Dark Shadows - Metaphysical Gravity - Ch. 6 - I'm Not a Stranger, No I Am Yours
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Dinner at the Collins’ went well. If Pamela or Anna thought it was odd that Castiel brought his friend Charles, they didn’t mention it. Pamela’s other niece, Rebecca, joined them for dinner and they had no fear of a lull in conversation as long as she remained with them. Rebecca had carried the conversation over most of dinner, commenting on everything from the clothes Castiel wore to his remarkable resemblance to the portrait. She peppered him with questions nearly without cessation nor mercy, wanting to know the very minutiae of his life, it seemed.
Although able to eat mortal food, he had not partaken of a meal since his resurrection and he was intrigued by the taste of the items. He had never had chicken that tasted so… bland. He rifled through Charles’ knowledge and came away learning that the animals were raised en masse, along with nearly everything else he was eating. It was no wonder that everything had a washed out, flat taste when quantity was the first order of the day. It seemed hardly anyone kept their own garden anymore, and if they wanted to purchase produce they could buy it from the large, industrial sized stores. Frozen items were intriguing to him. The very idea of being able to store large amounts of any matter of items for untold lengths of time was extraordinary.
This all filtered through his brain silently while he politely turned his head toward Rebecca and nodded occasionally as she spoke.
After dinner they enjoyed drinks in the drawing room.
“I’m sorry, Rebecca,” Castiel says lowly. “What is it that you do?”
“You’ve got to stop calling me Rebecca. Everyone calls me Becky.”
“Your name is so lovely I could not possibly surrender a syllable of it.”
She blushes and curls her lips over her teeth to hide her smile, her bright eyes darting back to him then down.
“That’s so awesome of you to say,” she exclaims. “I, uh, help Pamela out with the family business but that’s mostly just my day job. What I really want to do is write. I’m a writer.”
“Ah, much like Charles.”
Becky glances at Chuck, flushing slightly. Chuck nods his head and grimaces slightly in pretense of a smile. “Uh, I guess so,” says Becky. “I didn’t know you were a writer.”
Chuck resists the urge to glance at Castiel and make sure it’s okay if he speaks. “Um, yeah. I’ve a couple of things published. Nothing recent, though.”
“Oh, why not?” questions Becky.
Chuck takes a big swig of his brandy. Well, the thing is, I’ve been writing my nightmares down and they all have to do with Castiel Collins, the VAMPIRE and him seducing Dean Winchester. You know Dean. The guy that EVERYONE IN TOWN LIKES? “Oh, you know, writing is hard,” he says nervously, foolishly. “And time consuming.”
“Actually,” interrupts Castiel, “I must say, I’m responsible for stealing much of Charles’s time as of late. I have a project that I am desperate to begin work on, and it involves you all.” He swirls his brandy in his glass as he speaks, the gesture elegant and careless. He doesn't even realize he is doing it. “I would like to purchase the old estate from you so that I may restore it.”
There is silence for a moment.
“That’s quite the project,” says Pamela.
“I believe that with Charles’ help, I am up for the task.”
Pamela looks at the other women, an informal request for their permission. While the house is in her name, she likes to make sure that Anna and Becky approve of all decisions. They both offer half shrugs.
“I can’t see why not,” begins Pamela. “We certainly have no use for it and it just sits there, empty and decaying.”
Castiel smiles, and unlike his smile of the other night, feral and sharp, this one is warm and inviting. “I am pleased you feel that way. I may move my belongings there and take up residence as soon as possible.”
“We’ll be neighbors,” squeals Becky.
“Indeed we shall.”
***
When you have money, things move quickly. And Castiel has money.
He has a lot of money.
It shouldn’t have surprised Chuck, but it did. After Castiel’s first feeding from Chuck, he had insisted the author use his tools to crack open one of the stone blocks in the wall of the mausoleum. Behind the wall rested a small wooden box containing gold coins and jewelry. Castiel didn’t say why it was there and Chuck didn’t ask. At the time, he was still too busy vacillating between believing he had gone mad and furiously begging for his life.
Chuck had been responsible for selling a few of the coins which netted quite a bit of cash. They hadn’t even had to think about selling the jewelry yet.
So when Castiel had decided he wanted to live at the Old Estate and had instructed Chuck to get a list of tradespeople who could work and work quickly, Chuck had no problem, not once he indicated that there was substantial money involved.
What had surprised Chuck was when Castiel said he wanted to go over those details in person. With Chuck. Over dinner. At the Winchester Pub.
Chuck thinks he might be having an aneurysm.
He’s in a booth, in the back, as far in the back as he can get, actually. He’s sucking down water like there’s no tomorrow, eating the ice cubes with painfully loud crunches that reverberate in his ears and make it impossible to hear anything else in the pub.
The papers for sale of Castiel’s old house were finalized in the morning, less than three days after Pamela and Castiel agreed on a fair price. Castiel now owns the Old Estate and he’s eager to make it habitable. Chuck gets the impression that Castiel would move in that night if he could, but that would draw unnecessary attention and if there’s one thing Castiel is good at avoiding, it’s unnecessary attention. People in town are starting to know him now, but no one has a hint that he’s other. Rich, yes. Old-world, sure. Charming, hell yeah. But no one would ever suspect Castiel prefers to drink hot blood from human veins but can survive on cold, plastic-cased blood from the blood bank.
And don't even ask how Chuck is getting it.
