#au charlie bradbury | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pickledpascal · 3 months

Text

Meat & Candy

Chapter Three

Warnings: innuendos, sibling teasing, dean being nervous, swearing.

Word Count: 3.6k

Meat & Candy Masterlist

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Before Castiel left the restaurant, he and Dean exchanged numbers to work out a time for Dean’s “lesson.” Castiel couldn’t help but feel excited about it.

Not only because Dean was an attractive man but because he loved food and he loved seeing the process of a professional chef. The way they moved around in a busy kitchen, how they prepared for the upcoming day, the precise hand of how they plated a dish—it all interested him. And told Castiel a lot about a chef. Would Dean be one of those hot-headed chefs who screamed at his staff when a plate came to the pass raw and ultimately pushed his chefs to be better? Or was Dean more calm, collected, and gently pushed until he’d talk with one of his chefs about their performance?

Castiel hoped it was the latter.

As Dean’s eyes followed Castiel through the windows, Sam snickered behind him. Dean turned, rolling his eyes. “Spit it out, Sammy.”

“‘Would you like to come back tomorrow?’ So we can kiss on the mouth?” Sammy mocked in a deeper voice, imitating Dean. “You’re so obvious sometimes, Dean. I’m surprised Castiel didn’t just kiss you goodbye.”

Dean titled his head. “What?” He felt dizzy. Did Castiel like him? Well, Dean knew he could be charming and he knew his looks were enough to make anyone fall for him but he’s had…. Issues. Enough issues where he still got surprised that people found him attractive and liked him for who he was. Yeah, that still got him.

“You’re so fucking oblivious sometimes, I can’t believe you.” Sam let out a sigh, pushing a hand through his hair.

“Or maybe you’re just seeing things.” Dean pointed out, trying to push away the fluttering feeling in his chest.

The last time Dean had a relationship was nearly sixteen years ago when Emma was born. He had this on-and-off thing with Benny but Dean wouldn’t call that a relationship. More like friends with benefits. Plus, he cut that off a while ago. Now, they were just friends. Benny met a girl named Andrea and they were engaged. Dean was happy for him.

And Dean, for a while, was completely fine with being alone.

Lately, Emma hasn't been fine with it.

Did she want Dean to go home with just anyone? Absolutely not. But she wanted him to get out there. And Sam couldn't help but agree. Hell, everyone in Dean's life agreed.

And Dean…. Well, he didn't know what to do with that.

“What're you gonna do tomorrow anyway?” Sam asked, leaning up against the table he was working at.

Dean pursed his lips. “The classics? Maybe something else. I've been cooking up some stuff in my head.” He joked, snapping his finger and winking at Sam.

“You suck.” Sam wasn't impressed.

He had to deal with Dean's coping mechanisms for most of his life. Sam knew he was still affected by everything that happened to them when they were kids. Dean remembered most, if not all, of what happened to them. Sam, not so much, simply because he was younger and his early years were a little fuzzy.

“And you swallow.” Dean countered.

Sam let out a frustrated sigh as he rubbed his forehead. “Get the fuck outta here and get the shit for our tasting session.”

Dean laughed and nodded. “Gotcha. See in a few.” He went to the front door. “And by a few, I mean hours.” He waved as he exited.

One of Dean's favorite things to do as a chef is to walk around the alleyway markets, checking out the produce, talking to a few vendors, and simply taking the time to slow down. He knew a lot of chefs thrived on adrenaline and the heat of the kitchen. Not Dean. He thrived for these moments. Quiet ones. Calm ones. Don't get him wrong, he loved being in the kitchen and he loved the feeling of camaraderie among his cooks when they completed a service but he cherished his time off just as much.

“Hey, Donna!” Dean greeted her with a wide smile. He'd known Donna for a while.

She returned the smile. “Heya, Dean. What can I do ya for?”

“I’ll take five bunches of parsley, five pounds of tomatoes, two of apricots, and,” Dean grabbed one of the granny smith apples that sat in Donna's crates and tossed it into the air. “Three pounds of apples.”

Donna nodded and began to bag everything for Dean. She'd get one of her workers to deliver it to the restaurant. “You seen Jody yet today?”

“No, why?” Dean cocked an eyebrow. Jody was Dean's butcher of choice and she usually came in the afternoons to drop off whatever order he made in the morning.

“She has something special for ya.” Donna winked.

Dean chuckled softly and finished up, paying for all the things he got. He went to a few other vendors, talking and laughing as he paid for stuff. Some things he thought Emma would like. For instance, he got a citrus and herbal candle—Emma had a nice candle collection going and some of her favorite smells were citrus and floral.

When Dean came back from the markets, Emma sat at one of the tables doing her homework. He ruffled her hair when he got close. She shot him an annoyed, but affectionate, look.

“Math still suck ass?” He asked with an easy smile.

Emma let out a sigh as she looked down at her notebook that had scribbles she didn’t understand even though she was the one that wrote them down. “Yeah.”

“Want a distraction?” Dean leaned in closer to Emma, a hand on the back of her chair.

Emma glanced at her father from her work and thought it over. Dean was usually good at distractions but also good at reminding her to finish her work afterward. She stood and motioned for Dean to enter the kitchen.

Dean’s smile widened as he opened the kitchen door for her and watched as she interacted with Sam, Benny, and the other chefs—Lee, Garth, Jack, and Charlie.

To be fair, they were family to Emma before they were Dean’s employees.

“What should we have her on?” Lee rubbed his chin, looking at the youngest in their brigade, Jack. “Think she can handle searing off the meats?” He teased.

Jack laughed nervously, not sure if he should answer at all. “Well, uh….”

Benny rolled his eyes and punched Jack’s shoulder gently. “Don’t answer that. Lee’s just messin’ with ya.” He glanced at Emma who was glaring at them. “She could probably get every station done on time and still have time to do homework.” He winked.

Dean put a hand on Emma’s shoulder. “Must run in the family.”

“No. Uncle Sammy sucks in the kitchen.” Emma shuddered. Sam rolled his eyes.

The room burst into laughter. “Well, it runs in my blood.” Dean rephrased. “Anyway, c’mon,” His voice shifted to the one he usually used when he had to work, yelling orders over to pass to make sure his cooks heard him. “We’re gonna do a quick spread of each dish we will be serving, the correct portioning, so take small bites to make sure it tastes how it’s supposed to. Sam,” He looked at his behemoth of a brother, “Do not take bigger bites than you’re supposed to. You’ll be leaving scraps for Jack.”

———

After the interview, Castiel got some good work done on the article at the office. Sure, he could just write down the questions and Dean’s responses but where’s the fun in that? He wanted to make it more of a “character study” than an interview. He always felt normal interview articles lacked a certain soul. They never treated the person they were interviewing as a person.

“Hey, Cassie!” Castiel heard the familiar voice of his brother as he entered his house. And he could sense the scent of cooking wine.

“Hello, Gabriel.” Castiel greeted, seeing Claire sitting at the kitchen island as she watched Gabriel in the kitchen. Something in his heart squeezed.

Gabriel was no Masterchef—like Castiel would assume Dean would be—but he was less helpless in the kitchen than Castiel and helped him out a lot when he worked long days and wanted to make sure Claire ate something for dinner other than Wendy’s or some other fast food restaurant.

“How was that interview with Mr. Winchester?” Gabe asked with a suggestive tone.

Castiel tilted his head, turning to Claire. “Did you tell him?”

Claire shrugged and shook her head. “No. I mean I told him you were interviewing someone but I didn’t remember his name.”

Castiel looked from Claire to Gabriel with curious eyes.

His brother shifted slightly, his smug smirk never left his lips. “I sold that spot to Mr. Winchester. His house too. And occasionally we just talk for fun.” He shrugged.

Castiel's eyebrows raised. He had a connection to Dean? “How long have you known him?” He couldn't help but ask.

Gabriel's eyes squinted a little at him. “A while. We met while he was still in New York for culinary school.”

Castiel noted the fact that Dean went to culinary school in New York in the back of his head. He became more intrigued. Gabriel lived in New York over a decade ago. Castiel was mostly surprised he'd never heard of Dean before now. But then again, Gabriel could be the type to forget to let people know things.

He and Castiel were different that way. It was a wonder how they were related. They were very different but seemed to work well together.

“What…. Was he like?” Castiel asked, his heart pounding faster.

Gabriel shrugged, a knowing look in his eyes. “Hot. That hasn't changed much. And a little skinnier.” He laughed softly. “Now that changed. He put on some muscle. The man became a proper dilf.”

Claire tilted her head, suddenly a lot more interested in the conversation. Maybe that was part of the reason why the rumors of the restaurant were circulating around her school.

A hot head chef with a kid? It didn't even matter if he was single or not. Say hello to daddy issues.

———

Dean couldn't keep Castiel out of his head. He was buzzing around up there like a gnat—no, more like a bee. Gnats were far more annoying than bees. Bees were more important, too. They contributed to pollen dispersal and made honey. Honey was good. As far as Dean knew, gnats simply existed to annoy the hell out of people.

He leaned up against one of the counters in the kitchen and rubbed at his temples. He hadn't felt this kind of nervousness since he and Cassie were a thing. That thought made his heart sink.

Cassie was the last person Dean had been in a relationship with. The last person that meant something to him. In more than just a familial or friendly way.

And, shit, he was cooking for Cas. Cooking like this was intimate for Dean. It wasn't as meaningful when he was behind a wall, cooking for tables of people but Cas would actually be able to see the work and care he put into everything.

Wait, when did he become Cas?

Dean shook his head and took a deep breath. He tried to remember what his therapist told him. Those breathing exercises.

In. One, two, three. Hold. Out. One, two, three. Repeat three more times to make it an even four.

His heart slowed. Dean ran a hand through his hair before he noticed Benny standing near the back of the kitchen. He stood straighter.

“Did you, uh, watch all that?” Dean asked nervously.

Benny nodded as he approached slowly. “No worries, man. I get it. You like him. And….” He paused to try and find the right words. “It's been a while since you felt like that. Like something real might happen.”

Dean didn't want to look Benny in the eyes because he was exactly right. Why did Dean have to surround himself with people who could see right through him? Oh, right, because he wanted to hire people who he could trust and anticipate his needs before he asked for something.

“I'm proud of you.” Benny eventually said, eyes softening as he looked at Dean. “You deserve something nice. Someone nice.”

Dean closed his eyes at the praise. He felt like he didn't deserve it. He still wasn't used to it, even with as much praise Ellen and Bobby had given him over the years, the feeling didn't change much from his younger years. Dads sucked like that.

Benny pulled Dean into a hug, surprising him. Dean simply let it happen, holding onto him.

