[SPN] time will kiss the world goodbye (1/4)
Title: time will kiss the world goodbye
Fandom: Supernatural AU - fusion with The Lake House
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Dean/Castiel, with background Gabriel/Balthazar and Gabriel/Sam
Warning: Uhhh. Extreme cheese? Hollywood plots and fandom clichés? I got nothing.
Notes: Written for dc_everafter, third round; masterpost can be found here. Based on the movie 'The Lake House' (2006), along with other stuff ganked from the 2003 UD (Under Development) script. Title of the fic comes from 31_days, with the prompt for 8th July 2009.
time will kiss the world goodbye
dc_everafter, 36374 words
It starts with a letter. A note, if you will. There's nothing special about it, nothing extravagant-it’s simply a note passed from one tenant to another tenant, written with a greeting and a request to direct any following letters to the correct location because there's no telling how the post office works these days.
There's nothing about the note that Dean Winchester would have regarded as extraordinary, except for the fact that its talking about boxes in the attic and paw prints across the bridge and on the porch when nobody has lived (or even come close) to this place for years, if Sammy's right in his information (and he pretty much always is). He looks at the piece of paper in his hand once again and proceeds to scowl, muttering a few choice words about strange people living in Chicago before he pockets the letter into his pocket and forgets all about it soon enough.
But that's where everything starts.
Or to be more accurate, it starts with the lake house.
If there's anything that Castiel Glaser misses about his old house, it would be the fact that at least it had been quiet back there. Living in the heart of Chicago now, there's nothing but cars and motorcycles and people shouting everywhere and he really, really hates that. It's already bad enough that he has minimal rest as it is due to his job (the local state hospital, recently assigned), but to be awakened almost every hour or so by the sheer amount of noise that goes on around him (before you ask-no, Castiel doesn't really want to know what the hell his neighbor is doing against the wall at three in the morning-look, it’s not his fault that the walls are just so thin, okay?) is simply just nothing but sheer torture. He almost regrets having said yes to this posting. Almost, because he really does need to start earning his keep and Castiel knows he can't afford to be picky about where he works.
Perhaps the only consolation he has about this is the fact that Gabriel's living close by-last he heard, his brother's living in the same city, just most likely in some corner that Castiel hasn't ventured into yet. He suspects that Gabriel will contact him sooner or later, but for now Castiel's just glad that he has his time to get used to the city environment. A part of him really wishes that he could have remained in his old house, but the city's just too far for him and as much as he loves the lake house, Castiel isn't that inclined to spend that much money on petrol.
Still, at the very least lake house still belongs to him-granted, Castiel's put it on rent for anybody who wants to take it, but he has a good feeling that nobody actually will; even he will admit that the design of the house is... strange. Almost the entire house is constructed with glass panels-all of them reinforced, of course-but the lack of privacy it gives can be understandably unnerving, not that Castiel can understand that point since the place's located so far away from the city hardly anybody goes there. But it is a nice place, and in the year or so he's lived there Castiel has come to appreciate the serenity that the lake house has provided to him; he has, admittedly, needed it for a while he went about to properly finish his studies and obtain his doctor's licence.
And now here he is, in a job that's not as glamorous as most people assume it to be, and Castiel just wishes that he had more time to rest as he trudges around the corridors of the hospital, attempting to figure out the location of the patient (Alexander Anderson, forty-seven, recently admitted for getting injured in the line of duty-something that happens to seemingly one too many cops) he needs to attend to. The lack of sleep does little to help him, as Castiel squints his eyes at the clipboard in his hands, trying to see if he's misread the location of the patient or anything like that. The tiny text is also not doing much to help him on that account either.
There's a subtle sound of somebody clearing his throat, and Castiel turns around to instantly send an annoyed look to the other doctor who stands beside him. “Balthazar, I'm busy.”
“Now now,” Balthazar replies with a mock expression of hurt that crosses his features. “Is that how you're supposed to treat a friend who's going to help you, Cas?”
Castiel makes another annoyed sound, but passes the clipboard over to his friend ('friend' being a relative term, mostly because Balthazar is knowledgeable in matters around the hospital and happens to be Castiel's senior now). “Just tell me how to get there,” he says, gesturing towards the part of the papers where the patient's location is stated.
Balthazar takes a moment to squint at the paper himself before he passes it back to Castiel. “Just go up from here, take two rights and another left,” he says, gesturing the directions with one hand.
“Thank you,” Castiel mutters, taking the clipboard back from Balthazar's hands and starts to head in the direction that the other has pointed out, eager to get back to his work because he is paid to actually work, not stand around and get lost for the last fifteen minutes. As he walks he sees Balthazar falling into step beside him, and Castiel tries not to show his displeasure when his friend ends up following him, looking at Castiel with a cursory look.
“I heard you moved because of the job,” Balthazar starts casually. “I'm disappointed that I actually had to find out about it through a third party.”
Castiel tries not to roll his eyes. By 'third party', no doubt Balthazar actually means Gabriel-how they actually know each other is something Castiel has never dared to ask for fear of his sanity, but somehow they're friends (or more than friends sometimes, but Castiel really doesn't want to think about his maybe-best friend sleeping with his brother) and... Castiel wonders if he'll actually ever get a moment of peace in his job here.
Sighing, Castiel eventually forces himself to reply to Balthazar's words. “It slipped my mind.” And that is the truth, because things had been a little hectic since he had gotten the notice for the posting late-one of the drawbacks of living in a place so far from the city where the post office happened to be at.
Balthazar makes a small 'tsk' sound at the answer, shaking his head. “Honestly, Cassie. How will you ever make any friends if you keep on being so cold?”
“I am not cold,” Castiel quickly retorts, resisting the urge to scowl. Sure, it's a fact that he doesn't talk much and socalises around even less, but that doesn't mean that he's cold-he simply just doesn't see the need to socialize that much. Besides, Gabriel does that enough for both of them already as it is.
The other doctor only smiles wryly. “Keep that up and you'll very well be,” he says.
Castiel bites back his annoyance, but still throws another irritated glare at Balthazar before picking up his pace, hurrying his way towards where Alexander Anderson is waiting for him.
“Oh, Cas-” he hears Balthazar start again, and Castiel is very much ready to simply ignore him until his friend says the next part of his sentence. “-you might want to turn back, darling. You're going in the wrong direction.”
The lake house is... admittedly not the first thing that comes to Dean's mind when he made the decision to move back to Chicago. After spending the last few years going around the road the mere action of actually settling down and sticking to one place is something that doesn't stick well in his mind, but he does actually need to hold down a proper job again and moving around doesn't do well in actually ensuring that fact. Alright, so maybe he could have been a traveling salesman or something, but there is no way he's going to put crap stuff that's just going to end up rotting in his baby.
So here he is now, living in the lake house somewhere on the outskirts of Chicago and attempting to make said house look liveable once again. The place has all but fallen into disarray in the years it’s been abandoned, but Dean's determined to bring this place back to life in any way he can manage to. It's not the first place anybody would think to live in, but Dean thinks he's come to appreciate the beauty of this house-the view is great, the surroundings are quiet and the lake is great for chilling his beer bottles. Only thing he does want to complain is about how hard it is to get pie from here, but well. Some sacrifices had to be made, he supposes.
He's currently working on the bridge that links house from the ground-the house is built a little off the land, another thing that most people seem to be turned off by but Dean finds it pretty suitable for a home like this. The rails have their paint chipped off pretty badly, so Dean's crouched next to it, studiously working with a paintbrush so that the rails are painted nice and neat-he's seen enough homes with shoddy paint jobs and he doesn't want his place to be one of them.
Dean's so focused on his work that he doesn't really hear the dog until it barks at his side, and the man makes a surprised little start at the sound and the wet nose that presses against his cheek after that. He pauses in his work, carefully placing down the paintbrush onto the palette before turning his head around and finds himself greeted with a huge lick that runs all the way up from his jaw to his temple.
“Okay! Okay!” he cries out, exasperated and amused at the same time because Jesus, that is one huge golden retriever that's appeared before him. It's definitely the kind of dog he can imagine Sammy getting if he actually had the time to take care of one rather than being swamped by his big lawyer job. Dean reaches out with one hand around the canine and scratches it by the back of its ears, earning himself a happy little croon which he can't help but smile at.
“You're a nice little fella, aren't ya?” he mutters, more of a remark than a question as he studies the dog. He knows he should probably take it around to the closest shelter or something to at least make sure it hasn't ran away from home or something, but somehow Dean has a feeling that this is a stray-even if it is pretty damned big for one.
The dog allows itself to be coddled just a bit more before barking once, pulling itself away from Dean before starting to move again, and the man barely has a second to see where its heading and quickly starts to shout. “Hey hey hey-”
Before he can shoo the golden retriever away though it’s already done the deed and Dean can only stare in horror at the trail of (giant) paw prints that lead from the bridge and on the porch and going all the way into the house.
…
Dean pauses for a moment, frowning as something rings several bells within him. He's pretty sure he's read something about this before, telling him about the paw prints and how he can get rid of it if he wishes to from the note that the last tenant left him-
He's moving even before he's thinking about it, rushing down the bridge and right into the house, making his way up to the attic (which has no boxes other than his own) and grabs the half-crumpled piece of paper he tossed into it just a few days ago. Heading back downstairs, Dean smoothens out the paper as well as he can, eyebrows furrowing as he re-reads the note he picked up from the mailbox outside when he first moved in.
To whom it may concern:
First off, I suppose I should say thank you for going to the trouble of renting this place and living in it, although I have been told repeatedly that nobody else aside from me would ever want to live in a house like this. That fact that you’re reading this, however, does prove my own point, and I’m sure you’ll find this place as wonderful as I had during my own stay here.
That aside, I’ve already informed the post office about my change in address, but there’s still a chance they might screw things up and continue to send my mail there. If you receive anything that’s addressed to me, please forward it over to my new address, indicated below. Thank you in advance, whoever you may be.
- Castiel Glaser
(P.S: I apologize for the paw prints on the bridge and porch; it was already there when I first came, and I never got around clearing that up. You are free to do so, if you wish to. The same goes to the box up in the attic; I believe both were done and left by the previous owner of the house as a possible parting gift.)
Seemingly seriously polite manners aside, Dean mostly just remembers how utterly confused he had been by this strange letter, especially then there definitely hadn’t been any paw prints or boxes in the attic. Of course, there still isn’t anything in the attic aside from the stuff he’s put up there, but the paw prints…
Dean takes one moment to think about this, and then two before he starts going around the place, trying to find the first piece of paper and pen and the closest surface he can actually write on.
If this is how things are going to be, then fine. Two can play at that game.
The lake house is the first place that springs to Castiel’s mind as his destination of choice when Balthazar all but forces him to take a break. Taking a leave from the hospital so soon after his assignment there is most definitely not something that Castiel would ever dare to do, which is why Balthazar had already taken the initiative and already did everything for him, approved leave and all.
“Working around in your current state isn’t going to help anybody at all, Cassie,” the other doctor had said very pointedly to him as he brought (read: dragged) Castiel out from his office and pried the white doctor’s coat away from him. “Everybody understands perfectly what you’re going through, and we all don’t mind that you take a short break for a while and recover from the shock.”
“I am not fragile, Balthazar,” Castiel instantly retorts, scowling. Certainly, the incident at Buckingham Fountain a few days ago had been sudden and-overwhelming, and Castiel would admit that the incident had left him somewhat shaken, but it certainly didn’t require him to do something as extreme as take a vacation. There were still patients to work with, more lives to safe and more people to care for so that nothing like Buckingham Fountain would ever happen again.
