Glasses I love your fics. I love the detail and insight into the characters that you can give with just a few sentences. How can you make a person have so many feels with only 8 paragraphs?
thank you so much! I did try to make this one 8 paragraphs, just for you, but alas, these boys got away from me a little…
“Excuse me?”
Castiel holds up a finger and mutters a muffled hold, pleaseas he finishes checking through his latest book order. He’s had a hectic day, and any customer should be able to see that from the bags under his eyes and the way his hair is surely sticking up every which way, but apparently this one is oblivious to his struggles. He takes the pen from between his teeth, checks off the receipt, then sets everything to one side on his counter and straightens up.
“Alright, how can I help—oh.”
The man standing in front of his counter is tall and handsome, an amused half-smile curling his lips and a pair of dark glasses perched on his nose. God, this is why Castiel needs to try not to get so focused on his work—so he’s not inadvertently rude to customers who just so happen to be blind. “I’m so sorry,” he starts, but the man chuckles and waves him off.
“Don’t worry about it, dude, you’re all good. I was told you’re the guy to come to if I’m looking for niche books. You wouldn’t happen to have anything in Braille, would you?”
Castiel pauses for a second to consider, taking a mental catalogue of everything he’s got in his store right now. “I’ve probably got a few books,” he muses, “but I don’t know if they’ll be what you’re interested in. If you’ve got any specific requests, I could always order them in for you?”
The man’s face lights up, and if Castiel had been captivated by his crooked little half-smile before, the brightness of his grin absolutely floors him. “You’d really do that?” the guy asks, and the joy in his voice matches the happiness written all over his expression. “That would be so fucking cool, you have no idea. Thank you so much…”
Cas looks down at his nametag, then back up at the man. “Castiel,” he prompts, and the guy laughs.
“Castiel, huh? Just the name I expected for an eclectic bookstore owner—and I mean that in the best way,” he rushes to add, and this time, it’s Castiel’s turn to chuckle.
“Trust me, I take no offence. I’m perfectly happy being an eclectic bookstore owner. And you are…?”
“Dean. Dean Winchester.” He sticks out his hand to shake, and Castiel takes it.
How does he like this guy so much already? “Nice to meet you, Dean Winchester,” he says, letting go of Dean’s hand and turning towards his computer. “Let’s find you some books, shall we?”
Dean is about to go into surgery to regain his eyesight. Cas is nervous and scared, but Dean calms him down with bad humor.
Also Dean gets really sappy and there's a little bit of crying.
Read it on AO3!
“Cas, it’ll be fine.”
“No, I know it will, I just…” Dean felt a hand grip his tightly. “I’m worried, Dean.”
Dean flipped his hand over and squeezed back, ignoring the clammy feeling. “I know you are, babe, but it really will be fine.” He shot a cocky grin in the direction of his boyfriend’s voice. “I trust Tessa.”
“I do, too, Dean, but this isn’t just about trust.” Dean felt Cas’ hand start to shake in his grip. “Any surgery comes with risks, even simple ones, and this isn’t exactly a routine procedure. Sometimes things just happen, and I’m so,” Dean heard Cas’ shaky sigh and felt him bend down to press his head against their joined hands. “I’m so scared, Dean.” Cas’ voice was fainter as we whispered against the hospital bed. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“Cas, come here.” Dean whispered, tugging their hands to him. He felt the mattress dip, the material rustling loudly with the added weight as Cas sat on the edge of the bed near Dean’s hip. Dean reached his free hand out towards Cas, softly smiling his thanks when Cas gently led his hand to himself. “I’m not going to die, Cas.” He lightly brushed his thumb against Cas’ cheekbone. “Worst case scenario, I come out just as blind as I went in.”
“But what if- “
Dean leaned forward and rested his forehead against his boyfriend’s. “There’s no point in talking ‘what-ifs’, babe. Anything could be a ‘what if’. What if the zombie apocalypse happens and the surgeon eats my eyeballs?”
“Dean,” Castiel says, voice serious. Dean can feel his little smile twitching against his palm, though, so he isn’t too convinced. “There will be no zombie apocalypse.”
“Bold claim, Cas.” Dean squeezed Cas’ hand again. “For all you know, there could be an evil scientist in the basement right now, putting the finishing touches on a zombie virus.”
