Dean took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the bar. It had been forever since he’d visited Ellen and Jo, and the absence of Sam in tow was going to make this a thousand times more awkward than it needed to be.
He nodded his head in the direction of some men in the corner of the room. He recognized one of them as hunter, but names escaped him. Normally Dean would attempt to get information from other hunters about various big bads, but he had a mission. And his mission was to talk to Jo.
Walking out from the back room, Jo looked around and immediately noticed something was different. Things were always different when the Winchesters were involved. The question was: did she want to get involved with them?
Rolling her eyes, Jo walked forward and reached out to tap the man’s shoulder. “What brings you to this neck of the woods, Dean-o?”
“Oh, hey.” Dean tried not to act surprised when Jo tapped his shoulder. “Just lookin for my favorite drink.” He smiled at her, but it felt forced. Things with Jo had never been great. But if the world was going to end, he needed to set things right. “And a friendly face for once.” Dean indicated the other hunters in the room, most of whom were welcoming Dean with stern looks. Clearly the Winchester legacy of destruction was well known.
Dean took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the bar. It had beenforeversince he’d visited Ellen and Jo, and the absence of Sam in tow was going to make this a thousand times more awkward than it needed to be.
He nodded his head in the direction of some men in the corner of the room. He recognized one of them as hunter, but names escaped him. Normally Dean would attempt to get information from other hunters about various big bads, but he had a mission. And his mission was to talk to Jo.
Dean was bored. He wasn’t gonna say that he missed Sam. Hedefinitelywasn’t going to say that. But it was probably true. He missed the kid tapping away at that damn laptop while Dean tried to get paper airplanes stuck in that girly hair. Dean sighed in bored frustration and tried to focus his attention on Dr. Sexy, M.D.
It was a beautiful distraction. Dr. Sexy’s new love interest was a curvy brunette physician’s assistant with crystal blue eyes. Dean watched with semi-interest as the girl’s fingers slid up Dr. Sexy’s sleeve. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t thatbored. But this was the last episode in the marathon, and the golfball sized hail that was threatening to drop threatened both Dean and his car if he trekked out onto the road.
“Okay Cas. What do you want me to do about it? Honestly, I have no friggin clue how to fix this.” Dean frowned at looked at Castiel honestly. “So the big handprint doesn’t help you guardian angel my ass?” he pointed to his shoulder. Dean had assumed, wrongly, that Castiel was always flying around watching him— like a hawk or a vulture or something.
Castiel stared at Dean pointedly, brow furrowing in confusion. As usual, he took a moment to decode the Winchester’s colloquialisms into English he could understand, before replying carefully. “When I hid you from angels, I hid you from all angels, Dean. I can’t locate you on my own.”
Except, of course, by tracking him down in a more traditional manner, which Castiel was keen to never, ever have to do again. It was…stressful.
“It would be a simple matter to call Bobby and make sure he knows which hunts you’re going after. Then I could just ask him.”
“Is that so?” Dean sighed. The hunter thought for a moment. Yeah, telling Bobby about every hunt might actually be a good idea, unless of course someone tried to interrogate him. But Bobby was stronger than Dean in a lot of ways.
“Okay. I can do that. But…” he stalled. Dean was terrible at thinking before he spoke. “Cas why don’t you just hang around for a while. I mean, if you’re always just lookin’ for me anyway, why not, I dunno, make your little angel nest in the Impala or something.” Why the hell was Dean asking something like this? Sam would probably ask the same thing, right?
“CAS!” Dean almost thrust himself backward into the car when he heard Castiel speak. “JESUS man! See that Wal-Mart down the street? I’m about two seconds from walking in there and buying you a bell!” Dean knew the joke was old, but it was probably lost on Castiel all the same. Just like everything else he tried to convey to the angel. “We need to talk? You ever gonna NOT start a conversation with that line?”
Dean knew he sounded more pissed off than he really was. In actuality, Dean was just a little annoyed to have his “maybe sorta peaceful day” ruined by an incoming message from his goddamn guardian angel. When he noticed Castiel staring at him, probably waiting for Dean to finish being pissy, the hunter sighed. “Okay shoot. What do we need to talk about.”