“You're such a good dad, y'know that?” Benny pulled away slightly to look him in the eye. He just wanted to be there for his friend. “I see the way Emma looks at you. Like you hung the damn moon, just for her. You're doing good, don't forget that.”

Dean took in another deep breath and nodded. “Thanks, man.” He leaned back against the counters. “I, um, I needed that.” He admitted.

“I knew you did.” Benny said softly. “Just… Do something for yourself for once, hm?”

With that, Benny was gone. He had retreated through the back door to give Dean some privacy.

Cooking could be intimate with the right person after all.

Or it could be hell.

Dean has felt his fair share of both in his forty or so years of being alive.

“Hello?” Castiel poked his head through the door to the kitchen, glancing around the room before his eyes landed on Dean. He had a notebook in his hands with a pen clipped on the cover.

He looked like a nerd. With his trench coat and tie combo. It made Dean smile.

“Um, Sam just let me in. I know I'm early. Is that okay? Or do you need more time to prepare?” Castiel asked shyly, playing with the edges of his notebook.

Dean's smile widened a little, his eyes crinkling at the edges. He quickly wiped the look off his face as he took a breath, “No, you're fine. Don't worry.”

He clapped his hands together before he motioned for Castiel to come closer. “Take a look around. Feel free to ask me any questions while I'm cooking, I can multitask pretty well.” Dean smirked and winked at the other man, not missing the way Sam looked at him through the window between the kitchen and the dining room.

Castiel hummed a little as he eagerly looked at the pre-portioned ingredients. It seemed like he was trying to figure out what Dean was going to do with them before he started.

He had no idea.

Less than a few minutes passed before the two dishes Dean made were finished. And Castiel's mouth was watering just looking at them.

Dean slid the first dish to Castiel. “This is my version of a classic breakfast. At least, what I assume is a classic breakfast.” He flushed a little as he looked down at the dish. “Egg's benedict with bacon on top and diced roasted potatoes.”

Castiel almost didn't want to take a fork and bite into it. The hollandaise was so fluffy and perfect looking with the way it dripped down the sides of the eggs and English muffin. And those potatoes? Seasoned to perfection and so golden.

“Is the… Is the English muffin homemade?” Castiel shook his head to try and focus.

Dean shook his head. “Charlie's a good baker but no. We get them locally though. A friend, Cassie, owns a bakery down the street.”

Castiel took a quick note. Dean sources his ingredients locally. And then he cut into the dish. And, shit, the egg was poached to perfection. The yolk ran out elegantly. He wasn't sure how else to describe it. He wanted to drink it like water. When he finally put a piece of it in his mouth, he let out a small sigh.

Castiel has had the pleasure of eating at some of the most expensive restaurants in Chicago and across the US because of his job but this… this felt like he got transported to Heaven and was cooked a meal by God himself.

He wished the meal could last forever. Alas, he ate the dish in a mere minute or two.

Dean let out a small laugh. “Hungry?”

“I barely ate today.” Castiel admitted. Maybe that was why it tasted better than anything he'd ever tasted before. But, at the same time, perhaps Dean was just that good of a chef.

Dean's eyes softened with a glint of sadness, sliding over dish number two. “Well, I'm glad you could fill up.” He scratched his eyebrow for a second. “This is, uh, homemade spaghetti with garlic, parsley, bacon bits—because I gotta put bacon in nearly everything—red pepper flakes for some spice. And I tossed it in some tomato sauce.”

Castiel looked at this dish carefully. It had some nice color with some red, green, and yellow and it didn't hurt that the bottom of the bowl wasn't dripping in sauce. Which was nice. However, he wasn't the biggest fan of bacon in pasta dishes.

“Why lightly toss the pasta?” He asked, curious. Surely it wasn't just for aesthetic reasons.

Dean chuckled a little at the question before he leaned against the countertop. “Gives the dish a nice color plus I want to save most of the sauce for other dishes. And I didn't want to overpower the dish. The red sauce I make can be….” He tried to find the right words. “Very flavorful in large amounts.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow at that before he swirled his fork in the pasta and took a bite. Well, shit. Those bacon bits worked pretty well in this dish. And he could understand what Dean was saying about the sauce. It was wonderful in this small amount but he wondered what it'd taste like if he had a pitcher that he could drink from.

He scribbled down a few more notes in a frenzy. Mostly just flavors and the composition of the dish.

“And, uh, who do you staff here? Professional chefs like you? Or are you open to anyone?” Castiel asked after a few minutes of other questions.

Dean pursed his lips for a second before his lips broke out into a smile. “I hire friends, mostly. Formal education or not. If I know you're good enough to work for me, then you're good enough.” He explained softly. “Like my best friend Benny, he's my sous, he used to work in New Orleans making lobster rolls and shrimp at little hole-in-the-wall places. Or, uh, Charlie, my pastry chef. She'd always make cakes for my birthday and they were incredible.”

Castiel chuckled softly. That would be a dream, getting to hire all your friends to work for you… Half his coworkers sucked.

“I try to make a positive environment for my chefs. And my waiters. And my stage, Sam.” Dean smiled softly. “I know a lot of kitchens can get heated. I don't want that. My daughter comes into the kitchen a lot to help and I don't want her seeing me throwing a pan at someone.” He quickly added, “I mean, I wouldn't do that to begin with but… I've seen it happen.”

“Don't worry. I get it.” Castiel smiled at Dean, glancing up from the counters to his face. He tilted his head. “You mentioned you had a daughter twice. Once yesterday. Is that why you wanted to do this? Give her something… to have later on?”

Dean licked his lips and shook his head. “My daughter… she pushed me to do this. To have something I could call my own that I didn't have to share with anyone. Sam helped me a lot, sure, but this is my restaurant. I don't have a partner or co-owner. It's… it's mine.” He took a deep breath, rubbing a hand up his face for a second. “I haven't had something like that in a while.”

Castiel nodded, his eyes softening as he looked at Dean. He made Castiel think of his own daughter. Maybe he was being too selfish and tried to focus too hard on advancing his career instead of Claire.

She deserved more.

“How… How do you think you did? As a parent?” Castiel asked softly.

Dean let out a soft laugh. “I don't know. Emma would say I'm the best dad ever but I'm not sure. There were times I struggled to pay bills but… but we always ate dinner together.” He loved those times, as much as they sucked.

Emma was such a wonderful child that Dean wasn't sure if that was his nurture or her nature. She always wanted to help in the kitchen. Perhaps it's because he liked it so much and she wanted to know why.

With grease stains on his shirts, oil scars on his hands, and a towel on his shoulder to pick up hot things. All Dean remembered was her smiling face biting into one of his burgers, with one of her front teeth missing. It's like he could see the memory shifting before his eyes. To Emma just a few days ago doing the exact same thing.

Fuck, Dean loved her with all his heart.

———

taglist: @nexus-my-beloved

26 notes · View notes

fandombandomfics · 2 months

Text

Not So Apple Pie Life

Chapter 3

After a sound check with the band, I go to the green room to decompress. I still get nervous before any show, even after all these years of performing on stage in front of people. Guess it’s because this is the first of many sold out shows on this tour. I hear my phone go off and look to see text messages from my brothers.

Little bro: good luck at the show tonight and on tour, proud of you

Big bro: good luck on tour, see you around kid

I smile slightly at the messages and text them back saying thanks. As the show goes on, we watch the sets from the green room.

“Noah where did you go after the sound check?” Jolly asks

“Oh I went for a walk and grabbed a bite to eat,” I say

“Until after midnight?” Folio asks. I try to come up with a lie that was enough to keep them from asking questions.

“Oh I went to the gym and went for another walk,” I say

“Mind was racing?” Jolly asks and I nod.

“Yeah it was, guess just nervous for this tour since it’s sold out,” I say

“I think we’re all nervous,” Ruffilo says

“Yeah but it’s gonna go great,” Folio says

We make our way to the stage and wish each other luck. When I walk on stage, the crowd cheers and I smile. Later into the setlist, I spot Sam and Dean in the crowd. It took me a second to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. At the end of the show, after the crowd left, I went back to the stage to grab my water bottle I left behind.

“Great show Noah,” Dean says, walking out from the shadows near the stage. I jump startled and hit his arm.

“Asshole you scared me,” I say with a chuckle. He chuckles and I get tackled in a hug by Sam. I chuckle and push him off.

“Dude your vocal range is insane live,” He says

“Thanks bro,” I say with a chuckle.

“So where are you going tomorrow?” Dean asks

“Going to Charlotte,” I say

“Noah we gotta–,” Jolly says, stopping in his tracks. I turn around and smile, greeting my friend.

“I’m coming Jolly,” I say

“We’ll see you around,” Dean says

“See you both around and happy hunting,” I say, whispering the happy hunting part to them. I walk over to Jolly and I can tell he’s gonna ask me who they are when we get back to the bus. I grab my bag from the greenroom and head outside with Matt and the others.

“It’s the guys!” I hear a few fans say. I chuckle and we take pictures with them before we get back on the bus.

“Who were those guys you were talking to?” Jolly asks

“My brothers,” I say and it got dead quiet on the bus.

“Noah that’s not funny, you’re an only child,” Ruffilo says. I laugh nervously and put my bag down.

“Well..thats was a lie,” I say

“Why lie to us..the fans?” Folio asks

“Because my relationship with them is very…complicated,” I say. The guys look at me with both anger but sadness.

“Don’t trust each other?” Jolly asks

“It’s more complicated than that, my brother Dean and I got into a huge fight over me wanting to pursue music. Dad died a while back so it’s just been the three of us for a long time. He told me to never come back when I left. So I didn’t,” I say

“Who’s the oldest?” Matt asks

“Dean is the oldest, I’m the middle child, and Sam is the youngest,” I say

“They came to the show tonight didn’t they? And they came last night huh?” Bryan asks and I nod.

“Yeah sorry I never told you guys it’s just been…complicated and a lot to go into,” I say

“Well when you’re ready to tell us the whole story let us know,” Jolly says and I nod, feeling exhausted from the past two days.

“I’m gonna get some shut eye,” I say and walk towards my bunk. I can never tell them the full full story. I get in my bunk and shut the curtain. I take out my phone and look at an old picture of us as kids. I sigh and plug my phone in, having a feeling this is gonna be a long tour.

7 notes · View notes

goldenraeofsun · 11 months

Text

All For You Part 2

A sequel to this one shot!

After the Angel and Renegade team up, it’s like the floodgates open wide for the Superhero draft. Queen of Moons joins the good fight. Blonde Blade jumps out of the woodwork. Vampirate, the Prophet, Rowena – no superhero name, no last name either.

Cas bemusedly supervises as Dean fulfills his longtime dream of his own superhero lair. Sam just shakes his head.

Queen of Moons, the techie of the group, outfits them with state-of-the-art computers and cloaking.

