day holed up in the library and goes to bed early with a stack of books. He wakes up around three screaming. Sam sleeps through it, and Dean is careful not to wake him when he jumps out of bed and hurries across the hall, shutting the door of Cas' room behind him. It takes him about ten minutes to get Cas to wake up and another ten for Cas to recognize Dean. He stares at Dean through teary eyes, like it's a miracle that he's there—as if Dean would be anywhere else. Dean's never sure if it's okay to touch Cas or not—sometimes the angel recoils so hard that he hurts himself, sometimes he clings to Dean like he's the only thing that's real—so Dean follows Cas' lead. Tonight, Dean's not sure what the hell the nightmare had been about, but it causes Cas to close his hand tight on Dean's shoulder like he's afraid that someone will try to rip him away. Maybe it's selfish of him, but Dean is thankful that it's one of the nights where closeness is allowed. He holds onto Cas' wrist and catches his panicked eyes.
"It's all right, man," he whispers, "I'm right here."
Cas nods, breathes raggedly, and wipes his eyes with the heel of his hand, like a little kid. Rising tenderness threatens to engulf Dean.
"You wanna talk about it?"
"Not really," Cas' voice is broken, raw.
"Okay."
"Sorry, I woke you."
"You don't hafta apologize for that, Cas. I don't need much sleep anyway."
Cas nods, and Dean knows he wishes that he didn't have to sleep period.
They sit together for a while. Cas closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall. Dean rises to leave, but Cas reaches out, still with his eyes closed, and locks Dean's wrist in a death grip.
"Stay," he whispers, half-asleep, almost pleading—that's the only way that Cas would ask for anything, and it stops Dean in his tracks, "please."
"All right," Dean says, throat tight. Stay. Cas asking him to stay, "Pass me a pillow."
Cas smiles, almost, his mouth twitches at least, and he does as he's told.
"And don't hog the covers."
"Mmmm."
Dean rolls his eyes, grins warmly at Cas, and, knowing he shouldn't, moves as close as he can. Hesitates the barest second and then runs a hand over Cas' hair; Cas' mouth tilts upwards at the corners in response, "Get some sleep, angel."
Dean settles back and closes his eyes.
He wakes at six, Cas' head leaning on his shoulder and Dean's cheek pressed against his hair. He's completely relaxed for a minute, just inhaling the scent of Cas, and feeling him breathing, but then he snaps to attention and realizes that Cas is twitching slightly, tensing. Dean shakes him gently, and Cas nearly breaks his nose. Thankfully, Dean knows to duck.
Cas looks harrowed and embarrassed, but Dean must have woken him just as the nightmare started because he doesn't seem haunted, merely disoriented.
They decide there's not much point in going back to sleep after that (though part of Dean wants nothing more than to curl around Cas completely and shield him from the bad dreams and the bad thoughts and the pain). That might be why he forces himself to get up. The temptation to stay is too strong. Too frightening. He goes down to start breakfast while Cas brushes his teeth.
Sam staggers down the stairs with a severe case of bedhead soon after.
"You chargin' rent?" Dean asks as he scrambles eggs.
"What?"
"For the birds building a nest on your head; prime real-estate there, you could probably make a buck."
"You're such a dick," Sam grumbles.
Dean chuckles, "You know you love me, Sammy."
Cas makes a beeline to the stove and takes over coffee duty. No one is going to deny that he makes the best brew. He's got all those tricks he picked up watching humanity for, well, forever. Why he can instantaneously become a coffee guru but struggles with tying his shoes will continue to be a mystery. Regardless, Dean suspects that Sam will start building a shrine to Castiel in the corner of the kitchen any day now because of his skills with caffeine. The look his baby brother is giving Cas right now is downright rapturous.
Sam pours orange juice, makes toast. Dean serves up scrambled eggs, and Cas carefully places mugs of coffee before everyone. Cas looks inherently suspicious of his breakfast, like it's harboring malicious intent.
"Dude, the eggs are not gonna hurt you," Dean says, digging into his meal.
Cas crinkles his nose in consternation, and Sam spreads jam on his toast, trying to hide a smile.
Dean's breakfast is gone in seconds; Cas only eats a few bites before giving up. Dean mentally adds scrambled eggs to the list of things that Cas doesn't like…maybe he should try omelets instead. Sam inhales his breakfast and guzzles three cups of coffee borderline joyfully.
