Chapter Text
Dean was late and he knew it. He’d promised Emma he’d come to her rehearsal to meet her new best friend, Claire. The last customer of the day—Mrs. Hammond—would not shut up about her cats. Dean was raised to respect his elders, but shit, this was too much.
After finally getting the old bat to leave (he was late, dammit!), Dean still had to close up the shop for the night. Winchester Auto opened early at seven a.m. and closed (or tried to) by six p.m. Em’s rehearsal started at six (fine), but it was close to seven now (not fine). Dean wasn’t usually the one to close, but needs must.
Without going home to shower or change, Dean rushed across town to make the last half of Emma’s dance rehearsal. Emma was so excited for Dean to meet her friend, Claire. The recital was three weeks away, just before Thanksgiving, but she wanted her dad and her new best friend to meet ahead of time.
Dean came to a screeching halt outside of Braeden Dance. He rubbed the dash of his 1967 Chevy Impala, promising his Baby a wash and wax that weekend as an apology for the rough treatment. He barely spared Lisa Braeden, owner, a wave as he rushed to Emma’s practice room. He missed the disappointed frown on her face.
The four practice rooms were not large, but they each held a barre, a wall of mirrors, and a couple of rows of chairs for parents or guardians to sit in (at least in the rooms designated for the older children). Dean passed by a class of toddlers dancing to the Hokey Pokey and a group of slightly older kids dancing to some kids’ show anthem. Emma’s room was at the end of the hall, and he could already hear her song playing.
Emma was enthralled in her current dance move as Dean snuck in. There was already someone in the front row of seats, so, in deference to his appearance—and probably his personal bouquet of sweat and engine grease—he opted to sit behind and slightly to the left of the person—man—in the front row. He didn’t pay any mind to the man once he sat down.
Dean saw Emma en pointe , dancing around another girl in tap shoes. Emma’s hair was braided down her back—something Dean didn’t do for once—and the other girl had her hair in a high ponytail. Apparently, they wanted to distinguish themselves further by looks instead of just by the shoes they were wearing.
So go and do like you do
I’m good to do like me
Ain’t in a cage, so I don’t need to take the key
Emma stumbled in the middle of a pirouette and came down off her toes.
“Dammit!” Emma yelled. The other girl—Claire, Dean assumed—went and stopped the music.
“It’s fine, Em,” Claire replied. “What if we start from our dance together? It’s the same moves, but I’m doing it with you, yeah?”
Dean could see Emma’s mind working.
“Yeah, that’ll work.”
Dean watched as his daughter rose back up on her toes and Claire skipped around in the song on the stereo system until she found the right spot and started the music again. Both girls began dancing—one ballet, one tap.
Why not go ahead and ask for nickels on the dime?
Fifteen
I’d do eight
Twelve
Maybe nine
Ten
The girls turned to each other and grasped hands as the music gained speed again. They spun in a circle and then began dancing separately again.
Don’t you want to get away to a whole new part you’re gonna play
‘Cause I got what you need, so come with me and take the ride
To the other side
So if you do like I do
So if you do like me
This time Emma nailed the move and both girls stopped to cheer. As they celebrated before starting from the beginning of the song again, Dean leaned forward and spoke to the man in front of him.
“They’re gonna be great, ain’t they?” Dean asked, smiling like the proud father he was.
The man turned his head to the side, and Dean could see one black eyebrow raised over a bright blue eye. He also appreciated the fact that the man had a rough five o’clock shadow that made his profile look sexy instead of scruffy. The man looked Dean up and down from his peripheral vision. “Mmm” was the only response Dean received. The man turned back to the front.
Dick , thought Dean as he pulled back and sat back in his chair. Emma caught sight of Dean just as he leaned back into his chair and crossed his arms.
“Dad, you made it!” Emma yelled again, this time with a big smile on her face.
“Told ya I’d be here, sweetheart,” he replied with just as big of a smile.
Emma left her place in front of the mirrors and went over to hug her dad. She grabbed his hand and tugged him up and into the middle of the room. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean could see that Mr. Dick was wearing a suit and tie. It made Dean feel self-conscious in his white t-shirt and coveralls with the top tied around his waist. Both were stained with grease and probably food from lunch.
Emma dragged Dean over to Claire, who was off to the side of the room, drinking from an orange water bottle.
“Claire, Claire!” Emma called, bringing her dad over to the other girl. “Claire, this is my dad, Dean. Dad, this is Claire.” Emma couldn’t stop smiling; two of her favorite people were in the same room. Green eyes, not quite as green-apple in color as her dad’s, sparkled with happiness.
“Hey, Claire,” Dean said, extending his hand for a shake. Before the two hands could meet, an alarm sounded and the other man in the room popped up from his seat.
“Claire, we should go,” Mr. Dick interrupted, gathering his briefcase and an ugly beige coat. His voice was gruff. Dean might’ve thought it was sexy had he not already deemed the guy a dick.
