Archive of Our Own ^beta

”Bobby called,” Sam said, dropping the phone back onto the receiver. “He’s almost certain that it’s a vengeful spirit.”

“Great,” Dean scoffed, folding his arms behind his head and leaning back on the squeaky motel bed. “We’re still no further to finding out who it is.”

“Well,” Sam started, dropping into a chair at the small wooden table, “that’s what research is for.” He opened his laptop and grinned.

“God, you are such a loser,” Dean groaned. He rolled off the bed lazily, staggering across the room. “I’m gonna go get some food.”

“I wan-”

“A salad bowl,” Dean interjected, swinging his keys. “I know.”

“Thanks Dean.”

“Whatever,” Dean said, opening the door. “If you find anything, just call me.”

“Yep,” Sam said, already scrolling through an article on his computer.

Their motel room was on the second storey, a dusty place lined with palm trees. It was sweltering outside, a typical California summer day. Dean jogged down the metal staircase to the parking lot, Baby glistening in the sunlight.

Dean chucked his jacket and phone onto the bench next to him. He started the engine and roared away towards the metropolis in the horizon.

It was too silent without Sam chattering in his ear, so he turned on the radio, cranking the volume up until Def Leppard vibrated in his bones.

He smacked his steering wheel in time with the drums, belting out the lyrics to Animal.

“And I want! And I need! And I lust! Animal!” Dean shouted at the empty car.

He made an air-microphone with one hand, keeping the other wrapped around the steering wheel. He sang to the passenger seat, pretending to hold out the mic for the empty leather seat to sing with him.

“I’ve got to feel it in my blo-Oh my GOD!”

Castiel appeared in the passenger seat. Dean slammed on the brakes, grabbing the wheel and yanking it to the side.

The car swerved onto the gravel shoulder and skidded to a halt. Dean’s seat belt wrenched him back against the car seat, whipping his head through the air.

Castiel looked emotionless.

Dean stayed there for a minute, just trying to catch his breath. He shut off the radio.

“We nee—” Castiel started.

“Jesus-FUCK CAS!” Dean exploded, his hands flailing up in the air. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“We need to talk,” Cas stated, unimpressed.

“Are you shitting me?” Dean asked, incredulous. “You couldn’t call me?”

“No, your music was too loud,” Castiel said, gesturing at the bench between them, where Dean’s cellphone lay.

Dean picked it up, glaring as he saw the missed call from Castiel. “I was driving, Cas. You couldn’t have waited?”

“No,” Cas said.

“How the hell did you even get here?” Dean asked. “Don’t I have Angel-proof ribs?”

“Your car doesn’t,” Castiel said, as if that should be obvious.

“You couldn’t have waited?” Dean repeated.

“No,” Cas said. “This is very important.”

Dean sighed, “It’d better be.”

He put the car into reverse, glancing behind him at the barren highway, then he righted the Impala and continued down the freeway towards Sacramento, his stomach grumbling.

“So talk,” Dean scowled, his heart rate finally slowing.

“I found another one of Heaven’s artifacts,” Cas said.

Dean’s eyes widened. Balthazar had sold the angelic weapons to god-knows who and tracking them all down was taking forever.

“A ring belonging to the Archangel Zadkiel,” Cas continued. “Balthazar sold it to someone in Wisconsin. I narrowed it down to a city called Lake Mills.”

“Great,” Dean said, turning off the freeway into the city.

“Then let’s go.”

“Wha- Right now?” Dean sputtered.

“Yes,” Cas said, reaching his arm out to grab Dean’s shoulder.

“Whoa!” Dean swatted Castiel’s hand away, scooching as far away from him as he could. “I am driving, Cas!”

“And?”

“And I can’t go with you,” Dean exclaimed. “Sam and I are working a job right now. When we’re done, we’ll go to Wisconsin.”

“This is a matter of utmost importance,” Castiel snapped. “If these weapons get into the wrong hands-”

“I know that,” Dean grumbled. “But this job is important too.”

“Dean,” Cas started.

“Cas,” Dean replied, glaring at the Angel in his passenger seat.

Castiel scoffed and vanished in a flutter of feathers.

“Fricking Angels,” Dean muttered, smacking his steering wheel in anger.

—--------------

“So get this,” Dean and Sam said at the same time, just as Dean entered the motel room.

“You first,” Dean said, dropping his jacket on the floor, shutting the door behind him. He grabbed the salad from the bag of food and handed it to Sam. He flopped onto the bed.

Dean unwrapped his burger and took a huge bite as Sam began to speak.

“Our ghost is a Macy Gray from Sacramento, died 1835 when she and her fling were stabbed by her husband. Interests: collecting the skulls of dead birds,” Sam said, looking up from his laptop.

“That explains the ravens that the Milligans heard,” Dean said, his mouth full. “Where’s she buried?”

Sam rubbed his forehead tiredly, stabbing lettuce with his fork. “I don’t know for sure. There were reports of an M. Gray being buried in four different cemeteries in and around the city and any one of them could be our pile of bones.”

“Great.” Dean swallowed, grabbing a couple fries. “We’re still at square one then.”

“Not exactly,” Sam said, crunching on his salad. “I also read that she might have been cremated, so her spirit could be tied to an object that she touched or owned.”

“Okay,” Dean said, finishing his burger and wrapping up the paper. “Any of her stuff still around?”

“According to some very old records, some of her skulls were donated to a historical society, some museum in downtown Sacramento.”

“But?” Dean asked, seeing Sam’s expression.

“It was remodeled to be a convention center in 1952 and most of the artifacts were sold or moved to other locations. But I couldn’t find any other mentions of the bird skulls being transferred somewhere else,” Sam said, a strange grin on his face.

“So they could still be in that building, right? In storage or something?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, that’s a possibility,” Sam agreed, shutting off his computer. “I say we go there tomorrow and check out the place, see if there’s anything to sauté.”

“Sounds good,” Dean nodded.

“What did you want to tell me?” Sam asked, nearly finished his salad.

“I had a cheerful encounter with Nicholas Cage today,” Dean scowled, throwing the paper bags across the room, just missing the trash can.

“Who?”

“Castiel,” Dean said. “He popped into my car to talk.”

“What did he want?” Sam asked.

“Apparently he’s found another Angel relic that his buddy sold on the black market.”

“Wow,” Sam said, sitting up. “That’s good, right?”

“Not when you’re doing 60 on the freeway and that genius wants to drag you over to Wisconsin,” Dean exclaimed. “That crazy bastard has no respect whatsoever for Baby. If I was wooshed out in the middle of driving, she’d go flying into the ditch!”

“I think you’re overreacting,” Sam chuckled.

“No way.” Dean crossed his arms. “Castiel needs to set some goddamn boundaries and try to understand what it’s like to be human. We don’t run on heavenly schedules.” He shuddered. “God, that sounds exactly like something you would say.”

Sam laughed, throwing his empty cardboard salad bowl at the garbage can, sinking it—to Dean’s dismay.

“What do you want to do about it?” Sam asked, almost sarcastically. “He’s an Angel. He’s not exactly gonna turn into Mr. Rogers, even if you lecture him.”

“No, but doesn’t it bother you that he just doesn’t think that anything we do here is important?”