(It had been so sudden and so violent and Castiel only remembers how his hands were trembling and how the paramedics were shaking their heads at the tragedy of the accident, and there was so much blood everywhere that he cannot even make out the face of the newly-deceased man before him.
Death, he thinks, always feels too cold, too sudden and too cruel.)
“Of course you aren’t,” Balthazar returns with a roll of his eyes. “If anything, just do this as a request from your dear old friend, hm? The rest of us will cover your duties very nicely while you’re gone.”
And so that had been that. With little else to say in the matter, Castiel had made the decision to return to the lake house because if he had to be honest with himself, a stay there would do him some good. The hustle and bustle of Chicago’s busy streets had never really suited Castiel, and the whole incident at Buckingham Fountain had been… disastrous, to say the least. As much as Castiel found meaning in his job, perhaps Balthazar wasn’t that all wrong to make him take this vacation, even if the other could have been nicer about it rather than forcing him into this. Still, Castiel supposes he’s in no real condition to complain-regardless of the method, Balthazar had simply been looking out for him.
Bones, of course, takes shotgun in his car (a second-hand, somewhat battered-down but still perfectly functional Ford) since there’s only the two of them and it’s not as if the golden retriever has ever done anything to warranted any disbars from the seat-Castiel has never thought of himself as a pet person, but Bones had been more or less a gift from Gabriel and he didn’t have the heart to simply put his brother's good intentions away. Besides, the dog was quite smart and made little trouble for him. He didn’t see a reason to not keep the dog once he saw how well-behaved it was.
This is the same reason why it startles him when the golden retriever suddenly starts to get restless when Castiel pulls over at the road leading to the lake house. Bones randomly begins to bark, loud and relentless, his tail thumping fiercely against the seat of the car.
Castiel takes a moment to frown in concern at his dog before putting it to the trip over; his job had made it hard for him to take Bones out in recent days, and perhaps the golden retriever’s just happy and glad to be out-especially now since they’re back at their old place. The doctor takes out the keys from the ignition, pocketing them back into the pocket of his pants before he reaches for the door and opens it to get out of the car.
Bones, however, acts faster than Castiel does, and before the man can even move a leg the dog is already moving, barking one more time before he’s suddenly darting out. Bones wriggles tightly for a moment in the space between human owner and steering wheel before managing to get through, barking again as he starts to sprint down towards the lake house, leaving Castiel with little choice in the matter other than to follow his dog. Trying not to make a mental reference to same incident he had with Balthazar in this entire situation, Castiel bites back a sigh and hurries after Bones once he’s ensured that his car is secure.
The golden retriever continues to bark loudly even as Castiel makes his way to where his dog is, and the man pauses for a moment when he realizes that Bones is actually barking at the mailbox. Not only that-he’s also seemingly trying to get it open, standing up on his hind legs and pawing incessantly at the flap.
“Did somebody open it?” Castiel mutters to himself, briefly considering the possibilities of that statement; it’s not wholly impossible, even if this place is pretty far from the general public. But still, who would even take the trouble to come all the way here in the first place? Perhaps the place already had another tenant, but then he should have gotten news about it if that did happen to be the case…
His curiosity piqued, the man now cautiously makes his way over to the mailbox, quickly noticing the way Bones quickly quiets down once Castiel is close. A strange action, no doubt, but then Bones has always been a mysteriously smart dog. Castiel takes a moment to give him a brief scratch behind his ears before pulling away to open the mailbox, blinking at the vaguely crumpled envelope that’s lying inside-Castiel’s pretty certain he had never left his note like that.
Bones barks again, almost as if to tell him to hurry up and read the letter already, and Castiel puts on a wry smile at that before he opens the envelope and opens the letter, quickly scanning through the contents. Both of his eyebrows raise up as he looks through the words, and Castiel has to make himself reread the letter a few more times just to make sure that his eyes aren’t really playing tricks on him (or that he was actually managing to decipher this chicken scratch called penmanship correctly).
Mr. Glaser:
I got your note. Seriously, dude, is this supposed to be some sort of sick joke? If it is, it’s seriously in bad taste and really not funny at all. FYI, I’m not the ‘previous tenant’. There was never any ‘previous tenant’. The place’s been left alone for years. If you’re referring to any other houses by the lake I’m pretty sure there’s that Lake-something residences up ahead. I’m wondering though: how the hell did you know about the paw prints?
Dean Winchester
Castiel stares at the letter for a good long while before he folds it up and starts to go back to his car, wondering if he’s brought along any paper and pen with him over here. He’s pretty sure he has some in the bag he’s brought over with him.
Dean nearly forgets about the whole weird incident about the paw prints (which he has worked tirelessly to paint over all of them) and the dog (which has somehow ended up staying in the lake house and left Dean little choice but to take it in-that is, after a trip to the closest vet and animal shelter) until he opens the letterbox a few days later and spies the crisp note that has replaced his shabby, crumpled one. In retrospect using a piece of scrap paper and a used envelope is not the best idea that Dean’s had, but it’s not as if anything about this is actually normal.
He stares at the paper lying inside the mailbox for a while, almost hesitant to take it because seriously, weird things are starting to happen here and Dean has never been one to go well with weird, at least not at this point of time. But he does have to face this eventually, so he puts down his work stuff and takes out the note. He notices the torn edge at one side of the paper-almost as its been torn out from a book-as he unfolds the note and reads it, quickly scowling at the contents.
Dear Mr. Winchester,
I can assure you that I am quite familiar with the Lakefront residences up ahead, but I can guarantee you that I have never so much as stepped into that place before. I may have been told by my peers to be a little old-fashioned at times, but I do sincerely believe that no place by the lake should be over six thousand square feet.
Let me try this again. I used to live in the lake house, but then I had to move due to my new job located deep in the city. Now I live at 1620 North Racine within Chicago itself. I would appreciate it if you could forward my mail if you get any.
- Castiel Glaser
“1620 North Racine?” the man mutters, frowning. He’s already getting pretty used to Chicago, and Dean’s certain he hasn’t heard an address like that before. But Chicago is a big place, and perhaps it’s just located in some part of the city that Dean hasn’t gone around yet.
Well, he is going out for dinner and drinks with Sam tonight anyway, so Dean supposes he can hunt down the location written here and ask the guy himself about this and clarify matters. He folds the note and stuffs it into his pocket, picking up his bag and bringing it back to the lake house. It stays in his pocket as he takes a quick shower and puts on a change of shirt, donning his jacket again before heading out again to the fancy lawyer building when Sam works at.
As he stands around and waits, Dean can’t help but feel as awkward as hell when he starts mentally comparing himself to the tons of formally-dressed people that pour out from the building, but for the sake of Sam he bears with the awkwardness and puts up with the snooty looks that most of the workers give him as they walk past. Let them look at they want-they’re not the ones that he needs to concern himself with.
The waiting takes a while, but eventually he sees the guy who he’s been waiting for: his little brother (now looking not so little, even from this distance) hurrying out from the doors, shiny briefcase in hand as he makes his way down the stairs and nearly barrels right into Dean, although he does manages to stop in time-not that Dean was going to make this easy for his brother.
“Whoa there, Sasquatch,” he chides his sibling in a semi-serious voice once Sam straightens himself back up. “No need to flatten me on our first night out.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “All these years and that’s the first thing to say to me face to face?” he retorts back, although the smile on his face completely absolves any of the annoyance that’s in his voice.
Dean can’t help but grin back in return. “Of course, bitch.”
“Jerk,” his brother easily replies, eyes gleaming in barely-hidden mirth as he nudges Dean with an elbow. “C’mon, let’s get going before the crowds start to fill up.”
Since Sam is much more familiar with Chicago than Dean currently is, he relents and allows his brother take him out for dinner at a nice local diner and then going around to what he says is one of the best bars in town. Considering his torrid love affair with girly drinks, however, Dean isn’t that all inclined to believe his younger brother’s recommendations, a fact that he states quite clearly to his sibling only after their drinks come.
Sam’s only response is to roll his eyes once again. “You can be the one treating me next time, then.”
Dean snorts quietly. “I’m mortgaged all the way up to my friggin’ eyeballs, Sammy. Give me at least five years before getting to that.”
Eyebrows rise up at the reply. “What kind of crazy house did you buy to even earn that?” his brother asks incredulously.
“It’s a normal sort of house,” Dean tries to deflect, but Sam simply gives him bitchface number seventy-two (‘stop beating around the bush and actually answer properly, Dean') and the older Winchester sighs. “…it’s that house on the lake,” he corrects himself.
Sam blinks, looking somewhat taken aback by the answer. “That house?” he asks, sounding in complete disbelief. “Seriously?”
“Yeah,” Dean answers, nodding. “To make things better, I even got a dog.”
The younger Winchester stares at his elder brother for a good moment at that before he shakes his head, sighing. “Sometimes I wonder about your life, Dean,” he mutters, and Dean can just hear the immediate tone of his brother’s growing disapproval. But still, Sam does drop the topic, and it’s something that Dean is somewhat grateful for-at least for now. In exchange though, he brings up a far more difficult and sensitive topic. “Does Dad know that you’re here?”
Dean has to pause a bit at that particular question. It’s hard to not feel anything whenever John Winchester is brought up these days, mainly because their father had been the main reason as to why Dean left home in the first place. He does find importance in his family, and nothing will ever be as important to him as Sam is in his life-but John… well, that was another whole ball game together. He looks down at his drink and states at it, keeping silent for a good long while. “I left a message about it, but he never got back to me,” he eventually says.
Sam takes a bit before he nods, but stays quiet and proceeds to quickly drop the topic, letting the rest of their time in the bar pass in relative peace. It’s pretty late into the night when they do finally get out of the bar, and for a moment Dean’s pretty tempted to just leave the whole thing with Castiel for another day. But then the strange letters will just keep coming and he really wants to clear this up before it gets any weirder. Since the location is of the guy’s place is closer than Sammy’s house, Dean decides to get around to Castiel’s first and settle his business with the guy (or at least, he’s pretty sure that Castiel is a guy-his name is weird, but it certainly doesn’t give him any female vibes) before sending Sam home.
During the car ride over, Dean manages to get his courage up and ask the question that’s been buzzing in his head throughout the entire time. “Dad ever ask where I went?”
“No,” Sam answers immediately, eyes darting down. A beat of silence passes between them after that, only to be quickly broken by Sam as he speaks up once more. “So, uh… where are we going?”
“1620 North Racine,” Dean answers, eyes peeling around the streets as he attempts to find the place in question.
He doesn’t even need to turn around to see the frown that’s most certainly crossing his brother’s face now. “I’ve never heard of that place before,” he hears Sam mutter.
“That’s because you don’t get out enough, Sammy,” he remarks back, grinning slightly when he sees Sam flipping him off from the corner of his eyes. He turns his eyes back to the road, about to make another turn when a passing sign catches his eye and Dean’s pulling the car over even before he thinks twice about it. Sam, completely unprepared for the abrupt stop, yelps in surprise when he jerks violently with the car.
“What the hell, Dean-” the giant mangirl of his brother starts to say, but Dean quickly tunes out the sound of his bitching as he gets out of the car and runs across the street, eyes fixated on the giant sign that stands out beside the messy construction pit filled with tons of building materials and their accompanying vehicles.
1620 North Racine, it reads, Luxury Apartments Coming Your Way.
Dean’s still staring at the sign in surprise when Sam finally does catch up with him, staring at the giant sign that his brother is looking at before turning to him. “Is there something wrong, Dean?” he asks, concerned.
