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The air had a weighted quality that day, as if charged with an anticipation of something to come; either good or bad no one could tell.
Winter had just started to creep its cold fingers away from the earth, allowing the flowers of spring to peek out of the cracked ground. The grass was still dry and brown in areas but the occasional wilted dandelion drew the eye away from the deadness with a splash of yellow. The town itself seemed rather unwelcoming as a whole, matching the weather perfectly. Every curtain in every house was drawn and the houses themselves were drab and colorless. A uniform row of buildings lined the streets, uninteresting and dismal. There were no typical accompanying sounds of people talking and laughing, children running around and bumping into each other, car motors rumbling and the vehicles themselves driving down the road. Birds were an infrequent sighting and the rare person walking down the sidewalk seemed to always be in a hurry, hands tucked into their pockets and head ducked down as if to avoid being seen.
Dean raised a curious eyebrow as a woman bumped into him, apologized hurriedly, and walked away with quick, brisk steps before Dean could say anything back. He watched her hastily disappear into a store a few yards down before turning back to Sam and Cas who had paused beside him and were glancing between him and the woman in turn, questioning looks on their faces.
“There’s something wrong with this town, you two sensing it?” Dean asked, beginning to walk again. Sam jogged up behind him, huddled up in his jacket and white plumes of cold air huffing out of his mouth with every breath he took. Though winter was officially over in terms of months the air was still frigid.
“Yeah, I noticed too. You think the recent deaths have anything to do with it?” Dean shrugged.
“Dunno, maybe. Though I think the deaths didn’t make the town like this but instead just made it worse…” he trailed off and glanced back over his shoulder to see Cas standing in front of a store window reading the posters on it with interest, body bent forward slightly from the waist to see them better as the posters were situated a bit lower than his height level. “Cas, come on!” he called to him, slowing down and turning to walk backwards, crossing his arms both in exasperation and to warm himself a bit more. Castiel raised his head at the sound and straightened, quickly making his way over towards the brothers.
“Apologies,” he said, a white cloud framing his face for a millisecond before dissipating. “I was reading the missing persons posters.” Dean turned back to the front and uncrossed his arms, a curious expression falling over his face. Cas continued, “apparently there have been four disappearances in the span of four weeks, each person between the ages of 23 and 29. All male.” Sam made an interested noise in the back of his throat and looked back at the window with the posters in question, a curious look falling over his face. Dean promptly grabbed his arm and started dragging him forward, beckoning for Cas to follow them with his other hand.
“Oh no you don’t,” he snapped, shooting Sam a glare. “We’re not going back there just so you can read a few posters. Cas has probably already got them downloaded in his super memory or something, right?” The last question was directed at Cas, who was walking beside the two while eyeing the few trees they passed, taking note of their unnaturally leafless branches. He didn’t seem to have heard the question so Dean nudged him with his elbow, feeling him react to the touch and snap back to the present.
“Did you say something?” Cas asked mildly, glancing over towards Dean. Sam snorted while Dean rolled his eyes heavenwards.
“No, never mind,” he grumbled. “The point is, I’m hungry and I can’t wait any longer for you two geeks to freak out over missing persons’ posters.” He stopped abruptly, dragging Sam to a stop as well and causing Castiel to bump into him and fall back a step with a rather dazed look on his face. “Here we go,” Dean said, a smile forming on his lips. They were standing in front of a small diner, a neon sign fixed precariously above the door flashing the name in systematic bursts of color. One of the letters was burnt out and the rest didn’t look far behind from the same fate. The small paper sign hung up on the diner door proclaimed it open but it certainly didn’t look so. There were only four people inside that the Winchesters and Castiel could see through the smudged glass of the windows. One was a rather tired looking cashier and the last three were diners, one seated alone in the far back and two eating together in relative silence. Overall, the diner looked extremely unwelcoming. Sam gave Dean a side-eye.
“We’re going to eat here?” he asked slowly, running his eyes over the Diner’s still flashing sign. As he watched, a second letter died out. Castiel coughed into his fist.
Sam wasn’t complaining necessarily. He and Dean had eaten in far worse places when they were younger and when food was scarce. They were used to it, even, so being picky about where they ate wasn’t a luxury that they had. However, Sam had figured that those days were mostly behind them, what with the much larger amount of money they possessed these days (albeit stolen money). He had gotten used to eating in better places. Or at least places that didn’t look like they hosted cult meetings in the back kitchen every Tuesday.
Dean shook his head in hopelessness, giving Sam an I-raised-you-better-than-this look.
