my name is Sonia i'm 22 I live in Britain and I'm ace, I have absolutely no idea why you are here as i'm really not that interesting. If you want anything tagged just ask and thanks I love every single follower you are all amazing I'm dead because my child, Carl grimes, died (#fuckscottgimple), sherlock 4.03 can burn in hell, endgame sucked (everyone deserved better) spn finale sucked (Dean, cas, sam, jack, eileen, misha, jensen ALL DESERVED BETTER) I'm a wayward writer (why do I want to say this in the countdown tune)
Just your local social media Barbie here. Coming to you all from the new and improved 911genshinkinnatural tumblr. Just wanted to let you all know, we’re still alive and well and updates coming soon. Who knew it would take so long to write 320 episodes? Not us, that’s for sure.
Anyways, thank you to those who have stuck around and we can’t wait to share our creative works of genius in the maybesomedaybutnever future.
For our prompt night on Thursday, I wrote this little thing about Cassie’s feelings during her relationship with Dean until after their break up. I hope you’ll enjoy it!
The Truth
Cassie was head over heels for Dean. He was a lot of things. She thought his little freckles were adorable and she took pleasure in his confidence because all the guys before him always backed down from an argument. She loved his humor and his laid-back attitude. But that wasn’t why she fell in love with him.
Being with Dean wasn’t easy. It meant Dean randomly zoning out in the middle of a conversation. Cassie could never quite figure out a specific pattern but what she did notice was Dean’s absent-minded stare whenever she brought up his childhood or family. He was looking at her. But he was also looking right through her. His eyes looked weary - not the type of weary you would see on someone’s face after a long shift at work. He looked… weary of life. It reminded her of a young man she had once interviewed who had gotten dragged into drug trafficking at the age of twelve. It was one of the most impressive conversations she’s had during her career but also the most heartbreaking. He spoke highly of the program that helped him get sober and was beaming when he mentioned the family he had built for himself during that time. But she would never forget the way all color had faded from his face the moment she brought up his parents. Apparently, they had forced him into working for them as their own addiction caused them to deteriorate further and further.
Dean’s apathetic glare confused her to no end because this one was a mystery she felt incapable of solving. She knew quite a few things about Dean’s life. His dad was a plumber, but Dean had always wanted to be mechanic. Nevertheless, he decided to join his father’s business after his brother had left for college. His mum died of a rare disease when he was still a kid. His dad used to take him to a lot of baseball games as a kid. His uncle taught him how to play baseball. All of these facts about his life didn’t feel like lies. But they also weren’t the truth. From the day they met, Cassie felt intrigued by the aura of mystery surrounding this young man who just stumbled into town and stole her heart. And maybe it was the reporter in her that refused to give up. In all honesty, Dean was an idiot to think he could fool a reporter. And, eventually, Cassie would uncover the truth.
Being with Dean also meant being awoken at 2 a.m., a direful scream echoing through the room and startling Cassie out of her sleep. It also meant being lied to, frequently.
She would snuggle up to him, careful not to startle him any more than he already was.
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing. Just had a bad dream is all,” he’d reply with a strained smile. But the eyes staring back at Cassie spoke a different language.
“It doesn’t look like nothing, you know. You can’t shut me out all of the time. The things I’ve seen in the past few years doing this job… whatever it is you’re not telling me. I can take it. I’m not gonna run like some shallow bitch who’s only looking for a good time. I’m in this for the long run. The question is: Are you?”
In retrospect, Cassie never got an answer to her question.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“What’s the thing that’s haunting you at night?”
She did get a lot of answers to her questions, just not the ones she was expecting to hear. And if she was being absolutely honest with herself, Dean Winchester was the one time in her life where she couldn’t handle the truth. It didn’t make sense. She was a reporter. Reporters didn’t believe in fairy tales and legends. They believe in clues, patterns, and evidence. Every strange occurrence in this town had some sort of reason that would eventually come out. The truth always came out. But what does the word truth mean when you love someone?
Choose one picture from ur camera roll without downloading to sum up your personality and then tag 5 ppl
tagged by @shy–cum
@papsmearrrr @asongthatsingsitself @brutus-red-xiii @m4rris @wolf-biter @esquizoanalise @galacticgothsquid @iamjohanna @shad-bhaddie ok that’s more than 5, whatever
Surprise, bitch. I bet you thought you’d seen the last of me.
Yes, no one tagged me. Yes, I’m annoying. Yes, I will tag more than 5 people. @apathetichristmascracker @run-you-clever-blaine @carlgrimeschildsoldier @walksinstarllight @centroverted @yourfinalbow @i-miss-balthazar @internetintroverts @lanethesimp and everyone else from @wayward-writers who wants to do this 🤌
This absolute masterpiece I edited a while back sums me up pretty well I feel lmao and C you've tagged all the people I could tag so rip it dies with me rn
First of all: HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY! Hope you're having a blast and that if your plans are similar to mine later, that your liver survives the night.
So this is for @spnvalentines gift exchange (hosted by the wonderful @fallingstarsdeancas and @acklesology). Originally it was going to be a little different. I managed to turn it into something very long (at least for me) and so this is the first chapter that can act as a standalone but will have more parts to come if you don't hate it.
I'm posting it on AO3 aswell:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Creds to: @walksinstarllight for catching all my errors, @carlgrimeschildsoldier for reading it through and feeding back, and @dadstiel-trenchcoat + @run-you-clever-blaine for listening to me complain about fics not writing themselves psychically.
And I really hope you enjoy it, @lotsofquestionslimitedanswers!
Chapter One: Strangers
03:47 AM
Dean groaned into his pillow. Was he ever going to get any sleep? It was his second night here – new bed, new apartment, new city – and he had absolutely no idea what he was doing.
What you need to know about Dean is that his life kind of just fell apart. One day he was this outwardly confident, womanising, small-town hero, and the next thing he knew he was packing anything he could fit into the trunk of his car and driving as far as physically possible away from everything he’d ever known. He’d gone from his Kansas home of 24 years to a barren 70 square foot bedroom in San Francisco. His duffle bag sat in the corner.
He'd chosen this place because it was the first place he’d seen within 60 miles of his little brother Sammy that could take him right away. Sam had always been the smart one in Dean’s eyes. When they were younger, Sam had always been reading something. Every night, Dean would walk into his brother’s bedroom and Sam would give him the latest rundown on whatever weirdly fascinating subject he’d decided to become possessed by that day.
‘So, get this…’ Sam would say before Dean could even get a word out. He’d always been so damn proud of his baby brother.
Dean had never really taken school seriously himself. Maybe once, a long time ago, Dean remembered eagerly adding and subtracting fictional coins to and from a fictional treasure chest or dividing up fictional candy amongst his classmates. But then his mom had died, and his dad, John, had moved them all from Lawrence to Lebanon. And that was it for geeky Dean. It didn’t really matter. Dean had always known he’d wanted to be a fireman anyways; he’d never once thought ‘what if’.
Now Sammy was studying pre-law at Stanford University and Dean was unemployed, with absolutely no idea what he was going to do next. Dean could picture his brother now, buried under a mound of dusty old textbooks, hanging off their every word, or curled up watching some history documentary with his nerdy friends and his loving girlfriend.
Dean smiled. He liked Jess. They had only met once and not under the best circumstances or for very long, but it had been clear to Dean that she cared for Sammy, and who was Dean to argue with that.
So, yeah. Dean had moved all the way to San Francisco to be closer to his brother again, and then he had proceeded to make absolutely no attempts to contact him whatsoever. He hadn’t seen Sam since the funeral. Dean didn’t know if he could actually face him. They called sometimes. Sam would tell Dean about his studies and ask how he was, and Dean would forgo mentioning literally anything about his life and tell Sam that he was doing fine.
Sam had called yesterday, and Dean had let it ring for the first time in months. He’d texted him afterwards explaining that he was fine, he was just in a meeting. A meeting. Smooth, Dean, because firemen go to lots of meetings. They didn’t. He’d never attended a meeting in his life.
A loud bang and a string of curses pulled Dean from his thoughts.
Oh, had he not mentioned that he didn’t live alone. The ad he’d found had been for a roommate.
Dean sighed and climbed out of bed to see what all the fuss was about. He shivered for a moment as his covers slipped away then crossed the small space to his bedroom door. As he peeked his head out into the hallway, he saw Castiel.
Castiel was his roommate and quite possibly the oddest person Dean had ever met. He walks around appearing consistently confused, squinty, and tilting his head at almost everything that came out of Dean’s mouth. Apparently, he knows next to nothing about movies, or tv shows, or comics, or cars or sports or even music. And yet, within the first hour of meeting him, Dean found out how many steps there are from the apartment to the nearest subway, bus station, library, and grocery store. He now knew the percentages for all the different crime rates in the city, how many cars cross the golden gate bridge in a day and how much each of those cars would contribute on average to the air pollution in San Francisco, as well as how many boats were currently sitting in the harbour and even how many cats were put into rescue centres state-wide each month.
When he’d moved in, just over a day ago, Castiel had welcomed him, stuffed him full of pastries, shown him to the bathroom and to his bedroom, and then given him a book just because it was his favourite. Dean had dubbed him ‘the dorky little guy he now lived with’ (even though in truth, Castiel wasn’t much shorter than himself) and now the guy was half naked, swearing and scrubbing the floor at the bottom of the stairs with his coffee-stained shirt. A mug lay forgotten and cracked into three to the left.
‘Umm,’ Dean said, unintelligibly, starting off strong for their second conversation ever. Castiel looked up at him with wide surprised eyes.
‘My tea,’ Castiel went with, waving a hand at his uncovered chest. Dean blinked. They were both clearly socially inept, which was new for Dean. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you.’
