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Lights. So many colorful lights, glittering in the night sky and illuminating the show ground in dull spots of color. There's the whirring of machinery and hissing of air pumps that's keeping all the bouncy castles bouncy, and the screams of youth being spun around in the clunky rides dotted all around the carnival is nearly drowning out the trumpets, trombones and accordions of the circus music playing in the pop-up rotunda in the center of the circuit and the happy-go-lucky, nameless, faceless voice making announcements through the speakers flagged behind each picnic table and rubbish bin in the show ground.
'Kids, make sure you stick with mommy and daddy at all times! If you get lost, come see our friendly staff members wearing the pink t-shirts so they can help you find your way.'
'Don't forget to buy yourself some delicious treats at the many food vendors located in the ground! Popcorn, cotton candy, toffee apples, hot dogs, and much more!'
'Raffle tickets are selling out fast! Two dollars a ticket. Lots of prizes are to be won!'
'Please make sure that all your rubbish goes in the bin, for the well-being of others and the environment.'
The heave and throb of people weaving in and out through the rides and vendors, shooting alleys and show-bag shops is a ceaseless flow. The air is cool and fresh, yet simultaneously hot and stuffy, filled with sugar and grime and grease and tears, and it fills your lungs and drowns you in nostalgia of your childhood.
You can't believe it's here your side of the job is set. The interrogating and evidence-taking done among the distractions of a carnival. You're not entirely sure how it's going to plan out with all these people around, all the rides and attractions, the show ponies trotting around the tents and fire breathers and clowns and jugglers.
Clowns. That's why Dean and Sam left you to do the job. They would take care of the hunt, if there was a hunt needed, so long as you were the one to take care of clowns.
Well, you and Castiel, of course.
Yeah, you're stuck with the socially-confused trench coat wearing angel and part-time trainee hunter. Perhaps that's not such a bad thing, either, cause unlike the younger Winchester, he's not scared of clowns, and unlike the older Winchester, he's got a weird, gentle aura about him, which is equally as great and unworldly in many ways, but still gentle, and you're not as tense around Castiel than you are Dean. Perhaps it should be the opposite, for you remember meeting Castiel for the first time, while he was the high and mighty 'servant of God.' He refused to carry out any such bidding a dirty hunter made of him, yet now he pops around casually with lunch. Back then, whenever Castiel showed up, Dean would look downright uncomfortable, so much so that it nearly made you laugh, and yet you, especially now, you just don't care, because sometimes it's easy to forget Castiel's this celestial being from heaven.
Dean has an aura, but it's not a gentle one. It's tense and it stretches out so that anyone and anything in a ten mile radius becomes tense. That's Dean.
You'd take scooping out a carnival with Castiel over hunting a sonuvabitch with Dean any day.
And being relaxed with your hunting partner is all you need in situations like this, where you're surrounded by distractions and attractions and colors and lights and sounds. You don't need a grumpy hunter like Dean complaining about your (quote:) 'mediocre hunting skills', cause he's (quote:) 'been doing this [his] whole life', blah blah blah.
Whatever. You know he prefers hunting with Sam, as much as he may get sick of him. You don't bother questioning it. The Winchesters may be great legends, but they're also great pains in the ass.
And so, you're spending your evening dissing out a carnival somewhere South of the River Valley of Illinois with an angel, looking for a trace of whatever (or whoever, if it's just some weird serial killer and nothing in your department) is snatching up the carnival staff and making jewelry from their teeth and bones. Dean and Sam said that it seemed close to a case they'd worked on before, but it had just turned out to be some screwed-up-in-the-head redneck family and a sick hobby of theirs. They were put to rest.
But, just in case it's something more, you're here to check it out.
"It's loud..." Castiel's voice unearths itself from beside you, humming low against the sounds of the fair. He speaks with careful measurement, and you can't tell if he's speaking to you or just making an observation.
You glance at him and stifle a roll of your eyes, wondering if you should speak out with a witty quip, which would probably go unrecognized by the angel or just make him really confused. You only nod and look back at your notebook, opened up to newspaper clippings, case files and (illegally) photocopied forensic photos and reports.
