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There is the sound of an Impala 67 door slamming. The crunch of boots on gravel. A rising voice on a phone.
“Just stay put, okay. I’ll be back in twenty max,” snaps Dean as he cuts the call.
Taking a moment to cool down, he breathes in the crisp early morning air and lets his shoulders roll a few times, shaking some of the tension which had built up inside- a result of last night’s events.
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The previous day, Bobby had called Sam about a case. As far as cases went, this one had seemed ordinary enough. Two exsanguinated bodies had been found at a small tourist site in the city of Haddam, Kansas; population 102. Once Dean had made an obvious joke about how the town would now lose 1% of its population every time someone else passed away, both him and Sam had set out on a relatively short five-hour drive.
Arriving late into town, they took a few minutes to book a room at the only motel they could find, a surprisingly fresh looking sort of building called The Eclipse, changed into their FBI suits and set off on the road again towards the murder scene, this time by foot. Reaching their destination, a small park containing the ‘Squarest Rock in All of Kansas’, their suspicions were soon confirmed by a police officer guarding two chalk outlines. Despite his clear suspicion at two federal agents in a small town like this, followed by some reluctance to provide them with more details on the case, he’d finally confirmed that the two corpses had in fact been found drained of their blood. But apart from that, nothing else had jumped out at the scene and both brothers saw no point in wasting any more time there.
Fortunately, discussions of corpses and vampiric suspicions hadn’t been enough to destroy their appetite. As they rarely were. Remembering the diner they’d passed on their way into town, Dean made a strong case to replenish themselves there, and despite Sam’s initial objection at eating another greasy meal, they’d shortly ended up sitting in a booth by the back. While discussing their next move, Dean had happily scarfed down his bacon cheeseburger and fries, whereas Sam had stuck to the classic Caesar salad. Without any clear lead in sight, they were left with little choice but to go investigate the bodies themselves, hoping that they would reveal some hidden detail they’d missed.
They finished off their meal unhurriedly, their bodies and mind grateful for this rare moment of respite in their lives. Dean chatted amiably with their waitress as he paid the bill, while Sam leisurely browsed through some brochures on display by the entrance.
After a brief walk, they reached the physician’s office, where they’d been told by the officer was where the bodies were kept. This was when things had begun to get dicey. First, noticing the red “Closed” sign hung by the front door, they realized they would have to break into the office. Once inside, they were faced with another difficulty. Despite a quick but thorough search of the place, there was no sign of any corpses. In any normal scenario, this would be considered a good thing. However, in this case, it was quite counterproductive to the hunters’ nocturnal expedition. Looking back, this was the most vivid red flag they’d gotten so far that this case was probably more than it had first seemed.
Before Dean or Sam had any time to come up with a Plan B, they’d become aware of another presence in the building. More than one, judging by the barely audible scuffle of approaching footsteps. Underequipped and unprepared for a fight they hadn’t expected, the small pack of vampires which had sneaked into the room easily overtook them. Among the group, the brothers easily recognized the young waitress Dean had chatted up less than an hour ago. Smirking, she explained pleasantly that hunters were not welcome here. This town was theirs. On the other hand, tourists were tolerated, and even lured here by the Americana quality of the classic motel by the side of the road, or the unremarkable but endearing rock landmark. Usually, once they’d outlived their dual purpose of distraction and food, they were disposed of swiftly and efficiently, before anyone caught a whiff of something unusual. Unfortunately, someone had clearly messed up this time, or the waitress would not have heard two fake FBI agents discussing vampire activities in her diner. Dean would have felt bad for the poor sucker who’d botched his job if Sam and him weren’t currently so occupied with being surrounded by a horde of aggravated vampires.
What followed the waitress’ short but menacing speech was a jumble of sharp fangs, deafening gunshots and a sharp cry of pain coming from Sam. Snapping his head at the sound, Dean spotted his brother in an attempt to tear his leg from a pair of fangs attached to a gore-covered vampire. Although not one to usually run away from a fight, Dean made the rapid decision to tug Sam free and get the hell out of here. With a sharp kick to the vampire’s jaw and a strong grip around Sam’s arm, Dean successfully wrangled him out of the fang’s hold to make a run for the exit, his limping brother in tow struggling to keep up with the pace.