Dean brushed him off, ‘It’s fine. I was up anyway.’
Castiel looked at him curiously. It was strangely unnerving, like those ridiculously blue eyes were staring straight through Dean’s corneas and into his mind. ‘Why?’ He asked, like it was a perfectly acceptable question to ask a stranger at four in the morning, like anyone ever stayed up that late, alone, for light and casual reasons.
Dean shrugged. ‘No reason. Just thinking about that perfectly good mop you mentioned on your tour the other day.’
Castiel took a long, befuddled moment to process his words before looking back down at the sodden t-shirt in his hands. ‘You’re being sarcastic.’ He pointed out slowly, causing Dean to rub the back of his neck. It would be awkward if his new roommate wasn’t a fan of sarcasm.
‘Yeah, I kind of… do that, sometimes.’
Castiel nodded. ‘I’m not very good with sarcasm.’ He revealed, pushing himself backwards into a kneeling position.
‘Sorry.’
‘No, it’s fine.’ He was looking at him again with those big blue eyes. ‘You can teach me.’
Dean didn’t know what to say to that and it turned out he didn’t have to because his roommate simply picked up the tea-soaked shirt, climbed to his feet and walked away. Presumably to get the mop, but Dean honestly couldn’t say.
Looking down at the shattered mug and what was left of the spill, he had no idea what to do next. Was he supposed to help? Was he supposed to just go back to bed, or hang around and wait to see if his roommate ever came back? He didn’t know what was expected of him as a roommate. Standing around doing nothing felt uncomfortable and going back to bed felt unnecessarily rude, so instead he crouched down and began carefully collecting the little grey ceramic pieces and lining them up with each other out of curiosity. The former mug had apparently once said, ‘Me-Wow! This Tea is just the Cat’s Whiskers.’ Dean snorted; the absolute oddest guy he’d ever met.
He straightened when Castiel returned, sans the t-shirt, with a mop in hand. His roommate watched him as Dean held the broken pieces of the mug just in front of his chest, and Dean looked back. Castiel now wore a jumper that seemed to be competing in the same race to be the dorkiest item he owned as the mug. It was a baggy, light grey sweatshirt sporting a giant cartoon bee and had the words ‘BEE HAPPY’ printed across his chest, but Castiel looked anything but. He was staring at Dean’s hands with sad eyes.
‘That was my favourite mug.’
Dean pressed his lips together, not sure if he was supposed to speak words, or what? If it was Sam, Dean would knock him on the shoulder and tell him to stop being such a girl, there were other mugs out there, and Sam would look at him and know that he was trying to be comforting. But, if he told Castiel to stop being such a girl, he had a feeling he’d either end up being lectured on the sexism ingrained in society through comments such as that, or he’d be left awkwardly standing there as his roommate bursts into tears.
‘I’m always breaking my favourite things,’ Castiel sighed. Neither option sounded all that appealing to Dean, so he decided to take control of the situation and get it over with as quickly as possible.
‘I’ll swap you,’ he held out what remained of the late cup of tea. Castiel took it with gentle hands as Dean reached for the mop – he resisted pointing out that it was a bit late to be putting on the kid-gloves because he didn’t know this guy and he really was making an effort not to get cried on. He made quick work of the spill on the ground, pretending to admire how efficient this mop was rather than how the mug was carefully being pieced back together behind him.
When he turned around Castiel was staring at him seriously. ‘Thank you, Dean.’ He said earnestly. So, he’s intense, Dean noted down mentally, although it was kind of endearing.
‘Um, yeah. No problem.’ He leant against the wall and scratched his head, still holding the mop. ‘So…’
‘Oh, I should –’ Castiel’s eyes went wide once more. He balanced the mug on a nearby sideboard, making sure none of the pieces slid out of place, and rushed to take the mop from Dean. ‘You should, you should sleep.’
‘Yeah, well…’He trailed off.
‘Good night, Dean.’ His roommate offered him a small smile.
‘Good night, Cas,’ he said as he slipped back into his room, just missing the strange look that followed him.
It wasn’t until he was back, lying on his memory foam mattress, that he realised he’d just given the man a nickname. Awesome. Dean screwed his eyes shut and pulled his covers up over his head until he fell asleep.
***
The best thing about the new place was definitely Second Story. It was this little café the landlord owned above them and if there was one thing Dean could get used to it was the way he would wake up to the flat completely saturated with the smell of fresh coffee, sweet tea, and flawlessly baked pastries. He may have only got three out of four hours of his necessary beauty sleep, but it was almost impossible not to feel like a morning person when breathing in that air. Besides, when he was on call back home, he’d often gotten less. At least here he wasn’t being rudely awoken by a fire station alarm system.
Dean stretched out across the sheets, keeping his eyes shut. He was starting to get used to the way the memory foam moves beneath him – appreciate it even. Sighing, he rolled out of bed and assessed the room. His duffel bag was still in the corner of the room with his clothes from yesterday on the floor next to it. Dean crossed the room and rifled through it, grabbing the first shirt, jeans, and boxers he came across. He snatched up his dirty laundry and his wash kit as well and headed to the bathroom.
After a quick rinse under the shower – not long enough to allow his thoughts to run wild – he stepped out into the bathroom. It was bigger than his own bedroom because it doubled as their utility room. A washer and a dryer took up one half of the room, with a drying rack and a laundry hamper. Dean put his dirty clothes next to the hamper instead of in it where he assumed Castiel’s laundry resided.
Speaking of Castiel, Dean cringed, he could not believe he’d gone and given him a nickname like that. He’d only been here two days. They’d only interacted three times: once when he’d arrived, once when Dean had gone down to the kitchen for lunch yesterday, and then again last night. It was little soon to start shortening each other’s names. Hopefully, Castiel was going to take the same route as Dean and pretend it had never been said. If he went downstairs and got called anything but Dean, he’s pretty sure he’d keel over dead. Although, Dean reckoned Castiel was more likely to question him about last night rather than follow suit. Either way, same result; dead Dean.
Since he’d arrived, he’d only gone upstairs twice to grab some water from the kitchen they shared with the café. The rest of the time he’d spent either holed up in his new room contemplating calling Sam or just wandering aimlessly through the neighbourhood.
Today he’d walked in and out of a nearby pet shop, round golden gate park and along the beach. He’d stopped to buy some groceries from the nearest Walmart and then walked back to the apartment, pausing outside San Francisco Fire Station 23.
Dean wasn’t stupid, he knew he was going to need a job, and that he was going to need it relatively soon. He may have managed to find the only cheap apartment in San Francisco but that didn’t mean his pockets were deep enough to put him up for long without an income. It was just that the idea of getting a post at a new station here made Dean feel queasy. Actually, the idea of going back to fighting fires at all made his stomach turn right now, but Dean was busy denying that. Instead, he put it down to the fact that going back, but not to his old fire house, would just feel wrong. Maybe it was just what he needed, but he couldn’t shake this feeling long enough to send in an application.
He thought about alternatives all the way back home. He knew a lot about cars, maybe a mechanic would take him on, or he could bartend some place; he definitely knew how to drink. By the time he was standing out front of the apartment, he’d talked himself into sending out his CV to a few places he’d walked past on his way. There had been several bars, a couple mechanics and a nightclub. Dean figured he stood a good chance of getting something. If not, he could always find a supermarket somewhere, he shivered at the concept.
For a moment, Dean paused on the sidewalk, watching the steady stream of customers up and down the steps to the café and then he made the decision to follow them. He hadn’t actually seen the actual café part of the café. He was pretty sure Castiel worked there, simply because he never seemed to use their front door. They shared their kitchen with it but he couldn’t see the rest of it from there.
It wasn’t really anything he had expected. It was one large room with an L-shaped counter in one kitchen, behind which was the door to the kitchen. Sofa booths and table sets filled three quarters of the rest of the room with the final portion being dedicated to several towering bookshelves and a much smaller, one-person counter, behind which Castiel stood.
He was wearing a ridiculous blue vest and dark charcoal jeans, leaning against the wall behind him and reading a thick hardcover book. His eyes wrinkled at the corners as he smiled, presumably reading something amusing. Dean tried not to stare as he walked up to the main counter. A young woman, about Castiel’s age, smiled at him as he approached.
‘Hi, I’m Daphne. Welcome to Second Story. What can I get you for today?’
‘Um…’ Dean looked back at his roommate who was chatting with a little old lady and helping her decide between two books. Daphne cleared her throat. ‘Sorry, I- I’ll have a coffee please. One shot of espresso. Black.’
She nodded slowly, smiling. ‘Coming right up.’
Dean waited to the side as Castiel scanned in one of the books and waved goodbye to the woman. He watched until Castiel caught his eye at which point he snapped his attention back to Daphne and pretended to be very interested in the coffee-making process. Yes, what an intriguing espresso machine; lovely… buttons.
‘Dean.’ He jumped, he thinks maybe literally, and tried not to curse. Apparently, Castiel had decided to cross the room to greet him.
‘Castiel.’
His roommate squinted. Oh god, please don’t mention the nickname. He was about to say something more, anything more because right now they were just staring at each other when Daphne interrupted.
‘You’re Dean?’ Which at least got Castiel to look away from him and glare at her as she placed Dean’s coffee on the counter.
‘Yes? I’m Dean.’ He shot his roommate a questioning look as he got out his wallet and paid for his drink. Castiel didn’t meet his eyes.
‘Sorry, I know. I promise it’s not creepy.’ Daphne reassured him, putting away the cash. ‘Castiel just mentioned you moving in as all.’ She smiled at the pair of them. ‘Have a nice day.’ And then, grinning widely disappeared into the kitchen.
‘Um, well-’
‘I should get back.’ Castiel interrupted, gesturing to the completely empty bookstore portion of the café.
