Chapter Text
If it had been up to Dean, they never would have been messing around in the Men of Letters’ storage room in the first place. That stuff was locked away for a reason, as far as he was concerned. But the restlessness between cases was getting to everyone, and as ever, Sam needed an outlet for his research skills.
Dean knew Sam had secretly been itching to get a look at the treasure trove of haunted crap the Men of Letters had sitting around. Sam made his most compelling argument as Dean sipped his coffee, clearly believing a tired Dean was an easier Dean to convince. He was correct.
“Dean, we don’t even know what’s in there. What if there’s information that could help with our cases? And more importantly, if we don’t know what each object is, it could bite us in the ass if we have no idea what it does in an emergency.”
“Yeah, or we open Pandora’s box and give ourselves a thousand new problems for no goddamn reason.” Dean sighed, rubbing his temples as Castiel entered the kitchen.
The angel raised an eyebrow. “I couldn’t help but overhear. If you do decide to open the room, I should be there. My grace can protect you both from any residual curses and help detect which items are potentially dangerous.”
Sam nodded, turning back to Dean. “See? We’ll have Castiel! It’s not like we’re going in with no idea of what we’re dealing with. Besides, I doubt the Men of Letters would leave something truly dangerous in there without warnings all over it.”
Dean really couldn’t deal with his nerdy brother teaming up with his even nerdier best friend. “Fine, Nancy Drew, we can go sleuthing in the big scary room of magical shit. But if I end up cursed I’m blaming your dumb ass.”
Sam beamed as he and Castiel debated the best cataloging system to use, eventually agreeing to tag each item with a number. Sam found a blank notebook to use for writing down facts about each find for later, using the numbers to match them up. The two got sidetracked easily as Castiel thumbed through Sam’s prior research, pointing out inconsistencies or points to explore further.
Castiel’s face lit up as Sam asked questions, telling stories of how he came to know about the monsters and objects in Sam’s notes. Sam’s endless curiosity and Castiel’s love of sharing his infinite knowledge was a perfect combination.
Dean, meanwhile, finished his coffee and cleaned the kitchen, watching the two from afar. Dean felt a bit left out when they paired off like this, even as he knew it wasn’t fair. He was sure that Sam and Cas would be thrilled if he joined in. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the research aspect of hunting. After all, before he and Sam had teamed up again after Stanford, he’d done all the investigations into lore himself. Even now, he still wrote his case observations in his own little book he kept in Baby’s glove compartment.
But his journals were haphazard, scribbled notes covered in coffee stains (and occasionally, dried blood). There was no table of contents or color coded pages. His writing wasn’t clinically detached, with more expletives than adjectives. Dean knew where to find the information he needed, but if Sam ever needed to consult Dean’s notes, he’d be lost. It was hard not to feel insecure next to his organized brother and the angel who could summon ancient knowledge in seconds. His years of accumulated experience couldn’t possibly impress a being like Castiel.
Not much about you would impress Castiel, the voice in his head added unhelpfully.
Dean shook off the tug of jealousy in his gut. He liked seeing his brother and Castiel together. They were the two most important people in Dean’s life, and the fact that they got along so well made everything easy. He just wished that the thing he had going with Castiel was different than what Castiel had with Sam. Deep down, Dean knew the way he felt about Castiel wasn’t brotherly in the slightest.
But nothing Cas had said or done implied that he saw Dean differently than how he saw Sam. To a being like Cas, the Winchesters were amusing human diversions. Sure, Cas cared about them, but ultimately, it just wasn’t that deep, unlike Dean’s feelings for Castiel. Dean was content to have Castiel along for the ride as long as he could stand to be around them.
Later that afternoon, Dean joined Castiel and Sam outside the storage room for the big reveal. They had opened it just once after first moving into the bunker. Dean slammed the door shut as soon as he saw the rows and rows of ancient artifacts.
“We might be stupid, but we ain’t that stupid,” he’d remarked to Sam at the time, both agreeing to leave whatever creepy crawlies the Men of Letters had found undisturbed.
In the present, the trio braced themselves to venture inside.
