Chapter Text
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The sound of a tattoo machine hard at work was the first thing Castiel heard when he opened the door to Heavenly Ink Tattoo Parlor. The “Closed” sign on the door contrasted starkly with the brightly lit and crowded interior, where it looked like most of the library's staff (and a few people he didn't know) loitered, laughed, and generally socialized. This was the exact opposite of Castiel's normal Wednesday nights.
How he had let Balthazar talk him into something like this was still a little beyond him, but the charismatic head librarian had plyed him with coffee and a promise not to abandon him amongst their coworkers for a shot with the newest intern, so here he was. Castiel hovered uncertainly near the front door, peering around partitions and the open pizza boxes lined up on the front counter of the shop trying to see if he could spot his erstwhile supervisor before he had to talk to -
“Oh my GOD, it's actually CasTiEL!”
anyone he didn't want to...
“Hello, Becky,” Castiel stated flatly in greeting, still scanning the smallish shop for Balthazar. The place wasn't that large, where was the tall, blonde man possibly hiding? Becky bounced over to him and continued enthusiastically, unperturbed by her companion's lack of engagement.
“OhMyGod, I'm so glad you finally came out! I've told Sam alllll about you and how you never come out to anything. But here you are! Who got you to come? Are you getting a tattoo? Oh My Gosh, here! Have some pizza! Do you want a beer? Technically, you're not supposed to drink if you're getting a tattoo, though... here, there's soda!” The library's exuberant student body outreach coordinator had taken hold of Castiel's arm and lead him helplessly over to the registration area of the shop, where pizza and drinks were arranged neatly on the black countertop. He suddenly found himself with a bottle of Blue Moon and a paper plate in his hand, as he abandoned his scanning for Blathazar and realized Becky had never stopped talking to him.
“- even though he's not really a tattoo artist. (But I think he definitely could be... he's so smart). Anyway, I'm SO glad Charlie started these get togethers, they have been SUCH a great opportunity to get to know the interns, and people get really creative with their artwork. Speaking of which, what are you getting? I've got Christopher Robin and Pooh on my... um... on the back of my hip. And I think Charlie's running out of space, are you getting something librariany? Oh! You should get something from the Dewey Decimal system since you're still mourning the card catalogue!” She giggled, and Castiel frowned slightly. He was still a bit upset over the university's insistence that the card catalogue be officially taken out of service. (It had been relegated to the basement, though Castiel still updated it with their new acquisitions, unbeknownst to the administration). He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could make a sound, a large man with long hair tied back with a bandanna and a Stanford Intermural Volleyball tshirt sidled up next to Becky and swung a lanky arm around her shoulder. He smiled a friendly, open smile at Castiel and addressed the girl next to him with a small bump to her side.
“Hey, Becks! Calm your jets, yeah? Your date looks like he's standing in front of a leafblower.” He laughed amicably, while Becky turned an interesting shade of tomato-red and started to bluster.
“Oh. He's- He – Hahahaha! He's not my... Sam, he's definitely not, I mean I'd never bring a date here.” She shook herself a little and cleared her throat, obviously transitioning into the persona Castiel was used to seeing during professional outreach events at the library. “Sam Winchester, let me introduce you to Castiel Novak,” she gestured between the two of them and stepped aside as Sam offered a handshake in greeting. “Sam works here at the shop! Sam, Castiel here is one of our senior research librarians at KU. He hasn't been to one of these little get togethers yet.”
“No kidding? Well, welcome! I'm surprised Charlie hasn't managed to drag you here yet – I thought she'd managed to beg, barter, and blackmail to get pretty much everyone at the library here at least once.” Sam had a solid handshake and, for such an imposing man, seemed enthusiastic and genuine. Castiel felt himself relax minutely.
“Yes, I've been invited several times but I'm afraid I've never managed to...,” Castiel gestured vaguely, realizing belatedly that he would have to explain the whole social anxiety thing if he continued. He coughed and continued. “I wish I knew Charlie better – she seems very friendly. I don't have any tattoos, however I have seen that she has several. They are... colorful.” He winced inwardly at his own attempt at smalltalk, but Sam just laughed. It was an open sound - inviting.
The taller man looked towards the back of the shop where the sound of tattoo machines could be heard from where they were standing.
