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The Road Trip
Ever since Sam and Dean Winchester hung up their shingle, figuratively speaking, as Consulting Men of Letters in Residence at the bunker, the subject of vacation had remained unresolved. When they announced their decision to retire from active hunting, every one of their hunter acquaintances had asked if they planned to take a trip, as if they hadn’t just spent the past twenty years driving millions of miles back and forth across the United States. Baby’s odometer had long since given up. No. We have work to do. Jack and Eileen gave a slide presentation one evening, suggesting Disney World, white water rafting, a Norwegian cruise, and the Appalachian trail. “Do they think we need excitement? Or exercise?” Dean grumbled. Sam sighed and let them know he was busy on a paid research project on paranormal sports betting. Rowena did suggest a quick trip to Paris with Sam, alone, with a meaningful squeeze of his leg, but he was saved from this fate by a call from Dean, searching for their gym equipment.
Sam had wanted to travel for pleasure as long ago as his college days, when he dreamed he might study abroad in Japan, or visit Italy with his girlfriend. In a completely different life, he reminded himself. Nearly twenty years later, older and wiser, he was too nervous to risk international airport security with one of their ridiculous fake passports, but going on a road trip for fun? No monsters, demons, or gruesome murders awaiting them at their destination? With Dean?
Huh. Not exactly paradise.
Dean, on the other hand, had surreptitiously packed dad’s green cooler with unchilled but ready six packs, a bottle of tequila blanco, and an ancient but still operable blender.
Several arguments and two weeks later, an out of office message was pinging in Sam’s Outlook and a stop at Cabela’s had been made for swim trunks and ammunition. In the back seat, the angel Castiel perched. He knew about beaches, but he did not understand the human desire to burn the epidermis under the sun’s most intense UV rays next to a polluted body of water. It was one of those things.
Despite Sam’s protestations that a visit to Fort Smith would be educational and fun, Dean drove straight south to Dallas.*
*this part of the journey has been redacted to keep the narrative at a manageable length - the author
Many more arguments, a fist fight, an angelic intervention, a rodeo, a third degree state felony impersonation of a Texas Ranger, one ganked New Orleans ghoul and five days later, Baby and her occupants safely crossed the Alabama border on her way to Gulf Shores. Baby was also looking forward to a little sand in her treads. Her occupants were disheveled and tired, but otherwise intact, even if the brothers weren’t speaking.
Castiel thought he’d try a little small talk to lighten the mood. Jack had told him it was possible to alleviate stressful emotions in their friends by talking. Cas mentally reviewed the past few days’ events and decided not to comment on any of them. Looking out the window to his right, the blue Gulf of Mexico sparkled in the morning sunshine. It was beautiful, and very unlike Kansas.
“So, we are no longer in Kansas.” Cas observed to neither Winchester in particular.
There was no response from the front seat.
“I believe this is the body of water that was filled with toxic chemicals in an oil spill several years prior.” Cas tried again.
“I…um…yeah.” Sam mumbled.
“Could you pass me a cold one? This eye is bothering me.” Dean waved his hand in the direction of the cooler at Castiel’s feet. This seemed early, even for Dean, but Cas complied. Dean didn’t open the chilled bottle but placed it against his blackened left eye, the lingering consequence of an active night on Bourbon Street. He put the bottle and his head against the window.
There were, perhaps, better choices of cold compresses when driving through the great state of Alabama.
Hell Hath No Fury
In Colorado, a woman was on a mission. Searching for her lost husband, a mysterious man named Emmanuel. Daphne Allen was not a woman to be discarded lightly. In the days and months after Emmanuel left with the strange man who appeared at her door on the day of the demon attack, Daphne had waited. Trusting God, she scanned the news everyday looking for signs of her dear husband. Perhaps he had been directed to follow God’s will on some mission. He would return soon, she knew that. He had been so kind and gentle. But who was that strange man who had disrupted her life?