Castiel speaks again, looking around with a furrowed brow and ever-squinted eyes. "I don't understand."
"What don't you understand?" Your question holds no forcefulness nor annoyance, just a kind of humorous curiosity, and you raise a brow at him, cracking a smile.
A bustle of giggling girls bump into Castiel as he stops alongside you, and he turns to address them with a frown before looking back at you, still with a slight squint in his eyes.
"How do humans find enjoyment from all..." He pauses, motions to the carnival with his eyes only, with his gaze of blue and fairy light twinkles that wander over everything framing your profile; the bumper cart rink and the haunted house. "... This?"
You close the notebook in your hands, tucking away any loose papers so they don't fall out.
You hate the way he still uses the word 'humans'. It makes him sound like some psychopath, or maybe a sociopath, or like he's trying to create a barrier between you and him, because humans are too uncivilized to an angel, and you'll never be on the same level as he is, always looked down upon by him. Then again, Castiel isn't really that kind of person... Angel... Thing. Not really anymore, at least not to you...
Still, you decide not to say anything about it and to just give him an answer to his question, because he's watching you patiently, occasionally glancing at the haunted house whenever a cry of laughter or a yelp of surprise rings out from within it's shaking timber walls.
"I dunno, I guess it's just... It's a distraction from everyday life. People like it when the carnival comes to town cause they can get together with friends or family and have fun."
You have to think about what you say to Castiel. There's still plenty he doesn't understand about the world and being 'human', so it's important your answers make sense to him and that they cover plenty of ground, otherwise he becomes like a curious child; 'But why?' 'And how does that work?' 'What does that mean?'
You don't want your answer to bring up more questions than he had in the first place.
But, actually, he's gotten pretty good with the 'don't ask' notion the Winchesters go by with him (and most others, at that), though you think it's important for him to know. Dean tells you not to encourage him.
"Carnivals give people an excuse to eat cotton candy and go on rides, play games to win prizes... They don't get those kinds of distractions every day... Plus kids seem to find it fun."
You can't really remember why you thought it was fun while you had been a kid. The last time you visited any kind of amusement attraction... Well, it had been so long ago...
The angel purses his lips in thought as he stares at the ground, dark eyelashes masking his crazily blue eyes, like a shadow along a universe, swirling cosmos and the light reflecting off the clumped up matter that are stars, all of it trapped inside his eyes. The crease in his brow deepens and he shakes his head.
"I still don't fully understand."
Of course you don't...
You card a hand through your hair slowly as you look around at all the people bustling about you and Castiel. Your mind's on the job, routine questions stringing through your head like moving targets in a shooting alley as you search for the cotton candy pink shirts of the staff members within the crowd, but when you glance back at the man-- angel, rather, in front of you, you're able to catch his gaze lingering on the bumper carts behind you in wonder, and, oh, what the heck, the job can wait.
"Come on." You tuck your notebook away into the hand-sewn pocket inside your coat, an idea you thought would be helpful for the Winchester's but they have too many damn jackets and even more that get thrown out to count, so their stupid journal remains a pain in the ass to carry around.
Castiel straightens out from his slumped position so suddenly you'd think his spine is attached to a string and some giant hand has just yanked at it. He watches you like an attentive cat as you turn and wait for a break in the crowd before making your way to the little ticket stand with the paper sign blu-tacked to the glass proclaiming 'BUMPER CARTS' in joyful Comic Sans. Your hand finds it's way to the pocket you keep your wallet in and as you pull it out, opening it up to dish out some dollar notes from it's leather-scented pouches, Castiel joins you and practically sticks himself to your side, still watching your movements closely and quizzically and breathing down your neck, cause angels and personal space just don't go together at all.
"What are you doing?" His tone is sharp and you huff with a hint of a smile.
"Getting us a ticket, Curious George."
"My name is Cast--"
"I know, I know, it was just an expression-- Two tickets please."
