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Large feet banged a staccato rhythm up the stairs, coming fast and heavy. The door pushed open and Dean could hear the faint hum of voices from downstairs.
“Dean?”
“In the kitchen, Sammy.” He heard Sam’s messenger bag hit the floor near the door as he kicked off his gigantor shoes. He rolled his eyes. Fifteen years, and he still couldn’t get the kid to hang up his bag like an adult or put his shoes in the closet.
Dean pulled dinner out of the oven just as Sam paused in the kitchen doorway. The room wasn’t large and Dean had a hot tray in his hands.
“Hey, smells good. I miss lasagne nights.”
“Every Saturday like clockwork, man. It’s one of our most popular features. You just gotta show up.”
Sam sighed and brushed his hair back from his face. “I know, I know. It’s hard, working this many hours. I thought once I finished school all this crap would be done.”
Dean arched an eyebrow and shot him a look as he set the aluminium casserole on the wooden table shoved into the corner of the room. “No, you didn’t.” He hooked a corner of one of the mismatched chairs with his foot and sat down, shaking off the oven mitts.
Pulling two beers and a wrapped green salad from the fridge by the doorway, Sam turned back to the table and pulled out the other chair for himself. It was painted green, with a tall back that Sam liked to lean into, and a squished cushion on the seat. “Yeah, no I didn’t.”
Sam busied himself with opening the bottles and unwrapping the salad while Dean hefted two large slabs of noodles and hot tomato sauce onto each plate. A drop of sauce splattered onto his hand and he hissed, licking it up quickly.
Sam’s face squished up in annoyance. “Your table manners are worse than a zoo animal, Dean.”
“Shut up. I’m out of napkins.” He tried to block Sam with the sauce-covered spatula, but the long-haired giant had gangly arms and managed to cover the other half of his plate in greens.
“There are tomatoes and onions in the filling, man! And celery!”
“Aw, shut up and eat it. It won’t kill you.” Sam even reached back around into the fridge to grab the ranch dressing.
Dean glanced skeptically at his plate but grudgingly speared up some of the lettuce while waiting for the pasta to cool a bit.
“So, how’s work?” He eyed his brother’s button down and suit pants. At least he wasn’t wearing a tie. “You working on Saturdays now?”
“Just the last few weeks. I really like this job, though, Dean. I feel like I’m making a difference. Like seven years of school is finally worth something.”
Dean listened with one ear while Sam ate and talked about his role as a Mediator at one of the family courthouses. “….but some of these rich-bitch parents, you wouldn’t believe how they treat their kids like pawns. I talked to one teenage girl today, Alex? She told me that she thinks her mother just keeps her around because she brings home her friends from school and her mom thinks that being around these teenage kids keeps her young. She’s like 48 and hits on Alex’s boyfriends. She called her mom an ‘emotional vampire’. She’d rather go live with her dad and aunt in South Dakota but her mom is refusing.”
Sam looked down at his plate, seeming surprised that his slab of lasagne was gone. He looked hopefully into the aluminium container, but it was empty. Dean snorted a laugh. “Emotional vampire? Is that even a thing?” He pushed the tin foil-wrapped garlic bread towards Sam.
Sam didn’t stop talking as he used a slice of garlic-coated Texas toast to sop up the leftover sauce on his plate, and then did the same to the casserole container. “At least I’m making a difference, like I’m helping these families find resolutions that work for all of them. Make each party feel like they have a choice in the outcome. Not like what happened to us.”
Dean nodded along, sipping his beer as Sam talked. Finally, when he’d nosed around the last of the garlic bread and his plate looked clean enough to put directly back into the cupboard, Sam leaned back against his chair and sighed.
“Tell me what’s been going on here,” he demanded. “I feel out of the loop.”
“That’s what happens when you don’t live above the bar anymore.” Dean collected the plates and dumped them in the sink to take care of later. He pulled out a set of fresh spoons and plunked a pre-made brownie sundae in front of Sam.
“Aw, c’mon, Dean. You know I can’t eat this!”