‘Okay…’ Dean nodded. He would’ve told him ‘see you later’, but Castiel was already walking away at an alarming pace. Great. Dean had repelled him already. Instead, he took a seat in one of the corners to finish his coffee, wishing he’d gotten it to go.
It took him about 15 minutes to finish the cup. 15 minutes that he’d spent watching the café scene play out. They seemed to have a few regulars that came in waves and bright genuine smiles and stayed to trade inside jokes with both Daphne and Castiel. And even when there weren’t regulars, the atmosphere was warm and comforting, and of course the smell that often filled their apartment below was even better up here. The whole place smelled like butter, coffee, and chocolate.
As Castiel got up on a step ladder to rearrange some of the higher shelves, bringing some books down and putting some books up, Dean decided it wasn’t so bad.
***
The next couple of days proceeded in a predictable pattern. He spent his mornings reading the falsely apologetic rejection emails from the various bars and garages he’d applied to over a cup of coffee upstairs. He’d scrub off the sting of being turned down with a short drive along the coastline with his baby before calling up Sam to continue the upward trend of telling his brother nothing. Despite knowing that his brother would know exactly what to say to pull him out of the slump unemployment was dragging Dean into, he omitted it all. Then he would spend his afternoon back at Second Story devouring any one of their particularly awesome grilled sandwiches, pretending not to watch his roommate work.
‘Talking to him might be quicker.’ Dean jumped and turned to face Claire. She was working the afternoon shift with Kevin on the counter and liked taking the piss out of Dean whenever he dropped by, probably because he was the only customer that wasn’t going anywhere – what with living downstairs and all.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he tried. ‘Y-you, you go talk to him… okay.’ Dean died, ears burning red.
‘On second thought, maybe not.’ Claire laughed and collected the paid bill, pocketing the tip.
‘Shut up.’ He sank down into his seat. He wasn’t sure at what point all of his roommate’s co-workers had decided it was okay to bully him, but now it was pretty much a daily occurrence. In their defence, it was probably his fault for watching Castiel go about his day like some second-rate pervert or sad horny teenager. He couldn’t really put his finger on why he was acting like this. He barely knew the guy and it wasn’t as if he had feelings for him. That wasn’t possible.
Yes, Castiel was objectively gorgeous, but Dean had been attracted to guys before and he was never usually this tragic.
‘She’s right, you know,’ drawled a voice from behind him. It was Crowley, the only other customer who refused to be run off. The difference was nobody actually seemed to like him. Whereas Dean thought of his torment as a friendly sort of banter, the Second Story staff seemed to genuinely despise this Armani wearing man.
‘Butt-out, Crowley.’ Dean glared.
‘What?’ Crowley shrugged, ‘She is. Talking to him would definitely ruin your chances.’
Claire threw a napkin at his head.
‘In fact,’ he smirked. ‘I just changed my mind. Do it. Just, let me know when so I can watch.’
Other than the fact that he enjoyed making people squirm, Dean didn’t know much about Crowley. He imagined he was a lawyer or perhaps a businessman of sorts. He wore far too many designer suits and carried himself with far too much pride to be anything else. He exuded smarm and found each one of Dean’s emails more amusing than the last. Which is why Dean enjoyed watching Claire pick up Crowley’s half full coffee cup with Dean’s empty plate and carry it away from him.
Crowley shrugged, killing some of Dean’s amusement, ‘I’m late for a meeting anyways.’ He left a 20 under the saltshaker and got up to leave. ‘Seriously, Dean. Call me if you ever go over there.’ He waggled his eyebrows and left the store. Dean dropped his head to the table.
***
The next morning, he got his last rejection, and it was Castiel who brought over his coffee.
‘Hello, Dean,’ he said as he placed it down in front of him.
‘Good morning.’
‘Is it?'
‘What?’ Dean looked up at where his roommate was still inexplicably still standing.
‘My people skills may be rusty, Dean, but something is clearly bothering you.’ Dean blinked at him. ‘Would you like to talk about it?’
‘See, I’m actually more Warhead than Yukio.’
Castiel squinted at him, ‘I don’t understand that reference.’ Dean drank his coffee to stop himself from explaining himself further. At which point, Castiel sat down across from him.
‘Uh-um, are you allowed to-’ he gestured to his roommate, ‘…Sit?’
‘I don’t think my boss will mind.’ Castiel smiled like he’d just told the world’s funniest joke.
‘Okay…’
‘My sister, Anna, used to tell me that there are always people who want to help. That we are never alone.’ Castiel paused profoundly for a moment. ‘Of course, my brother Gabriel says that Satan’s gonna ride all our asses either way, and Balthazar thinks the answer to everything is tequila, so maybe my family isn’t the best source of wisdom.’
Dean stared at him, unable to process much past the biblical names let alone the content of his sentences. Was Castiel making a joke?
‘My point was you can talk to me.’
‘Thanks man, really, but no thanks.’
Castiel nodded, ‘You know where to find me.’
Dean finished the rest of his cup in lieu of a reply. As he went for his wallet, Castiel stopped him with a hand on his arm. ‘It’s on the house.’
He grimaced slightly, was he that obviously pitiable?
‘Thanks,’ he sighed and pushed back from the table, trying not to think of himself as a charity case or whether or not this could be classified as his roommate buying him a drink.
The moment that he was outside he regretted not taking Castiel up on his offer. He considered turning on his heel and going back inside to do just that, which… terrifying. Dean didn’t think he’d ever even thought about opening up voluntarily.
Sure, Sam could almost always poke and prod his feelings from him, and Rufus, his old captain, had always known when to bench him, known when the job was getting to him. But Dean had never told them how he was of his own volition, had never really wanted to, or thought it could help.
‘What is going on with me?’ He asked the impala as he reached where she was parked because apparently Baby was his sole confidant – and he called his roommate odd. It was sad. One day he was going to talk to his car, and it was going to answer, and Dean would have to check himself into a psychiatric hospital.
He drove for longer than he had meant to and ended up outside an unassuming looking bar instead of where he was supposed to be. It’s big wooden sign stood atop several boulders, informing him that it was in fact called ‘The Rocks’. What was it with this area and their puns? He briefly considered whether this was a dorky enough sign for his roommate to enjoy drinking here - if Castiel even drank, that was.
Dean sighed, maybe ‘Balthazar’ had a point.
Now thinking about whether Castiel would ever consider actually drinking with him, he shut the door of the impala behind him. Apparently, he was an idiot with little to no control over his consciousness. It was all he could do to deny that maybe Castiel offering to listen had rocked the boat more towards liking him than just a physical attraction. No sleeping with your roommate, Dean reminded himself as he pushed open the door to the bar.
Inside, he found himself a seat on the edge of the bar and ordered himself a double whiskey. The bar was relatively quiet which wasn’t surprising. It was only six. Everyone here were obviously regulars. A blond girl and a young guy were shouting at each other over a competitive looking game of foosball whilst an older couple chatted on a table nearby. An old-fashioned jukebox filled the bar with the sounds of the 100 top rock songs of the 70s and other than that there was a group of three men huddled around their pints in the corner. When the bartender came over with his drink, Dean downed it in one.
‘Rough day?’ Asked the man who had handed him the glass.
‘Rough month.’ The man hummed, refilling his glass.
‘Wanna talk about it?’
‘Warhead.’ He pointed at himself drawing a laugh from the bartender.
‘So, who’s your Yukio?’
Dean finished his drink again, ‘Don’t have one.’
‘Another?’
Dean shook his head. ‘Tequila.’
‘Damn, really? You’re gonna make me go downstairs before we’ve even introduced ourselves?’
Dean puffed out his cheeks and exhaled, ‘More whiskey, then.’
‘No, no,’ the bartender drummed on the table, ‘I’m going, I’m going. You just gotta tell me your name first.’
Dean considered him for a while before conceding, ‘Dean.’
‘Nice to meet you, Dean. I’m Benny.’ He winked at him, which was hilarious. ‘I'll be right back with your tequila.’
Over the next few hours, the bar filled up, but Benny made sure to keep coming back to talk to Dean and keep Dean's shot glasses full. They talked about anything and everything other than their actual lives. At one point they got into a debate about the best Batman so far. Benny was probably right with his position on Christian Bale, but Dean had a soft spot for Kevin Conroy and the animated series. Although, they both agreed that Heath Ledger got the crown when it came to the Clown Prince of Gotham.
Dean only lost sight of him for about 20 minutes the whole night. At around 11, Benny disappeared out back and was replaced by the blonde from earlier. Her name was Jo and she coaxed Dean away from the tequila with some less intoxicating but highly entertaining comet shots that Benny joined him in when he re-emerged from behind the bar, apparently off duty for the rest of the night.
About three hours later, Benny had an arm slung over his shoulder and was laughing raucously about something Dean must’ve said. They were both far too drunk to keep track of their own words and were only still sitting on their stools by way of leaning on each other. Until, of course, they inevitably did fall off their stools. Led Zeppelin’s Ramble On reached its final minute and, because robbing a bank would feel less illegal than ignoring this songs’ climax, Dean jumped up to sing along, sending him and Benny toppling to the floor.
It was at this point that Jo cut them off and sent them home.
‘Hey,’ Benny held him in place with both shoulders, both swaying. ‘If you wait here for me to grab my stuff, my place isn't too far from here.’
Now, normally he’d have said yes to a guy like Benny. He was attractive and funny, he got sarcasm and watched movies, and talking to him made Dean feel a little bit like the old him. Unfortunately, Benny did not have startling blue eyes, a penchant for awkward encounters, or whatever the fuck else made Dean trip over himself around Castiel. It was ridiculous and it made Dean miserable – not that he wasn’t already miserable.
