Chapter Text
“Gabriel, you know I don’t like parties,” Castiel insists, not that he thinks it will do him any good. He’d much rather stay in the apartment he shares with Gabriel and hand out candy than go out, but his brother usually gets his way when he has his mind set on something. Castiel doesn’t have to make it easy on him, though.
“But it’s a costume party! Come on Cassie, get into the Halloween spirit!”
“Costume parties are even worse,” Castiel grumbles.
“Well too bad. I already have a costume for you, and the host is expecting us. Well, she’s expecting me, but that’s close enough. Besides…” Gabriel trails off, and Castiel can’t help but grimace. He knows where this is going.
“Besides what , Gabriel?” he practically growls.
Gabriel sighs. “How are you supposed to find your soulmate if you never meet new people, huh?”
There’s a good reason Gabriel hesitates. Gabriel might be completely fine with not having found his soulmate yet, but Castiel has always dreamed of doing so, of that special moment when the first touch leaves a Mark on the places where the soulmates’ skin first meet. While it isn’t unheard of to meet this late in life, 39 is definitely past the age when most people meet their soulmates, and Castiel has only grown more morose and discouraged as the years go by. But that doesn’t mean he has to be excited about going to a stupid costume party.
Castiel rolls his eyes. “So you’re suggesting I go to this party and feel people up until I leave a Mark?”
“Damnit Cassie, of course not! Come to the party, see if you hit it off with anyone, and if so, you can offer to dance or something. Soulmates usually get along, right? So wait until you find someone you can see yourself having a good time with before you get handsy. Besides,” Gabriel continues, bouncing his eyebrows suggestively, “even if you’re not soulmates, getting handsy can lead to all sorts of fun.”
Heaving a put-upon sigh, Castiel gives into the inevitable. “Fine. I’ll come to the party, on one condition.”
“What condition?”
“You leave me alone the entire night. No bringing people over to meet me, no crass comments while I’m trying to talk to someone, nothing.”
“Oh, you’re no fun. Alright, if you insist.” Gabriel’s annoyed tone is belied by the wide grin that splits his face the next moment. “Ready to see your costume?”
“No, but that’s not going to stop you.”
“You’re right, it’s not.” Gabriel turns and enters his room, returning with what looks like a long white robe and… wings? It takes longer than it should for Castiel to connect the dots.
“Really? You want me to dress up as an angel? How very unoriginal,” he deadpans.
“Don’t be like that, Cassie! This is a way nicer costume than the one Mom made you wear growing up. Check out these wings — they’re made with real feathers!”
Castiel wasn’t exactly pleased to be reminded of the poorly-made angel costume their mother had forced upon him every year, all because he was named for an angel. Gabriel was the name of an angel too — a much more well-known one at that — but he’d been allowed to choose his own costumes.
It probably (definitely) had something to do with how all the costumes their mother picked for Gabriel ended up mysteriously ruined just in time for trick-or-treating. It was never in a way that could be traced back to Gabriel, though of course everyone knew. Their mother had hated it, but after several years of last-minute, bed-sheet-style ghost costumes, she relented and let Gabriel choose what he wanted. Castiel had never had the guts to rebel in that way.
Reluctantly, Castiel reaches out to touch the wings Gabriel holds out toward him, and he has to admit that his brother is right. They are much nicer. Very nice, in fact, and quite large. He’ll probably have difficulty just moving around what is likely to be a crowded party, but what’s one more awkward addition to his already rusty social skills? At least they’ll look good, he supposes.
“Alright, time to get changed if we want to get there fashionably late instead of too late. Don’t forget the halo!” Gabriel insists as he thrusts the costume into Castiel’s hands, turning back to his room.
Castiel sighs, resigning himself to a night of too many people and too much noise. He’ll at least be able to leverage this into skipping at least the next two suggestions Gabriel comes up with, he’s sure… or at least, he hopes.
Once he’s dressed — and okay, the costume is actually much more flattering than he expected, with the robe definitely showing off his broad shoulders — he returns to the living room to see Gabriel dressed as… actually, he has no idea what Gabriel is dressed as. He’s wearing a green, black, and gold outfit of some sort, complete with green cape and some sort of gold, horned helmet and holding a golden scepter.
“What are you supposed to be?” Castiel asked, confused. It was certainly a very elaborate costume.
“Loki! You know, from the MCU?”
Castiel scowled. “You know very well that I know nothing about the MCU. Does this have anything to do with the Loki of Norse mythology?”
“Everything to do with it, little bro. Now if you’re done admiring the perfection that is me, let’s get this show on the road!”
Dean is having a good time. A great time! After all, he’s had a few beers and a few shots, his costume is awesome , and he’s surrounded by good people with other awesome costumes. Charlie was right — Dorothy really does know how to throw a party.
And okay, his skin might be a little itchy from the face and body paint he’s got on, but it’s worth it. When it’s a Halloween costume in question, Dean commits , and it only makes sense to have painted every bare expanse of his skin red since he’s dressed as a demon. And there’s a lot of bare skin — he knows what he looks like, so why not show off, right? Of course, Charlie also helped him find black contacts, which creep even him out when he looks in the mirror, so maybe all the skin on display won’t get him laid, but that’s… fine.