Blonde Blade, their unofficial armorer, provides all the practice gear they could need to spar and hone their skills. She also wipes their asses with everything from bo staffs to pool noodles.

Rowena conjures several bottles of booze that never seem to run out. Vampirate supplies 18th century glassware.

All in all, a good setup in Dean’s book. They have a place to drink, commiserate, and party. Somewhere away from the nightmare city they’ve all chosen to live in and occasionally save from total annihilation.

Sam strikes up a thing with Rowena (that Dean heartily and vocally disapproves of) and starts hanging around more regularly, and the ’Gade Cave really becomes Dean’s second home.

“Alright,” Blonde Blade says as the late night news report replays footage of their latest fight with Crossroads. “Next time I see Crowley, I’m gonna punch him right in his smug little face.”

“Not if I get there first,” Renegade says cheerfully, raising his beer. Around the table, a few others raise their drinks.

The Angel just glowers from his chair, his glowing eyes narrowed into slits.

The Prophet, who volunteered to record the battle debrief, the freak, shakes his head from behind his computer screen. “I told you going for his left flank was a mistake.”

Renegade protests, “I saw an opening and I took it!”

“I saw you seeing it, and I told you it would be a bad idea,” the Prophet says darkly. “But does anybody ever listen to the guy at HQ?”

“Dearie, you have to speak up more,” Rowena titters, lounging in her chair like a throne. In one hand, she delicately holds a glass of scotch, her wide bell sleeves pooled around her elbow, showing off a pale, slender forearm.

The Prophet rolls his eyes. “Cassandra never had it this bad,” he mutters.

“She had none of your charm,” Rowena assures him. “Nobody listened to her because she was an annoying Trojan twit, not because of some blasted prophecy.”

“Thanks,” the Prophet says sourly.

“Renegade will listen to you next time,” the Angel assures the Prophet.

“Renegade will probably listen to you,” Renegade corrects as the Angel turns his laser glare on him.

But that’s the trouble with the Prophet’s visions. For a guy who’s made a superhero career of seeing the future, he’s pretty shitty at it. The last time Renegade acted on one of his tips, they found the right safehouse, but the Prophet neglected to warn them about the fifty bajillion booby traps guarding the place. Vampirate nearly got his leg clean blown off, and the Angel came home unfortunately singed around the feathers.

“Change the channel to something else, chief,” Vampirate says wearily. “We were all there. We saw what went down.”

Queen of Moons eagerly snatches the remote out of Renegade’s slack grip. “On it!” she chirps as she flips through shows at the speed of light.

Blonde Blade grins. “Hey, wait!”

Queen of Moons wrinkles her nose, the fabric of her domino mask scrunching up. “Seriously?” she asks as she presses the back button.

On the screen, a celebrity gossip piece transitions into some fashion police segment.

“It’s a guilty pleasure,” Blonde Blade sniffs.

“Dude,” Renegade frowns.

“Don’t dude me,” Blonde Blade says as she points the remote, weapon-like, in his face.

As she could no doubt kill him with it in under five minutes, Renegade holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender. He’s man enough to admit it.

Blonde Blade smirks. “I saw you watching Dr. Sexy last week – you’ve got no room to judge, Tin Can Man.”

Renegade cuts off his retort as the TV host says, “Dean Winchester, of course, always looking stunning –”

Internally, Renegade groans. He averts his gaze from his own smiling face.

“ – in Georgio Armani at the International Otter Adoption Charity gala.”

“Armani, really?” the co-host asks playfully as Renegade scowls behind his helmet.

The host turns to her, his expression aghast. “Yes, Armani. You don’t believe he looks absolutely good enough to eat? Really, Alicia?”

Alicia shrugs. “Armani suits are flashy without actually being flashy. They’re the epitome of the safe option.”

“I don’t know how we’re related,” the host says with a sad shake of his head. “Fine, since Dean doesn’t satisfy, how about his husband? How does Castiel Winchester rank in Christian Siriano?”

A picture flashes on screen, of Cas looking handsome as fuck on the red carpet.

“It’s a bit much for me,” the host continues.

Alicia rolls her eyes. “I love it. The cape is so whimsical, and there’s actually a light feather pattern on the inside, a beautiful detail. And while the cape might be a bold choice, the suit itself is pretty tame. Balance, you know?”

The Angel rustles in his seat, adjusting his posture to anybody but Dean, who knows Cas is secretly pleased as fruit fucking punch. The son of a bitch.

“It’s growing on me,” Max admits. “However, I will never forgive Garth Fitzgerald for his crimes against fashion. Did he borrow that hat from Bjork?”

“Bess looks amazing, though.”

“Alright,” Blonde Blade says over Max’s noises of agreement, “Fuck, marry, kill. Dean Winchester, Garth Fitzgerald, and, I dunno,” she taps her chin in thought, “Meg Masters.”

Dean slumps over in his chair. Jesus Christ, just kill him now.

The Angel chokes on nothing and just barely manages to turn his ugly hacks of shock into a polite cough.

Renegade glares at him.

Blonde Blade starts, “Me –”

God, she’d better choose to kill him.

“– I’d fuck Dean, marry Garth, and kill Meg.”

“But Garth and Bess are so adorable,” Queen of Moons objects. “You’d want to homewreck that?”

“Garth has so much love in his blessed little southern heart,” Blonde Blade says, grinning, “I bet there’s room for one more. And all the gossip says Dean’s great in the sack.”

The Angel’s mouth purses, in a way that better fucking be agreement. Under the table, Renegade kicks him to stay silent.

“Seriously, have you seen his –”

Renegade interrupts loudly, “Does anyone want another round?”

The Angel stands up without a word and pointedly walks in the direction of the kitchen. Coward.

Blonde Blade asks, “How about you, Queenie?”

“I’d fuck Meg, obviously,” Queen of Moons says, tossing her long red hair behind her shoulder. “Penises give me anxiety in the bedroom.”

Vampirate snorts.

Queen of Moons continues, “I’d probably marry –”

Garth fucking Fitzgerald, for the love of all that is holy, say Garth.

“– Dean, and kill Garth.”

Shit.

Eyes sparkling, Queen of Moons cheerfully explains, “It’d be a lavender marriage, of course, but if I even got half of his fortune, I’d dump a boatload cash on every queer charity in the city, rescue all the goddamn orphans – Batman style, you know – and, just for the fun of it, sue the pants off Dick Roman.”

Actually, that’s not such a bad idea. If only Cas wouldn’t smite her into a soot stain for trying to put a ring on it.

Well, not every orphan. A couple, definitely, if Cas was up for it. And probably once they retired from the whole death-defying-side-gig thing.

“Kill Garth, really?” Blonde Blade asks, eyebrows raised.

“He has a quarter of Dean’s net worth,” Queen of Moons says, frowning. “I’d make it quick and painless, though.” She looks up as The Angel returns, a full glass of whiskey in hand, complete with a neon blue crazy straw. “How about you, Angel?”

“We’re still playing this game?” the Angel asks in a bored voice as he sets the drink in front of Renegade.

Dean mutinously picks up the glass and sucks at the straw. If Cas really cared about him, he’d fly Dean straight to Bora Bora instead of making him a stupid drink.

“Me,” Rowena chimes in, uninvited, as she usually does, “I’d fuck Dean, marry Meg, and kill Garth.”

Renegade’s mouth falls open. “But you’re - you’re already banging his brother!” He gives a full-body shudder of revulsion.

“And while he’s quite,” Rowena pauses as Dean resists the urge to barf, “ adept in the bedroom, who hasn’t dreamed of being in the middle of two strapping young men?”

If Dean could drown himself in his drink, he would. But Cas only filled it with two fingers worth, and his badass superhero helmet would get in the way.

“Uh, me?” Queen of Moons says, pointing at herself. “Although, I have seen very cute pictures of him and his husband. He seems like an A+ cuddler. I wouldn’t mind being in the middle of that G-rated sandwich.”

The Angel barely muffles his laugh behind his hand, and Dean barely refrains from punching said husband right in his glowy face.

Blonde Blade turns to him eagerly. “Alright, angel cake, what’re your two cents?”

The Angel glances ever so briefly at Renegade, and Dean’s stomach sinks. He’d better not say he’d rather fuck Meg.

“If you must know,” he says in a long-suffering voice, “I would fuck Dean –”

Thank god.

“ – marry Dean, and kill Meg.”

Well, that’s not exactly unexpected. It’s almost sweet. Trust Cas to stick to honesty even now.

Blonde Blade narrows her eyes. “That’s not how you play this game.”

“That is my answer.”

Blonde Blade sighs. “You can’t marry and fuck Dean Winchester.”

The Angel’s eyebrows fly up his forehead. “I believe that’s what most marriages entail, actually.”

Vampirate snorts. “He’s got you there, Blondie.”

“Fine,” Blonde Blade throws her hands in the air and turns to Renegade. “You’ve been suspiciously silent, Iron Can.”

“I don’t want to play this game.”

Blonde Blade stares at him with legitimate shock. “Since when?”

“Since always.”

Eyebrows rising in disbelief, she continues, “Alright, since someone’s canned goods have clearly been contaminated with botulism, how about you, VP?”

Vampirate leans back in his chair, contemplating the question. “Fuck Meg, marry Garth, and kill Dean.”

Finally. At least Dean has one decent friend among this bunch. Really, is it so hard to find a single person here who doesn’t want to fuck his brains out or bind him in holy matrimony?

“Seriously?” Blonde Blade says, disappointed.

“I like morally gray brunettes,” Vampirate says with a shrug. “And I know Garth can appreciate a good old fashioned bourbon pecan pie –”

“So can Dean,” the Angel says sharply.

Renegade turns to him, surprised to see the actual anger gathering in the set of his mouth and squint of his eyes.

Queen of Moons blinks. “Woah.”

“Someone struck a nerve, it seems?” Rowena titters.

“Oh my god,” Blonde Blade gasps, “do you have a crush on Dean Winchester?”

The Angel swallows, his gaze darting around the table, lingering half a second too long on Renegade. “Of course I do,” he says.

Dean closes his eyes in horror.

“He’s one of the most upstanding members of society,” the Angel starts, and this is so much worse than Dean pictured. “He regularly gives to charity. He supports grassroots politics. He cares enormously for this city, a city that chooses to pick apart his fashion choices and resurface his teenage antics instead of extolling his many virtues.”

“Cas,” Dean murmurs, so quietly only the Angel would pick up on it, “Shut your goddamn pie hole.”

He feels more than sees Cas roll his eyes, since Cas’s entire eye socket shines brightly with his inner light. Like a lava lamp turned up to eleven.

Vampirate whistles. “I wonder if Dean knows he has a secret superhero admirer.”

Dean scowls. Yes, he very much does know this.