“Colorful, indeed. Charlie's a pistol, that's for sure. She and my brother've been friends forever. I think she was the first person he tattooed besides himself... and she's still going! I think it's Leia sitting on a 20-sided die tonight.” He shook his head in mock-disappointment. “God, they are such nerds.” He shoulder-checked Becky lightly. “'Course, people could say the same thing about all of us, I guess, huh?”
Becky giggled a little too hard before nodding in agreement. Castiel squinted at her and tilted his head slightly, utterly baffled at her strange behavior. Sam seemed non-plussed, however, and pressed on. “So you work at the library?”
“Yes,” Castiel responded. “And you are one of the tattoo artists here?”
Sam laughed again: self-depreciatingly this time. “Me? Oh, naw. I wish I could draw like these two guys. My brother Dean is the artist. He and the guy he apprenticed under, Benny, opened this shop last year – I just help out in the summer and over breaks when I'm home from school.” He pointed to his shirt and continued with a muted pride. “I just got a scholarship to study law at Stanford University, actually.Went there for undergrad and I'll be back in the fall. Just when I get out, they keep pullin' me back in!”
Sam's final sentence was delivered in a slight accent, and Becky laughed so Castiel assumed it was some reference he didn't understand. He smiled, a little lost but appreciating that the conversation was generally keeping to things related to academia. He sipped his beer, and was suddenly aware that he was starting to relax.
“That's excellent, Sam. Congratulations on your achievements and, I assume, your recent graduation. I've never been to California, but most of the things I've read indicate it's a lovely place.”
“Thanks, man. Oh, hey, I didn't even ask! Are you getting a tattoo tonight? I'm meant to be managing the unofficial cue tonight. And being the gopher... speaking of which..” Sam stepped away from the counter and peered into the back of the shop. “Hey, Jerk! You need anything?”
“You to shut your piehole, B-”
“Dean Winchester, if you shout Bitch across this shop I swear to the old gods, you will ONLY succeed if you roll 18 or higher on Any Action in our next campaign, do you hear me?”
Castiel recognized the voice of Charlie Bradbury, their resident IT professional and current PHD student in library science. She was bickering with a man who Castiel could only assume was Dean – his deep voice carrying easily around the partition wall.
“It's my shop, I can yell what I like!”
“Not when it's my coworkers and My Leg you're working on, handmaiden.”
“.... fine. Hey, Benny, need Sammy for anything?”
“I could do with some water, brother,” called a new, heavily accented Creole voice from the other partitioned area. “And could you make sure that the British one doesn't contaminate any of the equipment with that poor girl he's sweet talkin'?”
Castiel sighed. So much for Balthazar not ditching him to score with Amanda. Poor girl...
With Sam having walked away to grab his brother a water, Becky must have seen Castiel's face fall, because she perked up suddenly. “Ooh, Castiel's – CHARLIE!,” She called, far louder than the space required. “Castiel's here!!”
The gasp of excitement was audible from where he was standing. “What? Castiel?? Get back here!! I Never thought you'd come! Come on back!”
Shrugging at Becky, who smiled encouragingly and was immediately assimilated into a burgeoning game of something called Cards Against Humanity by another one of their librarians (Chuck, was it?), Castiel slowly started to make his way back to the room it appeared Charlie and her tattoo artist inhabited. As he approached, he could hear furious whispering and what sounded like Charlie trying not to snort, but it was abruptly cut off as soon as he peaked his head around the open doorway. He gave an awkward little wave, and Charlie beamed at him and waved him in.
“Come in! Come in! I promise, Deano only tattoos people who want him to.” She gestured for Castiel to come closer to where she was perched on the table, and gave him an awakward but warm half-hug while trying not to move. Dean didn't look up and continued working intently on a rather detailed pinup-style Princess Leia holding a phaser and leaning against a 20-sided die on the top of her thigh. Charlie pursed her lips and looked down at the back of Dean's head.
“Castiel, this is Dean Winchester. He and I have known each other since the 5th grade.”
Dean muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “pain in my ass since the 5 th grade,” but immediately followed it with a solid hand on Charlie's knee. “Stop Movin' so much, or you're gonna get a planet instead of dice.”
Charlie sighed and looked pointedly at Dean, though the man steadfastedly continued his work. “And Dean, this is Castiel. The one I told you about!”
Castiel's heart-rate immediately sped up. The one she told him about? They had been talking about him? What had he done that they talked about? Was it because he was so awkward? He knew his social skills weren't the greatest, but...