So, instead they parted with an ‘Alright, brother. See you around.’ And a ‘Yeah, see you, Benny.’ Benny walked back behind the bar to pick up his shit, while Dean made his way for the door.
Sighing, Dean pushed his way out of the bar, into the fresh air outside, and said goodbye to Baby– because even when practically incoherent, he still talked to his car. He zipped up his jacket and began walking. He stumbled forward for a few streets, chastising himself for his moronic attraction to the man he now shared space with. Dean may be new to the whole roommate thing, but everyone knew the one golden rule: don’t get involved. He repeated it in his head like a mantra as he walked and then turned right into a random shop because he’d seen a mug in the window.
Inside was the Castiel equivalent of a room. Odd, but immediately one of Dean’s favourite places. There were reasons people called these things curiosity stores. It appeared to sell everything from occult items to collectable action figures. Crystals were dotted all over the place and comic book pages plastered the walls. The whole place smelt of old books and incense and spread of flashing monitors sat behind the counter. It was insane.
‘Can I help you, gorgeous?’ A beautiful woman decked out in AC/DC merchandise, leather, sunglasses, and a large quartz pendant appeared from behind a set of shelves. ‘Opal?’ She said, holding out the white stone she held in her hands towards Dean as she approached.
‘Um, no thank you.’ Dean coughed, ‘I was just-’
‘No, no. Of course not.’ The woman shook her head and frowned at him. She slipped off her sunglasses and stared at him with serious white eyes that couldn’t possibly see but bore into him, nonetheless. ‘Selenite!’ She grinned at him like a Cheshire cat.
‘I- what?’
‘That’s what you need; selenite.’
Dean had never been so confused. Her nonsensical words swam around his head with all the whiskey and tequila. ‘I just came in for, er, a mug…’
‘Yes, yes. Castiel does love his cat mugs.’ She waved him off with a stray hand and vanished back behind the shelves.
‘H-how did you-’ Dean faltered, getting cut off by a particularly hard wave of nausea to swallow. God. Never mind, it wasn’t worth the words, he’d rather contain his earlier sandwich.
‘Some questions,’ the shopkeeper returned and walked over to the counter, ‘Are not worth asking.’ Well, that was creepy. ‘Who cares how? What’s important is what is.’
‘Very Yoda.’ Dean commented, completely off-kilter. He wasn’t sure if it was the woman or the alcohol.
‘Very Pamela.’ She corrected. He just nodded; Dean had never felt more lost.
‘Life’s a maze.’ Pamela grinned.
‘What? Seriously, how are you-’ Pamela raised an eyebrow and he stopped talking. He really hoped she would stop with the psychic act; it was giving him the heebie-jeebies. Pamela turned her attention towards the register.
‘Hurry up, won’t you?’
‘What?’ Dean said again because honestly, what was happening?
Dean opened his mouth to call her a crazy woman, but she cut him off, looking at him like he was drooling all over her carpet, ‘The mug.’ Oh.
He turned and fetched the mug from the window. It was painted blue with a fluffy cartoon cat hanging upside down saying: ‘YOU HAVE CAT TO BE KITTEN ME’ and Dean was sure Castiel would love it.
‘He will.’
Stop that, Dean thought as he walked over to her.
‘Shan’t.’ She smirked, plucking the mug from her hands, and zapping it with her scanner. ‘$3.45.'
Dean squinted at her as he passed over his card. She passed it back to him with the mug and small translucent pebble. It was white and polished, and he looked at Pamela questioning.
‘Selenite, threw that in there for free.’ She patted him on the shoulder. ‘Now, say bye-bye and exit out the door you came through.’
‘But- I,’ Dean shook his head, ‘Bye.’
‘Bye, Dean.’
***
By the time he got back to the flat, he could feel his pulse in his face. The last few drinks had definitely been a bad idea. Dean could feel his organs fuming inside him and was pretty sure if he didn’t pass out within the hour, he’d spend the next day cleaning up the mess. He groaned.
Second Story’s lights were still on, probably Meg just finishing up for the night, but Dean had no desire to be bullied tonight.
After pressing his face into their front door for several minutes, he stepped back to check his pockets, breathing deeply through his nose. With one hand cradling the cat mug to his chest, he managed to dig out his keys. He then proceeded to fumble with the lock, drop them completely, and, in a failed attempt to catch them mid fall, pushed them through the letterbox. Fuck. The keys clinked together nonplussed as they met the floorboards on the other side.
Dean sat down. Maybe he could just sit out here all night. It was either that, or Meg, or potentially Castiel if he started knocking on this door.
Nope, no, definitely not. If Castiel saw him like this, he’d probably have to move all over again. To Meg it was – even if it was a slight risk that she’d leave him out here.
Meg was an old friend of Castiel’s, that for reasons unbeknownst to Dean, he kept around, and other people seemed to like. Sure, she was sarcastic and biting, which should place her in the gets-along-with column of the people-Dean-knows list, but she was also relentlessly amused by Dean’s Castiel-related awkwardness and relentlessly mean.
She picked up the night shift at the café. After 8pm on the weekends and until about 2am, it operated as a bar in its own right. Dean didn’t think it ever got particularly busy. In fact, it usually seemed to be occupied by the same closed group of people each week. They’d arrive just when Dean would hear Castiel coming downstairs and leave several hours later after several obnoxiously loud rounds of drinks. It didn’t really bother Dean, he’d slept through worse, but he still thought it was a little rude, especially whenever it became obvious that they were making noise for the sake of making noise.
As Dean climbed the stairs (literally climbed, using his hands to help), he was suddenly glad for how late he’d stayed out. The street was quiet, meaning he wouldn’t have to deal with any of the late-night customers with his head pounding like it was. He peered through the glass. Meg was nowhere to be seen. Fucking great. Dean began to knock.
After several minutes without a reply, Dean began to bang on the door slightly. Mainly because he wasn’t sure he’d make it back down the stairs, so Meg had become his only option.
‘Hey! Meg, open up!’ he tried again, yelling this time. Still nothing. Dean gave up and collapsed to the floor, propping himself up against the iron railings. He closed his eyes and felt the earth move beneath him. Why does he do the things he does? He sighed.
‘Dean?’ Oh fuck.
Dean looked up and confirmed his suspicions. Meg did not have a man’s deep gravelly voice, nor was she doing a brilliant Castiel impression, nor was she actually there at all.
‘You’re not Meg.’
‘No…’ Castiel looked down at him from the doorway, forehead wrinkled with concern. He was wearing a different pyjama sweater than usual. This one had a picture of a tortoise on the front.
‘Good. Good.’ Dean repeated, mainly to himself, feeling sleepy now. ‘You’re nicer anyways.’
‘You’re inebriated.’
Dean looked at him in a way he hoped accurately conveyed his request for his roommate to use smaller words.
‘Drunk,’ Castiel corrected. ‘You’re drunk.’
Oh. ‘Yes.’
He watched as Castiel opened the door wider and leant down to pick him up off the floor. Dean still had the mug cradled under his arm which he hugged closer, both to protect it and to conceal it because it was a surprise – and also a little embarrassing.
‘Smaller words.’ He said as Castiel guided him inside onto one of the sofas, because it was a good point that was worth making. ‘Like Cas.’ He said because he was drunk and an idiot. ‘I’m gonna call you Cas, from now on.’ Dean decided.
‘Okay…’ Cas just looked worried.
‘I’m fine!’ He reassured, ‘See!’ He said, lifting his hand to his face and missing his nose completely.
The mug dropped onto his lap causing Cas to look at it oddly.
‘Oh, I got you a new mug.’ Dena looked at it too. ‘Surprise?’
Cas picked up the mug and examined it, breaking out into a gummy smile. ‘I love it.’ He looked at Dean solemnly, ‘Thank you, Dean. This means a lot.’
Dean swallowed, ‘Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it. My money’s got to run out sometime soon.’ Castiel frowned again. Dammit. He liked Cas’s smile.
‘It's fine.’ Dean slurred slightly and patted his roommate's knee as if that was at all convincing. ‘I’m sure I’ll get a job eventually. Maybe I’ll go back to being a firefighter.’ Now Dean was frowning, and he was horrified to realise he was about ten seconds away from tears. ‘Or maybe… Walmart?’ he sighed and sank backwards.
‘You could work here.’ Dean looked at Cas. ‘I mean, if you, if you wanted to, that is.’
‘I don’t know.’ Dean ran a hand over his face and poked himself in the eye. ‘I don’t know if your boss would even like me. No one else hiring seems to.’
Cas laughed, ‘He likes you.’
‘What? How do you know?’ Dean blinked owlishly at him and then narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
‘Because he’s me. I’m the boss.’ Cas explained, propping Dean back up who had begun to slide off the couch. ‘I own the cafe.’
‘You?’
‘Me.’
‘You own the café?’
‘Yes.’ Castiel kept a solid hand around Dean’s arm. ‘Would you like the job?’
‘I don’t know anything about books.’
‘You don’t have to.’
‘Or tea.’
Cas smiled at him, ‘You’ll learn.’
Dean nodded. ‘Okay.’
‘Okay.’
A few moments of silence passed. It was nice.
‘Hey Cas,’ Dean whispered as he began to drift off.
‘Yes?’
‘If I asked you out, would you say yes?’ He closed his eyes and waited for an answer. Cas was quiet for a long time and Dean wondered if he was just going to ignore the question, which, mortifying.
‘Dean?’ Dean held his breath. ‘Ask me tomorrow.’ Oh.
Dean smiled. Okay, yes, he would do that.
‘Good night, Dean.’
Night Cas, Dean thought but was already falling asleep.
First of all: HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY! Hope you're having a blast and that if your plans are similar to mine later, that your liver survives the night.