Darkness hit them as they emerged outside, the absence of any nearby streetlight blatant. They did a rapid sweep of their shadowy surroundings and of themselves, blindly checking for any further injuries. Although Sam tried control the pained expression on his face, Dean’s eyes were drawn to the sticky substance oozing from a gash below Sam’s knee. Placing an arm around Sam’s waist, they began their journey back to the motel, where the Impala was obediently awaiting their return. What had seemed like a short stroll back when they’d walked around town had now transformed into a grinding trek back to safety. One they eventually completed, but at the expense of Dean’s back and his nerves, having to turn his head around every thirty seconds to assure himself that no murderous vampire was lurking behind them.
While some of the tension had drained away by the time they reached the car, Dean was still unable to completely let go of the knot in the pit of his stomach. Even as he sped away from that godforsaken town, with his crashed-out brother dozing off in the backseat, his grip stayed taut on the wheel.
When Dean deemed they’d put enough distance between themselves and the oversized vampire nest, he cruised the Impala down a well lit parking entrance, leading to the Neo Soleil motel. With some effort, he managed to drag his giant of a brother to the room he’d just booked for them. After laying Sam down on one of the room’s double beds and getting the first aid kit they always kept in the trunk, he unceremoniously poured out a bottle of disinfectant onto Sam’s wound and dressed it with gauze and bandages. Once done, he sighed as he watched blood swiftly sweep through the first layer of dressing. He was going to have to make a supply run.
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This was how Dean had ended up at the nearest Gas-n-Snip well before the sun was due to rise. He figured they’d have what he needed the most urgently. A shit-ton of disinfectant. New bandages, for this time and the next ones. Whatever healthy snack he could get his hands onto, he knew Sam would appreciate it when he got back. And beer for himself. Normally he’d go for some pie too, but cleaning up that wound had left him with an irony taste in his mouth.
At least Sam had woken up and been conscious enough to call him to ask where he’d gone. They had been through a lot worse. Sam’s been through a lot worse, he tells himself.
Just take a breath and do what you gotta do.
Soft neon lights paint Dean’s cheeks, concealing traces of fatigue and worry. Dean starts towards the gas station entrance. Apart from the drag of boots on gravel, all is quiet. It’s too early for office-goers and too late for the chirp of crickets.
And yet, the simple corner store seems awake, its white lights shining outwards and its glass doors unlocked. Inside, Dean is unsurprised to see he’s the only customer there. Other than the Impala, the only car outside had been an old Lincoln, parked on the employee spot.
Dean roams around, glancing at the neatly stocked shelves and the shiny floor. The crisp scent of lemon and detergent coats the air, and reminds him of fresh lemon pie. Maybe he would get one after all.
As a faint smile forms at the thought, he feels his right foot skid forward and dangerously drag the rest of his body along with it. By some miracle, his left hand instinctively grabs a nearby shelf before he can complete his fall. He’s lucky he has hunter reflexes, or he might have ended up sprawled on the floor, by the yellow cleaning bucket he’d admittedly failed to notice before. So sue him, he was exhausted.
He was also at the end of his rope, and seriously pissed off at whoever had started cleaning the floor and left before so much as dropping a heedful ‘Wet Floor’ sign. He tugs harshly at the bottom of his t-shirt and forces out an exasperated sigh. His next steps down the aisle are cautious and slow, making sure to test the ground below before firmly putting his foot down and raising the other. He repeats the same process a few times, until he stops abruptly when he notices a mess of unruly dark hair plop from behind the shelf’s end.
“Oh. I though I’d heard someone,” speaks the stranger.
“Yeah, that would be me almost falling on my ass,” grumbles Dean irritably, ignoring the gravelly tenor to the stranger’s voice. He turns his head brusquely towards the watery hazard he’s just had to cross.
