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The closer they get to their seats, the more out of place Castiel feels. Meg’s hand in his as she drags him up mud covered bleachers is the only thing about this that feels semi-familiar. Country music blasts through the speakers, the smell of fried dough and exhaust and beer permeate the air, and as it sets, the sun reflects perfectly off the lower bleachers and right into his eyes. All of this combined with Meg’s incessant chattering is making Castiel want to be anywhere in the world besides the one square foot of bleacher he overpaid for.
“I’m so excited to see her kick some ass, Clarence.”
He tunes back into Meg’s never-ending story just in time to be reminded why he is here. It settles his simmering frustration a bit and he tries to just live in the moment—check demolition derby off his list of “things everyone should see once” and then never have to come back. Castiel takes it all in, the excited faces on the fans, the camaraderie of the course officials dressed in blaze orange, and the distant hum of rusty motors starting up. A family all dressed in matching Singer Auto Salvage t-shirts wanders in and finds their seats directly in front of him and Meg. Mindlessly, Castiel takes stock of them—a gruff older man and what looks to be his wife settles next to a young blonde woman with a baby (who has the most adorable set of pink noise canceling headphones) on her hip, and a very tall man with long shaggy hair. The group is also accompanied by a shorter man with an honest-to-god mullet and a teenage girl with long dark hair and an attitude Castiel can sense from two rows back.
They all look so happy.
Too entranced in analyzing dynamics of a family he certainly has no business being interested in, Castiel must miss Meg elbowing him in the side before she really winds up and places a painful one right below his rib cage. “Ow! What was that for?”
“I’ve been trying to get your attention for the last thirty seconds but you’ve been off in la la land doing who knows what.” Meg rolls her eyes but doesn’t give Castiel the chance to respond, “See the people in front of us?”
Castiel nods nonchalantly like he wasn’t two seconds away from asking them to adopt him.
“That’s Jo’s family.” Castiel’s head snaps toward Meg at that bit of information—attention effectively secured as he learns all he can about the people he’s weirdly drawn to. “We haven’t officially met, but she’s told me all about them. Ellen is her mom and while they technically aren’t married, Bobby is basically her dad. The gargantuan is Sam—another one of Bobby’s surrogate children—and the blonde is his wife, Jess, who's holding their newest addition, Mary. The other two are family friends, Ash and Krissy—I swear these people collect family like Pokémon cards.”
Castiel chuckles at that, ignoring the twinge in his chest that feels a lot like jealousy mixed with want. Instead he tried to form a coherent sentence that isn’t do you think they’d want a 30-something gay, tax accountant with no family and no prospects . “They’re all here to see Jo?”
“Yes, and her “brother” Dean.” Meg uses air quotes and it makes Castiel smile—it’s definitely something she picked up from him. Maybe he at least has one person he’d consider family. “He’s technically also a surrogate son of Bobby’s—him and Sam are brothers.”
“Is he also eight feet tall?”
Meg laughs, “Nope! I’ve actually met Dean, he works part time at the Roadhouse with Jo. He’s tall but not that tall and definitely easy on the eyes. If I swang that way, I would’ve happily taken him for a spin.”
“Meg, jesus , his family is right there .” Castiel hisses at a whisper.
She opens her mouth—probably to smart off—but is interrupted as the announcer comes over the speakers signaling the start of the show.
And what a show it is.
Castiel can’t help but be entranced by it all. It’s reckless and dangerous and destructive but it looks like so much fun. Every driver seems to be having the time of their life as they spin their tires through the mud and slam into one another. Oddly decorated cars break to pieces as parts go flying and they lose the various tchotchkes attached to their roofs and hoods.
It’s electrifying.
Jo (and apparently Dean) are in the third heat, so Castiel and Meg just enjoy the show of nameless faceless contenders for a bit. It’s about half an hour in when the air horns blow, signaling the end of Heat 2 and calling for the pull trucks to come clear out the busted up sedans. Castiel marvels as the well oiled machine he sees before him, officials and truck drivers working seamlessly to keep the show moving. In no time at all, the officials move back to their stations and the announcer booms through the speakers to start Heat 3.
Meg grabs hold of Castiel’s forearm, practically vibrating with emotion he didn’t realize she was capable of. “This is it, Clarence!”