The older Winchester looks at the sign for a few more moments before he drops his gaze down to the letter he’s unconsciously pulled out from his pocket.
“I have no fucking idea,” is all that he can say in response.
Right below Castiel Glaser’s name, the date of the letter stares back at him pointedly.
It reads to him as March 25, 2010.
It’s nearly the end of his break before Castiel receives a response, and for a moment that does confuse him a little because he’s been staying the lake house for these last few days and he’s pretty certain that the place hasn’t been rented. How and why the letter is here, Castiel doesn’t know at all, but what really throws him off is the response that’s written inside it.
Mr. Glaser:
I went to 1620 North Racine just as you put in your letter, but it’s not there. Heck, it’s just a really deep, open ugly pit with a construction site beside it that’ll probably make that pit into a building eighteen or so months down the road. Seriously, dude, this really ain’t funny at all. And that's not even talking about the whole date thing. Last I checked, 2009 hasn’t even come around yet, let alone 2010. At least get your dates right, man.
Castiel barely notices the fact that Dean Winchester didn’t even bother to sign his name at the end this time, which he supposes is due to the other man’s frustrations-not that Castiel isn’t just as annoyed as he is about this. Just what is going on here?
He stares at the note for a moment before he starts to move, getting off the couch (much to Bones’s dismay, judging from the whine the dog gives out) and goes to the study in order to grab a piece of paper and pen, jotting down a response as quickly as he can. Everything about this is strange and inexplicable, but if anything Castiel’s determined, and he’s out to get to the bottom of this entire mystery as soon as possible.
For once, he gets an answer pretty quickly-the letter’s in the mailbox when he returns from work, and without thinking twice about it Dean grabs the mail and brings it back into the house. He reads the response as he feeds the dog later after dinner, idly petting the golden retriever while frowning at the returning answer the letter gives him.
Mr. Winchester,
I received your last letter. Truthfully, I am not certain why I’m even writing back at this point, but I do want to get to the bottom of this mystery. Apparently, my mail hasn’t been forwarded either, and I’ve been getting my things from the wrong mailbox still-I really do not wish to have to spend so much time and petrol coming down here every week just to get my mail.
Anyway, I am very certain that I have passed you the correct address. Despite my job, I am still perfectly aware of where I live. I admit it’s not the best choice of living, but it is most certainly not an ‘open, ugly pit’ as you described it. The same applies to the date as well. It’s been 2010 for the last three months already, and will continue to be until 2011 comes around next year.
But I am curious to know, though: if it’s not 2009 or 2010 for you, then what year is it for you?
- Castiel Glaser
“You have got to be shitting me,” the man mutters out, eyes flickering over the letter as he reads it again. This just has to be some sort of joke… right? There’s just no way somebody from the future is actually talking to him through a mailbox of all things. That sort of stuff just didn’t happen randomly like that.
There’s just no freaking way that it’s happening to him.
Castiel blinks at the bluntness of the response he gets this time round, complete with the irritated, messy scrawl that he nearly can’t decipher is it wasn’t for the fact of how he’s already gotten used to Dean’s handwriting from the last few letters he sent back.
Glaser:
2008. So stop bullshitting me already. I’m getting sick of this.
March 2008 then, Castiel assumes, pausing to think about it for a moment. Bones makes a snuffle from his side, pressing his wet nose up against Castiel’s cheek, and the man crooks out a small smile at that, idly reaching around to pet the giant golden retriever. March 2008… he hadn’t been in Chicago yet, no, but he did recall some news about it if he remembered correctly. It had been a pretty weird time in general then, mainly because-
The answer clicks to him there and then, and Castiel gets up from the couch as the memory comes back to him. Bones follows him, tail wagging as the dog looks at Castiel rummaging around the mess on the study table for a while before the man finds what he’s been searching for and picks it up. It’s a photograph of him and Anna, along with Gabriel who had been around to visit him then. He can still remember the chill of the night when this photo had been taken, feeling as cold as the snow that had been drifting around them endlessly.
Castiel takes a moment to smile at the memory of that night before he flips the photo over to the back and eyes the note written at the bottom right-hand corner-April 4, 2008.
Mr. Winchester,
I suppose if I have to get you to believe me, I shall have to reveal to you a little secret. A bad case of the flu went around in late spring of 2008, because of a sudden round of snow that came from almost nowhere. A freak late snow, if you will. So, mysterious person from the past, if you truly are at where and when you think you are, then you’re going to need this. Make sure to get plenty of rest and drink lots of fluids. Doctor’s orders.
- (Dr.) Castiel Glaser
Dean snorts aloud as soon as he reads the letter, tossing it away onto the table along with the scarf that came along with the letter in the mailbox. Seriously, who is this guy trying to kid here? Snow at the start of April? This Castiel guy seriously must have gotten a Mickey into his power shake, or something. There’s no way there can be snow in freaking April-it’s practically summer already.
He gets to his dinner since the dog (who is still unnamed, mainly because Dean has no idea what to name it) has been fed, pouring out the noodles he’s cooked for himself and brings the bowl over to the table that faces one of the glass panels of the house that gives him the view of the lake. It’s already pretty dark and the sky is kind of cloudy, but the darkness gives him another sort of peace that Dean can get behind, so he doesn’t mind.
He’s just about to start eating when a stream of something white flashes past his eyes from the outside, and Dean pauses, staring at the window. The white runs by again, little by little and slowly growing lager, and the man can’t help but stare in amazement as he sees snow starting to fall right before his eyes.
“Jesus Christ,” he manages to mutter out before a sneeze suddenly takes over him, and beside him the golden retriever lets out a sound of sympathy.
Castiel returns to the lake house on the following weekend, having gotten back to work and-he has to admit, perhaps Balthazar had been right in him needing a break. He certainly feels much better now, at least, and things have been running around much more smoothly ever since he returned. Now that he’s gone back to staying in his apartment though, Castiel finds himself missing the lake house once again. Not to mention the strange mystery of Dean Winchester.
He almost doesn’t really expect it, so it does surprise him when he sees the letter that sits inside the mailbox, and Castiel is almost certain he can feel the lingering chill of snow and frost as he takes it out and opens it to read the single line written inside.
Can this seriously be happening?
The doctor thinks about it for a moment before he flips the paper around and writes his answer, putting it right back into the mailbox.
He sends his letter once the storm passes and Dean feels healthy enough again, still unable to wholly digest just what is actually happening. Castiel had told him about the storm and then it had happened… there’s no way he can just deny it, no after this. What to do from here though, is something that he doesn’t really want to think about just yet.
Dean’s making his way back to the house where he hears the creak of turning metal, and he turns back to the mailbox only to stare in surprise when he sees that the flag has gone down by itself. He’s still staring at it when the flag goes up by itself too, and it takes the golden retriever to bark out loud before Dean jolts himself into action, running back to the mailbox along with his dog as he takes out the letter and stares at the simple, two word response he gets.
Why not?
The man looks up and glances around him, unable to make out just what the heck is actually going on. There’s nobody around at all, and there’s no way that a letter can just reply to itself-then maybe, just maybe…
Dean stares at the paper in his hands for a while more before he starts to search through the pockets of his coat. Surely he must have a pen in here somewhere…
Response sent, Castiel makes his way back to his car and prepares to head back to the city, but for once Bones isn’t following him and somehow barking incessantly at something.
“Bones, we need to go-” he starts, turning around only to stop when he sees the flag on the mailbox suddenly dropping by itself. Bones instantly turns quiet at that, but his gaze is fixed on the mailbox and Castiel only frowns in confusion as well as surprise. He blinks when the flag raises itself again mere seconds later, and then Bones is barking again, trying to paw at the front of the mailbox with one of his giant paws.
Castiel quickly moves, going over to Bones and calming the giant golden retriever down with a scratch behind his ears before turning to stare at the mailbox again. Very slowly, Castiel reaches for the mailbox and opens it, cautiously taking out the letter inside it as if it’s a time bomb and after another pause, brings himself to read it.
I have no fucking idea what the hell’s happening here, but it seems to be happening alright.
Dean prepares himself with papers and pen this time as he waits for an answer (and trying not to feel like an idiot in the process). It comes surprisingly fast, and Dean opens the mailbox once the flag has lowered and raised itself for another round, grabbing the note inside and reads it quickly.
Where are you?
“Where am I?” the man repeats incredulously, not quite sure what sure what to say about that. Of all the questions in the world to ask-Dean sighs, and starts to write out his answer.
Castiel stares at the response he gets back in return not even a minute later.
The lake house.
“Well, yes,” the doctor mutters, rolling his eyes. “I think I would have noticed that already.”
And so that is how the strangest of friendships start between two people from two completely different times.
I’m a doctor, Castiel writes, introducing himself because even if he is talking to somebody from two years ago, he still should be polite no matter what-even though nothing about this is normal. I’ve only recently gotten my license and stuff, and the job in the city’s my first posting. I wouldn’t say that it’s what I hoped it would be, but I suppose it could have been worse.
Dean introduces himself back in turn as well. I’m a mechanic. Nothing as glamorous your job, but I get by well enough. I also do odd jobs here and then when I can to get some extra money whenever I can. I moved here after spending my time out on the road for the last few years. How about you? If you’re living in some apartment that’ll only exist two years from where I am, then where were you now? Like, you know, me-now. Or something.
Two years ago? I was in Maine, I believe.
Maine? What the hell were you doing all the way there?
…I don’t remember that well, to be honest. All I know is that my brother dragged me there.
Your brother sounds like a dick.
He was trying to help me ‘have fun’, to quote him.
If Sammy ever tries to do that to me I would have made sure he would’ve regretted it.
Your brother, I assume? If so, then my sympathies go to him.
Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?
Moving on. You said that you had been on the road. Where did you go?
Oh. Well, pretty much everywhere. I just let the road take me wherever it leads me to.
I see. Was there any particular place you liked?
I guess. I did kind of like Manhattan while I was there.
I’ve been there once before myself. It is a nice place.
So. How’s 2010? Is the world ending there?
No, we all dress up in shiny metal jumpsuits and zip around in flying cars. Cell phones are obsolete now because we can all talk to each other through our minds. But in all honestly, no, not much has changed from 2008. I mean, there are a few things, but nothing too big at all. Although I suppose there are the presidential elections.
Tell me who won so I can vote for the right guy.
I think I’ll leave that to you to figure out for yourself. Besides, I wouldn’t want to risk disrupting the space-time continuum or something like that by telling you the future.
Now you’re just leaving me hanging, man.
I apologize, but that’s what the future is for. Speaking of the past, however, I have been wondering about the paw prints again. How is that possible? It is a bit unique, I might say.
…call me crazy but I think we might be having the same dog.
I suppose that might be a possibility, considering our circumstances. What’s yours like? According to the last check up I had for him he’s eight years old-six in yours, I assume. He’s larger than life, quiet and terribly smart for his own good. He likes to eat straight from the packs and tins and somehow sleeps like a person.
Dean looks up from the letter at that to stare over at the golden retriever now dozing over one of the couches, his back on the couch with his mouth open. In a way, he does look like he’s sleeping like a person. Dean laughs at the description as he looks back down at the letter, reading the last lines written to him.
I’m not exactly sure why I did it, but I’ve taken to call him Bones.
“Hey there, Bones.”
Bones instantly straightens himself back up at the sound of his name, barking out once in acknowledgement.
Dean can’t help but smile at that.
“You seem rather awfully cheery these days,” Balthazar randomly remarks out during one of their lunch breaks.