Dean cleans up the kitchen. Sam goes to help Cas with his bandages. It doesn't take long before everyone is ready to go. Life on the road means you're almost always prepared to get up and out the door at a moment's notice, even if that's not quite a necessity in life.
Dean twirls the keys around his finger. Sam gives Cas one last chance to cop out, which Cas refuses, and they all pile into the car, where Dean turns up the radio and shoots a silent prayer that this doesn't all end in blood and tears.
The farmer's market is set up in the town square: a grassy area between the town hall and a white clapboard church. The space is currently covered with tables and awnings in neat rows, venders bustling about and the early morning shoppers milling in between.
Dean parks a block away.
"You sure about this?" Sam asks and Cas nods, doesn't even roll his eyes at the excessive solicitation of his feelings.
Dean nods at Sam, and they get out of the Impala and walk towards the market. They can hear voices and laughter, haggling, arguing, music starting. Smells—coffee, earth, spices, fruit, donuts—waft in the breeze. Steam rises off the pavement. It's still cool, but the temperature is likely to climb quickly. The sun is bright, blinding, making Cas squint and Dean shade his eyes. Sam ducks into the pharmacy on the corner and comes out with three pairs of sunglasses, which Cas examines carefully before sliding over the bridge of his nose. He rocks the aviators well. With his tousled hair, jeans, and Dean's AC/DC t-shirt, he looks human—like a very attractive human, a very attractive male human, a very attractive male human that Dean feels an overwhelming urge suddenly to throw up against the nearest wall and kiss senseless, just to see what noises Cas will make, to leave a bruise or two on his exposed neck to say 'hands off, mine'. Woah, dude, he thinks, clearing his throat, and refocusing his attention elsewhere…
True to Dean's prediction the early morning crowd is composed primarily of the very old and the very young. Couples who look like they've been together forever stroll between the rows alongside harried young adults pushing strollers and strapping kids in backpacks. Some of them look chill, most of them look a little stressed, and Dean's not sure why all of them give him a slight twinge of jealously when he would have been nothing but disdainful of them a few years ago.
As promised, the brothers stick tight to Cas, framing him like a pair of sentinels, but much more casually.
"You doin' okay?" Dean asks before they plunge into the crowd.
"Let's as you say 'do this thing,'" he sighs before striding forward, leaving Dean and Sam flummoxed but smiling slightly as they follow in his wake.
One of the cool things about Cas' humanity is watching someone, who has literally seen everything, experience things for the first time. It's this trippy, amazing, kind of borderline miraculous juxtaposition between ancient wisdom and complete newness. Dean doesn't think that he'll ever get tired of it. That facet of Cas' fall is on full display today as he is barraged by sights and smells and tastes, taking it all in through the filter of his new sunglasses. Dean watches him, openly staring, wondering at Cas, experiencing this through him, with him.
Sam keeps a running commentary about the produce, which, hey, there is a lot of it, in every color and shape and size and texture. Dean doesn't know what half of them even are let alone what they're for, but Sam seems like an expert (he was totally a hippie wannabe all organic nutcase at Stanford; Dean always had his suspicions, but this is the final proof).
Sam catches his train of thought apparently because he glares at his brother and tells him to shut up.
"I didn't say anything," Dean laughs, mock innocent.
Cas is the vendors' dream customer apparently, because he is intensely interested and enthusiastic about everything. Peering closely at cabbage and rutabaga. Inspecting carrots and apples and strawberries. Everyone offers him samples of herbs, fruits, and vegetables, talking his ears off about crops, and family land, and cross pollination, the precarious position of the bee population. Dean learns some things through this: like the fact that Cas really loves spearmint, his eyes pop at the cool freshness of it in his mouth, but despises cilantro, looks like he's gagging on soap and has to force himself to swallow it. Cas is into strawberries and peaches and peppers. He is less enthusiastic about celery and apples. Dean is mildly concerned that Cas will begin a crusade to save the honeybee any day now…time for distraction.
Dean offers him a plum, "Nature's sweet tart," he cajoles, with an enticing wink.
"What's a sweet tart?"
Dean snorts and smirks, "Just try it."
Cas' mouth purses at the bitter taste of the skin, but then his eyes fly wide as the sweetness of the flesh hits his tongue.
"See?" Dean gins, all teeth, eyes trained on Cas' tongue as it licks juice the corner of his mouth.
Sam looks at Dean like he's insane, "How did you even—?"
"I'm not a total heathen, Sammy," Dean taps him on the chest as he walks past, and he can hear his brother's eye roll.