“We’re pretty insignificant in the grand scheme of things, though,” Sam admitted. “The Angels are still trying to clean up after the apocalypse, so a job like this would be really unimportant to them.”

“I get that,” Dean muttered. “But man, Cas just needs to take the stick out of his ass sometimes,”

Sam raised his eyebrows, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

“What?” Dean straightened, the bed joints screaming at the movement. “What are you thinking?”

“Well,” Sam started, his eyes bright. “I was reading some religious texts and came across this spell. It’s in Aramaic and I have no idea if it would actually work.”

“So?” Dean interjected.

“Let me finish,” Sam snapped. “Apparently it could bind an Angel to the earth and keep them there until the spell is reversed.”

“So what?” Dean asked, not picking up what Sam was putting down.

“Jesus, Dean. How thick is your skull?” Sam rolled his eyes. “You were just complaining about how Cas doesn’t understand what it’s like to be human. How he doesn’t think our jobs are important.”

“Yeah…”

“This would make him human again,” Sam stated. “We do this job with him, and maybe he would understand how important this is to everyone we help.”

Dean was silent, deep in thought. Well, not that deep. He wished he’d bought some pie.
“Let’s do that then,” he grinned.

—-------------------------

The phone rang twice before Castiel finally picked it up. “Dean. You’ve reconsidered?”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean laughed. “Just get your heavenly ass down here.”

Sam cocked an eyebrow at that phrase, but didn’t think too much of it. Dean always acted a little gay around Castiel.

Dean said the room number and Castiel appeared in front of them a second later.

“Hello Dean, Sam,” he greeted. “Thank you. The sooner we return these artifacts to the safety of Heaven, the better.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “About that.”

Sam whipped out his paper and began chanting, a huge grin on his face. Badly pronounced Aramaic filled the room.

“What are you doing?” Cas asked, mostly just confused.

“We’re putting a new stick up your ass,” Dean shouted. He frowned, “Wait…”

Sam finished the spell and looked up expectantly. The room was the same, Cas was the same. He glanced over at Dean.

“Did it work?”

“Did what work?” Cas sighed, taking a step forward.

“A spell to make you human,” Dean said, apprehension on his face.

“Why would you do that?” Castiel asked, raising both of his eyebrows.

“Because you don’t get what it’s like,” Dean groaned. “You don’t understand how much these little jobs help people.”

Castiel’s legs shook, and he grabbed the counter quickly. “What’s happening?”

“My guess is you’re tired,” Sam said, watching as Castiel yawned.

“Why would you do this?” Castiel asked, hurt and confused as his knees gave out.

“Calm down, you baby,” Dean said, grabbing Castiel’s arm and supporting him with ease.

“You’re such…. a…” Castiel’s voice trailed off.

Dean dragged him over to his bed, dropping the snoring Angel into the squealing mattress.

Sam watched with amusement as Dean gently pulled off Castiel’s shoes and dragged the covers over him.

“Are you going to kiss him goodnight too?” Sam chuckled.

Dean glared at him. “Shut up.”

Sam raised his hands in defense, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s your life.”

“I’m not gay, Sam,” Dean grumbled.

Sam shrugged and turned around, facing his laptop. “You can keep telling yourself that,” he grinned under his breath.

“So what’s the plan now?” Dean asked. “How does this spell work?”

“According to this text, the person who cast the spell just has to verbally release the Angel from the spell.”

“Huh.” Dean sank into the couch, his eyes still on Cas. “No catch?”

“None I could find,” Sam said, scanning over the page again.

“Wow.”

“I know.”

Dean sat up, clasping his hands together. “So Cas is like, fully human now, right?”

“Yes.”

“When he wakes up he’s gonna be so pissed,” Dean grinned. “But he’ll also be super freaking hungry too, won’t he?”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “I don’t think he’s eaten since the apocalypse.”

“Great,” Dean said, standing up. “I’ll go grab some more food.”

Sam stepped forward, catching Dean’s arm. “I can go,” he suggested.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sam continued, walking towards the door. “I haven’t been out all day, and you stay here and make sure that your boyfriend doesn’t run away.”

Dean shrugged, dropping the keys into Sam’s open palm. “Just make sure you get some pie, okay? And take care of Baby.”

“I will,” Sam promised, opening the door. He stepped out onto the balcony, the motel door swinging shut just as Dean yelled, “And I’m not gay, Sam!”

—-------------------

Dean sat on the motel bed, his back facing the door. Castiel sat upright next to him, their thighs nearly touching with the lack of personal space between. They were talking, their low voices nearly indistinguishable.

Not gay, my ass, Sam thought as he opened the door to their room. The door hinges emitted a low, soft squeak, and Sam instinctively froze up, expecting Dean to whip around. He crept into the room, hoping to catch what they were saying.

“—need you to understand,” Dean was saying.

“I do,” Cas replied, his hand twitching on the green bedspread. “I understand better than anybody else.”

“Cas, you….” Dean’s hand was tracing Castiel’s forearm, barely brushing against his white collar shirt. He sighed, “I don’t know how to-”

Shit. The floorboard creaked under Sam’s boot.

Dean jumped up, whirling around in a panic. “Sam!”

His lip was split and swollen, his cheek a fading red.

Castiel absentmindedly turned around, gazing at Sam with a bored expression.

“What the hell took you so long?” Dean exclaimed, his face flushing.

“What the hell happened to your face?” Sam countered, staring in surprise at the wound on Dean’s lip.

“I did that,” Cas said, raising his hand.

“It was deserved,” Dean said, glancing at Castiel still sitting on the bed.

“O-okay.” Sam popped his lips and walked into the room. “Hungry?”

He held up a bag of food, the delicious aroma of beans and ground beef wafting into the room.

“It took you three hours to get tacos?” Dean griped. He looked at Sam hopefully, “did you get any pie at least?”

“They were all out,” Sam shrugged apologetically.

“Damn it,” Dean grumbled, sitting back down.

Sam passed Cas two burritos, having ordered the ground beef special for him, assuming that Cas would be hungry enough for two.

"I got sidetracked,' Sam said, sitting down on his own bed across the room. Cas unwrapped the burritos, digging into them the way a starving lion eats a gazelle. He wolfed it down, not even stopping to breathe.

"How the hell do you get sidetracked buying food?" Dean asked.

"I drove up to the convention center, to see if they have anything on for tomorrow," Sam said. "You know, because we're looking for bones? It'd be a little awkward if there was a garden show there.”

"And?"

"Nothing," Sam insisted, shifting on the bed. He folded his arms, scratching at the shirt over his bicep. "It's not booked for anyone."

"That's good," Dean nodded, not noticing Sam let out a long breath.

Cas had already finished with his first burrito, quickly unwrapping his second.

"Dude, eat any faster and you'll choke," Dean warned, watching him with a sense of amazement.

“Heaven doesn’t have food like this,” Castiel gulped, tearing another bite.

“Does Heaven even have food?” Sam asked, engrossed with the speed in which the burrito was disappearing.

“Yes,” Cas replied, not even looking up. “We eat ambrosia, the sustenance of all Angels and divine powers.” He hummed, sinking down in the bed. “God, this is so good.”

Dean stifled a laugh, staring at Castiel, his face melting into a soft smile. Castiel ate without looking up, and Sam caught sight of the intense longing in Dean’s eyes.

Sometimes his brother was denser than lead.

