Chapter Text
Dean pulled his coat tighter around him as he walked down the sidewalk. It wasn't a particularly cold day, all in all, the sun was still retaining some of its summer heat, but the wind was freezing and the street his store was on seemed to be caught in some kind of wind tunnel, battering him with every step and turning his pointy ears red.
It was a Monday, which was always a quiet day at the store, so he had taken a quick detour on his way in to buy some donuts for everyone to eat. It was one of the perks of opening a store with his best friends, flexible hours so long as no one missed any appointments, and food was encouraged as long as it didn't go into their stations—things had to stay sterilized after all.
Inked Dreams was the name of their store. They specialized in tattoos, though they did piercings as well on every day Charlie was in—which was every day except Saturdays—and were always interested in expanding the business should the stars align to make it happen. Right now though, they were happy with what they had. It wasn't the largest shop in the city, but they were well known, and each of their artists had a reputation.
"Finally!" Charlie cheered when Dean pulled the door open and slipped inside, careful to close the door behind him so the wind wouldn't catch it and make it slam. The overenthusiastic kitsune that Dean counted as one of his best friends — for some reason — instantly dove for the box in Dean's hands, not even bothering to say a proper hello to him before peering for a moment to decide which one she wanted. She ended up pulling out the chocolate one which Dean had bought knowing she would be the one to eat it. "Dean has donuts!"
Their other friends quickly appeared from the back of the store, grins on their faces as they grabbed the donuts Dean had expected from the moment he bought them. Benny picked the jelly-filled one, Jo grabbed the powdered one, Garth grabbed the weird bacon one which certain people swore by, but not even Dean — Mr. Bacon — dared to try. Claire was the last to reach him, grabbing her glazed donut with a happy hum which made her blonde wings ripple in what Dean now recognized as joy. Their resident teenage angel was working as their receptionist for now, but as soon as she gets her licence she will join their store as Dean's intern.
Dean was left with the custard-filled donut, which he happily grabbed before ditching the box in the trash bin just inside the door, and leaning back against the wall. He would head to his station to set up for the morning once he was done eating.
"Thanks Brother," Benny grinned, licking the jelly from his lips, and his fangs, "you always know how to make waking up on a Monday morning worth it." There was nothing between Dean and Benny, though Dean couldn't help but feel that in another time, in another place, there could be. Regardless, in this time and this place the vampire was just a friend, and Dean was more than happy with that.
"No problem," Dean grinned. "What do I have today?"
"You've got a consultation at one," Claire spoke up from the desk she'd returned to sit behind, the glow of the computer highlighting the natural glow angels seemed to carry with them. "And you're doing walk-ins for the morning."
Dean wanted to complain that he'd done walk-ins on Saturday too, but he knew that everyone else was booked up, and really he couldn't complain. Having this job was more than he'd ever allowed himself to imagine, and having to tattoo twenty stencil roses would never be enough to make him regret it.
"Dean," Jo said, a cheery smile on the human’s face that told Dean more about how awfully this was going to go, than anything else about her demeanor.
"Yes?"
"Mom wants you to come to the roadhouse on your next day off," Jo started slowly, "she wouldn't tell me why, just said it was important you came."
"Don't bullshit me, Harvelle," Dean groaned, "we both know what it's about. Who is it this time? Resident fairy? Local imp? Trickster friend of a friend?" Ellen Harvelle had been trying to set Dean up with random people ever since his last relationship failed spectacularly and Dean swore off dating. He was happy, so why would he risk all that just to have someone to come home to at the end of the day?
"Honestly, I didn't dare ask," Jo admitted, "I just agreed to try and convince you to come."
"I'm not doing it."
"Come on, Dean! Where's the harm!"
"No," Dean sighed, "I've tried, now I'm not going to try any more."
"Don't give up!" Garth said, suddenly butting into their conversation. His hair was definitely slightly longer than it had been the day before, which Dean puzzled over for a long moment before he remembered what day it was. Day after the full moon, he thought to himself, just as well I brought those donuts. Garth was always hungry after a transformation, and had been known to eat whatever was in the fridge—even if it had been there since before the weekend.
"Why not?"