It’s more than fine, actually. There was a time when having a good romp between the sheets was exactly Dean’s goal at a party like this, or at a bar, or really any other social occasion. Lately, though, those sorts of encounters have lost their appeal. While Dean can admit that he’s had a lot of good times doing exactly that, in his heart of hearts, what he really wants is the deep connection that comes with finding your soulmate. Not that he’s holding out hope. He’s in his late thirties, and when people go this long without meeting their other half, it often ends up that they never meet them at all.
But Dean’s not thinking about that. This is an awesome party, he feels nice and loose, and he’s gonna have a great time if it kills him.
To that end, Dean grabs another beer out of one of the coolers by the food, then looks around the party, trying to figure out where Charlie went. The room is crowded, however, and Charlie isn’t exactly tall. She can be loud and boisterous, of course, but even that’s not helpful with the noise of dozens of people talking and dancing to whatever shitty pop music is playing at this party — he’s gonna have to tell Dorothy to put on some real music when he finds her and Charlie, because this just isn’t right — so he resigns himself to wandering around until he runs into them. Fuck it, maybe he’ll even meet some interesting people.
As he leaves the food tables to skirt around the dance floor, he feels himself wobble on his feet, and okay, maybe he’s had a bit more to drink than he originally intended. He’s not in his twenties anymore, doesn’t drink practically daily like he used to, so his tolerance just isn’t as high. Oh well, Charlie promised he could crash at her place, which is much closer than his place to whatever venue this is that Dorothy rented — he can’t be bothered to remember, other than that it must be pretty fucking expensive and he didn’t know Dorothy was that loaded. Of course, if he gets totally blitzed, he’ll regret it in the morning, but for now he can just focus on having a good time.
Dean makes it past the dance floor, still unable to see Charlie, when he notices a figure in white standing alone in the corner, and are those giant wings ? He has to check it out, so he heads in that direction, only to trip on something and start plunging forward, right toward… whoever this is.
“Oh fuck!” he manages to get out before he feels a firm grip on his upper arm steady him. He looks up into eyes that, even in the dim light of the party, are so fucking blue he feels like he’s getting lost in them.
Time seems to stand still, and all Dean can focus on is the blue eyes in front of him and the… faint tingling?... where the angel — it’s evident now that that’s the costume, between the giant as fuck wings and the halo, but that awareness is peripheral at best — is gripping his arm.
“There you are!”
Charlie’s voice practically makes Dean flinch. The guy who caught him lets go of his arm as if he's been burned, looking down with a grimace to see body paint smeared all over his hand.
“Shit man, I’m sorry. I can get you a—”
“You have to come back me up, some idiot named Harry and his friend Ed are insisting that Greedo shot Han first, come on!”
Before Dean can do anything further, Charlie has grabbed his gloved hand and is hauling him away. He looks back at the angel guy, calling a second “Sorry!” over his shoulder at the seemingly stunned man before he has to focus on where he’s going.
“What the fuck, Charlie, I was—”
Charlie glares at him over her shoulder, the green face paint of her Wicked Witch of the West costume — of course she did a couples costume with Dorothy — only accentuating her scowl. “This is important and you know it! Han shot first, end of story. We’ve gotta educate these assholes.”
Clearly, Charlie’s a bit drunk too if she’s getting pulled into petty arguments like this. She’s not wrong , but does it really matter what two guys they don’t even know think about Star Wars? The internet is full of idiots with that exact wrong opinion and it’s not like… well, okay, Charlie does regularly get into arguments when Someone Is Wrong On The Internet, so maybe this isn’t that much of a surprise.
Resigning himself to his fate, Dean lets himself be pulled along, wondering if he’ll see the blue-eyed angel again tonight.
Castiel stares after the man as he stumbles away, not sure what to think of the brief encounter. It had seemed like the man was heading for him specifically before he was pulled away. Castiel sighs. He may have been mostly avoiding social interaction during this party, but being approached by someone that attractive had gotten his attention. And he was attractive, with a toned body mostly on display outside of some sort of loin cloth and of course all of that body paint.
He’d found himself anticipating speaking with him, and after he caught the man by the arm, he couldn’t help but wonder what color his eyes were behind the disconcerting black contacts. But before Castiel could even say anything, the man was gone, pulled away by his friend.
Castiel sighs, looking down at his hand again to see it see the body paint all over it. It’s even tingling faintly, as if he’s having some sort of allergic reaction. He heads towards the restrooms—gender neutral single stalls, he’d noticed earlier—and, finding one empty, goes inside to wash his hands. The sudsy water turns momentarily red as he washes, but after drying his hands, he notices that the right one is still red. Of course the body paint is the cheap variety that stains skin. Whoever was wearing that costume is in for a shock when he tries to wash it all off. Castiel can’t help but feel bad for him.
He looks up into the mirror, eyeing the cheap halo that contrasts starkly with the beautiful wings Gabriel had found for him. Wings aside, it’s a stupid costume. He shoots off a quick text to Gabriel, then heads for the exit. Time to go home.