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“Howdy, Dean!” The call comes from across the bar. He looks and sees Demian, waving, still dressed distressingly similar to himself, though the clothes look more worn and broken in.
Next to him is Barnes, wearing a ragged suit, loose tie, and trenchcoat.
“Hey, uh, guys,” Dean manages to get out, walking slowly over to them. “New look?” Barnes stands proudly, and flourishes towards his coat.
“New books, new character, new opportunities!” Barnes says, grinning. “Sam still holds a place in my heart, of course, but when the perfect representation comes knocking you can’t hold back!” His grin falls slightly, although he still seems elated. “Thanks for coming.”
“Well, you know,” Dean waffles, “when fine hunters such as yourselves call for help, it must be pretty serious. What, uh,” he looks Barnes up and down again. “What can I do you for?”
Demian puts an arm around Barnes’ shoulders, pulling him close and then in. “There’s something weird going on, man,” he all but whispers. “Something… supernatural. Weird deaths, like, in locked homes with no broken windows, no forced entry. We figured it might be another one of those ghosts, maybe.” He glances over at Barnes, who picks up where he left off.
“So when our work schedules lined up we figured, hey, why not, right? We did it once before, and helped a lot of people! Why not drive over and see what we can do?” Barnes looks around the bar before leaning in closer. “We tracked the ghost down. He’s an old dockworker who was murdered by his daughter and husband-to-be so they could be together. Now he’s taking revenge on women who look like her – three women have died, all blondes. Really gruesome.”
Dean leans back, away from where these two are pressed up against each other and leaned across the table. “Have you found the bones?” His throat is dry, and he signals to the bartender who starts to walk over.
“We think so, but, uh, remember how violent they got last time?” Demian says, looking sheepish. “We figured we could use backup before trying to…” he trails off, awkwardly smiling at the bartender standing at their table.
Dean orders a beer, some chips, and turns back to the two of them. “Trying to…” he prompts.
Demian somehow leans further in, whispering “Trying to dig up graves! And maybe get killed!” Barnes pulls him back into his seat, his hand rubbing his knee.
Ripping his eyes away from the display, Dean looks to where the bartender – hot, blonde, nice rack – is pulling his pint.
“Right,” he says.
“I mean, that convention was not the first time you’d done that, clearly,” Barnes says. “And we talked to Chuck a bit after, and he gave us your number in case something came up? So here we are,” he spreads his hands. “One fan to another, what do you think?”
His beer is being walked back over to him, with a small bag of chips dangling. He makes eye contact with the bartender and smiles, “thanks, sweetheart,” almost missing it when Barnes and Demian flinch and glance at one another.
“What?” he mutters, taking a sip before ripping open the bag. Popping a chip in his mouth, and crunching down, he grins.
There’s a pause before Demian speaks up. “What’d ya say? Will you help us out?”
“Sounds pretty cut and dry,” Dean admits. “You’ve done all the heavy lifting,” a grin flashes between the two of them, “now comes the real fun.”
–
Standing in a graveyard at night with two almost-strangers isn’t exactly Dean’s idea of a good time, but he was feeling pretty useless during one of Sam’s research binges when the call came in. Needed to stretch his legs. Besides, the two of them have proved themselves fairly capable. It’s almost not like babysitting at all.
“It was just over here,” Demian says, pointing as he walks. They’ve each got a shovel slung over one shoulder, using the moonlight to find their way over the grass. Dean’s just carrying a bag with salt and lighter fluid, a tire iron in his other hand. Why encourage the idea that the physical labour involved here will fall to him?
Demian and Barnes find the grave, and it’s eerie to watch not-him and not-Cas glance around nervously before breaking ground. He’d suggested a change of attire, hinting at them not wanting to get their “nice” clothes dirty, but apparently grave dirt adds “authenticity.” Alright.
He’s leaning against a gravestone when there’s a slight pressure shift and the sensation of being watched coming from just behind him to the right.