The demons did not return. Neither did Emmanuel. Over time, the neighbors stopped asking about him. She knew her church friends snickered behind her back, and she stopped attending. No more texts asking for her and her husband’s healing prayers. No more gratefully delivered casseroles. Her sister arranged a girl’s trip to Cancun she couldn’t enjoy. “Try dating again,” she urged. How could she, when she had the kindest, gentlest, most beautiful and most sensitive man in the world?
Six months after he left, she filed a missing persons report. Every week after, she called her local police department. The bored woman on the other end reassured her, “ma’am, we will call you as soon as we hear anything.” She typed long messages on the Facebook pages of her local news channel, the mayor, the White House. No one took her seriously. No one cared.
She was furious about the man who took her husband away. Dean Winchester. Apparently dead, from her online searches. She was horrified to discover that he had been a wanted felon and the subject of a YouTube documentary, Ghostfaced: The Many Lives and Deaths of the Winchester Family. Why had she let innocent Emmanuel, who trusted everybody, go with this monster?
She called her Senator, her Congresswoman, her local DA, and created her own “Missing or Murdered” posters, with a promise of a $20,000 reward. Someone, somewhere must know. He couldn’t have vanished off the face of the earth. He would never have left her willingly. Dean had stolen him, and probably killed him in a demonic sacrifice with his brother. The brothers drank blood and were marked with demonic symbols, the YouTube guys told her when she reached out to them. They’d been involved in hundreds of disappearances. She knew her enemy now, and she knew in her soul that he was still alive.
Meanwhile, Dean had taken the last turn south to get to his long awaited beach vacation. This stretch of highway took them along the warm green towns of coastal Alabama. Dean was feeling excited again. He had never seen the ocean in person in his life. He had his brother, his wheels, and his angel in the backseat. His knees hurt a lot more than they did, though he would rather die than admit it. But he had had three physical altercations in the past five days and won all of them, more or less. Life was good again. He felt ready for his next chapter as a Consulting Man of Letters - that was cool, he had to give his brother that.
“Forty-three years,” he grinned at Sam and then Cas, but turning his head made pain shoot up his shoulder to the base of his skull. “Ow…forty three years and I’ve never been to the beach. Well, we’re almost there.” He pressed the cool bottle back against the base of his neck. That felt better. He relaxed.
The familiar sound of police sirens went off behind him. Son of a bitch.
Really? Now? Dean sighed. A speeding ticket couldn’t hurt them. He’d never paid one, and he had probably over a hundred. He reminded himself to smile and be polite as he pulled Baby to the shoulder of the road and rolled her window down. How fast had he been going? No idea. An older officer shuffled towards his side of the car.
“Howdy sir, what can I do for you?” asked Dean, with his charm and smile turned up to dazzling. His brother sighed melodramatically, and then gasped. “Dean!”
“Son, is that a beer bottle in your hand?”
Oh son of a bitch.
The Foley County Blues
It had been a minute since the Winchester brothers had been booked. This was an entirely new experience for Cas.
“This is Cas’ fault!” Dean whispered to his brother.
“That’s not fair, I heard you ask him for it.” Sam reminded him.
“Whose brother are you?” Dean growled back.
Dean was still grumpy, but he accepted that he had, in fact, brought this on himself. He had forgotten that the ID he’d given the officer was linked to a few hijinks in pursuit of the Bunnyman, an axe wielding rabbit spirit inhabiting an unfortunate young man in Virginia. A few fish and wildlife fines and a drunk and disorderly. Who would have known that the residents of Fairfax County would be so mad about bear traps on a golf course? Or that their security would be that good? That experience had led to a new rule: never hunt in a gated community. But why would that lead to an arrest years later in another state? And why Sam?
The officer had returned from running their IDs with a horrified expression. He was clearly intimidated by the big brothers when they unfolded themselves from the Impala, but they went along calmly. No resisting arrest a few miles from his goal, thought Dean.
Sam thought his ID was clean, but he couldn’t be sure. There had been so many close calls, so many crime scenes they and their DNA had been present at. He swallowed hard. No explanation had been given for their arrest, just a quiet, “boys, you got to go with me now, don’t fight.” The officer’s hand rested on his gun. They never should’ve left the bunker. This might be it, he thought, but he shook his head. No, they’d get out of this, they always did. Plus, they had Cas. What were they doing to Cas, anyways?