Dean felt Cas’ smile grow. “I don’t think that’s how zombies work.”
“Mm,” Dean hummed. “You might be right. It’d probably start in the morgue.”
“Dean,” Castiel tried to protest, but Dean could hear the laughter in his tone.
“You know,” Dean continued, feeling his own grin tug its way on to his face. “I’d actually be proud of any zombies that come back to life. That takes real DEAD-ication.”
“Oh my god, Dean.” Cas groaned, laughing despite himself. “Where did you even get that?”
Dean shrugged, smiling. He squeezed Cas’ hand again. “That’s why I’m doing this, you know.” He said softly, after a moment of silence.
Cas leaned into Dean’s hand, still resting on his cheek. “For the zombies?”
“Yes, Cas. For the zombies.”
Dean felt the breath of air against his chin as Cas snorted quietly.
He smiled softly. “No, babe.” Dean’s voice dropped down to a breath. “I want to see it.”
“See what?” Cas’ voice was just as low, but Dean could hear the confusion.
Dean sighed. “Cas, I’m not doing this to see the snow again. I mean, I do want to see the snow again, but I’ve seen that before. When I was a kid, I saw all the spring flowers, all the colors of the trees in fall, all of that. Of course that’s all beautiful. But,” Dean sighed again. “I want to see you, Castiel. I want to see what shade of blue your eyes are when you grumble into your coffee in the morning. I want to see how messy your hair gets after you drive home with the windows open.” Dean chuckled to himself. “I want to see what your face looks like when you’re trying so hard not to smile at my dumb jokes, but I can still hear the laughter in your voice.”
Dean felt tears sliding down Cas’ cheeks onto his thumb.
“I,” Dean’s voice was barely above a whisper, “want to see what expression you have when I finally get the courage to ask you to marry me.”
“I’ll be happy,” Cas’s voice was watery, and cracked on the second word. “I’ll be so happy, Dean, I,” he laughed through his tears, “I’ll be crying.”
“Good,” Dean smiled and pressed a gentle kiss against Cas’ lips. “I want to see that, too.”
Cas laughed again, and gently tugged his hand from Dean’s to wipe his eyes. “Okay,” he whispered. “Okay. I trust Tessa. It’ll be fine.” He sounded determined. “It’ll be fine.” Dean felt Cas’ hands rest on his shoulders. “Just… promise me you’ll give me a chance?”
Dean’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.
“If,” Cas’ voice was trembled harder than ever. “If you don’t like what you see. If my eyes are too dark and my hair is too messy and… just… give me a chance?”
“Castiel.” Dean moved his hand from Cas’ face and gently took both of Cas’ hands in his own. “I will promise you that no matter what you’re worrying over right now, I will not end this because of what you look like. Not ever. You are too important to me for me to even think about doing that.”
“You don’t know that,” Castiel whispered. “You can’t say that. What if you don’t like my nose? What if- “
“’What ifs’, Cas.” Dean softly kissed his boyfriend again. “Not going to happen. Never.”
“Okay,” Cas shuddered a sigh. “Okay.”
“Good,” Dean smiled. “I love you, Cas.”
“I love you, too, Dean.” Castiel sighed softly.
Dean heard footsteps in the doorway of the hospital room. “Mr. Winchester?” A male voice. It sounded his nurse from earlier, Alfie. “It’s time to take you to surgery.”
“Alright,” Dean said, kissing Cas one last time. “You ready, babe?”
“Yeah,” Cas nodded, standing from the bed, but keeping his hand tight in Dean’s. “It’ll be fine. I trust Tessa.”
“Good.” Dean smiled, squeezing Cas’ hand one last time before turning to the nurse. “I’m all ready, Alfie. Take me to your leader.”
Castiel is a waiter who is too tired after working all night. The Winchesters come to the diner for a meal after a hunt. It's 1:30 AM. What could go wrong?
Read it on AO3!
