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"It's life or death," Meg deadpanned, glancing at her companion out of the corner of her eye, "We've been to every other bridal salon in Iowa."
The man she'd brought along huffed an exasperated sigh. He flicked his blue gaze onto Dean, eyes all the more piercing for the sheer amount of white light all around them.
"Meg's been through the ringer." He cast an unamused glare her way. "Or, she's been the ringer, and she's put a lot of other people through it."
"My maid of honor thinks he's hilarious." Meg rolled her eyes before turning her attention back to Dean. "So, do you think you can help?"
"O-of course!" Dean assured her. "May I ask what you've looked at so far in your search?"
"Yeah," the man sighed, dredging a thin blue binder out of his messenger bag and opening it for Dean's inspection, gesturing for him to page through. It was a veritable dossier of dresses, neatly organized by designer and style, each with notes in red ink detailing the specific reasons that it was rejected, and in rare cases, features that Meg had liked.
"This is...extensive. Thank you for sharing it with me," Dean replied, temporarily possessed by his customer service voice, stifling a cringe at the sound of it chirping in his ears.
"I wanted to give you a fighting chance against bridezilla," the man explained, smiling minutely. Meg groaned.
"Cas is exaggerating. I don't bite, Dean. I know what I want. It's just nothing I've been offered yet. I have the budget. It shouldn't be this hard," she lamented, and Dean saw through that cold exterior she had crafted, to the nervous bride within. He softened, and shook off the new appointment jitters.
"It shouldn't. We're going to find your dress, Meg. Okay?"
"I hope," she said, intending it to be a barb, but it just came out morosely hopeful.
“Cas, you can wait out here while I take Meg to her fitting room and get some dresses pulled. Do you need anything in the meantime? Water, tea, coffee, champagne?” It felt weird to call the guy by his name, when they hadn’t been formally introduced.
“Coffee would be great,” Cas admitted, rubbing his temples in what had to be the start of a headache. Dean could sympathize – it was only eight thirty in the morning, and dress shopping could be kind of a slog even if you’re excited and optimistic and well-rested. If you’re reasonably sure the endeavor is doomed, and you had to get up early to drive from Des Moines to Bettendorf, it had to be that much more of an ordeal.
“Cream, sugar, black?”
“Black, thanks,” Cas replied, pulling out his phone in anticipation of a long wait.
Dean walked Meg back to a dressing room, and she sat down on a blue velvet ottoman in the far corner. He stood in the doorway, to give her a little breathing room. As spacious as the dressing rooms were, they still felt claustrophobic once you’d spent several hours in them by the end of an appointment.
“So I looked at a few of the dresses in your binder, and I’ll be looking at it some more before pulling anything, but I want to hear in your own words, what you want out of your dress,” he started. Meg nodded, game face back on, guard back up.
“It’s tough, because when I tell a consultant that I want something unique, they hear avant garde. I tell them I want something romantic, and they pull Cinderella dresses. I tell them I want something modern, and they pull all these sleek satin things, just bland, characterless sacks. I say I’m okay with tulle, I turn into a cupcake. I say I hate lace, they pivot hard to sequins and bling. You know? It’s all so knee jerk, just reactionary. I don’t know how to get my point across, and I don’t know enough about wedding dresses – or fashion in general – to explain it in industry terms. Shit, I’m ranting,” Meg sighed, sagging back against the wall.
“No, it’s okay. This is good, actually.” Dean crossed his arms, shifted his weight to lean into the doorframe. “None of your consultants have ever taken the time to explain any of the jargon to you?”
“No…” Meg looked at him, brow furrowed, and he got the impression she was seeing him for the first time, like up until now, he was an NPC, animatronic. Something that said canned phrases, something for which she’d have to guess the right inputs to get a desired output. “I mean, I picked up some basic stuff. Like, silhouettes and colors and fabrics I guess.”
“Okay, let’s start with what you know. Flipping through this thing,” Dean lifted the binder he was still clutching and wiggled it demonstratively, “It looks like you’ve tried on a little bit of everything, and there aren’t any real frontrunners yet. Are there any silhouettes you’ve liked? Any you hate?”
“I haven’t really liked any ballgowns, but it could be that they’re all so lacy, or sparkly,” Meg lamented. “And I’ve hated the – what are they called? Mermaids?”
“Yeah,” Dean chuckled. “Mermaid, yeah. You don’t like anything that formfitting, at least lower?”
“I guess. And I don’t mind strapless, but I don’t want to look like I’m wearing like, a prom dress. I want it to be…agh, I don’t know the word, but like, architectural, you know?”