The Angel’s wings flutter in anticipation. “And you all are just talking about him,” his voice lowers dangerously, “like he’s a piece of meat or simply a bank account to do what you will, like he has no mind of his own –”

“Fine,” Renegade interrupts, slamming his fist down on the table. The glasses all rattle. “Fuck Garth. Marry Meg. Kill Dean. Happy? Can we please change the subject?”

“You’d kill Dean as well?” the Angel asks, in a stupidly wounded sort of voice.

Dean’s gonna kill him too if he keeps this up.

The Angel’s wings puff up like an angry emu. “But he –”

“You son of a bitch,” Dean yanks his helmet off to yell at Cas properly. “It’s just a stupid game, alright? I know what everyone thinks of me. That’s on purpose, dumbass. It’s so nobody puts two-and-two together and gets one super secret superhero identity. Like I’ve told you a million goddamn times, it doesn’t matter. People are gonna talk no matter what you do.”

Silence reigns.

Rowena is the first to recover. She nearly doubles over in her seat, cackling like the witch she is.

“What the fuck,” Blonde Blade murmurs as Queen of Moons goes white as a sheet.

Vampirate says nothing, but his gaze ping pongs from Dean to the Angel and back again, calculating.

“You’re Dean Winchester,” The Prophet screeches. “You - you paid for my college scholarship!”

Dean just sighs and slumps back in his seat. Wordlessly, he picks up his glass and drains it.

The second silence is even more deafening than the first.

“Well, isn’t this awkward,” Rowena says unhelpfully, like she didn’t suggest a threesome with him and his brother ten minutes ago.

Dean ignores her.

“You didn’t have to do that, Dean,” the Angel tells him quietly.

He shrugs. “I was planning on it anyway. Just… not right now.”

“I’ll say,” Rowena says in carrying undertone as she glances between them curiously. “You knew about him?” she asks the Angel.

He gives a single clipped nod.

Vampirate drawls, “It would be hard to keep a secret like that from one’s spouse.”

Smiling slightly, Dean toasts him with his empty glass. He always liked Vampirate best – after the Angel, of course.

With this brand-spanking new revelation, the Prophet looks like he’s about to faint. “So you’re…” he drifts off, apparently unable to finish his sentence.

Queen of Moons turns to him, her expression quizzical. “You didn’t see this one coming?”

“Maybe I actually suck at this,” the Prophet says, horrified.

#destiel #fanfic #destiel fanfic #superhero au #superhero castiel #superhero dean #charlie bradbury #benny lafitte #jo harvelle #kevin tran #rowena #off screen samwitch

28 notes · View notes

musicloveop3s · 5 months

Text

Listen I just got done watching a bunch of sad dean edits that eventually turn into Charlie and dean acting like siblings, this is not a coherent thought, idk how to get from point A to point DC(dean and Charlie, not a ship) but somehow someway people are alive specifically Mary and John, and Bobby because I love Bobby but he doesn't really need to be alive I just love him, anyways right and idk when or where'd they'd find the time but at some point, maybe dean is taking a break from Sam Oki, Charlie and Dean start hangin out and decide, hey! Let's play music at bars, and Dean plays guitar, Charlie sings, and everyone eventually gets back together, Sam, Dean, John, Mary, Charlie are all taking a trip, maybe a really hard hunt, together and stop at a bar, to which Charlie and Dean get on stage and perform 'set it all free' and I've never listen to how the original song is played, but my niece was watching sing so I mean the way it's played in there, Charlie is hopping on tables, on to the bar, singing, going face to face with John at some part to like show how much she hates him, and Dean is fuckin rockin the guitar, he is just doing that solo part, where the porcupine chick like (accidentally) toss her spikes into the crowd, he is just going and it's great and amazing.

I could list other songs they'd perform

#Dean Winchester #spn au #charlie bradbury #supernatural au #ilovethisshow #nomatterhowshittyitgot #alsoiwantDeanandCharlieplayingnusictogetherlikeangstteens

8 notes · View notes

quietwingsinthesky · 8 months

Text

i guess it doesn’t make sense in leviathan!charlie verse for her to be keeping her mom alive in her coma, BUT. consider: leviathan!charlie who keeps human!charlie alive after she nearly killed her. halfway through her first meal on earth, and she got flooded with human!charlie’s memories and thoughts and it was so unlike the blind hunger of purgatory that she couldn’t handle it. but she can’t save human!charlie’s life, she went too far before she stopped and now human!charlie’ll never wake up, but she can’t let her go either, can’t face that becoming this version of herself cost someone else so much. someone she remembers being. someone she is in more ways than one. but also isn’t in even more.

#even better. sam and dean being forced to confront this.#that their friend. who they love and have helped out and let stay in their bunker. she’s still a leviathan. she is still a killer.#dean ‘once someone kills once they’ll do it again’ having to confront that especially #leviathan!charlie is so joyful and carefree and always on the move because if she ever stops she will be crushed by the weight of her past.#so just like regular charlie. but add a few thousand years more history in purgatory to it.#in this au the guy she hunts down as dark!charlie could either be the guy who killed human!charlie’s parents #(its both vengeance for the girl she destroyed in becoming. but also its borrowed its for herself its grief that isnt really hers that shes #using as an excuse for violence anyway.)#OR. dark!charlie hunts down other leviathans who have also settled down to be human. because she wouldn’t be the only one.#but she can’t face them and how they took their lives any more than she can face hers. theyre all guilt of the same sin.#if the winchesters won’t put her down for hers. if she’s their exception. well. she can’t let any other leviathan live.#because what if they kill again. (dean says that she won’t. she kills every week as a hunter. as a soldier in Oz.)#leviathan!charlie #charlie bradbury #spn

8 notes · View notes

420technoblazeit · 1 year

Text

like tbh i never finished spn so i thought everybody was joking about rowena x au charlie. i thought we were all just like hey yk who'd get along really well? i didnt know the spn writers decided to make another schrodinger's queer by mentioning that they hooked up but only in a deleted scene. this really is the show of all time

#supernatural #spn #rowena macleod #charlie bradbury #apocalypse world charlie #au charlie #the pig squeals

30 notes · View notes

ladylilithprime · 4 months

Text

You Don't Need A Nightingale

Series: Fluffy Faerie Tales

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Sastimmy/Jamstiel (Jimmy Novak/Sam Winchester/Castiel)

Rating: General to Teen and Up

Tags/Warnings: Half-Fae Sam Winchester, Jimmy and Castiel Are Twins, Selkie Jack Kline, Sam Winchester Is Jack Kline's Adopted Father, Brief Allusions to Canon-Typical Violence, Alicorns Are Flesh-Eaters, Dean Is An Aggressive Worrywart, High-Masking Autistic Jimmy, High Functioning Autistic Castiel and Jimmy

Summary: In the aftermath of the alicorn invasion, Sam is determined to get back to work as soon as possible despite his injury. This does not make his boyfriends feel better about him getting hurt in the first place.

For: @fluffyfebruary challenge!

Prompt: Day 7: Recovery

Read on AO3

ARE YOU SURE that you should be on your feet already?" Jimmy asked for the fifth time, practically vibrating in place as he tried to hover nearby without actually hovering. It was a balance that was hard to maintain, but even though the desire to take care of Sam in his injured state was almost overpowering, the last thing he wanted to do was be so annoying that Sam told him to go away like he had his own brother. Admittedly, Dean's reaction to Sam's injury had been terrifying, and had left Jimmy and Cas, who already felt horribly guilty over it, fearing retaliation from the older half-fae prince. Sam had not been happy with his brother's expression of temper.

"If I don't get up and walk around every now and then, I would go stir crazy," Sam said patiently, just as he had the last four times, smiling softly at Jimmy. "And a week is about as long as I can stand without checking in on my domain in person. I understand and appreciate the concern, but I do know my limits. I'll sit down when I need to and let you, Cas and Charlie handle any heavy lifting if you will let me take orders and mix drinks."

"You'll take extra breaks?"

"I will take as many breaks as I need when I need them, you have my word," Sam promised. Jimmy frowned, noticing the evasive wording in the answer, but nodded reluctantly. That really was the best he was going to get, and even he recognized that trying to coddle a fourteen-hundred-year-old former Seelie general over a battle injury was a bit much.

"The boss really does know his limits," Charlie chimed in as she hauled a bag of ice up to the cooler under the counter. "Three years ago this manticore got loose over in the marshlands across from Whale Harbor? His Steel Highness was out there with Balt and Donny and the naiads catching the damn thing and protecting the kelpie nests. Came back with a dislocated shoulder and a broken ankle where the manticore managed to get him with its stinger. He took two days off and was back the third day. Cursed all three entitled assholes who tried to scold him for sitting down at work and still managed to keep up with the afternoon rush."

"I know in my head that Sam can handle this," Jimmy said, scrubbing a hand back through his hair before absently finger combing it back into place. "It's just..."

"Your heart taking a bit longer to accept it because he's your boyfriend and him getting injured like that scared you?" Charlie guessed, a sympathetic look on her face.

"And the guilt because he got injured standing between me and Cas and the alicorns," Jimmy admitted, looking down at the floor. That was the part that was sending Cas nonverbal and hiding in the kitchen kneading bread with aggressive focus. Sam refused to blame either of them for having been trapped out when the alicorns descended on the town, and Jack spent almost as much time clinging to them as he did to Sam in the aftermath, but that didn't stop them from blaming themselves.

Especially not after Dean had yelled at them and Sam had kicked his brother out for it.

"Hey," Charlie said, one hand hovering questioningly over his shoulder until Jimmy gave a short nod of permission to touch. "He's alive, he killed the alicorn that got him like a badass, and if I know the boss he's much happier being injured if it means you and Cas aren't dead. His side will heal and he got to claim the remains of the six alicorns he killed while defending you." She frowned and twisted around to look at Sam. "Hey, what're you gonna do with those, anyway?"

"I considered mounting the hornless head of the one that impaled me as a trophy, but it wouldn't go with the cafe's aesthetic," Sam deadpanned, making Jimmy choke and Charlie laugh. More seriously, he added, "The parts that can be rendered down into safely consumable ingredients will be, and I have some plans for the hides, manes and tails that I would rather not discuss until I can talk to some people. Tasha and Rowena will be given first refusal on trade for the bones, otherwise there's a stitchwitch I know down near DC who would appreciate an alicorn bone needle set in exchange for her efforts on a commission. The rest will be sold for market value to help pay medical costs for everyone injured in the attack."

"What's the bet we'll have PETA fans griping at us about the Unicorn Berry Latte being made with 'actual unicorn'?" Charlie sighed.

"No bet," Sam and Jimmy chorused.