The man inside the booth takes your four bucks, but not before flashing you a giant 'what the fuck' face. You laugh inwardly, cause you and Castiel probably look like the weirdest duo ever right now, with him dressed as if he's ready for a business meeting and you as if you're ready to go shooting ducks or deer.
As name tagged 'Tony' swivels slightly to the left and snaps off two tiny red and white striped admission tickets from a whole reel of them, Castiel leans across you and stares through the glass.
"My name is not Curious George." He says informatively to Tony, who's 'what the fuck' face is sent straight to the angel ten fold.
You take the tickets between your thumb and forefinger and usher Castiel away hurriedly, trying to keep the laugh out of your voice as you tell him 'of course not, Cas, of course not...'
⋆✹ ✯ ✹⋆
On the bumper carts, you had been at the wheel of a forest green and neon pink cart, explaining to Castiel how it worked and what the aim of it was and what the man climbing onto the carts was doing and so on so forth while you spun around the rink chasing carts controlled by underage drivers with chubby chins and fingers.
It had been good fun, for you, at least. You hadn't been on one of those rides for years, and you'd forgotten how enjoyable it is to have an excuse to smash into the other people's cars.
But Castiel had just looked totally ambivalent most of the time, much to your dismay. You tried to get him to look a little more happy, joking about re-sizing the rink and replacing your cart with the Impala and the rest with two-tonne trucks. Cas had said it could easily be arranged. You said that, no, on second thoughts, you preferred your cart.
When the ride is over, and you and Castiel are escorted out of the rink for the next batch of kids and adults to take their turns, you feel giddy, wobbling as you make your way down the ramp, touching base on the cool grass, retreating to the vacant picnic table just next to the cart rink to catch your breath as you snigger, like you're only a child again. Castiel still seems unmoved from the experience, but in your fit of giggles, you pause for a moment to glance up at him standing just in front of you and blocking out one of the orange headlights that is illuminating the show ground. The light halo's around his head, all too fittingly, and you can see a smile flutter over his features as you continue to laugh.
Suddenly, a strange sensation fills your belly and swells in your chest and stops your laughter, leaving a broken smile on your face as you stare at Castiel's shoes. You sigh and rub the bridge of your nose, then glance around past your companion at the clustered stalls before steadily getting to your feet, all too aware of Cas' fixed gaze on you. You walk through the crowd, angel at your heels, and get to the counter of one of the many food stalls dotted around the grounds to buy a stick of cotton candy. At this point you're far from interested in the case anymore, though you're not entirely sure why. Just one bumper-cart-ride ago you were intent on staying focused, yet now, well, you don't know what it is, but you really couldn't care less.
When you're handed your stick of sugar, you thank the woman, turn to Castiel and hand it to him.
"Eat up."
Castiel takes it, expression of confusion which is signature at this point, and opens his mouth to ask the obvious, but you answer him before he can question;
"It's cotton candy, George. A pink ball of sugary goodness. Try it."
You nab a whisp of the stuff and pop it in your mouth. Hits you right in the nostalgic fiasco you've been riding through all night.
"I... do not understand this reference..." He says, like a broken record (he says that all the time). "George..."
You and Castiel are now taking rounds of this seemingly endless carnival, sharing the cotton candy as your shoulders bump together, which feels kind of... weird to you, as if each brush your shoulder makes with his sends little waves of electricity through your body. You shake it off. Cas doesn't seem to care. Also, things are looking up. The sugar has made him sort of happier, which is nice.
You stop every now and then, to watch people on stilts walk by, jugglers do their thing, or even to see how kids go at getting the giant stuffed teddy bear they want to badly, either by chance of numbers, or by shooting skills.
Something stops Cas in his tracks, however, which goes unnoticed by you for several moments until you notice the lack of electricity coursing through you simply from the bump of his shoulder, and you stop and turn back to look at him staring intently at a stall with stuffed toys hanging from the roof and shoved on all it's surrounding shelves, his half-eaten cotton candy in hand. He looks so young... With your hands hidden in your pockets, you walk back to him and share his attention of the shooting gallery.