Everyone looked over at him incredulously, but the man was looking at his watch. Dean had the fleeting thought that the man was hot as hell, but also rude as fuck. Claire scoffed but went and packed up her bag, exchanging tap shoes for tennis shoes. Over by the door, the man had the nerve to tap his foot in impatience.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Winchester,” Claire said quietly as she passed him. She glared daggers at the other man’s back as they walked out the door.
Both Winchesters watched as the door closed behind the other two.
“What a dick,” Emma commented when the door was closed.
“Yep,” was all Dean said as he berated himself for showing up the way he did, probably embarrassing Emma.
Dude was still a dick, though.
~~~~~
Castiel was out of his element. He’d never been inside a dance studio—never had reason to until Claire. He’d only been living in Lancaster for a month. Claire had been attending public school long enough to make a best friend. She and Emma met in dance class last month and found out that they also had a couple of classes together at school.
Castiel was glad that Claire had a friend; now he needed one.
For the beginning of the rehearsal, he was on his laptop, catching up on work—at least until Claire said something that Castiel took to mean stop (he made a note to look up what W-T-F meant later; he knew he was the ‘dude’ in question). Castiel put his laptop away and sat quietly, trying to keep up with the girls’ moves. He didn’t know what was going on. He was concentrating on what Claire called a ‘step-ball-change' when another person walked into the room. Castiel was afraid to take his eyes off of Claire and her partner—Emma, his mind supplied, Claire’s new best friend—so he didn’t pay much attention to the newcomer.
Once the new person sat behind Castiel, he caught the faint scent of what he could only imagine was car exhaust and something vaguely piney. He was puzzling out the unique smell until the person leaned forward and spoke into Castiel’s ear.
“They’re gonna be great, ain’t they?” said the man behind him.
Castiel, still afraid to take his eyes completely off of his niece, simply turned his head to look at the man. He was close. Castiel looked the man up and down from the corner of his eye. The man was beautiful, even with a smear of dirt (grease?) on his forehead. (The pine smell must be some form of soap.)
All Castiel could manage was a ‘mmm’ in response. He was tongue-tied, which was not an uncommon occurrence (his ‘people skills’ were ‘rusty’ as his brother always said), and quickly turned back around to focus his attention on Claire. He didn’t have time to indulge in a conversation anyway; he had to watch Claire and make sure she was alright.
Claire, his niece who was in his care because her parents died. Claire, his niece who seemed very angry at the moment if the slamming of the car door was any indication. She crossed her arms and stayed silent the whole way home. Once there and just inside the door, she rounded on him.
“Do you know how incredibly rude you just were?”
Before Castiel could say anything, Claire continued.
“You didn’t let me shake Mr. Winchester’s hand; did you know that? You pulled me away first.” She squinted her eyes—much like Castiel himself did when he was confused. “Is this because he’s a mechanic and you think he’s beneath you or something?”
Before Castiel could say anything, Claire ran up the stairs and slammed her bedroom door closed.
Castiel whispered to the empty room, “I was trying to keep to your schedule; home at eight for homework.” He dropped his head back and sighed at the ceiling. “Good job, Castiel,” he whispered again before turning out the lights, setting the alarm, and trudging upstairs to his own bedroom.
For the tenth time, Castiel pulled out his brother’s ‘just in case’ folder. It contained a living will that was updated only six months before Jimmy and his wife died. It gave strict instructions on how Castiel was to raise Claire in their absence. He pulled the dreaded document from the folder—Claire's daily schedule. Castiel wanted to obey Jimmy’s every request, but this was a little much even for him. They grew up with a strict mother—schedules and rules and discipline were their lives—but he really didn’t want that for Claire. It was too bad that Castiel wasn’t brave enough to break the rules set before him.
A month ago, Castiel had sat in the lawyer’s office in shock. Not only had Castiel’s twin brother and his wife died, but he had been named guardian of their teenage daughter, Claire.
Claire, who had refused to go back to her private school and fancy dance lessons. Claire, who wanted to attend public school and take dance lessons at a local studio. Claire, who hated Castiel for looking like her dad.
Castiel had been lost in a sea of paperwork at first. All the money in Jimmy and Amelia’s bank accounts automatically transferred to a trust in Claire’s name. She refused to use any of it for what her parents wanted her to. Instead, the allotted tuition money—the only money Claire could readily access—went into buying an old, beat-up Chevy SS that needed all the work imaginable to start, let alone to run safely. But Claire loved it and planned to save the rest of the ‘tuition money’ in order to get it fixed up. It sat behind the house; an eyesore hidden from public view.
As an accountant, Castiel knew how to manage money, but Claire, minor or not, held the purse strings. The best Castiel could do was supervise.
He’d been ignored by his brother for nearly twenty years and was now expected to raise the niece he didn’t even know. He’d moved halfway across the country in order to take up the mantle of guardian.
He was in no way prepared to take care of a teenage girl.