Castiel made it his mission to become a town fixture. He walks the streets in the early evening, when the sun is low and won’t burn him badly, and pauses to say hello to people who address him. He buys flowers from Millie and proclaims he has never seen such blossoms. He buys wine from Daphne at “The Vineyard” and thanks her for placing it in a double bag. He stops for coffee at the “The Bean Stop” and drinks espresso and plays chess with Frank, who honestly should be dead he’s so old, and Castiel always lets him win. He purchases groceries for fuck’s sake and chats with the produce manager Eli and always has a friendly word with the tellers.
Castiel Collins is Collinsport’s newest crush.
But there’s at least one person who has not met Castiel yet, and that’s Dean Winchester.
Castiel has been very careful to steer away from him.
Chuck had the impression that Castiel wanted Dean to know of him before he actually met him.
He did a damn fine job of it too. Chuck doesn’t think there are many people in Collinsport that haven’t laid eyes on Castiel and every single one of them will say something nice about him. The men say he’s friendly and honest, that he says what he means and means what he says. The women say he’s charming and dreamy, with eyes that stare at you like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.
And in some cases, he does.
Chuck found out recently when Castiel told him offhandedly that Rebecca, or Becky as she insisted on being called, might be persuaded to have feelings for Chuck as she certainly believed they shared a kinship because they were both authors.
He plucked that tidbit right from her brain. She was a loud thinker, according to Castiel.
Chuck asked if Castiel could read everyone and Castiel had answered that he could not. Some people were louder than others, some he could not hear at all. He could hear Chuck very well because of their relationship (and if Chuck had felt a little thrill at the use of the ‘r’ word, no-one would be the wiser) but for the most part, he could hear about seventy five percent of the population, if he wished.
Although the majority of the time, he did not wish to. He said it as simple as that. As though it wasn’t mind-blowing that he could eavesdrops on people’s brains.
Chuck also thinks that Castiel has been pulling information about Dean from people’s minds, and Castiel finally has enough information that he feels ready to meet Dean.
Sometimes, after a feeding, Castiel talks to Chuck. Chuck has his own chair now, placed a foot away from Castiel’s, where he can sit and watch the vampire while he speaks. After he drinks, he’s content, relaxed, like a big, lazy cat. He tells Chuck things, random snippets of information. How when he was young, the winters were so cold that he sometimes thought he imagined the heat of summer, that he can’t believe you can get fruit all year-round now, or how his sister Sarah was much, much younger than him and so small that he could carry her on his shoulders wherever he went.
Once Castiel was in the middle of a reminiscence about riding horses and the feeling of the wind on his face, and he stopped. Chuck watched Castiel intently when he was speaking, always caught up in his magnetism, and in that moment, when he had paused, Castiel had this dreamy, faraway look in his eyes. It was a change from his normal intense expression. This look was… soft. Wistful.
Chuck knew that Castiel was thinking about Dean. Or rather, who Dean had been.
Chuck realized that Castiel was nervous about meeting Dean. For that brief instant, Chuck could see Castiel’s heart on his face and he was afraid of meeting Dean and having it lead to nothing. Or that Dean wouldn’t be the same as he had been in Castiel’s time.
So Castiel had put it off until tonight.
Chuck knows the moment Castiel enters the pub. There’s no dramatic opening of double doors, no flickering of lights, no gusting of wind, but Chuck nevertheless feels the room shift. He doesn’t know if he’s the only one who feels it. He would look around but he can’t. The instant Castiel walks in, silver topped cane in one hand, dark colored, knee length jacket flapping as he walks, expression somber, Chuck can’t look at anyone but him.
The compulsion to stare at Castiel and only Castiel is not sexual, but it is primal. Chuck can’t look away. Chuck doesn’t want to look away. It’s a double-edged sword of duress.
The first edge is that Castiel is a wolf let loose in an enclosed house of lambs. Chuck is one of those plump, soft lambs, knowing that he’s watching a creature stronger and deadlier than him.
The second edge is Chuck’s strange devotion and fealty to Castiel. He wants to serve Castiel. He wants to please him. When Castiel is near, all Chuck can think about is making him happy.
And of course there exists the fear of making him unhappy. Castiel has never raised his voice to Chuck, has never indicated that he would harm Chuck in any way. He’s even careful with the amount of blood he takes and he always has kind, gentle words after feeding. Sometimes Chuck doesn’t know why he’s so afraid.
Chuck’s emotions are all tangled and snarled and he doesn’t know how to separate them out. All he knows is Castiel is here and Chuck must not lose eye contact.
Or the wolf may sneak up when he’s not looking.
“Charles. Thank you for securing us a table.”
“I thought you might like to sit in the back, so you could have some privacy.”
“That is very thoughtful of you.”
Castiel takes his seat across the table from Chuck. His presence takes up more space than is physical body. His posture is impeccable and the precision with which he removes his jacket and places his cane off to the side is eye-catching. Chuck’s eyes dart around the room and he sees more than one admiring, possibly lustful gaze directed toward Castiel. The vampire appears to take no note of it but Chuck knows nothing escapes his attention. Castiel has a leather bound notebook and a pencil for notes. He fingers the pencil, rolling it between the soft pads of his fingertips and Chuck has a realization.
“Are you nervous?”
He immediately wants to snatch the words back. He doesn’t know what made him utter them out loud. For a second, Chuck is afraid.