Dean huffed and looked up at Charlie with a look of exasperation, then put his tattoo gun down and started removing one of his gloves. “Yeah, yeah... Charlie here seems convinced we'll-”
Dean spun on his stool to face Castiel and stopped with his hand halfway outstretched, face melting from irritated frown to open surprise in an instant.
“...hit it off...”
Castiel didn't really notice the other man's sudden change in demeanor, as he was blinking himself out of his own nervous stupor. He swallowed and noticed the ungloved hand hovering in the air between them. He went to shake, but realized belatedly that he was holding his beer in his right hand, and instead grabbed and shook Dean's hand with his left. He tried to smile, but all he could think about was how soft and warm the tattoo artist's hand was in his own, and how green those eyes were, and oh god, he hadn't said anything yet. He cleared his throat.
“Hello, Dean,” he said and he could have sworn he felt the hand around his own tighten for a moment at the sound of his voice.
Dean smiled, a small, black lip ring in the corner of his mouth contrasting starkly against white teeth. “Hiya, Cas. How's it goin'?”
“Uh... well, I suppose. It's... it's nice to meet you.” Castiel straightened up and reluctantly pulled his hand from the other man's grasp.
The silence in the room stretched on, both men simply staring at one another. The pause in conversation was comfortable, and Castiel was content to simply take in Dean Winchester, with his short, dirty blonde hair and his green, green eyes, and his freckles and the blue and grey flannel shirt over a Metallica tshirt that was stretched just a little too tight and too short from one too many washes and...
“Ehem!”
Castiel and Dean both jumped as Charlie loudly cleared her throat, bringing them both crashing back into the present. She giggled and thumped Dean on the shoulder. “Hey,” she chastised lightly, “are you finished with my princess here, or what?”
Dean shook himself and looked down at the mostly-completed piece on Charlie's thigh. “Shit, sorry!” He gave her an apologetic look and then bashfully snuck another glance at Castiel before grabbing another blue glove from the box next to him. “Hey, grab a seat, Castiel,” he said, gesturing with his head to the bench seat by the wall before starting to work on Charlie's leg again. The librarian drifted to the seat, which looked like it had been rescued from some old car from the seventies or something, and sat down.
“So Charlie says you're a research librarian, huh? What's that like?”
Castiel was taken off-guard. Apparently they had been talking about him.
“Uh, yes. I am... A research librarian, that is. It's nice. Quiet. I can spend most of my day looking for requested documents in the archives, if needed. I also do some translation work every once in a while.”
Charlie scoffed. “Every once in a while. Castiel, you read, like, six languages! If librarians could be superheros, you'd be an X-man. You always know where everything is, and I think you know the Dewey decimal system by heart. Quiet... quiet and stealthy. Like a ninja!”
Castiel tilted his head to the side and crinkled his eyebrows. “As usual, Charlie, I didn't understand most of that. But thank you... I think?”
Dean snorted, then smiled warmly at Castiel. “Well, that sounds interesting at least! Lots of new stuff to do every day. Real...” his smile faltered for a moment. “Real smart. You must be pretty on top of stuff to do what you do.”
Charlie rolled her eyes and Castiel felt there was a lifetime of history in the look she and Dean exchanged then, but he immediately caught Dean's eye. Castiel shrugged. “I suppose, but it's certainly not for everyone. I like the independence and solitude.” He huffed a breath out through his nose. “I'm a 'piece of work,' as my sister Naomi used to put it,” he stated, air quoting his family's oft-used descriptive term for him. He looked around the room, taking in the prints of classic cars on the walls and some paintings that reminded him of flying. “I mean, I can only imagine how interesting it is to be an artist for a living,” he mused aloud. “The talent it takes to live on what you can produce with your own hands. Not to mention the creativity to initially think up whatever art piece you design in the first place... and the technical ability to transcribe it permanently onto another body. Into their skin – their very being, to stay for eternity. Your art living and being lived in every day. To connect with other people on that level every day must be an amazing experience.
“Did you know there are mummies with tattoos on them? Hundreds and thousands of years after the artist did their work, people are seeing and admiring it. It's fascinating.” Castiel took a deep breath and closed his eyes tightly, realizing he'd been ruminating aloud. He was quiet for a moment, then chanced a glance at his two companions. He had hoped that they would have tuned him out at some point, like people generally did, but instead he was greeted by Dean staring openly at him. The tattoo artist was wearing a tiny, bashful smile and he was blushing just a little. Castiel smiled ruefully back and ducked his head. “Sorry,” he said. “I sometimes get a little... verbose. I apologize.”
