Chapter Text
“Alright, Moose, you ready?” a voice called.
Sam looked up, eyes settling on the enchanted mirror propped on the library table. Jo slid into view, framed by the gilded edges as she settled onto a barstool in the Roadhouse heaven. Grinning, he set his research aside as she theatrically straightened several pages, brow arched.
“Hold on, Charlie is gonna wanna hear this. Charlie!”
She rolled her eyes, countering, “There’s not a single coffee shop or truth curse to be found in this version. She won’t like it.”
“Sounds droll and out of character already,” Charlie said, draping herself over Sam’s shoulder to wave. “Let me guess: hunt goes wrong, Cas gets hurt, Dean gets weepy, love confessions ensue?”
Jo snorted. “That sounds more like something you or Andy would write. My entry for the week has them as the BAMF power couple on the battlefield, corpses of their enemies everywhere, town saved, and people cheering.” She passed the papers through the frame, fingertips stopping at the barrier between Heaven and Earth. Sam took them. “I mean, if Dean and Cas were-- or are-- ever going to get together, it would probably be on accident. Like, in the euphoria of a battle won where one of them kisses the other thanks to raging endorphins and adrenaline.”
“I still say it should happen when one of them walks in on the other taking a shower!” a female voice called.
Jo slapped her hand on the worn wood surface of the bar, causing the image to shake. “That’s because you are a pervert, Pamela! They deserve better than that!”
The sultry brunette slid into frame, arm snaking around her as she winked at Sam. “Well, I’m not saying they have to have sex right then. I’d allow, oh, ten minutes.”
Charlie chuckled, but Sam dragged a hand over his face.
“Guys. What have I said about my brother, sex, and nudity? We have rules about this.”
“Prude.”
Charlie tapped the pages. “I love the way Dean grabs handfuls of Cas’ coat and yanks him forward. That’s beautiful and gives me joy.”
Hazel eyes flicked to Jo's smug expression. God, she looked so alive. They all did.
It was an illusion, but one Sam needed, now more than ever. They hadn't really lost as much as they had through the years when they're friends were right there, had they? And Dean getting turned into a demon, or Lucifer being freed a second time, hiding in plain sight under the same roof as them, the world nearly ending in yet another cosmic sibling squabble, that was even less real with Charlie by his side and Jo sitting there grinning.
Sam was lying to himself. He was trying to bury their recent scars beneath noise and distractions and frivolous games that held no consequence. In time, he wouldn't have to anymore, but things were still too raw and fresh, and they were only made worse with every casual reminder. Sam needed that distraction.
He cleared his throat, handing the papers back. “Yeah, I like it, too. It sounds like something Dean would do.” His mouth twisted. “I still think Cas doing yoga after a run is more likely to initiate things. Eventually, Cas is GOING to notice the way Dean’s eyes glaze over and his brain stops all motor function.”
Pamela laughed and drifted out of sight. “See? My story of passion giving way seems all the more likely.”
“That’s not romantic,” groused Kevin, unceremoniously stepping into the frame and shoving his papers at Sam.
Sam grinned, delighted how they wandered in and out of their own heavens to congregate at the Roadhouse. Funnier still was angels' and reapers' white flag of defeat, connecting all of their Heaven's so the humans would stop wreaking havoc by continuing to use Ash's back alley system. Even the mirror, supposed thank-you gift from Chuck for stopping Amara, was probably another white flag of defeat.
Dead though they were, it had never stopped any of their lost friends from running the God Squad in circles. It made Sam wonder how and why they hadn't admitted defeat sooner.
Kevin jabbed a finger at his story, dragging Sam from his musings. “Dean should do something totally cheesy and cliché. Or Cas should. I’m versatile. Boom-boxes and windows should be involved if Dean makes the first move--"
"We live in a bunker, Kevin. We don't have windows."
"Flowers if it’s Cas. Very You’ve Got Mail, with Cas buying Dean flowers because he confuses human customs and thinks they’re a normal expression of affection between people.”
Charlie pulled up a chair. “Right. Uh, on that note: I'm glad God's sister deemed me important enough to bring back to life. Totally touched, actually, that I mean that much to you guys-- and really glad I didn't have a grave to dig my way out of, not gonna lie." Sam slid her a sidelong look, smirking. She waved him off. "Talk about traumatic. I saw what it did to Buffy, and even Dean attests it is no cakewalk. I don't like small spaces. A Charlie needs to be free." He snorted and she settled back. "But, like, though these Friday night writing competitions are fun, I still think if we’re really serious about them getting together-" she faltered, lips pushed out before turning to him. "How did we even end up writing ways for Dean and Cas to get together? We started off writing absurd stories about each other in an epic rendition of Lies or Truth, but somehow we ended up... here."