Sam often joked about Castiel and Dean being in love—Bobby tended to agree with him, but… he didn’t think it was actually a joke anymore.

He covered his mouth with his hand, pressing his smile into his fist. It wasn’t his place to say anything, as much as he wanted to.

Clearing his throat, Sam changed the conversation, hoping to clear some of the awkwardness he felt, being the third wheel and all.

“So Cas,” he offered. “You don’t seem too mad at us…”

“Oh I am,” Castiel replied, fixing his piercing blue eyes on Sam. “I’m absolutely furious and I’d love to smite you down.”

“But?” Sam asked, taken aback by the politeness in Cas’ words.

“But Dean has convinced me that this could be a good idea.”

“How did you do that?” Sam stared at Dean, who shrugged.

“With words?” Dean confessed. “Cas punched me first, but then we just kind of talked.”

Sam’s eyes flicked between Castiel eating on the bed and Dean standing between the foot of the beds.

“You just talked?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, balling up the wrappers from his burritos.

“Alright, I guess,” Sam said, feeling dumbfounded. He leaned back onto his elbows when a thought popped into his head.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” he said, sitting up again. “I also rented Star Wars while I was in town.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“We’re trying to give Cas an authentic human-experience, right?” Sam proposed, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing the DVD. “Star Wars is a classic.”

“Does this room even have a DVD player?” Dean asked, glancing at the TV on a desk behind him.

“Yes it does.” Sam stated, straightening with pride. “I checked.”

“What do you want, a medal?” Dean snorted, parking himself on the foot of Castiel’s bed.

Sam rolled his eyes and turned on the TV. “Shut off the lights,” he ordered Dean. “Cas, get ready. They don’t have this kind of cinema in Heaven.”

Cas cocked his head. “We don’t have any cinema in Heaven.”

“Then be prepared to be blown away,” Sam grinned. “This is a classic.”

“Return of the Jedi is still better,” Dean grumbled, flicking off the overhead lights.

“What? No way.” Sam was taken aback. “Empire is the very best.”

“You’re kidding. Slave Leia,” Dean said flatly.

Sam shrugged and slid the disc into the reader, changing the channel until he found the DVD. Dean sank into Castiel’s bed once more, and they sat in silence until the opening score burst into sound. The title screen and opening exposition rolled across the screen, a scene that Sam remembered fondly. When he and Dean were younger, there were always plenty of TV stations showing A New Hope and they always watched them together, curled up in motel rooms while John was away. There was just something about watching a movie on a friday night with Dean and now Cas. It was such a drastic change from the daily shitstorm that was their life.

“Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Princess Leia’s hologram repeated. “You’re my only hope.”

———————-

Later that night, as Leia awarded medals to Luke, Han, and Chewbacca, Castiel and Dean both fell asleep on the same bed.

Dean sprawled across the width of the bed, his legs hanging off the edge and Cas was curled up near the backboard, neither of them using the pillows as they were intended. They weren’t touching, but were almost close enough to feel each other’s breath.

Returning the disc back to its case, Sam moved back to his computer, fighting off sleep a bit longer to reread the notice on the convention center’s website.

Calling all Hunters! This Friday, August 5 is the kickoff of the 3rd Annual Sacramento Supernatural Convention for fans of the Book Series. Join like-minded fans for a wickedly awesome weekend of costume contests, games, and fun! Meet Carver Edlund for a book signing on Sunday.

Dean was going to kill him tomorrow, Sam realized, leaning back against the wooden chair. He couldn’t help but smile.

—----------------

The Impala roared to life and Dean grinned at Cas in the back seat. “Don’t forget your seat-belt.”

“Why?” Cas asked, tugging the polyester across his trench coat.

“Oh, you know, so that you don’t go flying through the windshield and end up with your human brain all over the road,” Dean snarked.

Cas shot him a glare, reminded of his newfound humanity, and opened his mouth about to say something. But Sam slid into the passenger seat and he shut it, fixing his angry blue eyes on the back of Dean’s head.

“Finally,” Dean groaned, putting the car into drive. “What the hell took you so long?”

Sam fidgeted with his beige jacket, smoothing out the creases along the hem. “Just getting ready.”

“And doing your makeup too, right?” Dean rolled his eyes. “We’re not going to a beauty pageant.”

They pulled out of the parking lot and onto the freeway towards Sacramento. Nobody spoke for a while. Sam was too busy watching the trees fly past the windows and Castiel was resting his head on the back of the seat, staring aimlessly at the roof of the Impala.

“Okay, this is getting too awkward,” Dean grumbled after idly listening to Baby’s motor for ten minutes. He switched on the radio, still loud from his drive to the city the day before.

“IT WAS THE HEEEEAT OF THE MOME—”

Sam smacked the dial, his hand moving faster than Dean could even register, cutting Asia off with one swift movement.

“Just drive,” he ordered, looking back out the window.

Surprised, Dean raised his eyebrows, glancing at Cas through the rear view mirror. Their eyes met, but neither said anything and the ride continued in silence.

The road dragged on, light traffic slowing them down. It was commuter hour anyway, the sun rising over the east of the city. Dean tapped his steering wheel, just to pass the time while they crawled along into the inner city. A dark brown Impala pulled out in front of them, cutting Dean off as he tried to turn at a light.

“Screw you and your good looking car!” Dean yelled, laying on his horn.

From the driver's seat, a silhouette raised a middle finger, and turned up the radio, a rock beat shaking the old car. Dean scoffed, but then he noticed a small decal on the car’s back window. A small red pentagram, with lettering in the middle, too small to make out.

“Look Sam,” Dean laughed, pointing at the car. “Satanists!”

Sam glanced up, quickly biting the inside of his mouth to hide his smile. “I don’t think they’re satanists.”

“Who the hell else puts a pentagram on their car?” Dean chuckled, “Only in California, right?”

“Why is California associated with Hell?” Castiel asked from the back seat.

“Various reasons,” Dean replied, watching as the car pulled ahead, racing out of the intersection. “Obviously Lucifer doesn’t give driving instructions.”

Sam pursed his lips at the mention of Lucifer, but pushed away the memories that resurfaced. Today was not the day to deal with them.

Dean met his eyes, guilt on his creased forehead. “Sorry-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam shrugged. He quickly turned on the radio, hoping to alleviate the sudden awkwardness.

The opening guitar riff from This Flight Tonight flooded into the car. Dean grinned, tapping along to the steady bass guitar.

“How about it, Cas?” He asked, looking through the mirror again. “Nazareth!”

“The hometown of Lord Jesus,” Cas stated, his face unamused.

“No! The band!”

“Blasphemy,” Castiel replied, finally cracking a small grin.

———————

“Where am I going, Sam?” Dean growled, his impatience rising every second.

“Give. Me. A. Second.” Sam gritted his teeth, turning the map around. “Left.”

Dean signaled but couldn’t pull into the turning lane. He glared at the cars around them. They were stuck in traffic, surrounded on each side with frustrated commuters. Construction blared ahead, the jackhammers and machines roaring over the faint radio in the car.

“Godammit,” Sam seethed, watching the glowing numbers on the clock tick forward.

“What, you got somewhere to be?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, the convention,” Sam replied, sinking into his seat.

“Convention center,” Cas corrected, raising his eyebrows.