“Yes, I definitely get that. And you mentioned you’re not a fan of lace, not into plain satin, don’t mind tulle if you’re not drowning in it. You seem on the fence about other decoration.”
“I think I wouldn’t mind some sparkles or something. I just, all I see is like, these encrusted bodices and then the plainest fucking skirts. Or worse, like, those mermaid ones, where it’s just beads and metallic all the way to your knees.”
“Got it. Something more intentional, then. I think I’m getting a picture here. You want something romantic, but not something like, Taylor Swift ‘love story’ romantic. Like, something elegant and classic looking, but not so classic that it’s boring. You don’t want to look like a princess, unless it’s like, an actual princess, like a pre-Raphaelite sort of thing. Very Eleanor of Aquitaine.” Dean was just thinking out loud, at that point, but Meg broke into the biggest, most mischievous grin as he tapered off.
“Kid, I think I underestimated you.” Meg’s body language opened, and she sat up a little straighter. “Go on and pull some stuff, I’ll be right where you left me.” She shooed him out the door, and he left.
“Change into the robe, while I’m pulling stuff,” Dean called through the closed door before heading down the hallway, back to the seating area where he’d left her friend, Cas. He stopped on the way and got a mug of plain black coffee for him from the drink station tucked into a staff area.
“Thanks,” Cas mumbled as Dean set the coffee down on the table next to him. Dean had already pivoted back towards the stock room, when he spoke again. “You really think you’ll be able to find her something?” He asked. Dean stopped, turned around and came back. Cas was giving him a hard stare, blue eyes anchoring him in place like a pinned butterfly.
“I do, yeah,” Dean answered. Cas nodded, looked away, thinking.
“You’re the first male consultant we’ve had.” Cas looked back, scrutinizing. “And I don’t mean to presume, but. The first queer one as well?”
“I’m? Are you asking – ?” Dean blushed, scratched the back of his neck where the hot rush of blood prickled at his skin. Cas at least looked embarrassed to have brought it up at all, blushing right back. And damn, if the guy didn’t blush more elegantly than Dean, just two perfectly symmetrical blooms of pink on the apples of his cheeks. “Yeah, I’m. Yeah.” Dean ducked his head.
“I only mention it because, well. I imagine Meg hasn’t said anything but. The ‘groom’,” And the man used honest to goodness air quotes, “is named Bela.” He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head toward Dean for dramatic effect. And it clicked, why both Meg and Cas had seemed so nervous, inordinately so. Iowa wasn’t a conservative wasteland or anything, but it wasn’t the most progressive state either. “Some bridal salons, she’s pretended I’m the groom. Some, she tells them I’m her brother. I was surprised she even jokingly called me her maid of honor, earlier. I’m her best man, technically, but if she wanted to call me her maid of honor, I honestly wouldn’t mind that either.”
“I’m sorry it’s been such a nightmare so far, but I’m glad you guys ended up here anyway. I really do think I’ll be able to find something for her,” Dean assured him, and privately delighted in the way the man’s blue eyes softened. He took a sip of the coffee, and smiled a little as he set it down again. Dean was about to leave, to actually start pulling dresses, when a question came to him. “Oh, also. Since I know now that this is a, uh, a two bride wedding. Is Bela going to be wearing a dress, too? Is it going to be white, or is she going to be wearing a white suit or something? Because we should think about coordinating that, if she is. Nothing worse than clashing whites.”
Cas grinned at him, like Dean had passed some secret test.
“That’s a really great question, and I’m glad you’re thinking so far ahead, but there’s nothing to worry about there. Bela’s kind of an LHB. She’ll be in a tux. Black, I think, but she might decide to go gray or navy.”
“Good, that simplifies things.” Dean sighed in relief that he wouldn’t have to swatch against a phone picture or something. “Oh, and Meg said the wedding’s in April, next year? Is it indoor, outdoor?”
“Indoor. Hotel Fort Des Moines. Swanky, Art Deco. Lots of glass and wood,” Cas answered, taking another sip of coffee. “Pretty hilarious to picture either of them being caught dead outdoors for their big day. So thank you for the mental image.” Cas snorted a little laugh, and Dean couldn’t help but smile. Now that he wasn’t so nervous, he could see that the guy was pretty cute.
“Thanks. Also, um. I know Meg said there’s no budget, but is she…does she really mean that? Or is there an upper limit here? I don’t think I’ll end up pulling anything more than six grand, but I don’t want to put her in a weird position if that’s too high.”