Castiel looks up from his plate of food and blinks owlishly at his friend. “Pardon?” he asks, already lost on whatever it is that his friend is trying to subtly imply. It’s always about the double meanings with Balthazar, and while Castiel doesn’t mind it most of the time, he would appreciate it if Balthazar doesn’t use it when he’s talking to him like this.
Balthazar takes a moment to roll his eyes before elaborating to his friend. “For somebody who’s just come back from leave after seeing somebody die before your eyes, you seem to be coping quite well.”
All that the younger doctor can do in return is to snort. “I did tell you that I didn’t need the break.” Although if he had never been forced into it, then perhaps he wouldn’t even have known about Dean and the strange mailbox back at the lake house…
“No, Cassie,” his friend replies with a shake of his head. “You did need the break, and I’m glad that you’re better for it. But…” Balthazar pauses then to eye Castiel for a moment, as if attempting to discern something from his expression.
Castiel, of course, only raises an eyebrow at his friend’s mysterious actions, but opts to say nothing. Indeed, there is that whole thing with Dean now, but certainly there’s no need for Balthazar to know about that-it’s not like anybody would ever believe him, anyway. These sort of things only ever happened in movies, not in real life-present exception aside.
Balthazar looks at him for a few more beats before eventually dropping his gaze back to his own food, picking at it as he remarks idly, “Well, whatever happened to you during the break, I suppose I should be glad for it. You look much better these days.”
Castiel has a brief feeling that the other doctor is going to probe deeper into this matter sooner or later, but for now he’s just glad that the matter is dropped for the moment; explaining the situation isn’t something that Castiel knows if he can actually accomplish, given the unique circumstances of everything about it. Although that isn’t to say that he doesn’t want to-Castiel does wish he could tell it to somebody at times. But how could he even start?
“Anyway,” his friend continues smoothly, spearing himself a piece of Chinese roast pork and waving it absently at Castiel. “If you are feeling good enough, I suppose you should be free to attend Talbot’s wedding this weekend.”
Castiel blinks at the question. “Bela Talbot?” he inquires. While he isn’t that all well-acquainted with the nurse in question-they are professional colleagues, at best-he has worked with her several times. Admittedly, while she does have the skills and experience, her character certainly could do with more work. At least, Castiel believes that anyway. (He had tried to say this nicely to her once before, mainly for her benefit. It hadn’t worked out well.)
Balthazar replies with a soft hum of acknowledgement. “The one and the same,” he confirms before proceeding to bite down on his pork.
The doctor frowns at the answer, not entirely sure what to make of it all. “Didn’t she get divorced about a year ago?” Not that the divorce had been a big thing, but sometimes trying not to overhear whatever the nurses were gossiping about was next to impossible.
“Ten months,” Balthazar corrects his friend with a quiet snort this time round, poking around at his plate once more. “Even shorter than the last one. The lady’s moving on quick.”
Quick was pretty much an understatement, in Castiel’s opinion, but the younger doctor doesn’t voice that out, instead choosing to phrase it in a tactful, diplomatic manner. “She should be more careful in her choices,” he remarks softly, privately feeling sorry for the poor man who’s going to tie the knot with Talbot; Castiel can’t imagine the life that the man would be going through soon enough.
A small huff of amusement escapes from Balthazar’s throat at those words. “The day she’s actually careful is the day when you actually take leave of your own violation, Cassie.”
Castiel knows that Balthazar does not mean anything harmful by that, but it still doesn’t stop the brief flare of irritation that fires up within him. “I simply see no reason to do so,” he retorts back, frowning once more.
Balthazar sighs, sounding weary and exasperated at the same time as the elder doctor shakes his head. “Not that I can’t applaud for that, Cas, but really-you’re just as human as the patients are. What will happen to your girl-” he pauses there, quickly noticing the brief glare that Castiel sends at him “-I mean, your significant other, whichever gender he or she may be.”
“I don’t have one,” Castiel replies simply, rolling his eyes as he polishes off the last bit of food on his plate. “Besides, I’m perfectly comfortable living the single’s life. There’s no reason to put my work aside for something as complicated as a relationship.”
“It’s only complicated if you let it be complicated, Cas,” the elder doctor returns with another sigh. “Are you really planning to just sit around and only start when you’re grey and balding?”
“If it’ll happen, it’ll happen,” Castiel answers easily, moving to stand up from his seat now that he’s done with his lunch-Balthazar might be the kind to use up his entire lunch hour for trivial things, but Castiel would rather use the extra time to do as much work as he can manage. There will always be patients around that need help in one way or another. “I can wait, if that is the case.”
Balthazar doesn’t respond instantly to that, and Castiel takes that silence as his cue to leave. He turns around and starts to move off, but five steps in the other doctor pipes up from the table, and the words he say ring in Castiel’s ears for the rest of the day afterwards.
“Sometimes waiting isn’t enough, Cas,” he says, “If you wait too long, the chance might just slip through your fingers before you can grab hold of it.”
After over two weeks of silence from the mailbox Dean decides to try his luck and place a letter in the mailbox-he doesn’t exactly know how this past-future communication thing works, and like hell he’s actually going to tell Sam about this. Dean can all too easily imagine the geeky look that his brother would put on his face the moment Dean opens his mouth to speak about this, and he can already hear the whole space-time pish posh that Sam’s eventually going to ramble about.
Sometimes Dean thinks that his brother really needs a non-geek life. It would make the world a far better place.
Hey pen pal, he writes, because he still isn’t that certain how to address Castiel since their communication hasn’t been the easiest of things to accomplish despite the ever-changing ways of technology these days (say whatever you want, but Dean does not trust those i-whatevers). You haven’t written for a while. Avoiding me already?
The joke comes out easy on pen and paper, but Dean would be lying if he said that he isn’t nervous. Even until now he still can’t wrap his head around the fact that he’s writing to somebody who’s living two years ahead. Didn’t this kind of thing happen only at Hollywood’s silver screens? Sure, the letters are coming back before his eyes, but a part of him is still just waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s just… way too surreal at times.
Days pass by without any response or movement, and Dean is almost convinced that the entire thing had been some weird dream when a response does come through, alerted through Bones’ continuous barking at the mailbox.
Dean stares at the mailbox for a few moments before he does make himself move. He puts down his bag onto the ground and goes to the mailbox, taking a second to calm the giant golden retriever down with a scratch behind its ears and gives the mailbox about cautious glance. He had been wholly prepared to accept a no-response, more than ready to think of that one incident as a one-time thing and then move on from there. But there’s a response now-even if Dean hasn’t seen it, he just knows-and to be honest, Dean really doesn’t know how to go from here. Should he reply, or should he just…
Bones barks loudly again at that point, tail wagging fiercely as the golden retriever paws against the stand of the mailbox. Dean makes a small start, surprised at the dog’s action, but soon snorts and shakes his head. “Looks like you know what to do,” he mutters, lips quirking into a small smile as he reaches out to open the mailbox and grabs the folded piece of paper that’s replaced the sealed envelope Dean had put there himself.
Even though Castiel only sees words on paper, a part of him can’t help but try and imagine what Dean’s voice might sound like. He imagines the other’s voice to be bright and loud, possibly a little rough and low around the edges but pleasant to listen to nevertheless. Their conversations had been limited, but Castiel thinks that he would enjoy Dean’s company, if they could ever meet each other at the correct time.
Seeing the letter that Dean has placed in the mailbox for what must be most likely a long period of time, Castiel can’t help but feel apologetic as he answers, scribbling his words down onto a piece of paper from the journal he now brings with him everywhere. I apologize for my absence; things have been rather busy at the hospital in the last few weeks, and I’ve been working in all the night shifts.
Dude, seriously? Don’t you get tired?
I’m used to it.
If you say so. But it’s good to hear from you anyway. You should know that you’re my only connection to the future, so losing that would be kind of a loss for me.
I’m still not going to tell you who won the elections.
…Are you seriously still hung up over that?
I’m just making a point.
You’re really uptight about everything, aren’t you?
No.
You sure?
I do have my own interests and hobbies like any other person, Dean.
Tell me, then.
I read to Bones every weekend.
Can he even understand what you’re reading to him?
Dogs are very smart, Dean.
If you say so, man. Which book does he like the best? I’ll go and get it for him here.
He has a liking to The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time. It’s written by Mark Haddon.
Huh. Weird title. What’s it about?
A teenager with Asperger’s.
I don’t really see the connection here.
You’ll understand once you read the book.
You say that as if I actually READ.
If you don’t read, then what do you do during your free time?
Driving around. Not anywhere far, of course, but to go down on the road with just you and the car… it’s a great feeling. You should try it someday.
Perhaps.
No, seriously. We could take a drive together. This Saturday.
We’re two years away from each other, Dean.
Doesn’t mean we can’t do it. C’mon, summer’s here. Might as well enjoy the sun and all that jazz, right?
And so that’s how Castiel finds himself rolling down on the streets of Chicago in his car on the following Saturday, rather than staying at the apartment like what he would have usually done during his time off work. To him, driving has always been more of a necessity than an enjoyment-he finds the public transport system hassling with its countless commuters, and having the privacy of his own space within the car is something that Castiel has always appreciated on a professional level, so to enjoy it as a pleasure… Castiel isn’t sure if that’s something he can actually do.
Still, since Dean has taken the trouble to actually get him a map and even draw out a route for him to take, Castiel isn’t one to not appreciate such effort. Besides, he really hasn’t got the chance to appreciate the sights that Chicago has to offer for him; maybe this drive around the city might help in rectifying that. Bones, of course, rides shotgun, resting his head upon the rolled down windows and simply enjoying the breeze. Despite the dog’s silence Castiel can see exactly how happy the golden retriever is from the way Bones wags his tail without pause, thumping against the seats.
Castiel allows himself a small smile at the open display of happiness that his dog is displaying; he rolls down the windows on his own side of the car and he follows down the route that Dean has marked for him, allowing the roads take him around for the rest of the day.
When the next day comes up the first thing that Castiel does is to go over to the lake house and puts in a letter, thanking Dean for what he had done for the very enjoyable ride that had been given to him.
The drive was wonderful, Dean, thank you. Although I have a feeling that Bones enjoyed it far more than I did.
Hey, he’s the passenger. Let a dog have his day and all that, eh?
Nevertheless, it was a pleasant drive. You must know the streets well to have plotted out such a route around the city.
Eh, I didn’t have anything better to do anyway. I’m just glad you enjoyed it.
I did.
So.
So?
I’ve shown you my stuff. Now you got to tell me what you like besides reading to Bones.
I don’t really have much to share.
Try me.
Well, I have a fondness for chocolate. I like the days where it’s not too bright and just cloudy enough to be cool, and the smell of the air after a long downpour. I also like to sleep in with Bones on my days off from work.
Bones? Seriously?
You don’t?
Well, no, but… what, are you too busy for a girlfriend or something?
I could ask the same of you.
Relationships ain’t really my thing.
The same goes for me, then.
…huh..
You sound surprised.
I just never expected that, I guess.
Dean?
Yeah?
This may sound strange, but… I do wish we could have taken our drive together, at least so that we can both enjoy these sights.
Castiel feels a little embarrassed when he writes that (because there is the fact that they’re two years away from each other and it is a little silly-and well, it’s not like Dean can actually do anything about it), but on the next Saturday when he passes by landmark number thirteen on Dean’s route, he has to stop his car in order to read the words that’s spray-painted onto the wall at the side of the pavement.
Cas, I’m here with you, it says. Thanks for the awesome Saturday together.
