Chapter Text
For all intents and purposes, the day that Dean met Castiel was the day Tamara arrived with an emergency.
It was a few hours before opening time, so Dean was wiping down the bar and not expecting company at all. This meant that when Tamara slammed against the doors, Dean switched his washcloth for a shotgun in two seconds flat, keeping the weapon up until he unlocked the door and watched Tamara walk over the Devil’s Trap burned into the floor.
“Hunt gone bad,” she said, breathing heavily. “You were the closest. Got an infected one with me.”
Dean bit back a curse and lowered the gun. “Bring ‘em in. What is it?”
“Vampire bite,” Tamara said. “The others went after the nest but Isaac said that you know something about a cure?”
“Not me but I do know a guy,” Dean said, heading for the phone cabinet. He punched the speed dial that went straight to Bobby. “Hey, Bobby, good to talk?”
“Yeah, what do you need now?” Bobby asked.
“Tamara just showed up from a vamp hunt.” Dean watched as she and another guy came through the doors, working together to carry in a wan, pale woman. Dean gestured for them to put her on one of the tables, which they did. “Someone got bit. You think you can get some joy juice for me?”
“Jesus, Dean,” Bobby grouched, “Don’t be such a baby and ask them yourself.”
“Aww, come on.” Dean reached under the counter to pull out some clean cloths and a bottle of garlic essence. “Christian’s a petty little ass-wipe. He’s not going to give me anything of Grandpa Samuel’s without forcing an unfair trade.”
“Then ask your mother to ask ‘em.”
“She’s on a hunt!” Dean protested. “Some wishing well case in Idaho, I don’t know the details, it’s not like she and Dad tell me anything anymore. C’mon, Bobby, it’s someone’s life on the line here, be a pal.”
Bobby sighed. “What makes you think Christian will give it to me?”
“Because you’re an upstanding citizen who has just about everyone important in your pocket, which I’m pretty sure means he already owes you something,” Dean said. “And then I’ll owe you. See? Nice and neat.”
Bobby grumbled under his breath, but conceded that it was a shitty thing for those Campbells to hold a monopoly over anti-vampire venom. He promised to do his best to get some out there for Tamara, pronto.
“May rainbows blow out of your beautiful ass, Bobby,” Dean said, and hung up.
Tamara had arranged the bite victim on the table as comfortably as she could. Dean pushed the clean cloths under her neck, padding her head and soaking up the blood. It was a small bite compared to others Dean had seen in his lifetime, but as long as there had been any move by the vampires to turn the victim, it needed to be dealt with as soon as possible.
“You’ll be okay,” Tamara said, stroking a hand over her sweat-lined forehead. “This is Dean. He’s a friend. He’s going to help. Dean, this is Anna.”
“Hey, Anna,” Dean said, smiling comfortingly. “You’re going to be okay, I promise.”
Anna gurgled but nodded, brave through the pain.
“What’s with him?” Dean asked, canting his head at the guy who was still standing in the middle of the room, silent and staring at the terrors in his head. Under the bar’s lights, the streaks of blood across his white dress shirt were clearly visible. Dean shoved at Tamara’s arm. “Had a bad one?”
“Chopped off two vamps’ heads,” Tamara said with an irritated headshake, “trying to save his sister here. Who, I should add, headed into the nest after a friend. Utterly insane, the both of them, and damn near ruined the whole hunt.”
“Her friend got out okay?” Dean asked.
Tamara’s mouth thinned. “Isaac’s on it.”
“I have to go back,” the other guy said suddenly. He’d woken up from his stupor and was frowning at Anna. “It’s unfinished. They’ll need help.”
“Hey, buddy,” Dean said, rising to his feet. “Uh—”
“Christopher,” Tamara supplied.
“Christopher,” Dean said. “Isaac’s a pro, he and the others can take care of it. Your sister needs you—”
“Don’t tell me what my sister needs,” Christopher snapped. “I know what she needs – a cure. Which Tamara said you have.”
“Yeah, and it’s on its way,” Dean said. “You need to calm down.”
“I am calm,” Christopher protested tightly, color high in his cheeks. “I am excellently calm, look at my hands. Steady, yes? Can you tell that I just killed two creatures I never thought even existed with them?”
“The machete helped,” Tamara muttered under her breath.
“Dude, it’s okay to be scared,” Dean said.
“I’m not scared—”
“Your sister will be fine,” Dean said as calmly as he could, the perfect counterbalance to the way Christopher was faintly vibrating in place. “She won’t turn on my watch, I swear to you.”
It was a solid promise, more than the sum of its words. Christopher heard the iron-clad oath for what it was and stilled with surprise. He looked at Dean then, really looked at him, for Dean and his word were worth paying attention to.
Dean shrugged. “Want to clean up?”
Christopher looked down at his blood-stained hands. “Yes, please.”
It happened regularly in Dean’s line of work that the occasional civilian be given a wash cloth and a stiff drink to tide them over their most recent experiences. Christopher opted for the sink instead of the wash cloth, scrubbed his hands clean, and then returned to his sister’s side to hold her hand. The uniform shirt was not salvageable, though, and Dean thought that was a crying shame.
“Can I help?” Christopher asked, watching while Tamara pushed a compress against Anna’s wounds. “Is that garlic?”
“Garlic essence, yes,” Tamara said. “Some of the more common legends are true. And you’re helping just by being here, that’s good.”