"I gave up once, swore off dating when I first turned," Garth was a late bloomer, and had believed himself to be human until he turned furry one night, "now look at me! Three beautiful kids, a lovely wife. If dating isn't what you want, then fine, but if this is just you thinking the right person isn't out there, then you're wrong!"
Dean couldn't argue with that. Not when Garth was so enthusiastic, not when he looked so honestly hopeful that Dean's special someone was out there.
"Fine," Dean groaned, "I'll think about it. Okay. But not next week, maybe the week after. Now stop bugging me."
Jo and Garth exchanged pleased smiles and headed back to their stations to get ready for the day. Dean sighed loudly, but did the same, hoping that they wouldn't get too mad at him when he inevitably pulled out two days before — or turned up only to walk out ten minutes in.
It wasn't an over exaggeration to say that Ellen's choice of people for Dean was absolute shit. They either ended up being assholes, or Dean just didn't have anything in common with them. Or they judged Dean like hell for being an elf tattoo artist and he had to leave before he punched them in the face. He got enough shit from his parents without having to deal with random dates going on about it too.
Dean loved his job and he loved his tattoos and he loved his piercings and he didn't care what other people thought. Even if it did still sting. He should be used to it by now, but it was something he still struggled with.
He still remembered the look on his parents face when he showed them the hoop in the cartilage of his right ear. Charlie had done it for him, and he'd been so excited to show everyone. His parents hadn't agreed.
And they hadn't agreed when he got an industrial in the same ear.
And they hadn't agreed when he got his first tattoo.
And by this point, he stopped showing them when he got something new, but he didn't miss the looks they gave him every time they met up, the looks of disappointment that cut deeper than Dean had ever thought possible.
"Come on Dean," Charlie yelled from the other side of the store, "get a wiggle on!" She couldn't have hidden the concern in her face if she'd tried, not from Dean, but thankfully she didn't say anything, and Dean slipped back to his work station without another word.
Dean's morning was good, though not particularly interesting. He had three separate walk-ins, all picking one of the simple stencils that Dean could do in his sleep; he was also fairly sure at least one of them was only there due to a dare. They got a lot of them, especially around September when all the college kids started turning up. They would dare each other to get tattoos, and when the social structures were only just being created no one would dare back out. Dean always asked them if they were sure before he started, but beyond that he couldn’t do much more than make sure they sign the waiver so they couldn’t turn this back on the shop if they later decided following through with the dare had been stupid.
He was immeasurably glad when he checked the time and saw it was pretty much time for his consultation. He loved the freedom of designing a big piece, and loved the fact that a good ninety percent of the time it was only people who were serious about their tattoos that came in for consultations. Walk-ins were fine and all, but Dean hated the idea of tattoos, and especially his tattoos, being counted as mistakes in the future, and more than a few of his walk-ins gave off that air. The air of quickly-made decisions that seemed amazing at the time, but even as early as the next day started feeling like a mistake. Dean wasn’t immune to ideas like that, but he liked to think he thought things over well before he did them.
Or he at least checked in with Charlie so that she could slap him if it was dumb. Same difference.
He washed his hands and resteralized his equipment—though he didn't expect to be using it for this appointment—leaving his sketchbook on the side with a freshly sharpened pencil, and then headed out to see whether his next appointment was already there. He was a minute or two early, but Dean had never heard anyone complain about getting in early.
The waiting room only had a couple of people sitting in their surprisingly comfortable chairs. There was a fairy who Dean was fairly certain was there for a piercing—she kept on glancing at the case they kept piercings in, and was fiddling with her ears—so Dean figured she couldn't be his consultation. This was confirmed a moment later when Charlie came out with her most bubbly smile and directed the fairy over to the case, probably to discuss what kind of piercing she wanted.
Ash—their dragon friend who worked at the roadhouse—was also sitting in the waiting area. Dean was unsure whether he was there for an appointment or whether he was waiting for someone, he could never tell with Ash. Dean had no idea how, but that guy seemed to be friends with every single person Dean had ever met. The amount of times he sat in their waiting room while waiting for a friend to come out from getting a tattoo was insane, but at the same time Dean supposed if he was nervous about getting a tattoo, he would also want to bring along the most chill guy he knew.
