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“This is the best it has been in a long time,” he says, and she believes it. There are monsters and ghosts and whatever else they won’t talk about, but it’s probably always been like that. Sam is snoring somewhere in the background and Castiel is just watching Dean again. To Dean, this is probably as good as it gets.
Castiel calls her Charlie, but it sounds like he’s doing her a favor. Like he knows what he real name is, and is just humoring her.
Charlie should be scared of Castiel but she isn’t. She wonders if Dean feels the same way.
Dean is drunk when he calls her. He says something about a girl at a bar who was very hot. Dean says “hot” at least 5 times. This hot girl gave him her number and he didn’t notice until Sam pointed it out.
“I used to get laid every night. But since-, ever since, I’ve-.” Then he goes silent.
Dean’s life has always seemed to be broken up into two distinct periods. The first one has a lot of stories about being a kid with his father and Sam. The second part is a lot less coherent because he gets quiet a lot.
She doesn’t know which one she prefers.
She starts talking about Harry Potter because she’s helpless to do anything else. When she can hear him breathing heavy with sleep, she stops but doesn’t hang up. On bad days, she’s scared to hang up and leave him alone.
“Thank you Charlie Bradbury.”
She’s so startled she drops the phone and hangs up, wondering if Castiel had been there the entire time.
“I read the first chapter.” Castiel stares at her. “About the fire.”
He pets Crookshanks, who enjoys taking advantage of Castiel’s lap whenever Dean isn’t around.
“That shit’s fucked up.”
He nods sagely.
“He told me that, if he went home, he might kill himself.”
She hums like she’s calm, but she’s not. She’s terrified of what Dean would be like if Castiel left. Castiel calms Dean down in a way she doesn’t really understand. Like all of that energy that’s usually straining outwards settles.
“Did you ask him not to? Because that might help.”
Dean doesn’t know how to ask for what he wants and they baby him sometimes. They let him get away without verbalizing the important bits. Dean might never say anything and neither Sam, nor she, will make him.
“I think my cat likes you more than she likes me.”
Crookshanks is purring against Castiel’s leg, batting at Dean as he attempts to sit down.
“That is not true. She’s very protective of you.”
She’s learned that, despite how it sounds, Castiel is rarely joking. Luckily, he doesn’t get upset when Dean laughs.
“Cas is a real cat whisperer.”
She has no idea if he’s serious or not, but Castiel is doing that thing where he smiles with his eyes. He seems to preen a little, pleased that he understands a reference that she does not.
She wonders what it is that’s made Castiel so eager to be accepted.
Castiel is obsessed with television.
He doesn’t seem to see any difference between Desperate Housewives, Criminal Minds, or Ghostfacers. Because of it, Castiel seems to understand some references while completely missing more obvious ones. It’s startling when he knows who Ice Cube is but doesn’t know what Youtube is.
Dean never treats him like he’s dumb. He makes references they know Castiel won’t understand because when he does, somehow, get it, it’s like winning somehow.
“I did something for which I cannot be forgiven. Nothing can make up for it.”
Dean is sleeping, his head lolling towards Castiel’s shoulder. She can tell when he’s ashamed or upset because he looks towards Dean instead of making eye contact. He’s always looking for answers in Dean.
And she knows, without asking, that Dean has forgiven Castiel. Dean always makes excuses for people he loves, prefers taking blame himself whenever possible. Dean may not have said it out loud, but he’s forgiven Castiel for whatever he did.
“No matter how bad you feel, could you just … stay. That’s enough, I think.”
Castiel bows his head and fidgets with his tie. It seems unnatural for him to be anything other than calm, but Dean twists his hands sometimes. She imagines Castiel seeing Dean doing it, and copying the behavior with the same methodical intent he does everything else.
“I will try.”
It’s not enough, but she’s just a girl. Just Charlie. She can’t ask for anything else.
“Do they do the staring?”
“All the time.”
Sam laughs and it sounds bitter. “He deserves it.”
It sounds like regret. She wonders what it is that he’s regretting.
Castiel comes to her house one day and asks to use her oven.
It becomes a thing. The only cook books she has are of the Harry Potter kind, but he makes an amazing Bangers and Mash and sometimes he’ll make her rock cakes that don’t break her teeth (except for the first time). He’s great at following the recipes but any attempts at originality end in a mess.
He doesn’t come often, but he always comes alone.
About half an hour after he arrives, her phone rings. Dean’s angry and frantic in turn; quick to rant about an argument he and Cas have had about something incredibly stupid. She’ll listen while watching Cas stir something at the counter, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
She prints out a pie recipe from online and slides it over to him one day.
“You know, the quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”
He frowns and tells her that is not anatomically accurate, but she thinks he might have been joking this time.
Dean is patient with Castiel. He never seems annoyed when Castiel doesn’t understand him, and he never hesitates to explain anything. It’s not even patience, really. It’s like it never occurs to him to be angry about it.