“Uh, you guys keep goin’, one second,” he calls out, and turns to see Cas.
“Dean,” Cas begins, only for Dean to shush him quietly, herding him further away from Barnes and Demian. Cas complies, even lowering his voice as he continues. “I did not realize you were with company,” he says. “Are they trustworthy?” It comes out as a statement rather than a question.
“I mean, yeah, I think so,” Dean mutters back, trying to keep his voice down. “Look, Cas, now isn’t really the best time, so-”
“We don’t want any trouble!” Barnes’ voice carries through the graveyard.
Cas leans around him, eyes squinting to make out the two figures in the dark.
“Dean, you said this’d be fine!” Hisses Demian, and Dean resists the urge to huff audibly before turning around to face them.
“This is, uh, Jimmy.” Dean says, gesturing to Cas. “He’s a fellow hunter as well. Big fan. Jimmy, this is Demian and Barnes. They’re also big fans of those Supernatural books,” he tries to place subtle emphasis on the last few words. “Big fans of Dean and Cas.”
“I see,” Cas says, looking between them. Dean can see the consternation on his face, and hopes it’s not apparent to the other two. “Demian, Barnes, it is nice to meet you. I am indeed a fan of Dean’s.”
“Cas too, by the look of things!” Barnes says cheerfully. He swings his hips, making the trenchcoat swish around him. “Gotta say, love the cosplay.”
“…Thank you.” Cas replies, and Dean hopes the pause and confusion isn’t obvious.
“Are you on the case too?” Demian asks, glancing back to the half-dug grave flanked by two shovels.
Before Dean can figure out a way to silently communicate that no, and Cas should probably leave now, he opens his mouth.
“Yes. I heard that Dean was involved in a case and came to offer whatever assistance I could.”
“Why don’t you two keep digging, and I’ll fill Jimmy here in on the details,” Dean says, clapping him on the shoulder. He gives him a little shake too, hoping it’ll keep him quiet.
“Alright,” Barnes says, looking between them. “But if you guys want in on the cool burning part, you’d better help out with the digging too.” As he and Demian turn away, Dean can hear him muttering How weird is it that he calls him Dean irl? to Demian, who shushes him quietly.
Dean turns, hand still on Cas’s shoulder.
“Dean,” Cas begins.
“Listen man, these guys are fucking obsessed with us, and I don’t want them knowing that you’re actually the angel he’s dressed as. This is weird enough already.”
“But they know your name,” Cas points out. “The shorter one called you-“
“They think I’m really into LARPing,” Dean says, exhausted. “Like, constantly in character. They don’t know the books are real and I don’t have it in me to explain it to them.”
“I could explain it to them,” Cas offers, and Dean winces, stepping closer.
“Thanks man, but… the books mean a lot to them. We, somehow, mean a lot to them. This is already fucked enough. Let’s just keep it surface level where possible. Right, Jimmy?”
Cas sighs. “I wish you had picked another name.”
Dean claps him on the shoulder again before stepping away. “Me too, buddy.”
As they walk over to where Barnes and Demian are back to digging, it becomes evident that they’re having an out of breath conversation.
“...nice that he found someone,” Barnes is saying while Demian nods. They both stand up straight in the grave as they approach. Barnes is wiping sweat off his brow, replacing it with a streak of dirt.
“I can assist,” Cas says, gesturing towards the shovel Barnes is holding. They trade off, and Dean watches Cas nimbly climb down into the grave as Barnes scrambles out. He stands in close proximity to Demian, hands preemptively gripping the handle of the shovel. As the two of them move together to start digging, Dean swallows hard.
“I’ll, uh, trade off too,” he finds himself saying.
Demian shrugs, handing off the shovel before climbing out himself. As Dean hops down, he notices Barnes handing Demian a bottle of water and a small smile shared between them. He looks down at the dirt and forces the shovel in.
“So, Jimmy, what made you choose Cas? You know, as your character of choice,” Barnes asks.