Sam and Dean, in addition to being Cas' personal body guards, are also his personal assistants or something, laden with paper bags filled with assorted vegetables and fruits that Cas wants to try and Sam wants to eat and Dean is willing to sample if it makes his boys happy.
Cas soaks up everything: the banter, the conversations, the music, the crowd, the stalls. He adjusts (though he's quite jumpy at first), and Dean is there with a comforting hand on his shoulder, and Sam is there with an encouraging smile, and they move along. As he relaxes, Cas starts to talk about markets that he's seen, that he's observed, in Rome, Constantinople, Alexandria, Rio, Mexico City, Baghdad, Dubai. He muses at the similarities and differences and sheer variety of human culture, natural design, of time and place and society. Sam asks Cas to talk more about Alexandria, about libraries and books and Egypt and Greece.
Dean drifts for a moment, imagining he and Cas walking through the scenes he describes so vividly, all the colors and cadence, and, for possibly the first time in his life, Dean wonders if it would be worth it to get on a plane and cross the Atlantic, to marvel at Paris with Cas, or to visit the creepy ass fruit market he's describing in Rome where some dude got burned alive for heresy and people thought that made the space perfect for hustling and bustling and shopping. The weird thing is that he can see it. Maybe not the background, maybe not the lingo, but he can see Cas, smiling for real, genuine and loose and light and happy, and popping cherries into his mouth and trying gelato, and getting a cappuccino mustache that Dean will kiss away…he feels a tightness in his chest, a goddamn longing, quickly followed by an ache because all those scenes that Cas describes, they're just scenes. Cas didn't get to experience them, not really, he couldn't engage or interact. It's like he said, looking at the world through a glass, and Dean wants him to go back, wants to take him back, now that he can see and feel and touch and taste and let him live it, live it with him. Experience it together, experience it for real. He wants it so fucking badly—
"Dean?"
"Huh?" he shakes from his revere, and Sam frowns at him," What?"
"C'mon," he beckons, "the pie lady is just ahead."
"Awesome."
"What were you thinking about, Dean?" Cas asks, when Sam takes the lead.
Dean feels heat crawl up his neck, he's almost grateful that Cas can't see his thoughts, "Just having a good day is all," he smiles.
Cas tilts his head, like he knows that Dean isn't being totally honest, but he smiles faintly back, "So am I," he nudges Dean's shoulder just slightly, as if unsure of the motion or the gesture, but there is affection in it, or the intent of infection, so Dean nudges back with a grin. Cas blushes, and Dean is tempted strongly to loop an arm around Cas' shoulder, place a kiss at his temple, spend the rest of the day tethered like that, but he shakes it off. Too much, too soon, not cool, he counsels himself, stop.
"Are you all right, Dean?" Cas asks and a frown line appears, un-obscured by his sunglasses. Dean wants to smooth it out with his thumb, so he shoves his free hand in his pocket instead.
"Peachy," he says, raising and shaking the bag of peaches with a smile. Cas rolls his eyes.
"Even I know that that is a bad joke."
"Everybody's a critic."
The pie is also peachy—peach crumble to be precise. The pie lady is offering samples and Dean is all over that. Her name is Jaimie, and she recognizes Sam from last week, giving him a warm smile.
"These are my…brothers, Dean and Cas," Sam says, and Dean pulls up short overcome with pride in his baby brother for adopting his angel.
"Sam, I—" Cas begins, but he gets sidetracked by a tug on his pant leg. There is a small boy about three or four with a mop of dark curls falling into big brown eyes.
"You gotsa a boo boo," he says pointing at Cas' arms which are covered in white bandages. Dean feels a wave of total panic because this is it, this is the moment when Cas has a breakdown and everything falls apart, he's bracing himself, but then instead—.
"I am injured, yes," Cas replies to the boy. Dean gapes like a fish. Jaimie goes to intervene, "Nathaniel," she calls, but Sam waves her down, reassuring her and distracting her with questions about her bakery.
The kid, Nathaniel, frowns sorrowfully.
"Howdja get hurt?" he asks.
Dean worries that Cas is going to say something mentally scarring, irreparable; he's holding his breath, waiting, but Cas surprises him again.
"I Fell," Cas replies honestly.
The boy nods solemnly, like he understands perfectly. He bends his arm and points to his elbow which is covered in Band-Aids, "I fell outta the swing. It hurt."