"See anything you like?" You ask him, genuinely, encouraging him to open up to that human feeling of want, longing, yearning. (Maybe he already has embraced it).
A pink tongue slips out from between unnaturally pinker lips (the cotton candy coloring, you suspect) and glides subconsciously along his lower lip before he nods, and speaks, head tilted towards you. "The large bee..."
You see it immediately, whistle at the amount of tickets it requires, but maybe all the practice at the shooting range as a kid will pay off now. You pull out your wallet, for the third time tonight, and stride with as much confidence as you can muster up towards the mustached man standing at the counter. You plop down ten dollars in notes and nod towards the bee.
"How many shots for the big 'uns, my friend?" Confidence is dripping from you at this point. You glance back at Castiel, and god, you feel like a dumb teenage boy trying to impress a girl or something.
"Ten shots, without missing, in a row, Girlie." The mustached man replied, slipping the money into the vomit colored bum-bag protruding from his beer gut.
No sweat, you think. Ten dollars buys you plenty of rounds.
You set yourself up at one of the toy rifles, lifting it up comfortably in your arms. This baby doesn't kickback quite as much as a real rifle so you don't have that to worry about when aiming the bullet to the target. Yeah, you've got this.
Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!
Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!
And so you're a little too happy to swap the toy rifle for the giant bumble bee Cas had been staring at, and when you turn around to face him, you see something that you never thought you'd even live to see, and that is the giant, goofy ass smile he's got on his face, and you get a euphoric rush when you hand him the bee, which he takes with a slow and careful enthusiasm that suits the angel just perfectly, makes your heart leap in your chest. You're completely ignoring the beer-gut-guy's comments on your obviously incredible aiming skills, focusing on the way Castiel gives a fond chuckle as he squishes the bee against his chest. The stuffed toy smiles back up at him and you shake your head, unable to shake off the matching grin that you've got on your face.
Castiel and you return to your shoulder-bumping position, and he looks at you, still smiling, and says a sincere 'thank you' as you flick one of the bee's floppy wings and shrug modestly, murmur it's no problem.
⋆✹ ✯ ✹⋆
Once the cotton candy is gone and the only trace left of it being the little crusts of sugar stuck between your teeth and the pink coloring on both you and Castiel's lips, you toss the stick into a nearby trashcan and wipe your hands off onto the back of your jeans. The crowd has been slowly yet surely thinning down, assuming it's getting later (and you're not keeping an eye on the time), it's mostly just teens and adults wandering about now, so there's a lot less crying in the atmosphere of the show ground, and just a lot more uncomfortable public displays of affections as teenagers make out at almost every corner you turn, and you even catch a group of young adults passing about a bottle of cheap whiskey in a huddled circle standing just beside the fortune-tellers tent, which you are kind of curious to check out, but you also know that Cas will most likely go on one of his angelic spiels right in front of the poor lady who is probably no genuine gypsy at all and just a sell out. Still, it would be interesting to see what sort of stuff she could make out from you two as a pair. You give a sharp exhale at the thought and a smirk tugs on your lips, which Cas catches but leaves behind when you wave him off about it.
"Hey, you wanna go on another ride?" You ask him as you stop to watch the teacups being packed away (the ride mostly attracted kids and their parents, but since there are only a few of them left in the crowd, well, the guys maintaining the ride get an early night).
The Music Express is still in operation and pumping out Ke$ha and Black Eyed Peas, which is the kind of music you cringe at, but you can't even imagine the reaction it'd get from Dean. It hisses and whirs as the carts locking juvenile bodies into their chairs swing around and around, going slow, speeding up, then slowing down again, and you give a light chuckle when you see them come off the ride all dizzy and falling over.
"I'm not sure..." The usual pause, a thought out glance, but not to you, and he continues, "I did not find that last ride particularly... stimulating..."
You half smile at his word choice there (first of all, you don't use that word in that context, Cas...), half frown at the fact he hadn't enjoyed himself, though that was pretty obvious during the course of your bumper cart ride, so you look around to find something he might enjoy this time around, except it's when you look up that you find it.