“That’s what I meant,” Sam agreed quickly, his gaze dropping to his shirt.

“Uh huh.” Dean stared at Sam, skeptical.

A horn wailed beside them, a red-faced man inside yelling at his windshield. The traffic inched forward.

“You know,” Castiel said, breaking the silence. “If I was an Angel, we could already be there.”

Dean took a deep breath, gripping his steering wheel until his knuckles were white. “We are not using Air Angel right now.”

“We could’ve already found the bones by now,” Cas offered, draping his arms over the bench.

“Where’s your seat belt?” Dean asked.

“Dean, we’re not moving,” Sam chuckled.

“Car accidents can happen at any time,” Dean warned.

Cas met Sam’s eyes and rolled his eyes. Sam grinned and spun his finger around his head, gesturing to Dean.

The light finally changed and Dean stepped on the gas, pulling into the turning lane before anyone else could. Laughing like a madman, Dean yanked the steering wheel and the Impala tore away, leaving the construction in the dust.

“You’re crazy,” Sam laughed, as Red Barchetta came on the radio.

Dean grinned, his smile stretching up into his wild eyes. He cranked the dial, blasting the song as he raced down the street. The Rush song continued to play as they made their way to the convention center and Sam had to scream out directions in order to be heard over the music.

Eventually, after Sam’s voice was hoarse from repeating ‘Turn right!’ nearly a million times, Dean pulled into the parking lot of the convention center. It was fairly crowded with cars, and Dean glared at Sam.

“I thought you said there was nothing booked for today.”

Sam gazed at the cars filling the parking lot, (a suspicious amount of them Impalas), and shrugged, “I must have made a mistake.”

“He’s lying,” Castiel chimed in. “He knew it was booked.”

“Thanks Cas,” Dean sighed and shut off the engine, leaving the three of them sitting in silence. “I figured that out by now.”

Cas shrugged. “Sometimes you don’t notice things even when they stare you right in the face.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Dean groaned. He turned to Sam. “I would so love to punch you right now.”

“Sorry?” Sam offered, raising his hands with a halfhearted apology.

Dean exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why?”

“Listen,” Sam said, trying for an apologetic grin. “I’m not lying about the bones. The bird bones might really be in here and I’m sure the Milligans would love to be able to leave Bobby’s bunker.”

“But why bother telling us that it was…” Dean trailed off, his eyes following a man walking across the parking lot.

He was dressed in a beige trench coat that reached to his knees and straight black pants. On his back, a pair of small homemade wings were attached with a wire frame, the black feathers floating in the wind. The man walked into the building, jogging up to the doors where a short, red-haired woman held them open.

Dean whipped back to Sam, disbelief filling his expression. “No…”

“Surprise…” Sam said weakly, making little jazz hands.

Cas leaned over the bench again, his eyes moving between the two brothers. “I don’t understand.”

“You remember Chuck? Our favorite prophet?” Dean growled.

“Yes. He wrote the Winchester Gospels.”

“Yeah, well, his books have a fan club. They’re doing one of their meetups here, aren’t they, Sam?”

Sam rubbed the back of his neck, his sheepish grin widening.

Dean dropped his head onto his steering wheel, groaning with frustration. “Sam, I swear to God, I am going to kill you.”

“Wait, I still don’t understand,” Cas interrupted, looking at Dean bewildered. “Why is that such an issue?”

“Because,” Dean muttered from the wheel, “it means our entire lives, all the shit we go through, gets treated like fiction and people dress up like us and everything means nothing!”

“Dean, I’m sorry,” Sam said earnestly, “but this was entirely coincidental, I swear. I just didn’t tell you because I knew you wouldn’t want to go and we actually do have to find those skulls.”

“Sometimes you are such a dick,” Dean grumbled, smacking the dashboard.

“At least I don’t suck it,” Sam retorted, covering his mouth with his fist.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Sam replied. He grabbed the door handle and opened it, letting the sweltering heat into the cool, air conditioned car.

"I'll meet you inside?" Sam asked hopefully.

"Yes," Cas replied, "I will be joining you for this job."

Sam smiled at him and left, walking across the parking lot to the building. Cas looked at Dean expectantly.

"You asked me to do a job with you as a human. I’m here. Now will you come?”'

Dean sighed and raised his head, nearly crashing into Castiel’s face. His mouth was barely an inch away from Dean’s cheek.

Cas’ lips were soft, lightly chapped. He could imagine brushing over them with his thumb, or even kiss—Dean ducked away, unable to contain the furious blush that spread across his cheeks.

"Fine," Dean answered finally. "Only because you asked so nicely."

The smile that lit up on Castiel's face was enough to make Dean's heart melt into his shoes. His face burned and he threw open his door, desperate to put some space between him and Cas.

Castiel followed suit and together they walked across the asphalt towards the red haired door-greeter. They started out with a normal distance between them–a good four feet–but with every step, Cas inched closer to his side until Dean felt his fingers graze Castiel’s hand.

He looked away, biting his lip, but didn’t move apart.

“Welcome to the Supernatural Convention!” The woman at the door said, greeting them with a huge smile. “Awesome costumes, Dean and Cas!”

Castiel looked surprised, but Dean just rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he scoffed.

The woman didn’t seem to notice and held out a stack of papers, drawing one of them and handing it to Castiel.

“Here’s the schedule for the next two days,” she said brightly, opening the door for them. “I hope you have a supernaturally good time!”

“Thank yo—” Castiel started, but Dean grabbed his arm and pulled him inside before he could finish.

“Listen, Cas,” he said, as they stood in an empty hallway, in between the outside doors and the entrance to the main building, “we’re not here to have a supernaturally good time!”—he mocked in a high voice— “We are here to get shit done. Comprende?”

Cas laughed, a lovely clear sound, “Dean, I know, okay? I’m here to help you.”

“Good,” Dean said, feeling miffed. It wasn’t Cas’ fault, but the convention was already getting on his nerves and they hadn’t even entered yet.

Castiel grabbed Dean’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly. His blue eyes looked deep into Dean’s, and he smiled. “It’s okay. We can do this together.”

“I know,” Dean said, letting out a breath. Castiel’s hand in his loosened the angry knot of frustration in his chest and he looked up into Cas’ sympathetic eyes. “Let’s just get this over and done with.”

—————

The convention hall was massive; a huge golden ballroom with a stage. The room was set up with a bunch of stands and tables and people milling around all of them. It smelled nice, despite the amount of people inside. An aroma of warm pastries and coffee washed over them and Dean let himself relax a little bit more. Cas still held his hand and gently tugged him along into the grand hall.

“So what now?” Cas asked him, stopping in the crowd.

“I don’t exactly know,” Dean replied, scanning the mass of bodies. “Any idea where Sam went?”

Right on cue, two different men walked past, both wearing flannel and jeans.

“There’s two,” Cas pointed out. “And another one over there.”

“Great. We’re stuck in a fun house and we’ve lost our Moose.”

Cas squeezed Dean’s hand once more. “You could try calling him.”

Near the stage, a pair of large black speakers throbbed, adding to the volume in the room. Between Carry On Wayward Son and the dozens of conversations taking place throughout the room, there was no way he would be able to hear Sam on his phone. He could barely hear Castiel, and he was standing right next to him.

Cas was standing right next to him.