Castiel waited patiently through Dean’s tirade, sending a glance towards the store that he indicated and wondering exactly what good a bell would do. He was going to appear suddenly, whether he made noise or not. Besides, the angel always found that the sound of another’s wings was enough of an alert. Perhaps the Winchester just wasn’t as accustomed to it yet.
“You,” he answered, stepping closer into what he’d found through trial and error was an acceptable conversation distance for people like Dean. “You’ve become increasingly difficult to keep track of. Usually your brother is willing to give intermittent reports, but you…”
He glanced at the Impala, frowning. “It’s lucky you drive such a distinctive vehicle, or else I might not have been able to find you.”
Except, that did raise the question. If Castiel was able to track him that way…who else was?
“Okay Cas. What do you want me to do about it? Honestly, I have no friggin clue how to fix this.” Dean frowned at looked at Castiel honestly. “So the big handprint doesn’t help you guardian angel my ass?” he pointed to his shoulder. Dean had assumed, wrongly, that Castiel was always flying around watching him— like a hawk or a vulture or something.
Is that so? I’m hunting solo, but I can manage to swing by. Tell your mom to have my favorite drink ready when I get there. And some pie.
Sure thing.
And wait, what did you say about working solo? Did you leave your little brother at home with the babysitter or something?
-grins- Something like that. Sam and I are just taking a little break. I’m lettin him know that I trust him. Could have used his help on this case though. It involved a lot of girly book reading. You know anyone willing to read a few 600 page books on Chupacabras?
Dean stretched his arms and yawned. The sky was deceptively beautiful. But Dean knew that just because the sun was out didn’t mean something horrible wasn’t lurking around the corner. He slid a finger across the top of his Baby—his ‘67 Chevy Impala. When no dust or dirt came off on his finger, Dean grinned. “Maybe today’ll be alright,” he muttered aloud.
He reached into the open trunk of his Baby and grabbed his trusted .45 Colt, slipping it into his back pocket. Some kids ran in and out of a diner across the street from Dean and his car. He debated putting the gun back when he noticed them, but a noise coming from behind him stopped Dean in his tracks.
Castiel landed hard on his feet, though the only noise that marked his arrival was the usual flutter of unseen feathers, the soft sound incongruant to his slowly rising irritation. Irritation that was dampened somewhat by finally finding himself in front of the lone Winchester and his Impala, but irritation nonetheless.
“Dean,” he said, voice even lower than usual in his mood, “we need to talk.”
The angel had thought that maybe consistant exposure to the elder Winchester would decrease the frustration he had in dealing with him. Dean seemed to him to be constantly looking for creative ways to prove that hypothesis wrong.
“CAS!” Dean almost thrust himself backward into the car when he heard Castiel speak. “JESUS man! See that Wal-Mart down the street? I’m about two seconds from walking in there and buying you a bell!” Dean knew the joke was old, but it was probably lost on Castiel all the same. Just like everything else he tried to convey to the angel. “We need to talk? You ever gonna NOT start a conversation with that line?”
Dean knew he sounded more pissed off than he really was. In actuality, Dean was just a little annoyed to have his “maybe sorta peaceful day” ruined by an incoming message from his goddamn guardian angel. When he noticed Castiel staring at him, probably waiting for Dean to finish being pissy, the hunter sighed. “Okay shoot. What do we need to talk about.”
Hey Dean. When are you coming by the bar next? We’ve got some stuff that might help you and Sam out.
Is that so? I’m hunting solo, but I can manage to swing by. Tell your mom to have my favorite drink ready when I get there. And some pie.
Dean stretched his arms and yawned. The sky was deceptively beautiful. But Dean knew that just because the sun was out didn’t mean something horrible wasn’t lurking around the corner. He slid a finger across the top of his Baby—his ‘67 Chevy Impala. When no dust or dirt came off on his finger, Dean grinned. “Maybe today’ll be alright,” he muttered aloud.
He reached into the open trunk of his Baby and grabbed his trusted .45 Colt, slipping it into his back pocket. Some kids ran in and out of a diner across the street from Dean and his car. He debated putting the gun back when he noticed them, but a noise coming from behind him stopped Dean in his tracks.