"Want to get closer to heaven, George?"
⋆✹ ✯ ✹⋆
The ride you're paying for is typically known as the 'Hurricane', but this one has got 'SATURN 6' written along a collapsible center tower of which six long sweeps protrude, each with a double-seating car shaped like a cartoon space rocket attached to the end. You and Castiel plop into a rocket that has a winking Donald Duck painted on the side. You get Cas to shove his bumble bee toy under the seat so it doesn't go flying out during the ride and cause a Final Destination-esque accident half way through (from all the monsters you've ever hunted, Final Destination still has to creep you out like nothing else in the world does). You rub your hands together which are now getting chilly in the night air and you wait for the ride to start as other people hop into their space rockets, and you glance at Castiel, who is gazing up at the pinnacle of the tower which is flashing with red and blue lights, sparkling like falling rain, and it reflects so easily in those crazy eyes of his, makes the soft stubble growing on his baby-ish cheeks look so much more profound. Wow, you think, he's crazy attractive.
Jeez, like you didn't know that before. This poor guy, Whatever Novak, is just being used as Cas' vessel, and yet something about Cas shines through anyway. You can't tell if you're finding the attraction through Novak or Cas and that kind of annoys you. You whack away the thought as the ride kicks into gear and starts spinning around at a slow pace, lifting itself easily from the ground. You take a moment to tie your hair up into a loose bun, cause you don't want it to whip the poor angel in the face during the ride. You hope he at least enjoys this ride. One probably gains more satisfaction by sitting at the wheel instead of the passenger side on the bumper carts...
A timely cue of music chides in as the tower starts to spin the rockets faster and lifts you and Castiel higher from the ground, and you can hear, below the hissing of the machinery and the cool air blowing past you, David Bowie's Starman strumming along and you throw your head back to let out a hoot of laughter. Before you realize it, the rockets are being spun around high above the ground, looking down at the show grounds and all the people still thronged in the laneways and still shooting ducks for bumble bees, and you feel that rushing feeling in your head as the rocket takes a sudden dip down, stealing the air from your lungs. Your hands tighten around the hand rail in front of you till your knuckles turn pearly white, and you're being lifted again, high, stilted inhale as you wait for the rocket to swing back down again. It's tilting inward, and you can feel your body sliding in towards Castiel and you try and hold yourself so that you're not crushing him with your body weight, but he looks over at you, smiling, and you smile back, eyes wide and watery from the cold air buffeting in your face. God, this is incredible. You don't know how it feels to fly but you're pretty sure this gets as close to that sensation as anything, and if Cas can fly, then the smile on his face is assuring you this must be ten times better. Your knees, thighs, hips and shoulders press into Cas and there again is that electricity from before and you can hardly breathe, let alone scream or laugh as the ride brings you up again, spinning fast, blurring artificial light and that of the moon hanging high in the sky till it's all just a mix of bright, bright colors.
You're not sure if it's just your imagination, perhaps a misheard lyric from the song still playing, but you can hear your name, murmured low. You blink away the droplets from your eyes as the ride starts to slow down and bring you back down, down to reality, down to earth, down to the carnival and the case you should have been investigating, but you don't give any fucks about anymore. You regain your breath and slip your hands off the icy cold rail and into the warmth of your coat pockets. Castiel is still sitting the way he was when he settled into the rocket at the beginning of the ride, but he looks happy, therefore you're happy, and that whole experience tops off the whole night just like that. It takes you a moment before you can actually get yourself out from your little rocket, since you're head is still kind of in the air right now, but when you do, you give Donald Duck a pat and return your hands to the sanctuary of your pockets, then retreat again to a picnic table that's a little ways back from the main Carnival area. You need to get your head back out of the distractions, cause even after that huge breath of fresh air you can feel a headache coming on. Too many sounds and not enough hydration, take that, health!