Cas had been surprised to hear Sam and Dean ordered out of the car, and he realized the officer was frightened. He shrank back in the rear seat of the Impala while the brothers were cuffed, read their rights, and led to the police car. Reinforcements squealed up within minutes. Then Cas hurried out - he wasn’t sure if the officers had registered his existence, but he couldn’t let his friends be taken away without him. If necessary, he told himself, he would get himself arrested too. He could be disorderly, he thought.
He stepped out to several small town police officers surrounding him.
“Are you Emmanuel Allen?” asked one of the officers.
What?, thought Cas. “No…I do not know that name. I do not recall using it as an alias before.”
The officer stared at him dumbfounded. “Well…sir. It’s just that you’re on this poster and there was a YouTube video all about you. Come on, we’re here to take you home.”
Missing Person - Murdered or Kidnapped, the headline ran. There was a picture of him, Cas recognized his own face, he was wearing a sweater and standing next to a sweet faced woman. Wanted: Dean Winchester and his accomplice Sam Winchester.
This wasn’t an official notice, but it had been sent to most police and sheriff’s departments at great personal effort. And there in the bottom corner were the two black and white mugshots of Sam and Dean Winchester. Eileen and Jack liked to print them out and tape them up occasionally to tease the boys.
Unknown to Cas, Dean or Sam, they had featured in a follow up to GhostFaced, Face the Ghosts, which alleged that the Winchester brothers and their father had never died at all, but were underground leaders of a satanic kidnapping ring. The wife of one of their victims, Daphne, gave tearful interviews about her missing husband, the missionary with a gift for healing.
Finally, a few miles from the coast in Foley, Alabama, her years of persistence had paid off. Emmanuel Allen and his kidnappers had been recognized and apprehended.
Three Men and a Wedding
The Foley Municipal Jail was really nice, as those facilities go. A new brick building in the pleasant town, the inside was freshly painted white and it didn’t look like a single turd had ever been smeared on the cinderblock.
“Could be a college dorm,” remarked Dean. Sam’s face was allowing no amusement. Dean didn’t need to look to know. He could sense his brother’s displeasure on a spiritual level. Sam wasn’t nearly as comfortable in lock up as he was. Dean chuckled. This time, he resolved, he was going to put into practice those mindfulness techniques Eileen had shared with him. He was retired. He was going to learn to play golf. This too would pass.
The really remarkable part of this mess was how in the hell had Cas managed to get arrested with them. What had started as an intervention had turned into a dumpster fire. Cas did not seem to grasp the idea of coming to bail them out afterwards. In hindsight, Dean realized he should’ve briefed the angel in the event of this not unlikely occurrence. Cas ignored his frantic head shakes from the back of the car. Dean hadn’t seen a police involved meltdown this epic since the Walmart shoplifting poltergeist incident in Delaware. Castiel channeled every YouTube bodycam arrest video Dean had ever shown him and swallowed his pride. He needed to stay with them. He felt it in his core. He screamed.
Kicking, yelling, shouting, and entirely resisting arrest, the beleaguered officers finally stuffed Cas into the back with the others. Despite his objections, he’d also changed into the beach clothes they’d provided him at the last rest stop. Dean was not going to miss a minute once they got to their destination. One Adidas slip-on went flying into the air, then the other. The brothers had no idea Cas could shriek like that. Had he somehow been possessed? Was that Lucifer?
Bruised, scraped, and barefoot, Cas was shoved headfirst onto the laps of the astonished Winchesters as the door slammed shut.
“Dude, what are you doing? You can’t do that!”
“Is that not how you get arrested?”
“Yes but…not me! That’s not how I get arrested!”
“Well, actually, Dean, there was that time in Wyoming…” despite their circumstances and his uncomfortable position, Sam had never been more ready with a memory that his brother conveniently had forgotten.
“Oh shut the f**k up.”
Cas struggled to arrange himself into a slightly more dignified upright position on the floor, between their feet. “I can explain,” he eventually managed. The brothers’ open mouthed astonishment somehow got even more astonished.