“Oh, she means it. Bela’s…well. Suffice it to say, Bela’s got it covered. Meg could buy six wedding dresses and change clothes every half hour, for all Bela cares. Don’t worry about budget.”
“Wow, okay.” Dean didn’t bother hiding his shock, and it seemed to entertain Cas to see it, so all the better. “Bela sounds like a, uh, really sweet person.”
Cas laughed out loud, unrestrained and boisterous, and shook his head.
“Not at all. Well, to Meg, yeah. She’s a lovely partner. But if you thought Meg had kind of a tough shell? Bela makes Meg look like a softie. You and I both can count our blessings, that she decided she wanted the dress to be a surprise on their wedding day.”
“Right,” Dean could only imagine the kind of appointment that would be. “Alright, I’m going to go pull some dresses before she wonders where I got off to.” He turned and dashed back down the hall without waiting for Cas’s reaction. He had a feeling that Cas could keep him there all day, chatting and blushing, if he let him.
He pulled four dresses, which had been bouncing around in his head ever since he left Meg’s dressing room, and hurried back. He knocked, and she let him in.
“Dean, thought you might’ve called it quits out there,” Meg joked, but there was a barely perceptible edge of worry there. Like maybe he would have just given up and left her in her dressing room without a word.
“Sorry about the delay, I got, um, caught up. Talking to your best man,” he explained, hanging the dresses on the bar mounted to the wall. Meg answered with a long, knowing hum.
“Don’t apologize, he could use the enrichment,” she snickered.
“Right, well.” Dean cleared his throat and willed the blush out of his cheeks. “I pulled a few different options for you, to start with. We’re kind of a small salon, and most of our dresses are from Watters, or their sister brands, so there’s only so many things to draw from as far as designers go. But, you know. I think we carry a lot of really gorgeous dresses, and there’s a lot of stylistic variety. I just wanted to be up front, that you’re going to see a lot of the same brands on the tags here.”
“That’s fine,” Meg nodded, “I don’t really care what the brand is, if it looks right, you know?”
“Hey, fair enough,” Dean agreed, relieved that she wasn’t going to feel artificially limited by the stock options. “Okay, so we’ve got Storm, kind of a moody tulle number, more of a cool white. It’s a modern style, very modern sleeves, but it’s not going to just hang there either. Similarly, we’ve got a shinier, more close fitting one – also a V-neck, also illusion tulle. But this one has more traditional sleeves, and it’s a little sexier, you know? A little less fantasy, a little more outer space. That’s Mystique. Then, on the opposite side of things, we have Riviera, which, I know you’re not wild about plain fabric, but the bodice and sleeves are so Renaissance, and the skirt – charmeuse – is like, just the butteriest softest thing you’ve ever felt. And the pearls, on the top? It just feels like a dress that could be in a deleted scene from Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet, right? And then, the last one I pulled. This is Palmer, but I brought this matching top piece that gives it these cap sleeves. I know you aren’t big on lace, but this is mostly just patterned embroidery, like, it isn’t actually lacy. And it’s using the tulle a little more traditionally, but I think it’s less cupcake, more cloud, especially with the A-Line silhouette – which, as a side note, it doesn't seem like you’ve tried many A-Lines, but I don’t know if it’s because you don’t like them, or because no one has pulled them for you. So. Yeah. Is there one you want to try first, or?”
“Dean…” Meg stared at the dresses, and for the life of him, Dean couldn’t tell if it was a look of awe or disappointment. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth, hoping he hadn’t totally misread her vibes. “These are…amazing,” she breathed, running her fingers along the edges of the skirts, all in a line. “I want to try this one, first.” She lightly pinched the skirt of Riviera in her fingers, and Dean nodded, speechless with relief. He took the dress off the hanger and held out the skirt to her.
“It’s all separate – the sleeves, bodice, and skirt, so you can put them on in pieces. You can pull the skirt on yourself, and I’ll clip it if you need it tighter. When that’s on, we’ll do the top together, and then you can see if you like it with or without the sleeves.
Once it was all on and she was standing in front of the mirror, dark hair curling softly over her shoulders, both of them were speechless, and Meg wasn’t crying but her eyes were a little red.
“I don’t know if this is it or not but…I love it, and I. Dean, I haven’t said that about any dress I’ve tried on so far. I’ve tried on over a hundred dresses.” Meg’s hand drifted down the front of the dress, the smooth fabric, the dangling pearls.