Following his gaze, the stranger’s expression shifts into something resembling concern, his brows slightly furrowing, his weight shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “I deeply apologize. We usually never get customers this early, and it just slipped my mind,” his words rush out. Then a pause. “Are you alright?” he asks, his stare settling back onto Dean.
Dean is taken aback by the instant apology and its sincerity. Normally, when he’s being a dick, people have no problem with acting like one too. Fair is fair. But this is different, and he doesn’t really know how to deal with that. He also doesn’t feel like being unnecessarily rude or snarky, and part of him already feels guilty for snapping at the guy like that.
Dean quickly scans the name tag pinned onto the other man’s uniform. “Look, uh, Castiel? I’m sorry. But I’m good. I’m fine.”
It isn’t much of an apology, but Castiel nods slightly. He shifts again, looking like he has something more to say.
“You don’t seem fine,” he says, his head slightly tilting to one side.
Dean imagines how he must look right now, body covered in grime, clothes crusted with blood, his mind half-alert and half-asleep. Both feeling weary and looking it.
Castiel forms a remarkably dissimilar picture with his buttoned up, white dress shirt, its sleeves affectionately rolled up, revealing a pair of tan forearms and strong hands. Over it, a blue vest which bears his employee tag, both appearing to be in perfect condition. And despite fine lines adorning his face, at the corner of his lips and eyes, his expression says awake.
“It’s been a long night,” Dean says, as if his words say it all.
“I understand,” says Castiel, as if he truly does. “Some nights feel longer than others.”
For a moment, Dean feels at peace. The buzz in him has quieted. The urge to look over his shoulder is more or less gone. He doesn’t truly think that Castiel understands that Dean’s long nights mean carnage, monsters and grave digging. But it doesn’t matter to him right now. He feels grounded.
Dean doesn’t break the newfound silence and just looks at the store around him, maybe waiting for Castiel to leave and get back to work. But Castiel doesn’t. Instead, he keeps watching him calmly. But before the quiet can overstay its welcome, Castiel opens his mouth again.
“What do you need?” he asks.
Dean blinks at him.
“Uh,” he tries to remember his mental shopping list. “Bandages, uh, big ones. Some disinfectant too.” He pauses briefly then adds, “Do you have any of those fucked-up vegetable smoothies here?”
“Of course we do,” replies Castiel, sounding almost offended. “Follow me,” he instructs, turning his back to him and starting off for another aisle.
Dean complies wordlessly. He lets Castiel lead him around the store, first to the medical supplies section then through the maze of parallel shelves. He lets Castiel add random things to the small basket which has magically materialized in his hand. He watches him reach up to grab an ointment from a shelf, muttering something about preventing infection. He waits idly by Castiel’s side when he stops to examine two different types of smoothies in one fridge. He doesn’t protest as he notices Castiel slipping a bottle of vitamins into the basket. When Dean slows his pace to take in the smell of the pies on display, Castiel does the same and lays a hand on a peach pie to tuck it in safely with the rest of the groceries.
They barely talk as they make their way around the shelves. Dean doesn’t explain why he needs enough first-aid supplies to refurnish a small infirmary and Castiel doesn’t ask. Instead, he satisfies himself with making a few comments about whatever item he’s busy getting for Dean. This one he chose because he’s used it personally when a bee had stung him just outside. That one, a customer has praised, and said it’d made him feel more energized. And Dean just listens. He lets Castiel’s words course through him, lap at his edges and pool gently in empty spaces. It’s easy to do. His voice is the only one to resonate inside, and his presence the only one to be observed.
Even by the time they finish their indoors excursion, and Dean has snapped out of his daze, the roadside Gas-n-Sip remains deserted, save for a benevolent shopkeeper and a heavy-eyed hunter trailing beside him.
Castiel makes his way to the counter, gracefully sliding behind it and setting down the packed basket by the cash register. With a small frown, he proceeds to smooth down his vest with the flat of his palms, eliminating wrinkles invisible to anyone else but him. Once finished, he glances up with a smile.
“Hello. Would you like a bag?” Castiel asks, in an amusing mix of professionalism and playfulness.