Castiel only tilts his head to one side and stares at Chuck while he thinks. “Yes. I believe I am.” His blue eyes move around the pub and it’s strange how he doesn’t blink as they flit from one direction to the next. “You have become somewhat of a companion to me, Charles. You alone know my true nature. I suppose my secrets are safe enough with you.”
Chuck’s nodding his head. “Yeah, of course.”
Castiel takes a moment as the waitress, Ava, arrives and takes his drink order. He turns his attention back to Chuck as she hurries off.
“I asked you to meet me here today because I simply cannot put it off any longer. You know I have a … special interest in Dean Winchester. I’ve certainly asked you enough questions about him, although you’ve never once asked me why. I suspect you know. In some strange way, I believe you already know many things that I do not.” Castiel’s eyes are bright and clear, even in the dim light of the pub and Chuck again has the thought that they are lit from within. “There is a corner, a dark corner of your brain and I cannot see past the veil that lurks there. I do not know why and I have not pressed. Our special connection grants me access to your thoughts and my nature makes it impossible to block out the majority of human minds, but I do believe that every man is entitled to have some things to himself and so I have left your dark corner to you.” He waits a moment for his words to sink in. “You know the corner of which I speak.”
Chuck nods carefully.
“It is yours and I shall not intrude. But I believe you know why I want to meet Dean, do you not?”
Chuck nods again, slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. You think he might be someone you lost.”
Castiel’s head tips in a small gesture of acquiescence and he pauses before speaking. “I had imagined in my mind’s eye all sorts of grand gestures, all manner of convoluted contrivances wherein I might stumble across the right path at the exact fortuitous moment, the very same moment as…” he drifts off and Chuck knows in that instant Castiel is a little afraid of meeting Dean. “But to what end? I could machinate any circumstances I desire. It is within my power to do exactly that, and certainly I have the necessary monetary means. But if he is… changed, if he is so altered that I do not know him, nor he me, it would be for nothing. And if he has not changed, if he the same as he ever was and I have a shred of faith left in anything at all, then it must be faith in him. That he will know me, even if it is not immediately, even if it is not this day, nor the next, nor the one after that.” The pencils stops twirling. “I must have faith in Dean Winchester. So, I asked to meet here today as the first step in surrendering myself to my faith.”
“What are you gonna do if it turns out he’s not him?” Chuck’s eyes are solemn and wide.
Castiel thinks it over. “I do not know exactly. I suppose I will continue restoring the Collins Estate. Perhaps engage in a business venture. Travel.”
“By yourself?”
“The nature of a creature such as myself … I may make acquaintances and find colleagues, but true friendships and connections are not wise. I shall have to leave Collinsport in a few years before it becomes noticeable that I do not age and the less entanglements I have, the better. I do not wish to bring anyone else in Collinsport into my confidence. Other than you.”
Chuck gives a wry smile. “Is is wrong that I’m weirdly flattered?”
Castiel smiles in return. A smile full of amusement and fondness. “That you feel flattered by being in the confidence of a vampire? Yes, Charles, it is strange.”
Castiel is making a joke. The very thought of it is so unexpected and odd that Chuck laughs more at the thought of the vampire being funny than at his actual words.
Ava returns with their drinks and seeing Castiel wrap his long fingers around a beer bottle is strange and jarring. Chuck has never seen him drink anything other than blood and frankly he expected Castiel to order red wine, like fictional vampires everywhere.
“You guys ready to order?” asks Ava, her attention solely focused on Castiel.
“I will have whatever Charles is having,” replies Castiel easily. He has no preferences for food yet and a lot of things are still quite foreign to him.
Chuck feels a strange surge of importance. “I’ll… I mean, we’ll have the clubhouse sandwich on white with fries.”
****
Ava nods and tosses a dazzling smile at Castiel, which goes mostly unnoticed. She trots back to the bar to punch in their orders, which is where Dean finds her, chatting with one of the other wait staff, Andy, when he comes up from the basement.
“He’s totally dreamy, right? He’s got that whatchamacallit, old world charm,” Ava says.
“I’ve seen him around. Seems like an okay guy,” replies Andy.
It’s a small pub and Dean’s friendly with his staff so Andy and Ava don’t stop chatting as Dean goes behind the bar and checks the pressure on the soda pumps.
“I had no idea he and Chuck knew each other,” Andy continues.
“I know right? But they’ve got their heads together on something.”
At the mention of Chuck’s name, Dean’s head perks up. He hasn’t seen the poor guy around for a while and he’s been wondering how he’s doing.
“Hey, Chuck’s here?” he asks.
Ava turns to him and jerks her head in the direction of the booth. “Yeah, and he’s here with Castiel Collins.”
“Who?”
Ava rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Honestly, you should be the hub for all the gossip in this town, it all goes through the pub, but you couldn’t care less, could ya? Castiel Collins? He’s a cousin of the Collins family from England.”
“Hey, I heard he just bought the old house,” interjects Andy.
“No way!” exclaims Ava.
“Way. I guess he’s planning on fixing it up or something.”
But Dean has stopped listening. He’s looking over at the booth where Chuck is sitting and although the author still looks pale and drawn, he seems… better, more relaxed than the last time he was in. Satisfied that all the CO2 canisters are hooked up correctly (and under the right names this time), Dean wipes his hand on a bar towel, not managing to get all the sticky soda pop syrup off, slings the towel over his shoulder, and heads over to Chuck’s booth.
