Chapter Text
Cas wrapped his arm tightly around Meg's.
"Hold on, Clarence," she said, extending her arm to stop him from crossing the street prematurely.
"Oh, right." He pushed his black sunglasses up on his nose and shifted his weight. They stood and waited for the little outline of the walking man to appear. "And you have it on good authority that this place is good, right?"
"Course I do, Cas. Just trust me." She put her hands loosely into the small pockets of her dark jeans.
"Meg, I trust you with my life every day. There are no trust issues between us," he joked.
"I know. Come on," she said with a slight laugh. They crossed the street, seemingly joined at the hip, and stepped back onto the sidewalk. Meg's shoulders relaxed. The sidewalk was fairly empty, since it was a weekday. They walked past a antique store, a dry-cleaner, and a bookshop before reaching their destination. "Alec's Diner," Meg read. They opened the door and the bell jingled.
"Sure smells like a diner," Cas said.
"What do you really have to lose, anyway?" Meg asked rhetorically as she chose a booth and sat down, with Cas taking the seat across from her. The sun streamed through the window, warming his cheek, and he smiled. "It feels like a nice day," he said.
"It is. There's fluffy clouds and one of those suns kids draw, with the actual rays and sunglasses." He laughed.
"Sounds fantastic." Without Cas knowing, a man at the counter waved at him. These situations always made Cas feel awkward-people waving at him, not knowing he was blind, and Meg having to tell him so they could explain.
"Cas, a guy at the counter just waved to you," she said conspiratorially. Cas sighed.
"Alright," he said. "Let's go, then." He started to get up, but Meg put her hand on his shoulder and pushed him back into his chair. "Wait," she said. "He's pretty cute."
"Okay, then. I'll wait here, you go make your conquests."
"No, no, no," she objected. "He waved at you. You should go by yourself."
"Meg, I'm not going to do that. I'll trip and embarrass myself."
"Clarence, listen. An attractive guy just showed an interest in you. You're gonna walk over there and knock him dead," she said, sounding like a wrestling coach. "It's a straight shot to the counter, he's three stools to the left of our booth, there's an empty stool beside him, and he's still looking at you. Go!" Cas sighed.
"Fine. But if something goes wrong..."
"Nothing will go wrong. Positive visualization. Now go!"
He stood up, his cane folded and tucked in his pocket, and walked over to where he was told the counter, praying he was sitting by the supposedly attractive man, not some angry, random stranger. "Hey," said the man. "I'm Dean."
"Hello, Dean. I'm Cas." He did not mention his eyes; it had not come up, he rationalised, and besides, it was probably obvious. Behind him, Meg had ordered two coffees and was watching like a concerned yet proud mother.
"Cool name," Dean said. He motioned to a waitress. She came over, and he read the name tag on her red apron. "Hey, Polly, can I get a coffee?" he said, and turned to Cas. "Cas, coffee?"
Yes, thank you." The corners of Cas' mouth flinched upward just barely. A stranger was buying him coffee.
How odd was this, he thought.
"So Cas, you're new in town?" Dean asked.
"No, actually. I live out in the country. But this is my first time here. How about you?"
"I've been staying in town for four or so days. In a hotel. I move around a lot."
"Really? Why?" Cas asked. Dean shrugged.
"My job sorta requires it. I'm a journalist." Cas hummed.
"Interesting. What are you in town for?" The waitress brought their coffee and Dean smiled at her in thanks and passed Cas his mug. He lifted the cup to his lips without spilling a drop.
"Something about a homegrown revolution. You know, people gardening and farming and stuff. Honestly, I really just took the job so I could travel. How about you?" Dean shook a sugar packet from the yellow and red bowl into his coffee.
Cas knew he should mention he was blind, just in case Dean somehow hadn't guessed, but how would he work it into the conversation-"thanks for the coffee, by the way I'm blind?" He decided to take small steps. Maybe nothing would come of it. Maybe they would talk about journalism and travel and then part ways entirely and never see each other again. That didn't seem to be the way things were going, though.
"I'm a beekeeper. I harvest my own honey and sell it sometimes. It's good work."
"No way! Man, that is such an awesome coincidence. Listen, would you mind if I did a piece on you? I'm leaving next Sunday...would tomorrow be a good time for you?" Cas tried to keep the excitement in his mind from manifesting itself onto his face.
"Sure, around two? I could even cook for you, if you'd like." Everything in Cas was shouting, "Don't get involved," but it was too late.
"Yeah, that'd be really nice. I can hardly remember the last time I've eaten a homecooked meal."