Butterflies rushed into Dean’s head as it finally hit him. Like a goddamn truck. Cas was holding his hand. Standing beside him. In a room full of people who liked to analyze the homoerotic subtext of Dean’s life. There was no way he was ever going to recover from this.

The burning hot blush from earlier spread all over his face again and a cheesy smile opened on his lips. God, he was acting like a thirteen year old girl. He looked at Cas, who was calm and unfazed by everything. He didn’t seem to care or notice that he was still holding Dean’s hand. He caught Dean staring at him and flashed him a beautiful grin, his blue eyes crinkling at the edges.

Scratch whatever he had said to Sam yesterday. Dean was gay as hell for this handsome Angel.

“There you are,” Sam’s voice called out from behind him, making Dean jump and drop Castiel’s hand. “I was beginning to think I’d lost you.”

The real Sam came around them, worry plastered all over his face. “You don’t know how hard it was to find you guys. Almost everyone is dressed as you two,” he frowned, “but I mean, most of them were kissing so I just looked for the least gay pair of you in the building.”

“Right,” Dean agreed. “What are all these crazy fans thinking, that we’re gay?” He chuckled nervously, wiping his hands off on his jeans.

“Uh huh,” Sam nodded slowly, his eyebrows raising.

“So, uh, what’s the plan?” Dean asked, changing the topic to distract himself from the fact that Cas’ hand was missing from his.

“I have no idea,” Sam said, still watching Dean and Cas with a skeptical expression. “We should probably split up and check the basement and attic. That’s where any of the leftover museum artifacts would be.”

“Dean and I can take the attic,” Castiel offered.

“Sure, that’s fine,” Sam replied, eyeing Dean, his gaze flicking to Dean’s fidgeting hand. “Call me if you find anything.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, his heart racing at the thought of being alone with Cas. “Let’s torch this bitch and get out of here.”

“I can't wait,” Cas replied, crinkled blue eyes on his again.

They split up, Sam heading towards the entrance doors and Dean and Cas towards an exit door near the stage. Dean had no clue where the attic would be, but it was a start to get out of the crowded hall. He was getting flashbacks from high school dances.

Cas pushed through the swarm of people ahead of Dean, occasionally glancing back to make sure Dean was still close behind him. It was difficult to keep his eyes on Cas, because people wearing identical trench coats passed him every second.

“Hey Cas,” Dean said finally, grabbing his sleeve. “Just hang on.”

“Of course,” Cas said, apologetic.

He stepped back until they were side-by-side again, their hands next to each other’s. Dean nearly jumped out of his skin when Castiel interlocked their fingers again, surprised at the sudden touch. Right away, he looked back at Castiel, losing a little bit more of himself every time he saw Cas’ face.

“So I don’t get ahead of you again,” Cas murmured, squeezing Dean’s hand.

“R-right,” Dean stammered, growing more flustered by the second. Jesus Christ he was a mess.

They continued across to the door next to the stage, almost there when the music was suddenly cut off. Dean looked around for some hint as to what was happening but couldn’t catch anything through the sea of trench coats, flannel, and leather jackets.

“Welcome all Hunters to our third annual Sacramento Supernatural Convention!” A portly man called into a microphone on the stage. Dean hadn’t noticed it before, but there was a pulpit set up on top, where the short, balding MC now stood.

An overwhelming cheer rose through the congregation at that statement. Dean felt himself crushing Castiel’s hand with his, the screaming people surrounding them making his ears ring.

“We hope you’re all here in good spirits,” the man continued, once the crowd quieted, “otherwise, we’d have to salt and burn your bones.” He chuckled at his own horrible joke. The crowd did too. Dean scowled.

“Anyways, I’m so glad to see so many faces here today! It’s so nice to connect with others who have read Supernatural–,” the crowd cheered at this, “–and our community is so tightly knit! Harry Potter has nothing on Sam and Dean!”

The crowd exploded into a roar of approval, screaming and clapping their hands.

“Dean, let’s just go,” Castiel begged, pulling Dean’s hand to the door. Wordless, Dean let himself be dragged away, the noise from the hall pounding in his head.

The door swung shut behind them, muffling the cacophony in the room. They were in a narrow hallway, with a door to the left presumably leading backstage. Cas quickly moved down the hallway, away from the stage and door.

“Those guys obviously aren’t fans of J.K. Rowling,” Dean breathed, stumbling after Cas down the hall.

“I don’t know who that is,” Cas admitted.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean chuckled. “You’re probably better off.”

They stood in the hallway for a minute, basking in the silence. Dean leaned against the wall, desperately wishing for a drink. Getting through the day was bad enough but this goddamn convention was taking years off his life.

“Are you alright?” Cas asked softly, stroking Dean’s palm with his thumb, running it over the raised scars from years of cutting it open for rituals. Each touch was sending shivers down Dean’s spine.

Cas’ face was close to his, eyes wide with concern. His tongue was pressed just in between his teeth and Dean was losing his mind staring at Castiel’s perfect jawline.

He straightened like a shot, dropping Cas’ hand and staring at the ceiling. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“Dean-”

“We have a job to do, Cas,” Dean announced, jogging down the hallway towards a small sign that showed a flight of stairs. “A very important, needs-to-be-done-right-now job. There’s no time for distractions.”

He heard Cas sigh, but didn’t look back. The stairs were carpeted, simple yet elegant. Dean took them two at a time, hating how out of breath he was at the top. Alcohol and fast food weren’t exactly an athlete’s diet.

He stood on the second floor, staring at the distasteful striped wallpaper, waiting for Cas to catch up. This hallway was lined with doors on either side of the hall, ending with a fire exit. He opened one of them, peering inside to see stacks on stacks of dusty, cobweb covered crates.

“There’s a bunch of rooms here that we could check out,” he suggested, looking anywhere but Cas’ eyes.

“Should we split up too then?”

“I can take the rooms on the left and you can have the ones on the right. We’ll meet at the end of the hallway.”

“Dean?” Cas said suddenly, just as they turned into their respective rooms. “I don’t actually know what I’m looking for.”

“Bird skulls, Cas,” Dean replied, rolling his eyes. “You know, white bones with eye sockets and beaks.”

“I’ve never seen a dead bird,” Cas said.

“Just holler if you see any bones,” Dean suggested.

Cas looked like he wanted to say more but just nodded and turned into his own room of decade old storage.

This was new for him; cracking open boxes filled with dust and dead insects wasn’t an average day in heaven. As an Angel, he’d never had to deal with tedious tasks like this. But he didn’t mind. Dean was making it worthwhile for him.

In the first crate, Cas found hundreds of records, yellowing files filled with pages of detailed information about each artifact previously on display in the building. He leafed through a couple, scanning the neat typewriter font. Most were dated from 1935 to 1940, but he found a few papers from the beginning of the 50s as well. Sam had filled him in that morning about the history of the convention center and he remembered that the museum had closed in 1952.

He plucked out the rest of the records from the 1950s file and read through them, looking for any mention of the spirit or bird skulls. It was all organized alphabetically, so after no mention of birds in the B section, Cas flipped to the middle for anything written about Macy Gray.

He found her name immediately near the bottom of the page, listed as Gray, M on the record. Her household had donated fifty different skulls of ravens, crows, merlins and different types of hawks after her death in 1835. The record also stated where her items were stored. In the G section of crates. As if that wasn’t obvious.