“Then let’s get you out there and see what Cas thinks.” Dean smiled, redirecting her energy a little.
She padded down the hall in front of him in her bare feet, dress flowing along behind her on the carpet. When she got on the round pedestal in front of Cas, his jaw literally dropped. Meg laughed, a bit manic with glee.
“Shit, Meg,” Cas murmured. “This is something else.”
“Right? I don’t know if it’s the dress, but it’s at least like, me.” She twirled, taking in the back of the dress in the array of mirrors.
“You look like you should be in that Drew Barrymore movie, where she’s got the wings. Or like, Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet,” Cas gushed, and Meg doubled over from laughing so hard. Cas crossed his arms, scowling at her. “What? What did I say?”
“Nothing,” Meg wheezed, and she glanced meaningfully at Dean, whose blush flared back to life at her pointed attention. “Just think you might have a kindred spirit here.”
Cas followed her gaze to Dean, who could only shrug and pretend not to connect the dots. Cas just shook his head, dismissing Meg’s antics.
“Whatever,” He huffed. “I really like this one, and you obviously also like it. But is it what you’re picturing? I feel like you should try something that’s more of a gown, you know?”
“Yeah, that makes sense.” Meg nodded, sobering from her fit of laughter at Cas’s (and Dean’s) expense. They went back to the room, and she changed into Palmer.
“What do you think?” Dean asked, and Meg stared at herself in the mirror with such intensity that he wondered if it would give her a headache.
“I don’t know. I look pretty, and I don’t look like a princess, or a cupcake, or anything like that. But I don’t know if I look like me.”
“Well, if it’s not a hit, we don’t have to walk out and show it.”
“No, I want to see what Cas thinks.”
They trundled back down the hall, this time with Dean carrying the back of the dress and Meg carrying the front, so she wouldn’t trip.
“That’s…wow, okay,” Cas said, more to himself, as she mounted the pedestal again. “It’s not bad, it’s just not…you, I guess.”
“Yeah,” Meg agreed, swishing the skirt back and forth.
“This is good, actually. What specifically feels wrong about it? The floral motif, or the puff in the sleeves? The shape overall, or the texture?”
“I thought it would be the floral, but I actually like that, kind of?” Meg answered, staring at her reflection hard again.
“I think it’s the white of it. Like, obviously we want a white dress, but this is so…samey? There’s nothing to break it up, so she ends up looking kind of blurry,” Cas explained after a few moments of deep consideration.
“Alright! Good! Let’s get this one off and try something a bit more defined, then.”
Back in the dressing room, he had her put on Mystique, but neither he nor Meg liked it much.
“It just looks too, I don’t know, too Instagram influencer?” Meg slid her hand over her hips, pinching her mouth in displeasure at the lay of the fabric.
“I know what you mean. It’s much more straightforwardly modern than what you’ve tried so far. Let’s scrap it and try Storm. I don’t think you like this one enough to wear it out.”
Meg nodded, already removing the dress. Some brides were super self-conscious about Dean seeing them in any state of undress, and he had no idea if it was because Dean was a guy or because they were just modest in general. Meg was not bothered by it at all, he was learning, and she’d strip down to just her underwear in seconds flat, not even a cursory forearm over the chest to hide her nipples. It made things go a lot quicker, without all the tiptoeing around each other and careful choreography of looking away.
“Now this…” Meg grinned at her reflection, at the myriad points of light glimmering through the tulle like pixie dust. “This is neat.”
“It looks great,” Dean agreed, clipping the back closed. “Wanna show it off?”
Cas looked up from his phone at the sound of them shuffling down the hall, and he laughed in surprised delight.
“Okay, I never thought I’d see you in something like this.” He beamed at her as she spun around, the sparkles even more pronounced in the excess overhead light.
“I really like it,” Meg confessed, her ‘too cool’ veneer slipping a little. It made Dean proud, that he’d made her feel comfortable enough to be herself.
“You look hot,” Cas complimented. “What do you think about the color?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it.” She pondered it, running her palm over the skirt.
“It’s a bit bluer than most other dresses you’ll see. Silver-toned,” Dean explained, feeling kind of like he was stating the obvious. Cas and Meg both nodded, Cas humming in consideration, like Dean had shared some sage wisdom.
“Does it come in a warmer color variation?” Cas asked, and Dean shook his head.
“Sorry, I wish it did. This is the only color variation for this style.”
“Hmm.” Meg swished the skirt, but a bit forlornly now. “I really like it,” she repeated, sadder, “But I don’t think the color will look good at our venue, or with our other colors.”