He nodded toward the mirror with a shrug. "Ash wanted to break more of Heaven's rules just to see if he could, found a way to connect to Earth's internet and discovered the Supernatural books, and then fanfiction about the books."
Jo snorted with a grin. "Yeah, which led to dramatic readings of fics, followed by drunk-writing our own fics."
"Before Sam implemented rules," called out Pamela, voice petulant.
Grinning, Jo tapped her nose and pointed. "We're all dead, so the stories drifted to y'all. Then, just Dean and Cas, with Sam as the flower girl at their wedding."
Sam glared. "Still hate all of you for that one."
She grinned wider. "Only a little."
He relented with an eye roll and nod. "Only a little."
"And the great Think Tank of Ways Dean and Cas Could Get Together if They Weren't So Stubborn was born," sighed Charlie, head bobbing. "But my point: God's sister brought me back to life, right? The more we do this, I'm just kinda worried about Dean finding out and, y'know, hurting his feelings or something. We could argue this is Dean's fault, what with sneaking off to karaoke on weekends and thinking we don't know, but maybe we should just talk to them. Individually, not together. 'Hey, True Love and a life right there. Go get it'. Or, if they really need something to help them along: we could go to Rowena. She’d probably help just for the laugh of it. Just a little magical nudge, y'know? Truth spell, passion potion-“
“Consent issues,” Sam argued flipping the page on Kevin’s story, not wanting to address the elephant in the room of the odd hobby they'd adopted.
She relented. “Ex-nay on the kissing spell then, but a must tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth- that’s bound to be fun!”
“Yeah, until Dean starts spilling secrets about things that aren’t fun and just end up hurting others to hear,” Jo argued. “Trust me, there are plenty of things Mom and I don’t tell each other.”
Her mother came into view, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. “Don’t I know it.” She eyed Sam and Charlie. “Have you kids eaten? Do I need to fix you something?”
“No, we’re fine. Thank you.”
She studied them for a moment longer before nodding. “Alright. Though, I agree with Kevin. Cas choosing some sort of custom he thinks is quaint and charming, though I’m thinking less flowers and more Cas being a bird, y’know, coming in and handing Dean a, uh…” she blew out a breath, eyes darting back and forth as she considered, “like, a piece of titanium quartz or bismuth. I think he’d probably like those best.”
Brows drawing together, Sam frowned. “Why a bird? And why stones?”
“Mating rituals,” Charlie chirped, bumping their shoulders. "Penguins. Bower birds. Feathery proposals."
Jo turned her head. “Mom. No verbal entries.” She pointed to something out of frame. “It’s the rule right under the one about no sex or nudity due to Sam’s delicate sensibilities.”
With a roll of her eyes, Ellen headed toward the pool table and Pamela. “I’m a hunter, not a writer. Killing things and running this place are what I’m good at.”
Jo patted the bar. “C’mon Sam. Who wins the fried pickles this week?”
“Me, obviously,” Kevin scoffed. “Homage to classic romantic films is art.”
“More like cliché and unoriginal.”
“Oh wow, violence and carnage in the life of a Winchester? Not like they do that every day.”
Sam held up a hand. “Well, wait. Where is everybody else? Are only four people competing this week?” His eyes flicked past her, searching.
Charlie held up her tablet. “Crowley emailed me his.”
“Did we find out how he knew about this to begin with?” he questioned, side-eyeing the device. "Did we search for bugs?" She nodded and he waved defeat with a heavy sigh. "What did he write?"
“It’s hilarious, actually, and terribly embarrassing for Dean. Angst and manpain lead to heavy drinking, which leads to blubbering confessions in the parking lot when Cas comes to check on him, followed by Dean throwing up all over Cas’ shoes.” One of her well-sculpted eyebrows arched high. “To be honest, I think he’s jealous. It has to be why his stories always end in them disgracing themselves in front of the other.”
“Crowley pining for my brother is one of the more disturbing concepts in the universe.” He shuddered.
“Okay, but threat of Dean murdering us all—“
”Poor choice of phrase, Charlie,” Sam said, wincing at the memory of black eyes and a blade made from the jaw of an animal.
She hunched her shoulders. “Sorry... But we’re getting back to that— the potential consequences were he to find out— after you announce the winner, okay?”
He nodded, hoping she’d drop it and then forget her concern. He wasn’t ready to let go of the distraction. Not with ghosts of events still haunting the corridors and his nightmares. “What about Sarah? She always plays.”