He wiped off some dust on the crate next to him to reveal a letter A and some numbers. He did the same on all the nearest boxes, finding the same type of organization on all of them. The A room, clearly.

Castiel rose to his feet, clutching the files as he walked to the hall to find Dean. But he froze when he heard an eerie wailing. A woman’s mournful cries filled the room, starting as a low moan and rising to painful screams. Castiel’s breath floated from his mouth in a white cloud of air.

“Dean?” He called out, shivering with the sudden drop of temperature. Panic was starting to build in his chest.

“Find anything?” Dean’s faint voice replied from the other room.

A far away raven cawed and Cas heard a flutter of feathers right next to his ear. He tried to take a step to the door but it was as if his feet were cemented to the floor. Cas whirled around and came face to face with a woman.

She was tall, nearly two inches taller than he was, and she wore a ragged navy blue gown with heeled ankle boots. Her blonde hair was done up in an elaborate hairstyle and despite the dirt on her dress, not a strand was out of place. From her shoulder hung a worn leather satchel and she grasped the strap so tightly that he could see every vein in her pale hand.

The worst part about her was not the twisted, furious expression on her face but the birds on her shoulders. To the left and right of her head sat a skeletal raven, their talons digging into the puffed sleeves of her dress. They glared at Cas through their empty eye sockets and twisted their skulls in unison, the bones of their spines clacking together with the movement. One opened his white beak and let out an ear splitting screech.

“Dean!” Cas cried again. He looked back to the hall, shrinking back as far as he could from the woman.

There was a sudden gust of wind and the heavy oak door slammed shut.

“Cas!” Dean shouted, his voice muffled by the door. He pounded on it and wrestled with the handle. “Salt, Cas! Use your salt!”

Cas shoved his hand into the pocket of his trench coat, his hand closing on the container of salt Dean had given him that morning.

The ghost in front of him lunged for Cas’ throat, her ravens screaming in approval. Cas flung the salt at her just before her veiny hand closed on his neck.

The salt passed through her form and she vanished, a final screech echoing through the room.

Dean burst through the door, his gun drawn.

Castiel stumbled backwards, his feet finally freed from the floor. He crashed into the wall and sank to the floor, gasping and shaking.

Dean cleared the room and stuffed his gun back into his pocket. He dropped to his knees next to Castiel, grabbed his shoulder and looked into his eyes, worry plastered all over his forehead.

“Are you okay?” Dean breathed, rubbing circles into Castiel’s shoulder with his thumb.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Cas replied, just trying to catch his breath.

“What happened?” Dean asked, his voice raspy. Cas shivered again, even though the cold was gone.

“The spirit. She was here.”

“What’d she look like?”

Cas chewed the inside of his cheek, replaying the moment in his mind. “She wore a dirty dress and she had skeleton ravens on her shoulders.”

Dean’s face hardened, a determined expression taking over the worry. However, his green eyes remained soft.

“Are you okay?” He repeated. “Can you stand?”

“I think so,” Cas replied.

“Good, because that bitch will be back,” Dean growled, glaring at the room, daring the spirit to come back. “We need to find those bones.”

He extended a hand to Cas and pulled him to his feet.

“I think I know where they are,” Cas said, handing Dean the page with Macy Gray’s records. “This room is filled with objects marked with A.”

“Mine were Bs and Cs,” Dean added, scanning the page.

“They should be in the fourth or fifth room,” Cas noted, his grip tightening on Dean’s hand to hide the tremor on his own.

Dean frowned and quickly began reciting the alphabet under his breath, repeating the first seven letters a few times. “You’re probably right,” he said after giving up on how to calculate it.

“Should we call Sam?” Cas asked, his lungs still not working properly.

Dean pursed his lips, his forehead creasing as he weighed their options. “We can probably finish this up ourselves. This isn’t my first rodeo and I’ve got you as backup,” Dean suggested.

“Okay,” Cas agreed, not sure of himself at all, but he trusted Dean.

“Just keep your salt ready,” Dean advised him.

They walked into the hallway, Cas watching each shadow dance across the wallpaper warily. Dean kept himself composed and prepared and Cas wished that his experience with the ghost hadn’t rattled him so badly. He walked next to Dean, in awe of the way he had remained unfazed by experiences like this for so many years. Now that he was human, Cas was flooded with so many foreign emotions and feelings that he could place. The fear he felt right now was one of them. He was no longer one of the most powerful beings in the universe, but a weak, breakable human.

Humanity was strange, Castiel reflected amidst his racing thoughts. How could they even stand up in the mornings and stay rational and sensible when hundreds of different feelings swirled through their heads at any given time? There was so much that Cas didn’t understand about people, especially with his exposure being limited to Dean, Sam, Bobby, and a few others. He hadn’t exactly met many representatives of the species.

The most interesting part of being human to Cas was the way that his mind raced everytime he saw Dean. There was a profound sense of emotion, a connection of sorts, that Dean caused in him, making his heart beat faster and his feet feel lighter. Love. A purely human experience. Cas had never before considered his relationship with Dean from a human point of view. And now, all he could think about was the fluttering feeling in his stomach and the sensuality of love.

“You good Cas?” Dean asked, jolting him from his thoughts. He squeezed Castiel’s hand, reminding him that he wasn’t alone.

“Yeah,” Cas said, forcing his voice to remain steady. “Can… Can we not split up again?”

Dean made an odd expression, a mixture between ecstasy and deep contemplation. “Yeah, of course,” he said finally. “I’ve got your back. I won’t let Edgar Allen Poe hurt you.”

The fourth door was locked and Dean had to jimmy it open with his lock pick. While he worked, Cas anxiously watched the hallway, his hand gripping his salt tightly. His eyes seemed to be playing tricks on him; every shadow looked like a bony raven wing.

“Got it,” Dean exclaimed as the door clicked open. He pushed it open, covering his mouth as dust wafted out.

Cas followed Dean into the room, both of them getting to work quickly. They both fell into a quick system; wipe a crate off and if it wasn’t the one listed on the record, move on. It was an arduous process but it had to be done, preferably before they were jumped by Edgar Allen Poe again.

Cas swiped through dozens of crates marked with an F, relieved that he’d at least calculated correctly. Dean had started at the far side of the room but he looked over at Cas every once in a while and flashed him a reassuring smile.

“Hey, I think I’ve got something over here,” Dean announced, sticking his arm into the air from behind a tower of boxes.

Cas made his way over, drawing his trench coat closer to himself. The air seemed to have dropped ten degrees since they entered.

Dean waved him over and showed him the inside of the crate. Cas glanced at the label; it was marked with the correct letter, but the numbers were completely illegible. He peered inside, seeing a heap of avian skulls, some too damaged to be properly identified.

“What do you think?” Dean asked. He picked up one of the skulls and held it away from his face, raising a single eyebrow with a dramatic expression. “Is this Hamlet enough for y-”

He didn’t finish his sentence. An unseen force slammed into him. He flew through the air and crashed into the wall. Dean crumpled to the floor and lay there unmoving.

Cas reacted instantaneously, his body kicking into action before his brain could catch up. He grabbed the salt shaker from his pocket and opened the cap, dumping the entire container in the crate of skulls.