Leaning on his elbow by the carefully hand-picked items, Dean returns in the same vein, “Something tells me I’m gonna need more than just one.”
Castiel hums slowly in agreement. Products begin to be picked up one after the other by meticulous hands and scanned efficiently under a faint red light. They are then placed with a rustle into a brown canvas bang. The process is only slowed when Castiel plucks a green and chunky-looking kind of drink.
“Judging by your earlier disgust, I’m guessing this isn’t for you?” he says, his eyes flicking up to Dean with a knowing gleam.
“Yeah- you wouldn’t catch me drinking that with a gun pointing to my head.”
“I see,” Castiel huffs out in a laugh. Dean feels a warm sensation spread inside of him.
“It’s for my brother,” Dean tells him, unsure of why he feels the need to say it. But now that he has, he wants to say more. “He’s one of those healthy living nutjobs,” he explains, waving his arms disapprovingly. “Eliminating carbs, eating avocadoes and all that.”
Castiel’s response, another amused “I see”, makes Dean feel incomprehensibly proud. Forget killing vampires and successfully saving Sam from the grip of death, the only thing Dean is proud of right now is making the cute Gas-n-Sip cashier chuckle at his joke.
Unaware of Dean’s train of thought, Castiel smoothly gets back to his task. After less than five minutes, he types a few numbers into the machine in front of him and looks up to Dean. He must be about an inch shorter than him, Dean muses.
“All around, that will be 25 dollars,” Castiel announces.
“Thirty? That’s it?” Dean’s brows scrunch together. “With all that extra stuff you made me get?”
Castiel flusters at Dean’s questions. He lowers his eyes and a faint tint appears on his cheeks. “I’m not supposed to give customers discounts according to the Gas-n Sip-regulations, but I decided to make an exception,” he admits bashfully.
“Cas, you cheeky rebel,” teases Dean, a wide grin stretching on his lips. His hand fishes into his back pocket for a few stray dollar bills which he hands to Castiel’s own outstretched one. Their fingers connect fleetingly, soft meeting harsh.
Dean draws his hand back and tries to forget the way Cas’ skin felt.
Castiel thankfully distracts him and says, “I’ve forgotten to even ask for your name.”
“Well technically you still haven’t.”
Castiel’s mouth twitches. Dean decides annoyed Castiel could probably rival smiling Castiel.
“I’m Dean,” he says, before Castiel has to ask again.
Nodding, Castel repeats it once, as if testing the feel of it.
His name sounds different on his tongue. He doesn’t say it as a warning. Dean... He doesn’t say it as a cry for help. Dean! It’s just Dean, plain and simple.
Dean takes a step back as Castiel shuffles from behind the counter to stand in front of him.
“I can help you carry this to your car if you’d like?” he offers, nodding towards the bag, looking large, but not necessarily requiring a two-person effort.
“Sure,” says Dean.
-----------------
Outside, the sun is just beginning to make itself known to the sky, and streetlights fade into the rural landscape once again. It’s going to be a warm day, the air hot and dry around them.
Dean and Castiel watch the cars pass by, their drivers yawning at the wheel, while they head for the Impala. They keep their pace slow, dragging their feet and displacing dust. Neither of them have somewhere to be immediately. Castiel is already where he needs to be, and Dean knows that Sam was well enough to give him a call and complain about him being gone.
In the natural light, Dean can better appreciate Castiel’s sun-kissed complexion and his bright eyes matching the deep blue of his vest, stealing glances at him as they amble side by side, their shoulders close, almost touching. Seen from the outside, they don't look like a pair of strangers who just found each other. Instead, they’re old friends, walking each other home the morning after a party, not one where the walls pulse in beat with the music and lamps end up broken on the floor, but the kind where secrets are whispered into yearning ears and new friendships are formed under the glow of low lighting.
By the car, Dean lays his hand on the warming hood of the Impala, while Castiel hovers by his side, holding Dean’s shopping bag in one hand even though he doesn’t have to. When Dean thinks about it, Cas didn’t have to anything he did tonight. Helping him find what he needed, offering his opinion on different kinds of antiseptics and bandages, and even walking him back to the car. A simple apology would have sufficed. Maybe Dean should tell him.
