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It wasn't like Dean wasn't happy to have Charlie back. Hell, he was stoked she had decided to tag along back to the bunker after their last rather-less-than-natural meeting. She needed somewhere to lay low and figure out her next move. Besides, Sam had given him one hell of a don't-say-a-word bitchface when offering her lodging to get over what was probably the worst concussion she had ever experienced (which is saying something considering the LARPing history). So she was back at the bunker, Sam was insisting on staying in the area to be “good hosts” or some ridiculous crap like that, and Dean was climbing the damn walls looking for something to do. He'd cleaned, he's reorganized the kitchen, he'd marathoned all the scifi and Marvel-affiliated stuff Charlie had on her hard drive – hell, she'd even busted through the entirety of The Clone Wars with him one weekend. He'd scoured the internet for a potential case and... nope. Nothing obvious enough to convince Samantha it was worth investigating except one incident in Idaho which, frustratingly enough, had already snagged some local hunters' attentions. To top it all off, he'd gotten a call from Cas the night before asking if he was at the bunker and could-I-possibly-stop-by-Dean-I-know-it's-a-hassle-but-, so any impromptu sojourns he may have been planning had been summarily squashed by a slightly superior desire to see how the angel was holding up. Which meant that it had been over a week and the oldest Winchester was scrabbling for a project, which was the only explanation he could think of for why he was currently attempting to complete his own electrical work on a seriously ghetto-rigged stereo system.
It had begun with fiddling with some speakers ( which had to be from the seventies ) that he'd found in a storage room. When he discovered they actually worked, he'd set a few up in what functioned as their living room and attached the old boombox Bobby had given Sam as a graduation present. He'd stepped back, admired his work, and found it was only lunchtime. In the kitchen, he'd decided it would be nice to be able to have music while he was cooking, from which a domino effect began. He'd ended up wiring the kitchen, parts of the library, and even the balcony with the dozen or so speakers he could get to work without that distracting fuzzy white noise speakers make when they're about to go dead. (Dean was familiar enough with the sound of blown out speakers – he'd had to replace the Impala's twice while he was travelling without Sammy to tell him to “turn down the radio, Dean, you're gonna go deaf and I'm not learning sign language because of your stupidity.”) He may or may not have gotten Charlie in on the project about 3 in the afternoon and, with a quick trip to the hardware store in town, been able to figure out a way to turn different rooms on and off from the central boombox. At least that way Sam wouldn't kill him for putting speakers in the library. When he was finally finished that evening, Dean climbed down the ladder he had been using one last time, surveyed his work appreciatively, and headed to the shower before deciding what to do about dinner.
+ +++++++++++++++++
Dean heard it before he turned the corner from his room to the kitchen. Electric guitar riffs and the sound of tight harmonies blended with voices and Charlie's huffed laughter drifted down the hallway as he walked towards the brightly lit kitchen. He got closer, started to pick out words and recognized the song.
…..Don't you know that you are a shooting star,
And all the world will love you as long,
as long as you aaaaaaaare.......
Huh, Bad Company. Well, at least Sammy still had some taste in music left. Or he'd raided that old stash of mix tapes Dean had made for him when he went to college.
Dean started bobbing his head minutely to the guitar solo and strolled to the doorway of the kitchen. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame, taking in a domestic scene all too rare in their lives.
Charlie and Sam were puttering around the kitchen counter doing god-knows-what to his rearranged cabinets, apparently trying to get some sort of pasta ready for dinner. Charlie was bobbing her head and wiggling her shoulders in time to the music as well as doing her best to, apparently, sing along to a song she was rather unfamiliar with. Sam stood by the stove, long hair bouncing in time to the bass guitar as he smiled at the exuberant redhead next to him. He looked relaxed and his smile was the big, wide one that showed all of his teeth. Castiel sat at the table watching what, for all intents and purposes, looked like two siblings making dinner. Dean wasn't surprised with the unheralded arrival – the angel must have gotten in while he was in the shower. Cas sat watching Sam and Charlie with a bemused, exhausted sort of happiness and Dean took his distraction as an opportunity to catalogue the outward appearance of the pseudo-celestial being unnoticed. He looked tired more than anything. Almost... human. But not quite. Dean wondered if Cas was glad for Hannah's little trip to Heaven without him, or if he wished he had been called too? Maybe...
When Charlie loudly screwed up one of the last repeats, Sam laughed and poked her with his elbow, hand on a spoon that was submerged in something that was steaming on the stove. Charlie stuck her tongue out at him. Sam crinkled his nose and pointed at her accusingly with the spoon.
“How do you not know this song? It's on, like, every oldies station ever!”
“Hey big guy, I'm not the one with a radio-hog brother-grandpa!” Charlie turned to Cas, who was still watching passively. “Do you know this song, Feathers?”