“Food is food, Sammy,” he said, giving him a sarcastic consoling pat on the shoulder. “I know you wanted your salads and smoothies but you’re gonna have to wait ‘till next time.” His tone became more serious for a second as he added, “plus, this is the only diner I could find in this whole damn town.” Sam’s lips tightened and he huffed out an irritated breath as he pushed the door open and walked into the small tinkle of a bell that seemed extremely out of place when compared with the rest of the diner. The door shut behind him and Dean watched as a waiter seemingly materialized out of nowhere and led Sam towards a corner booth table. Shaking his head, he turned towards Castiel, who also seemed to be watching Sam through the glass.
“You coming in or what?” Dean asked, poking Cas’ arm with one finger. Castiel nodded and made to open the door and follow Sam in when Dean snagged him by the coat sleeve and drew him back, turning Cas around to face him. Castiel made a questioning sound in the back of his throat but Dean ignored it, bringing his hands up to fix Cas’ lapels and tugging the open ends of the trench coat tighter together.
“Will you at least pretend to try and look presentable?” he asked Castiel, brushing an invisible speck of dust off his shoulder. Dean’s other hand was still resting in the general area of Castiel’s neck, fingers brushing lightly against the skin there. Castiel, seeming to not notice the touch–or perhaps not caring–looked down at himself, a confused look crossing his face.
“I look fine,” he started as Dean drew his hands back and stepped away self-consciously, as if suddenly aware of how close they were standing.
“Yeah, now you do,” Dean said quickly, clearing his throat and turning towards the door again, pulling it open for something to do with his hands that didn’t involve touching Cas. He had to stop doing that.
Dean held the door open for Cas, who still had a rather puzzled look on his face, and led the way over to where Sam was sitting, sliding into the seat across from him. Sam gave him a look as Castiel sat down next to Dean and started to smooth his trench coat over his knees in a practiced movement. Sam had very obviously seen the entire exchange and Dean ignored him pointedly, thanking anyone above who was listening that the waiter had chosen that moment to show up again.
The waiter looked to be about 25 in age, maybe a bit older, and had a rather exhausted look about him; dark bruises under his eyes and mouth turned down slightly at the corners to bely his apparently very long day. The small nametag pinned on the front of his shirt had the name Devon written on it with a messy handwriting. The waiter–Devon–had a notepad in one hand and a pencil in the other, ready to jot down their orders, and yet his shoulders were slumped and he looked less than alert, if the word could even be used in the situation.
“Ready to order?” he asked shortly, fidgeting his right foot against the side of the other. Dean gave him a once over, eyebrow slightly raised.
“Yeah, just a sec,” he said, choosing to ignore the man’s appearance and instead reaching over to pull the laminated menu in front of Sam over to himself, flipping it around right-side up and reading through it with practiced ease. He wasn’t exactly reading the menu, to be exact, but rather skimming the words to find the nachos he already had in mind, making sure it was actually sold there. Finding it almost immediately he told the waiter his order along with Sam’s. Sam hadn’t actually told Dean what he wanted to eat but Dean could guess seeing as how it was the only food on the entire menu that actually had a decent amount of something green in it. Dean glanced up at Sam to check that he had gotten it right, just to be sure, and a smirk made its way onto his lips as he spied Sam’s rather disappointed look. Apparently Sam was more than displeased to realize for the 100th time that Dean could read him like a TV manual.
The man wrote down their orders (or rather he wrote down the first two letters or something since he had stopped scribbling far too fast to have actually written the whole thing–Dean couldn’t tell) and turned towards Castiel. Castiel, noticing the pause, leaned over to look at the menu in Dean’s hands, randomly selecting a bacon burger with a side of fries. When he looked back up again, the waiter had a rather dazed look on his face. His eyes were running over Castiel’s form hesitantly and he seemed to have straightened up a bit, eyes becoming more attentive and mouth curving upwards in a tentative smile. He brought a hand up to self-consciously smooth his hair down, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Castiel, of course, didn’t notice any of this, oblivious as always to the intricacies of the human bodily responses to attraction. Dean, however, noticed almost immediately and he felt his eyebrows scrunching up in the middle despite his best efforts to control his face. Sam’s eyebrows, on the other hand, had shot up to his hairline and his mouth opened for a second and then closed again, apparently being unable to find anything to say. The waiter, unaware of the Winchesters unexplainable irritation and bemused surprise, respectively, grabbed the menu from Dean’s hands, muttered something about relaying their orders to the kitchen, gave Castiel another look–eyes tracking over his face in a heated glance–and then hurried off to the kitchen, completely forgetting to ask if the three wanted anything to drink.