Castiel just laughs, his friend’s enthusiasm making her seem years younger and reminding him of their time together in high school. It was so long ago he almost forgets how far they’ve come. The realization makes him feel bad for wanting to be a part of a family he doesn’t even know when he’s got one of his own right beside him.
Still, it couldn’t hurt to have a few more people in his corner.
Thankfully, the announcer starts calling drivers to the pit and interrupts Castiel’s less-than-festive train of thought. Families all around the bleachers cheer as their respective drivers take their marks and Castiel feels anticipation swell with every announcement knowing he gets to cheer for someone, too. There’s a sort of kinship in it that he didn’t realize he would love so much.
And in the 420 car, Jo Harvelle from Singer Auto Salvage. Nice paint job, Jo.
A black stock car covered in painted-on pot leaves emerges from the pits and Meg and Jo’s family erupt into cheers. The older woman, Ellen, seems to be shaking her head as the man with the mullet laughs so hard he almost falls off the bench seat. Meg leans over, “Ellen hates the extracurricular activities that Ash helps Jo get into. But Jo lost a bet so this car is an Ash original.”
Castiel nods, the added information only furthering the warmth he feels surrounding this family’s dynamic.
Last, but certainly not least, driving his token number 24, also from Singer Auto Salvage, the man, the myth, the ‘how the hell are you still doing this at your age’…Dean Winchester.
The crowd goes ballistic.
A slick, all-black car pulls out from the pits and the entire crowd is going wild—clearly this Dean is something of a fan favorite. Meg is laughing at the reaction, and when he chances a glance toward the Singer Auto Salvage group, they’re all shaking their heads and laughing as well. This must be par for the course and Castiel would be lying if he said he wasn’t intrigued.
With all the cars lined up, the horn blares and they’re off. Jo seems to be strategic in her attacks, driving out of the scrum and backing up at full speed into whichever unlucky contestant happens to be behind her. Dean on the other hand drives like a bat out of hell, slamming into anything and everything with whatever part of his car is most convenient. It becomes increasingly clear that he is not ”in it to win it” but rather to wreak as much havoc as humanly possible and destroying his own car in the process.
It’s wildly entertaining.
Castiel can’t help the untamed smile that breaks across his face while watching the two very different drivers take out their competition while very obviously avoiding one another.
Soon it’s down to only six cars and even from where they’re sitting, Castiel sees Dean and Jo nod to one another and can’t help but wonder what that’s about. He doesn’t have to guess for long, Jo’s car in far better condition, drives to one end of the track before she slams on the gas and backs straight into what’s left of the hood of Dean’s car. It sends the 24 flying over the thick stone barricades right in front of them. Smoke billows from the engine, surrounding the entire crowd in fumes.
Whatever pact they had about not hitting one another is clearly over and the crowd goes wild.
Every single person in the audience on their feet as Jo drives back around and rears up to hit Dean again. And boy does she ever, Dean sits idle against the blocks, gloved hands waving her on as Jo reverses at full speed. The resulting crunch is satisfying as all get out, especially once accented by the fans “oh”s and “ah”s.
The smoke only increases and soon there’s a shout of “fire!” somewhere behind Castiel. Panic rises in his chest; he looks around only to be met with shaking heads, intense cheering, and so much joy he’s pretty sure his heart is going to explode. Air horns blare once again, the red flag going up as the fire team on hand checks out the undercarriage of Dean’s car and quickly puts out the flames.
Once given the all clear, the man himself crawls out of the front seat onto the hood of the car and faces the crowd. The cheers erupt even more than before once he raises one fist into the sky like he won the damn thing rather than being forced out of the competition by his not-sister.
Then Dean removes his helmet and Castiel feels the air escape his lungs. Easy on the eyes was a massive understatement. As he runs his hands through his hair and whoops and hollers to the crowd, Castiel feels his throat go dry. Bow legs wrapped in tight fire safe pants, a leather jacket over a matching Singer Salvage t-shirt that looks like it shrunk in the wash one too many times, and stunning green-eyes framed by freckles for days—Castiel is fucked.
Too soon for his liking, the track officials (along with Dean’s entire family) are waving him off the car so they can keep going. The man jumps from the hood, landing square in the mud and then looks right at Castiel. He rakes his eyes up and down and winks before turning on his heel and running toward the center of the track just in time for the air horns to signal the restart. Castiel is frozen in his place, all of the sounds of the show muted as his face no doubt floods with color and there’s a rushing in his ears. Somewhere in the middle of it all he realizes Meg is looking at him with a trademark evil glint in her eye. He shakes his head, snapping out of it before turning to his friend—she just continues to stare. “What, Meg?”
