Blank Cards and Infinite Stakes (2/3)

[dime_liora]

Part 2:

“It used to be thought that the events that changed the world were things like big bombs, maniac politicians, huge earthquakes, or vast population movements, but it has now been realized that this is a very old-fashioned view held by people totally out of touch with modern thought. The things that really change the world, according to Chaos theory, are the tiny things. A butterfly flaps its wings in the Amazonian jungle, and subsequently a storm ravages half of Europe.”
-Terry Pratchett Good Omens

Sam’s life, suddenly uprooted and made horribly unstable, really didn’t change until the day that Lee Mattheson took him for ice cream. Until that moment Sam had managed to make it through three months of study at Lebanon Senior High without running into anything worse than minor bullying and a particularly warty and unpleasant pre-Calc teacher.

At his old school Sam had been fine despite being younger than his classmates because he’d had a small core group of friends that looked out for him and intercepted any potential danger. At Lebanon he’d been left floating in an unfriendly student body, not just the new kid but the egg headed new kid, and had learned very quickly that the movies did not completely blow out of proportion how uncomfortable that situation could be.

A sixteen-year-old senior could only fly under the radar for so long before trouble found him, and in Sam’s case that trouble was only headed off by the rather solicitous Lee Mattheson, President of the Student Body, and all around presentable douchebag. Bartholomew swears that is the proper use of the term although neither of the other authors is terribly familiar with it.

Whatever he may have been carrying in a bag Lee was indeed not the best of people despite his untarnished reputation, and while Sam was an intelligent young man he was not the best judge of character.

Lee’s advances had been unsuccessful so far as Sam was too interested in making sure that he knew his way around the school and around town. The older boy had finally decided that the direct approach was the best, and in that interest he offered to take Sam for ice cream as it was a rather hot day.

They were sitting outside the shop, Sam licking at his soft-serve while Lee attempted to suggestively spoon Mint Chocolate Chip into his mouth, when Sam found the thing that had been missing all his life. Or the person.

It wasn’t Dean’s good looks, or his inappropriately dark clothing, or even the tattoo that peeked out of the collar of his shirt and stopped a short way up his neck that caught Sam’s attention. It was the way the older boy was speaking to thin air as he gestured passionately with a popsicle.

Sam knew those hand gestures, that exasperated expression, and he especially knew the particularly unique experience of being so used to talking to an invisible being that one could easily forget they were doing so in public. He pointed towards the young punk and turned to Lee.

“Who is that?”

Lee’s eyes traveled in the direction Sam was pointing and narrowed before widening. “Oh Sam. No. No, believe me you don’t want anything to do with that.”

Something hot and angry flared in Sam at the tone. “Why not?”

“That’s Dean Winchester. Trouble with a capital T. Almost dropped out of Lebanon High, uses community college as a way to slut around, and thinks he’s the biggest badass ever because he’s in a band. Plus, his dad is a huge drunk, and you are totally not his type Sam. Too smart and not loose enough.”

“Alcoholism is a disease that needs understanding not condemnation.” Sam’s response was mechanical as he watched Dean turn away from the thin air. He knew that gesture too. Whoever Dean had been speaking to had left. “And stereotypes are often irrelevant and baseless.”

With that Sam practically launched himself out of his chair and across the pavement.

And here is where Crowley, Aziraphale, and by extension Castiel made a terrible mistake. The angel had spotted the demon hanging back in the distance and gone to see what his business in Lebanon was. While he may have been willing to subvert his usual code of conduct to work with Aziraphale’s friend that didn’t mean he would stand idly by as humans sold their souls.

Crowley on the other hand was so amused by how badly Lee was failing at picking up Sam that he was considering dangling an offer in front of the boy just to see how desperate he was. When he finally spotted Castiel headed towards him he immediately assumed that Thursday’s Angel was being lax in his duties and was prepared to give a righteous speech about the perils of laziness and inattentiveness.

This parallel set of assumptive moments was what allowed the Cupid to go unnoticed. It is universally known that Cupids are in possession of a set of characteristics and qualities that are rather unappreciated by everyone not in their Choir. No one cares for a Cupid’s greeting, their conversations tend to be nothing but flowery nonsense, and their tendency to act before logically considering the consequences are only a few examples of their failings.