"Well, I guess I can't mess it up too badly, then. Oh, the address is 3849 Red Tail Falls. It's kind of out of town." Dean reached into the pocket of his baggy jeans, pulled out a small pad of paper and a pen, and scribbled down the address.
"Can't be far. And besides, it'll make a great story." Dean asked the waitress for a spoon when she came around next, then said, "So Cas, how did you get into beekeeping?"
"I've just always been fascinated by them. Their behaviour is really unique, especially among animals so undervalued. They're very social creatures. They create specific castes in their communities." Behind his sunglasses, Cas' sightless blue eyes were sparkling with enthusiasm.
"Castes like what?" Dean asked, his curiosity evident in his voice.
"Well, at the top of the social pyramid is the queen. She has all the offspring of the hive, but other than that doesn't have to do any work. Then there are the...actually, I won't go into detail now, or else we'll have nothing to talk about tomorrow night," he said with a small laugh.
"We'll have plenty to talk about, I'm sure," Dean said. Cas could hear the smile in his voice and blushed. "You're from here?" Cas shook his head.
"I'm from Colorado. My family moved when I was young, for my father's job." Dean nodded.
"So, what's your family like?" Castiel shrugged.
"Odd. Big," he laughed. "Lots of siblings. It's all somewhat strained, we don't see each other often." Dean hummed, nodding. "Yourself?"
"Just me and my brother, now," he said. "Mom died when we were kids, dad a couple years ago." Cas frowned.
"That's difficult. I'm sorry." Dean shrugged.
"Yeah, I guess," he agreed. "Y'know, I was young when my mom died, and I was never real close to my dad, so..." he sighed, then seemed to brighten. "Enough about that, though. What do you like to do? I mean, apart from beekeep, since it's a strictly taboo topic," Dean teased.
"Oh, nothing interesting. I cook, I read, I listen to music. You?" Dean scratched his cheek and Cas could hear his fingers brush against short stubble on his jaw. That was the first thing he knew about how Dean looked-he had stubble. That, of course, and how glowingly, if vaguely, Meg had described him. I have to ask her to elaborate later, he thought.
"Well, I write, obviously, and work on my car, and collect vinyl," Dean replied.
"What kind of vinyl?" Cas asked. Now it was Dean's turn to get enthusiastic.
"Old stuff. Like, Led Zepplin and AC/DC. Do you collect?"
"I used to, when I was younger. I used to have a lot of Elvis; I don't know what was wrong with me," he laughed. "I had all these little 45's, and tons of those little plastic things..."
"45 adapters," Dean added, nodding.
"Exactly! I lost those things constantly."
"So do you still have any of your records?" he asked.
"A few. Not as many as I had when I was younger, though. I had this habit of lending them to people who would loose them, or break them, or scratch them beyond repair, but I still lent them to people anyway. I was crazy when I was young." Dean laughed a little.
"Yeah, well, that's part of being young," he said. He took another drink of his coffee. Cas shrugged and nodded.
"I suppose so. So where are you from, originally?"
"Originally-originally, Lawrence Kansas. But the newspaper I work at is in Huntington. It's this tiny town, 6 or so hours from here."
"Sounds like a long drive," Cas said. "I've been to Lawrence, actually. Do you like small towns?"
"They're alright," Dean replied.
"There's a happy medium, ya know? Like, somewhere between Huntington and New York City," he laughed. "But that's a pretty big margin. What about you?"
"Probably small towns by default. You can't really raise bees on top of a high-rise," he said with a little laugh. Dean smiled. "So are you liking it here in Yamhill so far?" Cas asked.
"It's growing on me. The people are a plus," he said. Cas blushed.
"Well, it's not really a destination, per say, so we don't get many new people. But apparently we have something interesting enough for a journalist to report on."
"I'd say you have a lot of interesting things," Dean said.
"Such as?"
"Oh, I dunno." Dean scratched the back of his neck. "I mean, you're here, and you're pretty interesting. To me, at least." Cas smiled and drained his coffee mug, setting it down on the counter.
"More coffee?" Dean offered. Cas shook his head.
"No, thanks. Actually, I'd better go. I've got some cleaning up to do before this evening."
"Aw, don't break your back on my account," he dismissed earnestly. "See you at four?" he said.
"See you at four!" Cas slid off the stool easily and returned to his booth. Meg stretched out her hand and guided him into the seat. The next time the waitress was out of the kitchen, she asked for the check. They payed for both the coffees, which she ended up drinking, and Meg practically dragged Cas out of the diner.