So this is for @spnvalentines gift exchange (hosted by the wonderful @fallingstarsdeancas and @acklesology). Originally it was going to be a little different. I managed to turn it into something very long (at least for me) and so this is the first chapter that can act as a standalone but will have more parts to come if you don't hate it.
I'm posting it on AO3 aswell:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Creds to: @walksinstarllight for catching all my errors, @carlgrimeschildsoldier for reading it through and feeding back, and @dadstiel-trenchcoat + @run-you-clever-blaine for listening to me complain about fics not writing themselves psychically.
And I really hope you enjoy it, @lotsofquestionslimitedanswers!
Chapter One: Strangers
03:47 AM
Dean groaned into his pillow. Was he ever going to get any sleep? It was his second night here – new bed, new apartment, new city – and he had absolutely no idea what he was doing.
What you need to know about Dean is that his life kind of just fell apart. One day he was this outwardly confident, womanising, small-town hero, and the next thing he knew he was packing anything he could fit into the trunk of his car and driving as far as physically possible away from everything he’d ever known. He’d gone from his Kansas home of 24 years to a barren 70 square foot bedroom in San Francisco. His duffle bag sat in the corner.
He'd chosen this place because it was the first place he’d seen within 60 miles of his little brother Sammy that could take him right away. Sam had always been the smart one in Dean’s eyes. When they were younger, Sam had always been reading something. Every night, Dean would walk into his brother’s bedroom and Sam would give him the latest rundown on whatever weirdly fascinating subject he’d decided to become possessed by that day.
‘So, get this…’ Sam would say before Dean could even get a word out. He’d always been so damn proud of his baby brother.
Dean had never really taken school seriously himself. Maybe once, a long time ago, Dean remembered eagerly adding and subtracting fictional coins to and from a fictional treasure chest or dividing up fictional candy amongst his classmates. But then his mom had died, and his dad, John, had moved them all from Lawrence to Lebanon. And that was it for geeky Dean. It didn’t really matter. Dean had always known he’d wanted to be a fireman anyways; he’d never once thought ‘what if’.
Now Sammy was studying pre-law at Stanford University and Dean was unemployed, with absolutely no idea what he was going to do next. Dean could picture his brother now, buried under a mound of dusty old textbooks, hanging off their every word, or curled up watching some history documentary with his nerdy friends and his loving girlfriend.
Dean smiled. He liked Jess. They had only met once and not under the best circumstances or for very long, but it had been clear to Dean that she cared for Sammy, and who was Dean to argue with that.
So, yeah. Dean had moved all the way to San Francisco to be closer to his brother again, and then he had proceeded to make absolutely no attempts to contact him whatsoever. He hadn’t seen Sam since the funeral. Dean didn’t know if he could actually face him. They called sometimes. Sam would tell Dean about his studies and ask how he was, and Dean would forgo mentioning literally anything about his life and tell Sam that he was doing fine.
Sam had called yesterday, and Dean had let it ring for the first time in months. He’d texted him afterwards explaining that he was fine, he was just in a meeting. A meeting. Smooth, Dean, because firemen go to lots of meetings. They didn’t. He’d never attended a meeting in his life.
A loud bang and a string of curses pulled Dean from his thoughts.
Oh, had he not mentioned that he didn’t live alone. The ad he’d found had been for a roommate.
Dean sighed and climbed out of bed to see what all the fuss was about. He shivered for a moment as his covers slipped away then crossed the small space to his bedroom door. As he peeked his head out into the hallway, he saw Castiel.
Castiel was his roommate and quite possibly the oddest person Dean had ever met. He walks around appearing consistently confused, squinty, and tilting his head at almost everything that came out of Dean’s mouth. Apparently, he knows next to nothing about movies, or tv shows, or comics, or cars or sports or even music. And yet, within the first hour of meeting him, Dean found out how many steps there are from the apartment to the nearest subway, bus station, library, and grocery store. He now knew the percentages for all the different crime rates in the city, how many cars cross the golden gate bridge in a day and how much each of those cars would contribute on average to the air pollution in San Francisco, as well as how many boats were currently sitting in the harbour and even how many cats were put into rescue centres state-wide each month.
When he’d moved in, just over a day ago, Castiel had welcomed him, stuffed him full of pastries, shown him to the bathroom and to his bedroom, and then given him a book just because it was his favourite. Dean had dubbed him ‘the dorky little guy he now lived with’ (even though in truth, Castiel wasn’t much shorter than himself) and now the guy was half naked, swearing and scrubbing the floor at the bottom of the stairs with his coffee-stained shirt. A mug lay forgotten and cracked into three to the left.
‘Umm,’ Dean said, unintelligibly, starting off strong for their second conversation ever. Castiel looked up at him with wide surprised eyes.
‘My tea,’ Castiel went with, waving a hand at his uncovered chest. Dean blinked. They were both clearly socially inept, which was new for Dean. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you.’
Dean brushed him off, ‘It’s fine. I was up anyway.’
Castiel looked at him curiously. It was strangely unnerving, like those ridiculously blue eyes were staring straight through Dean’s corneas and into his mind. ‘Why?’ He asked, like it was a perfectly acceptable question to ask a stranger at four in the morning, like anyone ever stayed up that late, alone, for light and casual reasons.
Dean shrugged. ‘No reason. Just thinking about that perfectly good mop you mentioned on your tour the other day.’
Castiel took a long, befuddled moment to process his words before looking back down at the sodden t-shirt in his hands. ‘You’re being sarcastic.’ He pointed out slowly, causing Dean to rub the back of his neck. It would be awkward if his new roommate wasn’t a fan of sarcasm.
‘Yeah, I kind of… do that, sometimes.’
Castiel nodded. ‘I’m not very good with sarcasm.’ He revealed, pushing himself backwards into a kneeling position.
‘Sorry.’
‘No, it’s fine.’ He was looking at him again with those big blue eyes. ‘You can teach me.’
Dean didn’t know what to say to that and it turned out he didn’t have to because his roommate simply picked up the tea-soaked shirt, climbed to his feet and walked away. Presumably to get the mop, but Dean honestly couldn’t say.
Looking down at the shattered mug and what was left of the spill, he had no idea what to do next. Was he supposed to help? Was he supposed to just go back to bed, or hang around and wait to see if his roommate ever came back? He didn’t know what was expected of him as a roommate. Standing around doing nothing felt uncomfortable and going back to bed felt unnecessarily rude, so instead he crouched down and began carefully collecting the little grey ceramic pieces and lining them up with each other out of curiosity. The former mug had apparently once said, ‘Me-Wow! This Tea is just the Cat’s Whiskers.’ Dean snorted; the absolute oddest guy he’d ever met.
He straightened when Castiel returned, sans the t-shirt, with a mop in hand. His roommate watched him as Dean held the broken pieces of the mug just in front of his chest, and Dean looked back. Castiel now wore a jumper that seemed to be competing in the same race to be the dorkiest item he owned as the mug. It was a baggy, light grey sweatshirt sporting a giant cartoon bee and had the words ‘BEE HAPPY’ printed across his chest, but Castiel looked anything but. He was staring at Dean’s hands with sad eyes.
‘That was my favourite mug.’
Dean pressed his lips together, not sure if he was supposed to speak words, or what? If it was Sam, Dean would knock him on the shoulder and tell him to stop being such a girl, there were other mugs out there, and Sam would look at him and know that he was trying to be comforting. But, if he told Castiel to stop being such a girl, he had a feeling he’d either end up being lectured on the sexism ingrained in society through comments such as that, or he’d be left awkwardly standing there as his roommate bursts into tears.
‘I’m always breaking my favourite things,’ Castiel sighed. Neither option sounded all that appealing to Dean, so he decided to take control of the situation and get it over with as quickly as possible.
‘I’ll swap you,’ he held out what remained of the late cup of tea. Castiel took it with gentle hands as Dean reached for the mop – he resisted pointing out that it was a bit late to be putting on the kid-gloves because he didn’t know this guy and he really was making an effort not to get cried on. He made quick work of the spill on the ground, pretending to admire how efficient this mop was rather than how the mug was carefully being pieced back together behind him.
When he turned around Castiel was staring at him seriously. ‘Thank you, Dean.’ He said earnestly. So, he’s intense, Dean noted down mentally, although it was kind of endearing.
‘Um, yeah. No problem.’ He leant against the wall and scratched his head, still holding the mop. ‘So…’
‘Oh, I should –’ Castiel’s eyes went wide once more. He balanced the mug on a nearby sideboard, making sure none of the pieces slid out of place, and rushed to take the mop from Dean. ‘You should, you should sleep.’
‘Yeah, well…’He trailed off.
‘Good night, Dean.’ His roommate offered him a small smile.
‘Good night, Cas,’ he said as he slipped back into his room, just missing the strange look that followed him.
It wasn’t until he was back, lying on his memory foam mattress, that he realised he’d just given the man a nickname. Awesome. Dean screwed his eyes shut and pulled his covers up over his head until he fell asleep.
***
The best thing about the new place was definitely Second Story. It was this little café the landlord owned above them and if there was one thing Dean could get used to it was the way he would wake up to the flat completely saturated with the smell of fresh coffee, sweet tea, and flawlessly baked pastries. He may have only got three out of four hours of his necessary beauty sleep, but it was almost impossible not to feel like a morning person when breathing in that air. Besides, when he was on call back home, he’d often gotten less. At least here he wasn’t being rudely awoken by a fire station alarm system.
Dean stretched out across the sheets, keeping his eyes shut. He was starting to get used to the way the memory foam moves beneath him – appreciate it even. Sighing, he rolled out of bed and assessed the room. His duffel bag was still in the corner of the room with his clothes from yesterday on the floor next to it. Dean crossed the room and rifled through it, grabbing the first shirt, jeans, and boxers he came across. He snatched up his dirty laundry and his wash kit as well and headed to the bathroom.