In this case the Cupid saw the two boys, recognized them as soul mates, and took aim. It would be a good time for the authors to tell the audience here that this was a piece of the prophecy that had not been released, and as such it was not the fault of our plucky protagonists that they did not plan for such an eventuality.

Instead let us focus on this moment, when twenty-year-old Dean turned from the empty space that Castiel had been inhabiting to see a gangly young man in a Polo shirt and khakis heading towards him through the hot, late summer sun. Dean noticed the intent look in the kid’s eyes, the purpose in his stride, and thought this was an interesting place for some idiot to decide to prove his alpha maleness.

Then, the Cupid’s arrow struck, and all Dean could think was that the little spattering of moles and the soft pink lips looked incredibly kissable. That he’d never seen eyes that myriad grouping of colors, and that if the kid’s hands were any indicator he was going to fit those long arms and legs pretty soon.

On Sam’s part the impact changed very little. He’d known from the moment he saw Dean that this was his missing piece, and now he understood what the puzzle was. Pleased with himself the Cupid prepared to leave, and ended locked in place by the Grace of a confused Seraphim and the glare of a Demon.

“Uh – hello there! Would you like a greeting?” The nude Cupid smiled, jowls quivering visibly with his nerves.

“No we would not like a bloody greeting. We would like to know what it is you just did you corpulent, small-minded, twat.” Crowley stepped into the Cupid’s space and held his gaze until he heard Castiel clear his throat behind him.

“Brother, what the demon wishes to know specifically is if you just targeted that boy over there and Dean Winchester.” He pointed towards Sam and Dean, and missed the horror spreading over Crowley’s face.

“That’s Dean Winchester? Wow. Wow!” The Cupid’s face brightened and his eyes turned dreamy. “I shot a Winchester. At an ice cream parlor no less! History does love to repeat itself. Just like his mother met his father. If they hold true to pattern then the two of them should begin fighting in-“

Crowley had spun on Castiel. “Did you say Dean Winchester? That pretty boy is Dean Winchester?”

Castiel raised his eyebrow slightly and stood his ground. “Yes. Of course it is. Why would I be anywhere but with Dean? He is my charge Crowley.”

The demon pulled at his short hair before turning to the Cupid. “Take it back.”

Both angels stared at Crowley blankly. Crowley, in case you are unfamiliar with his history, fell before the first humans. In this way his knowledge on Human/Angel protocol was quite lacking. His understanding of love and soul mates even more so.

“He cannot take it back.”

“I can’t take it back.”

Crowley considered the pros and cons of killing both of them, and then took a deep and steadying breath. “Why not?”

“Because they’re meant to be together. They’re soul mates. Once I fire my arrow that’s it. They’re in love.” The Cupid turned to Castiel. “Am I in trouble brother?”

For a moment the blue eyes simply stared into the middle distance before Castiel focused.

“No. This is our problem. You were only doing your job. On the other hand you cannot tell anyone about this development. Do you understand? It would compromise humanity and Creation.”

The Cupid’s eyes became large and watery. “Really? I won’t ever tell anyone brother. I swear. I swear on everything I hold sacred, like love and trust and-“

“Enough!” Crowley watched the Cupid flinch with satisfaction before turning back to Castiel. “We need to talk.”

---

Despite a considerable stride length granted to him by particularly long legs Sam experienced what seemed like an eternity in the trek towards Dean. When he finally reached him he held out a hand and smiled brightly. His mother always said his dimples were one of his best features.

“Hi. I’m Sam. Sloan. Sam Sloan. I just moved here, and I noticed you from over there, so I thought I’d come over to say hi. To you. Hi to you, because that’s what people do when they introduce themselves.”

Sam’s hand hung in the air for a long time before Dean extended one hand, fingernails painted in scratched matte black and knuckles covered with scars, and shook carefully as if he wasn’t sure what he was holding.

“Dean.”

“Yeah, Dean. Lee told me that. Lee Matheson. My friend. Over there.” Sam gestured nervously without looking and watched as Dean’s eyes, a dreamy green Sam thought even though the authors can assure you they are more hazel, flicked over his shoulder and went a little colder.

