Chapter Text
It was a dark and stormy night – strange enough in and of itself for Southern California. Stranger still was the sleek black car that rolled to a stop in front of Angel City, an old greasy spoon off Route 66. All the diner usually saw was dingy, gray mini vans and candy-colored hybrids, sometimes a motorcycle or two on the weekends. Never anything like this.
With an almost imperceptible chime, a stranger pushed through the door. Tall, dark, handsome – the man was a walking cliché. Silence fell over the room as customers began to take notice. They were staring. And the damp, clinging flannel wasn’t helping.
“How many?” A gravelly voice broke the silence from across the room, his back to the new arrival.
“One.” The man grumbled.
“Sit anywhere you like, I’ll be right with you.”
The stranger took the red vinyl booth in the back corner.
Crossing the establishment to take his order, the waiter grabbed a menu. Arriving at the table however, he noticed that the man was already holding one. Sticky fingers. Better keep an eye on him. Clearing his throat, the waiter tossed the now unnecessary menu on top of the jukebox and pulled out a pad of paper and an orange glitter gel pen.
“Anything to drink?”
“Any chance I could get a nice tall glass of,” looking at his nametag “…Castiel?”
“Sorry. Fresh out.”
“That’s a shame. A beer then.”
“Which kind?”
“Whatever you’ve got on tap is fine, Cas. Oh, and a bacon cheeseburger.”
“Coming right up,” he replied, his plastered-on smile falling from his face the second he turned to put the order in.
Cas. That was fresh, coming from him.
“Oi, Clarence.”
“What, Meg?” Castiel leaned against the counter.
“Who’s mancakes over there?” She asked, turning to take something out of the deep fryer.
Suddenly, a voice purred from behind Castiel, causing his spine to stiffen. “Mancakes would be Dean. Dean Winchester.”
“Pleasure,” Meg called over her shoulder, but otherwise leaving them be.
“Do you need something?” Castiel bristled.
“No. But you did say I could sit anywhere I like.”
“True. But, generally speaking, when people sit somewhere, they tend to stay put.”
“Well, if you’re not going to sit with me, then I guess I’m going to have to sit with you.”
“Your order won’t be up for a while. I was going to do some reading.”
“What book?”
“Grey’s Anatomy.”
“What, like the TV show?”
“No, like the obscenely expensive textbook.”
“Good. I always preferred Dr. Sexy, MD, anyway.”
“You know those shows are crazy inaccurate, right?” Castiel fired back, opening the textbook with a shake of his head.
“Sorry for taking pleasure in fiction every now and then.”
“Still.” A tense silence fell over the two of them, drowned out only by the tinny melodies of the jukebox and the sizzle of bacon.
After a minute, Dean broke the quiet, clearly annoyed. “You’re a doctor, right? Or, you have friends that are doctors or something?”
“Sure,” Cas chanced a sideways glance, only to see Dean gazing off into the distance. In this case, the “distance” was the ancient, yellowing drywall leftover from the previous century.
“So,” Dean said, turning to reach over and close Castiel’s book from where he sat, “You should get one of them to pull that stick out of your ass.” Winking, he retreated back to the corner booth leaving a frazzled waiter in his wake.
Who did this guy think he was? Sure, he was cute. But he was also incredibly rude. The manner in which he had been hitting on Castiel all night was evidence enough of that. So, either Dean Winchester was getting a kick out of tormenting him, or he was hopelessly infatuated with him. For now, Castiel was going to assume it was the first option. Someone like Dean going for a guy like him? A snowball had a better chance in Hell.
But still, Castiel had to admit it was just a teensy bit flattering. And, after all, a life on the road can’t be fun all the time. Who was he to judge Dean for enjoying himself?
Maybe he should join in.
The bell chimed. Order up.
Time for round two.
Burger in one hand, beer in the other, Castiel sauntered over to Dean’s booth with a smirk on his lips. Placing the food in front of him, he slid into the seat on the other side of the booth. His mouth slightly ajar in surprise, Dean reached for his drink, but just before he could reach it, Castiel snatched it away and brought it to his own lips, taking an undignified gulp before Dean could take the glass away.
“What was that for?” Dean practically yelped.
“I mean, you’ve been hitting on me all night. Sooner or later you were going to ask if you could buy me a drink sometime. So, I did you a favor and sped things up a little.”
“Aren’t you on duty right now?”
“Strictly speaking, yes. But, seeing as you’re the only customer left, I think I can take a quick break.” Dean hadn’t noticed it until Cas mentioned it – the diner was empty, save the two of them, and Meg tidying up in the kitchen.
Eyeing him suspiciously, Dean decided to give in. “When do you get off?”
“With you, anytime.” Cas winked.
“I meant when does your shift end?”
