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Fools Rush In

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Anna's mother had a saying: life is the bits you don't remember. Busy yourself with being alive, and all that living bled together, memories bright as lightning strikes in a vast and ever-changing sky. It was just the sort of thing you'd expect a professional photographer to say at a wedding shoot, and as that's exactly what Anna's mother did for a living, she tended to take her aphorisms with a grain of salt. But during Dean's stay in hospital, she found herself thinking that maybe, there was some truth to it after all, because she was busier than she'd been in months, and damned if she could remember where the time went, except that each new minute found her with something to do, and even when she was worn out and exasperated, it didn't matter: she was alive – her friends were alive – and that made everything beautiful.

Which isn't to say that everything ran smoothly. For instance, and despite his early fever, it was three whole days before she could coax Castiel into going home from hospital for a proper sleep; he didn't want to leave Dean alone, and even though Dean had said it was fine – was, in fact, increasingly concerned for Cas's well-being – he stubbornly held his ground. When Anna finally did manage to get him into Marie's cab, he spent the entire trip alternately insisting that he wasn't tired and demanding they go back. Anna ignored him, dragging him up to his flat and all but shoving him into his room.

'Just a quick nap, then,' he mumbled, and promptly fell asleep in his clothes for thirty-six hours. Anna checked on him periodically, snapping photos to send to Dean, who responded with grateful text messages.

The rest of the time, when she wasn't at the hospital or forcing Cas to look after himself, she was running Impala Records and supervising her friend Charlie's management of Books of a Feather, which essentially meant poking her head next door every once in a while and asking if she wanted a coffee. (Charlie usually did.) It was busy, and sociable, and occasionally stressful – her manager at Well Bread had rescheduled her shifts for the week, but made it clear that, if she wanted to keep the job, she needed to come back soon – but also worthwhile. Dean had insisted on paying her a higher hourly rate than she'd ever earned before, and even though she felt slightly guilty about it – the store clearly wasn't making that much money – she also thought she deserved it.

Charlie, on the other hand, was increasingly confused by the bookshop's finances.

'I can't see how he's making a profit,' she said. Cas had been asleep for fifteen hours at that point, and Anna wouldn't have woken him for anything less than a million dollars. 'Seriously. I've looked over the accounts – I've had to, you know, to figure out pricing and everything – and it's just not possible.'

Anna snorted. 'Oh, come on. This place has been here for how many years? Four? Five? If he wasn't making a profit, he'd have gone bankrupt by now.'

'Look for yourself,' said Charlie, pushing over the records, and although maths had never been Anna's strongest suit, even she could see the problem. Where Impala Records seemed to make just enough to squeak by, even factoring in her wages, the bookshop was a financial black hole. It didn't matter that Cas owned the building outright: he sold so few books for so little, she couldn't understand how he had money enough for basic necessities, let alone council rates and whatever pricey insurance had snared him a private room at the hospital.

Unless, of course, he was independently wealthy – but if Cas had money, then where did it come from? It wasn't like he had a rich family to fall back in: from what she'd been told, his mother had ended up with the Fellowship precisely because she was poor and vulnerable, and whoever Cas's father had been, it was too fairy-tale ridiculous to imagine him as a faceless benefactor. And anyway, if Cas was well-off, then why bother running the bookshop in the first place? Whatever funds he had, they either had to be substantial or, at the very least, self-replenishing, given the amount he must be losing on the store each year. Besides which, if there was one thing Anna knew about people with money, it was that they tended to waste it on shiny, useless gadgets, not secondhand bookshops – that is, when they wasted it all. It didn't make sense, and the more she talked it over with Charlie, the more it bugged her.

Not , her thoughts added hastily, that it's any of my business. Except that, inasmuch as Cas had okayed Charlie as an employee at Anna's suggestion, it sort of was; she had a duty of care, or something like that, to make sure her friend was paid as promised – or, if Cas couldn't afford it, to smooth things over between them before it all became difficult. Anna had seen plenty of family relationships ruined by fights over money, let alone new friendships, and after everything else, she didn't want this to be one of them.

'I'll ask Dean,' she finally said, as much to reassure herself as for any other reason.