“I know him.” Dean was not striking Sam as the particularly friendly type. It wasn’t necessarily that, so much as Dean had never quite felt this way before and he wasn’t sure how to act. He also was unsure if the proper social response to Lee smirking at him over Sam’s shoulder was violence or a one-fingered salute. He settled for shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Oh. Well great we already have a friend in common. Look I just-“

“No we don’t.”

Sam blinked rapidly and then licked his lips. “What?”

“We don’t have a friend in common. That guy is a dick.” Sam watched Dean dig in his pockets before pulling out a pack of cigarettes.

“He’s uh – he’s been nothing but nice to me. But I guess if you-“

“He wants to fuck you kid.” Dean lit the cigarette and Sam tried to not audibly gasp in front of him. That probably wouldn’t be considered terribly cool. “He’s barking up the wrong tree though, ‘cause I got a feeling you ain’t putting out.”

Self-righteous fury overcame Sam in that moment and he plucked the cigarette from Dean’s mouth and crushed it under his heel before looking up to meet shocked green (hazel) eyes.

“Firstly, despite him speaking harshly of you I came over here because I thought you wouldn’t be some two-dimensional punk stereotype. Obviously I was wrong. Secondly, whether or not I put out is certainly not something you’d know from simply meeting me, and not a thing you’re going to find out either. Lastly, your attitude isn’t impressive or original, and really only serves to lose you potential friends.”

Tension hung in the air as Dean stared at Sam gape-mouthed and the younger boy breathed heavily trying to get control of his sudden anger. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Crowley.

“We should go, Moose. Before you get into a fistfight.”

“Did you just list your grievances by number?” Dean sounded shocked, and amused all at the same time.

“Yeah, ok, we’ll go before I punch him.”

Sam turned back to Dean and saw the cocked eyebrow and the question. Instead of answering he huffed, spun on one heel, and stormed off. Lee followed him.

“I told you Sam he’s just-“

“Shut up Lee.”

---

In the sixteen years Dean had known him Cas had shown three expressions. Pleasure at the taste of a cheeseburger, nonplussed when Dean used him to see if he wanted to kiss men, and sketchy when he asked if the Sam kid had been talking to someone.

“Dean have you considered applying to another school? You are very fond of the psychology courses you have been attending and they offer much better programs at other schools. Perhaps something on the West Coast? I am told it has a better market for musicians and some fine schools.”

“Did you just avoid the question? You’ve never avoided a question before.” Dean tested the sound of his guitar before he started fiddling with the tuning pegs.

“Well you have never asked a question I was uncomfortable answering before.” Castiel reached out and twisted a peg before nodding in the direction of the guitar.

“Can I at least fucking ask why it makes you uncomfortable? Is it another angel? Like on you hate or something?”

His Guardian Angel tilted his head inquisitively. “Hate? I do not hate any of my brothers. On the contrary I am-“

“Cas. Avoiding. Again.” Dean strummed a power chord and then stretched his fingers.

“No. You may not.” With that his angel disappeared and left him holding a flawlessly tuned guitar and a ton of questions.

Dean didn’t particularly care for questions, at least not this kind, because they led to introspection and that had never ended well for him. Instead he packed the guitar and headed out the back door to the Impala.

Maybe if he saw the kid again he’d try to be nicer. Or at least learn his name.

----

“How did you mess this up? You had one job and you messed it up! Did you even try to watch out for Dean or did you just hand him off to your scruffy little friend and sit back in your books?” Crowley was fuming, face red and hands gripped into fists.

Aziraphale looked vaguely impressed, as Castiel was completely emotionless by his side. “To be fair Crowley you didn’t recognize Dean or the town he was supposed to be living in, and Castiel has been there with Dean for sixteen years.”

Crowley slumped into a chair and took a big drink of whiskey. “To be fair this is cocked up beyond repair.”

“Well if you had stayed away from my charge-“

“If your charge wasn’t flashing his ass at my moose-“

“Wait.” They both turned and looked to Aziraphale, who had put his book down and was looking over the tops of his spectacles. “Why is this a bad thing?”