There was little to do after that but wait. Christopher was a silent presence at Anna’s side, eventually taking Tamara’s place when she left to check in with Isaac. Dean returned to cleaning the bar but kept an eye on the pair, watching Christopher’s soft murmurings of comfort and Anna’s weak smile of misdirected reassurance.
“She’s strong,” Dean said, approaching with a cup of water for him to help his sister drink. “You guys hang in there.” Christopher accepted the offering with a nod, and Dean clasped him on the shoulder.
“You’ve been doing this for a while, haven’t you?” Christopher asked quietly.
“Doesn’t mean it gets easy,” Dean said, tact holding back the it could be far, far worse that he could’ve said otherwise.
“It’s different,” Christopher said, gently wiping the water that spilled from the corner of Anna’s mouth. “To see something like that up close. To be so painfully aware of how life and death can lie in your hands. I’m not… I’ve done things in my line of work, but not quite like that..”
“Yeah.” Dean shrugged ruefully. “It can be a bit much.”
Christopher only relaxed when Ash finally arrived with the cure. The concoction arrived in a small vial that Dean handled carefully, delivering its precious contents into Anna’s mouth while Christopher watched, nodded, and said, “Now we wait?”
“She’s not that for gone, so we’re doing good time,” Dean said, pulling Anna’s eyelid gently to check her pupils. “Sleep it off, Advil in the morning, cross your fingers she’ll be fine.”
“I can mooch your Wi-Fi, right?” Ash asked, waving his laptop in the air. “It was a hell of a rush to get here, you’re welcome.”
“Don’t push it, Roadhouse.” Dean pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “Router’s where it always is.”
Christopher clasped Ash’s hand firmly before he could escape. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
“Hey, man, no problem,” Ash said, nodding at Anna. “Glad to help.”
When Anna’s face finally smoothed over in restful sleep, Christopher’s shoulders gradually relaxed. He carefully placed her lax hand on her stomach before turning to Dean and saying, “This is a bar. I assume you’re well-stocked?”
“May I be kicked in the ass if it isn’t,” Dean said. He slid into his place behind the bar and cracked his knuckles. “You got a poison, soldier?”
“Hmm.” Christopher eyed Dean curiously as he settled on a stool. Dean pretended not to notice; he focused on wiping things down and letting Christopher reach his own conclusions. After a while Christopher said, “You said that just to provoke me. You know that’s not the right term.”
“Yeah, my dad’s ex-marine, I’m just messing,” Dean said with a grin. “Nice wings. Shame ‘bout the blood.”
“I’ll clean them properly later,” Christopher said with a tired glance down at his shirt’s insignia. “But about that drink… Why don’t you surprise me? I think you’d have some interesting thoughts about what I’d like.”
Dean’s grin stayed on as he set up the shot glasses.
“That gun,” Christopher said suddenly, gesturing to the piece hanging on the wall above Dean’s head. “A Winchester. I thought this place was named for a family, not a gun. That’s the impression I got from Tamara.”
“Hell, yeah, it’s named after us,” Dean said, splaying his arms wide proudly. “Welcome to The Winchester. We’re all about the family business here – saving people, hunting things, getting visitors a decent drink. That gun you’re making eyes at? Was used by my parents on their freaking wedding day. Long story, don’t ask.”
Christopher scowled faintly. “Why not?”
“Why not what?”
“Why shouldn’t I ask?” Christopher pulled a filled shot glass closer to himself; Dean found himself appreciating his elegant fingers. “Just… the sheer intricacy of this place. Garlic, salt, silver, iron. Religious icons integrated into your décor. Community. How far does this go?”
“As far as it needs. Which reminds me.” Dean dug into one of the drawers underneath, finding a business card that he handed over. “Take this. She can hook you up, help get things back on track. You know, sliding back into the outside world but with… precautions.”
Christopher ran a thumb over the card’s embossed surface. “Jessica Moore?”
“My sister-in-law,” Dean said. “Not really a hunter but she’s friendly. She and my brother, they… Well, let’s just say they run interference.”
“Thank you,” Christopher said as he pocketed his card. His sudden smile of amusement lit up his face, changed the shape of his eyes. “It must be nice, to know your place in the world like this.”
“Hah!” Dean leaned across the bar top to look Christopher straight in the eye. “Let me be honest with you, Chris. The pay is crap, the hours long and there’s always something waiting to kill you. And that’s the fun part. Try balancing a legit front for Uncle Sam while you’re dealing with stuff the rest of the world don’t want to know.”
Christopher nodded firmly, his understanding clear. “What must be done, must be done. We are but tiny cogs in a great machine.”
“I guess you’d know,” Dean said, eyes dropping briefly to Christopher’s Air Force badge, gleaming between the flecks of dry blood. “Hey, I’ll drink to that. Here’s to being a goddamn cog.”
Their glasses clinked softly.
“But a Winchester gun at a Winchester wedding?” Christopher asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow at the trophy piece. “Sounds too poetic to be true.”
Dean chuckled. “You have no idea.”
He’d been doing this for a while, so he knew the signs, knew where to look. Dean could tell from Christopher’s steady hands and sharp eyes that he was unafraid of learning how far the rabbit hole went. It didn’t happen often, not when it usually was tragedy or necessity that pulled people into this world, but it did happen.
With Christopher’s unfettered interest urging him on, in no time Dean was leaping into tales of vampires and werewolves, ghosts and gremlins, the legendary Samuel Colt and mystical Devil’s Gates.
The world rolled on, oblivious.