“What’re the wedding colors?” Dean asked, eager for anything that could help him pick the next batch of dresses.
“Pink and green,” Cas answered, clearly unimpressed with the colors chosen. Meg glared at him.
“What the neanderthal can’t seem to understand is that our colors are soft peony and sagebrush,” Meg corrected. Cas raised his hands in mock surrender.
“Sounds lovely,” Dean assured her, and she gave him a small smile. “Let’s try to find something a bit more neutral, then, or even something on the warm side of things?”
“That works for me.” Meg shrugged, stepping down from the pedestal.
Back in the dressing room, Meg decided to hang on to Riviera, but let the others go back to the rack. Dean left to go snag more dresses, coming back with four more.
“Alright,” Dean pushed Riviera to the end of the rack on the wall, adding the new dresses beside it. “I have two very structural ones for you, both ivory, both a similar texture. One’s pretty basic, kind of a Florence and the Machine vibe? Bishop sleeves, button cuffs, but no beading or anything. That’s Ryle. The similar one is Garance, which also has long sleeves, but they’re totally off the shoulder, like Riviera. It has kind of an open back, and the front has a peek of this secondary bodice, encrusted in a spray of pearls. You get that at the back, too. It has a trail of pearl buttons on the side, but other than that, the gown itself is unembellished. Then, a totally different look, we’ve got Magnolia, which is also unadorned, and also has off the shoulder sleeves, but it’s silk mousseline. It’s a sort of split between an A-Line and a ballgown, and it’s all about the draping, the neckline, the flow of it all. It’s super romantic, but it doesn’t look like something a teenager could wear, you know? Anyway, also ivory. And the last one I’ve got here is kind of my personal favorite. I never really pull it, because there just aren’t a lot of brides in Iowa who want this kind of thing, but I love it. This,” He scooted it to the front so she could get a good look at it, “Is Rosabel. You told me your colors, and I couldn’t really resist. It’s a similar shape to Magnolia, but it’s organza, and it has this amazing floral print, these soft pink roses all over it. You might not like it, because it might be a bit more cupcake-y than you’re into, but I think it might surprise you.”
Meg stared at the dresses again, and even though things had been going really well so far, considering how the appointment had started, he still felt anxiety welling up the longer she remained silent.
“I think these could be really good,” Meg said, after a moment, but she looked guarded. He hoped it was just a side effect of her own nervousness, and not an early indication that he’d fucked up this round.
“Good, then, uh, what do you wanna try first?”
“Let’s just go down the line – this one first.” She tugged on the sleeve of Ryle. He nodded and shucked it from its hanger.
It was a bit of a team effort to pull it on, because it was just a size too small. He closed it in the back for her, and she took a long look at it.
“I have no idea how I feel about this one,” Meg admitted. “I look nice, but I look kind of…stuffy?”
“You want to see what Cas thinks?”
“Yeah, I should.” Meg stayed put, turning a few degrees left and right, scrutinizing the line of her torso in the close fitting fabric.
“If you don’t, that’s okay, too,” Dean offered.
“I should,” Meg repeated, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. They left the dressing room, and somehow, Cas seemed able to tell, just from her gait, how Meg felt.
“You don’t like this one,” Cas stated, rather than asked. Meg shook her head, agreeing with his deduction. “Okay, then talk to me. Is it the shape?”
“It makes me look…oh, I don’t know.”
“Give it a try,” Dean encouraged, and Cas shot him a skeptical look. He barreled forward. “I promise, there’s no reason that’s going to be unhelpful. Anything you think about this dress will help us figure out what to look for in the next one.”
“Okay…” Meg blew out a frustrated exhale. “I just look too smooth? Like a big pearlescent seal.”
Cas stifled a laugh, but Meg glared daggers at him, and he converted it into a cough.
“That’s actually really helpful,” Dean assured her. “You liked this fabric in Riviera, but you don’t like it when it’s this close-fitting.”
“I…yeah.” Meg started out sounding defeated, but her ‘yeah’ came out defiant, like she was impressed that her silly sounding complaint had been generative after all.
“Let’s go try a different one, then.” Dean led her back to the dressing room, and she stepped out of Ryle and into Garance.
“The hell kind of a name is Garance?” Meg snorted, and Dean laughed along with her.
“Unfortunate, is what it is,” He snickered. “Imagine a set of twins – Terrance and Garance.”
Meg laughed, surprising Dean with a friendly but solid smack on the shoulder as he fastened the dress.