'You really think he'll know?' said Charlie, popping her bubblegum. 'I mean, I get that they're serious and all, but still, they've only been dating for, like, a week and a half, and for most of that, they've been dealing with some pretty serious crap.'

'Oh, don't even get me started.' Anna rolled her eyes, and Charlie laughed. 'But, well, it's better than just wondering. You've got rent to pay, same as me.'

Charlie groaned. 'Don't remind me. I hate adulthood.'

'Tell me about it.' She glanced at the clock, and swore. 'Shit. I need to get back to the store. Call me if you hear anything?' She pointed at the ceiling, indicating the sleeping Cas.

Charlie grinned, nodding. 'So long as you return the favour.'

'Deal,' said Anna, and hurried back to Impala Records.

 

*

 

Dean was reading Pride and Prejudice and, much to his own astonishment, enjoying the hell out of it. Sure, he got tripped up on some of the language, but a truly good verbal smackdown was a thing of timeless beauty, and at several points, he'd actually laughed out loud. Which hurt a bit, thanks to the whole gunshot-and-torture regime his abdomen was recovering from, but not as much as it would have done even a day ago. Not for the first time, he looked up, wanting to share his delight in a particular line with Cas – but of course, he was alone. Longing stabbed through him: he wanted Cas to rest up, but selfishly, he didn't want him out of his sight, either. Picking up his phone, he thumbed through to the last picture Anna had sent him: Cas, sprawled facedown on his bed, his shirt rucked up to expose the skin of his lower back, hair sexily dishevelled, lips slightly parted, fast asleep. The image was as much torment as reassurance; Dean groaned in the back of his throat and set it aside, and pointedly tried not to think about walking in on Cas in such a state, running his hands up the backs of his thighs, kissing his neck and then his mouth as his lover turned towards him –

Someone knocked on the door of his room.

Stifling a yelp, Dean sat up, strategically rearranging his blankets before calling out, 'Come in!'

He'd been expecting Anna. Instead, he got Special Agent Bao.

'Oh,' he said. 'It's you.' He didn't have to add, finally : it was the first he'd seen of her since her belated rescue at the Lucifer, and even without Anna's blow-by-blow account of their interview, it would have been painfully obvious she was avoiding him.

'It's me,' she confirmed, shutting the door behind her. 'I won't stay long – I know I'm not your favourite person right now –'

'True,' said Dean.

'– but I thought you'd want to know: we've just arrested Teddy Brimmond.'

Dean tensed. 'And?'

'And, I was right. He had been working with Lassiter. It's why he was so forthcoming when he met you – he thought you'd be dead by the end of the night, and so didn't see a reason to be coy.'

'Well,' said Dean, his mouth suddenly dry, 'that makes a sick amount of sense.' And then something else occurred to him; a possibility he'd been subconsciously aware of, but which he hadn't allowed himself to contemplate. 'Son of a bitch. He was coming after me, wasn't he?'

'He was,' said Bao – a little sadly, Dean thought. 'Stupid and predictable, but it's how we caught him. He didn't know if your conversation had been recorded or not, and couldn't take the risk of you playing witness if it hadn't. But of course, you've been well-guarded here, and today, he let impatience get the better of him.'

Dean winced. 'Do I want to know how close he came?'

'I'll tell you this much: it wasn't very. As surprising as you may find it, Dean, we at the FBI are occasionally good at our jobs.'

'Well, I'll be damned.' But he managed to grin all the same.

'Oh which note,' said Bao, 'I've been asked to pass this on to Castiel.'

Reaching into the inside pocket of her jacket, she pulled out a small, rectangular parcel, depositing it just within his reach.

'What is it?' Dean asked.

'I don't know. I haven't looked.' His scepticism must have shown on his face; Bao snorted and said, 'I do have some standards, you know. Besides, I suspect my colleagues in Nevada have already checked it over.'

'Nevada?' Dean sat up. 'You mean, it's from his family?'

'Specifically, from his oldest sister, Clarity Fairchild. Though I believe she now prefers to be known as Claire.' She stepped back, hands by her sides. 'His mother and siblings are doing well, I'm told. Once they're discharged from hospital – which should be very soon – they'll be moved to an FBI safehouse pending their staged reintegration into society, at which point, they'll be allowed to start having visitors. Obviously, Castiel's name is at the top of the approved list – as, too, is yours.'