Dean shrugged and sat back down in his seat, already spooning into his own sundae. “Then don’t. I won’t tell Ash. I’ll just save it for later.” He hitched up the sleeves of his red and blue flannel as he dug into his own dessert.
“Seriously, tell me what’s happening. You’re still working tonight, right?”
Dean hid a smile as Sam picked up the spoon and dunked it into the ice cream. “Yeah. I’ll go when you leave. The cab’s downstairs already. Cesar dropped it off about half an hour ago.”
“How many more nights?”
Digging his spoon into the cold brownie, he chewed on the fudgy goodness for a moment before answering. He wasn’t a total animal. “The bills are almost paid. Another couple months, maybe. Depends on how it goes.”
“Dean.”
He could hear the puppy dog eyes in his brother’s voice and steadfastly refused to look up. “C’mon, man. I’m getting paid now. I can help you pay it off.”
“I told you no. It isn’t your debt to pay.”
“Cain gave me a place to live too, you know. I owed him as much as you do. More, even.”
“Sammy, no. Cain left The Mark to me. His debts are mine to take care of. And you’re just getting started. You have rent and bills and probably some dumb clothing allowance you need to save for. Wouldn’t hurt if you paid for a decent haircut,” he added.
Sam ran his hand through his hair. “Shut up,” he said automatically.
“What about a mortgage on The Mark? The building’s worth something, and the business is in good shape, you could probably get a loan.” Sam dug around the ice cream, headed for the thick brownie chunks.
Dean shook his head, swiping his brother’s almost empty sundae bowl – “hey!” – to join the rest of the dishes in the sink. “It’s not worth it, not at this point. Why borrow money to pay the hospital when I can just work an extra night or two a week and pay it off, anyway.”
Sam pulled a face. “Cain probably never realized that his health insurance wouldn’t cover his bills.”
Dean sat back down to finish his beer, leaning his elbows on the table. It was an old conversation, but he replied patiently. “No, I know he didn’t. I think the meds were messing with him a bit near the end. But you’re right, the bar’s in good shape, we have a good crowd coming in most nights. The Trivia Night that Charlie suggested was a good idea, it brings in a lot of the college kids to drink midweek. Seriously, man, don’t worry.” Dean slapped the table. “I’m almost done.”
Sam crossed his arms and shot him a look.
“Really.” Dean smiled reassuringly.
Sam changed tack, and Dean never saw it coming.
“What about this VIP that Benny was telling me about? Cas Novak came in a few weeks ago?” Sam’s eyebrows shot up his forehead.
Twelve days ago. Dean frowned. “Benny talks too much.”
“But Dean, get this. If he comes in regularly, you could totally use that. Maybe he’d be willing to pose for a picture on Instagram or something. If The Mark became known as a place where people can spot celebrities –“
“No, Sam. Hard no. Not happening.”
“But Benny said he asked for you by name. He said it looked like you two knew each other?”
He leaned forward, his hair falling in his face. “Do you know Cas Novak?”
Dean sighed, stretching out his left leg, a twinge crossing his face.
Sam frowned. “You ok?”
“Jesus, dude, you’re asking a lot of questions tonight,” Dean snapped.
Sam flinched back in his seat, folding in on himself like a kicked puppy. The kitchen was silent for a minute, just the steady ticking of the clock on the wall.
Dean studied the top of Sam’s head, waiting for his brother to give up. When the silence dragged on, he rolled his eyes heavenward, knowing he was being played. “Yes, ok? I know Cas Novak. Sort of. We went to camp together, all right? And my leg is fine, stop asking.”
“You went to camp with Cas Novak?” Sam asked disbelievingly. “He’s been up for like three Oscars.”
“No, I didn’t go to camp with ‘Cas Novak’. I went to camp with this nerdy dork named Castiel who loved Shakespeare and wanted to be a dramatic actor. Like fifteen years ago. I just happened to drive Cas Novak home a few weeks ago.” He was talking too much. Dean shut up.