After a quick rinse under the shower – not long enough to allow his thoughts to run wild – he stepped out into the bathroom. It was bigger than his own bedroom because it doubled as their utility room. A washer and a dryer took up one half of the room, with a drying rack and a laundry hamper. Dean put his dirty clothes next to the hamper instead of in it where he assumed Castiel’s laundry resided.
Speaking of Castiel, Dean cringed, he could not believe he’d gone and given him a nickname like that. He’d only been here two days. They’d only interacted three times: once when he’d arrived, once when Dean had gone down to the kitchen for lunch yesterday, and then again last night. It was little soon to start shortening each other’s names. Hopefully, Castiel was going to take the same route as Dean and pretend it had never been said. If he went downstairs and got called anything but Dean, he’s pretty sure he’d keel over dead. Although, Dean reckoned Castiel was more likely to question him about last night rather than follow suit. Either way, same result; dead Dean.
Since he’d arrived, he’d only gone upstairs twice to grab some water from the kitchen they shared with the café. The rest of the time he’d spent either holed up in his new room contemplating calling Sam or just wandering aimlessly through the neighbourhood.
Today he’d walked in and out of a nearby pet shop, round golden gate park and along the beach. He’d stopped to buy some groceries from the nearest Walmart and then walked back to the apartment, pausing outside San Francisco Fire Station 23.
Dean wasn’t stupid, he knew he was going to need a job, and that he was going to need it relatively soon. He may have managed to find the only cheap apartment in San Francisco but that didn’t mean his pockets were deep enough to put him up for long without an income. It was just that the idea of getting a post at a new station here made Dean feel queasy. Actually, the idea of going back to fighting fires at all made his stomach turn right now, but Dean was busy denying that. Instead, he put it down to the fact that going back, but not to his old fire house, would just feel wrong. Maybe it was just what he needed, but he couldn’t shake this feeling long enough to send in an application.
He thought about alternatives all the way back home. He knew a lot about cars, maybe a mechanic would take him on, or he could bartend some place; he definitely knew how to drink. By the time he was standing out front of the apartment, he’d talked himself into sending out his CV to a few places he’d walked past on his way. There had been several bars, a couple mechanics and a nightclub. Dean figured he stood a good chance of getting something. If not, he could always find a supermarket somewhere, he shivered at the concept.
For a moment, Dean paused on the sidewalk, watching the steady stream of customers up and down the steps to the café and then he made the decision to follow them. He hadn’t actually seen the actual café part of the café. He was pretty sure Castiel worked there, simply because he never seemed to use their front door. They shared their kitchen with it but he couldn’t see the rest of it from there.
It wasn’t really anything he had expected. It was one large room with an L-shaped counter in one kitchen, behind which was the door to the kitchen. Sofa booths and table sets filled three quarters of the rest of the room with the final portion being dedicated to several towering bookshelves and a much smaller, one-person counter, behind which Castiel stood.
He was wearing a ridiculous blue vest and dark charcoal jeans, leaning against the wall behind him and reading a thick hardcover book. His eyes wrinkled at the corners as he smiled, presumably reading something amusing. Dean tried not to stare as he walked up to the main counter. A young woman, about Castiel’s age, smiled at him as he approached.
‘Hi, I’m Daphne. Welcome to Second Story. What can I get you for today?’
‘Um…’ Dean looked back at his roommate who was chatting with a little old lady and helping her decide between two books. Daphne cleared her throat. ‘Sorry, I- I’ll have a coffee please. One shot of espresso. Black.’
She nodded slowly, smiling. ‘Coming right up.’
Dean waited to the side as Castiel scanned in one of the books and waved goodbye to the woman. He watched until Castiel caught his eye at which point he snapped his attention back to Daphne and pretended to be very interested in the coffee-making process. Yes, what an intriguing espresso machine; lovely… buttons.
‘Dean.’ He jumped, he thinks maybe literally, and tried not to curse. Apparently, Castiel had decided to cross the room to greet him.
‘Castiel.’
His roommate squinted. Oh god, please don’t mention the nickname. He was about to say something more, anything more because right now they were just staring at each other when Daphne interrupted.
‘You’re Dean?’ Which at least got Castiel to look away from him and glare at her as she placed Dean’s coffee on the counter.
‘Yes? I’m Dean.’ He shot his roommate a questioning look as he got out his wallet and paid for his drink. Castiel didn’t meet his eyes.
‘Sorry, I know. I promise it’s not creepy.’ Daphne reassured him, putting away the cash. ‘Castiel just mentioned you moving in as all.’ She smiled at the pair of them. ‘Have a nice day.’ And then, grinning widely disappeared into the kitchen.
‘Um, well-’
‘I should get back.’ Castiel interrupted, gesturing to the completely empty bookstore portion of the café.
‘Okay…’ Dean nodded. He would’ve told him ‘see you later’, but Castiel was already walking away at an alarming pace. Great. Dean had repelled him already. Instead, he took a seat in one of the corners to finish his coffee, wishing he’d gotten it to go.
It took him about 15 minutes to finish the cup. 15 minutes that he’d spent watching the café scene play out. They seemed to have a few regulars that came in waves and bright genuine smiles and stayed to trade inside jokes with both Daphne and Castiel. And even when there weren’t regulars, the atmosphere was warm and comforting, and of course the smell that often filled their apartment below was even better up here. The whole place smelled like butter, coffee, and chocolate.
As Castiel got up on a step ladder to rearrange some of the higher shelves, bringing some books down and putting some books up, Dean decided it wasn’t so bad.
***
The next couple of days proceeded in a predictable pattern. He spent his mornings reading the falsely apologetic rejection emails from the various bars and garages he’d applied to over a cup of coffee upstairs. He’d scrub off the sting of being turned down with a short drive along the coastline with his baby before calling up Sam to continue the upward trend of telling his brother nothing. Despite knowing that his brother would know exactly what to say to pull him out of the slump unemployment was dragging Dean into, he omitted it all. Then he would spend his afternoon back at Second Story devouring any one of their particularly awesome grilled sandwiches, pretending not to watch his roommate work.
‘Talking to him might be quicker.’ Dean jumped and turned to face Claire. She was working the afternoon shift with Kevin on the counter and liked taking the piss out of Dean whenever he dropped by, probably because he was the only customer that wasn’t going anywhere – what with living downstairs and all.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he tried. ‘Y-you, you go talk to him… okay.’ Dean died, ears burning red.
‘On second thought, maybe not.’ Claire laughed and collected the paid bill, pocketing the tip.
‘Shut up.’ He sank down into his seat. He wasn’t sure at what point all of his roommate’s co-workers had decided it was okay to bully him, but now it was pretty much a daily occurrence. In their defence, it was probably his fault for watching Castiel go about his day like some second-rate pervert or sad horny teenager. He couldn’t really put his finger on why he was acting like this. He barely knew the guy and it wasn’t as if he had feelings for him. That wasn’t possible.
Yes, Castiel was objectively gorgeous, but Dean had been attracted to guys before and he was never usually this tragic.
‘She’s right, you know,’ drawled a voice from behind him. It was Crowley, the only other customer who refused to be run off. The difference was nobody actually seemed to like him. Whereas Dean thought of his torment as a friendly sort of banter, the Second Story staff seemed to genuinely despise this Armani wearing man.
‘Butt-out, Crowley.’ Dean glared.
‘What?’ Crowley shrugged, ‘She is. Talking to him would definitely ruin your chances.’
Claire threw a napkin at his head.
‘In fact,’ he smirked. ‘I just changed my mind. Do it. Just, let me know when so I can watch.’
Other than the fact that he enjoyed making people squirm, Dean didn’t know much about Crowley. He imagined he was a lawyer or perhaps a businessman of sorts. He wore far too many designer suits and carried himself with far too much pride to be anything else. He exuded smarm and found each one of Dean’s emails more amusing than the last. Which is why Dean enjoyed watching Claire pick up Crowley’s half full coffee cup with Dean’s empty plate and carry it away from him.
Crowley shrugged, killing some of Dean’s amusement, ‘I’m late for a meeting anyways.’ He left a 20 under the saltshaker and got up to leave. ‘Seriously, Dean. Call me if you ever go over there.’ He waggled his eyebrows and left the store. Dean dropped his head to the table.
***
The next morning, he got his last rejection, and it was Castiel who brought over his coffee.
‘Hello, Dean,’ he said as he placed it down in front of him.
‘Good morning.’
‘Is it?'
‘What?’ Dean looked up at where his roommate was still inexplicably still standing.
‘My people skills may be rusty, Dean, but something is clearly bothering you.’ Dean blinked at him. ‘Would you like to talk about it?’
‘See, I’m actually more Warhead than Yukio.’
Castiel squinted at him, ‘I don’t understand that reference.’ Dean drank his coffee to stop himself from explaining himself further. At which point, Castiel sat down across from him.
‘Uh-um, are you allowed to-’ he gestured to his roommate, ‘…Sit?’
‘I don’t think my boss will mind.’ Castiel smiled like he’d just told the world’s funniest joke.
‘Okay…’
‘My sister, Anna, used to tell me that there are always people who want to help. That we are never alone.’ Castiel paused profoundly for a moment. ‘Of course, my brother Gabriel says that Satan’s gonna ride all our asses either way, and Balthazar thinks the answer to everything is tequila, so maybe my family isn’t the best source of wisdom.’
Dean stared at him, unable to process much past the biblical names let alone the content of his sentences. Was Castiel making a joke?
‘My point was you can talk to me.’
‘Thanks man, really, but no thanks.’
Castiel nodded, ‘You know where to find me.’