Now it's Cas who nods solemnly, kneeling so that he's on a level with Nathaniel.
"I am very sorry to hear that," he assures him, "it hurt when I Fell, too."
Nathaniel inclines his head, ""s cause a how you're bigger. Mama says 'a bigger they are the harder they fall.'"
Cas smiles softly, "Your bandages are much more colorful than mine."
The kid's eyes pop with enthusiasm the way small children's do, "'at's cause they're Buzz Lightyear Band-Aids!"
"What's a Buzz Lightyear?"
The kid's mouth forms a perfect O of disbelief and he looks to Dean for support. Dean shrugs slightly, still in a state of total shock.
"He's a space ranger," the kid explains, "and he saves people. He's got a laser and he's friends with Woody and Jessie and he's the best. I wanna be a space ranger when I grow up."
Cas blinks and his mouth twitches, "You would be a good space ranger," he agrees and the kid fucking beams.
"Hold on!" he says and darts away coming back seconds later with a plastic Toy Story lunch box filled with a slinky, crayons, a coloring book, and, finally, a stack of Band-Aids.
He struggles with small fingers to open one, but, when he succeeds, he smiles triumphantly before coming over and taking Cas' hand. Cas has to fight down the urge to pull away, Dean sees him bite his lip, but he lets Nathaniel take his hand, the one not already covered in gauze, the one that has fresh feathered scars on its back, and Nathaniel presses the Band-Aid precisely and carefully onto the center of the exposed skin.
"Thank you," Castiel says like this is an important gift and he takes it incredibly seriously.
"'Welcome," Nathaniel replies, "now you've got a cool band aid."
"It is," Castiel agrees, studying it closely, "quite 'cool.'"
Nathaniel waves Cas closer, and Cas goes. The boy stage whispers, "Your mom's gotta kiss it to make it better," he confides.
Castiel looks almost regretful, upset to disappoint this child, "I don't have a mother."
Nathaniel looks aghast and then troubled, pats Cas' hand consolingly, "'Ats okay. I'll do it," he places a kiss on top of the Band-Aid with a loud smacking noise for emphasis and pulls back with a smile, "All better!"
Castiel studies his hand, flexes his fingers mechanically, studiously, "It feels much better," he replies, "Thank you, Nathaniel."
"Welcome," the boy replies before running back to his mom.
Cas gets to his feet and faces Dean's stupefied expression. Dean is blinking owlishly, vaguely aware of the fact that his jaw is hanging open and Sam is glancing over at them with a barely concealed smile, whispering to Jamie.
"Nathaniel gave me a 'cool' Band-Aid," he says matter-of-factly, as if Dean had not just watched the exchange.
"I, ah, can see that," he says, dumbstruck.
"How is the pie?" he asks.
"Fu—ah, fudging awesome. Here, try some."
Castiel tries the peach cobbler with the same expression of extreme distrust that he gives the prospect of anything edible or technological.
"It's delicious, dude, just try it."
Cas agrees.
They buy one to go, say their goodbyes, and Dean marvels at the fact that Cas is good with kids. Put that on the list of things that he never expected. Ever. Although, maybe it makes sense. People are just people to Cas. They're all a little alien, a little foreign, a little incomprehensible. He doesn't distinguish by race or age or class or creed or any of that. It's just—humanity. So maybe, maybe it's even a bit easier to relate to kids, who are just starting to figure out all this human stuff too…makes a weird kind of sense actually. More worryingly or weirdly is the fact that Dean is beyond confused at what the sight of Cas interacting with a kid is doing to his insides—it's making his brain dart into regions and directions that he has no desire to go in, didn't even know were there for fuck's sake, and now he's more than a little freaked out, forcing his brain to run in the other direction. He's marveling at the realization that this outing is actually more traumatic and confusing for him than it is for Cas right now.
Sam really enjoying being the tour guide. It's kind of adorable. Showing the two of them around like he created this place specifically for them. The last time Dean saw Sam this excited was when he was in fourth grade and his class had had an open house for parents, so the kids could show their accomplishments and such, and Sam had had a lot of accomplishments. They'd been in one place for two months and he was excited, still, young. He'd wanted John to go, but John had been on a hunt, hadn't been back for two weeks, and even though he promised, on open house night, he'd been MIA. Sam was dejected and worried, but Dean, Dean had shown up, walked there himself, glared defiantly at anyone who gave them a pitying glance with all the wrath a thirteen year old could muster. Sam had darted around, embarrassed at first, but then more and more engaged, eager to show Dean his teachers and his science project, and his report on Brazil, and Dean had followed the chatter, proud to bursting of his geeky little brother who was so smart and so much better at this than Dean was, ruffling his hair proudly from time to time.