“Dean, you’re a hoot,” She declared. “How did somebody like you end up in Bettendorf, anyhow?” She asked, and Dean blanched. She was fully in the dress now, so there was no task to distract himself with, nothing to make him look busier than he was so he could deflect. They made eye contact in the mirror.
“Um. My dad, he settled down here a while ago. And the years caught up to him pretty quick, once he did get settled. Liver disease, acute liver failure, the works. My brother and I had cut ties with him as soon as we were old enough to go stay with other relatives, family friends. I hadn’t seen him since I was sixteen, when he called me up and asked if I’d come help out. Nobody else was going to, and I just…” Dean shrugged, unsure even now, why he’d agreed to pack up his entire life, everything he’d carved out for himself in Chicago, to move to some third tier city in Iowa. “Anyway. He passed about a year ago. I’ve been meaning to move on, but I’d have to sell the house, and square away the rest of the estate and…it all just sounds like so much.”
Meg stared, eyes locked on his through the secondary interface of their shared reflection. He swallowed hard, not so much emotional, mostly just embarrassed at having overshared.
“Sorry,” Dean bit his lip, taking a step back to open the door to the hallway, “Don’t think you needed that comprehensive of an answer. Let’s go show this one to Cas. Even with the funky name, I think it looks great on you.”
Meg just nodded, following Dean out. Normally, Meg was in front and Dean behind, so Cas looked momentarily puzzled when Dean appeared first at the outlet of the hall.
“That one is nuts,” Cas observed, not unkindly, as Meg made her debut. “I love it.”
“It’s called Garance.” Meg giggled wickedly.
“Ugh. Like, Terrance, but worse. Like if Terrance was Gary-ified,” Cas complained, grinning. Meg locked eyes with Dean and smirked, as if to say ‘you and Cas sure are on the same wavelength’, as if Dean wasn’t already thinking about it hard enough to blush.
“I mean, Terrance is to Terry what Garance is to Gary, perhaps,” Meg mused, and Cas cringed melodramatically at the sound of the dress’s name.
“Alright, if I have to hear that word one more time I’m going to have it stuck in my head all day, so let’s just talk about the dress itself,” Cas groused, only pretend frustrated. Dean could clock the genuine amusement on his face.
“I like it,” Meg said, giving a curt, businesslike nod. “I think it makes me look like a sexy rich lady.”
“That’s good, because you are a sexy rich lady,” Cas replied. “I think it makes you look like someone who would use one of those cigarette holders, or wear elbow length satin gloves. Or both.”
“That’s kind of a perfect vibe, for our wedding aesthetic.” Meg pondered her reflection. “But am I going to look, like, too bitchy?” She whined.
“Is that not a desirable outcome?” Cas sassed back, and Meg popped her lower lip in a mocking pout. “Are we trying to convince your guests that you aren’t bitchy?”
“I can look as bitchy as I want any other day of the year, Castiel. I want to look pure and womanly on my wedding day,” Meg announced, flouncing fancily on the pedestal, almost losing her footing on the edge, coming so close to crashing the seven inches down to the floor that Dean’s reflexes took over and he found himself across the room with an armful of bride.
“Sorry,” Dean started, but Meg was already giggling maleficently, low and slow. He set her back on her feet on the pedestal and slunk back to where he’d been standing, but Meg kept giggling.
“Cas, you’re supposed to be my best man!” Meg cried, teasing. “I almost fell to my death, just now, and if Dean hadn’t been here to save me, I would have never even made it to my wedding day!”
“Meg,” Cas interrupted in a warning tone, his cheeks pinking in those two perfect blush-points again.
“Dean, you should join my bridal party. Right now it’s pretty anemic – just Cas, actually. And he’s obviously useless, as you can see.”
“Meg, that’s very, um, sweet,” Dean hedged, glancing nervously between Meg’s grin and Cas’s embarrassed scowl. “What’s the verdict on Garance?”
“Ugh, that name is atrocious, that’s the verdict,” Cas grumbled.
“Clarence has a point,” Meg sobered, “I do like it – name notwithstanding – but I think it does make me look a little too much like Cruella De Vil. But we should keep it in the running, just in case.”
“Alright,” Dean nodded, a little too obviously eager to get back to the dressing room. “Yeah, let’s check out the next one.”
The next one, Magnolia, didn’t make it out to Cas.
“It’s just. I like it. But it’s so…bridal? Fuck, I know they’re all bridal and that’s the point – “ Meg rambled, but Dean interrupted.