“I’ve got about twenty minutes. So, what’s your story? People like you don’t just walk in that door every day.” He took a daintier sip of Dean’s beer this time.
“I travel a lot for work. Don’t get to spend a ton of time at home.”
“Where’s home?”
“Kansas.”
“I’ve never been. Maybe you’ll have take me back with you.”
“You have your whole life here, though. Job, school. Why leave?”
“Why not leave?” Castiel looked up from the half-empty tumbler to look into Dean’s impossibly green eyes. “I was born and raised within twenty miles of this booth. I’ve always wanted to get out. Never got the chance.”
“Why not leave for college?” Dean asked with a tilt of his head?
“Couldn’t afford it. Hopkins isn’t exactly cheap.”
“Neither is Stanford.”
“Is that where you went?”
“No.” Dean chuckled, returning his attention to the burger in front of him. “My brother. He’s always been the genius of the family. I had to foot the bill, though.”
“And what has he done with that fancy degree of his?”
“Tried to get out of Kansas, just like you want to get out of California.”
“And?”
“It didn’t work out.” After a pause, he continued, “He’s in the family business now.”
“Which is?”
“Pest control.”
“Bullshit.”
The sounds of chewing and sipping cover both their awkward silence and the fact that the jukebox had stopped playing.
“I should probably get going.” Returning his now empty glass to the table, Cas stood up, gesturing to the wall clock. “I’ve got class in the morning. Any chance I can get your number?”
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Dean mumbled, pulling out an orange glitter gel pen. Castiel’s orange glitter gel pen. He hadn’t even realized he had lost it until Dean pulled it out. He was right about sticky fingers.
“I think you have something of mine.”
“Besides your heart?” Dean quipped with a cheeky smile.
“Yeah. That’s my pen.”
“Not anymore.” Dean said, grasping it between his teeth as he handed Castiel a napkin covered in chicken scratch.
With a scoff, Castiel took the napkin and turned to leave, looking back halfway to see Dean not staring at his ass as he had expected, but instead staring intently at the kitchen, where Meg was finishing up her cleaning.
As the door swung shut behind him, he couldn’t help but notice the stench of rotten eggs hanging in the air. Good thing it was garbage day tomorrow. As he cleared the front walkway, the rain began to slow to a drizzle. As the droplets began to fall on his bare arms, Castiel realized that he forgot his jacket. Rounding the corner to retrieve it from the booth, he caught a glimpse of something in the restaurant’s reflection on the side of the classic Chevy that could be none other than Dean Winchester’s. A second later, that something was met with a crash and a scream. Cas turned and ran back to the restaurant.
“Meg?” He called out, quickly pushing through the front door just in time to see her eyes turn black as she lunged towards Dean with a carving knife in one hand.
“Cas, get back!” Dean ordered, narrowly dodging her attack.
Cas tried to move, but he was frozen in place with terror. He was not thinking about the fight unfolding in front of him. He was not thinking about his own mortality and the fact that it was currently in danger.
He was thinking about Meg’s eyes, and the fact that they were black.
Eyes don’t just turn black. Sure, they could get infected and get red and puffy, or their pupils could dilate. But even then, that was only by a few millimeters. He had never seen anything like Meg’s in any textbook. There was a storm raging in Dean’s eyes. In Meg’s, there was nothing.
“Run, Cas! Now!” He sprinted towards the frozen waiter, pushing him towards the door, Meg hot on his tail. Finally taking the hint, Cas started to move. Dean whirled around to face his inky-eyed assailant, a searing pain tearing through his side as Meg’s knife hit its mark, leaving a nasty cut.
Dean dodged her next swipe, turning to bury an ornately carved knife up to the hilt into her chest with a wet thud, the blade slick with blood as he pulled it out with an equally sickening noise. Staring into the ebony wrath of her eyes with the emerald craze of his own, her knife fell to the floor with a clang, its owner not far behind, the life fizzling out of her with a flash of orange light.
Drawing in a shaky breath, Dean turned to face Castiel, whose sapphire eyes were wide in shock. With a cocky smile, he whispered, “Nailed it,” as he toppled to the ground.
His training kicking in, Castiel knelt next to Dean, applying pressure to the gash in his side.
“We’ve got to get you to a hospital.”
“No,” Dean struggled to make his voice audible, “No hospitals.”
“Dean, this isn’t a paper cut. You need medical attention.”
“So you fix me up, doc.”
“I’m not qualified to do that.”
“You’re more qualified that I am, and I’ve stitched up my fair share of bullet holes.”
Exasperated, Castiel relented. “Fine. But if you die on me, I will kill you.” Scooping Dean into his arms bridal style, he hurried towards his car, his jacket long forgotten.
“You’re stronger than you look,” Dean whispered into his ear.
“Shut up and stay alive.”