Chuck’s listening carefully to Castiel and doesn’t see Dean approach until he’s right at the table.
“Hey Chuck, haven’t seen you around. How you been?”
“Dean,” breathes Chuck and his eyes go from Dean to Castiel and back to Dean.
Castiel has gone very still.
Chuck sputters. “I’m good, man. I’ve been good. Um, Dean, have you met Castiel Collins?”
Dean finally turns his attention to Chuck’s companion. Truth be told, he hasn’t heard of Castiel. He might have heard people in town chatting about him or maybe not. He doesn’t put much stock in chit-chat and it tends to roll over him like water off a duck’s back.
Castiel’s blue eyes focus on Dean and Dean feels a little shock go through him at the intensity of the gaze. He wants to say something, wants to give him a careless grin, the one that makes him a natural at owning a social establishment, but he’s startled by the clarity of Castiel’s eyes. Castiel looks up at Dean patiently, as though he has all the time in the world for Dean to stop being an idiot and say something. Dean’s vaguely aware of Chuck giving his name to Castiel and telling him that Dean owns the pub.
Castiel is holding his hand out waiting for Dean to grab it. Dean blinks twice at it before he reaches out and clasps it.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Charles speaks warmly of you.”
His voice is low and somewhat rough, like he just woke up and that coupled with his bed-head hair puts a dirty thought in Dean’s mind immediately and he almost blushes for god’s sake.
Dean realizes he’s just been nodding his head, up and down, up and down, without uttering a single word.
And he’s still holding Castiel’s hand.
He doesn’t really want to pull away. Castiel’s fingers are slender but strong. His skin is slightly rough, as though he has worked his whole life. He holds Dean’s hand firmly, but not like he’s trying to win a contest or anything.
Dean’s a master at sizing someone up through their handshake.
Castiel’s hand is neither hot nor cold. But slightly…
Sticky?
“Oh shit!” Dean exclaims as he pulls his hand back to grab at the towel in his shoulder. “I just got Coke syrup on you. Sorry, man.”
Castiel turns his hand this way and that, and tilts his head quizzically. Dean wraps the towel around Castiel’s fingers and trying to wipe off the sticky residue.
“It is of no consequence,” murmurs Castiel quietly. He is intently focused on where Dean has caught his hand securely and is folding it in terry-cloth. Dean’s hands still and Castiel looks up to catch Dean staring at him.
“Sorry,” Dean mumbles again and wants to cringe at his lame tone.
“Please do not trouble yourself.” Castiel wraps his other hand over Dean’s, clasping it between his own.
They stare at each other, neither blinking nor moving. Although he’s no expert on social niceties, Dean knows that the socially acceptable timeframe for him to have his hand held by someone else, especially another man, has long come and gone but he doesn’t feel quite ready to pull away. Which should make him feel awkward or embarrassed but it doesn’t, and it seems like Castiel doesn’t mind either.
With a soft, parting squeeze, Castiel releases Dean’s hand and leans back slightly.
“This is a very nice establishment you have.”
His brain stalls for a second. “Uh, thanks.” Dean swears he hears an audible clink as his mind gets back in gear. “I hear you bought the old Collins place.”
“Yes. I hope to restore it. I believe I met your young charge, Ben, there.”
“Oh, yeah? He didn’t give you any trouble did he? Ben’s a great kid but he’s got a mouth on him.”
“On the contrary, I found him quite charming. He mentioned that he likes to roam around the old estate.”
“I can talk to him about that, now that you’ve bought the place.”
“I certainly don’t mind if he wishes to ramble about. Please let him know that as long as he is careful, it is no trouble to me. I shall alert the working staff to be on the lookout for him as well. Boys of that age need a place to wander about and if he is at the old estate, then he won’t have to find a new, unknown location.”
“Thanks.”
“Do not mention it. Perhaps Charles and I can even find a small task for him to ensure he stays out of the more dangerous work we have to do.” Castiel inclines his head toward Chuck.
Dean’s completely forgotten that Chuck is there and he whips his head around, almost startled to find that Chuck hasn’t moved. He’s calmly drinking his water, crunching on the ice.
“Sure.” Chuck nods in agreement.
He should just say ‘thanks’ again and then make an exit, Dean thinks. He shouldn’t just stand there saying nothing, but he doesn’t want to leave. Which is ridiculous. He has work to do and while he always takes time to chat with customers, he doesn’t make a habit of hovering at their tables. He should say something, anything.
“Well, maybe I’ll come by and see how things are going.”
Oh God did he just invite himself over? To the Collins Estate? He’s pretty sure that Sam would bitch slap him if he heard that.
If anything, Castiel seems pleased and he smiles. “You are welcome anytime you wish.”
Dean automatically smiles back. “Okay.” And if his word comes out a little breathlessly there’s no one but Chuck and Castiel to hear it. “Okay,” he repeats. “I should, uh… I’ve work to do.”
“Of course. We do not wish to keep you. I look forward to your visit.”
“Yeah, me too. I mean, uh… Yeah. Okay. Bye.”
Castiel forces himself to not watch him walk away across the small pub, but instead turns back to Charles.
Chuck is grinning at him. He hitches forward in his seat and leans over the table.
“That went well. I thought it went well. Did you think it went well?” Chuck’s voice is quiet so as not to carry but it is laced through with excitement.
Castiel looks down at his small notebook, almost shyly and absently begins to twirl his pencil again.
“Yes, I think it went well.”