Castiel was about two seconds away from using the apple pie on the counter as a pillow. After his second 8 hour shift in a row, working in an “open 24 hours!” restaurant at, he checked his watch, 1:34 in the morning, a pie pillow didn't seem like the worst thing ever. He still had about an hour and a half left on his shift, and his manager had ducked out nearly an ago on a “smoke break”. No one would probably even notice if he was asleep. Sure, Chuck was over in the corner booth, but the twitchy writer came in every night and Castiel knew he took a good hour on one cup of coffee. He had just served him half an hour ago, and by the looks of the mug Chuck had already topped it off with the small bottle he kept in his jacket. It wouldn't even be that bad, he thought dreamily. It has a nice, soft crust and a sweet filling...
The door burst open and the cheery jingle shook Castiel out of his sleep-deprived stupor. I'm tearing that fucking bell down first chance I get, he grumbled to himself. The man that had thrown the door open strode over to a table and sat down heavily, a small boy and a guy about Castiel's age following behind.
They all looked just this side of skinny, and their clothes were faded and worn. The man had some serious stubble going on, right on the edge of being almost a beard, and was wearing an old-looking scratched up leather jacket. The younger kid kept flicking his just-a-little-too-long hair out of his face and was sporting, as Gabriel would say, “a wicked shiner”. He was talking animatedly to the older boy, who had a busted lip and was wearing a plaid shirt and heavy jacket over what looked like three other layers. And sunglasses. At 1:30 in the morning.
Castiel shook himself from his observations and grabbed menus to give them. He walked over and placed one in front of each person.
There was a pause before the older boy said, “Ah...thanks...I'll just...read this...” with a crooked smile on his face. The younger boy burst into giggles and Castiel tilted his head in confusion. The man rolled his eyes and kept his face in its no-nonsense expression. Oh, Castiel realized. Sunglasses at 1:30 at night isn't exactly a popular fashion choice... He must be blind, you idiot! You just gave a blind kid a menu he can't read. He snorted before immediately covering his mouth.
“Oh my god, I'm so sorry,” he managed.
“Sam,” the man said in a low voice, immediately stopping the younger boy's increasingly loud laughter. The older boy was still smiling but the lines on his face became hard.
Castiel blinked at the sudden change in mood before launching right into his usual, unfortunately comforting, spiel. “Welcome to Missouri's Diner, my name is Castiel and I'll be your server today. Would you all like to start with some drinks this evening?”
“Castiel?” the younger boy, Sam, said excitedly. “Isn't that an angel?”
Castiel smiled at him, impressed with his knowledge. “Actually, the angel's name is Cassiel, but, yeah, pretty much! My mom thought the 't' in the middle gave it a nicer ring. It's really great that you know that, actually, he's not really one of the more well-known angels.”
“Yeah, Sammy gets really into all kinds of nerd stuff like that,” the older boy grinned fondly in Sam's general direction.
Sam rolled his eyes. “It's interesting, Dean! Stop acting like you didn't know it, too, I know you read that book faster than I did. I don't know why you don't let yourself be smart.”
Dean just shook his head, smile faltering.
The man, maybe their father? cleared his throat. “If we're all done with this getting touchy-feely with the waiter shit, I need a drink. What do you serve here that's alcoholic?”
Castiel felt his real smile freeze into his customer-service-dealing-with-unpleasant-people smile. “Unfortunately, sir, even though it is only 1:30 in the morning, it is a Sunday, and I am not legally allowed to serve you alcohol.”, he said with no small amount of satisfaction.
Dean's grin turned real again. He was really pretty when he smiled like that, his freckles standing out and pink lips moving to reveal nice, white teeth... Castiel shook himself and started weighing the benefits of drinking all six of the 5-hour energies he had stored in his backpack for emergency purposes.
“So, Sammy,” Dean said. “How's a chocolate shake sound?”
“Dean,” the man nearly growled.
“What, dad?” Dean was still smiling, but his tone was hard. “Does it really matter? We're using the credit card, right? We don't have to worry about having enough cash.”
Sam winced at something and said, “No, water's fine.” he glanced up at Castiel. “Please.”
Castiel smiled at the polite kid. Nice for someone to treat him like a person for once. “No problem, water's allowed on Sundays.” He winked at the boy before turning to Dean. “How about you, sir?”
Sam elbowed his brother. “He's talking to you.”
Oh, right, blind.
Dean smiled in Castiel's general direction. “Water's fine for me, too, thanks.”