Sam studied him, a calculated look in his eyes. “You never mentioned him.”
Dean raised his eyebrows and rested his hands on the table as he stood up. “He wasn’t famous back then, Sam. He was just another kid at camp. Now, are you coming with me tonight or are you going home? I gotta go.”
“No, I uh, yeah. I gotta go, too. I have a date.”
“A date? With Erin?”
“Eileen.” Sam blushed. Blushed.
“Right. Eileen. You’re gonna go home and change first, right? She gets a clean and respectable Sam? I get the end-of-the-day leftovers?”
“Shut up.”
~
Dean’s night moved steadily, a few good fares here and there. He hadn’t been lying to Sam, he really was almost done paying Cain’s medical bills. Then there was just the bar to take care of. The excess profits that he’d been pulling out to pay down the hospital debt could get rolled back into the business for some much-needed renovations.
Stopping at a light, he ran through his mental checklist again. First up would be some renos to the kitchen, updating some equipment and changing the layout a bit to make it easier for the kitchen and waitstaff to move around. The seating area needed new lighting, and both bathrooms needed an overhaul. He’d been playing with the idea of multiple individual washrooms, but wasn’t sure there was room. He’d need a contractor to take a look. And his apartment needed some plumbing work and the windows needed replacing, but that would just have to wait. Maybe he should keep driving for a few more years, sock away a little extra money?
Dean paused his musings when he picked up a couple headed to Fisherman’s Wharf. He made casual smalltalk, learning they were in town on their thirtieth wedding anniversary, doing all the touristy things that couples in love do. He offered a recommendation for a late dinner and dropped them off with a smile. They tipped well. People in love always did.
He drove slowly down Beach Street; sometimes there were people who’d stayed late at the Maritime Museum, looking for a lift back to Berkeley or some random AirBnB. It was a nice night, and most people were out walking. It would be the perfect night to be out in Baby, cruising along the city streets, watching all the pretty girls and guys turn at the sound of her rumbling engine… No one turned to look at a yellow cab. It just didn’t have the same presence. Maybe he’d pick up a few extra shifts over the next couple of weeks, Dean mused, pay off Cain’s bills a bit sooner. He’d never not worked two jobs, but it sounded nice to be out on a Spring night in his own car.
Dean had made some decent money tonight, and he really needed a bathroom break, anyway. He took a chance and parked the cab, throwing a couple of quarters into a meter before paying a quick visit to a little hole-in-the-wall coffee shop.
“Dean! Long time no see, old man. The usual?” Claire’s blonde hair was done in a series of complicated braids tonight. The ends were dyed a deep green, matching her eyeshadow and her oversize sweater. He couldn’t see them where she leaned behind the counter, but he knew she’d have green laces in her heavy boots. He’d had a little talk with her the first time he’d seen her wearing red laces to match her outfit. These days she stuck to yellow, green, and purple.
“Stow that ‘old man’ crap, brat. Yeah, coffee black. Be back in a few.” Dean strode as quickly as he could to the Men’s to take care of business before coming back into the little café to pay for his coffee.
“Busy night?” Claire asked, as she handed over the double-cupped large. She set a small sugar cookie on top and he grinned and dropped a five on the counter.
“Nah, not really. Too nice out. People prefer cabs when it’s raining. Sunny and seventy isn’t helpful.” He shifted his weight, taking it off his left leg. He chewed his little cookie, anticipating the sugar high.
Claire crossed her arms over her chest, watching his movement. “You’re getting too old to sit in a cab all night.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Listen to your elders – it’s probably going to rain tomorrow.”
“Yeah? Your magic leg tell you that?”
“Magic leg?” A deep voice joined the conversation. Dean stiffened, keeping his back to the open door. Seriously?
“Yeah, his leg is ‘magic’, it predicts the weather,” Claire snarked.
“Claire,” Dean said warningly.
She huffed and rolled her eyes, turning to her new customer. “What can I get for you? Iced coffee tonight or chamomile tea?”