Next Chapter - 7 - The Collision of Our Kiss
Dinner at the Collins’ went well. If Pamela or Anna thought it was odd that Castiel brought his friend Charles, they didn’t mention it. Pamela’s other niece, Rebecca, joined them for dinner and they had no fear of a lull in conversation as long as she remained with them. Rebecca had carried the conversation over most of dinner, commenting on everything from the clothes Castiel wore to his remarkable resemblance to the portrait. She peppered him with questions nearly without cessation nor mercy, wanting to know the very minutiae of his life, it seemed.
Although able to eat mortal food, he had not partaken of a meal since his resurrection and he was intrigued by the taste of the items. He had never had chicken that tasted so… bland. He rifled through Charles’ knowledge and came away learning that the animals were raised en masse, along with nearly everything else he was eating. It was no wonder that everything had a washed out, flat taste when quantity was the first order of the day. It seemed hardly anyone kept their own garden anymore, and if they wanted to purchase produce they could buy it from the large, industrial sized stores. Frozen items were intriguing to him. The very idea of being able to store large amounts of any matter of items for untold lengths of time was extraordinary.
This all filtered through his brain silently while he politely turned his head toward Rebecca and nodded occasionally as she spoke.
After dinner they enjoyed drinks in the drawing room.
“I’m sorry, Rebecca,” Castiel says lowly. “What is it that you do?”
“You’ve got to stop calling me Rebecca. Everyone calls me Becky.”
“Your name is so lovely I could not possibly surrender a syllable of it.”
She blushes and curls her lips over her teeth to hide her smile, her bright eyes darting back to him then down.
“That’s so awesome of you to say,” she exclaims. “I, uh, help Pamela out with the family business but that’s mostly just my day job. What I really want to do is write. I’m a writer.”
“Ah, much like Charles.”
Becky glances at Chuck, flushing slightly. Chuck nods his head and grimaces slightly in pretense of a smile. “Uh, I guess so,” says Becky. “I didn’t know you were a writer.”
Chuck resists the urge to glance at Castiel and make sure it’s okay if he speaks. “Um, yeah. I’ve a couple of things published. Nothing recent, though.”
“Oh, why not?” questions Becky.
Chuck takes a big swig of his brandy. Well, the thing is, I’ve been writing my nightmares down and they all have to do with Castiel Collins, the VAMPIRE and him seducing Dean Winchester. You know Dean. The guy that EVERYONE IN TOWN LIKES? “Oh, you know, writing is hard,” he says nervously, foolishly. “And time consuming.”
“Actually,” interrupts Castiel, “I must say, I’m responsible for stealing much of Charles’s time as of late. I have a project that I am desperate to begin work on, and it involves you all.” He swirls his brandy in his glass as he speaks, the gesture elegant and careless. He doesn't even realize he is doing it. “I would like to purchase the old estate from you so that I may restore it.”
There is silence for a moment.
“That’s quite the project,” says Pamela.
“I believe that with Charles’ help, I am up for the task.”
Pamela looks at the other women, an informal request for their permission. While the house is in her name, she likes to make sure that Anna and Becky approve of all decisions. They both offer half shrugs.
“I can’t see why not,” begins Pamela. “We certainly have no use for it and it just sits there, empty and decaying.”
Castiel smiles, and unlike his smile of the other night, feral and sharp, this one is warm and inviting. “I am pleased you feel that way. I may move my belongings there and take up residence as soon as possible.”
“We’ll be neighbors,” squeals Becky.
“Indeed we shall.”
***
When you have money, things move quickly. And Castiel has money.
He has a lot of money.
It shouldn’t have surprised Chuck, but it did. After Castiel’s first feeding from Chuck, he had insisted the author use his tools to crack open one of the stone blocks in the wall of the mausoleum. Behind the wall rested a small wooden box containing gold coins and jewelry. Castiel didn’t say why it was there and Chuck didn’t ask. At the time, he was still too busy vacillating between believing he had gone mad and furiously begging for his life.
Chuck had been responsible for selling a few of the coins which netted quite a bit of cash. They hadn’t even had to think about selling the jewelry yet.
So when Castiel had decided he wanted to live at the Old Estate and had instructed Chuck to get a list of tradespeople who could work and work quickly, Chuck had no problem, not once he indicated that there was substantial money involved.
What had surprised Chuck was when Castiel said he wanted to go over those details in person. With Chuck. Over dinner. At the Winchester Pub.
Chuck thinks he might be having an aneurysm.
He’s in a booth, in the back, as far in the back as he can get, actually. He’s sucking down water like there’s no tomorrow, eating the ice cubes with painfully loud crunches that reverberate in his ears and make it impossible to hear anything else in the pub.
The papers for sale of Castiel’s old house were finalized in the morning, less than three days after Pamela and Castiel agreed on a fair price. Castiel now owns the Old Estate and he’s eager to make it habitable. Chuck gets the impression that Castiel would move in that night if he could, but that would draw unnecessary attention and if there’s one thing Castiel is good at avoiding, it’s unnecessary attention. People in town are starting to know him now, but no one has a hint that he’s other. Rich, yes. Old-world, sure. Charming, hell yeah. But no one would ever suspect Castiel prefers to drink hot blood from human veins but can survive on cold, plastic-cased blood from the blood bank.
And don't even ask how Chuck is getting it.