"No, you’re right,” He reassured. “Sometimes a dress just looks a little too quintessential, a little too archetypal, to really land. I can see how this one would look that way, especially after the other gowns you’ve tried.”
“Yeah,” Meg grinned, tension in her shoulders smoothing away. “Dean, I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to tell me a bunch of shit about why you live here. But I do feel pretty honored that you felt comfortable sharing it with me. I know I come off kind of cold, and it’s kind of a persona, you know? A way to move through the world without getting bogged down. I’ve had the worst fucking time trying to find a wedding dress, until I came in today. And it’s not because this store has some secret line of dresses that nobody else had, where I went before. It’s because you’re a really nice person who’s been really friendly and attentive since I showed up. So, you know, thanks. I’m sorry you ended up in Bettendorf for something so shitty, but I’m glad it meant I got to meet you.” She locked eyes with him in the mirror, and he nodded. His eyes weren’t stinging, they weren’t.
“Thanks,” Dean croaked out. “I’m glad you’re having a good appointment, and…I don’t know. It was awkward, telling you all that. But it was also kind of nice. So, thanks for that, too.”
“Alright, kid.” Meg clapped her hands, shaking out her shoulders and arms like a football player getting ready to take the field. “Get me outta this dress and into that fucking floral thing.” She gestured at Rosabel.
“Yessir,” Dean saluted before unclipping the back of Magnolia.
He could tell by the way her eyes widened upon reviewing her reflection, that Meg had not expected to like Rosabel at all.
“Why the fuck does it look so good?” Meg asked, sounding almost angry.
“Is that a bad thing?”
“No, I just.” Meg snorted an exhale through her nose like a bull. “This isn’t what I had imagined at all, but…” She ran a reverent hand over the velvet belt at the base of the bodice. “I look so fucking good. And I don’t look like a bitch.”
Dean laughed, earnest and surprised, and opened the door, waving her out ahead of him. He felt it was fair to assume she wanted to show this one to Cas.
“Holy shit, Meg,” Cas erupted, standing up from his chair as she entered the room. “Holy shit! You look so good!”
“Thanks, I know,” She deadpanned, ascending the pedestal with exaggerated grace. “Barbie wishes she could pull off something this pink.”
“This is the weirdest fucking dress,” Cas murmured, then cast his attention on Dean. “Where did you find this weird fucking dress? Why did you pull this weird fucking dress for Meg, of all people?”
Dean shrugged helplessly, blush blotching up his cheeks. He could feel his ears pinking.
“It’s my favorite dress in the whole store,” Dean admitted sheepishly. “It goes with the wedding colors. Plus, it ticks a lot of boxes – romantic but no lace, architectural but not avant garde, embellished but no bling, modern but not boring, elegant but not too classic. It’s not satin, it’s not a mermaid gown, it has sleeves but not like sleeves…” Dean trailed off, suddenly aware that both Meg and Cas were staring at him in slack-jawed silence. “What?” He asked, cocking his head in self-conscious confusion.
“Nothing, it’s just…you really were paying attention,” Meg marveled.
“Well…yeah?” Dean answered, perplexed. “That’s the job,” He giggled nervously, scratching the back of his neck as his blush spread south of his face.
“I didn’t actually mean to insult the dress,” Cas explained in a sort of apologetic half whisper. “It was a bit, I was doing a bit. It’s a weird dress, but like. Good weird. I’m glad you pulled it.”
“Oh, um. Thanks.” Dean looked back at the dress for a second, then back into Cas’s very blue, very sincere eyes. “I think it looks really nice. In general, and on Meg.”
They stared at each other a bit longer. Ten seconds. Twenty. A minute. Meg cleared her throat theatrically.
“Earth to best man Castiel, come in Castiel,” Meg teased, and he blinked once, twice, then turned guiltily towards her.
“Yeah, sorry.”
“If you all are done soul-gazing or whatever the fuck that was, you might be interested to hear that I’ve found my dress. It’s this one. I don’t want to take it off, like ever.”
“Really? You don’t even want to try Riviera back on? Or Garance?” Dean asked, shocked by this development. Cas winced at the name, and Meg snickered at his expense.
“No, I really don’t. This is my dress. I want to like, growl at other people to keep them from touching it. I want to put it on a big mannequin after my wedding and seal it in plexiglass and put up a little sign like it’s an exhibit in a museum or something. I want this one,” she declared, and Dean acquiesced.
“Got it, alright.” He nodded. “I’ll come help you out of the dress. You can get changed, and I’ll meet you both at the front, at the big desk?”