Annoyance sparked so suddenly in Dean’s gut that he didn’t quite know what to do with it at first. He glanced up at Sam who looked relatively unaffected by what had just happened, seemingly completely fine with it. Sam had brought out his laptop from his bag and was clicking through articles on the shapeshifter they were hunting and writing down notes on a piece of paper that he had pulled out of his pocket a second ago. Castiel was relaying to Sam the full information on the wanted posters, pitching his voice lower to keep from attracting the attention of the other diners around them. Dean, on the other hand, couldn’t sit still and his foot started tapping out an uneven rhythm under the table as a way to allow the tension in his body to leave that didn’t involve punching something. It wasn’t working very well, though, and Dean stopped abruptly, crossed his arms over his chest and glaring out the window and into the street which was still empty of people and cars. A stray newspaper page was being blown down the street by the wind, occasionally dragging against the curb, and Dean scowled at it absentmindedly.
He didn’t understand why he was suddenly so very… pissed off, to put it bluntly. He had seen many people give Castiel an appreciative look throughout their years together, even encouraged it, letting Castiel know about potential women in bars who seemed more than eager to get a piece of him. Castiel never seemed very interested, though. The first few times Dean had pointed such things out to him Castiel had gotten a mildly terrified look on his face, apparently thinking back to that One Time Dean had taken him to a brothel (which had admittedly ended disastrously though Dean did still feel a spark of amusement every time he thought back on it). After a while, though, Castiel had gotten used to Dean trying to set him up with random people and just hummed in acknowledgement whenever Dean said anything. He just didn’t seem very interested in sex, if at all. Dean had given up after a while, labeling the whole situation as utterly hopeless.
The looks themselves had died down recently and Dean had pretty much forgotten about the whole thing, his mind usually constantly on the next hunt, the next evil, the next monster, over and over again. So when he noticed the waiter giving Castiel that look, it had been one of the last things he was expecting. He had been so thrown off that it had taken him a minute to even realize what he was feeling. For some inexplicable reason, having someone, a man no less, flirt with Cas (if you could even call it flirting) unsettled him down to his soul. He felt something rise up in his throat and clog up his airway, leaving him breathing out harshly through his nose. He had never felt this way before, not that he could remember. It was such a new feeling that Dean began trying to find a name for it. Distrust? Protectiveness? Jealousy? Dean immediately put a brick wall up between himself and that last one, mentally shutting his eyes and ears, trying desperately not to think about it. He had to stop thinking as a whole, in fact.
“Sammy,” he barked out suddenly, voice too loud in the mostly silent diner. The couple sitting a few feet away from them in the middle of the diner glared in their direction pointedly. Sam and Castiel both looked up at him and Dean cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the roughness coating his voice. He lowered his tone and tried again: “Anything interesting I should know about?”
Sam narrowed his eyes at him for a second, assessing, before turning back to his notes and picking up the paper covered with his writing, thrusting it at Dean.
“Read up,” he said simply, turning his attention back to his laptop. Castiel was still looking at Dean. Dean tried to ignore him with everything he had, leaning back into the seat and almost unconsciously hunching his shoulders up to try and protect himself; from what he didn’t know. His eyes scanned over the paper but his mind wasn’t reading anything, the words being registered but no meaning being derived from them. Castiel’s gaze felt as if it was piercing through his skin. He wondered, as he often did, if when Castiel looked at him he saw something that others couldn’t see. Something deep inside him that only an angel’s eyes could perceive. He didn’t quite know how to feel about that.
Dean slid the paper across the table back at Sam who absentmindedly slapped his free hand on it before it slid off the edge. He was murmuring something about traffic camera footage and retinal flares, clicking the laptop touch pad aggressively but Dean wasn’t listening. He turned his head slightly and his eyes met Castiel’s. He could almost feel his heart missing one beat, tripping over the other, and scrabbling to pick itself up again to keep him alive. The light outside had darkened with the nearing sunset, and the light filtering through the window lay across the table, turning the dark brown wood slightly orange. More noticeably, Castiel’s entire right side was lit up and his eyes were brightened with the light, turning the color of his irises into a glittering ice blue tinged with yellow. There was something there that Dean couldn’t read, even if he tried. Something that his mind processed but couldn’t decipher. Dean could feel his hand gripping his leg, fingers digging in almost painfully with how hard he was squeezing, and yet he couldn’t break eye contact. He watched as Castiel swallowed minutely and Dean’s eyes were, unbidden, drawn to the movement. The thing in his throat was rising up and stabbing at his windpipe and Dean finally opened his mouth to say something, say anything. Anything to break the crackling tension between them.