He does that now too, more in jest than anything else. Sam rolls his eyes hard, but he shoves Dean affectionately. They get iced tea and pretzels and plop down on a bench in the sunshine by the small platform stage where the band is playing rock music. Sam strikes up a conversation with the people sitting next to them, an older couple (Jim and Daphne Macintosh) with a black lab (named Duke).
"You boys new in town?"
"Yeah," Dean says, "Just moved into the Mason place."
"Mason? Really?"
"Yeah," Sam confirms, "Rebekah Mason was our, ah, grandma."
"Huh," Jim huffs, "nobody's lived up at the Mason place in years."
Daphne nods, "People say that it's haunted."
Dean and Sam laugh uneasily, and Cas, unfortunately begins to say, "The house is impervious to—"
"—to that kind of nonsense," Dean covers swiftly. Cas frowns, but gets distracted, thankfully, by Duke, who snuffles over to him curiously. Huh, good with kids and dogs, what the fuck is going on in this world? "Just like grandma."
Daphne chuckles, "Rebekah never was one for nonsense."
"You knew her then?" Sam asks eagerly.
"Yeah, small town like this, you hear stories, she was a bit older than us," she continues, while her husband nods sagely, "the Masons always kept a bit to themselves, but Rebekah, she was a firecracker, feisty, a bit rebellious."
Dean smirks at Sam, "Runs in the family."
Daphne laughs, "I'm sure. That boy she married, the Winchester…what was his name? Harry? Herbert?"
"Henry," Jim supplies.
"That's right," she pats him on the shoulder, "He was so serious that one, studious. They got married just after the war and moved out West. Indiana or Idaho or something," she waves her hand, "they kept the house though when her parents died. It's nice that you boys are living there now. Isn't that right, Jim?"
"Mmhm."
They continue to chat for a while about less meaningful things. Jim and Daphne leave with Duke and an invitation to come to dinner some night, which Sam accepts graciously, laying the puppy eyes on thick.
Dean gets Cas to try lemonade (he's slowly discovering that angels have sweet teeth because Cas just sort of sucks on his straw in a weirdly contented sort of way that makes Sam laugh). Sam makes plans for their purchases, and Dean moves to lie in the grass with an arm thrown over his eyes. The sun is warm and inviting, and, after a second, Cas lies down beside him.
Sam is tanning nicely (the bastard), and Cas is getting sunburned on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, but he's turning brown everywhere else. He keeps rubbing his Buzz Lightyear Band-Aid fondly.
"We're gonna have to do something about that," Dean notes.
"What?"
"It's bad if a three year old can beat you at pop culture trivia," he replies with a smile to let Cas know that he's joking.
Cas mumbles something and Sam laughs.
"What?" Dean asks.
"Cas can beat you at any other type of trivia," Sam quips.
Dean grins like a shark, "That sounds like a challenge."
"Game night," Sam crows almost triumphant.
"Not Scrabble!"
"Hell yes Scrabble."
"I'm showing no mercy in Monopoly."
"Whatever dude."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Cas reminds them.
So Sam explains, and Cas cants his head almost excited by the prospect of competition.
"Seriously though," he notes in conclusion, "Dean's got a point—"
"Ha!"
"We should probably get you some pop culture knowledge."
Cas groans.
"Movie night," Dean is stoked.
"Movie night," Sam confirms.
"Movie night?" Cas asks as if it's the equivalent of being lead to the guillotine.
Dean just laughs, "We'll order pizza; it'll be awesome."
They recline again, listening to the band.
"Dean," Cas says a few moments later, interrupting his killer air drumming.
He's peering very closely at his face, too closely…"Your freckles are multiplying."
Sam chuckles, "The sun does that."
"Dude, you look like you're pissed you lost count or something."
Cas draws back, blushing furiously and looking anywhere but at Dean.
"Dude," Dean says, flabbergasted, "have you been counting my freckles?"
Sam laughs so hard that he almost falls off the bench.
"No," Cas says, screwing up his face, and damn is he a bad liar.
"Dude, you have."
"I have not."
"You are such a shit liar, Cas."
Cas glares at him, and Dean ruffles his hair lightly and then throws a peach at Sam, which he catches deftly, "Shut up."