He sees the words ‘together’ seemingly sprayed twice, bold enough that it stands out from the rest of the words, and Castiel can’t help but smile at that.
one | two | three | four
Fandom: Supernatural AU - fusion with The Lake House
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Dean/Castiel, with background Gabriel/Balthazar and Gabriel/Sam
Warning: Uhhh. Extreme cheese? Hollywood plots and fandom clichés? I got nothing.
Notes: Written for dc_everafter, third round; masterpost can be found here. Based on the movie 'The Lake House' (2006), along with other stuff ganked from the 2003 UD (Under Development) script. Title of the fic comes from 31_days, with the prompt for 8th July 2009.
time will kiss the world goodbye
dc_everafter, 36374 words
It starts with a letter. A note, if you will. There's nothing special about it, nothing extravagant-it’s simply a note passed from one tenant to another tenant, written with a greeting and a request to direct any following letters to the correct location because there's no telling how the post office works these days.
There's nothing about the note that Dean Winchester would have regarded as extraordinary, except for the fact that its talking about boxes in the attic and paw prints across the bridge and on the porch when nobody has lived (or even come close) to this place for years, if Sammy's right in his information (and he pretty much always is). He looks at the piece of paper in his hand once again and proceeds to scowl, muttering a few choice words about strange people living in Chicago before he pockets the letter into his pocket and forgets all about it soon enough.
But that's where everything starts.
Or to be more accurate, it starts with the lake house.
If there's anything that Castiel Glaser misses about his old house, it would be the fact that at least it had been quiet back there. Living in the heart of Chicago now, there's nothing but cars and motorcycles and people shouting everywhere and he really, really hates that. It's already bad enough that he has minimal rest as it is due to his job (the local state hospital, recently assigned), but to be awakened almost every hour or so by the sheer amount of noise that goes on around him (before you ask-no, Castiel doesn't really want to know what the hell his neighbor is doing against the wall at three in the morning-look, it’s not his fault that the walls are just so thin, okay?) is simply just nothing but sheer torture. He almost regrets having said yes to this posting. Almost, because he really does need to start earning his keep and Castiel knows he can't afford to be picky about where he works.
Perhaps the only consolation he has about this is the fact that Gabriel's living close by-last he heard, his brother's living in the same city, just most likely in some corner that Castiel hasn't ventured into yet. He suspects that Gabriel will contact him sooner or later, but for now Castiel's just glad that he has his time to get used to the city environment. A part of him really wishes that he could have remained in his old house, but the city's just too far for him and as much as he loves the lake house, Castiel isn't that inclined to spend that much money on petrol.
Still, at the very least lake house still belongs to him-granted, Castiel's put it on rent for anybody who wants to take it, but he has a good feeling that nobody actually will; even he will admit that the design of the house is... strange. Almost the entire house is constructed with glass panels-all of them reinforced, of course-but the lack of privacy it gives can be understandably unnerving, not that Castiel can understand that point since the place's located so far away from the city hardly anybody goes there. But it is a nice place, and in the year or so he's lived there Castiel has come to appreciate the serenity that the lake house has provided to him; he has, admittedly, needed it for a while he went about to properly finish his studies and obtain his doctor's licence.
And now here he is, in a job that's not as glamorous as most people assume it to be, and Castiel just wishes that he had more time to rest as he trudges around the corridors of the hospital, attempting to figure out the location of the patient (Alexander Anderson, forty-seven, recently admitted for getting injured in the line of duty-something that happens to seemingly one too many cops) he needs to attend to. The lack of sleep does little to help him, as Castiel squints his eyes at the clipboard in his hands, trying to see if he's misread the location of the patient or anything like that. The tiny text is also not doing much to help him on that account either.
There's a subtle sound of somebody clearing his throat, and Castiel turns around to instantly send an annoyed look to the other doctor who stands beside him. “Balthazar, I'm busy.”
“Now now,” Balthazar replies with a mock expression of hurt that crosses his features. “Is that how you're supposed to treat a friend who's going to help you, Cas?”
Castiel makes another annoyed sound, but passes the clipboard over to his friend ('friend' being a relative term, mostly because Balthazar is knowledgeable in matters around the hospital and happens to be Castiel's senior now). “Just tell me how to get there,” he says, gesturing towards the part of the papers where the patient's location is stated.
Balthazar takes a moment to squint at the paper himself before he passes it back to Castiel. “Just go up from here, take two rights and another left,” he says, gesturing the directions with one hand.
“Thank you,” Castiel mutters, taking the clipboard back from Balthazar's hands and starts to head in the direction that the other has pointed out, eager to get back to his work because he is paid to actually work, not stand around and get lost for the last fifteen minutes. As he walks he sees Balthazar falling into step beside him, and Castiel tries not to show his displeasure when his friend ends up following him, looking at Castiel with a cursory look.
“I heard you moved because of the job,” Balthazar starts casually. “I'm disappointed that I actually had to find out about it through a third party.”
Castiel tries not to roll his eyes. By 'third party', no doubt Balthazar actually means Gabriel-how they actually know each other is something Castiel has never dared to ask for fear of his sanity, but somehow they're friends (or more than friends sometimes, but Castiel really doesn't want to think about his maybe-best friend sleeping with his brother) and... Castiel wonders if he'll actually ever get a moment of peace in his job here.
Sighing, Castiel eventually forces himself to reply to Balthazar's words. “It slipped my mind.” And that is the truth, because things had been a little hectic since he had gotten the notice for the posting late-one of the drawbacks of living in a place so far from the city where the post office happened to be at.
Balthazar makes a small 'tsk' sound at the answer, shaking his head. “Honestly, Cassie. How will you ever make any friends if you keep on being so cold?”
“I am not cold,” Castiel quickly retorts, resisting the urge to scowl. Sure, it's a fact that he doesn't talk much and socalises around even less, but that doesn't mean that he's cold-he simply just doesn't see the need to socialize that much. Besides, Gabriel does that enough for both of them already as it is.
The other doctor only smiles wryly. “Keep that up and you'll very well be,” he says.
Castiel bites back his annoyance, but still throws another irritated glare at Balthazar before picking up his pace, hurrying his way towards where Alexander Anderson is waiting for him.
“Oh, Cas-” he hears Balthazar start again, and Castiel is very much ready to simply ignore him until his friend says the next part of his sentence. “-you might want to turn back, darling. You're going in the wrong direction.”
The lake house is... admittedly not the first thing that comes to Dean's mind when he made the decision to move back to Chicago. After spending the last few years going around the road the mere action of actually settling down and sticking to one place is something that doesn't stick well in his mind, but he does actually need to hold down a proper job again and moving around doesn't do well in actually ensuring that fact. Alright, so maybe he could have been a traveling salesman or something, but there is no way he's going to put crap stuff that's just going to end up rotting in his baby.
So here he is now, living in the lake house somewhere on the outskirts of Chicago and attempting to make said house look liveable once again. The place has all but fallen into disarray in the years it’s been abandoned, but Dean's determined to bring this place back to life in any way he can manage to. It's not the first place anybody would think to live in, but Dean thinks he's come to appreciate the beauty of this house-the view is great, the surroundings are quiet and the lake is great for chilling his beer bottles. Only thing he does want to complain is about how hard it is to get pie from here, but well. Some sacrifices had to be made, he supposes.
He's currently working on the bridge that links house from the ground-the house is built a little off the land, another thing that most people seem to be turned off by but Dean finds it pretty suitable for a home like this. The rails have their paint chipped off pretty badly, so Dean's crouched next to it, studiously working with a paintbrush so that the rails are painted nice and neat-he's seen enough homes with shoddy paint jobs and he doesn't want his place to be one of them.
Dean's so focused on his work that he doesn't really hear the dog until it barks at his side, and the man makes a surprised little start at the sound and the wet nose that presses against his cheek after that. He pauses in his work, carefully placing down the paintbrush onto the palette before turning his head around and finds himself greeted with a huge lick that runs all the way up from his jaw to his temple.
“Okay! Okay!” he cries out, exasperated and amused at the same time because Jesus, that is one huge golden retriever that's appeared before him. It's definitely the kind of dog he can imagine Sammy getting if he actually had the time to take care of one rather than being swamped by his big lawyer job. Dean reaches out with one hand around the canine and scratches it by the back of its ears, earning himself a happy little croon which he can't help but smile at.
“You're a nice little fella, aren't ya?” he mutters, more of a remark than a question as he studies the dog. He knows he should probably take it around to the closest shelter or something to at least make sure it hasn't ran away from home or something, but somehow Dean has a feeling that this is a stray-even if it is pretty damned big for one.
The dog allows itself to be coddled just a bit more before barking once, pulling itself away from Dean before starting to move again, and the man barely has a second to see where its heading and quickly starts to shout. “Hey hey hey-”
Before he can shoo the golden retriever away though it’s already done the deed and Dean can only stare in horror at the trail of (giant) paw prints that lead from the bridge and on the porch and going all the way into the house.
…
Dean pauses for a moment, frowning as something rings several bells within him. He's pretty sure he's read something about this before, telling him about the paw prints and how he can get rid of it if he wishes to from the note that the last tenant left him-
He's moving even before he's thinking about it, rushing down the bridge and right into the house, making his way up to the attic (which has no boxes other than his own) and grabs the half-crumpled piece of paper he tossed into it just a few days ago. Heading back downstairs, Dean smoothens out the paper as well as he can, eyebrows furrowing as he re-reads the note he picked up from the mailbox outside when he first moved in.
To whom it may concern:
First off, I suppose I should say thank you for going to the trouble of renting this place and living in it, although I have been told repeatedly that nobody else aside from me would ever want to live in a house like this. That fact that you’re reading this, however, does prove my own point, and I’m sure you’ll find this place as wonderful as I had during my own stay here.
That aside, I’ve already informed the post office about my change in address, but there’s still a chance they might screw things up and continue to send my mail there. If you receive anything that’s addressed to me, please forward it over to my new address, indicated below. Thank you in advance, whoever you may be.
- Castiel Glaser
(P.S: I apologize for the paw prints on the bridge and porch; it was already there when I first came, and I never got around clearing that up. You are free to do so, if you wish to. The same goes to the box up in the attic; I believe both were done and left by the previous owner of the house as a possible parting gift.)
Seemingly seriously polite manners aside, Dean mostly just remembers how utterly confused he had been by this strange letter, especially then there definitely hadn’t been any paw prints or boxes in the attic. Of course, there still isn’t anything in the attic aside from the stuff he’s put up there, but the paw prints…
Dean takes one moment to think about this, and then two before he starts going around the place, trying to find the first piece of paper and pen and the closest surface he can actually write on.
If this is how things are going to be, then fine. Two can play at that game.
The lake house is the first place that springs to Castiel’s mind as his destination of choice when Balthazar all but forces him to take a break. Taking a leave from the hospital so soon after his assignment there is most definitely not something that Castiel would ever dare to do, which is why Balthazar had already taken the initiative and already did everything for him, approved leave and all.
“Working around in your current state isn’t going to help anybody at all, Cassie,” the other doctor had said very pointedly to him as he brought (read: dragged) Castiel out from his office and pried the white doctor’s coat away from him. “Everybody understands perfectly what you’re going through, and we all don’t mind that you take a short break for a while and recover from the shock.”
“I am not fragile, Balthazar,” Castiel instantly retorts, scowling. Certainly, the incident at Buckingham Fountain a few days ago had been sudden and-overwhelming, and Castiel would admit that the incident had left him somewhat shaken, but it certainly didn’t require him to do something as extreme as take a vacation. There were still patients to work with, more lives to safe and more people to care for so that nothing like Buckingham Fountain would ever happen again.