“Sounds peachy,” Meg agreed, leading him down the hallway to the dressing room. As soon as he had her all unbuttoned unclipped and unzipped, he high-tailed it out to the main desk and started inputting the information for the order – her measurements, the garment size, the taxes and discounts and all the dotted ‘i's and crossed ‘t’s he could square away in advance.
Meg arrived at the counter, back in her normal clothes – just some very expensive-looking dark jeans and an earthy purple cashmere sweater, it being February and all. Cas was just a few steps behind, looking sort of preemptively flustered about something. Dean hadn’t really noticed much about the man besides his handsome face and pretty blue eyes, but now that the barrier of the desk created an illusion of distance, he took the time to appreciate his physique, obviously impressive even under his cozy gray wool sweater and black slacks.
“Dean, you’ve really been a lifesaver,” Meg said in greeting as she plopped herself into one of the chairs across from him.
“I’m really glad you found your dress,” He replied in earnest. Meg grinned, almost predatory.
“You know, Cas here doesn’t have a plus-one for the big day lined up yet. Even told me he doesn’t need one, because ‘there’s nobody worth fucking left in all of Des Moines’ apparently.” Meg didn’t use literal air quotes, but the verbal implication was just as damning. Cas’s face blossomed those two perfect roses of blush again, and Dean couldn’t help but stare. “Didn’t say a damn thing about Bettendorf, though.”
“Meg,” Cas gritted harshly. “Stop harassing the poor guy at his work, and pay for your dress.”
“I…um. It’s, um.” Dean was sort of at a loss for how to get this interaction even remotely back on track. “April is a long ways away,” he settled on, having no earthly idea what he could have meant by that. Judging by the puzzled looks on both of his patrons’ faces, he supposed they hadn’t a clue what he meant either.
“Yes…” Cas replied, staring at him so intently that Dean half expected his nose to start bleeding from the effort. He tilted his head a few avian degrees to the left, like the change in angle would reveal Dean’s hidden meaning to him. “April. Dean, I have no idea if I would want to bring you to the wedding, because I’ve only just met you.”
“Right! Exactly, yes,” Dean blurted, sort of relieved and sort of disappointed. Because, right. Yes, obviously. Cas shook his head, looking a little exasperated.
“But. April is a while from now. So maybe you’d like to meet up, sometime soon? I know Des Moines is a bit of a hike, but I have to work once a week in Cedar Rapids, so maybe we could meet up there? Or I could drive over here, after I finish work there, and I could…I don’t know, take you out for dinner somewhere?” Cas looked sort of terrified, but Dean felt fucking invincible.
“Yes!” Dean answered, entirely too loud and too quickly after Cas finished speaking. “Yes,” He repeated at a more appropriate volume, “I think that would be lovely. Can you put your number in my phone, while I help Meg get the dress taken care of?” He handed his phone, unlocked, to Cas across the desk. Cas nodded, slow, like he wasn’t sure he heard him correctly, and took the phone.
Dean walked Meg through various options – alterations in-house or somewhere in Des Moines, whether she wanted to make another appointment to view accessories or do that shopping elsewhere, and on and on, until he’d processed Bela’s American Express Platinum card and emailed Meg a copy of the receipt. Cas gingerly passed the phone back, as though he was nervous that Dean would be spooked by sudden or forceful movement. Dean smiled at him, open and bright, and Cas seemed to relax considerably.
“Thank you, Dean. Really,” Meg said as she rose from her seat and stretched an arm over her head, cramped from so much sitting and trying on clothes.
“It was truly my pleasure,” He replied. Meg grinned.
“I’ll bet it was.” She cast a lascivious glance at Cas, who glared back, unamused.
“I’ll text you and let you know when I’ll be in Cedar Rapids, okay?” Cas turned his attention back to Dean.
“Sounds great,” Dean assured him. “Have a safe drive back to Des Moines. It’s supposed to snow later today, I don’t know how fast it’ll move in.”
“We will,” Meg replied, nearly dragging Cas toward the door after her, since he was still sort of staring at Dean. Dean waved, and Cas waved back before heading out to the coat rack, in the vestibule. He sat at the desk another few minutes under the pretense of finishing his paperwork, really just enjoying the strange afterglow of securing a date for the first time in a long time.
Eventually, he got up and cleaned up his station in the back, putting Cas’s empty mug in the staff sink to wash later, and rehanging the rejected dresses in the stock room. His next appointment would be starting soon, and he wanted to have things ready for them when they arrived.