The clatter of a plate on the surface of the table snapped him back to his surroundings, and he started, eyes breaking away from Castiel to the waiter in front of them. The waiter set the last two plates that he had been carrying on his other hand–balanced on his fingers and palm expertly–on the table as well and straightened up, running a hand through his hair again. Dean narrowed his eyes at him.
“Will that be all?” the waiter asked Sam, but his eyes slid towards Castiel’s by the end of his sentence. Castiel met his eyes and the corner of his mouth quirked up slightly to acknowledge the waiter. The guy seemed to get flustered at that and opened his mouth to say something more but Dean interrupted swiftly.
“Yeah, can we have two beers and a coffee? Thanks.” His tone was slightly curter than he had wanted it to be and the waiter startled slightly upon hearing it, eyeing Dean warily.
“Sure…” he said sourly and Dean smiled bitterly at his back as he walked away. Sam cleared his throat loudly, a signal for Dean to cool it, and moved his computer to the side, sliding his own plate in front of him to start eating. Castiel was giving Dean a confused look, having obviously caught onto some of the strain between him and the waiter, but it quickly wore off as Dean nudged him with his shoulder, asking for his own food. Castiel picked it up and placed it gently in front of Dean, sliding his own plate in front of himself and gave the burger and fries on it an uninterested look. Dean had already begun eating, taking his customary big bites as if if he didn’t eat fast enough the food would disappear into thin air. Sam was poking around at his own food which looked extremely colorful from Castiel’s point of view. He was taking random bites without really looking, eyes still glued to his laptop screen.
“At least try the fries, Cas,” Dean said suddenly, leaning over and picking a fry off of Castiel’s plate and popping it into his own mouth. Castiel muttered something about not really wanting to eat and that the food was for Dean anyway and Dean rolled his eyes in exasperation.
“Oh don’t start,” he said, picking up the top bun from Castiel’s burger and placing it to the side. “here, try the pickles and cheese. You’ll like those.” Dean plucked the fork from beside Cas’ plate and handed it to him, eyebrows raised expectantly. Castiel sighed in a long-suffering manner. This happened every single time he ate with Dean. He would always order something that he knew Dean would like since he himself didn’t eat and he didn’t want to attract attention by being the only one to not order something (plus Dean was always hungry enough after finishing his own food to eat a second meal). Once the food arrived, however, Dean would somehow always convince him to eat something at the very least. Castiel figured that perhaps Dean felt bad about eating in front of someone who wasn’t but he soon realized that that was not the reason. Dean just seemed to enjoy watching Castiel try new things, finding pleasure in seeing his facial expressions change with each new food he tasted.
Castiel took the fork from Dean and started eating, knowing that deep down he’d do whatever Dean asked of him in the end. Plus, food was starting to grow on him, in a way–though he would never admit it out loud, already being able to see Dean's obnoxious I-told-you-so look in his mind.
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Devon was clearing up the table after the couple had left, but he couldn’t concentrate on what he was doing. His eyes were continually being drawn to the corner booth next to the windows and the three men sitting and eating there. Well, he wasn’t distracted by all three men, to be frank, but rather just one of them. The dark haired, blue eyed one. The one that had a weary kindness in his eyes and yet hid a barely noticeable strength in his frame from the way he held himself. The one with the bulky trench coat and black dress shoes. The one with the five o’clock shadow, strong jawline, and straight nose. The one with the—well, Devon could go on but his train of thought was derailed by the big and angry looking obstacle that was crowded between hot-guy and the window. The laptop-guy (Sammy?) had referred to him as his brother when he had first come in and later as Dean. This Dean-guy was pretty tall, and hid an impressive breadth of shoulder beneath a dark blue jacket. He had a rough look about him, as if he was running from something that had been chasing him for a long time. The set of his jaw was firm and he was hunched over slightly as he ate. Overall, he proved to be an extremely intimidating person. Devon figured that he would not want to find himself alone in a dark alleyway with only this guy as company.
As he watched from the sidelines, Dean said something to hot-guy and promptly snatched a fry from his plate, popping it into his own mouth. The motion was so relaxed that Devon guessed that this was something he did regularly. A second later Dean separated the top bun from hot-guy’s burger and placed it on his own plate, picking up a fork and handing it to hot-guy. Hot-guy said something to Dean and speared a pickle from the inside of his burger, biting into it tentatively. Dean grinned and slid a chip covered with beans and dripping with cheese onto hot-guy’s plate, saying something to him in return while he did so. He then returned to eating his own food but he kept one eye on the man beside him, mouth curving up into a smile at hot-guy’s hum of appreciation upon trying the food.