The person Dean figured was most likely to be his appointment was standing next to the desk, talking to Claire with unexpected familiarness. Dean couldn't tell what kind of creature he was, though he supposed it wasn't any of his business anyway. The guy looked relaxed and at home in the store, though Dean could tell it was a mask. Dean wondered what was under that mask. Was he worried? Excited? Scared? It was always difficult to tell, most of the time just because people felt all kinds of mixed emotions.
This felt different though. It didn't feel like it was the tattoo the guy was nervous about. And that was insane for Dean to be thinking, he didn't even know the guy after all, but there was something on his face. Something suggesting that whatever emotion was under that mask, was caused by something much deeper than getting a tattoo.
"Hey Claire," Dean said carefully, stepping up next to the desk and leaning against it, trying to hide how he was looking the guy up and down. Originally it had been to try and get a read on him… but by this point Dean was just subtly enjoying the view. "Is this my consultation?"
"That's me," the guy grinned nervously with a deeper voice than Dean could have ever expected. He was slightly shorter than Dean—though stockier—with hair that was messy from the wind, but Dean got the feeling just from looking at the guy that it probably perpetually looked like someone had been running their fingers through it. Dean had to admit, despite the fact it probably wasn't professional, he was cute. More than cute. Try, breathtaking.
"Alright," Dean was amazed that he'd managed to keep his voice steady, but he supposed he'd had a few years of practice by now. He was a tattoo artist after all, seeing cute guys shirtless was literally his job and fuck, now he was thinking about this guy with his shirt off and—he needed to stop that thought right there. He was a professional. He was going to stay that way. "Do you want to come on through, and we'll discuss what you're here for?"
"Sounds good," the man smiled, "I'll see you later Claire." Clearly he did know Claire, well enough that he would 'see her later' and Dean knew it was rude to pry, so he wasn't exactly about to ask, but he wondered where they knew each other from.
Claire waved in response to the guys goodbye, but she was already distracted by whatever had popped up on her computer, so Dean gestured for the man to follow him, and lead him back to his work station.
"Just take a seat on the tattooing chair," Dean told him, grabbing his sketchpad and pencil before sitting down on his stool. "My name's Dean, though I guess you already know that. I will probably be your tattoo artist should you decide it's the right thing for you, unless you request something one of the others would be better at."
"Okay," the man nodded, stiffly taking a seat on the leather chair. "I'm Castiel," he winced slightly at his own full name, adding quickly, "most people call me Cas." Dean made a mental note to use the nickname; he was not in the mood for making the guy even more uncomfortable than he already looked.
"Nice to meet you Cas. What kind of thing are you looking for?"
Cas chewed on his lip for a long moment, clearly thinking over how to answer. Eventually he seemed to give up on words, as instead of explaining anything he just yanked his shirt over his head, revealing his naked chest to Dean. For one long, glorious, moment he was able to let his eyes roam freely across miles of the most beautiful tanned skin Dean had ever seen—
—and then Cas turned around.
Dean felt his breath catch as he saw the two large scars that stretched down the majority of Cas’ back, from his shoulder blades all the way to the bottom of his ribs. They were neat, and had clearly healed well, but that didn't change the fact they were there.
“I need to get these covered up,” Cas said quietly, his voice rough with pain—though it sounded emotional rather than physical. “I have—I have a friend. They promised that your shop would be able to cover them up—like they had never been there.”
Dean blinked back the tears that had no place farming in his eyes. He didn’t know Cas’ story but… there was pain there. There was something deep entwined with those scars—maybe what Cas had been hiding behind his mask earlier—and Dean could only hope that his art would be enough to start the process of healing whatever it was.
“Yeah,” Dean croaked, having to clear his throat a couple of times before he continued, “yeah, your friend is right. You might still be able to see it—it depends on how your skin and your species reacts to the ink—but it should cover up most of it, though it will end up a large tattoo to cover it all.”
“Good,” Cas nodded, “I know it will have to be big, I just— I just want them gone.” He harshly pulled his shirt back on and turned to look Dean in the eye. The staring should have been uncomfortable, but it really wasn’t. Dean could see the pain and desperation in the depths of those startlingly blue eyes, and he could only hope his own eyes were sending the reassurances he was trying for.
“Do you have any ideas for what you want?” Dean asked, pressing the pencil to the paper to start sketching whatever Cas described.