“What?” Crowley was frozen in place, surprised for only the third time since he met the angel in the Garden.

“Let them be together. They’re still out of the spotlight so no one is going to find them and propose they end the world. What does it hurt that they’re devoted to each other?”

The reader should be reminded here that once again good and evil are entirely subjective.

“Incest. You are talking incest Aziraphale. You know that right?”

“Our Father already made them soul mates. It’s obviously the plan. Let’s just help it along. Where will Dean be tonight?”

Castiel blinked once before clearing his throat. “The Music Box. Like every Friday night.”

“And where will Sam be?”

Crowley finished his drink and put the empty glass on the table. “The Music Box.”

---

“Why are you telling me what to wear? And why are we going to a club?”

Sam watched Crowley suspiciously as the demon played with a fake ID that would gain him entrance.

“Can’t a bloke be interested in what another bloke is wearing without it being a big deal? Honestly Samuel it’s like you don’t trust me to have your best interests at heart. It hurts me.”

He buttoned up the blue shirt and then Crowley approached and un-tucked it.

“It’s not that I don’t – Crowley what exactly is going on? Why are you so interested in me looking good and going to this place? Are they gonna serve me a bunch of alcohol and finally talk me into re-thinking my goody-two-shoes ways?” Sam re-adjusted his shirt and picked up his cellphone.

“I am sure there will be a good deal of drinking, and if you’re interested you can take part. In the meantime I could spend some more time with people who know how to have fun instead of babysitting you all the time.”

Sam finished off his text message and turned back towards the demon. “Why do you still babysit me if you hate it so much?”

Crowley pointed to the phone. “Who the hell are you sending off messages to anyway? You don’t know anybody but me and your parents.”

“I know Lee.” Sam watched Crowley’s look of disbelief and horror. “What? He’s a good guy.”

“He’s a ponce. He’s a ridiculous stuffed up peacock with no idea how to do anything other than preen his feathers and watch Jersey Shore.”

Sam mussed his hair, straightened it, and then mussed it again before throwing his hands up.

“Crowley, we don’t know that he watches Jersey Shore, and peacocks don’t watch TV.” Sam accepted the fake ID carefully before sliding it into his wallet. “And maybe I’ll have a beer.”

“Oh goody. It must be my birthday.”

---

The Music Box was originally built in 1976 and was called “Tad Beaufort Worthington III’s”. The bulky title belonged both to the shop, and the unpleasant young man that owned it. Tad Beaufort Worthington III was given that name as a form of possessive aggressive anger on the part of his father. He was raised to believe that the name was a gift that made him untouchable and likable.

Neither of those things were true.

When the little store containing everything from clothing to kitchen goods began to struggle Tad changed its name to “Macy’s”. The store’s success went through the roof as the town of Lebanon had not had such a thing before and were unsure if they ever would again. People flocked into the building in the hopes of being a part of the glamorous shopping experience they had seen so often in television and movies. They bragged about their new Macy’s to fellow towns.

Tad finally had the approval of his peers and family that he had always longed for. What he didn’t have was the legal right to name his store Macy’s.

The building remained empty for ten years before it was bought by group of local college students and converted into a bar with a large stage. It has since housed every band in Lebanon despite their respective quality. The only requirement to play at The Music Box was that your instruments were electric and your sound was loud. Dean’s band fit both of those requirements.

He liked to play, liked the thrill of being on stage, and most importantly he liked the incredibly easy young men and women that flocked the stage and reached for him. It was easy, and it filled time in between classes, homework, and his part-time job at the shop with his father.

What Dean didn’t like was that he was stuck on stage playing for the crowd as he watched the kid he’d spotted earlier dance with Lee Matheson. He waited until a set break to descend and head for the bar where he saw the tall young man slouched.

“You aren’t old enough to be here.” The bartender delivered him his usual and he over tipped to show his gratitude that Bob ignored the one year gap to legality.

“What?” The kid leaned in and squinted at him. He smelled of sweat, cologne, and beer a combination that is only attractive to people in love and fetishists.

“You’re not old enough to be here!” Bob shot Dean a look and he apologized with his eyebrows.