“Ready?” Castiel tilted his head, looking at Dean for the go ahead. Dean nodded, and Castiel pulled the door open, standing in front of the brothers. When nothing happened, he flicked on the light switch as the three entered the room.
The concrete walls were lined with metal shelves, each one full of large items. Most were under glass or otherwise shielded from touch. The back wall had weapons hanging, while the middle shelves seemed reserved for smaller trinkets and books. Sam whistled, impressed, as they slowly wandered among the organized shelves. Each object was already labeled with small cards describing where it came from and what it was used for. Sam moved methodically, starting at the nearest shelf to the door and scribbling notes.
Dean felt like a kid on Christmas as he made his way to the impressive weapons wall. He could feel Castiel lurking behind him, no doubt to make sure Dean didn’t try to test any of them. Dean had to admit his impulse control wasn’t the strongest. He stared longingly a revolver with a placard indicating it had been used in Rasputin’s assassination way back when.
“Awesome,” Dean muttered to himself before turning back to the rest of the shelves. He wandered in the aisles, noting each item as he passed. “I wonder why they kept all this locked away. Seems like they could have used some of these in their line of work.”
Castiel hummed thoughtfully, pausing at a different shelf with unique looking plants straight out of Little Shop of Horrors. “They probably judged everything too unpredictable for a fight. High risk, low reward.”
Dean rolled his eyes affectionately as he continued on. “Logic, sch-mogic, Cas.”
Dean’s eye was drawn to a small bottle in the middle of the shelf. It was filled with pink sparkles and had a cork keeping the dust sealed inside. Unlike the other objects, its description simply read “Pixie Dust?” with no further information.
Dean let out a chuckle as he leaned in for a closer look. “Pixie dust? Like Tinker Bell pixie dust? Dude, I didn’t know the Men of Letters were Disney adults.”
He picked up the little glass bottle and shook it, hearing the sound of windchimes as he did so. “Oh my god, it even chimes. How much do you wanna bet these sons of bitches got hoodwinked by some Etsy seller?”
Castiel turned towards Dean, a puzzled look on his face. “Did you say pixie dust?”
Dean nodded his head in confirmation as he moved to open the bottle. That glitter was going to be a real pain in the ass to get off, and he knew just how to use it. “Hey Sam,” he said in a sing-song voice. “I’ve got something to show –”
Before he could get the statement out, Castiel was tackling Dean, wrestling the bottle from his hands. “Dean, no! Pixie dust is incredibly dangerous!”
But it was too late. Dean had loosened the cork just enough for it to burst as soon as Castiel touched it, covering Castiel with the sparkles. Both Dean and Castiel scrambled to their feet. For a moment, Dean smiled at the comical sight of the angel covered in the stuff. But the panic in Castiel’s eyes quickly made the laughter die in Dean’s chest.
“Cas?” Dean took a step towards the angel.
Cas frantically moved away from Dean. “No, Dean, don’t touch me. It’s nearly impossible to –”
Before Castiel could finish, a bright light filled the room. Sam rushed over, but he and Dean could only watch as the light and sparkles surrounded Castiel in a whirlwind. In seconds, the light faded, and Castiel vanished.
Sam picked up the bottle from the ground. “Dean, where did you find this?”
Dean gave Sam the label, still stunned. “I figured it was harmless. I mean, it’s pixie dust for crying out loud. But Castiel freaked out the second I mentioned it, said it was dangerous.” Dean felt a pang of guilt in his chest. “I think he took that hit for me.”
Sam nodded. “And now Castiel is panicking, which explains the disappearing act. Why don’t you go find Cas, I’ll start looking in the archives. Surely if the Men of Letters bottled the stuff, they have the antidote somewhere.” His brow furrowed. “I wonder what it even does.”
Dean grunted. “Hopefully nothing fatal. Guy booked it out of here too fast to tell.”
As Sam headed off to find out more about the pixie dust, Dean wandered the bunker in search of Castiel. Suddenly, Dean noticed the front door was ajar. “Bingo,” Dean said, moving towards the bunker door. Castiel had gone outside.