(It had been so sudden and so violent and Castiel only remembers how his hands were trembling and how the paramedics were shaking their heads at the tragedy of the accident, and there was so much blood everywhere that he cannot even make out the face of the newly-deceased man before him.
Death, he thinks, always feels too cold, too sudden and too cruel.)
“Of course you aren’t,” Balthazar returns with a roll of his eyes. “If anything, just do this as a request from your dear old friend, hm? The rest of us will cover your duties very nicely while you’re gone.”
And so that had been that. With little else to say in the matter, Castiel had made the decision to return to the lake house because if he had to be honest with himself, a stay there would do him some good. The hustle and bustle of Chicago’s busy streets had never really suited Castiel, and the whole incident at Buckingham Fountain had been… disastrous, to say the least. As much as Castiel found meaning in his job, perhaps Balthazar wasn’t that all wrong to make him take this vacation, even if the other could have been nicer about it rather than forcing him into this. Still, Castiel supposes he’s in no real condition to complain-regardless of the method, Balthazar had simply been looking out for him.
Bones, of course, takes shotgun in his car (a second-hand, somewhat battered-down but still perfectly functional Ford) since there’s only the two of them and it’s not as if the golden retriever has ever done anything to warranted any disbars from the seat-Castiel has never thought of himself as a pet person, but Bones had been more or less a gift from Gabriel and he didn’t have the heart to simply put his brother's good intentions away. Besides, the dog was quite smart and made little trouble for him. He didn’t see a reason to not keep the dog once he saw how well-behaved it was.
This is the same reason why it startles him when the golden retriever suddenly starts to get restless when Castiel pulls over at the road leading to the lake house. Bones randomly begins to bark, loud and relentless, his tail thumping fiercely against the seat of the car.
Castiel takes a moment to frown in concern at his dog before putting it to the trip over; his job had made it hard for him to take Bones out in recent days, and perhaps the golden retriever’s just happy and glad to be out-especially now since they’re back at their old place. The doctor takes out the keys from the ignition, pocketing them back into the pocket of his pants before he reaches for the door and opens it to get out of the car.
Bones, however, acts faster than Castiel does, and before the man can even move a leg the dog is already moving, barking one more time before he’s suddenly darting out. Bones wriggles tightly for a moment in the space between human owner and steering wheel before managing to get through, barking again as he starts to sprint down towards the lake house, leaving Castiel with little choice in the matter other than to follow his dog. Trying not to make a mental reference to same incident he had with Balthazar in this entire situation, Castiel bites back a sigh and hurries after Bones once he’s ensured that his car is secure.
The golden retriever continues to bark loudly even as Castiel makes his way to where his dog is, and the man pauses for a moment when he realizes that Bones is actually barking at the mailbox. Not only that-he’s also seemingly trying to get it open, standing up on his hind legs and pawing incessantly at the flap.
“Did somebody open it?” Castiel mutters to himself, briefly considering the possibilities of that statement; it’s not wholly impossible, even if this place is pretty far from the general public. But still, who would even take the trouble to come all the way here in the first place? Perhaps the place already had another tenant, but then he should have gotten news about it if that did happen to be the case…
His curiosity piqued, the man now cautiously makes his way over to the mailbox, quickly noticing the way Bones quickly quiets down once Castiel is close. A strange action, no doubt, but then Bones has always been a mysteriously smart dog. Castiel takes a moment to give him a brief scratch behind his ears before pulling away to open the mailbox, blinking at the vaguely crumpled envelope that’s lying inside-Castiel’s pretty certain he had never left his note like that.
Bones barks again, almost as if to tell him to hurry up and read the letter already, and Castiel puts on a wry smile at that before he opens the envelope and opens the letter, quickly scanning through the contents. Both of his eyebrows raise up as he looks through the words, and Castiel has to make himself reread the letter a few more times just to make sure that his eyes aren’t really playing tricks on him (or that he was actually managing to decipher this chicken scratch called penmanship correctly).
Mr. Glaser:
I got your note. Seriously, dude, is this supposed to be some sort of sick joke? If it is, it’s seriously in bad taste and really not funny at all. FYI, I’m not the ‘previous tenant’. There was never any ‘previous tenant’. The place’s been left alone for years. If you’re referring to any other houses by the lake I’m pretty sure there’s that Lake-something residences up ahead. I’m wondering though: how the hell did you know about the paw prints?
Dean Winchester
Castiel stares at the letter for a good long while before he folds it up and starts to go back to his car, wondering if he’s brought along any paper and pen with him over here. He’s pretty sure he has some in the bag he’s brought over with him.
Dean nearly forgets about the whole weird incident about the paw prints (which he has worked tirelessly to paint over all of them) and the dog (which has somehow ended up staying in the lake house and left Dean little choice but to take it in-that is, after a trip to the closest vet and animal shelter) until he opens the letterbox a few days later and spies the crisp note that has replaced his shabby, crumpled one. In retrospect using a piece of scrap paper and a used envelope is not the best idea that Dean’s had, but it’s not as if anything about this is actually normal.
He stares at the paper lying inside the mailbox for a while, almost hesitant to take it because seriously, weird things are starting to happen here and Dean has never been one to go well with weird, at least not at this point of time. But he does have to face this eventually, so he puts down his work stuff and takes out the note. He notices the torn edge at one side of the paper-almost as its been torn out from a book-as he unfolds the note and reads it, quickly scowling at the contents.
Dear Mr. Winchester,
I can assure you that I am quite familiar with the Lakefront residences up ahead, but I can guarantee you that I have never so much as stepped into that place before. I may have been told by my peers to be a little old-fashioned at times, but I do sincerely believe that no place by the lake should be over six thousand square feet.
Let me try this again. I used to live in the lake house, but then I had to move due to my new job located deep in the city. Now I live at 1620 North Racine within Chicago itself. I would appreciate it if you could forward my mail if you get any.
- Castiel Glaser
“1620 North Racine?” the man mutters, frowning. He’s already getting pretty used to Chicago, and Dean’s certain he hasn’t heard an address like that before. But Chicago is a big place, and perhaps it’s just located in some part of the city that Dean hasn’t gone around yet.
Well, he is going out for dinner and drinks with Sam tonight anyway, so Dean supposes he can hunt down the location written here and ask the guy himself about this and clarify matters. He folds the note and stuffs it into his pocket, picking up his bag and bringing it back to the lake house. It stays in his pocket as he takes a quick shower and puts on a change of shirt, donning his jacket again before heading out again to the fancy lawyer building when Sam works at.
As he stands around and waits, Dean can’t help but feel as awkward as hell when he starts mentally comparing himself to the tons of formally-dressed people that pour out from the building, but for the sake of Sam he bears with the awkwardness and puts up with the snooty looks that most of the workers give him as they walk past. Let them look at they want-they’re not the ones that he needs to concern himself with.
The waiting takes a while, but eventually he sees the guy who he’s been waiting for: his little brother (now looking not so little, even from this distance) hurrying out from the doors, shiny briefcase in hand as he makes his way down the stairs and nearly barrels right into Dean, although he does manages to stop in time-not that Dean was going to make this easy for his brother.
“Whoa there, Sasquatch,” he chides his sibling in a semi-serious voice once Sam straightens himself back up. “No need to flatten me on our first night out.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “All these years and that’s the first thing to say to me face to face?” he retorts back, although the smile on his face completely absolves any of the annoyance that’s in his voice.
Dean can’t help but grin back in return. “Of course, bitch.”
“Jerk,” his brother easily replies, eyes gleaming in barely-hidden mirth as he nudges Dean with an elbow. “C’mon, let’s get going before the crowds start to fill up.”
Since Sam is much more familiar with Chicago than Dean currently is, he relents and allows his brother take him out for dinner at a nice local diner and then going around to what he says is one of the best bars in town. Considering his torrid love affair with girly drinks, however, Dean isn’t that all inclined to believe his younger brother’s recommendations, a fact that he states quite clearly to his sibling only after their drinks come.
Sam’s only response is to roll his eyes once again. “You can be the one treating me next time, then.”
Dean snorts quietly. “I’m mortgaged all the way up to my friggin’ eyeballs, Sammy. Give me at least five years before getting to that.”
Eyebrows rise up at the reply. “What kind of crazy house did you buy to even earn that?” his brother asks incredulously.
“It’s a normal sort of house,” Dean tries to deflect, but Sam simply gives him bitchface number seventy-two (‘stop beating around the bush and actually answer properly, Dean') and the older Winchester sighs. “…it’s that house on the lake,” he corrects himself.
Sam blinks, looking somewhat taken aback by the answer. “That house?” he asks, sounding in complete disbelief. “Seriously?”
“Yeah,” Dean answers, nodding. “To make things better, I even got a dog.”
The younger Winchester stares at his elder brother for a good moment at that before he shakes his head, sighing. “Sometimes I wonder about your life, Dean,” he mutters, and Dean can just hear the immediate tone of his brother’s growing disapproval. But still, Sam does drop the topic, and it’s something that Dean is somewhat grateful for-at least for now. In exchange though, he brings up a far more difficult and sensitive topic. “Does Dad know that you’re here?”
Dean has to pause a bit at that particular question. It’s hard to not feel anything whenever John Winchester is brought up these days, mainly because their father had been the main reason as to why Dean left home in the first place. He does find importance in his family, and nothing will ever be as important to him as Sam is in his life-but John… well, that was another whole ball game together. He looks down at his drink and states at it, keeping silent for a good long while. “I left a message about it, but he never got back to me,” he eventually says.
Sam takes a bit before he nods, but stays quiet and proceeds to quickly drop the topic, letting the rest of their time in the bar pass in relative peace. It’s pretty late into the night when they do finally get out of the bar, and for a moment Dean’s pretty tempted to just leave the whole thing with Castiel for another day. But then the strange letters will just keep coming and he really wants to clear this up before it gets any weirder. Since the location is of the guy’s place is closer than Sammy’s house, Dean decides to get around to Castiel’s first and settle his business with the guy (or at least, he’s pretty sure that Castiel is a guy-his name is weird, but it certainly doesn’t give him any female vibes) before sending Sam home.
During the car ride over, Dean manages to get his courage up and ask the question that’s been buzzing in his head throughout the entire time. “Dad ever ask where I went?”
“No,” Sam answers immediately, eyes darting down. A beat of silence passes between them after that, only to be quickly broken by Sam as he speaks up once more. “So, uh… where are we going?”
“1620 North Racine,” Dean answers, eyes peeling around the streets as he attempts to find the place in question.
He doesn’t even need to turn around to see the frown that’s most certainly crossing his brother’s face now. “I’ve never heard of that place before,” he hears Sam mutter.
“That’s because you don’t get out enough, Sammy,” he remarks back, grinning slightly when he sees Sam flipping him off from the corner of his eyes. He turns his eyes back to the road, about to make another turn when a passing sign catches his eye and Dean’s pulling the car over even before he thinks twice about it. Sam, completely unprepared for the abrupt stop, yelps in surprise when he jerks violently with the car.
“What the hell, Dean-” the giant mangirl of his brother starts to say, but Dean quickly tunes out the sound of his bitching as he gets out of the car and runs across the street, eyes fixated on the giant sign that stands out beside the messy construction pit filled with tons of building materials and their accompanying vehicles.
1620 North Racine, it reads, Luxury Apartments Coming Your Way.
Dean’s still staring at the sign in surprise when Sam finally does catch up with him, staring at the giant sign that his brother is looking at before turning to him. “Is there something wrong, Dean?” he asks, concerned.