“What do you get a wave of celestial intent for his birthday?”
Dean is very definitely drunk. Charlie has no idea what that sentence is supposed to mean.
“I don’t know- what does it like?”
“How should I know?”
“Well, it’s your wave of celestial intent, not mine.”
He sighs loudly and starts talking about a Winnebago that eats people.
Castiel picks up her welcome mat and pours a line of salt in front of the door. He then goes around and puts it on the ledges of her windows. She’s in the middle of making pasta for dinner and she and Dean stare at him as he walks back, as if it was totally normal.
“Do I want to know?”
Dean grins. “It means he likes you.”
“Vegetable, animal, or mineral?” she asks.
“I do not fit the standard definition of any of those.”
“Damn.”
“He died, and I brought him back again.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
Castiel looks startled. Maybe no one had thanked him yet. But she’s thankful for Dean, for his company and friendship, and even for all of the danger that the Winchesters have put her through.
Dean doesn’t sleep well. He wakes up at the slightest sound, or sometimes at random. She can’t tell if it’s dreams or restlessness or what. He only stays the night at her apartment once, and when she wakes up to go to work he’s sitting by the window, reading a book. She has no idea if he slept at all, but she’ll pretend she hasn’t notice and maybe make him breakfast.
Castiel says that he doesn’t have to sleep at all, whatever that means.
Castiel doesn't like foods with creamy consistencies because he finds the texture "displeasing". He also looks a little queasy when offered anything with red meat.
He has a lot of definite opinions about really strange things. She can't help feeling like Castiel just enjoys being able to have opinions about anything. Even if it's just about food or fabric or his favorite color.
It's green, not that anyone would ever think anything else.
“That’s disgusting.”
Castiel ignored her, continuing to roll the ball of cookie dough between his fingers until it got warm enough to drip onto the counter. Charlie had not anticipated cookies being the wild success that they were turning out to be.
“It’s delicious. Try some.” She took some and put it into her mouth to demonstrate.
Obediently, he popped the lump of dough into his mouth. “It’s good.”
“Don’t eat too much, or you’ll get sick,” Dean warns, taking some for himself.
“Of course,” Castiel replies seriously. The idea of him getting sick from cookie dough is ridiculous but he obeys, watching them finish the bowl.
Charlie asks him later why he lets Dean treat him like a child.
“Because it makes him happy.” As if it’s as simple as that.
Charlie wonders if Dean was ever afraid of fire.
She’s smoothing a paste onto his arm that he promises is the best for burns. He doesn’t wince or anything, like he hardly notices anymore. She almost wants to press a little too hard, just to see him flinch.
“That must have been some close call,” she says.
He shrugs. The burns are all up his arm so he’s taken his shirt off. There’s some tattoo on his chest, one that she doubts came from a drunken mistake like hers.
Everything she knows about first aid comes from television and fanfiction. Dean promises her that she’s doing alright but he’s not afraid of infection. It never occurs to Dean that anything like infection or illness could kill him.
Castiel sits on the couch, far away from Dean. He knows about infection and illness and all the other killers that they can’t shoot away.
She bets that he’s afraid of fire, even though it probably can’t hurt him.
Sam’s booked himself a separate room half a dozen times before Dean realizes it’s happening
“I come in late and Dean’s asleep on his bed, while Cas watches TV. I don’t get it.”
“You don’t have to get it,” she points out. He groans in frustration.
“I just want them to be happy, you know?”
“Well, maybe you should stop assuming that happiness to you is the same to them.”
She’s heard about Lisa, mostly in bits and pieces and it doesn’t all make sense. But she’s not surprised to see that he doesn’t understand any more than he did last time.
“What am I doing?”
“I thought you were going to get something to eat?”
“No, I mean, what am I doing?”
She can imagine him standing in front of his mirror while saying this. He’s probably changed outfits at least once without realizing it and Sam is rolling his eyes in the background.
“Stop it Dean. Just go.”
“Maybe I should go to a bar instead. Get something to drink and maybe-.”
“No drink and no bar. You don’t need more alcohol, okay?”
“Yeah, alright. Cas doesn’t like bars anyways, don’t know why.”
Castiel has every reason to dislike bars in her mind. She’s starting to dislike alcohol herself.
“Have fun, okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Better not keep him waiting.”
There are tickets on her desk
“How the hell did you even get these?”
She’d almost called Dean but she caught herself just in time. Castiel stood, clearly uncomfortable, at the foot of her bed.
“I was under the impression that this is something you would enjoy.”
“Do you even have a job? Or money?”
The face he makes implies that he finds idea less than pleasant. “I procured the tickets through legal means, if that is what you are asking. Dean and Sam will be on a hunt that will end in 3 days in Orlando, Florida. You can meet them there and you will all be able to see the park together.”
He’s startled when she grabs him for a hug but he’s smiling by the end. “Thanks Cas.”
“Thank you, Charlie Bradbury.”
And she knows exactly what he means.