They head back into the fray once Cas looks less shifty, and Sam catches his breath.
There are artisans throughout the market. Cas is entranced by a stall selling wind chimes and dream catchers and silver earrings.
"You wanna get pierced up, Cas?" Dean jokes while he studies Cas studying the small silver hoops. He's startled when Cas seems to genuinely consider the proposition. "Seriously?"
Cas shrugs.
"You'd rock the pirate look," Dean confirms, pursing his mouth and picturing it.
"It helps me sleep," Cas replies, which, Dean is really not sure how the hell imaginary piercings would do that.
"What?"
"Sometimes, I count your freckles," Cas makes an abortive movement with his hand, "to help me sleep. I did not intend to make you uncomfortable."
"Nah, yah didn't," Dean notes, "better than sheep I bet."
"What?"
"Never mind."
"Hey, Cas!" Sam shouts running over, "C'mon, I gotta show you something. We'll be right back."
"Okay, whatever, don't invite me to your geek party," Dean calls after them. If they weren't in a public place, Sam would give him the finger, but Cas follows along behind Sam like a puppy or some shit. It's kind of adorable actually.
Dean moseys along on his own for a while, wondering where the hell they disappeared to, until he pulls up, distracted by a stand covered in woodwork and artisanal metal work. It's intricate, and, Dean has to be real about it, kind of beautiful. He leans in close to examine a burnished steel statue.
"Good ain't it?"
The speaker is the owner of the stand; an older man with a thatch of white hair and bushy eyebrows over watery blue eyes. His face is craggy and weather-beaten.
"Yes, sir," Dean replies honestly.
The man offers his hand, "Jack Wilson."
"Dean Winchester."
"You're one of the boys that moved into the old Mason place?" he chuckles at Dean's raised brows, "News travels fast…small town like this."
"Bet it does."
"My family did work up there while back."
Dean raises his brows still higher, "While back?"
"Back when they laid the foundations," he says with a wink.
"That so?"
"Yep," the man narrows his eyes, sizing Dean up, "You seem like you got an eye for the work, son. Why don't you stop by my shop over on Vine St. this week?"
Dean frowns; he's suspicious, but curious, "I might just do that. Thanks, Jack."
"Take care."
Dean puzzles over whether this is the beginning of the end of their domestic idyll or just a step closer towards making it permanent. He was either offered a job or a job, and he's not sure which is worse.
He realizes that he has another purchase to make and he's torn between pride and embarrassment about it. Sam and Cas meet him shortly thereafter, and he hides the brown paper bags in with the veggies.
"Where'd you disappear to?"
"The library was having a book sale!" Sam says like it's Christmas come early.
Cas is carrying a canvas bag filled with books and he's grinning shyly about it.
"Sam though that it would be good for me to experience literature."
Dean smiles at Sam—thank you, you fucking genius—and Sam smiles back—you're welcome, and, yeah, I know.
They walk around a bit longer, but the crowd and the heat are starting to build, and Cas is getting jumpy and slightly edgy at the increase in crowd volume, so they stock their stuff in the backseat and head home.
They have their first movie night that evening. They order pizza: three to be exact. Hawaiian for Dean; broccoli and spinach for Sam, and plain because it's a safe option if Cas hates the other two.
"I'm almost embarrassed about this—" Dean begins when they've settled into the sitting room.
"No you're not." Sam jibes
"—but," Dean glares at the interruption, "I think we've gotta do it."
He puts Toy Story on.
Cas is downright enraptured, and it's probably the most endearing thing Dean's ever seen. He wonders vaguely if he's ever going to stop thinking that the simple shit Cas does is cute as fuck—probably not—fuck me.
Sam has to remind Cas to eat his pizza because he seems mostly lost in the plot and the animation.
He laughs, really, actually, honest to god, laughs, when Buzz Lightyear starts raving about Mrs. Nesbitt.
It's infectious and the brothers join in the chorus.
"I liked it," Cas pronounces when it concludes. His tone is shocked and it's almost a point of pride that he enjoyed it.
"Awesome!" Dean beams, "Thought you would."
"I should thank Nathaniel for the recommendation."
"You can tell him next time we go to the market," Sam assures him.
That's when they get down to brass tax because there will be a sequel to movie night and it must be planned assiduously.
Dean grabs paper and a pen. Sam fetches his laptop. Cas makes everyone some coffee.
"All right," Dean proclaims, "Let's start at the beginning."