“Yes actually. I was thinking of a pair of wings, looking like they’re folded against my back, colored with splotches of watercolor. Preferably dark colors, but you’re the expert on what looks good around here, maybe some flowers or vines where they would attach to my back if they were real.” Dean nodded, he could probably have that bit over the scars, and have solid color flowers to properly cover them up. Cas went into a little more detail on placement and Dean dutifully sketched each detail he mentioned. He would draw up the proper designs later in the week, this was just so he knew what kind of thing Cas wanted.
“Is that going to be possible?” Cas sounded so worried, like he expected Dean to throw him out for wanting something so specific, or maybe just tell him that it was too complicated, impossible to become a reality, and that Cas was just wasting Dean’s time.
“Definitely,” Dean tried his best to smile reassuringly. He had never failed at bringing someone’s idea to life, and that wasn’t going to change any time soon. “It might not all be exactly what you’re imagining, but I’ll draw some designs up, and talk them over on your next appointment, and then I guess we’ll get started.”
“Oh, yes,” Cas muttered, “I’m rather busy so—”
“Are you free every Monday?” Dean interrupted before Cas could get himself worked up over matching his busy schedule to Dean’s free appointments.
“Well, yes.”
“Perfect. Monday is our quiet day, so I’ll have free appointments, and a week between each session will be enough time for a little bit of healing from the previous week.”
“Sounds good,” Cas nodded, looking relieved. “So… I’ll see you next week?”
“Sure thing,” Dean said, placing his sketchbook on the side and leaning back against his desk as he watched Cas get ready to leave. “Just arrange the next appointment with Claire on your way out, and it’ll all be good.”
Cas smiled at him and then slipped out the room, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts once more.
Dean couldn’t help wondering what had happened to Cas. The scars, the placement, the size… they almost looked like wings. Or—scars from losing wings, Dean supposed. That could explain why his tattoo idea had been so exact, and although there was no way Dean was going to ask, he knew these drawings had to be perfect, just in case. If Cas really was a winged creature, who had lost his wings, and was trying to get them back through a tattoo… then Dean refused to let it be any kind of subpar. Anything less than perfect was not an option.
Cas had clearly been deeply hurt, and Dean couldn’t not help him, not if this was what he needed. He couldn’t explain it, but Dean felt… something. He couldn’t explain it, he just knew that he’d only met Cas ten minutes ago, and yet he felt a connection to the other creature. It was dumb, and probably just Dean going insane, but it was still there. Whoever Cas was, whatever Cas was, he was important, and Dean just wanted to make him smile.
Dean grabbed his sketchbook back up. He probably had ten minutes free now, so he might as well get started on those designs. It wasn’t like he was going to be able to think about much more until he’s at least begun to get all the ideas in his head down onto a page. He was probably going to end up with three different ideas for Cas to choose between—or mix-and-match between—just to make sure they were exactly what Cas had pictured.
One pair of tattooed wings? Easy. Dean wasn’t their nature specialist for nothing after all. But even beyond that, they were going to be the best wings of his career. Cas deserved nothing less.
Dean put his sketchbook away when he reached an okay stopping point. He had the general shape of the wings planned out, but he had a job to do and although this design was a part of it, so was doing the actual tattooing of his customers. He shook the cramp that had started forming out of his arms and legs, and walked out into the waiting area. Cas was only just leaving, so either Dean hadn’t been sketching for as long as he’d thought, or Cas had spent some time talking to Claire on his way out. He waved as he walked out the front door, and Dean returned it with a soft smile, noticing how Cas hunched his shoulders, as though he was expecting a weight that wasn’t there.
Charlie was leaning against the front desk, and Dean went to stand with her when he saw the waiting room was empty. Charlie was fiddling with her lip ring, and Dean could already tell she was bursting with the need to say something.
“What is it?” he asked her, already feeling exhausted. When Charlie was restraining herself, you just knew it was going to be something bad.
“That was your consultation, right?” Charlie nodded at the door that was still swinging slightly from Cas’ exit.
“Yeah?” Dean frowned, “So?”
“So,” Charlie started, dragging the ‘o’ sound for a good three seconds. “He’s cute.”
Dean instantly knew where she was going with that, and he instantly hated it. “You’re a lesbian.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t tell when a guy is cute,” Charlie pointed out, “and the fact you even tried that just proves you agree with me.”