Years ago, the angel now remembered, he had indeed gone by the name Emmanuel Allen. The woman who had found him in the river, naked, had taken him into a comfortable home, fed, bathed, and dressed him, and took him out to the store and to church. She had been lonely, and he spoke kindly to her. He owed her a great deal, he sensed that. He barely noticed when she started to introduce him as her husband. There had been a little errand one day to the county clerk, where he had signed some forms, and while later to the courthouse, where he solemnly promised the judge that he would care for Daphne. That’s what she told him the words meant when he asked. It was the least he could do. At night, she asked him to sleep in her bed, which was comfortable. Her caresses were a little uncomfortable, so he ignored them. She had been sensitive to his rejections. Soon the cat slept between them undisturbed.
After Dean retrieved him, he’d never seen a reason to tell anyone about that time. It had faded from his long memory.
“Well son of a bitch. Not you too.”
“What do you mean, me too?”
Sam quickly interjected, “Nothing at all, but…this isn’t a legal marriage. Daphne Allen isn’t your wife. You need to tell them at the station, and let them know you’re not a missing person. Dean, we’ll tell them this is a hoax, this is a grudge from an old girlfriend. We’ll get it annulled. After all these years, surely she’ll be reasonable.”
“GIRLFRIEND??? Cas doesn’t have GIRLFRIENDS. Or a wife or whatever this is!” Dean was spitting mad.
“She was a friend to me,” Cas tried to explain. Sam put his sandaled foot down hard on Cas’ instep. Cas yelped pathetically. If Dean hadn’t been handcuffed, he might’ve hit one of them.
By the time they arrived at the station, Dean’s blood pressure had returned closer to a healthy male range, Sam had calculated a low cost legal plan of action, and Cas had been suitably chastened.
“Maybe I’ll go to college this time,” Dean couldn’t resist provoking his brother again. “Huh? I could write a book. About our family. The Winchesters. You can do the research but I’ll make it good.”
“I swear to God, Dean,” Sam hissed at him between clenched teeth.
Divine Intervention
Foley City Jail was a small facility with a small staff. The booking process took time, and Castiel was chosen to go first. Sam and Dean remained parked on a bench, dressed in their new beach gear. Dean had joyfully picked out a Hawaiian shirt for himself, Sam had chosen a short sleeved version of his usual men’s shirts over swim shorts. Knees, ankles, and toes that hadn’t seen the sun in years poked out. Sam, of course, had forbidden the use of the bunker’s vintage tanning bed, until he’d heard that Eileen and possibly Rowena planned to join them. There hadn’t been enough time at that point to make much progress or do too much skin damage. If his nose was a bit pinker than usual, no one mentioned it.
Cas, who had been selected to go first because the arresting officers thought he was violently insane, was completely new to this process, unlike the Winchester brothers who sat chained to the nearby bench. He was bewildered by the questions, but lied as convincingly as he knew how. No, he wasn’t Emmanual Allen. Why did he look like him? He didn’t know. His name was Castiel Novak. Yes, Novak like that other guy the Winchesters allegedly killed. No, he didn’t know him. Was that him in the photo with Daphne? Yes. Who are these men with you? My friends. Did they coerce you to be here? Yes. Cas heard “the hell I did” from Dean, and Sam groaned. Okay, what’s your social security number?
Cas’ performance was so abysmal that the booking officer wasn’t sure if he was a pathological liar or in need of anti psychotics. He decided to assume both and send Cas for an in-depth psychiatric evaluation as soon as he was searched. He sighed and signaled for Cas to get up.
Dean grinned widely when he realized that the obvious-to-him next step in the process was about to begin, but before he could get out a hoot of encouragement, another officer came in and stopped the fun.
“Gentlemen, your wives are in the lobby and they say there’s been a terrible mistake.”
A petite woman with big red hair, oversized sunglasses, and a flowing beach robe swanned in. She had a quicker pace than one might expect from a woman so dainty, and the pretty brunette and the young man behind her had to hurry to keep up.