Castiel made it his mission to become a town fixture. He walks the streets in the early evening, when the sun is low and won’t burn him badly, and pauses to say hello to people who address him. He buys flowers from Millie and proclaims he has never seen such blossoms. He buys wine from Daphne at “The Vineyard” and thanks her for placing it in a double bag. He stops for coffee at the “The Bean Stop” and drinks espresso and plays chess with Frank, who honestly should be dead he’s so old, and Castiel always lets him win. He purchases groceries for fuck’s sake and chats with the produce manager Eli and always has a friendly word with the tellers.
Castiel Collins is Collinsport’s newest crush.
But there’s at least one person who has not met Castiel yet, and that’s Dean Winchester.
Castiel has been very careful to steer away from him.
Chuck had the impression that Castiel wanted Dean to know of him before he actually met him.
He did a damn fine job of it too. Chuck doesn’t think there are many people in Collinsport that haven’t laid eyes on Castiel and every single one of them will say something nice about him. The men say he’s friendly and honest, that he says what he means and means what he says. The women say he’s charming and dreamy, with eyes that stare at you like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.
And in some cases, he does.
Chuck found out recently when Castiel told him offhandedly that Rebecca, or Becky as she insisted on being called, might be persuaded to have feelings for Chuck as she certainly believed they shared a kinship because they were both authors.
He plucked that tidbit right from her brain. She was a loud thinker, according to Castiel.
Chuck asked if Castiel could read everyone and Castiel had answered that he could not. Some people were louder than others, some he could not hear at all. He could hear Chuck very well because of their relationship (and if Chuck had felt a little thrill at the use of the ‘r’ word, no-one would be the wiser) but for the most part, he could hear about seventy five percent of the population, if he wished.
Although the majority of the time, he did not wish to. He said it as simple as that. As though it wasn’t mind-blowing that he could eavesdrops on people’s brains.
Chuck also thinks that Castiel has been pulling information about Dean from people’s minds, and Castiel finally has enough information that he feels ready to meet Dean.
Sometimes, after a feeding, Castiel talks to Chuck. Chuck has his own chair now, placed a foot away from Castiel’s, where he can sit and watch the vampire while he speaks. After he drinks, he’s content, relaxed, like a big, lazy cat. He tells Chuck things, random snippets of information. How when he was young, the winters were so cold that he sometimes thought he imagined the heat of summer, that he can’t believe you can get fruit all year-round now, or how his sister Sarah was much, much younger than him and so small that he could carry her on his shoulders wherever he went.
Once Castiel was in the middle of a reminiscence about riding horses and the feeling of the wind on his face, and he stopped. Chuck watched Castiel intently when he was speaking, always caught up in his magnetism, and in that moment, when he had paused, Castiel had this dreamy, faraway look in his eyes. It was a change from his normal intense expression. This look was… soft. Wistful.
Chuck knew that Castiel was thinking about Dean. Or rather, who Dean had been.
Chuck realized that Castiel was nervous about meeting Dean. For that brief instant, Chuck could see Castiel’s heart on his face and he was afraid of meeting Dean and having it lead to nothing. Or that Dean wouldn’t be the same as he had been in Castiel’s time.
So Castiel had put it off until tonight.
Chuck knows the moment Castiel enters the pub. There’s no dramatic opening of double doors, no flickering of lights, no gusting of wind, but Chuck nevertheless feels the room shift. He doesn’t know if he’s the only one who feels it. He would look around but he can’t. The instant Castiel walks in, silver topped cane in one hand, dark colored, knee length jacket flapping as he walks, expression somber, Chuck can’t look at anyone but him.
The compulsion to stare at Castiel and only Castiel is not sexual, but it is primal. Chuck can’t look away. Chuck doesn’t want to look away. It’s a double-edged sword of duress.
The first edge is that Castiel is a wolf let loose in an enclosed house of lambs. Chuck is one of those plump, soft lambs, knowing that he’s watching a creature stronger and deadlier than him.
The second edge is Chuck’s strange devotion and fealty to Castiel. He wants to serve Castiel. He wants to please him. When Castiel is near, all Chuck can think about is making him happy.
And of course there exists the fear of making him unhappy. Castiel has never raised his voice to Chuck, has never indicated that he would harm Chuck in any way. He’s even careful with the amount of blood he takes and he always has kind, gentle words after feeding. Sometimes Chuck doesn’t know why he’s so afraid.
Chuck’s emotions are all tangled and snarled and he doesn’t know how to separate them out. All he knows is Castiel is here and Chuck must not lose eye contact.
Or the wolf may sneak up when he’s not looking.
“Charles. Thank you for securing us a table.”
“I thought you might like to sit in the back, so you could have some privacy.”
“That is very thoughtful of you.”
Castiel takes his seat across the table from Chuck. His presence takes up more space than is physical body. His posture is impeccable and the precision with which he removes his jacket and places his cane off to the side is eye-catching. Chuck’s eyes dart around the room and he sees more than one admiring, possibly lustful gaze directed toward Castiel. The vampire appears to take no note of it but Chuck knows nothing escapes his attention. Castiel has a leather bound notebook and a pencil for notes. He fingers the pencil, rolling it between the soft pads of his fingertips and Chuck has a realization.
“Are you nervous?”
He immediately wants to snatch the words back. He doesn’t know what made him utter them out loud. For a second, Chuck is afraid.