Devon felt his jaw go slack. His stomach twisted painfully and his hand paused in setting the last cup onto the tray next to him.
When he had first come into the diner Devon had labeled Dean as a tough guy. Someone who had probably gotten into many school fights when they were younger. Dean looked coarse, emotions hidden under a rock hard exterior that served to stave off unwanted attention. Or perhaps to keep himself from showing too much. Judging by the barely-there lines between his eyebrows and bracketing his mouth Devon could only guess that Dean was one to scowl a lot.
And yet… He softened when his eyes met that of the man beside him. His rough edges rounded off to something more approachable and his body would relax infinitesimally, leaning in towards his friend almost unconsciously. Most noticeably, however, was the way small crinkles would appear at the corners of his eyes as he smiled, his mouth quirking up in a half grin at something hot-guy had said or done. That look in his eyes… Devon’s heart ached.
He suddenly thought back to the glares Dean had sent his way earlier and he shivered slightly, closing his eyes for a brief second to curse at himself. Of course he had seemed angry, as if ready to bite someone’s head off. Of course his mouth had twisted into a grimace as he seemed to sulk, for lack of a better word.
Dean and hot-guy were together. In a romantic relationship. Like, together-together.
The moment this realization hit him, Devon groaned quietly, finally picking up his tray and bringing it to the kitchen. The disappointment he felt in his gut was so strong that he felt like quitting his shift right then and there and going home to wallow about his bad luck in his bed, in the dark preferably. He slammed the tray down on the counter beside the sink with a bit more force than necessary, attracting the attention of his coworkers in the kitchen. Devon muttered out a brief apology and grabbed the two beers and coffee to bring to the table.
Taking a deep breath, he shuffled up to the table and placed the coffee down. He then unhooked the beers from between his fingers and placed them down too, finally raising his gaze to meet that of Dean’s who was now considering him narrowly.
“Thanks,” Sammy said distractedly, glancing up at him briefly with a grateful smile. Devon returned it, then looked back at Dean again and hoped to god that he could see the apology in Devon’s eyes. He avoided looking at the man beside Dean as best as he could, but just before he left he couldn't help but glance at him one more time. There probably wasn't anything wrong with admiring a hot as heck man, even if he was in a relationship already. Plus, he couldn’t help himself. A dude’s gotta live once in a while, he figured despondently.
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Dean noticed the waiter's changed demeanor almost immediately. He seemed to have reverted back to his old self; tired and seemingly vexed with his lot in life–but now he looked even more depressed than usual.
He caught the look of apology; had almost missed it in fact.
He couldn't for the life of him understand what it was for.
And yet deep down he felt that he had deserved it for some reason.
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About an hour later Devon approached the table again to clear it up, tray in hand. Dean and hot-guy had gone to the cashier to pay for the meals while Sammy stayed behind to pack up his laptop and notes. Devon began clearing up the table but a minute later, not being able to help himself, he asked hesitantly,
“How long have they been together?"
Sammy looked up at him, a confused look on his face.
“How long have who been together?" he questioned. Devon paused, holding a plate in one hand.
“Your brother and the guy with him,” he said slowly, nodding his head towards the two who had finished paying and were now watching them, waiting for Sammy to finish. Devon tried not to think about how close they were standing, arms brushing comfortably against each other.
Sammy's eyes widened comically and he let out a choked sound that was something halfway between a laugh and a disbelieving snort.
“What?! Dean and Cas aren't together" he said, giving Devon an extremely amused grin. Devon stared back at him. “Though I can see why you’d think that,” Sammy continued, sighing. “I guess I could say it’s only a matter of time but the truth is much more complicated than that… They’re both dense as fuck, for one.” Sammy paused, then, having noticed the despairing look on Devon’s face and he shot him an apologetic look, apparently aware of Devon’s short-lived interest towards hot-guy. Cas… That was his name.
“Yeahh… Sorry about that,” Sammy said, looking genuinely unhappy on Devon’s behalf. “Anyways, I hope you have a nice weekend,” he finished hastily, then stood up and left the booth, patting Devon lightly on the shoulder as he walked past him. Devon was still holding the plate, though he was too numb from the information to notice. He watched as Dean asked Sammy a question, looking back at Devon as the three made their way out of the diner. He heard Sammy laugh and shake his head. Dean scowled but seemed to have nothing else to say. He had his hand on Cas’ shoulder and was leading him out of the diner, muttering something to him. Sammy followed behind them and the door shut with a doleful chime of the bell.
Though he knew he was being dramatic, Devon could very fairly say that at that moment it felt as if his heart had shattered into a million tiny bits.
Curse his luck, honestly.