#fluffy february 2024 #rk writes #urban fantasy au #sastimmy #sam winchester #jimmy novak #charlie bradbury

3 notes · View notes

winchestergifs · 7 months

Text

STACKEDNATURAL ⇉ 108.5/327 (part 2)

14.6 Optimism Written by Steve Yockey Directed by Richard Speight, Jr. Original Air Date: November 15, 2018

122 notes · View notes

zacharyleigh316 · 4 months

Text

the haunting cry of a hollow heart

the haunting cry of a hollow heart | E | 8.6K | Read here (or below cut)

Castiel, despite his interest in all things other, despite his favor for the fantastical, his love for reading stories and fairytales, despite his faith and religion, he didn’t believe in the supernatural. --

Though, regrettably, much to his chagrin, perhaps if he had, he wouldn’t have been so unprepared. --

He believed in the afterlife, believed in God, angels (he was named after one, after all) and demons, Heaven and hell. But that was where his belief both started and ended. He didn’t believe in those creatures the very stories he loved to read warned him about, the creatures that shape-shifted, or sucked humans dry. The creatures that feasted on dead flesh, or came from other lands, other universes.

Though, regrettably, much to his chagrin, perhaps if he had, he wouldn’t have been so unprepared. However, less regrettably, it did put him in the position of crossing paths with a man who, by all accounts would have never known he’d existed, a handsome athlete who ran in completely different crowds—or so he presumed originally—a man who he only knew in name until the very object of his disbelief brought them together.

Castiel was working late in the library that night, when he heard Charlie’s bright voice greet him from a distance.

“Yo, what’s up?” She had a grin on her face, of which he could hear before he even saw her.

Not that it was very hard, even over the stacks of books he was carting around, and through the thick bindings of ones already shelved, her bright red bob could be seen coming across campus.

“Charlie.” He said in lieu of a proper hello, but his tone was no less fond.

“Look at what I found.”

Castiel didn’t have time to ask before she was thrusting a piece of paper to his chest, a smug look on her face.

“And by found, naturally you mean…” he asked skeptically, pulling the paper away from himself and reading it.

“This is a flyer for the gala. The same flyer that’s been posted to the events billboard since the beginning of the semester.”

“Okay, so I might have taken-“

“Pilfered-“

Charlie playfully shoved his shoulder, and shot him a glare, without any of its usual bite, had it been directed toward anyone but him.

“-Taken,” she repeated, purposefully ignoring his correction, “from one of the boards, yes, but there’s so many of them, it’s not like they’ll miss one.”

Castiel hummed disapprovingly, but let her continue.

“I thought we could go!”

At that, Castiel furrowed his brow. “Go? To the Valentine’s Day gala?”

“Yeah! C’mon, it'll be fun. We’ll stuff our faces with free food, and watch people get shitfaced and make fools of themselves on the dance floor. Think of all the blackmail.”

“And with whom are you thinking of bringing as your date?”

“You, silly, duh! We’ll go together. As friends of course. Because you’re dreamy, but definitely not my type. Seeing as you’re not a girl.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “You’re not my type either.” He muttered, handing her back the flyer.

The ‘seeing as I like guys’ went unsaid, but Charlie smiled anyway. They both knew this of one another of course, having been friends since freshman year, when Charlie bounded into his life uninvited but no less welcome, but Charlie liked to bring it up every now and then, “as a reminder” she had said once, flourishing it with a wink. Though, it was her odd idiosyncrasies that made her so likable by even someone like Castiel himself—not that he was entirely lacking in those either, except, people usually steered clear of him for his.

“And who knows, maybe there’ll be some hot people there we can hit on. Wins all around the board.” Charlie added jovially, taking the flyer back, only to wave it about the air as she gestured excitedly.

“You make it sound like we’re already going.”

She smiled at him guiltily, and Castiel couldn’t help but sigh.

“Charlie…”

“Don’t be mad, okay? Promise you won’t be mad?”

“That depends. What did you do?” He asked, though by the look on his friend’s face, he was certain he already knew the answer.

“About that…I…might have already…bought us tickets. To go.”

“Charlie…” Castiel said again, not bothering to hide the weariness in his voice.

“You said you wouldn’t be mad!”

“Actually I said it depends. But that’s not the point. You never asked if I would want to attend.”

“Well, that’s because I knew you’d say no.” Charlie snorted, not looking all that sorry for it.

Castiel knew she wasn’t.

“You don’t do anything fun unless we make you, and this is me making you. Besides, you can’t say you’d rather be working late hours in the library of all places, all by yourself, again, when you can be hanging out with the coolest people on the planet! And you know I’m right.”

Castiel sighed again, this time in, albeit reluctant, acquiescence. Not that Charlie would take no for an answer, anyway.

She grinned at the droop of his shoulders, knowing full well that was him giving up the fight. The queen, per usual, proved her right to the title; Castiel was no stranger to loss when it came to arguing with Charlie. He was certain no one was. She got her way in the end, eventually.

“Fine.”

“Yes! No one deserves to be alone on Valentine’s Day, Castiel. Even jaded history majors with a work study in the university library, such as yourself.”

“I’m not jaded,” he defended, turning back to his long since forgotten task of shelving the returns. “My people skills are just…rusty.”

“Unless they learned to talk back, which would be super cool by the way, burying yourself in work with books as your only company isn’t going to help.”

That, Castiel surmised, was a lesson he knew all too well.

Ever since her reveal that they would be attending the gala, courtesy to none other than herself, Charlie hadn’t shut up about it. Every chance she got she talked about it with the excitement erring on that of a small child, that Castiel couldn’t help but allow it to bleed into himself, despite his earlier grievances. He still had his doubts of course, feeling rather under qualified for a social occasion such as a dance, but it really did beat staying in library, or worse, in his dorm, all by himself, with nothing to do whilst his friends had fun living life—he’d also rather not have to hear the couple in the room beside him have raucous sexual relations all night. He, too, has learned that lesson the hard way.

“We should go shopping this weekend, make it a whole thing.” Charlie suggested to the table, before stealing some of the fries off Castiel’s plate, having finished her own minutes prior, and popping them into her mouth.

Gabriel snorted. “What makes you think we don’t already have outfits?”

Meg, who was pretending not to listen, but so clearly was, looked up from her phone with a smirk. “We’ve all seen inside your closet, that’s what.”

“I’ll have you know that everything in there is peak fashion.”

Meg raised a manicured brow. “To whom exactly? The dead guy you inherited it second hand from?”

“Hey! Thrifting is very efficient, and cost effective. You know, for a college student.”

“You’re a graduate student, mastering in business management, I hardly think you need to be frugal.” She argued, and Gabe crossed his arms, pouting.

“Cassie, you’re just going to let her be mean to me?!”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Meg didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

Gabriel gasped, looking thoroughly offended. He shook his head, and sullenly turned back to his own food.

“Don’t worry, Gabe, we’ll pick something real nice for you. Oh, we can even do a montage!”

“Sorry, Red. You may be able to get me to tag along at the mall with you, but I’m not going to be participating in that.” Meg said defiantly, her mind already made.

“But…montage.”

Gabe scoffed, muttering into his lunch. “Forget trying to convince this one, Charles, she’s stubborn. Like a mu-OW!”

Meg glared at Gabe, who was now rubbing his shin, from across the table. “Finish that, and die.”

“We’ll be there.” Castiel said suddenly, interrupting his friend’s antics. “Unless you’d rather show up naked.” He said this to his brother.

“Ew. Don’t give him ideas.” Charlie scrunched up her face in disgust, and Gabriel let out a laugh.

“Hey! There’d be a lot of people who’d enjoy that kind of show.”

“In your dreams.” Meg said, at the same time of Castiel’s, “not if it got you kicked out.”

“You lot are so boring.” Charlie whined, finishing off Castiel’s fries too. “Regardless of whether or not you guys are doing a montage, I’m making you watch me do one.”

The four of them set out that weekend to go shopping for outfits, and, although they shared their initial reluctance at lunch all those days prior to their outing, Charlie did, in the end, get her montage(s). Castiel, despite feeling foolish whilst modeling his various selection of outfits—all chosen meticulously for him by Charlie and Meg because he “couldn’t be trusted to put together a coherent look that both fit properly and wasn’t a boring color”—couldn’t have denied his red headed friend in the first place. By the two additional shows they got alongside his and Charlie’s, he figured it was much the same for Meg and Gabriel too.

Castiel wouldn’t be incorrect in presuming that Charlie already knew this, but he’d be damned if he told her that she was right, that he had fun, of course he did, in time that would have otherwise been spent in solitude brought upon by no one but himself, lest he inflate her ego any further.

With four new outfits under their metaphorical belts, they left their shopping spree in good spirits. It was only natural then, that the overall good mood wouldn’t last, and the playful camaraderie established between the friends would change the second they got back to campus, to blue and red flashing lights.

“What…do you think happened?” Charlie asked, her expression mirroring what Castiel was sure all their faces looked like in that moment.

He shook his head in lieu of answering, and swallowed down the bile rising in his throat.

As they neared the quad, they merged silently with the ever growing group of onlookers, most of whom were peers and faculty, whispers amongst the sea of people seeming all too loud over the eerie blanket of quiet. The cops, separated from them only by a thin barrier of police tape, stood just along edges of the area they cordoned off, no doubt keeping the crowd at bay. They offered no explanation, though Castiel could barely make out the murmured “stay back”s over the dread in his gut.

He did hear the sharp inhale beside him, however, that was Meg, he was certain, closely followed by a gasp, Charlie, and when he looked over, he saw why.

There, lying just beyond, was a body.

The grass was dark, no doubt stained crimson from blood, and the large gaping wound, from where the skull was bashed in, from which could be none other than its source, was still seeping, still fresh. The eyes stared out, wide and unseeing, as Castiel stared back in abject horror.

That was when he saw him. Jaw set and arms crossed, just across the way on the other side, stood Dean Winchester.

The man looked determined, not surprised at all to see the dead body of a classmate, in fact, and Castiel couldn’t help but watch, watch as Dean seemed to assess, seemed to study the crime scene in front of them, as if he was filing it away for later. Castiel recognized that look, because it was one he shared whenever he was trying to solve a puzzle.

Dean looked up then, like he could feel Castiel’s gaze on him, and their eyes met. The moment they did, Castiel remembered—albeit rather shamefully—the way stomach flipped for an entirely different reason than the horrific sight before them. Gabe’s iron grip on his arm was the only thing able to pull his attention away, and so he took the time to check in on the well-being of his friends, but by the time Castiel got the chance to look back, Dean was already gone.