He scrawls Star Wars on the paper.
"Hey!" Sam calls, "Check it with the group!"
"Chill, Sammy. It's Star Wars," he looks at Cas, "We're watching the originals first."
"I assume that decision has cultural significance of some sort," Cas snarks, rolling his eyes.
"Lord of the Rings," Dean lists, "Forrest Gump, Die Hard, Shawshank, Gladiator, my boy, Indiana, Star Trek, Butch Cassidy, Terminator, Fight Club—"
Sam pulls up all types of pretentious lists, "North by Northwest, Pan's Labrinth, Annie Hall—"
"Seriously? The Shining, Taxi Driver—"
"The Philadelphia Story—"
"You are such a fuckign girl; The Searchers—"
"Dude. To Kill a Mockingbird—"
"Braveheart."
"Monty Python."
"Better," Dean counters, "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest—"
"The Godfather," they say at the same time and laugh.
Cas shakes his head at the two of them, as if to acknowledge that they are bickering in the only language that he doesn't understand.
They continue on like this for a while. Sam and Dean struggle over the physical list a few times. Sam wrenches it away because "Dude, Cas does not have to watch every Star Trek film ever made."
"The hell, Sam!"
Dean pilfers it back when Sam continues to put 'artsy' films on the list, "Do you want him to jump off the nearest cliff?"
"I want him to experience culture beyond fucking B-movies!"
Castiel takes the list away from both of them when they argue over the necessity of including The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, and he glares at them and refuses to give it back, essentially, until they agree to play nicely.
At the end of their session they have well over a hundred movie titles scrawled out in no particular order. The sheet is layered with Dean and Sam's handwriting, crossing out opposing selections, and indicating with arrows and x's and stars in the margins which are priorities. It's got a tear in one corner and it's crinkled down the side, and Sam spilled coffee on the edge.
Cas expresses his belief that people of the future would likely be able to recreate this argument based on this artifact. Dean isn't sure if he's kidding or not, he hasn't joked in so long, but there's something about the set of his mouth that leads Dean to believe that Cas' dry humor is slowly returning and he chuckles appreciatively.
"I assume this is an ongoing exercise," Cas says, resigned.
"Hell yes!" Dean agrees, "We're just getting started."
"We haven't even gotten into the foreign language flicks," Sam says, and Dean is only about fifty percent sure that he's fucking with him. Of course, it doesn't really matter, Dean will suffer through the subtitles for Cas, and everyone here knows it.
"Foreign language is relative," Cas admonishes.
And that distracts Sam for a moment, launching him into an intense philosophical debate about linguistics and imperialism and who the fuck knows what else. Dean honestly tunes it out; and, he's gotta be honest, it makes a really beautiful background noise—he kind of smiles at nothing as the conversation builds.
Cas eventually yawns widely and then looks around as if surprised by it.
"I look forward to our foray into the cinematic world," Cas tells them.
"Us too," Dean replies.
"Get some sleep," Sam encourages, "You've had a long day."
"You did good."
Cas blinks and averts his gaze, "Thank you," he offers sincerely.
Dean would wave that off, uncomfortable, confused, unsure how to put his feelings into words, caught in his chest and burning there.
Sam senses that because he says, "No problem, Cas, get some sleep."
Dean watches Cas go and then turns to his brother, "Thanks, man."
"For what?"
"For draggin' me to your hippie commune," he says gruffly, "it was fun. Tell anyone I said that, and I will shoot you."
Sam chuckles, "I'm calling Bobby first thing tomorrow, don't worry."
"Bitch."
"Jerk."
"Seriously though…"
"I know."
"All right, well, imma hit the hay too I guess," Dean says. His knees pop as he rises to his feet, "Night, dude."
"Night."
Dean goes to his room, changes into some sweats and a t-shirt, and grabs the paper wrapped parcels that he stashed under his bed. He leaves the small leather notebook on the desk in the library, right next to the one that Sam has almost completely filled with his narrow handwriting.
He takes a deep breath and loosens his grip on the second item. It would suck to break it from nerves. Doesn't want to look stupid…more stupid than he already will anyway. Where the hell is this even coming from?
He knocks on Cas' door, "Cas," he whispers, "You still up?"
He pushes the door open, and finds Cas lying in bed, book in hand. He peers up at Dean over the cover, hair mussed and eyes bright.
"I do not sleep easily, as you're aware," Cas says, "I thought I might begin one of these novels."
"How's it going?"