The ghost flickered into view between him and Dean, fixing her smoldering glare on Cas. She opened her mouth, the ravens mimicking her, and released a guttural scream, causing boxes to explode around her.

The spirit rushed forward, passing through the crate of bones and grabbed Cas’ throat. Her fingernails stabbed his soft flesh, sending sharp, fiery pain down his back.

He gasped, his hand one hand reaching for hers while his other grabbed the edge of the crate. The spirit grinned, blood dripping through her cracked teeth, and squeezed tighter. The ravens cawed with delight, snapping forward with their beaks, the serrated bone cutting into his face.

No no no. He couldn’t die like this. Not when Dean needed him. They had to finish this job.

He had no match, no lighter. Cas couldn’t set the bones on fire as a human.

His vision was going blurry. He could just barely see Dean stirring through the ghost’s translucent form. Cas struggled in the spirit’s grip, tried to lean away from her vicious ravens, but it was futile. He couldn’t do anything to stop the powerful ghost.

“I release you from your human form!” A voice cried from the hallway.

A bright light filled the room and power surged into Castiel’s body, coursing through his fingers and into his heart. The ghost’s fingers burned and she released his neck with a scream. Cas closed his eyes and let the heavenly energy flood his vessel, strength rising back into his body and washing out every ounce of fear and pain.

When he opened his eyes, he saw the room, sharp and defined, and the ghost in front of him. He could see her soul, her emotions. He could feel the anger radiating from her.

The fibers of existence were his to admire once more.

The spirit cowered before his presence, her ravens shrinking down on her shoulders. Cas rolled his neck and felt the gashes on his face and neck knit together, every trace of weakness erased from his body.

Castiel placed both hands above the crate of skulls and willed them to be set ablaze. Heat rushed from his fingers and the crate ignited, burning the salt covered bones.

The ghost’s dress lit up and she screamed as her form burned and disappeared, the faint echo of a raven’s screech the last sound Cas heard.

Cas stepped away from the fire and moved to Dean’s limp form. He briefly noted Sam was standing at the door, blinking and rubbing his eyes, but he was entirely focused on the older Winchester.

Kneeling down at Dean’s side, Castiel brushed his fingers against Dean’s temple, smearing away blood. He ran his hand to the back of Dean’s head and held it gently for a second, just existing for a moment next to him. Then he compelled the injuries to heal, waiting patiently as the damage to Dean’s head was repaired.

—--------------

Dean awoke with a gasp, his body jerking upright. He scrambled up, just realizing that Castiel was at his side.

“What the hell happened?” Dean asked, staring at Cas’ absolutely-heart-stoppingly-gorgeous blue eyes.

“The spirit attacked us,” Cas replied.

Dean glanced over Cas’ shoulder, where a fire crackled. His eyes flicked back to Cas, widening with surprise.

“You torched that bitch?” He grinned, “I’m so proud of you.”

Castiel extended his hand to Dean and pulled him to his feet too fast, catching Dean in his arms as he stumbled.

“Sorry,” Cas murmured, not quite letting him go.

“It’s fine,” Dean said, not quite complaining. Cas’ arms were strong, easy to be held in. It wasn’t exactly a hug, but it was close enough.

“Sorry, am I interrupting?” Sam said, knocking on the door frame, like the obnoxious brother he was.

“No,” Dean said, breaking away from Cas’ embrace. He straightened, stepping quickly away from Castiel’s side. “What are you even doing here? I thought you were downstairs.”

“Yeah. I finished and didn’t find any, so I figured I’d come help you,” Sam smirked, “but you had it all under control, right, Cas?”

“...What?” Dean switched between staring at Sam and at Cas. “Cas, what’s he talking about?”

Cas looked slightly uncomfortable, but replied right away, “Sam released me from the binding spell you cast.”

“And why would you do that?” Dean asked, more confused than angry.

“Hey, I want to give an embarrassing speech at your wedding,” Sam chuckled. “Can’t have the groom dying.”

Dean stared at him, even more perplexed, while Castiel awkwardly loosened his tie.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Let’s just go back downstairs. They’re serving pie at one of the tables,” He hinted, gesturing to the hallway.

Sam headed out of the room, and Cas moved to follow him, but Dean grabbed his arm first.

“You’re not going to woosh off to Wisconsin right now, right?”

“Of course not,” Cas replied, stopping and turning to face him. “We’ll go when you and Sam are ready.”

“Thanks,” Dean breathed, smiling. “Let’s go get some pie.”

—----------------------

The convention had mellowed out just slightly, with people dispersed throughout the hall, checking out tables and talking to each other with quieter voices than earlier. It was more of a dull roar than the cacophony of sound while the announcer had been talking. Dean and Cas followed Sam across the hall to a small plastic table filled with baked goods. A woman with an apron and a hairnet over her brown hair was running it, dishing out slices of pie and cookies to the eager line of cosplayers. There were at least four Deans and two Sams in the line that he could see, along with a few tan trench coats further up in the queue.

“There had better be some left for me,” Dean complained as the three of them lined up. “Pie is my thing.”

“Sure it is,” A leather jacket wearing woman in front of him snarked, turning and fixing him with a sarcastic stare. “It’s everyone’s thing. You aren’t the only Dean Winchester here, dude.”

“I’m the real Dean Winchester,” Dean grumbled, glaring at the floor.

“It’s okay,” Sam reassured him, placing his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Only the real Dean Winchester could put diesel into a gas car while drunk.”

Dean snorted and punched Sam in his shoulder. “Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

“Douche.”

“Asshole.”

“Will you guys shut the hell up?” The woman in front of them said, completely exasperated. “I mean, do you guys really have to role-play all day long?”

“We’re not role playing,” Dean said, crossing his arms. “We’re LARPing.”

The woman chuckled and turned back around, shaking her head.

“What?” Dean turned to Sam, full of confusion.

“Dean, LARPing is literally roleplaying. It’s the same thing,” Sam told him, almost disappointed in his brother’s lack of common knowledge.

“Live action role playing,” Cas interjected from Dean’s side. “It’s in the acronym.”

“How do you even know that?” Dean stared at him with amazement.

“I overheard someone talking about it.”

“Huh,” Dean said, feeling like an idiot. “I thought LARPing was what crazy fans did and roleplaying was…more of a sex thing.”

“Why would that be a sex thing?” Cas asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Now that was something Castiel would actually say,” the woman laughed, her ponytail nearly smacking Dean in the face.

“I…I am Castiel,” Cas said, cocking his head as he stared at the cosplayer. “Of course it’s something I would say. I just said it.”

“Yeah, and I’m Katniss Everdeen,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Grow up guys. You should be yourself, not a fictional character.”

“I am being myself,” Cas said, growing visibly more confused by the second.

“Just drop it, Cas,” Dean said, nudging Cas with his shoulder. “It’s not worth it.”

The woman gave him a final quizzical stare, before finally turning around and not saying anything again.

The line moved fairly quickly and soon enough they were at the front. Dean soaked in the array of pies, pastries, cakes, and dessert. A small sign at the edge listed the prices and foods but Dean barely looked over it before asking the woman for two slices of apple pie.

She handed him two paper plates and he paid for his and Cas’ dessert.

“You’re going to eat this, and it’s going to be better than your ambrosia,” Dean announced, dramatically handing Cas his slice.