Dean finished the rest of his cup in lieu of a reply. As he went for his wallet, Castiel stopped him with a hand on his arm. ‘It’s on the house.’
He grimaced slightly, was he that obviously pitiable?
‘Thanks,’ he sighed and pushed back from the table, trying not to think of himself as a charity case or whether or not this could be classified as his roommate buying him a drink.
The moment that he was outside he regretted not taking Castiel up on his offer. He considered turning on his heel and going back inside to do just that, which… terrifying. Dean didn’t think he’d ever even thought about opening up voluntarily.
Sure, Sam could almost always poke and prod his feelings from him, and Rufus, his old captain, had always known when to bench him, known when the job was getting to him. But Dean had never told them how he was of his own volition, had never really wanted to, or thought it could help.
‘What is going on with me?’ He asked the impala as he reached where she was parked because apparently Baby was his sole confidant – and he called his roommate odd. It was sad. One day he was going to talk to his car, and it was going to answer, and Dean would have to check himself into a psychiatric hospital.
He drove for longer than he had meant to and ended up outside an unassuming looking bar instead of where he was supposed to be. It’s big wooden sign stood atop several boulders, informing him that it was in fact called ‘The Rocks’. What was it with this area and their puns? He briefly considered whether this was a dorky enough sign for his roommate to enjoy drinking here - if Castiel even drank, that was.
Dean sighed, maybe ‘Balthazar’ had a point.
Now thinking about whether Castiel would ever consider actually drinking with him, he shut the door of the impala behind him. Apparently, he was an idiot with little to no control over his consciousness. It was all he could do to deny that maybe Castiel offering to listen had rocked the boat more towards liking him than just a physical attraction. No sleeping with your roommate, Dean reminded himself as he pushed open the door to the bar.
Inside, he found himself a seat on the edge of the bar and ordered himself a double whiskey. The bar was relatively quiet which wasn’t surprising. It was only six. Everyone here were obviously regulars. A blond girl and a young guy were shouting at each other over a competitive looking game of foosball whilst an older couple chatted on a table nearby. An old-fashioned jukebox filled the bar with the sounds of the 100 top rock songs of the 70s and other than that there was a group of three men huddled around their pints in the corner. When the bartender came over with his drink, Dean downed it in one.
‘Rough day?’ Asked the man who had handed him the glass.
‘Rough month.’ The man hummed, refilling his glass.
‘Wanna talk about it?’
‘Warhead.’ He pointed at himself drawing a laugh from the bartender.
‘So, who’s your Yukio?’
Dean finished his drink again, ‘Don’t have one.’
‘Another?’
Dean shook his head. ‘Tequila.’
‘Damn, really? You’re gonna make me go downstairs before we’ve even introduced ourselves?’
Dean puffed out his cheeks and exhaled, ‘More whiskey, then.’
‘No, no,’ the bartender drummed on the table, ‘I’m going, I’m going. You just gotta tell me your name first.’
Dean considered him for a while before conceding, ‘Dean.’
‘Nice to meet you, Dean. I’m Benny.’ He winked at him, which was hilarious. ‘I'll be right back with your tequila.’
Over the next few hours, the bar filled up, but Benny made sure to keep coming back to talk to Dean and keep Dean's shot glasses full. They talked about anything and everything other than their actual lives. At one point they got into a debate about the best Batman so far. Benny was probably right with his position on Christian Bale, but Dean had a soft spot for Kevin Conroy and the animated series. Although, they both agreed that Heath Ledger got the crown when it came to the Clown Prince of Gotham.
Dean only lost sight of him for about 20 minutes the whole night. At around 11, Benny disappeared out back and was replaced by the blonde from earlier. Her name was Jo and she coaxed Dean away from the tequila with some less intoxicating but highly entertaining comet shots that Benny joined him in when he re-emerged from behind the bar, apparently off duty for the rest of the night.
About three hours later, Benny had an arm slung over his shoulder and was laughing raucously about something Dean must’ve said. They were both far too drunk to keep track of their own words and were only still sitting on their stools by way of leaning on each other. Until, of course, they inevitably did fall off their stools. Led Zeppelin’s Ramble On reached its final minute and, because robbing a bank would feel less illegal than ignoring this songs’ climax, Dean jumped up to sing along, sending him and Benny toppling to the floor.
It was at this point that Jo cut them off and sent them home.
‘Hey,’ Benny held him in place with both shoulders, both swaying. ‘If you wait here for me to grab my stuff, my place isn't too far from here.’
Now, normally he’d have said yes to a guy like Benny. He was attractive and funny, he got sarcasm and watched movies, and talking to him made Dean feel a little bit like the old him. Unfortunately, Benny did not have startling blue eyes, a penchant for awkward encounters, or whatever the fuck else made Dean trip over himself around Castiel. It was ridiculous and it made Dean miserable – not that he wasn’t already miserable.
So, instead they parted with an ‘Alright, brother. See you around.’ And a ‘Yeah, see you, Benny.’ Benny walked back behind the bar to pick up his shit, while Dean made his way for the door.
Sighing, Dean pushed his way out of the bar, into the fresh air outside, and said goodbye to Baby– because even when practically incoherent, he still talked to his car. He zipped up his jacket and began walking. He stumbled forward for a few streets, chastising himself for his moronic attraction to the man he now shared space with. Dean may be new to the whole roommate thing, but everyone knew the one golden rule: don’t get involved. He repeated it in his head like a mantra as he walked and then turned right into a random shop because he’d seen a mug in the window.
Inside was the Castiel equivalent of a room. Odd, but immediately one of Dean’s favourite places. There were reasons people called these things curiosity stores. It appeared to sell everything from occult items to collectable action figures. Crystals were dotted all over the place and comic book pages plastered the walls. The whole place smelt of old books and incense and spread of flashing monitors sat behind the counter. It was insane.
‘Can I help you, gorgeous?’ A beautiful woman decked out in AC/DC merchandise, leather, sunglasses, and a large quartz pendant appeared from behind a set of shelves. ‘Opal?’ She said, holding out the white stone she held in her hands towards Dean as she approached.
‘Um, no thank you.’ Dean coughed, ‘I was just-’
‘No, no. Of course not.’ The woman shook her head and frowned at him. She slipped off her sunglasses and stared at him with serious white eyes that couldn’t possibly see but bore into him, nonetheless. ‘Selenite!’ She grinned at him like a Cheshire cat.
‘I- what?’
‘That’s what you need; selenite.’
Dean had never been so confused. Her nonsensical words swam around his head with all the whiskey and tequila. ‘I just came in for, er, a mug…’
‘Yes, yes. Castiel does love his cat mugs.’ She waved him off with a stray hand and vanished back behind the shelves.
‘H-how did you-’ Dean faltered, getting cut off by a particularly hard wave of nausea to swallow. God. Never mind, it wasn’t worth the words, he’d rather contain his earlier sandwich.
‘Some questions,’ the shopkeeper returned and walked over to the counter, ‘Are not worth asking.’ Well, that was creepy. ‘Who cares how? What’s important is what is.’
‘Very Yoda.’ Dean commented, completely off-kilter. He wasn’t sure if it was the woman or the alcohol.
‘Very Pamela.’ She corrected. He just nodded; Dean had never felt more lost.
‘Life’s a maze.’ Pamela grinned.
‘What? Seriously, how are you-’ Pamela raised an eyebrow and he stopped talking. He really hoped she would stop with the psychic act; it was giving him the heebie-jeebies. Pamela turned her attention towards the register.
‘Hurry up, won’t you?’
‘What?’ Dean said again because honestly, what was happening?
Dean opened his mouth to call her a crazy woman, but she cut him off, looking at him like he was drooling all over her carpet, ‘The mug.’ Oh.
He turned and fetched the mug from the window. It was painted blue with a fluffy cartoon cat hanging upside down saying: ‘YOU HAVE CAT TO BE KITTEN ME’ and Dean was sure Castiel would love it.
‘He will.’
Stop that, Dean thought as he walked over to her.
‘Shan’t.’ She smirked, plucking the mug from her hands, and zapping it with her scanner. ‘$3.45.'
Dean squinted at her as he passed over his card. She passed it back to him with the mug and small translucent pebble. It was white and polished, and he looked at Pamela questioning.
‘Selenite, threw that in there for free.’ She patted him on the shoulder. ‘Now, say bye-bye and exit out the door you came through.’
‘But- I,’ Dean shook his head, ‘Bye.’
‘Bye, Dean.’
***
By the time he got back to the flat, he could feel his pulse in his face. The last few drinks had definitely been a bad idea. Dean could feel his organs fuming inside him and was pretty sure if he didn’t pass out within the hour, he’d spend the next day cleaning up the mess. He groaned.
Second Story’s lights were still on, probably Meg just finishing up for the night, but Dean had no desire to be bullied tonight.
After pressing his face into their front door for several minutes, he stepped back to check his pockets, breathing deeply through his nose. With one hand cradling the cat mug to his chest, he managed to dig out his keys. He then proceeded to fumble with the lock, drop them completely, and, in a failed attempt to catch them mid fall, pushed them through the letterbox. Fuck. The keys clinked together nonplussed as they met the floorboards on the other side.
Dean sat down. Maybe he could just sit out here all night. It was either that, or Meg, or potentially Castiel if he started knocking on this door.
Nope, no, definitely not. If Castiel saw him like this, he’d probably have to move all over again. To Meg it was – even if it was a slight risk that she’d leave him out here.
Meg was an old friend of Castiel’s, that for reasons unbeknownst to Dean, he kept around, and other people seemed to like. Sure, she was sarcastic and biting, which should place her in the gets-along-with column of the people-Dean-knows list, but she was also relentlessly amused by Dean’s Castiel-related awkwardness and relentlessly mean.