Castiel only tilts his head to one side and stares at Chuck while he thinks. “Yes. I believe I am.” His blue eyes move around the pub and it’s strange how he doesn’t blink as they flit from one direction to the next. “You have become somewhat of a companion to me, Charles. You alone know my true nature. I suppose my secrets are safe enough with you.”
Chuck’s nodding his head. “Yeah, of course.”
Castiel takes a moment as the waitress, Ava, arrives and takes his drink order. He turns his attention back to Chuck as she hurries off.
“I asked you to meet me here today because I simply cannot put it off any longer. You know I have a … special interest in Dean Winchester. I’ve certainly asked you enough questions about him, although you’ve never once asked me why. I suspect you know. In some strange way, I believe you already know many things that I do not.” Castiel’s eyes are bright and clear, even in the dim light of the pub and Chuck again has the thought that they are lit from within. “There is a corner, a dark corner of your brain and I cannot see past the veil that lurks there. I do not know why and I have not pressed. Our special connection grants me access to your thoughts and my nature makes it impossible to block out the majority of human minds, but I do believe that every man is entitled to have some things to himself and so I have left your dark corner to you.” He waits a moment for his words to sink in. “You know the corner of which I speak.”
Chuck nods carefully.
“It is yours and I shall not intrude. But I believe you know why I want to meet Dean, do you not?”
Chuck nods again, slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. You think he might be someone you lost.”
Castiel’s head tips in a small gesture of acquiescence and he pauses before speaking. “I had imagined in my mind’s eye all sorts of grand gestures, all manner of convoluted contrivances wherein I might stumble across the right path at the exact fortuitous moment, the very same moment as…” he drifts off and Chuck knows in that instant Castiel is a little afraid of meeting Dean. “But to what end? I could machinate any circumstances I desire. It is within my power to do exactly that, and certainly I have the necessary monetary means. But if he is… changed, if he is so altered that I do not know him, nor he me, it would be for nothing. And if he has not changed, if he the same as he ever was and I have a shred of faith left in anything at all, then it must be faith in him. That he will know me, even if it is not immediately, even if it is not this day, nor the next, nor the one after that.” The pencils stops twirling. “I must have faith in Dean Winchester. So, I asked to meet here today as the first step in surrendering myself to my faith.”
“What are you gonna do if it turns out he’s not him?” Chuck’s eyes are solemn and wide.
Castiel thinks it over. “I do not know exactly. I suppose I will continue restoring the Collins Estate. Perhaps engage in a business venture. Travel.”
“By yourself?”
“The nature of a creature such as myself … I may make acquaintances and find colleagues, but true friendships and connections are not wise. I shall have to leave Collinsport in a few years before it becomes noticeable that I do not age and the less entanglements I have, the better. I do not wish to bring anyone else in Collinsport into my confidence. Other than you.”
Chuck gives a wry smile. “Is is wrong that I’m weirdly flattered?”
Castiel smiles in return. A smile full of amusement and fondness. “That you feel flattered by being in the confidence of a vampire? Yes, Charles, it is strange.”
Castiel is making a joke. The very thought of it is so unexpected and odd that Chuck laughs more at the thought of the vampire being funny than at his actual words.
Ava returns with their drinks and seeing Castiel wrap his long fingers around a beer bottle is strange and jarring. Chuck has never seen him drink anything other than blood and frankly he expected Castiel to order red wine, like fictional vampires everywhere.
“You guys ready to order?” asks Ava, her attention solely focused on Castiel.
“I will have whatever Charles is having,” replies Castiel easily. He has no preferences for food yet and a lot of things are still quite foreign to him.
Chuck feels a strange surge of importance. “I’ll… I mean, we’ll have the clubhouse sandwich on white with fries.”
****
Ava nods and tosses a dazzling smile at Castiel, which goes mostly unnoticed. She trots back to the bar to punch in their orders, which is where Dean finds her, chatting with one of the other wait staff, Andy, when he comes up from the basement.
“He’s totally dreamy, right? He’s got that whatchamacallit, old world charm,” Ava says.
“I’ve seen him around. Seems like an okay guy,” replies Andy.
It’s a small pub and Dean’s friendly with his staff so Andy and Ava don’t stop chatting as Dean goes behind the bar and checks the pressure on the soda pumps.
“I had no idea he and Chuck knew each other,” Andy continues.
“I know right? But they’ve got their heads together on something.”
At the mention of Chuck’s name, Dean’s head perks up. He hasn’t seen the poor guy around for a while and he’s been wondering how he’s doing.
“Hey, Chuck’s here?” he asks.
Ava turns to him and jerks her head in the direction of the booth. “Yeah, and he’s here with Castiel Collins.”
“Who?”
Ava rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Honestly, you should be the hub for all the gossip in this town, it all goes through the pub, but you couldn’t care less, could ya? Castiel Collins? He’s a cousin of the Collins family from England.”
“Hey, I heard he just bought the old house,” interjects Andy.
“No way!” exclaims Ava.
“Way. I guess he’s planning on fixing it up or something.”
But Dean has stopped listening. He’s looking over at the booth where Chuck is sitting and although the author still looks pale and drawn, he seems… better, more relaxed than the last time he was in. Satisfied that all the CO2 canisters are hooked up correctly (and under the right names this time), Dean wipes his hand on a bar towel, not managing to get all the sticky soda pop syrup off, slings the towel over his shoulder, and heads over to Chuck’s booth.
Chuck’s listening carefully to Castiel and doesn’t see Dean approach until he’s right at the table.