Sam chuckled at Cas’ bemused expression and paid for his own cinnamon roll.

They sat down at one of the tables set up near the back of the hall, opposite to the entrance doors.

“Look at this beauty,” Dean marveled, staring at his pie. “This is one of humanity’s greatest achievements.”

He took a bite, chewing it slowly. Then Dean swallowed and grinned.

“Oh my god, this is good. Cas, you have to try this.”

Cas took a bite of his own slice, looking deep in thought as he ate it.

“It’s good,” he said finally.

Dean’s face lit up. He lightly punched Cas in the shoulder. “I knew you’d like it.”

Cas smiled at the ground and his nose turned bright red.

Sam looked between the two of them, getting more frustrated each second. He knew he shouldn’t say anything. It was none of his business, but god damn this was getting out of hand. Neither seemed to notice the signs and Sam wasn’t sure who was more idiotic. Cas may have had a limited knowledge of human affairs but even the Angel couldn’t be this oblivious.

“Are we gonna talk about this?” Sam asked after five minutes of just observing his brother and Castiel. He leaned back in his seat, feeling like a therapist for the two of them.

“About what?” Dean asked, his mouth half full of pie crust.

“This… This thing you two have,” Sam groaned, waving his hands in frustration.

“Oh my god! Your costumes are so cool!” A girl exclaimed, interrupting him before Sam could continue. “Are you going to be a part of the costume contest?”

She was tall and lanky, with shoulder length blonde hair and she wore a red leather jacket and a black T-shirt. In her hand, she held a prop knife that was drawn on with a golden marker.

“Thanks… Ruby.” Sam frowned, taking in her costume. “But we’re kind of in the middle of-”

“Costume contest?” Dean interjected, glaring at Sam. “We’d love to be part of it, right, Cas?”

“We aren’t wearing any costumes, Dean,” Castiel replied.

“Yes we are, Cas, you silly Angel,” Dean chuckled, “and we’re totally going to get in that contest together. Without Sam.”

“Wha-” Sam watched as Dean grabbed Castiel’s arm and dragged him across the hall back to the stage, talking cheerfully with the girl dressed as Ruby.

He sighed and sat back, deciding not to bother mentioning it to Dean again. As long as Dean was happy, he didn’t care about his love life. Even if it was painfully obvious to everyone except Dean and Cas.

——————

“So how exactly does this contest work?” Dean asked Ruby, still dragging Cas along. “And how can we win?”

“Well, it’s really simple,” she chirped. “You write your name and who you’re dressed as on a paper and then you go on stage and the judges mark whose they think is best. You can strike a pose, or do something that the character would do and they’ll take that all into consideration.

“You guys could probably register as a pair. There’s plenty of those here today, so you wouldn’t be alone. But that’s pretty much all you need to know.”

“Prizes,” Dean stated, hoping to prompt Ruby to keep talking.

“Yeah. There’s apparently a cash prize for first place and like, gift baskets for second and third,” Ruby said.

“Sweet,” Dean said. He turned to Cas. “We have to win this thing.”

“Dean, we don’t have costumes,” Cas reiterated, tilting his head ever so slightly and fixing his gaze on Dean’s eyes.

Jesus Christ, that was hot.

Dean shook his head, mentally slapping himself. Get a hold of yourself, Dean.

“Cas,” he said, pulling him out of Ruby’s earshot, “we are the costumes. Everyone here thinks we’re dressed up as ourselves, so all we have to do is play along. We just need some fake names and Bob’s your uncle.”

“You guys coming?” The girl asked, turning back to them.

“Yep,” Dean replied. He turned to Cas. “Listen, your name is… is Misha Collins-” he blurted after a quick reflection- “and I’m Jensen Ackles. Got it?”

Cas nodded, not very good at disguising the fact that he was completely and utterly lost. At least he was good at pretending that he had some semblance of what Dean was doing.

As if Dean knew what he was doing anyway. His mind had gone completely blank after Cas had given him the most attractive stare ever and he couldn’t think about any other fake name except the stupid actors in the alternate reality Balthasar had sent them into.

Oh well. As far as he knew, Jensen and Misha didn’t exist in the real world. He’d never met anyone with names that stupid.

They caught up to Ruby, who flashed them a pretty grin. “You know, you guys are pretty cool, all things considered,” she said.

Dean raised his eyebrows at the back handed compliment, but didn’t think about it too much. He was more concerned over what Castiel was thinking and whether or not he was making a total fool of himself.

Ruby stuck with them until they reached a table set up at the front of the stage. There was already a line of cosplayers stretching along ahead of them and a girl dressed like Sam waved at her from the front. Ruby waved back and then said her goodbyes to Cas and Dean.

“My girlfriend and I are going up as a couple, -Sam and Ruby-“ she shrugged- “so I guess I’ll see you later! I hope you guys win something! The costumes are phenomenal!”

“Thanks!” Dean grinned, waving after her as she dashed to catch up with the brunette at the front of the line.

“She was nice,” Cas remarked, facing Dean.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, “not all humans are horrible.”

“You and Sam aren’t horrible,” Cas said, slightly smiling. “Neither are most that I have met. I don’t think of humans the way my brethren do.”

“I never thought you did,” Dean stammered, his face growing hot.

Castiel looked away for a second, as if embarrassed. Then he met Dean’s eyes once more and it was as if the world melted away. All he could see was Cas. The sounds of the hall were muted. He could hear every breath that Cas took.

“Are we going to talk about this?” Dean breathed, taking a step closer to Cas, every part of his soul drowning in his blue eyes.

Cas touched Dean’s shoulder, his fingers dragging along his leather jacket. “This thing we have?”

Dean nodded, feeling Cas’ fingers linger on the handprint scar. His heart beat at double time, like a rush of crack through his veins. Their faces were so close.

“We don’t have to talk,” Cas murmured, his hand moving to the back of Dean’s neck, brushing his fingers against his hair. “We can just-”

Dean pressed his lips to Castiel’s, silencing him with a quick kiss.

Cas pulled back instinctively and Dean froze, his mind beginning to race. Was that the wrong move? Had he misread the situation? He inhaled, a shit-ton of words and apologies about to spill from his mouth but Castiel leaned into Dean again, kissing him once more, his lips soft against the small cut on Dean’s bottom lip.

Dean was pretty sure his heart had stopped beating.

Every part of his body dissolved into pure ecstasy. Had gravity not tethered him to the floor, he was sure he would’ve floated into the sky. He leaned into Cas’ chest, their bodies and souls entwining with every second that passed. Dean was perfectly happy to die right then and there. As long as he was in Castiel’s arms, he was fulfilled.

It was over as quickly as it began and they broke away, staring at each other with surprise.

“I really think we should talk about this,” Dean said, unable to contain the pure giddiness he felt. He grinned despite trying to keep his composure.

“Destiel is canon,” a girl suddenly cackled as she walked past them. The moment was shattered.

The sounds of the convention flooded back into Dean’s ears and he scowled. He shot a glare at the group of giggling teenagers who passed them.

“Listen, Cas, d’you want to go somewhere where we can be alone?” Dean asked, his voice low. “I just want to be alone with you.”

Cas smiled, sending warmth rushing into Dean’s toes. “Of course.” He grabbed Dean’s hand and kissed it lightly.

Dean was dizzy the entire way to the door.

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