Jo waved her hand with a flick of her wrist. “She has gotten competitive due to never winning, so she’s squirreled herself away, determined to write the ultimate romantic confession. I’m thinking 2005 Pride and Prejudice chase-through-the-rain-to-confess-my-feelings epicness.”
“If you combined that with yours,” Charlie interjected, pointing at her, “I’d pay some serious money to see that.”
“And Ash? Is he still not playing?”
“I’ve explained several times that an algorithm does not qualify.”
“Didn’t Andy want to play?” Sam questioned, eyes shifting to where Andy was in the corner swearing at an ancient arcade game.
Jo and Kevin glanced at one another, then looked away. “He’s disqualified this week. He broke rule number one.”
“He wrote them--" Sam choked and got louder, "You wrote them having sex?!”
Andy full-body flinched, swears cut off as he hunched and tapped buttons with more fervor.
“I LOVED IT!” Pamela called as she took her shot at the pool table.
Jo and Kevin gave him identical flat stares and deadpan tones. “She loved it.”
“That is all manner of horrifying, so moving right along… I mean, even though she didn’t write it, I like the idea of Cas finding things he wants to give Dean and then having to explain he got it from a bird mating ritual.”
“No! It doesn’t count, Sam! She didn’t write it down.”
“Yeah, that’s not fair.”
“I vote for Jo’s,” Charlie said. “I mean, as much as I love the idea of Dean asking Cas for a coffee date on some crisp fall day? Kissing on a battlefield surrounded by corpses while people cheer them on? There isn’t a downside to that!”
“But boom boxes and windows!”
“It’s just not very original, Kev, sorry. Even Dean knows it’s cliché.”
“It's classic.”
Raising a hand to rest her cheek on, Jo grinned. “So... I win the fried pickles again?”
Sam narrowed his eyes. “I think you’re cheating somehow. You’ve won almost every week.”
Her lips stretched wider, flashing dimples. “I’m just good at what I do, whether it's humiliating Ash by reliving hunts gone wrong, or imagining ways endorphins and victory can lead to heavy making out- which I can attest to.”
Ellen slid the small plate of steaming pickles in front of her daughter. “She only wins because I never write my stories down. I think half of those belong to me,” she insisted, snatching one of the fried slices.
“Am I disqualified from trying?” a voice asked.
Ellen choked violently on her pickle, the rest of them whipping their heads toward the speaker.
Casting shy glances at them with a downcast gaze, Castiel stood by the archway, toying idly with the belt of his trench coat.
“What?” someone asked. Sam thought it might be him.
Color high on his cheeks, Castiel couldn't seem to look at them. “I mean, I wouldn’t be very good, but… if you were to help me, I might be able to come up with the best theoretical scenario for…” Cas struggled for a moment, mouth open with no sound. He swallowed and tried again, tongue darting across his lips, “confessing to feelings for Dean? F-for the game you’re playing, o-of course.”
The stunned silence stretched, every mouth hanging open before they were all a sudden flurry of activity and enthusiasm.
“Yes!”
“Of course!”
“Get him a chair!”
“Just take a shower with the door open!”
“Pamela, no! You don’t get to help!”
"Just trying to speed things up."
Settling into a new chair so Cas could take his seat, Sam wiped a hand over his face. “Okay, we’re happy to help, but… how did you know we were doing this?” How are you okay with it and not mad or weirded out, Sam wanted to ask, face hot with shame at being caught red-handed.
Pink with a blush, Cas kept his gaze focused on his fingers as he continued twisting the belt of his coat. “I am an angel, and you were discussing me. Apparently, this means enough to all of you that it kept coming through in snatches, almost like a prayer. I thought… well, if the rules allowed it, I might take part. And if you were to assist me, I might have a chance at, uh…” Words failed him again, so he clamped his lips shut and jerked his shoulders.
“Absolutely, Cas, of course! Yeah, just, uh… Charlie? You wanna take notes or make a list?”
She saluted. “On it!”
“Do… all of you have to be pressed so close?” Cas questioned, casting a wary glance at the occupants of Heaven, all half-piled on top of each other in order to be part of the conversation. “It’s a little unnerving.”
He watched as they smacked and shoved and pushed each other until the portal wasn’t quite so crowded. Cas only looked away when Sam touched his elbow.
The hunter smiled, warm and soft. “So, of tonight’s stories… did you have an idea you liked best?”
Inhaling a deep breath, Cas let it out slowly before straightening with resolve, head lifting. “I liked the idea of the stone or pebble ritual. Of giving him a gift of some importance.”
Smile widening, Sam gave a nod. “It’s a start. What else?”
To Be Continued
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