She picked up the night shift at the café. After 8pm on the weekends and until about 2am, it operated as a bar in its own right. Dean didn’t think it ever got particularly busy. In fact, it usually seemed to be occupied by the same closed group of people each week. They’d arrive just when Dean would hear Castiel coming downstairs and leave several hours later after several obnoxiously loud rounds of drinks. It didn’t really bother Dean, he’d slept through worse, but he still thought it was a little rude, especially whenever it became obvious that they were making noise for the sake of making noise.
As Dean climbed the stairs (literally climbed, using his hands to help), he was suddenly glad for how late he’d stayed out. The street was quiet, meaning he wouldn’t have to deal with any of the late-night customers with his head pounding like it was. He peered through the glass. Meg was nowhere to be seen. Fucking great. Dean began to knock.
After several minutes without a reply, Dean began to bang on the door slightly. Mainly because he wasn’t sure he’d make it back down the stairs, so Meg had become his only option.
‘Hey! Meg, open up!’ he tried again, yelling this time. Still nothing. Dean gave up and collapsed to the floor, propping himself up against the iron railings. He closed his eyes and felt the earth move beneath him. Why does he do the things he does? He sighed.
‘Dean?’ Oh fuck.
Dean looked up and confirmed his suspicions. Meg did not have a man’s deep gravelly voice, nor was she doing a brilliant Castiel impression, nor was she actually there at all.
‘You’re not Meg.’
‘No…’ Castiel looked down at him from the doorway, forehead wrinkled with concern. He was wearing a different pyjama sweater than usual. This one had a picture of a tortoise on the front.
‘Good. Good.’ Dean repeated, mainly to himself, feeling sleepy now. ‘You’re nicer anyways.’
‘You’re inebriated.’
Dean looked at him in a way he hoped accurately conveyed his request for his roommate to use smaller words.
‘Drunk,’ Castiel corrected. ‘You’re drunk.’
Oh. ‘Yes.’
He watched as Castiel opened the door wider and leant down to pick him up off the floor. Dean still had the mug cradled under his arm which he hugged closer, both to protect it and to conceal it because it was a surprise – and also a little embarrassing.
‘Smaller words.’ He said as Castiel guided him inside onto one of the sofas, because it was a good point that was worth making. ‘Like Cas.’ He said because he was drunk and an idiot. ‘I’m gonna call you Cas, from now on.’ Dean decided.
‘Okay…’ Cas just looked worried.
‘I’m fine!’ He reassured, ‘See!’ He said, lifting his hand to his face and missing his nose completely.
The mug dropped onto his lap causing Cas to look at it oddly.
‘Oh, I got you a new mug.’ Dena looked at it too. ‘Surprise?’
Cas picked up the mug and examined it, breaking out into a gummy smile. ‘I love it.’ He looked at Dean solemnly, ‘Thank you, Dean. This means a lot.’
Dean swallowed, ‘Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it. My money’s got to run out sometime soon.’ Castiel frowned again. Dammit. He liked Cas’s smile.
‘It's fine.’ Dean slurred slightly and patted his roommate's knee as if that was at all convincing. ‘I’m sure I’ll get a job eventually. Maybe I’ll go back to being a firefighter.’ Now Dean was frowning, and he was horrified to realise he was about ten seconds away from tears. ‘Or maybe… Walmart?’ he sighed and sank backwards.
‘You could work here.’ Dean looked at Cas. ‘I mean, if you, if you wanted to, that is.’
‘I don’t know.’ Dean ran a hand over his face and poked himself in the eye. ‘I don’t know if your boss would even like me. No one else hiring seems to.’
Cas laughed, ‘He likes you.’
‘What? How do you know?’ Dean blinked owlishly at him and then narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
‘Because he’s me. I’m the boss.’ Cas explained, propping Dean back up who had begun to slide off the couch. ‘I own the cafe.’
‘You?’
‘Me.’
‘You own the café?’
‘Yes.’ Castiel kept a solid hand around Dean’s arm. ‘Would you like the job?’
‘I don’t know anything about books.’
‘You don’t have to.’
‘Or tea.’
Cas smiled at him, ‘You’ll learn.’
Dean nodded. ‘Okay.’
‘Okay.’
A few moments of silence passed. It was nice.
‘Hey Cas,’ Dean whispered as he began to drift off.
‘Yes?’
‘If I asked you out, would you say yes?’ He closed his eyes and waited for an answer. Cas was quiet for a long time and Dean wondered if he was just going to ignore the question, which, mortifying.
‘Dean?’ Dean held his breath. ‘Ask me tomorrow.’ Oh.
Dean smiled. Okay, yes, he would do that.
‘Good night, Dean.’
Night Cas, Dean thought but was already falling asleep.
Talking with someone at work about matureness versus age and what actions follow because of that really actually puts some stuff into perspective.
Sometimes, you're the one looking upon those younger than you really seeing how their actions reflect their age, but that's okay, cause hopefully they have time to grow and learn.
But sometimes, you're the one looking upon those older than you and realizing how foolish and immature they be acting. Too late for them to learn better, but good for you to learn just what to not be.
Kelly watched Cas from the passenger seat of his truck. She didn't know much about angels but she wondered whether they actually needed to stare that intently at the road in order to drive.
They’d left the Winchesters about 80 miles back on the ground of that god awful play park and she had yet to find out where they were going. For the first 10 miles, Kelly had listened to the expression on Cas’ face and kept quiet. It was clear to her that betraying the Winchester had not been an easy thing to do for him. His face was tight with emotion and she knew talking would do no good. Placing a hand over her stomach, she had to wonder what exactly this baby had shown him that had made him so sure.
Kelly didn’t know if she was doing the right thing for the world, seeing the pregnancy through. She just knew that despite the world, this was right. Somewhere along the line, the child growing inside her body had become hers and there was no changing that. She cared about what this child could turn out to be, and then again she didn’t. She cared that it could put people in danger, but not really. She cared that Castiel, who had been so good to her, had had to betray his friends, but at the same time, she didn’t care at all. The only thing she really, truly cared about right now was her baby. Something deep within - an impossibly real connection with someone who hadn’t even been born yet - told her that there was no other choice worth making, and she knew somehow Cas knew that too.
After the 40th mile, Kelly had tried talking.
‘Cas?’
She’d gotten no reply.
‘Castiel?’
He’d tightened his grip on the wheel.
‘Cas, you’re scaring me.’ Cas looked at her then, and she was; she was very, very scared. Never before in her life had she felt the kind of fear she’d felt over the last few weeks. After everything she’d been through, all the kidnapping and the pain and the doubt, her entire life had been turned upside down and inside out so much she could barely recognise it as her own. After all that, she had needed to know; she had just needed an answer. ‘Where are we going?’
Cas had been silent for a long while. Defeated, Kelly had slumped back into her seat, rubbing her hand in circles over her belly, asking for comfort. It wasn’t supposed to be that way, her asking for comfort from her baby. She was it’s mother; it's a caregiver. She was supposed to be there for it, supposed to be strong.
‘I don’t know.’
The words had been so quiet she had almost missed it. When she’d looked at him again, Cas had returned his attention to the road now, jaw clenched, and Kelly had felt a little bit at ease. She shouldn’t have. Cas hadn’t had a plan or a destination or any idea what he was doing. She should have felt like panicking, but instead she had just felt like she was not alone and after everything, that had been what she needed.
After a few more minutes, Castiel had pulled the car over to the side of the road and got out. Kelly got out the other side.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m,’ Cas had rubbed a hand over his face in an oddly out of character manner. She’d thought she’d seen the Dean man do the same back at the motel. ‘I’m going to figure out where we’re going.’ He’d taken out his smart phone and gone silent.
If she tried real hard, Kelly could’ve pretended that this was a normal road trip. She could’ve leaned back against the truck and stared out at the stretch of dry grass and bushes at the side of the road and pretended they were just checking a map or were just waiting on triple A to come start up their engine again. Then her baby would kick and she’d remember where she was and why she was here. They weren’t waiting, they were running for her life and for her child and for a future Cas had glimpsed way back at that playground.
‘Hello?’
When she’d turned around Cas had been on the phone.
‘Yes, hello. My name is… Jimmy Novak,’ He’d frowned as he’d struggled with his trenchcoat pockets
‘I saw your advertisement… for your cabin.’
Kelly had stepped forward to help. They’d found a wallet inside his left suit jacket pocket, belonging to a man who looked like Cas but was called James Novak.
‘Yes, I’d like to rent it from you for some time.’
Kelly had remembered how the devil had taken over Jeff’s body.
‘That sounds amenable.’ Cas had been squinting at nothing in particular as he’d talked and she’d remembered how Castiel was an angel too, inside yet another man’s body.
‘My payment details are…’ Cas began reading out the numbers on his card. He couldn’t be like the devil, she’d thought; he was too kind.
‘Thank you.’ Cas had hung up the phone.
‘So?’
‘I’ve rented a cabin where we should be safe.’ Kelly had nodded whilst Cas lay a hand on her shoulder. ‘I swear to you I will protect you and will protect him, with my life if I have to.’
Kelly knew this, well most she’d known most of it, ‘Protect him?’
Cas had nodded and said, ‘Sorry, had you wanted it to be a surprise?’
And Kelly had cried a little, shaking her head back and forth and smiling. She was going to have a son.
That had been 30 odd miles back and now they were driving along the 105 towards North Cove, Washington. They were only 10 miles out but Kelly could feel her eyes closing. It had been a long day. As she slipped into what would be a very short nap, she thought about asking Cas more about this Jimmy Novak of his and maybe about whether her son would be able to body hop like that. Though, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.
When she woke up not long after, they were parked outside a beautiful log cabin, facing the sea.