“Hey Chuck, haven’t seen you around. How you been?”
“Dean,” breathes Chuck and his eyes go from Dean to Castiel and back to Dean.
Castiel has gone very still.
Chuck sputters. “I’m good, man. I’ve been good. Um, Dean, have you met Castiel Collins?”
Dean finally turns his attention to Chuck’s companion. Truth be told, he hasn’t heard of Castiel. He might have heard people in town chatting about him or maybe not. He doesn’t put much stock in chit-chat and it tends to roll over him like water off a duck’s back.
Castiel’s blue eyes focus on Dean and Dean feels a little shock go through him at the intensity of the gaze. He wants to say something, wants to give him a careless grin, the one that makes him a natural at owning a social establishment, but he’s startled by the clarity of Castiel’s eyes. Castiel looks up at Dean patiently, as though he has all the time in the world for Dean to stop being an idiot and say something. Dean’s vaguely aware of Chuck giving his name to Castiel and telling him that Dean owns the pub.
Castiel is holding his hand out waiting for Dean to grab it. Dean blinks twice at it before he reaches out and clasps it.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Charles speaks warmly of you.”
His voice is low and somewhat rough, like he just woke up and that coupled with his bed-head hair puts a dirty thought in Dean’s mind immediately and he almost blushes for god’s sake.
Dean realizes he’s just been nodding his head, up and down, up and down, without uttering a single word.
And he’s still holding Castiel’s hand.
He doesn’t really want to pull away. Castiel’s fingers are slender but strong. His skin is slightly rough, as though he has worked his whole life. He holds Dean’s hand firmly, but not like he’s trying to win a contest or anything.
Dean’s a master at sizing someone up through their handshake.
Castiel’s hand is neither hot nor cold. But slightly…
Sticky?
“Oh shit!” Dean exclaims as he pulls his hand back to grab at the towel in his shoulder. “I just got Coke syrup on you. Sorry, man.”
Castiel turns his hand this way and that, and tilts his head quizzically. Dean wraps the towel around Castiel’s fingers and trying to wipe off the sticky residue.
“It is of no consequence,” murmurs Castiel quietly. He is intently focused on where Dean has caught his hand securely and is folding it in terry-cloth. Dean’s hands still and Castiel looks up to catch Dean staring at him.
“Sorry,” Dean mumbles again and wants to cringe at his lame tone.
“Please do not trouble yourself.” Castiel wraps his other hand over Dean’s, clasping it between his own.
They stare at each other, neither blinking nor moving. Although he’s no expert on social niceties, Dean knows that the socially acceptable timeframe for him to have his hand held by someone else, especially another man, has long come and gone but he doesn’t feel quite ready to pull away. Which should make him feel awkward or embarrassed but it doesn’t, and it seems like Castiel doesn’t mind either.
With a soft, parting squeeze, Castiel releases Dean’s hand and leans back slightly.
“This is a very nice establishment you have.”
His brain stalls for a second. “Uh, thanks.” Dean swears he hears an audible clink as his mind gets back in gear. “I hear you bought the old Collins place.”
“Yes. I hope to restore it. I believe I met your young charge, Ben, there.”
“Oh, yeah? He didn’t give you any trouble did he? Ben’s a great kid but he’s got a mouth on him.”
“On the contrary, I found him quite charming. He mentioned that he likes to roam around the old estate.”
“I can talk to him about that, now that you’ve bought the place.”
“I certainly don’t mind if he wishes to ramble about. Please let him know that as long as he is careful, it is no trouble to me. I shall alert the working staff to be on the lookout for him as well. Boys of that age need a place to wander about and if he is at the old estate, then he won’t have to find a new, unknown location.”
“Thanks.”
“Do not mention it. Perhaps Charles and I can even find a small task for him to ensure he stays out of the more dangerous work we have to do.” Castiel inclines his head toward Chuck.
Dean’s completely forgotten that Chuck is there and he whips his head around, almost startled to find that Chuck hasn’t moved. He’s calmly drinking his water, crunching on the ice.
“Sure.” Chuck nods in agreement.
He should just say ‘thanks’ again and then make an exit, Dean thinks. He shouldn’t just stand there saying nothing, but he doesn’t want to leave. Which is ridiculous. He has work to do and while he always takes time to chat with customers, he doesn’t make a habit of hovering at their tables. He should say something, anything.
“Well, maybe I’ll come by and see how things are going.”
Oh God did he just invite himself over? To the Collins Estate? He’s pretty sure that Sam would bitch slap him if he heard that.
If anything, Castiel seems pleased and he smiles. “You are welcome anytime you wish.”
Dean automatically smiles back. “Okay.” And if his word comes out a little breathlessly there’s no one but Chuck and Castiel to hear it. “Okay,” he repeats. “I should, uh… I’ve work to do.”
“Of course. We do not wish to keep you. I look forward to your visit.”
“Yeah, me too. I mean, uh… Yeah. Okay. Bye.”
Castiel forces himself to not watch him walk away across the small pub, but instead turns back to Charles.
Chuck is grinning at him. He hitches forward in his seat and leans over the table.
“That went well. I thought it went well. Did you think it went well?” Chuck’s voice is quiet so as not to carry but it is laced through with excitement.
Castiel looks down at his small notebook, almost shyly and absently begins to twirl his pencil again.
“Yes, I think it went well.”
Next Chapter - 7 - The Collision of Our Kiss