Dean blinked in surprise. 'Me?'

'Oh, don't look so shocked. Do you really think, after all of this, he'd visit them without you?'

'No,' said Dean, too off-balance to lie. 'I just figured your people wouldn't want me there. Keeping things simple, you know. No guys we got shot, no random civilians, no men dating men –'

'The FBI does love simplicity,' Bao said, deadpan. 'Which is why I pointed out that attempting to separate you from Mr Novak, or vice versa, would likely prove both complicated and messy.' She waved her fingers. 'Goodbye, Dean. Have a nice recovery. Here's hoping we never meet again.'

'Yeah,' said Dean, and was surprised to realise he wished her well. 'You, too.'

 

*

 

Cas woke groggily, his bladder full to bursting. Momentarily blind to any other considerations, he staggered over to the bathroom, relieved himself, splashed water on his face, and tried to figure out how long he'd been asleep. When had he come home? He'd told Anna he only wanted a quick nap, but he felt better than he had in days, and given how hungry he was, he didn't think he'd been out for just an afternoon. Fumbling in his pocket, he pulled out his phone – and stared, outraged, as he realised he'd lost an entire day and a half.

'Anna!' he bellowed, stomping downstairs to Books of a Feather. 'Anna, get over here!'

He emerged, blinking, into his store, and experienced a momentary confusion as to who the young, red-haired woman at his desk was, and why she was there. 'Charlie?' he hazarded. 'Anna's friend?'

The girl gulped. 'That's me!' She was gawky and sweet-looking, and even though he felt like a bear with a sore head, Cas couldn't bring himself to be cross at her. 'Nice to meet you, Mr Novak!'

'Call me Cas,' he said. 'Is Anna about?'

'Next door,' said Charlie.

'Oh. Right. Thanks.'

Still blinking the sleep from his eyes, he blundered into Impala Records, where he was forced to wait, fuming quietly, while Anna finished serving a trio of customers. She acknowledged him with a raised finger, rang up their purchases, and otherwise behaved with such calm professionalism that Cas was hard-pressed to stay angry. Still, he managed it, and once the customers had left, he advanced on Anna, arms crossed over his chest.

'You should have woken me,' he growled.

Anna's eyes were cool and unapologetic. ' Could have, yes. Should have, no.'

'Says who?'

'Says the fact that you slept for thirty-six hours uninterrupted! You were exhausted, Cas. You needed rest, and you weren't getting it hovering by Dean's bedside like some manky hospital vulture.' As if to emphasise her point, she gave a disparaging sniff. 'God, and you're still wearing the same clothes. Go shower and change, will you?'

Cas opened his mouth, but the stinging retort he'd been hoping for failed to present itself. What came out instead was, 'Am I really that bad?'

Anna pulled a face. 'Castiel. Please. Shower. Now.'

'But I –'

' Don't make me use my stern voice.'

He blinked. 'This isn't your stern voice already?'

'It can get sterner.' She made a shooing gesture. 'Go on. Once you're dressed, we can grab some dinner at Well Bread and take it over to Dean, OK? He must be sick of hospital food by now.'

Cas felt his whole being brighten. 'Give me ten minutes.'

'Take twenty!' Anna called after him, laughing.

And, in the end, he did, though more because the hot water made him dizzy than from any native desire to dawdle. Once he was done, he padded into his room and raided his wardrobe, eventually selecting a pair of black jeans and a soft black Henley with three-quarter sleeves. Pulling on his boots, he headed out to the hall, but as he passed the bathroom, he stopped, transfixed by his own reflection.

He'd worn his old suit for so long, it was practically a uniform, and even though being with Dean had encouraged him to look beyond it, he'd still clung to something of that enforced formality. Now, though, he'd dressed more casually than he had in years and hadn't even thought twice about it. With his hair still wet from the shower and his jaw clean-shaven, he looked like a different person. And a healthier one, too, he was surprised to note. It wasn't just that his bruises had finally vanished, or that the dark, feverish circles under his eyes had gone: his skin was clearer, too, and his posture was different, his shoulders straight instead of hunched.