“Really? That’s what you came over here for? To hassle me about my age?” The kid waved a hand and started to walk away but Dean gave into instinct as he was wont to do and grabbed one bony wrist before the kid could disappear.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I was just off my game.”

There was a moment where he thought the kid would leave anyway, and then instead the wrist twisted in his grip and the slanted hazel eyes moved up to meet his.

“What game?”

“The one where I pick you up if you’re legal to date.”

The kid’s eyes widened, and then he broke into a smile that showed white teeth and dimples. Dean’s heart rate picked up a bit.

“I’m here with somebody.”

“Lee? Lee couldn’t satisfy himself sweetheart, what’s he gonna do for you?”

He watched the flush rising on the kid’s cheeks and licked his lips.

“You don’t even know my name.”

“You could fix that. Just-“

“Dean Winchester, get your lousy ass back on stage!” Sarah the bassist called out over the sound system. Sarah had legendarily abysmal timing.

“Tell me your name.” Dean leaned back in and pressed his lips against the kid’s ear. “And I’ll sing you any song you want.”

The kid’s grin was back. “Sam. And I want a pop song. Something that fits me.”

Lee came up then and put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. Dean grinned at the other boy before focusing on Sam. “I got just the thing.”

It is a testament to the charm and manipulation of Dean Winchester that he talked his recalcitrant, punk music loving band mates into playing the Spin Doctors’ “Two Princes”. Considering it earned him a name, a phone number, and the safety of the world? It was probably worth it despite Sarah’s complaints and the general confusion of the crowd.

---

What Follows Is The Work Of Only The Apostle Bartholomew, As The Other Prudes Writing This Wanted To Condense It To A Paragraph

Love, in one form or another, has been around since the beginning. The New Testament writers will say God is love, but anyone in the know will dare you to say that to Him and not get laughed at. It’s a little like saying God is magic, or God is a toaster. Technically, yes, because He is everywhere and in all things, but no one calls God a toaster on a regular basis. Well there’s probably somebody but this author doesn’t know their name or else a public shaming would totally be in order.

Any way you phrase it though love is an integral part of the universe, and it has been around since before the light and dark were separated and the world started forming out thought stuffs and clay or whatever it is that made the world. This isn’t about the world though it’s about love.

Cupids only serve a basic function in that they open people’s eyes to the importance of a thing that was already in the cards for them. Not every love is created and nurtured with an arrow, and not every relationship begins with divine intervention. Sometimes people figure things out on their own.

In the case of Sam and Dean Winchester it is equal parts fate and divine intervention that brought them together, but once they were together again it was love that lifted them out of obscurity and banality.

For the most part the relationship developed as young love is supposed to. They argued about things they were interested in, who should hang up first, who said the wrong thing when, and which snack food was best. These arguments were overly passionate, sometimes explosive, and ended in silence and scowling.

They went places, hung on each other, and generally made a nuisance of themselves to old ladies, conservative bigots, and anyone who disapproves of publicly sharing the beauty of love. The two watched movies, TV shows, and Sam tried to talk Dean into books while Dean pushed the glory of video games.

Between the two of them they could have alternately blistered the ears of young children and sent a diabetic into a sugar coma. They fluctuated between overly sweet, distantly fond, and passionately hateful on an hourly basis.

Dean’s father liked Sam, thought he would be a good influence on Dean and maybe talk his boy into finally taking off the nail polish and leaving his hair one color for longer than two weeks. Sam’s parents were afraid of Dean and watched their son with a close eye while talking constantly about how they never saw that nice Lee boy around anymore, because parents are prone to thinking they know better when they don’t know anything.

The only argument that ever lasted though, and the thing that kept them from being like most young couples, is that Dean refused to cross certain lines with Sam until he had at least graduated from high school. Sam’s response, that he was already more mature than Dean so if anyone was taking advantage it was him, didn’t get him very far.

Dean would make out with him, press him against walls and hold him there while he plundered Sam’s mouth, stretch out over him on the bed and suck marks into his neck, but he would go no further than that. Ultimately it left both of them highly frustrated, infinitely tense, and constantly handsy.