Cas straightened up in his chair and cleared his throat, apparently having been torn from another train of thought. “N-no. I'm afraid I'm unfamiliar.” He tilted his head slightly as the chorus played through the speakers. “Though I will say the artist appears to have correct assumptions. I have experienced the sensation of being a shooting star – it is unpleasant.”
The look on Charlie's face at Cas' deadpan delivery surprised a snort out of Dean, alerting everyone to his presence. He pushed off the doorframe and covered his smile by swiping a hand through his drying hair and over his mouth, striding to join Castiel at the table. He decided to take pity on Charlie, who was still trying to figure out if the angel had been joking, and spoke up.
“Hey Cas!”
He patted the angel's shoulder affectionately as he passed to sit down, hand traveling from one shoulder across his upper back to the other before dropping. Dean felt the muscles relax under his hand, even under layers of clothing. Cas already looked a little brighter as Dean plopped into a chair across the table.
“Hello, Dean.”
The angel flashed a small, tired, but genuine smile. Dean answered with a wide smile of his own without a thought.
“How's Road Rules goin?”
Cas looked unsure of the reference, but understood the question. His eyebrows knit together and he tilted his head slightly. “Uh... good? Hannah had business to tend to in Heaven and I thought I would take the opportunity to spend some time-”
Charlie cut their conversation off with a gasp and grabbed Cas' hand, attempting (ineffectively) to pull the angel out of his chair. She sang, suddenly and loudly:
“JEREMIAH WAAAS A BULLFROG!” Then laughed aloud at Cas' stunned double-take. “C'mon Feathers, you need to smile. Dance with us!” She gestured to Sam who was watching the scene from the stove. At Charlie's comment, he made a face and started goofy-dancing with his shoulders, elbows, and hips.
Cas looked at Dean with a wide-eyed expression of alarm while the latter just giggled and gestured with one hand palm-up, a “what-can-ya-do” look on his face. No help apparently coming his way from the hunter, Cas turned to the redhead as he allowed her to guide him to a standing position.
“I... I am unclear on the mechanics of dancing, Charles. It's not part of my training,” he cleared his throat nervously, “nor was it part of my gifted modern knowledge base.” He gestured towards Dean and looked at him hopefully, and a little desperately. “Perhaps... Dean...?”
Abruptly, Dean was accosted by two sets of puppydog eyes. Cas looked at him pleadingly, while Charlie bit her lip around a hopeful smile, shoulders alternating in rhythm, arm extended and fingers beckoning in time in time with the cymbals. Dean threw his head back in mock-dispair, slapping the table with his hands as he stood up and grabbed Charlie's hand. She squealed and they both laughed as he lifted his arm and spun her, catching her waist with his other hand when she came around to face him again. The hand he used to spin her sticking out to the side, the two of them danced in a casually ballroom fashion towards the center of the kitchen, bouncing and laughing to the up-beat tempo. Dean spun them so he could look at Cas.
“Hey, Sammy here needs a partner, Cas! I'm sure he's got some moves to show ya, just look at him!” Dean and Charlie both laughed as Cas looked back at the younger Winchester, who was still wiggling his hips to the music.
“Deeeeaan...” Sam wrinkled his nose at his brother and flicked... was that supposed to be sauce? - off the spoon in their direction. “No making fun of my awesome moves.” He sniffed and made a superior face. “Besides, I can't dance with Cas, it wouldn't be proper.”
Dean scowled exaggeratedly at his brother and raised an eyebrow. “What, can't dance with another dude?” He laughed and dipped Charlie, prompting a short scream from the redhead followed by laughter. “Pruuuuuuuuude!”
Sam sighed an amused but long-suffering sigh. “No, Dean... everyone knows you can't dance with another person's – Oof.”
Dean had spun his giggling partner lightly towards his brother, who caught the redheaded whirlwind easily. The oldest Winchester pointed dramatically at Cas who had retreated to the relative safety of his chair at the table.
“Don't worry, buddy. Everyone knows Sasquatches are crap dancers anyway, I'll teach ya.”
Cas studied him with a slightly amused expression on his face before answering carefully, “Of course, Dean. Thank you for the offer.”
They held each other's gaze for a long moment before Cas broke and laughed softly. The last few notes faded and Dean blinked, smiled one of his most charming get-anything Winchester smiles and jumped, striking a pose like Peter Pan.
“But first!" he announced, stabbing the air with his finger,"Dinner! Because I don't know what you're doing to my pans, Sammy, but it doesn't smell good...”
Dinner proceeded without incident, everyone enjoying Dean's latest project and Sam's old mix tapes. Sam had managed to burn some of the pasta to the bottom of the pot (“How do you burn something that's cooking in water, Samantha? Geesh!”) but most everything was salvageable. Even Cas ate some, which troubled Dean more than he was comfortable admitting, and all four of them enjoyed an evening of relative calm and quiet. As everyone finished eating, Dean surveyed his dysfunctional little unit and allowed himself a moment to just exist.
Maybe sticking around the bunker sometimes wasn't all that bad after all.