Castiel is following you, but from a distance, his bumble bee held tight under one arm, the other arm vacant and hanging limp cause he doesn't have anything else to do with it. You pretend not to notice him as you rub your temples and breath deeply and calmly, elbows on the picnic table, eyes shut. You can sense the angels presence, close, radiating serenity that is comforting, but his gaze upon you is like a loaded gun and that sort of sets you on edge, cause he's not saying anything to you.
When you reach up to yank out the elastic band that's keeping your hair held in a totally crooked and sloppy bun, you catch him properly from the corner of your eye, not smiling, not frowning, no sense of urgency, just looking at you, the same look in his eye when he was staring at that bumble bee before, now held tight in his grasp. It's only in his eyes; want, longing, yearning...
You take a moment to think of something to say to him, but you're extremely conscious of the way he's looking at you. Perhaps you're reading into this way too much. God, stop, quit this mentality...
"You, uh... You enjoy it? Worth the six bucks I paid, huh?" You try and laugh but all that comes up is a lousy snort and you can feel your face heating up cause that must have sounded so pathetic.
"I did." Is all he says, then glances down at the bee under his arm, before returning his gaze to you- want, longing, yearning, smiling.
Your fingers work your hair back into place, carding through and detangling the locks at the base of your neck. You think it's high time you get back to the Motel, back to Sam and Dean who are probably making their own progress on the case, but your gut instinct is churning and saying no, stay... Resolve the unresolved before all you're left with is a hanging feeling between you and Cas and the nagging of Dean complaining about how you got jackshit done, which he'd be right about. But your head and your heart are heavy, and you desperately need some meds, water, and sleep.
So, you pat your pocket just to make sure your keys are still there, then you hop up from the picnic table and make your way to the car park, where there are only a couple of pick up trucks and panel wagons left parked, plus your car, always the mandatory ancient 'hot-rod' for a hunter. You look over at the carnival, thinking about how all of this will be gone in only a matter of days, the guy, or thing, snatching up the carnival employees somehow hardly putting a spanner in the works for the annual event and he'll be gone and back next year, closing time on the opportunity team-free-will-plus-you have to put an early end to his sick hobby.
You're so wrapped up in anxiety about this that you don't even register Castiel who is now at your side and has taken your hand in his, walking along the damp grass with you.
Electricity. It's there again. You let out a shaken breath, and allow Cas hold your hand, awkward but reassuring, until you get to the car and break apart the touch to get in, start up the engine, and drive back to the motel.
"You said that... People enjoy carnivals because they can be with friends and family?" Castiel has been quiet up until this moment, where you're only five or so minutes away from the hotel.
"Uh, yeah. Well, I mean that's one aspect." You respond, eyes focused on the road.
"Well, I... I very much enjoyed myself tonight." You give a quick glance to Cas sitting in the passenger seat beside you, as he fiddles with one of the little antenna's sticking out from the bumble bee.
"Yeah?" You can't hide a smile, even though you're trying not to think too much into that statement cause you're trying to focus on what's in front of you, and not on your distraction beside you. "That's good, Cas, I'm glad."
When you pull into the motel parking space that's vacant right next to the old Impala, you turn off the engine, and just sit there, dreading to turn up in front of the Winchesters bearing nothing but a stuffed toy bumble bee and a nagging headache. Castiel doesn't move, either. Maybe he's feeling the same way as you? Not too eager to face a grumpy Dean. Until suddenly, you can feel a hand on your shoulder and when you turn to Cas you're getting a faceful of him and a really sloppy and awkward kiss on the lips. He leans back in his seat and looks out the window, like nothing has even happened and you feel like screaming 'what the hell, Cas!?' cause that was a million times uncalled for. But from that, or the choice to try and kiss him again, you decide you're too tired to question it, so you just retrieve your keys from the engine slot beside the steering wheel and let yourself stumble out of the car.
That night, you may had to have deal with a pissed Dean and a bitch-face Sam, but you could sleep easy with that electricity still coursing through your body and swelling and sparking at your lips, all thanks to that trench-coated dork of an angel. You'll never think of carnivals the same way, only always close your eyes and remember Castiel and that carnival as his halo...