The author would like to take this time to clarify a point about Biblical exegesis and the hideous lack of care taken towards logical consideration. God, the Lord, King of All Kings, and General Master of Everything Existing Even Bellybutton Lint Which Does Serve A Purpose Thank You Very Much, does not care if two teenage boys have sex. He does not care if two teenage girls have sex, if a person pleasures themselves to videos, or wears fancy leather get-ups and spanks a consenting partner while calling them names and pulling on their nipple clamps.

God does not care because as long as people try to be generally good to one another than all of His real requirements are covered. In this sense it is a sad fact of humanity that sexuality is given a variety of labels and rules that have no place in God’s Unknowable Plan. Which may seem like a contradiction, but this author has argued this point with the Lord many times and wishes he’d had this knowledge when he was alive and refusing himself certain temple ladies in the interest of being “good”.

Because of these ridiculous sexual restrictions, a list of socially created “positive” characteristics he was lacking, and socio-economic factors Dean was being “good” by not taking things further with Sam. He saw the younger man as better than him, and because of that he was hesitant to “sully” his Sam even as he was unwilling to give him up. If the authors of the Bible had access to sarcastic quotation marks things would be a lot different today.

Sam, for his part, was trying very hard to get along with Dean’s restrictions without allowing his own self-esteem issues overwhelm him. Despite having chosen Dean as his significant other he was still spending time with Lee, and the older boy never missed a chance to remind Sam that Dean was a sexually promiscuous person and that if he wasn’t getting what he wanted Sam’s time was certainly limited.

In reaction to this Crowley began to take great pleasure in tiny bits of torture on Lee’s person in the form of flat tires, failing grades, and a particularly hilarious series of exploding drinks earning Lee a reputation as an incontinent fool. All of this would probably be labeled as proper demon behavior, but once again Lee was a douchebag and earned every moment.

All of this came to a head a few months before Sam’s graduation when he happened to mention to Dean that prom was coming up.

Dean, for his part, was listening despite what he would be accused of later, but was also attempting to re-attach a timing belt in his beloved Impala.

“So that means you’ll need a tux. Or whatever you know.”

“Yeah. That’s gonna happen in this lifetime.” Dean twisted the nut and then looked up to see Sam’s favorite bitchface staring back at him. Shit, he thought helplessly. “I mean yeah I – wait for what?”

“Prom Dean. My prom. My senior prom which I have been talking to you about for the last fifteen minutes as you say ‘yeah’ and ‘uh-huh’ to sound like you’re listening.”

“Samuel calm down the boy is obviously taking you.” Crowley was probably over-qualified for this. At least he liked to think so.

“Dean it would be best if you were to tell him yes now. I believe this is a matter of great import to Sam.”

“I ain’t taking you to prom kiddo. For, like, a thousand reasons. We’ll go to the movies. They’re playing that new horror flick you wanted to see. I’ll blow my paycheck on snacks.” Dean twisted the nut the last time and then pulled his greasy hands out of the engine and wiped sweat from his forehead.

“You’re not – you can’t be serious. It’s prom Dean. I mean objectively it’s probably not a big deal, but I only get the one and I want to go. How can you not be willing to get dressed up one night for me?” Sam slammed his book shut and stood, ramping up for a major argument.

“Dean you must tell him you will take him. Look at how angry he is.”

“Sammy wait, give the boy a minute. He’s obviously overwhelmed by-“

“Because it’s a stupid fucking dance for a bunch of teenage kids to get drunk when no one’s looking, grind in public, and then lose their virginities. I don’t dance, I’m pretty sure it’s illegal for me to drink around minors, and you’re not old enough for me to de-virginate you.”

The moment it was out of Dean’s mouth he experienced a common emotion amongst those tragic men who fall in love but have little filter between their brains and their mouths.

“Yeah. Ok. Never mind.” Sam stood and shouldered his backpack. “I gotta go.”

“Wait Sammy, I thought we were-“

“We weren’t.” And then Sam was gone.

---

For a few days Dean thought he’d gotten out of it. Sam shook off the malaise fairly quickly and seemed to be fine. There were no more arguments and Sam smiled at him like always. As consolation Dean began to work on a song for Sam, made him a romantic dinner complete with no less than three candles, and worked his way up to giving Sam a handjob.