“Alright, two waters, and you, sir?” his smile turned hard again as he addressed the older man.
The man grumbled before throwing the menu down and muttering, “Water.”
“Alright, those will be out in a minute,” Castiel walked to the counter and filled three glasses with water, not seeing the point in bothering the chef for such a simple thing. He dawdled at the counter a minute, trying to give them time to look over the menus, but once he started drifting off again he headed back over with their drinks.
“Here you are, sirs.” he placed them down carefully. “Dean, yours is on your right hand side above your silverware.”
A look of surprise flashed across both boy's faces. Sam awarded him a gummy grin while Dean just looked quietly happy.
“Thanks,” he said softly.
“How do you know his name?” the man said suspiciously.
“Oh, I'm sorry, your son said it earlier. I didn't want to touch him without permission so I thought saying his name would be okay.” Castiel said cautiously. “I apologize if I crossed a line of some kind.”
“No,” Sam broke in loudly, “you're fine! I said it earlier, dad, remember?”
“Yeah, it's cool,” Dean smiled crookedly.
The man glared at him for another few seconds before turning away muttering something that sounded “you never fucking know in these hick towns”. Which, confused Castiel, you never know what? and was somehow offensive.
Castiel sent Sam a grateful smile before lifting his notepad. “Do you gentlemen know what you want to eat today?”
Castiel took their orders and collected their menus with little fuss, walking back to the counter. “Order up, Benny!” He called, passing the ticket through the window. He heard some Southern-tinged muttering before the sounds of cooking started up. Castiel smiled to himself. He knew night shifts were hard, but Benny was just beginning to realize. A new baby on the way meant he was picking up shifts when he could for some extra income.
“Just think, Benny,” Castiel said with fake cheer. “It's great practice for when you'll be waking up all night to change diapers and rock a fussy baby.”
He heard some more Cajun-sounding grumbling interspersed with what he couldn't quite hear but sounded very much like a few choice words. He chuckled to himself.
“Who's the douchebag over there?” a smoky voice asked close to his ear.
Castiel rolled his eyes. “How nice of you to join us, Meg.” He turned around to see the dark, curly hair and impeccable make-up of his manager. “I think that's a new record for a smoke break, what was it?” he checked his watch, “Fifty-five minutes?”
She just smiled at him. “We all have vices, Clarence. Some of them just take...longer to work out.” She raised a dark eyebrow suggestively.
Castiel made a face and answered her earlier question on lieu of broaching that subject. “Assuming you're talking about the young man near the door, his name is Dean. Why did you call him a douchebag?”
“Uh, hello? Sunglasses, inside, at 2 in the morning? The only people who do that are the ones that think they, themselves, are in fact the sun. Douche. Bags.”
Castiel snorted. “Great theory, except for the fact that he's fucking blind.”
She raised both eyebrows this time. “Well don't I just feel like the biggest hag in hell right now.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Anyway, did you watch that link Gabriel sent everyone?”
Castiel tilted his head. “I usually find it inadvisable to click on anything Gabriel sends me.” He remarked dryly.
“Well, you are missing out, Clarence. This one included a fake mustache and unbelievable amounts of candy. It starts-”
A ding blessedly interrupted her before she could get any further.
“And on that note.” Castiel said loudly. “I should get the customers their food. Or you could, being manager and all?”
She rolled her eyes at him and shooed him off, but after a couple years on this job he was well used to it.
“Here we are,” he listed off each order as he placed everything in front of its intended recipient. He stood there awkwardly for a second to make sure no one needed anything.
“Well,” Dean exclaimed. “It looks delicious!”
Sam burst into giggles again and Dean looked very pleased with himself, both brothers ignoring the threatening look their dad sent their way. At least, Sam ignored it, Dean didn't see it. Castiel reasoned to himself. Castiel just smiled at Dean's remark. “I'll be sure to tell the chef; he'll probably stop being so cranky with me if he knows you like his food.” He winked at Sam again. “Feel free to yell if you need me. You're pretty much the only customers here, so you don't need to worry about bothering anyone else.”
The last remark was directed mainly to Dean, who appreciated it if his softened smile was anything to go by.