Dean shook his head slowly, and flashed a grin before retreating to Charlie's leg again. He wiped it with a cloth and started smearing some sort of ointment over it. “S'fine, man. You... you be as verbose as you want to be. That was...” He coughed suddenly and straightened up in the chair, looking at Charlie. “Whelp, m'Lady! Your princess is finished! Whaddya think?” Dean rolled his stool away from her with a flourish and grinned up at his friend. She met his grin with one of her own and a mischevious wiggle of her eyebrows.
“It's fiiiiiiine, maan,” she told him, a friendly tease in her voice. Then she looked at it in the full-length mirror to Castiel's left and gasped in delight. She did a little hop and clapped her hands. “Dean, seriously, this is gorgeous!” She turned to give him a quick hug. “Excellent work, hand maiden!” She paused, facing Dean with her back to Castiel for a moment, then quickly turned. “Cas! I'm going to show everyone the new tat and try to rescue Amanda. Thank you so much for coming out tonight. Have a great evening! I know you don't really dig crowds, so hang out in here as long as you want. Dean... text me later!” And with a grin and a whirlwind of red hair, Charlie flounced out the open door, closing it quickly behind her.
Dean and Castiel sat in silence for a moment, staring at each other for a moment from their respective seats, before Dean laughed quietly and shook his head in disbelief.
“You know, I'm surprised she could move so fast with a fresh thigh piece like that. I'll bet it hurt like a bitch.”
Dean looked up, they made eye contact for a beat, and both of them suddenly burst into subdued giggles. Castiel was the first to recover.
“So,” he asked sarcastically, “you think she might have been trying to set us up?”
Dean slowly got up and walked over to plop onto the bench seat next to Castiel. He blew out a breath. “I don't know... did it work?” He asked, a cocky lift of his eyebrow belayed by a falter in his smile.
Castiel looked down, pursing his lips and interlacing his fingers nervously. “I'm not good at this,” he mumbled.
Dean caught his eye. “Not good at what?” he asked, nerve tinging his tone, even though his smile was warm.
“... people,” Castiel responded. “I... like just now. I just say whatever comes into my head. And I don't understand what people are saying sometimes – like that whole superhero analogy Charlie used earlier. And other things. I'm just... I'm no good.” He looked at Dean, so close he could feel the heat of him through the fabric of his clothes, and took a moment to simply enjoy the proximity.
Dean's eyebrows knit together for a moment. He took a deep breath, then:
“DoYouWannaTattoo?”
Castiel did a double take.
“What?”
Now it was Dean's turn to look at his own nervously mobile hands. “I, uh... do you want a tattoo? What you said earlier... about forming a connection by, by... well. I hadn't really ever thought of it that way, y'know? And I'd like to... well.” Dean forced himself to make eye contact with Castiel. “I know you're not good with crowds, like you said. And. And I'd like to get to know you. Like... a lot. So. Do you want a tattoo? I can... It can be, like... a date?”
Dean looked like he was mentally kicking himself, but Castiel was too flabbergasted to say anything for a moment. He really wanted to... a date? A tattoo date? Private and quiet, and Castiel wouldn't have to worry about other people or how he looked or what to talk about because they could talk about the art! Wow!
Dean sucked in a breath, taking Castiel's silence for rejection. “It's cool, sorry. I just thought-”
“It'll be my first one,” Castiel said quietly, smiling at Dean hopefully. “Could you maybe talk me through the basics, and a design?”
The smile Dean beamed back at Castiel, he was sure, could have powered several small cities. “Absolutely!”
The artist grabbed a sketchpad and pencil from a drawer in his desk on the other side of the room, and sat down next to Castiel again. This time, the artist leaned against the librarian from shoulder to thigh. “So. Cas.” Dean grinned again, tapping his pencil against the paper in thought. “What are your thoughts?”
Castiel looked around at the paintings hanging on the walls again and about his childhood daydreams, holed up in his room to stay away from the chaos of the world, learning different languages, and imagining he could simply fly out of his bedroom and away to the far-off places he was reading about.
He studied Dean for a moment, then asked: “How do you feel about wings?”