The older Winchester looks at the sign for a few more moments before he drops his gaze down to the letter he’s unconsciously pulled out from his pocket.
“I have no fucking idea,” is all that he can say in response.
Right below Castiel Glaser’s name, the date of the letter stares back at him pointedly.
It reads to him as March 25, 2010.
It’s nearly the end of his break before Castiel receives a response, and for a moment that does confuse him a little because he’s been staying the lake house for these last few days and he’s pretty certain that the place hasn’t been rented. How and why the letter is here, Castiel doesn’t know at all, but what really throws him off is the response that’s written inside it.
Mr. Glaser:
I went to 1620 North Racine just as you put in your letter, but it’s not there. Heck, it’s just a really deep, open ugly pit with a construction site beside it that’ll probably make that pit into a building eighteen or so months down the road. Seriously, dude, this really ain’t funny at all. And that's not even talking about the whole date thing. Last I checked, 2009 hasn’t even come around yet, let alone 2010. At least get your dates right, man.
Castiel barely notices the fact that Dean Winchester didn’t even bother to sign his name at the end this time, which he supposes is due to the other man’s frustrations-not that Castiel isn’t just as annoyed as he is about this. Just what is going on here?
He stares at the note for a moment before he starts to move, getting off the couch (much to Bones’s dismay, judging from the whine the dog gives out) and goes to the study in order to grab a piece of paper and pen, jotting down a response as quickly as he can. Everything about this is strange and inexplicable, but if anything Castiel’s determined, and he’s out to get to the bottom of this entire mystery as soon as possible.
For once, he gets an answer pretty quickly-the letter’s in the mailbox when he returns from work, and without thinking twice about it Dean grabs the mail and brings it back into the house. He reads the response as he feeds the dog later after dinner, idly petting the golden retriever while frowning at the returning answer the letter gives him.
Mr. Winchester,
I received your last letter. Truthfully, I am not certain why I’m even writing back at this point, but I do want to get to the bottom of this mystery. Apparently, my mail hasn’t been forwarded either, and I’ve been getting my things from the wrong mailbox still-I really do not wish to have to spend so much time and petrol coming down here every week just to get my mail.
Anyway, I am very certain that I have passed you the correct address. Despite my job, I am still perfectly aware of where I live. I admit it’s not the best choice of living, but it is most certainly not an ‘open, ugly pit’ as you described it. The same applies to the date as well. It’s been 2010 for the last three months already, and will continue to be until 2011 comes around next year.
But I am curious to know, though: if it’s not 2009 or 2010 for you, then what year is it for you?
- Castiel Glaser
“You have got to be shitting me,” the man mutters out, eyes flickering over the letter as he reads it again. This just has to be some sort of joke… right? There’s just no way somebody from the future is actually talking to him through a mailbox of all things. That sort of stuff just didn’t happen randomly like that.
There’s just no freaking way that it’s happening to him.
Castiel blinks at the bluntness of the response he gets this time round, complete with the irritated, messy scrawl that he nearly can’t decipher is it wasn’t for the fact of how he’s already gotten used to Dean’s handwriting from the last few letters he sent back.
Glaser:
2008. So stop bullshitting me already. I’m getting sick of this.
March 2008 then, Castiel assumes, pausing to think about it for a moment. Bones makes a snuffle from his side, pressing his wet nose up against Castiel’s cheek, and the man crooks out a small smile at that, idly reaching around to pet the giant golden retriever. March 2008… he hadn’t been in Chicago yet, no, but he did recall some news about it if he remembered correctly. It had been a pretty weird time in general then, mainly because-
The answer clicks to him there and then, and Castiel gets up from the couch as the memory comes back to him. Bones follows him, tail wagging as the dog looks at Castiel rummaging around the mess on the study table for a while before the man finds what he’s been searching for and picks it up. It’s a photograph of him and Anna, along with Gabriel who had been around to visit him then. He can still remember the chill of the night when this photo had been taken, feeling as cold as the snow that had been drifting around them endlessly.
Castiel takes a moment to smile at the memory of that night before he flips the photo over to the back and eyes the note written at the bottom right-hand corner-April 4, 2008.
Mr. Winchester,
I suppose if I have to get you to believe me, I shall have to reveal to you a little secret. A bad case of the flu went around in late spring of 2008, because of a sudden round of snow that came from almost nowhere. A freak late snow, if you will. So, mysterious person from the past, if you truly are at where and when you think you are, then you’re going to need this. Make sure to get plenty of rest and drink lots of fluids. Doctor’s orders.
- (Dr.) Castiel Glaser
Dean snorts aloud as soon as he reads the letter, tossing it away onto the table along with the scarf that came along with the letter in the mailbox. Seriously, who is this guy trying to kid here? Snow at the start of April? This Castiel guy seriously must have gotten a Mickey into his power shake, or something. There’s no way there can be snow in freaking April-it’s practically summer already.
He gets to his dinner since the dog (who is still unnamed, mainly because Dean has no idea what to name it) has been fed, pouring out the noodles he’s cooked for himself and brings the bowl over to the table that faces one of the glass panels of the house that gives him the view of the lake. It’s already pretty dark and the sky is kind of cloudy, but the darkness gives him another sort of peace that Dean can get behind, so he doesn’t mind.
He’s just about to start eating when a stream of something white flashes past his eyes from the outside, and Dean pauses, staring at the window. The white runs by again, little by little and slowly growing lager, and the man can’t help but stare in amazement as he sees snow starting to fall right before his eyes.
“Jesus Christ,” he manages to mutter out before a sneeze suddenly takes over him, and beside him the golden retriever lets out a sound of sympathy.
Castiel returns to the lake house on the following weekend, having gotten back to work and-he has to admit, perhaps Balthazar had been right in him needing a break. He certainly feels much better now, at least, and things have been running around much more smoothly ever since he returned. Now that he’s gone back to staying in his apartment though, Castiel finds himself missing the lake house once again. Not to mention the strange mystery of Dean Winchester.
He almost doesn’t really expect it, so it does surprise him when he sees the letter that sits inside the mailbox, and Castiel is almost certain he can feel the lingering chill of snow and frost as he takes it out and opens it to read the single line written inside.
Can this seriously be happening?
The doctor thinks about it for a moment before he flips the paper around and writes his answer, putting it right back into the mailbox.
He sends his letter once the storm passes and Dean feels healthy enough again, still unable to wholly digest just what is actually happening. Castiel had told him about the storm and then it had happened… there’s no way he can just deny it, no after this. What to do from here though, is something that he doesn’t really want to think about just yet.
Dean’s making his way back to the house where he hears the creak of turning metal, and he turns back to the mailbox only to stare in surprise when he sees that the flag has gone down by itself. He’s still staring at it when the flag goes up by itself too, and it takes the golden retriever to bark out loud before Dean jolts himself into action, running back to the mailbox along with his dog as he takes out the letter and stares at the simple, two word response he gets.
Why not?
The man looks up and glances around him, unable to make out just what the heck is actually going on. There’s nobody around at all, and there’s no way that a letter can just reply to itself-then maybe, just maybe…
Dean stares at the paper in his hands for a while more before he starts to search through the pockets of his coat. Surely he must have a pen in here somewhere…
Response sent, Castiel makes his way back to his car and prepares to head back to the city, but for once Bones isn’t following him and somehow barking incessantly at something.
“Bones, we need to go-” he starts, turning around only to stop when he sees the flag on the mailbox suddenly dropping by itself. Bones instantly turns quiet at that, but his gaze is fixed on the mailbox and Castiel only frowns in confusion as well as surprise. He blinks when the flag raises itself again mere seconds later, and then Bones is barking again, trying to paw at the front of the mailbox with one of his giant paws.
Castiel quickly moves, going over to Bones and calming the giant golden retriever down with a scratch behind his ears before turning to stare at the mailbox again. Very slowly, Castiel reaches for the mailbox and opens it, cautiously taking out the letter inside it as if it’s a time bomb and after another pause, brings himself to read it.
I have no fucking idea what the hell’s happening here, but it seems to be happening alright.
Dean prepares himself with papers and pen this time as he waits for an answer (and trying not to feel like an idiot in the process). It comes surprisingly fast, and Dean opens the mailbox once the flag has lowered and raised itself for another round, grabbing the note inside and reads it quickly.
Where are you?
“Where am I?” the man repeats incredulously, not quite sure what sure what to say about that. Of all the questions in the world to ask-Dean sighs, and starts to write out his answer.
Castiel stares at the response he gets back in return not even a minute later.
The lake house.
“Well, yes,” the doctor mutters, rolling his eyes. “I think I would have noticed that already.”
And so that is how the strangest of friendships start between two people from two completely different times.
I’m a doctor, Castiel writes, introducing himself because even if he is talking to somebody from two years ago, he still should be polite no matter what-even though nothing about this is normal. I’ve only recently gotten my license and stuff, and the job in the city’s my first posting. I wouldn’t say that it’s what I hoped it would be, but I suppose it could have been worse.
Dean introduces himself back in turn as well. I’m a mechanic. Nothing as glamorous your job, but I get by well enough. I also do odd jobs here and then when I can to get some extra money whenever I can. I moved here after spending my time out on the road for the last few years. How about you? If you’re living in some apartment that’ll only exist two years from where I am, then where were you now? Like, you know, me-now. Or something.
Two years ago? I was in Maine, I believe.
Maine? What the hell were you doing all the way there?
…I don’t remember that well, to be honest. All I know is that my brother dragged me there.
Your brother sounds like a dick.
He was trying to help me ‘have fun’, to quote him.
If Sammy ever tries to do that to me I would have made sure he would’ve regretted it.
Your brother, I assume? If so, then my sympathies go to him.
Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?
Moving on. You said that you had been on the road. Where did you go?
Oh. Well, pretty much everywhere. I just let the road take me wherever it leads me to.
I see. Was there any particular place you liked?
I guess. I did kind of like Manhattan while I was there.
I’ve been there once before myself. It is a nice place.
So. How’s 2010? Is the world ending there?
No, we all dress up in shiny metal jumpsuits and zip around in flying cars. Cell phones are obsolete now because we can all talk to each other through our minds. But in all honestly, no, not much has changed from 2008. I mean, there are a few things, but nothing too big at all. Although I suppose there are the presidential elections.
Tell me who won so I can vote for the right guy.
I think I’ll leave that to you to figure out for yourself. Besides, I wouldn’t want to risk disrupting the space-time continuum or something like that by telling you the future.
Now you’re just leaving me hanging, man.
I apologize, but that’s what the future is for. Speaking of the past, however, I have been wondering about the paw prints again. How is that possible? It is a bit unique, I might say.
…call me crazy but I think we might be having the same dog.
I suppose that might be a possibility, considering our circumstances. What’s yours like? According to the last check up I had for him he’s eight years old-six in yours, I assume. He’s larger than life, quiet and terribly smart for his own good. He likes to eat straight from the packs and tins and somehow sleeps like a person.
Dean looks up from the letter at that to stare over at the golden retriever now dozing over one of the couches, his back on the couch with his mouth open. In a way, he does look like he’s sleeping like a person. Dean laughs at the description as he looks back down at the letter, reading the last lines written to him.
I’m not exactly sure why I did it, but I’ve taken to call him Bones.
“Hey there, Bones.”
Bones instantly straightens himself back up at the sound of his name, barking out once in acknowledgement.
Dean can’t help but smile at that.
“You seem rather awfully cheery these days,” Balthazar randomly remarks out during one of their lunch breaks.