Castiel retreated to the counter to grab the coffee pot and headed to Chuck's table to top off his drink. The writer jumped, as usual, when Castiel approached, but gave him a nervous smile when his mug was refilled.
“Thanks.” he said softly.
“No problem, Chuck.” Castiel replied, just as quietly. “I hope your book's going well.”
“Yeah,” the man's eyes lit up. “It really, really is.”
“Good,” Castiel smiled. The man may always look ten seconds away from a nervous breakdown, but he was a lot nicer than a lot of the other people that came through here. “I'll leave you to it, then.”
Meg was waiting for him at the counter when he returned. “Anyway, as I was saying, the fake mustache is-”
“Oh, sorry, Meg.” Castiel talked over the beginning of her story. Usually he hated being rude, but he'd rather deal with a little guilt than hear this particular story. Especially knowing the kind of video his brother usually sent links to. “I have to talk to Benny, a customer wanted me to ask something about his food.” Castiel escaped narrowed eyes and pursed lips with a smile and walked into the kitchen.
“Hey, brother, what're you doing back here?” The bear of a man asked brusquely, but not without a tired smile. “You rarely visit little ol' me.”
Castiel smiled and leaned against a counter. “Let's just say... With only an hour left on my shift, Meg was getting to be a bit much.” Benny nodded understandingly. “Also, a customer complimented your food and I told him I'd tell you.”
Benny looked surprised. “Someone walked into a 24-hour diner at 2 o'clock in the morning and complimented... the food?”
Castiel chuckled. “Well, there's more to it than that, but don't put yourself down. Your food is delicious.”
Benny tipped his hat in thanks. “Thanks, you know I'm always one to toot my own horn. But what's the 'more to it'?”
“He's blind.”
“... And? You don't need to see food to enjoy it.”
Castiel tipped his head in acknowledgement. “No, I know, Benny, and I wasn't saying your food looks bad either. He hadn't eaten any of it yet.”
Benny looked hard at him for a moment. “This is a bit much for a man my age this late at night, cher. You're saying that a blind man complimented my food, that he couldn't see, before he ate it.”
“Well he's more of a teenager than a man, really, but yeah.” Castiel nodded.
“... Did it smell that good?”
Castiel laughed again. “I think it was more to aggravate his father, the man seems very...” he paused, trying to find the right word, “exacting.”
Benny shook his head. “Well, we all gotta find the light in our lot, huh?” He glanced through the window. “You better get back out there, Meg will probably be gone already and Lord knows we can't leave the counter unmanned this late.”
Castiel sighed and straightened. “Yeah, okay. There’s no one out there right now, so if you want to grab a quick power nap I’ll wake you up when we need you.” He gestured to the fold-out chair sitting in the corner.
Benny gave him a tired smile at the offer but shook his head. “If I do that, I’ll probably end up choppin’ my finger off. Staying tired is better than trying to wake up again.”
Cas nodded in understanding. “Alright. There’s just about an hour left. I’ll be sure to come rescue you as soon as our torture is over.” He laughed when Benny swatted at him with a kitchen towel as Cas left the kitchen.
Back at the counter, the diner was still as dead as one would expect at 2 in the morning. Chuck looked like he was still scribbling away, the parking lot was still empty, bar a big, black car the ragged family must have driven in, and the apple pie looked as good as always. Meg, predictably, had already disappeared again, but Cas didn’t really care. As long as Anna was here in an hour for her shift, he wasn’t even going to try and find their wayward manager.
Castiel grabbed a mug from the back counter and filled it with coffee, putting it on the lip of the order window for Benny. He heard a deep sigh followed by a muffled “Thanks” as it disappeared into the kitchen.
He heard a clatter from the table of three and sighed. He walked over, running a hand though his hair. Please just be a dropped fork or something. I do NOT want to mop up anything right now.
Castiel approached the table with his customer-service smile firmly in place. “Is everything all right over here, gentlemen?” He asked, standing behind Dean.
Weirdly, nothing was dropped or spilled. Cas surreptitiously glanced over their table and didn’t see anything that would have caused the clatter he had heard. Except… the older man’s fist was balled up and pressed to the table. He looked angry. Did he slam his fist on the table? Why?
Sam gave him a shaky smile. “Yeah, we’re fine.”