The night of prom Dean sent Sam a text asking if they were going out to the movie theater. Sam responded that he couldn’t as he was going to prom with Lee.

Without being aware of it Crowley and Castiel went into crisis mode at the same time.

“Moose you can’t be serious. Lee? You’re happy with Dean, and this is stupid. Lee is annoying and will only use the night to try to-“

“Take advantage of me? Well why not Crowley? I mean come on, maybe it’s time for it. After all everyone thinks I’m too stupid or weak to defend myself and know when I’m ready. You should be happy. Isn’t sleeping around and getting drunk in that moral code you wanted for me?”

Crowley rubbed unhappily at his forehead, because technically it was. “I want you to be happy Sammy and this isn’t the way.”

Sam fixed his cummerbund and headed for the front door. “Whatever. Dean doesn’t want me? I’ll show him what he’s taking for granted.”

Across town the blue-eyed angel was watching Dean trash his already questionably organized room.

“Dean this is not the end of things. All you must do is buy some flowers and go to Sam’s prom. There are a variety of human movies in which the man makes a public gesture and-“

“Fuck that noise Cas. Fuck it. You know what if this is what this whole thing means to him then maybe it’s not worth saving. I mean just ‘cause I won’t go to prom with him? How fucking ridiculous is that?”

The angel grabbed at Dean’s hands and stopped his destruction while healing the bruises and cuts in his knuckles.

“You are being foolish and stupid. Samuel is the best thing that ever happened to you. Get a nice shirt on, wear that leather bracelet Sam likes so much, and pick some of Mrs. O’Malley’s irises so that you can go to that prom and sweep him off his feet before he really is out of your reach.”

Dean jerked back, surprised and a little scared, and then tried to shake it off and look unruffled.

“Yeah ok. Maybe I could – I mean yeah. Ok Cas.”

---

The two angels sat side by side as Crowley sipped his drink.

“Are you sure we should not attend the prom to assure their behavior and success?” Castiel looked between the two older beings with some concern and curiosity.

At least as much as he ever showed.

“No need. I can tell you right now how it’s gonna go. Dean’ll have some trouble getting in the door because of his age, he’ll talk his way in, punch Lee, and sweep Sam off his feet. Give my boy what he needs and the two of them will end the night in the backseat of his ridiculous car sweaty and covered in fluids. You really wanna witness that angel?”

They had been drinking for long enough at this point that Aziraphale had the dreamy look on his face that promised blackmail material and laughs galore. Crowley could not wait.

“Maybe it would be impor-portant to witness such a thing. For my collection. Of knowledge.” Aziraphale leaned forward and pointed at Crowley. “No gutter thoughts you.”

“No of ‘course not. Totally reasonable.” Crowley smiled. “Or you could just experiment yourself with Thursday over there.”

“I do not believe that Aziraphale is seriously interested in using me to understand sexual procreation. Also, considering that we have no real sex it would be a different outcome than watching two human males-“

The radio station crackled and popped, leaving Coldplay behind and moving to Queen for a brief moment before an excited demon voice cut over it.

“Lord Crowley? Looking for Lord Crowley?”

“Shit. Work boys. Give me a moment.” Crowley leaned into the radio and focused. “Yes?”

“Sir you’re going to want me to meet you right away. You won’t believe what I just did!” The demon sounded young, excitable, and generally over-enthused. Never a good sign with demons.

“I’m at a bookstore in Lebanon, Missouri. Meet me there.”

Both angels raised an eyebrow but Crowley waved his hand. “Too low level to know exactly what you are or to talk.  If there’s a problem we’ll simply execute it.“

The demon arrived a few moments later in a pretty female meat suit. Too few moments.

“Sir, sir you will not believe this. I just made a deal with Dean Winchester. The Dean Winchester. For a boy named Sam.” In her excitement she forgot herself and grabbed him. “One year for the boy’s life. Do you think it’s possible he’s the Sam? The Boy King Azazel created before his murder?”

Castiel stepped forward and laid his palm on the demon, burning it out of existence.


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