“Well boys, I cannae say I didn't want tae find ya like this, but perhaps not with so many people about. Let’s take care of that, shall we?”
Sam picked up the telltale glimmer of magic around Rowena. She had cast a spell and it crackled like electricity in the air, altering reality for a period of time. Rowena was a powerful witch, and a small municipal police force was nothing to her. She beautifully channeled the exact amount of energy needed to influence the minds of the officers and bend their thoughts to her thoughts without sending them to unconsciousness. Dean scowled, but Sam admired her work.
Her thoughts, at the moment, were to get on with this damned holiday.
The girls - they counted Jack among them - had decided to follow the boys to Gulf Shores for a nice surprise. Jack had been attending college, but he didn’t know enough yet to know that spring break was not simply a break one took in the spring, as Rowena explained it. They packed up their much bigger luggage, took a flight to Mobile, and decided to drive the remainder of the journey down in a rental. The boys had clearly been delayed on their two day drive, but that wasn’t surprising. The surprise for Eileen and Rowena was when their AirTags, placed in Sam’s bag, located their man at the Foley city jail.
The trio were released immediately, the Impala keys returned, and Dean was handed a formal caution for speeding. The local police, infected with Rowena’s urgency for them to be gone, rushed them out the door. Obviously, they had the wrong men. These gentlemen looked nothing like…whatever that was. They’d forgotten.
Free, somewhat dazed outside the jail, Sam had not expected to be in the greatest amount of trouble from this situation. What had he done to be accosted by both Rowena and Eileen at the same time? Eileen, in sign language, was telling him off rapidly. Rowena complained loudly, “Didnae I put YOU in charge? What happened? You nitwit.”
Dean grinned broadly until Rowena turned on him. “You FOOL! Aren’t ya the oldest? The biggest dolt I’ve ever met in three hundred years! I should turn ye into a frog and drop ye in the ocean.”
From quick glimpses over Eileen’s head, Sam had the pleasure of seeing his brother shrink under Rowena’s sustained verbal fire. A sharp jab to his solar plexus brought his attention fully back to Eileen.
Castiel stood to the side, pondering the rapid shift in events. What had just happened? Why did the police seem to think he was in danger? Jack came up and put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright?” he asked.
“Yes, son, I’m fine. But I am perplexed.” Cas explained, as briefly as he could, his possible marriage to the woman Daphne Allen, and the missing person poster with his face on it.
Meanwhile, there was a break in the storm, as everyone realized now was probably a good time to head out before the officers inside decided they needed more investigating.
The Gulf of Mexico spread out before them with welcome. Dean was thrilled, and all the tension of the morning melted away at the sight of white sand and blue waves. Sam had seen the Pacific, but it had been years ago on a college getaway, and this was delightful, new, and exciting for him too. Castiel, of course, had been there at the creation of the earth. He had seen the sea before humans were raised up in the image of God. Still, he could appreciate the beauty of the world through the wonder of his friends.
The boys had originally planned to pull into the cheapest looking dive close to the beach, but the ladies had researched and booked them a stay at the Gulf Shores Barefoot Bliss, a pastel themed old style hotel that was aptly named, since Castiel was still barefoot. His tender soles were dimpled with the gravel from the road. The men had not thought to pack a back up pair of flip flops.
Hundreds of miles north, in Colorado, Daphne Allen received the most anticipated phone call of her life. Before Rowena’s arrival, one of the more thoughtful arresting officers decided to contact the woman on the poster. “Oh my God,” she could barely breathe. “Yes, I’m on my way. Please don’t let him go.”
At the hotel, the boys, bashful, took their own room, with Cas and Jack joining them. They knew this wasn’t likely the desired sleeping arrangement for anyone, but years of habit and reserve ruled. Too much was still unspoken, and the brothers were too new to a life that didn’t require them to face life and death every week to truly dream of what good things might happen next.