Castiel looked at the boy’s black eye with a new view. He felt a sudden, irrational anger towards his father, but reined himself in. As awful as it was, and as angry as it made him, calling him out on it right now wouldn’t do anyone any good. He was alone here, the man was obviously bigger than him, and as strong as Cas was, he was tired. If it came to a confrontation, it wouldn’t end well for Castiel. But not starting a fight didn’t mean he had to leave quite yet. “…Alright, then. Is everything tasting okay? Anyone need any refills or anything?”
“We’re fine.” The man growled, fist still clenched on the table. “Leave us alone.”
“Now, dad,” Dean said, his tone sickly sweet. “That’s not a good way to answer the nice waiter that just wants to help us.” Castiel couldn’t see his face from where he was standing, but he was sure the teenager had a twisted grin on his face. He was obviously taking advantage of the opportunity to poke the bear.
“Dean,” the man warned, temper wearing thinner by the word. “Shut the fuck up. We’ll talk when we get back to the goddamn motel.”
Castiel heard Dean draw a breath, no doubt to mouth off again, but the waiter rested a hand on his back, out of view of the father. Trying to warn him to let it go. Dean closed his mouth and Cas breathed a small sigh of relief. “It’s fine, sir.” His smile was forced, but necessary. “No need to worry about me, I have tough skin. I do notice that your glass seems a bit low, though,” he gestured to Sam, “so I’ll be right back with some water for you.” It came much easier to give the boy a small smile.
The bearded man looked like he was going to argue, but saw it would be easier to let it go. “Fine.”
“Great.” Castiel removed his hand from Dean’s back, walking as quickly as he could without being suspicious to the counter. He grabbed the pitcher the diner used for ice water and started filling it, muttering under his breath for it to speed up. Finally, after what felt like much too long, he grabbed a straw and walked back to the table.
The small family looked like they had been having an argument for as long as Cas had been gone, leaning back as he approached. The dad looked pissed off, and Sam looked pretty angry, too. Dean just looked… tired.
“Here you are, my fine sir,” he winked at Sam as he refilled his glass, hoping to make him laugh. Sam didn’t laugh. Just gave him a small smile and a quiet thank you.
Castiel turned to Dean, ignoring the older man’s eyes on him. “Dean?” He asked quietly to get his attention.
Dean turned to the sound of his voice. “Yeah, Cas?” He sounded so defeated, it made Castiel sad.
He felt his cheeks turn a little pink, but forged on anyway. Dean couldn’t see it, after all. “I noticed your lip was split, and thought it might be hard to drink like that. I have a straw here, if you want it?”
Dean looked surprised, but it melted into gratitude. “Yeah,” He said softly. “That would be nice. Thanks.”
Cas smiled at him, even though he couldn’t see it. Maybe especially because he couldn’t see it. He deserved just as much kindness as anyone else. If not more. “It’s not a problem. Would you rather I give it to you or Sam?”
Dean smiled at him. “I can handle it.” He put out his hand, palm up, waiting for the straw.
Castiel placed it in his hand carefully, brushing the tips of his fingers against the skin. The fingers were scarred. The palm was calloused. His skin was warm.
Cas stepped back, glancing over the table. Sam was smiling again, looking back and forth between Dean and Castiel. The old man had closed his eyes at some point, rubbing his hand over his face. Castiel wondered how much of the exchange he had seen. He decided it might be best to retreat to the counter for now, but he was going to keep a close eye on the table.
∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆
Nothing much happened for the rest of their meal. The man looked tense, Sam looked excited, Dean looked quietly happy. They didn’t talk or rekindle the argument the man’s slammed fist had extinguished. They just ate and drank, eventually standing to leave.
Dean’s father handed Dean a credit card, saying something tersely, before heading out to the car. Cas couldn’t say he was sorry. He hadn’t looked forward to dealing with the angry man. again. Sam led Dean to the register where Cas was waiting, looking like an excited puppy.
“Hey, Cas!” he said once they stopped in front of the register.
“Hey, Sam!” He smiled at the boy. “How was everything?”
“It was great!” Sam beamed at him, hand still on his older brother’s arm. “Wasn’t it, Dean?”
“Yeah,” Dean smiled in Castiel’s direction, face just slightly too far to the left. “The food was really good.”