Dean mouthed the order along with the new patron. How he still remembered was beyond him. “Chamomile tea with a spoonful of honey.” Claire turned to gather the take-away cup and teabag.
“Hello, Dean.”
Dean sighed and turned around. “Hiya, Cas. Funny how we keep bumping into each other.”
“Well, I do live just down the street,” Cas said mildly. His eyes roamed Dean’s figure, taking in his jeans and flannel, blue gaze not missing the fact that all Dean’s weight was on his right foot as he leaned on the counter.
Dean flushed and stood straight, making his own perusal of Cas’ dark wash jeans and grey Henley. It pulled a little across his broad chest, but dipped in across his trim waist, which was adorned by a gaudy belt buckle with – was that an armadillo? Dean started guiltily when he realized he was staring at Cas’ crotch. His gaze flew to Cas’ face, but he was making smalltalk with Claire and hadn’t noticed.
Cas wore another baseball hat and had a hoodie flung over one shoulder. He looked completely at home in the small shop, but then he had this weird ability to blend in anywhere, Dean thought.
“Dean!” The tone of her voice indicated she’d called his name more than once. “How the hell do you know Cas Novak?” Claire asked incredulously. “You’re a cab driver and he’s, like, a famous actor.”
“Yes, thank you for pointing that out, Claire. Why do people keep asking me that question?” He grabbed Cas’ tea from her hand and ushered Cas ahead of him towards the door. “I think my five bucks will cover this, right? No tip for brats. Thanks!”
“Dean!” He heard her whine plaintively as he pushed Cas out the door and shut it behind him.
“Here’s your tea, man.”
Eyes lit with amusement, Cas took the cup from his hand. “Thank you. I’d watch your coffee next time you go in there. I normally give her a twenty, so you just cost her an eighteen dollar tip.”
“She’ll get over it.”
Conscious of his gait, Dean ambled slowly over to the cab and leaned against it. Cas followed him, blowing on his tea. “You’re working tonight? Two jobs? I thought maybe you were helping someone out the other night.”
Dean looked down at the ground, scuffing the toe of his boot across the curb. “I drive cab on Tuesdays and Saturdays. It gets me out of the bar a few nights a week.”
Eyeing him thoughtfully, Cas accepted his remark. They stood in silence a moment, their faces lit only by streetlights and the headlights of passing cars.
“You, um, you didn’t text.” Cas looked off down the road.
Dean shrugged, his insides twisting a little. His mouth was gummy. A sip of coffee didn’t help. The silence grew, lengthened into something dark and suffocating.
A flush crawled up Cas’ neck and he cleared his throat. “Right. Well, maybe I’ll see you around, then, Dean. Have a good night.” Cas turned to walk down the sidewalk to his rented house.
For a moment, Dean watched him go, traced his broad shoulders and slim hips. If he squinted really hard, he could still see the nerdy boy in the man walking away, because, really, an armadillo belt buckle? “Cas, wait. Cas!”
Cas paused, but didn’t turn around. What now? What now?
His heart banged heavily, slowly, so he felt every thump through his body. It beat like it wanted out of his chest, a thick, dumb bird caged by his ribs. Dean opened his mouth to say… what? What was there to say? He was a cab driver. Cas was a movie star.
“What are we doing here, Cas?” He whispered the words, but Cas must’ve heard him, he was turning back.
Cas stopped in front of him, his blue eyes a little distant, but he spoke gently. “We were friends once, Dean. Is it so hard to think that maybe we could be friends again?”
Dean looked at the ground, but Cas’ gaze drew his eyes back. “It sounds so simple when you say it like that.”
As soon as he said the words, the earth tilted, and for a moment, he was a teenage boy sitting on a beach with his new best friend.
“It’s a pretty simple plan. You perform a monologue and I dance to it.”
“Why does it sound so simple when you say it that way?”
Dean booped Cas’ nose. “Because it is.”
Cas’ gaze warmed, his plush lips turning up slightly at the corners. He reached out a hand and brushed a thumb over Dean’s cheekbone, there and gone. “Because it is.”