Wouldn’t It Be Nice
The official first day of the Winchester beach vacation started out bright and beautiful. Sam went out early and bought the biggest sun shelter he could find for Rowena and Eileen. Dean was willing to park his cooler under it, for maximum beer temperature control, but otherwise he was born to frolic. He played in the waves, he built sandcastles with the kids, he floated in the salt water for hours. Occasionally he would be summoned back by Rowena for a sunscreen application, she insisted, but only every three to four hours compared to her hourly applications. Eileen assisted her with a full body coating of a Sephora concoction that cost $60 a bottle. Her skin would be as snowy as when she arrived, she swore.
Eileen went for a more laid back look, one of Sam’s shirts making a perfect cover up for her gingham bikini. Both women propped their feet on Sam’s long legs as he embarked on the deep dive into Civil War history he had been longing to do since 2015. He did sneak in some appreciative glances at his companions, particularly Eileen, who was adorable. As deeply as he admired and liked Rowena, she was almost a foster mother to him. With Eileen he could imagine something he hadn’t dared to imagine in almost twenty years. Perhaps he should say something to her?
Jack was worried about Castiel. He feared that the resurfaced memories had affected his earthly dad more than he would admit. Cas sat quietly, only going in the water when Dean’s encouragement became too loud to ignore. His skin did not burn, he told them. How could the sun burn something that was like an eternal living flame?
Trouble arrived in the parking lot of the hotel after a tasteful seafood dinner.
A sensible looking sedan pulled up with a screech, catching Sam and Dean’s attention instantly. After a lifetime of hunting, their guards would never truly be down again. A brown haired woman leaped out, her car still running.
“Daphne,” Cas said quietly. He remembered.
Dean stood between him and the woman defensively, one hand on Cas’ chest.
“Hey now lady, I don’t know what you thought that was but…”
Daphne reached into the purse dangling from her arm and pulled a gun on him.
Dean had not relaxed much in his retirement, but he had relaxed a little, because he was not expecting that. That night, a rare occasion, neither brother had a concealed weapon hidden in their matching shorts.
Rowena rolled her eyes. “What is this?” she demanded. “Is this some lovers’ quarrel? Who is this woman, Castiel?”
“That may be my wife,” Castiel admitted.
“Wasnae that Dean?” Rowena asked.
“No, we are not officially married,” Cas replied.
Dean’s face was priceless. He looked like he’d been shocked out of a lifetime of internalized homophobia. He appeared to be having a mild panic attack.
Sam sighed. “Ma’am, we can help you, just please put the gun down…”
Like that was going to work. Daphne Allen had not sped 1,400 miles in two days to be persuaded or silenced. She was here to claim her husband. If she had to kill the monster that had dragged him away and stolen his heart and mind, so be it. She closed her eyes and squeezed the trigger.
Lost and Found
A dramatic but blind single shot was not enough to result in the eternal retirement of a Winchester brother. The bullet ricochetted off the concrete overhang of the hotel and put a hole in a car parked nearby, thankfully not Baby. Sam and Dean simultaneously rushed in, each grabbing an arm and getting control of the weapon. They had no desire to hurt her, but they were all going to need to have a very long talk.
Castiel and Daphne sat across from each other in the room’s little dinette chairs. Eileen made them terrible coffee with the room’s coffee machine. Sam, Rowena, Jack, Dean, and finally Eileen sat in a row along one of the beds, eager to hear whatever was going to happen next. The gun was safely stowed in Dean’s back pocket.
Cas stared mournfully down at his hands in his lap. He didn’t know what to say. Daphne eventually stopped crying.
“Who is she?” Eileen signed slowly to Sam, hoping he understood. He got the gist, but had no idea how to answer her. He mouthed “wife” and shrugged dramatically. Everyone noticed.
“Well, ah, as my brother here is trying to discreetly ask…ma’am, what are you doing here?” Dean showed as much bravado as he dared, but he felt a sharp twinge of guilt. In all these years, he’d never thought of her after their initial meeting. He had been desperately focused on his brother’s welfare at that time. Sam was dying, and Dean needed Cas to save him. He hadn’t cared about anyone or anything else. Dean had changed since then. His brother was still the world to him, always would be, but he cared about others too. He was no longer as hard, unbending, and tunnel visioned as he was. He wished he’d at least called this woman. He’d wrecked her life without a second thought. The Winchester legacy, he thought.