Dean leans away from the Impala and turns towards Cas. His hands wipe automatically at his jeans.
“Thanks, Cas,” he says, then looks away for a second. He’s not sure what to make of Cas’ patient stare. “You know,” he continues, “for helping me out and everything. And uh, all is forgiven with you almost killing me with that damn floor. Just so you know.”
Cas smiles warmly at him and says, “I’m glad. I would have hated to carry that weight for the rest of my life.” Dean offers him a smile back. “And it was nothing,” Castiel assures him, shaking his head, “I enjoyed helping you.”
Dean straightens slightly and looks at his foot play around with the small rocks underneath. As he contemplates his reply, he feels a hand land softly on his shoulder and rest there. When he looks up, Cas is close enough for him to breathe in the fruity smell of lime and honey. It does something strange to Dean, makes him want to lean into the touch of someone he barely knows.
“Take care of yourself, Dean,” Cas says with another smile, this one softer. He squeezes Dean’s shoulder once and lets his hand slide off back to his side. “I might not be here to help the next time you come.”
Dean’s under no illusion that he’ll be back anytime soon. It’s usually not how this works. But he asks the question anyway, “Then where will you be?”
Cas’s eyes widen a little. Maybe he didn’t expect Dean to care. But he does, for some reason.
“My job makes it so I don’t really stay in the same location for too long,” Cas says, taking a quick look back at the store they just came from. “I oversee the well-functioning of Gas-n-Sips around the country and evaluate them. I’ve only been here for a week, but I don’t expect to stay at this one for more than a month.”
Dean’s tempted to make a joke about Cas being some Gas-n-Sip big shot, but the aching familiarity of his story stops him.
“Must be tough,” he says simply.
“It can be,” Castiel assents. “But there are ways to make it easier. Planting less roots in places I know I’ll leave behind. Getting attached to people and feelings instead of places,” he says, giving Dean a meaningful stare.
Dean already knows. There’s a reason he never lets Sam or his Baby stray more than a mile away from him.
“I get it.” He wants Cas to know he understands. “Me and my brother, we’re on the road a lot too,” he says, putting his hands in his front pockets.
Castiel nods thoughtfully. “I thought that might be the case.”
“What gave me away?” He grins.
“We both seem to be migratory birds. That’s why I thought it’d be good to give you a way for you to contact me. I... I printed it on your receipt.” He then adds quickly, “If you ever need my help again.” He pauses. He looks like he’s considering something. “If you want to. I won’t mind.”
Castiel stretches his arm forward, inviting Dean to accept the bag from him. Dean does so without hesitation.
He scratches at the back of his neck with his free hand and clears his throat. He feels the sun hitting the back of his neck. It’s time for him to get back. He’s usually pretty good at goodbyes, no awkward shuffling or trailing conversations. Just a quick “You’re welcome” and a complicit look shared with Sam, when the hunt goes well. When it doesn’t, well that’s another story.
With Castiel, he just mutters a quick “Thanks”, as he opens the car door and slides into the Impala. He doesn’t shut the door after himself.
“Take care, Dean,” repeats Cas gently. He grips the side of the open door. “Don’t fall asleep at the wheel,” he adds seriously.
“Got it, chief,” Dean replies as he turns on the ignition. He feels the car come to life and purr beneath him.
Cas lets go of his grip on the door to step away from the car and lets Dean give it a satisfying slam. Dean gives Cas one last look through the side window, one which hopefully doesn’t reveal too much of what he’s feeling right now. Gratitude, contentment or whatever it is. Cas returns the stare with a tranquil smile.
Their short goodbye over, Dean shifts the gear and smoothly backs out of the station’s parking. His head turns towards the country road stretching before him. He rolls down the window and lets the sunlight stream inside and nestle on his skin. Dean basks in the warmth for a second before he steps on the gas, eager to get back to Sam. At the next red light, he takes out his phone and he searches the bag sitting next to him for a certain paper.