To say the suicide—it was classified as a suicide—stirred up the atmosphere on campus, would be an understatement. Castiel couldn’t remember a time where he’d felt so shaken in his faith, so rocked to the core, raw and open and vulnerable. It was on everyone’s minds, and on everyone’s lips, and it was all anyone heard about the next few days. They didn’t cancel classes, or work, the world still went on—even though their fellow classmate’s’ was cut short, Castiel reminded himself—everything proceeding as normal, as if someone hadn’t just died, and perhaps that was worse.

Castiel didn’t know what he expected, or why he thought it would go differently, but he prayed and prayed and prayed for peace for the lost soul. Still, he couldn’t get the image out of his head. Nor could he get a certain cutting figure, but that was neither here nor there.

The very little information he had was acquired secondhand from the tail-ends of gossip, at work in the library. Apparently, or so the running theory was, the young woman, in a bout of madness, bashed her head against the tree until she dropped. Another student on their way back to their dorm found her and called the proper authorities. Castiel couldn’t imagine being the one to find the body, and he’d seen it for himself that night. He also heard that the woman’s boyfriend was beside himself with grief, most understandably, that not even he believed she would kill herself, that they were happy. She’d begged him to take her to the gala and he’d agreed.

Castiel also heard that her brains had been sucked out, but he was certain that was just hearsay; she had severe head trauma, after all, it probably only seemed like her brains were gone, when in reality they were just…well.

Shaking his head from his musings, if they’d even be called that, he got back to work, trying to lose himself in the repetitiveness of routine. Charlie had been unnaturally quiet the past few days, the dance quickly overshadowed by the recent events that transpired, and none of them felt it right to change the subject either. Castiel understood, for he was much the same, but he relished in being able to escape feeling for however long his shift was.

“Uh, hey, do you have any books on Gaelic mythology and folklore?”

Castiel paused what he was doing, and turned to greet the voice—definitely not Charlie this time—only to meet a pair of recently familiar, but quite beautiful up close, green eyes.

“Oh. Hello, Dean.” He said dumbly, but was rewarded with an amused smirk.

“Heya, Cas. Well, do you?”

Castiel furrowed his brow. “What.”

Dean chuckled. “Have books. On Gaelic folklore.”

Castiel inwardly cursed his ineptitude, and allowed himself to blink, forcing his basic motor functions to, well, function.

“Yes. We do. You know who I am?”

Dean regarded him curiously, brow raised. “Well, yeah. You’re friends with Charlie. We’ve never had the pleasure of meeting before, but she does talk about her other friends.”

“Oh.” He said again, finding himself at a loss for words.

Dean didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he still seemed rather amused by it, much to Castiel’s displeasure.

Instead of dwelling on it, however, Castiel abandoned his cart and gestured to Dean for him to follow, leading the other man to the section where he’d find what he was looking for.

“If you need anything else, let me know.”

He didn’t ask why an engineering student would need a book on Gaelic folklore, nor did Dean offer up an explanation.

“Awesome, thanks Cas.”

The nickname stole Castiel’s breath away with a familiarity he wasn’t aware they had, because they didn’t, not really—Dean was just friendly it seemed—also did he say he knew Charlie, she never said anything why didn’t she say anything—and he stood there, lingering longer than he should, awkwardly shifting in place.

“I’m…going to go…now.” He announced unhelpfully, and Dean had the decency not to comment on it.

“You do that.” He replied with a smile, and turned his attention to the shelves.

Castiel, released from whatever hold the other man had on him the second his gaze was elsewhere and no longer pointed at him, quickly made his way back to finish his work, lest he embarrass himself further.

“I wasn’t aware you knew Dean Winchester.” He grumbled to Charlie at dinner that night.

“Dean? He’s my handmaiden, of course I know Dean.”

Gabriel snorted. “Handmaiden?”

“There’s a story to that, I can tell.” Meg said, amused.

Charlie chuckled, a welcomed sound that the group hadn’t realized they missed until they heard it.

“There is, but I’m not telling. A queen’s gotta have her secrets.”

Meg clicked her tongue disapprovingly, and Gabriel groaned, complaining about “being edged, and not in the fun way” which promptly earned a smirk from Meg, a loud, boisterous laugh from Charlie, and a look of disgust from Castiel.

There was another ‘suicide’ reported that night.

Castiel was in the hall heading to his religious studies class when he next ran into Dean Winchester. He couldn’t fathom how he went his entire college career without so much as seeing a glimpse of the man, and now he saw him thrice in a matter of a few days. All because their peers appeared to be being picked off one by one.

There were now an accumulated three deaths since the first, and Castiel’s doubt had steadily increased right alongside the creeping uptick in body counts. He detested his wavering faith in the police, but there was only so many ‘suicides’ exacted in the same manner that they couldn’t be categorized as ‘suicides’ anymore. Two could possibly pass a coincidence, but three was a pattern; he knew that much. He had pondered, however, the reluctance in which the police seemed to label the ‘suicides’ as ‘murders’, but was only met with unease. For there to be murder, which Castiel was already (mostly) convinced was the case, would naturally mean for there to be a murderer.

But wouldn’t he want to know if his life was in danger? He wasn’t sure which option was scarier, but he was positive he’d rather be afraid and knowledgeable than ignorant but afraid anyway. So it was a dangerous doubt, Castiel surmised, since the only conclusion it led to was the authorities withholding the truth, regardless if it was due to their own incompetence or ulterior motives.

Dean looked furious, expression blazoned with a fierce determination, fiery and bright, even from the distance where Castiel stood. It was a devastatingly beautiful look on him, he noted sourly, seeing as his stupid heart couldn’t have picked a worse time to seek out another, and form a ridiculous infatuation that, Castiel knew, would go nowhere, regardless of their connection with Charlie.

He was talking with a much younger man, though, with the boy’s height, one wouldn’t be able to tell at first glance, and immediately Castiel knew this was Dean‘s little brother, Sam Winchester—a freshman in pre-law. Castiel recalled seeing him about, since a lot of their classes were in the same building.

“I’m pretty sure I know what it is, I just don’t know who it is.” Dean growled, crossing his arms in a posing figure, much like the one on the night they first met.

“We’ll figure it out, Dean. We always do.” Sam reassured, looking all the worse for wear as he said it, however.

Like he was trying to convince himself too.

“Yeah, but how many people have to die before then, Sammy?” Dean replied wearily, a horrifying dark look casting a dark shadow across Sam’s face.

Castiel’s chest seized in terror as he witnessed it; he’d never seen such a look on anyone’s face before, a look that, with resounding clarity, should not have ever had a place on the younger Winchester brother’s face.

“Oh hey, Cas.” Dean greeted as he noticed his approach, shooting a look at his brother before his face slipped into an easy grin.

Castiel noticed he did so with practiced familiarity, as if he was used to putting on a mask, but didn’t mention it.

“Cas?” Sam questioned, at the same time Castiel himself said, “hello, Dean. Sam.” With a cordial nod.

Were they actually investigating the incident? What business did two brothers have in a series of deaths? What could they do that the police already weren’t?

He didn’t think it wise to ask them any of these questions either.

“Hey, Castiel.” Sam said with a little wave, a small, friendly smile smoothing out his expression the same way his brother’s did.

“Just dropping off my baby bro to class.” Dean lied, just as easy as the rest of him, and reached across to ruffle Sam’s shaggy hair.

Sam squawked indignantly, knocking Dean’s hand aside with a rising blush to his cheeks. Dean chuckled at his brother’s embarrassment, which was an action definitely more genuine than anything else previously had been. Castiel had experience with this, after all, being a little brother himself, to Gabriel especially.

“You heading off to one of your smarty pants classes too, Cas?”

Castiel raised a brow. “I’m not sure what you mean by that, but I’m heading to my religious studies class, yes.”

Dean chuckled. “‘S’nothing, Cas. Just teasing you. Y’know, cuz you and Sam are both nerds, attending all your boring nerdy classes.”

Sam shot a glare at his brother, and Cas tilted his head to the side, curiously.

“Interesting. You seem to regard us as nerds, but you too are one. Perhaps not in the same way, but I would consider you a nerd most of all, considering your area of expertise.”

Sam snorted, his glare morphing into a smug grin as Dean spluttered. Apparently he had not expected Castiel to come back with such a lethal rebuttal.

“Damn, Cas.” Dean whistled, and Sam nodded his agreement.

“I’ve been telling him that for years.”

“Unfortunately I’ll be late if I stay any longer. Goodbye, Dean. Sam.”

He nodded his apologies as he said goodbye, and passed them by on the way to his class.

“See ya, Cas.” Dean said after him, before grunting in what Cas could only assume was an elbow to his side from Sam.

“Cas, huh?” He asked, amused.

“Shaddup!”

“I can’t believe we’re still going to this damned dance, after everything.” Meg mused, wrapping a long, thin section of her brunette hair around her curling iron.

Gabriel snorted, adjusting the cuffs of his creme colored blazer, as he stared at himself in the mirror. They were all getting ready in Charlie’s room, their hangout spot more often than not, since she bought out the double as a premium single (which meant more space and privacy), and could reasonably, and comfortably, fit them all. Though, Castiel shared the sentiment, and often wondered too, why they still planned to go.

It made him uneasy to think that it was just another excuse to sweep things under the rug and pretend everything was normal by the administration, since, aside from the plethora of grief counselors at their disposal, they hadn’t really done much in assuaging any actual grief by divulging in some sort of explanation why people were dying (read: being murdered, he begrudgingly admitted to himself, because people didn’t experience the same bouts of madness that drove them to suddenly kill themselves, all in the same exact manner as the one that succeeded them). He wouldn’t have believed it if he didn’t see it himself.

Safety, Castiel thought sullenly, apparently came second to whatever the reason was for the university’s decision to proceed as if nothing happened.

He was also still unsure what the Winchesters had to do with any of it.

“You don’t sound too displeased.” Gabriel commented, smoothing invisible creases on his maroon turtleneck.

Meg shrugged. “Do I like that people are dying? Of course not. But I suppose being distracted by a dance is better than focusing on the fact that life is short, and death is inevitable.”

Gabe groaned, and Charlie made a sound of discontent.

“Okay, yeah, bummer. I mean, at least we have each other, right? It can still be fun…”

Meg grinned, cat like. “Oh I definitely plan to still have fun.”

“Get laid you mean?” Gabriel teased, which only emboldened her.

Meg turned around, arms opened wide as she presented herself, devastatingly gorgeous in a satin crimson dress, with a black, mesh overlay, and a, in Castiel’s opinion, leg slit dangerously close to her upper thigh. It left little to be desired, but he couldn’t deny she looked amazing in it. Of course it wasn’t a surprise to any of them, since she’d chosen this particular dress during their shopping trip, that seemed so long ago now, rather than just last week.

“Have you seen me? Getting laid is half the fun. The remaining survivors won’t know what hit ‘em.” She all but purred, and Gabriel shook his head.