"I think that I…I like it." Cas looks unsure.
"You and Sam are gonna start a book club soon," he jokes
"You should join us," Cas offers seriously. Really seriously, like the prospect of Dean's presence in this weird literature sharing and caring circle would be welcome and even necessary for it to work.
"Yeah," Dean says finally, "yeah, if you want me to."
Cas smiles slightly.
"No romance novels."
Cas nods, "Of course not."
Cas closes his book (Dean catches the title The Count of Monte Cristo) and places it on the floor by his bed and then he settles, watching Dean hesitate. He waits for Dean as if he has all the time in the world, but he inclines his head at Dean's uncertainty, a silent inquiry: tell me what's troubling you.
"I—ah, got you something," he finally blurts out, biting his lip and fumbling slightly, awkward, nervous, feeling stupid and out of place.
Cas furrows his brow quizzically, "That was kind but unnecessary. You have already…given me much."
"Yeah, well, it's not anything big or whatever, it's just—here." He shoves the brown paper parcel into Cas' hands and perches on the edge of the bed to wait. Anxiety jumps around his chest, he jostles his leg.
Cas opens the wrapping slowly, very gently, like he's handling a small bird. When he gets it open, he just stares at the object in his hands, eyes wide, expression closed.
"I figured it might be uh, good for the nightmares," he stammers, wondering why in the hell he thought this was a good idea. Stupid fuck, Dean.
"You marked these sigils yourself," Cas whispers, tracing the carvings that Dean laid into the wood. It's a dream catcher, bound in wood and leather.
"Yeah." He wants to explain that he knows it won't keep the nightmares away; but that he carved in all the protective markings he could think of. He wants Cas to have this so that it will keep some part of Dean there with him in the dead of night, even when Dean himself can't be. He wants to say, I know it's fucking corny as fuck and stupid and shit, but I saw it and it made me think of you and I just, I wanted you to have it. I thought it might make you smile. I'm a fucking moron. He doesn't say any of that. The first part Cas knows, knows better than Dean that nightmares can't be held at bay unless you have a guardian angel watching over you. The rest, well, the rest, Dean is either too chicken or too fucking stupid to say.
Finally, at-fucking-last, Cas looks up at Dean, "It is beautiful. Thank you."
His eyes are wet and his fingers are gentle, and Dean wants to place his own hands, calloused and rough as they are, on Cas' face, wants to cradle his jaw and run his thumb across his cheek, and let him see, show him, how fucking beautiful he is, how fucking much he matters. What the fuck is wrong with me? Dean is tense across every inch of his body and he's frozen, sparks, he can feel those sparks again, catch between them.
He shrugs, smiles brashly, hiding whatever is burning through him, "No worries."
"No," Cas says firmly, "I…I appreciate this gesture, it's…thank you. I'm attempting to thank you."
Dean stares into the blue abyss of Cas' eyes, wonders how he's gone so long without drowning in them. Notes the shadows on his face, the slight sunburn and few freckles on his nose, and Dean is overwhelmed with a sense of awe and tenderness and affection that wells up from his deepest core and flows out through him.
You're welcome, Cas." You're worth so much more than this, and I'd give you anything you want. Anything. I swear. He's a bit freaked out by how much stock Cas places on such a small item, but…it's a big gesture, the Sam voice in his head says, don't try to deny it.
Dean sighs, he moves slowly so that Cas can stop him if he wants, but Cas just waits, patient, focused, and Dean ruffles his hair, and as he pulls his hand back, he doesn't resist the urge to let his fingers brush Cas' jaw as they make their way to his shoulder and squeeze.
"Get some sleep," he whispers, as he rises to his feet. Leaving Cas with a frown that turns quickly contemplative.
"Pleasant dreams," he replies.
When Dean comes in to Cas' room later that night, when Cas screams from his nightmares, and Dean wakes him, and they sit in the darkness, he sees the dream catcher hanging in the window and he feels elated for a moment, just a moment, before refocusing on Cas' shivering form and wishing the damn thing would work.
Hi everyone, I'd like to apologize for the fact that this installment is ten days later than I promised. Real life got very real (and not in a good way) over the past two weeks. That being said, I hope this schmoopy, saccharine, fluffy, domestic nonsense made up for my deplorable tardiness. I would really love to hear your thoughts. To those of you who reviewed the last chapters: THANK YOU SO MUCH! I just got them and I'm going to be replying to you over the next few days. Until next time, all my love...