“Shut up.” And Dean couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be an order, or a plea.
“So you do,” Charlie cackled triumphantly. “Aww, little Deanie has a crush!”
“I don't get a crush on every cute guy that walks in here!” Dean argued, though he knew Charlie wouldn’t listen. Okay, guys were cute, but he didn’t want to date most of them! Or ever sleep with most of them! This was all because of that one time Dean had told Charlie that he had a crush on one of their cute regulars. He hadn't done anything, and the guy he had a crush on had stopped coming one day. But ever since then… well to put it this way, this wasn't the first time Charlie had done this.
"No, but you do have a crush on this one. So, what are you going to do about it?"
"Nothing Red, you know this," Dean sighed, "can we please stop talking about this? It's really none of your business after all."
"I'm your best friend!" Charlie muttered, her slitted eyes watching Dean carefully as though she would be able to see what he was thinking if she just looked hard enough. "This isn't still about the Lisa thing is it?"
"What do you mean?" Dean sighed, scratching the vine tattoo that wrapped around his right arm. He loved having such close friends, that was true, but he absolutely hated the fact it meant they could read him so well. He'd known Charlie for years, and told her all his deepest darkest secrets, and now she definitely knew too much.
"I mean, this isn't still you thinking that just because Lisa couldn't see how amazing you are, no one will ever see it."
"'m not—"
"Yes you are, don't argue," Charlie interrupted, tapping Dean on the nose in a way that was probably friendly, but was really just annoying. Okay… that wasn't true. It was just a Charlie thing, and the fact it was annoying Dean right now said more about him than it did about Charlie. "You're doing walk-ins, right?"
"Yes," Dean squinted in confusion, "apparently only Cas was interested in my nature tattooing skills today."
"Alright, come on Dean, we're going to talk." She walked to her small piercing room with an air of determination, and Dean knew better than to argue with that; even if talking was up in his top five least favorite things to do, along with mentioning work around his parents.
"Do we have to?" Dean groaned, though he did follow Charlie and take a seat in her piercing chair.
"Yes. We do."
"Alright then, hit me," Dean muttered, picking at his short bitten nails and waiting for Charlie to start talking. He would listen to her, if he had to, but there was no way he was going to start it himself.
"You're miserable. I know what you're going to say, about how you're happier than you've ever been and how you love everything about your life, but Dean—" she sighed, cutting herself off. "I'm not blind, Dean. Ever since Lisa dumped you…"
"Let me guess," Dean drawled, "I've not been myself." She wasn't wrong, he'd been… off, ever since Lisa broke up with him, but it wasn't whatever Charlie was suggesting. He was happy, a random cute customer wasn't going to change anything to do with that. He was happy right where he was, with the life he led.
"You've not!" Charlie growled, her eyes flashing with annoyance. It must count as a skill by this point, how easily Dean managed to annoy Charlie. "You don't seem to trust yourself! You're lonely! Even when you try your best to convince yourself you're not. You ache for someone to love, but deny yourself the chance to go looking for it!"
"Getting a bit explicit there aren't you," Dean said, trying to reduce the tension but failing miserably.
"Dean," Charlie said warningly.
"Fine, fuck!" Dean groaned, "I'll go on whatever date Ellen sets me up on! I'll try! Okay?"
"That's all I ask," Charlie sighed, "I just want you to be happy."
"Yeah, I know," Dean knew Charlie just wanted the best for him, even if she was a little pushy sometimes.
There was a knock on the door just then, saving Dean from having to go through any more feelings talk.
"Dean, we've got a walk-in for you," Claire said, waiting until Dean nodded before she left the room.
"I'll see you later, Red," Dean nodded at his friend, following Claire out the door and smiling at the werewolf nervously waiting for his tattoo.
Dean was exhausted by the time he got back to his apartment, something bone deep that made every step a step too far. He'd been living here for the past three years, and although it wasn't particularly big or impressive, it worked for him, and the plants that filled every free surface definitely didn't seem to be complaining.
It felt like at least three years since the start of the day, since he'd arrived at Inked Dreams with those donuts. The talks his friends had insisted on had drained him, and it had honestly felt at some points like the day would never end.