“Can’t believe you’d think about sex during these hard times.”

“Oh, and you aren’t?” Charlie quipped back, and Meg laughed.

He was glad his friends could find light in the darkness, but it didn’t sit right with him to participate. He did have the heart to. It didn’t feel right, when a guy lost his girlfriend, and then another girl lost hers. When another person lost their partner right after. And then, just the other day, another guy lost his boyfriend. It didn’t seem like the right time for anything, let alone love.

“Clarence, you okay? You’re awfully quiet over there.” Meg asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“I know it sounds kinda fucked up, but the situation is kinda fucked up.” Charlie added, reaching over to pat shoulder.

He loathed to be the one to bring down the mood so he forced a smile. “I know, it’s alright. I’m…okay.”

It was a lie, on every account, and they all knew it, but thankfully none of them pressed him further.

“Well, it’s settled then. We’re gonna go to the gala, just like planned, and we’re gonna have fun, stuff our faces, make fun of drunk people, and maybe get our flirt on.” Charlie said with a determined air of finality, and the rest of their group nodded.

“Are we all ready?” She asked, having been the first to finish, but looking nothing less than graceful in her fuchsia pantsuit.

Castiel looked down at himself, feeling a bit self conscious in black, slim fitting slacks, and a dusty rose colored dress shirt, his blazer a matching black with light, pink floral patterns, but both Meg and Charlie assured him when he tried it on, that he looked ‘hot’ in the outfit. He wasn’t all too sure he would have used those words, nor did he have desire to look ‘hot’, but he accepted the praise for what it was, and bought it with encouragement from all three of his friends.

He nodded reluctantly, and they all filed out of Charlie’s dorm, looking ready to take on the night. He tried not to imagine the walk to the campus ballroom as a death march to the gallows. Tried to ignore the impending doom settling deep in his gut, to think positive thoughts, about spending time with his friends having fun at the dance, what had been Charlie’s original selling point, when she approached him at work—which seemed like forever ago now—and proposed the idea of going to the dance in the first place.

He failed.

Castiel didn’t know precisely when it happened, but, at some point during the night, he and his friends got separated. He had excused himself to get some air outside in the hallway, away from prying eyes and warm bodies, tightly packed together on the dance floor, at cocktail tables, and hidden in not so secret corners.

He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall, when the sound of distant thudding reached his ears, just under the sound of the music, like an undercurrent to the pulsing bass of whatever was playing in the ballroom.

At first, he attempted to ignore it, truly he did. But it continued, louder and louder and more aggressive; it was too far to discern anything, so, in what must have been a fit of insanity, for the serious lapse in judgment, he pushed himself off the wall and walked toward the sound, curiosity getting the better of him.

What Castiel witnessed then was no short of terrifying. He rounded the corner, and nearly lost all his breath, watching in frozen terror as someone bashed their head repeatedly into the glass window of a classroom, his knees almost buckling at the wet crunch of their skull cracking against the surface of the glass, icy fractures running up and out like veins in a splintered web as it, too, broke under pressure.

The person was crying, screaming really, hands cupped over bloodied ears, begging for someone to “make it stop, please just make it stop!” When, seemingly all at once, it did.

With one last sounding thump, they slid down to floor, smearing blood and brain matter against the pane of glass, and Castiel was helpless to do anything but watch, an unfortunate bystander to such a vile display, like an out of body experience that rattled his very soul, whilst his real, tangible body, this corporeal form, stay firmly rooted where it was.

But nothing, and he meant nothing, would have ever prepared him for the absolutely repulsive, ghastly looking, free-floating creature that materialized out of nowhere, before it stuck its long, equally repulsive tongue into the stranger’s head, and (honest to god) slurped their brains out. If Castiel thought what had just transpired was hard enough to stomach, it was nothing compared to watching this…this thing feast on someone who, only minutes prior, had been a living, breathing human.

Eyes wide and full of fearful tears, mind screaming at him to “move, just move, get out of here, run!” Castiel managed to take a step back. Unfortunately for Castiel, the movement was enough to rouse the monster from its food, dead, milky white eyes zeroing in on him and once again stealing his breath away. Choking on a silent gasp, Castiel had just enough time to see it unhinge its jaw, before he finally forced himself into a sprint back the way he came, stumbling only when an ear piercing shriek sounded from behind him, so loud it shook the walls.

An unnatural mist he hadn’t noticed before, sluggishly seeped from the tiled floor, surrounding his ankles, pouring endlessly up and out, creeping along the walls and pooling across ceiling, and out of it came the screaming beast, somehow right in front of him, blocking Castiel’s path. He cried out in pain as it screamed even louder, the sound reverberating in his skull, causing his vision to blur. He reached up to cup his ears, his heart lurching at the warm fluid he felt trickle against his palms.

He realized that, and perhaps a bit too late, but again with resounding clarity, that this was what had killed all those other people. That this was what was going to kill him.

“Hey, you ugly son of a bitch!”

Castiel snapped his eyes open—when had he closed them, he couldn’t remember—and watched the creature tear its attention away from him, snarling toward the intruder.

“Get away from him!”

Castiel flinched at the sound of a shotgun round, heard the shells clatter to the floor as the shooter reloaded, but was unable to look away from the thing in front of him as it dissolved into whatever before his eyes, just as quickly as it appeared. And yet, Castiel dared not take a breath, in fear that it would return because he had.

“Is…is it dead?” He asked, realizing the screaming had stopped, despite the residual ringing in his ear.

“Unfortunately, no. Only pure gold can kill these things.” Dean answered, guiltily.

“Right.”

“But not to worry. Rock-salt rounds are enough to stall them for a bit. Banshees take longer to recover than other spirits, so we have some time.”

Castiel said nothing, and Dean looked over at him, worry in his expression. He reached out, a comforting hand on Cas’ shoulder.

“You okay, Cas? I know that can be…a lot your first time.”

“First time?” Castiel muttered, brow furrowed.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean had the gall to appear abashed, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “Y’know, your first encounter with the…supernatural.”

Castiel hated how he noticed how good Dean looked, even like that.

“The supernatural…” he parroted, as if trying it on for size.

And suddenly it all clicked in place. He glanced down at the gun, a sawed-off shotgun to be precise, in Dean’s hand, the one that had been used to blast away the banshee. He’d called it a banshee, a spirit, a malevolent fae spirit, from Gaelic folklore. Dean came to the library asking for a book on Gaelic folklore. He’d caught Dean and Sam talking about the murders after that. He remembered the ease at which Dean wore his mask then, how the lie came as free as breathing. The fierce determination radiating from both men, a look that Dean held close to his heart the very moment their eyes locked across the quad on the night of the first, and one Castiel noticed every time they ran into one another thereafter.

“Cas?”

“Dean.”

“Y-yeah?” Dean furrowed his brow, looking a bit put out by the lack of tone in Castiel’s voice, probably because he couldn’t read the situation anymore, but mostly concerned for, and about, Cas.

“You were investigating. The deaths.” A statement, not a question.

“Uh, kinda? Me and my brother we…hunt the supernatural.”

Castiel recalled how comfortable Dean looked when using the shotgun, the speed in which he reloaded after taking a shot, and hummed.

“A banshee. Did you hear it too then? You knew what it was.”

“Not exactly. I knew what it was because of the nature of the kills. Only its targets can hear its scream.”

Castiel closed his eyes and swallowed against the lump in his throat. “I heard it…”

“…”

Castiel opened his eyes, taking in the knowing look on Dean’s face, seeing the guilt and concern and anger—the latter not directed at him—there, all at once, wrapped into one gut wrenching expression.

“Am I going to die?”

“No.” Dean snapped immediately, sounding so sure that Castiel couldn’t help the flare of hope in his chest.

“Their screams are usually a death sentence, Dean. I watched…I watched that person get their brains sucked out. After they…killed themselves. It’s how the others died too, isn’t it?

“Fuck,” Dean cursed, shaking his head, “sorry you had to see that, Cas. It’s true I was too late to save them, but I will save you. I promise.”

Castiel didn’t feel like reminding Dean not to make promises he couldn’t keep. He really hoped that he could.

Castiel was in the middle of contemplating how mad his friends would be if he didn’t get to say goodbye, if he just left and disappeared without a word, when the walls of the hallway he and Dean retreated to (further, and at a safe distance, away from the ballroom) began to rattle. The lights flickered angrily, and the same mist from before returned, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Castiel heard its screams before anything else, however, and already knew it was back.

It materialized behind them, and all for Dean’s fast reflexes, he was still a tad too slow to react, and certainly felt it as his back made contact with the floor a good few feet away, after the banshee tossed him aside without even touching him.

“Dean!” Castiel called after him, only to be brought to his knees by the shrieking to his left, its rancid breath curling against his skin, and raising the hair on the back of his neck.

He grunted in pain, his ears ringing anew, and blindly struck out with the iron poker Dean had lent him, slumping when it, just as Dean said, disappeared. The relief was momentary, and it quickly reappeared beside Dean, who was still trying to grasp his bearings, looking downright pissed at being thwarted again.

“Son of a bitch-“ Dean’s curse was cut short, or rather, drowned out by another rattling screech, right in Dean’s face.

It reached out and pinned him down, and he turned his head, trying to wriggle out of its grip.

“Ugh! Ever heard of breath mint, lady?”

“Dean…” Castiel breathed, exasperated. He never ceased to be amazed by Dean’s tenacity to joke in the face of danger (literally).

Dean knocked their foreheads together, catching the banshee off guard, and managed to toss it off him, quickly grabbing his shotgun and taking a shot before it had time to recover. It exploded in a fiery cloud of whatever it was made of, and Castiel managed to pick himself up off of the floor, helping Dean up after making his way over to him.

“Thanks.” He said breathlessly, giving his hand a squeeze.

Castiel nodded, and didn’t fail to notice the way their hands lingered, before they dropped back down to their collective sides.

“Did you and Sam ever figure out why it’s here?”

Dean snorted. “Yeah. Our friendly neighborhood banshee is killing people because she’s jealous.”

“Jealous? Of whom?” Castiel asked, trying to make sense of it.

“Us. You know. Lovers, halves of a pair. Whatever. Guess Valentine’s Day stirred up some resentment, some bad memories.” Dean clarified with a shrug.

Castiel knew it wasn’t what Dean meant, when he said ‘us’, but he tried not to blush all the same.

“That’s why they were all people in a relationship?”

“Bingo. Banshees hunt in a particular place until there’s nothing left, and a college campus is basically a feast of couples, so our friend would have been well fed on us for a while, if it wasn’t for Sammy and I.” Dean sighed.

“Just wish we figured it out sooner.”

“You can’t blame yourself for that, Dean. But if what you said is true, why is she after me?”