Castiel looks up from his plate of food and blinks owlishly at his friend. “Pardon?” he asks, already lost on whatever it is that his friend is trying to subtly imply. It’s always about the double meanings with Balthazar, and while Castiel doesn’t mind it most of the time, he would appreciate it if Balthazar doesn’t use it when he’s talking to him like this.
Balthazar takes a moment to roll his eyes before elaborating to his friend. “For somebody who’s just come back from leave after seeing somebody die before your eyes, you seem to be coping quite well.”
All that the younger doctor can do in return is to snort. “I did tell you that I didn’t need the break.” Although if he had never been forced into it, then perhaps he wouldn’t even have known about Dean and the strange mailbox back at the lake house…
“No, Cassie,” his friend replies with a shake of his head. “You did need the break, and I’m glad that you’re better for it. But…” Balthazar pauses then to eye Castiel for a moment, as if attempting to discern something from his expression.
Castiel, of course, only raises an eyebrow at his friend’s mysterious actions, but opts to say nothing. Indeed, there is that whole thing with Dean now, but certainly there’s no need for Balthazar to know about that-it’s not like anybody would ever believe him, anyway. These sort of things only ever happened in movies, not in real life-present exception aside.
Balthazar looks at him for a few more beats before eventually dropping his gaze back to his own food, picking at it as he remarks idly, “Well, whatever happened to you during the break, I suppose I should be glad for it. You look much better these days.”
Castiel has a brief feeling that the other doctor is going to probe deeper into this matter sooner or later, but for now he’s just glad that the matter is dropped for the moment; explaining the situation isn’t something that Castiel knows if he can actually accomplish, given the unique circumstances of everything about it. Although that isn’t to say that he doesn’t want to-Castiel does wish he could tell it to somebody at times. But how could he even start?
“Anyway,” his friend continues smoothly, spearing himself a piece of Chinese roast pork and waving it absently at Castiel. “If you are feeling good enough, I suppose you should be free to attend Talbot’s wedding this weekend.”
Castiel blinks at the question. “Bela Talbot?” he inquires. While he isn’t that all well-acquainted with the nurse in question-they are professional colleagues, at best-he has worked with her several times. Admittedly, while she does have the skills and experience, her character certainly could do with more work. At least, Castiel believes that anyway. (He had tried to say this nicely to her once before, mainly for her benefit. It hadn’t worked out well.)
Balthazar replies with a soft hum of acknowledgement. “The one and the same,” he confirms before proceeding to bite down on his pork.
The doctor frowns at the answer, not entirely sure what to make of it all. “Didn’t she get divorced about a year ago?” Not that the divorce had been a big thing, but sometimes trying not to overhear whatever the nurses were gossiping about was next to impossible.
“Ten months,” Balthazar corrects his friend with a quiet snort this time round, poking around at his plate once more. “Even shorter than the last one. The lady’s moving on quick.”
Quick was pretty much an understatement, in Castiel’s opinion, but the younger doctor doesn’t voice that out, instead choosing to phrase it in a tactful, diplomatic manner. “She should be more careful in her choices,” he remarks softly, privately feeling sorry for the poor man who’s going to tie the knot with Talbot; Castiel can’t imagine the life that the man would be going through soon enough.
A small huff of amusement escapes from Balthazar’s throat at those words. “The day she’s actually careful is the day when you actually take leave of your own violation, Cassie.”
Castiel knows that Balthazar does not mean anything harmful by that, but it still doesn’t stop the brief flare of irritation that fires up within him. “I simply see no reason to do so,” he retorts back, frowning once more.
Balthazar sighs, sounding weary and exasperated at the same time as the elder doctor shakes his head. “Not that I can’t applaud for that, Cas, but really-you’re just as human as the patients are. What will happen to your girl-” he pauses there, quickly noticing the brief glare that Castiel sends at him “-I mean, your significant other, whichever gender he or she may be.”
“I don’t have one,” Castiel replies simply, rolling his eyes as he polishes off the last bit of food on his plate. “Besides, I’m perfectly comfortable living the single’s life. There’s no reason to put my work aside for something as complicated as a relationship.”
“It’s only complicated if you let it be complicated, Cas,” the elder doctor returns with another sigh. “Are you really planning to just sit around and only start when you’re grey and balding?”
“If it’ll happen, it’ll happen,” Castiel answers easily, moving to stand up from his seat now that he’s done with his lunch-Balthazar might be the kind to use up his entire lunch hour for trivial things, but Castiel would rather use the extra time to do as much work as he can manage. There will always be patients around that need help in one way or another. “I can wait, if that is the case.”
Balthazar doesn’t respond instantly to that, and Castiel takes that silence as his cue to leave. He turns around and starts to move off, but five steps in the other doctor pipes up from the table, and the words he say ring in Castiel’s ears for the rest of the day afterwards.
“Sometimes waiting isn’t enough, Cas,” he says, “If you wait too long, the chance might just slip through your fingers before you can grab hold of it.”
After over two weeks of silence from the mailbox Dean decides to try his luck and place a letter in the mailbox-he doesn’t exactly know how this past-future communication thing works, and like hell he’s actually going to tell Sam about this. Dean can all too easily imagine the geeky look that his brother would put on his face the moment Dean opens his mouth to speak about this, and he can already hear the whole space-time pish posh that Sam’s eventually going to ramble about.
Sometimes Dean thinks that his brother really needs a non-geek life. It would make the world a far better place.
Hey pen pal, he writes, because he still isn’t that certain how to address Castiel since their communication hasn’t been the easiest of things to accomplish despite the ever-changing ways of technology these days (say whatever you want, but Dean does not trust those i-whatevers). You haven’t written for a while. Avoiding me already?
The joke comes out easy on pen and paper, but Dean would be lying if he said that he isn’t nervous. Even until now he still can’t wrap his head around the fact that he’s writing to somebody who’s living two years ahead. Didn’t this kind of thing happen only at Hollywood’s silver screens? Sure, the letters are coming back before his eyes, but a part of him is still just waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s just… way too surreal at times.
Days pass by without any response or movement, and Dean is almost convinced that the entire thing had been some weird dream when a response does come through, alerted through Bones’ continuous barking at the mailbox.
Dean stares at the mailbox for a few moments before he does make himself move. He puts down his bag onto the ground and goes to the mailbox, taking a second to calm the giant golden retriever down with a scratch behind its ears and gives the mailbox about cautious glance. He had been wholly prepared to accept a no-response, more than ready to think of that one incident as a one-time thing and then move on from there. But there’s a response now-even if Dean hasn’t seen it, he just knows-and to be honest, Dean really doesn’t know how to go from here. Should he reply, or should he just…
Bones barks loudly again at that point, tail wagging fiercely as the golden retriever paws against the stand of the mailbox. Dean makes a small start, surprised at the dog’s action, but soon snorts and shakes his head. “Looks like you know what to do,” he mutters, lips quirking into a small smile as he reaches out to open the mailbox and grabs the folded piece of paper that’s replaced the sealed envelope Dean had put there himself.
Even though Castiel only sees words on paper, a part of him can’t help but try and imagine what Dean’s voice might sound like. He imagines the other’s voice to be bright and loud, possibly a little rough and low around the edges but pleasant to listen to nevertheless. Their conversations had been limited, but Castiel thinks that he would enjoy Dean’s company, if they could ever meet each other at the correct time.
Seeing the letter that Dean has placed in the mailbox for what must be most likely a long period of time, Castiel can’t help but feel apologetic as he answers, scribbling his words down onto a piece of paper from the journal he now brings with him everywhere. I apologize for my absence; things have been rather busy at the hospital in the last few weeks, and I’ve been working in all the night shifts.
Dude, seriously? Don’t you get tired?
I’m used to it.
If you say so. But it’s good to hear from you anyway. You should know that you’re my only connection to the future, so losing that would be kind of a loss for me.
I’m still not going to tell you who won the elections.
…Are you seriously still hung up over that?
I’m just making a point.
You’re really uptight about everything, aren’t you?
No.
You sure?
I do have my own interests and hobbies like any other person, Dean.
Tell me, then.
I read to Bones every weekend.
Can he even understand what you’re reading to him?
Dogs are very smart, Dean.
If you say so, man. Which book does he like the best? I’ll go and get it for him here.
He has a liking to The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time. It’s written by Mark Haddon.
Huh. Weird title. What’s it about?
A teenager with Asperger’s.
I don’t really see the connection here.
You’ll understand once you read the book.
You say that as if I actually READ.
If you don’t read, then what do you do during your free time?
Driving around. Not anywhere far, of course, but to go down on the road with just you and the car… it’s a great feeling. You should try it someday.
Perhaps.
No, seriously. We could take a drive together. This Saturday.
We’re two years away from each other, Dean.
Doesn’t mean we can’t do it. C’mon, summer’s here. Might as well enjoy the sun and all that jazz, right?
And so that’s how Castiel finds himself rolling down on the streets of Chicago in his car on the following Saturday, rather than staying at the apartment like what he would have usually done during his time off work. To him, driving has always been more of a necessity than an enjoyment-he finds the public transport system hassling with its countless commuters, and having the privacy of his own space within the car is something that Castiel has always appreciated on a professional level, so to enjoy it as a pleasure… Castiel isn’t sure if that’s something he can actually do.
Still, since Dean has taken the trouble to actually get him a map and even draw out a route for him to take, Castiel isn’t one to not appreciate such effort. Besides, he really hasn’t got the chance to appreciate the sights that Chicago has to offer for him; maybe this drive around the city might help in rectifying that. Bones, of course, rides shotgun, resting his head upon the rolled down windows and simply enjoying the breeze. Despite the dog’s silence Castiel can see exactly how happy the golden retriever is from the way Bones wags his tail without pause, thumping against the seats.
Castiel allows himself a small smile at the open display of happiness that his dog is displaying; he rolls down the windows on his own side of the car and he follows down the route that Dean has marked for him, allowing the roads take him around for the rest of the day.
When the next day comes up the first thing that Castiel does is to go over to the lake house and puts in a letter, thanking Dean for what he had done for the very enjoyable ride that had been given to him.
The drive was wonderful, Dean, thank you. Although I have a feeling that Bones enjoyed it far more than I did.
Hey, he’s the passenger. Let a dog have his day and all that, eh?
Nevertheless, it was a pleasant drive. You must know the streets well to have plotted out such a route around the city.
Eh, I didn’t have anything better to do anyway. I’m just glad you enjoyed it.
I did.
So.
So?
I’ve shown you my stuff. Now you got to tell me what you like besides reading to Bones.
I don’t really have much to share.
Try me.
Well, I have a fondness for chocolate. I like the days where it’s not too bright and just cloudy enough to be cool, and the smell of the air after a long downpour. I also like to sleep in with Bones on my days off from work.
Bones? Seriously?
You don’t?
Well, no, but… what, are you too busy for a girlfriend or something?
I could ask the same of you.
Relationships ain’t really my thing.
The same goes for me, then.
…huh..
You sound surprised.
I just never expected that, I guess.
Dean?
Yeah?
This may sound strange, but… I do wish we could have taken our drive together, at least so that we can both enjoy these sights.
Castiel feels a little embarrassed when he writes that (because there is the fact that they’re two years away from each other and it is a little silly-and well, it’s not like Dean can actually do anything about it), but on the next Saturday when he passes by landmark number thirteen on Dean’s route, he has to stop his car in order to read the words that’s spray-painted onto the wall at the side of the pavement.
Cas, I’m here with you, it says. Thanks for the awesome Saturday together.
He sees the words ‘together’ seemingly sprayed twice, bold enough that it stands out from the rest of the words, and Castiel can’t help but smile at that.
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