Castiel felt himself blush a little again, but ignored it. “I’m glad,” he said softly. “I’ll be sure to tell Benny you guys liked it.” There was a pause where Castiel just looked at Dean before coughing to himself. “Um, so… Your bill came up to $15. 24. How will you be paying?” He was already reaching for the card option when Dean surprised him.
“Cash.”
Cas blinked. “Oh. Okay.” He picked the right option on the screen before looking up at him.
Sam looked shocked. “Really, Dean?”
Dean chuckled, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. “Yeah, man, it’s just $15. I can cover that, no need to trouble the old man. Also, it’s just… better.” He shrugged, handing Cas a $20.
Cas didn’t really understand how cash was easier, but Sam seemed to know something he didn’t. He looked at the waiter like he had just done something amazing.
Cas was a little uncomfortable, but did his job, making correct change and printing a receipt. He paused before handing Dean back his change and scribbled something on a blank meal ticket before handing it back over.
Dean’s brow furrowed as he felt the different texture of the paper. “What’s this?”
“Um,” Castiel cleared his throat. “I might be… making some assumptions, here… but your dad seems like a really… intense guy.” He glanced up from the counter that he had been staring at, seeing Dean’s face was still confused. “There’s two phone numbers on that piece of paper. One for someone who might be able to help you. Someone that helped me.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, slouching a little, remembering old times. Remembering Marv. Feeling every scar he hid and odd twinge from things that had never healed quite right. Remembering Charlie, who had rescued him. She hadn’t fully saved him, but she had tried. Cas had too much he had to fix by himself to award that to anyone but himself. He drew up to his full height again and looked Sam in the eyes.
“She’s a good person. You don’t have to call her, you don’t have to do anything, but if you do call her…” He lost steam a little bit. “She can help.” He ended softly.
Sam looked at Dean, waiting for his reaction. Dean didn’t look angry, like Cas had expected. He looked surprised again. Maybe a little sad, a little thankful. Slightly tired.
“Yeah, Cas.” He nodded, sunglasses slipping a bit. “I’ll keep that in mind. But you said there were two numbers?”
Cas blushed, full force this time. “Ah. Yes. The other is, um, it’s mine.” He raised his hands and waved them as he talked. “I know you can’t, like, text or anything, but if you ever just want to talk.” He looked at Dean, hoping he could feel his gaze even if he couldn’t see it. “I’d like to talk to you sometime.”
Cas could see Sam’s hold on Dean’s arm tighten, and his smile was so bright he was sure Benny could see it through the order window. He tugged on Dean’s sleeve, obviously excited and wanting Dean to respond.
Dean smiled, and Cas could see the crinkles in the corners of his eyes above his slipped sunglasses. “That would be great, Cas. I’d like to talk to you, too.” He leaned forward, effectively blocking Sam out as he whispered, “You have a really nice voice, dude.”
Castiel smiled. “Thank you. You do, too.” Because of course he did. Dean’s voice was smooth and deep, like the night sky between the stars. It was musical. And Cas must be more tired than he thought if he was having poetic thoughts like this.
A car horn blared outside.
“Well, that’s our cue.” Dean shot Cas a mock salute, paper still hand in his hand. “I’ll keep this safe, don’t worry.”
Castiel laughed. “I’m not worried. Goodbye, Dean, Sam. It was nice meeting you.” He gave Sam a salute, just to mock Dean a little bit, and said, “By the way, Sam, you’re welcome to call me, too, if you ever need someone to talk to.” He shot him a final wink, a last ditch effort to finally get the boy to laugh.
Sam did laugh, and he responded happily, “Yeah, Cas, I’ll call! We can talk about stuff!” He beamed at Cas. Cas felt like he had just gained the little brother he never knew he wanted, and he couldn’t be happier.
Sam led Dean to the car waiting outside, giving Castiel a final wave as he got in the car. Cas started laughing as Dean waved his hand in the air crazily. He hoped Sam would tell him he waved back.
He was really looking forward to their first call.
Castiel goes to his usual coffee shop after getting back from a forced vacation by his brother. He then bumps into a handsome stranger whose disability doesn't seem to bother him at all and he hits on Cas immediately.