Cas finally spoke up, “Daphne, I have a lot to explain to you, and I should have reached out. It’s not Dean’s fault that I didn’t, not entirely. But you’re not going to believe the truth.”
The truth spilled out, to Daphne’s horror and amazement. Even Jack, Eileen, and Rowena were fascinated. They didn’t know as much as they would like about the long and convoluted history of the angel and the brothers, particularly the painful story of Lucifer’s fixation with them.
The boys had indeed been through it, and so had their warrior angel.
Eileen leaned her head on Sam’s shoulder. Jack patted Dean’s back, but Dean swatted his hand away with pretend irritation. He loved the boy, and did not need him or anyone else feeling sorry for him. Daphne sniffed hard. Cas wrapped up his story. “I’m so grateful to you for what you did for me, Daphne, but I was never yours. I couldn’t be. I only wish I’d been able to tell you sooner so you could go on with your life without me.”
At this point, Rowena had had quite enough. The dramatic retelling was cutting into her nighttime routine. Three hundred year old skin did not stay fresh without effort. She stood up.
Sam, taking a cue, saw an opportunity to resolve matters and free his friend from this situation. “Daphne, you must’ve known at the time this wasn’t a legal marriage. Emmanuel isn’t even Cas’ real name. Will you agree to no longer pursue this?” Sam knew that a real annulment or divorce would be risky, given the length of time that had passed and the problem that Castiel wasn’t exactly a human being, a legal person, or a United States citizen.
Daphne was still in a degree of shock. She had been living with an angel. Her perfect husband had only seemed like flesh and blood. It had been a spiritual bond, she reasoned, but not a physical one. That’s why they had never consummated their union. She had been meant to aid him for a brief period of his existence, but no more. She let out another harrowing sob. Rowena looked ready to hex her.
Eileen, always emotionally aware, thought of something. She got up and embraced Daphne, giving her the affection she wasn’t getting from Castiel. Rocking her back and forth, she offered her a place to stay for the night with her and Rowena. Waving down Rowena’s objections, she guided her to the girls’ suite. Rowena followed majestically, leaving the men to work out their own problems for the night.
In complete silence, Dean opened three beers and passed them around. Sam put on a basketball game. Not a single word was spoken. Sam and Dean passed out around midnight. Castiel sat up in the dark, pondering everything that had happened.
A Witchy Woman
The next morning, Daphne was more accepting of her situation. Discreetly, Castiel showed her his wings, which more than anything persuaded her that she was not being manipulated by deranged satanic cultists. Rowena added an assist with a gift of a homemade face mask in a little glass pot that smelled beautifully of apples and which was crafted just for her. “Dinnae give this to anyone else, m’dear,” Rowena smiled. After one application, Daphne’s skin glowed as fresh as a flower, and oddly…Emmanuel, no, Castiel, didn’t seem as attractive as he once had. She noticed how tired his eyes were, and the grey in his hair. It bothered her now that he had never voluntarily touched her. She could get a younger man, she thought, as good as she looked. She could go back to Mexico with her sister and drink more tequila. The possibilities were endless.
After an awkward breakfast, Daphne decided to leave, without any coercion. She smiled at Cas, and waved goodbye. She was gone.
The whole group sighed with relief.
Dean ushered them out to the shore with the determination of a proactive dad managing his children on a trip to Disney. He had things to do, and being Cas’ marriage counselor / security guard was not one of them. First on Dean’s list, jet skis.
Rowena declined this extracurricular, but Sam and Eileen were up for it. Jack picked his own with the sneaky thought of racing Dean and winning. As an angelic being, he had sharper senses and better spatial awareness, and immortality, and he wasn’t above using those gifts against the older man.
“Where’s Cas, where did Cas go?” Dean asked.
A search turned up Cas alone, watching the waves, the wind blowing his t-shirt back.
“Oh we’re not having this,” Dean declared. “C’mon Cas, I drove us all this way. We’re gonna have fun. Drink margaritas on the beach, all that. You too.”