“Looks like someone finally caught the eye of the older Winchester. And here I thought we came here so I could get some.” Meg rolls her eyes, turning back towards the action where Jo has once again shoved a car onto the barricades. Castiel doesn’t even realize it’s the end of the heat and Jo had won until Meg is jumping up and down and waving to her partner who is now in a similar position as Dean was on the hood of her own car.
“Come on, hot stuff, let’s go!” Meg grabs Castiel’s wrist and tugs towards the aisle.
“Whoa, where are we going?” He digs his feet in, positive there’s at least four more heats to go. Out of the corner of his eye he notices the Singer Salvage crew also starting to pack up their stuff.
“I don’t care about the rest of this, I gotta go kiss myself a winner.” Meg waggles her eyebrows and pulls Castiel along. They traverse the bleachers, working their way around the back of them and up to an entrance marked “Demo Pits”. The guy at the front asks who they’re there for and Meg flashes a pass Castiel didn’t even know she had, allowing them entry into the back end of the derby.
Seeing the cars up close is another experience all together. It’s obvious which cars have already had their go of it, battered bumpers and missing parts clear indicators of a fight well fought, but on the cars waiting their turn, it’s obvious how much work goes into this. Castiel can’t help but admire the dedication of the drivers and their teams who more than likely do all of this out of their own pocket and on their own time just for one night of fun.
He envies that type of passion and dedication—not to mention skill.
Castiel never expected to leave tonight both entertained and impressed.
Meg leads him through the staging area, weaving their way through cars and trucks and people until they come up on the 420 car he couldn’t have missed if he tried. It’s only then Meg let’s go, bounding over to Jo and practically tackling her in a bear hug.
Castiel hangs back, letting them have their moment and ignoring the tiny pang of jealousy that seems to be the theme for tonight. He’s happy Meg’s happy but he can’t help but wonder when it’s his turn.
“Crazy kids.” A deep voice from his right side startles Castiel from his train of thought. He turns to respond and finds himself almost face to face with the man of the evening. Any words he was going to say have effectively left the building and instead he stands there in shock. The man just stares back, eyes dancing with adrenaline and mischief—Castiel finds himself wishing he was the cause.
Pull yourself together, Novak.
“Man, I knew you were something else even from the hood of my car but there’s nothing like art up close and personal.” Dean whistles as he takes in Castiel all over again and Castiel can feel the blush coloring his cheeks. “Adorable, too. I like that.”
“You—uh—Dean, right?” Nice move, Castiel. Really smooth.
“In the flesh…and you are?” Dean holds out a hand and somehow that’s enough for Castiel to come back online.
“Oh, right, I’m Meg’s friend, Castiel.” He shakes Dean’s hand for an appropriate amount of time despite his brain telling him to hang on and never let go.
“Well, Cas, it’s awfully nice to meet you.” The nickname feels right on Dean’s tongue—finally having one he likes . Castiel must blush again because Dean’s eyes sparkle and it reminds him of summertime. His voice is soft and confident and his smile could power a city, his hair is hopeless as it falls onto his forehead, and the stubble across his jawline would feel exquisite on any part of Castiel’s body. Dean is truly gorgeous and Castiel refuses to let this man just walk out of his life.
“It’d be even better if we got to know one another better.” He’s not sure where it came from, but from Meg’s comment about “finally catching the older Winchester’s eye” is any indication, Dean is on the market and Castiel would very much like to be the one that fixes that cosmic mistake.
Dean smile grows even wider—which Castiel did not think was possible, “What’d you have in mind?”
Castiel smirks, confident now that he can tell Dean is feeling this as much as he is, “I’m a big fan of burgers.”
Dean laughs, “Add in some pie, and it’s a date.”
Blush flashes across Dean’s cheeks, filling the spaces between his freckles and Castiel is a goner. He’s about to answer when the tall man from before, Sam, comes up behind Dean and slaps a hand to his shoulder. “Better luck next year, jerk.”
Dean glances over at his brother before shaking his shoulder, and effectively shoving Sam’s hand off. Then he turns back toward Castiel, eye contact almost blinding when he intertwines Castiel’s hand in his and responds, “Ya know, Sammy. I think this year may be the luckiest yet.”