But now it had, and he had the entire rest of the evening to flop onto his couch and pretend the rest of the world didn't exist. Maybe he'd stick some Dr. Sexy on, and order a pizza; that was always a good way to spend an evening.
His meat lover's pizza had just been delivered, and he had just flipped the TV to a channel showing Dr Sexy reruns—his favorite season too—when his phone started vibrating and singing 'Heat Of The Moment'. Apparently Sammy was calling him. He groaned as he grabbed the phone, knowing this wouldn't go well.
It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to Sam, they had always been close and even after moving out and going their separate life paths, they continued to get along amazingly and had weekly catch-up Skype's whenever they couldn't find time to meet up in real life. But that was really the problem, right now. They'd seen each other on Saturday, and Sam never called, he always texted.
Never called, unless of course, it was about their parents.
Sam very much believed in giving bad news face to face, or at the very least in real time.
"Hello," Dean grunted, answering the phone and waiting to see what his brother had to say. He was not disappointed.
"You already know what this is about, don't you?" Sam sighed, and Dean could hear shuffling on the other side—probably Sam getting comfortable on his own couch.
"Well this is clearly about our parents," Dean hummed, thinking the options over. There weren't many. "Seeing as it's a Monday, I'd bet… family dinner some time soon?"
"Spot on. They've given us over a week's notice this time. The dinner is a week on Friday." Sam sounded about as enthusiastic as Dean felt, which wasn't really surprising. Sam had a much better relationship with them than Dean did—he had gone into a 'nice, appropriate career' after all—but he was proud of his brother and all his achievements, and hated having to listen to their mom and dad complain about Dean's job and belittle his achievements for so long. Honestly, he was probably more upset about it than Dean was. He was pretty much used to it by now, and just did his best to ignore it. Sam however, believed that bad things shouldn't just be ignored.
It made family dinners more than a little awkward, which was probably why they only had them once every month or so, rather than every week like he was sure his parents would prefer.
And yet still their parents clung to traditions. They liked pretending they were all one big happy family, one of the really close ones whose children went to college in the same state so they could stay nearby, and had weekly family calls to catch up, and probably some kind of family group chat.
It wasn't true of course, and the pretence did little more than push Sam and Dean further away, but they still came to the family dinners when they were told they were happening, and sat through three hours of awkwardness, and promised themselves on the way home to never go again.
And then a month later the call would come and like dutiful kids, they would answer.
Dean kept on promising himself that he'd get better, that one day he would say 'last one' and he would be telling the truth. It hadn't happened yet, but he wasn't giving up hope yet. Maybe this time something would break the cycle, and he'd stop just sitting there listening while his parents talked about his career like it was the devil's work and his decision to pursue it was the start of all the bad things in the world.
Maybe...
"I'm guessing no isn't an answer," Dean sighed.
"I don't think it was even an invite. Mom just said, 'family dinner on Friday, make sure your brother comes'." Sam put on a slightly ridiculous high pitched voice when impersonating Mary, and it was enough to break the tension in the call, and reduce them both to giggles. It was like being small children again. Back before they both became self aware enough to realize how messed up their family was.
"What do you think they would do if one day we just didn't turn up?"
"Probably leave us angry voicemails? Maybe some caps locked texts?"
"Passive aggressive statements about how we must have lost track of the days?" Dean suggested.
"And probably less so passive statements about how many leftovers they now have sitting in their refrigerator?"
"True," Dean chuckled.
They talked for a bit longer, but they'd both had long days, so it wasn't long before they said goodbye and hung up. Dean found himself finally free to return to his evening, but his pizza was cold now, and he really wasn't in the mood for Dr. Sexy anymore. He sighed loudly, grabbing the pizza box and transferring the pieces onto a tray, and putting it into the oven. It wouldn't need long, just enough to heat it all up.
He felt even more exhausted than he had before, and he frowned all through the process of grabbing out his phone and setting a reminder for the dinner.
Dean had over a week to psych himself up for it, thank goodness, but for now, all he wanted was to forget about it. He grabbed a beer from the fridge, and grabbed his pizza out. He'd eat this, and then he'd go to sleep, and hopefully the rest of the week would go easier.
And he never knew, maybe his parents would cancel—suddenly remember they had a holiday booked or something. Dean had never been that lucky so far, but there was always a first time for everything, and all that.