Assertively, Dean caught Cas by the arm and practically dragged him back to the rental booth. Sam and Eileen shared a quick knowing glance. Could it be? Finally? Eileen put her arms around Sam’s waist and squeezed, as if she was anticipating clinging to him on the back of the jetski. His eyebrows shot up. He stopped thinking about his brother.
It took a good deal of persuasion to get Cas behind Dean, and to get him to leave the “Sun’s Out, Guns Out” t-shirt Dean had given him out of sight for a while, but once they were ready it was on. Jack ran circles around them, Sam refused to go too fast for Eileen, and he was savoring her small face snuggled in his back. He was half ready to go back to the hotel room with her and shut everyone else out. Dean had no such concern for his passenger and raced like the wind, Cas clinging to him for dear life. While he knew he couldn’t drown, he wasn’t also certain he could swim. It was rather undignified for a warrior angel, so he’d never tried it. Dean had rarely felt so happy. He was like a little boy again.
Once the day was over and everyone was hungry, they made their way back to the hotel. Rowena noticed how close Sam and Eileen walked, their hands brushing from time to time. “Aye, my girl, I’ll let it be. I’ve always preferred rich men. But I’ll have ta tell ye about the fifth base. It’ll be a treat for him, from me.” Coincidentally, Rowena had received a missed call that afternoon from a recently divorced British earl. Third divorce. Marvelous estate. Lonely man.
But Rowena’s mischievousness had latched onto one more subject. She had been amused and mildly irritated by the long slow burn of something between Dean, her nemesis of the Winchester brothers, and the angel of the Enemy, Castiel. She had three hundred years’ experience of a world in which such unspoken love ran like an undercurrent between men. Often, the lovers themselves could never speak of it, never acknowledge it. But this was a different world. She decided they needed a nudge. It was time for her to fix them a drink.
Rowena announced her sudden departure to the Cotswolds, to console a very dear friend, and everyone was genuinely sorry to see her go. She had been their good fairy godmother on this trip, and even Dean felt so warmly towards her now, he accepted without question the beautiful pre-dinner cocktail she made them all. Rowena really was a powerful being. From her humble beginnings in a dreary Scottish scullery, she was now the earth’s most powerful witch. Her brew gave each of the drinkers his or her voice to express their heart’s desire. She did not sip hers.
The next morning dawned on a very different set of sleeping arrangements in Gulf Shores Barefoot Bliss. Both of the couples that sheepishly emerged from the connected suites, each involving one Winchester brother, had indeed had a blissful overnight experience. Jack had fled to a sofa in the lobby.
Jack wasn’t a fan of Manhattans, which was what Rowena’s concoction looked like, so he set it aside to listen as his favorite humans suddenly began to talk. Within fifteen minutes, there were tears, laughter, apologies, a proposal, and one promise to let’s work on things but also I could be open to something I just never imagined oh my god Cas.... Rowena slipped out the door with a smile, eager to get her things before one or the other Winchester realized there was an empty bed and a locking door for the taking. Jack was astonished when Sam picked Eileen off her feet and carried her to the next room like a caveman, to her shrieks of delight, but he ran out of the room the moment Dean hugged then lifted Cas. It might not have been as nimble, but he got him in his arms, and the last thing Jack heard as he left was his dad, still in very fit shape for his vessel’s age, being tossed on to that bed with a solid thump.
The End
The staff of the Gulf Shores Barefoot Bliss were delighted to learn that their guests would like to book not one, but two wedding and honeymoon packages at the earliest possible availability. Yes, they would love to accommodate a double wedding on the beach.
In the former girls’ suite, Eileen found a letter from Rowena that included some personal notes that made her blush and which, if attempted, would certainly do the same and more for her soon to be husband, and a poem to be read to the whole party:
“If things turn out the way I think that they will, consider reading this one at the wedding - in case I’m busy, I predict a season in Monaco after my next marriage. Still, I’m a romantic - yours truly, Rowena”
Yes, yours, my love, is the right human face.
I in my mind had waited for this long,
Seeing the false and searching for the true,
Then found you as a traveller finds a place
Of welcome.