“Eh, you got in her way. That, or you’re in love.” He said wryly, and at that Castiel did blush.

“Plus Charlie told me she signed you all up for the gala. Everyone who died so far was on that list. Could be a coincidence but…” Dean trailed off and shrugged again, but shot a smile over to Cas.

“You look really good by the way. Sorry you got caught up in all this. You got all dressed up and now you’re missing the dance, trying to hunt a banshee with me. You didn’t even know this stuff existed until now, and all you’re getting out of it is a ruined outfit.”

Castiel snorted. “And my life. I think surely that’s worth more. Along with everyone else’s life. I couldn’t care less about an…outfit. It was nice though.”

Dean chuckled. “Makes sense.”

“Besides, I didn’t even want to go. To the dance. Charlie made me. My only regret is that I didn’t let her know where I would be. But would you believe me when I’d say I’d rather be hunting a banshee with you, than in there with all those people?

“What, not a people person, Cas?”

Castiel shot him a deadpan look that made him laugh, and, despite himself, Cas found himself laughing along.

“Yeah. M’not either. Not really. Sure I talk a big game, but there’s only a few people who I can be real with, y’know?”

Castiel opened his mouth to reply, when the light above them exploded, and the banshee flew into them, dragging them across the hall and throwing them into the wall on the opposite end of where they had been standing. They crashed into each other, the impact stealing all the breath from his lungs, and they tumbled to the ground in a pile, the banshee’s resounding cackle rumbling the building like an earthquake.

Castiel rolled off of Dean, looking sullenly at their weapons that had clattered to the ground and skidded across the tile just out of reach.

“Damn, this bitch is really getting on my nerves.” Dean grunted out, almost a growl.

“I think I’m starting to share your sentiment.” Castiel managed, glaring at the imposing figure of the banshee, as she floated above them.

This time, when she screamed, both Cas and Dean cowered away from the sound.

“Really wish I had a golden blade right about now.” Dean joked, and Castiel groaned.

“Dean!”

“Sorry.” He apologized, though he didn’t sound that sorry to Castiel at all.

The banshee reached out and grabbed the lapels of Dean’s jacket, as if reminding them she was there, and picked him up off the ground. He scrambled for purchase, struggling in her tight grip, but his efforts were fruitless, and, as she raised them higher, her screaming never faltered.

Castiel reached up, wincing as the pads of his fingers pressed against the weeping wound at his forehead, and shakily lowered them again.

“If you wanted a dance, all you had to do was ask.” Dean quipped, which worked well in keeping her distracted.

“But any more than that I’ll have to politely decline. Don’t believe the rumors about me, I need to be wined and dined a least once before I put out.”

With a vindictive screech, Dean went flying again, but this time he was expecting it, and tumbled out of his fall. It wasn’t graceful by any means, but it still impressed Castiel.

He managed to grab the poker, his shotgun stuck between him and the banshee, and swung it as she charged at him. The moment she disappeared, Castiel scrambled up and tossed the shotgun to Dean, before ducking behind him.

Grateful that the attention was off him, he got to work, as Dean wildly swung at the banshee, her attacks becoming more ruthless as his hits became more predictable. He glanced up at the two of them, the mist acting as a smoke screen as she disappeared and reappeared, swirling around the poker as Dean used his baseball prowess to hit her every strike and lunge. It was ineffective in the long run, and hardly a long term solution, especially as Dean’s stamina wore out, but it helped Castiel by keeping her distracted once more.

When he finished, he stood up, fixing the banshee with a hard glare, the movement drawing her gaze to him.

“When it’s two against one, make sure to have eyes on both enemies.” He growled out, and as she charged after him, knocking an exhausted Dean off to the side, Castiel slammed his hand down on the blood sigil he made, activating both it and its copy on the opposite side of the hall.

It glowed bright, and in a matter of seconds, the banshee was dragged backward, and trapped against the wall, bound by the line of sigils. She roared, struggling against her invisible tether, mist swirling angrily, lights flickering like crazy, but she remained trapped, her fretting useless against the Celtic blood trapping spell.

“Holy shit, Cas!” Dean exclaimed, both pride and awe in his tone.

“You may be a hunter Dean, but you’re not the only one who reads.”

Dean grinned. “Awesome. How did you know that would work?”

“To be fair, I didn’t. But I figured if banshees were real, then the magic used to trap them must be too. So, while you kept her distracted, I drew the sigils with my blood.”

“Awesome.” Dean repeated, and Castiel couldn’t help but smile back.

Then, startling both of them out of whatever moment they were just about to have, the banshee suddenly burst into flames with a cry, crumbling like burnt paper into floating, ashy debris, until there was nothing left.

“What-“

The trill of Dean’s phone signaled an incoming call, interrupting whatever Castiel was about to ask, and he looked over curiously as Dean fished the device out of his pocket.

“It’s Sam.” He explained before picking up. “Sup, bitch. Took your sweet old time salting and burning the body, didn’t you?”

Castiel’s eyes widened. Salting and what-ing the body?!

“Yeah, fucking thing almost took out me and Cas…” he blushed and glanced over at him, before quickly looking away, and lowering his voice.

“Uh, yeah, that Cas. I mean there’s no other, is there? Anyway Sammy, don’t change the subject. What took you so long?”

Dean snorted. “Excuses, excuses. What? Oh…uh…I don’t know if he’d be up for that.”

Dean’s brow furrowed. “Well would you if you just got attacked by a banshee?”

The features then smoothed from his face, and he grinned once more. “You shoulda seen him Sammy, he used his blood to draw these badass sigils and trap the banshee, it was awesome.”

Castiel felt the heat rising in his cheeks, unsure how he felt about the Winchester brothers talking about him whilst he was right there, and only able to hear only half of the conversation, but mostly he was just embarrassed.

“Yeah yeah, alright, I’ll ask him. Bye, bitch.” Dean hung up and fondly rolled his eyes, before walking over to Cas.

“Sorry about that. Sammy had only just finished digging…uh well, you don’t need to hear about that, haha, the less you know the better, but the banshee is banished for good now, and he should be on his way back, thank fuck, but he suggested that after we clean up, maybe we catch the end of the dance together, if you-mmph!”

Castiel surged forward, most likely encouraged by the adrenaline still pumping through him—if not for that, he’s certain he would not have been that bold—and sealed their lips together, cutting Dean’s rambling short.

“Yes.” He whispered between them as he pulled away, Dean blinking away the surprise as his brain rebooted and processed what just happened.

“Uh…yeah?” Dean said dopily, a smile tugging at his lips.

Those lips Castiel just kissed.

“Yes.”

“Even though you said you’d rather be fighting a banshee than go to the dance?” Dean asked, sounding amused.

“We fought the banshee.” Castiel replied rather seriously, earning a chuckle from Dean.

“True. Guess we do deserve a reward after that.”

“Besides,” Castiel started with a sigh, “I disappeared without saying anything earlier. I’m sure Charlie, at the very least, is worried about me.”

Charlie was indeed worried about him, but so was Meg and Gabriel, in their own way. After he and Dean cleaned up, including making themselves semi presentable, they entered the ballroom only looking slightly rumpled, and no less for wear than they had already. The trio bounded up to him right away, once they found him, but Charlie couldn’t admonish him for long without acknowledging the man beside him—rather excitedly, might he add.

She jumped up and gave him a hug, which Dean happily returned, only wincing slightly as his sore muscles tugged and flexed to compensate for the weight and movement. He put her back down not too long after, and the second her feet touched the ground, the three of them were on them like a pack of hellhounds.

“You two came in together?” Gabriel asked, smirking.

“Where did you go? Why didn’t you tell us?” Charlie punched both of their arms lightly, and pouted.

“You two came in together?” Gabriel said again, looking even more smug, if possible.

“We looked everywhere for you and couldn’t find you! We thought you might have left, but then you didn’t say anything, or tell anybody if you got back to the dorm safe or not!” Charlie continued, shaking her head in blatant disapproval.

“You two came-ow!” Gabriel rubbed the back of his head, and pouted at a smirking Meg.

Castiel, who was scowling at his brother, felt his face smooth out, and Meg rolled her eyes rather dramatically.

“We get it, Gabe, they came in together. Did you fuck?”

Dean laughed, and shook his head. “No, we definitely didn’t. Cas is too good for a quick fuck like that, anyway.”

Meg nodded her approval, and Castiel groaned, hiding his face in his hands. Gabriel and Charlie both grinned.

“He just went out for air, when I happened to pass by on my way back from the auto-shop. I wasn’t sure I wanted to come to the dance, but then I saw Cas standing there looking like that, well.”

Charlie squealed excitedly, waving her hands in the air. “This is so awesome! I told you the dance would be fun, did I not say the dance would be fun?”

Castiel and Dean shared a look, a brief moment of silent conversation only they would understand, and Castiel let out a sigh.

“You did.” He confirmed, though ‘fun’ was a vast understatement, and certainly not how he would describe the dance—not that he’d experienced much of it, fighting a malevolent Gaelic fae spirit, and all.

“Aw man,” Charlie said with pout, as if she had a sudden revelation, “Cas is way ahead of us you guys! He wasn’t even here and managed to bring a date. Wait, you guys are here as a date right?”

“Yes, Char, we’re here together, as a date.”

Charlie squealed again, muttering how she “totally shipped it” whatever that meant, and turned back to their group with more fervor than ever that they “needed to catch up”. This time, however, when they separated, it didn’t bring the sense of dread it did when Castiel first encountered the banshee, and thought for certain he was about to die, without ever having said goodbye.

“I never did thank you, Dean. For saving me earlier. I truly thought I was…well. I didn’t think I would still be here, and I probably wouldn’t have been, if it wasn’t for you.”

“Dude, don’t thank me. You held your own against the banshee too. It was pretty hot.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, but smiled. He caught Charlie’s eye across the dance floor, and she gave him a thumbs up. Gabriel caught his eye next, but made a rather lewd gesture that would have appalled him, had Dean not also caught it and snickered, finding it amusing. Meg shoved him, and Castiel smirked as Gabriel flailed about, silently thanking her for once again reprimanding his brother on his behalf. She winked at them before turning away, and Castiel tilted his head to the side, thoughtfully.

“It’s strange to think that not too long ago we were fighting a supernatural creature, and now we’re back at the dance, spending time with our friends like it didn’t happen. There’s literally a body down the hall.”

“Eh, Sam’s got that taken care of. And nobody will know you were there, or what we did at all. They’re safe, and that’s what matters. That’s the job.”

Castiel hummed, and turned to Dean with an appreciative look. Dean looked back, blushing slightly at the attention, but smiled softly regardless.

“What?” He asked, and Castiel shook his head.

He kissed Dean in lieu of answering, and Dean eagerly kissed back.

4 notes · View notes