Love looks good on me, Cas thought, and the simple truth of the admission, untainted by guilt or doubt, was enough to make him gasp. Warmth spread through his stomach, a pink flush creeping up his neck, and even though his first instinct was to duck his head, he made himself hold his own gaze in the mirror, smiling until he thought his jaw would break.

Nervous and happy, he went back down to Impala Records.

'You ready?' he called to Anna. She was in the process of locking up the till, and at the sight of him, she did a genuine double-take.

' Cas? ' she said, almost disbelievingly.

'Yeah?' He tugged the hem of his shirt, suddenly self-conscious. 'Do I look weird like this? I bet I look weird. I should change.'

'No, no!' Flapping a hand, she hurried out from behind the counter, looking him over from top to toe. Her mouth opened a little, eyebrows raising. 'I'll be damned,' she breathed.

'What? Why?'

'I mean, you were cute before, but this... you're going to give Dean a heart attack. You realise that, right?'

Cas just stared at her. 'Anna?' he asked, helplessly. 'Can you just say it, whatever it is?'

Anna groaned. 'God, you are the most painfully literal dork sometimes, you know that?' She crossed her arms. 'Lucky for you, you're also hot.'

'Seriously?' He could feel himself blushing again. 'That isn't... I mean, that's not something anyone's ever said to me before. And besides, it's only a change of clothes.'

'Trust me,' said Anna, 'it's really, really not.'

Embarrassed, Cas ran a hand through his hair. 'If you say so.' He bit his lip, searching desperately for a safe topic of conversation. 'So, uh, how are we getting to the hospital? Cab?'

'Please. Do I look like I'm made of money?' She thrust a keyring at him, and reflexively, Cas took it. 'You're driving the Impala.'

'Why me?'

Anna rolled her eyes. 'Because Dean only said that you could drive it, not me. Come on. You get her warmed up, and I'll grab the food.'

'All right,' said Cas, and followed her out.

The Impala was parked in its usual spot, courtesy of the FBI, who'd moved it there days ago. In fact, it was the first thing Dean had asked Agent Rhys to do, when she'd put herself – and, by extension, the Bureau – at his disposal: recompense for injuries incurred in the line of duty. His second request had been that they foot his medical bills, and the third had involved getting him a cheeseburger, and while Rhys had eventually delivered on all three counts, she'd still had to endure a proprietary lecture from Dean on how to drive his beloved car: gentle steering, easy on the changes up from third and down to second, not scuffing the doors, and a half-dozen other things he'd deemed important. That he would trust the car to Cas without so much as a warning, even one delivered by proxy, made his heart turn over.

Reverently, Cas ran a hand along the bonnet. 'Hey there,' he said, not quite sure why he was talking to a car, but feeling it was somehow necessary. 'So, I'm going to try my best, here, but you'll need to be patient with me. I've never driven anything as valuable as you before.'

He unlocked the door and slipped into the driver's seat, inhaling deeply. The car smelled of Dean, and as he slid the key in the ignition, it felt almost sacrilegious to be doing it alone, without his lover there. Even so, he savoured the rumbling purr as the engine turned over, and by the time Anna returned with the food, he felt as if he and the car had somehow come to a private understanding.

'All right,' said Anna, lowering her purchases into the footwell. 'Let's go.'

'Sure,' said Cas, and eased out onto the road.

He heard Anna's seatbelt click – and then, a few seconds later, a different click altogether. He frowned, but didn't turn his head.

'Anna?'

'Yeah?'

'Did you just take a photo of me?'

'Maybe.'

'Why?'

'Trust me; it was necessary.'

Cas rolled his eyes. 'Whatever.'

He drove carefully all the way to the hospital, and by the time they arrived, he regretted ever having badmouthed the Impala. Sure, it was heavy and conspicuous, but unlike every other car he'd ever driven, it had a personality – it felt loved and worn, like a favourite shirt remembering the contours of a familiar body, and as the body in question was Dean's, it was impossible not to feel an affinity for it.

Finding a park, he pulled in and patted the dashboard fondly. 'Good girl,' he murmured.

Anna stared at him. 'Are you talking to the car?'

'No,' lied Cas. 'Of course not!'

' Dork, ' Anna muttered. But she smiled all the same.