There’s a lengthy pause before Cas answers. “I feel more so that Cas chose Jimmy, in a manner of speaking.”
Dean laughs nervously and tries to dig faster. “Yeah, who’s to say, really? What about you, Barnes?”
“Oh I just really relate to the character,” Barnes says. “There’s something about a rebellious angel, not quite fallen from grace, that really speaks to me. I was kicked out when I came out to my family,” at this, Demian reaches out to hold his hand, “so the idea of this like, neurodivergent-coded black sheep with a strong moral compass focused around his love for this one guy…” Dean’s mouth goes dry. “I don’t know, I just appreciate it, you know?” He takes a deep gulp of water and grins over at Demian. “These books mean a lot to us, for a variety of reasons.”
Dean stops shoveling, and grabs at his bag for water. What he wouldn’t give for a beer right about now. Cas is still methodically shoveling dirt behind him.
“Falling is no laughing matter,” Cas says eventually. “I’m glad you had someone to catch you.”
“Oh I didn’t meet Demian until a few years after that, thank God,” Barnes laughs. “I was an absolute mess at first. But actually, the books helped more than anything.”
“That kind of connection is what makes you human,” Cas says. “I’m sure the Prophet would be glad to hear that his tellings impacted you in such a positive way.”
“The- the Prophet?” Demian looks confused.
“You mean Chuck?” Barnes laughs. “Oh man, don’t let him hear you call him that Jimmy, his head is big enough as it is.”
Dean resolutely continues shoveling in silence. There’s only so much damage mitigation he can do. And something about Cas’s body moving in tandem next to his is turning his brain to static.
They get down close to the bottom of the grave, and Dean gestures at Demian to come back over and finish it off. He thinks it’ll be nice to give them the whole experience, like he’s a fucking tour guide or some shit. The two of them climb down, leaving Dean and Cas on the grass up above.
“So how did you two meet?” Barnes asks, slightly out of breath.
“On a hunt,” Dean answers quickly, shooting Cas a look.
“Did Dean introduce you to all this, Jimmy?” Demian pauses digging to look up at them, but at Dean’s glare he gets back to it.
“In a way,” Cas answers. “My family was somewhat tangentially involved before I met Dean. I knew of him and his brother’s work, and was pleased to make his acquaintance.”
“Gotcha,” Demian says. “Didn’t realize you were so well known, Dean!”
“Is there a big community around this stuff?” Barnes asks. “Like, fans of the books who know it’s all kind of… real?”
“No-” Dean starts to answer but is saved by the thud of shovel hitting wood.
Once they get down to the shoddy coffin and pry it open, Dean is on high alert for any interfering spirits. But they quickly salt and burn the body without interruption and he’s able to breathe deeply again.
“Well that was kind of anticlimactic," Demian huffs. At Dean’s look he holds up his hands. “Compared to last time, I mean.”
“Consider yourselves lucky,” Cas says, before Dean can. “Dean’s expertise rivals no one else’s, but it is good to not need it.” He turns to Dean. “I’ll wait by your car.”
As he walks off, Barnes shouts out “Nice to meet you!” Cas stops and turns, nods, and continues.
“He likes to stay in character too, huh,” Demian asks, and Dean shrugs.
“I guess Cas speaks to him,” he says.
“It’s nice when us weirdos find each other,” says Barnes. Demian puts his arm around his waist, and he bends down to lay his head on Demian’s shoulder. Dean glances around. He wants to rip them apart. He wants to ask how the hell they do it. Do what, he doesn’t know.
“Uh, yeah,” he says instead. “I’m lucky to have him. He’s gotten me out of a bunch of scrapes.”
“Speaking of, thank you.” Demian looks at Dean, and he swears his gaze is piercing something deeper within him. “I think we did good today. No more mutilated blonde women, hopefully.”
“Yeah! Thanks for the backup,” Barnes straightens up, holding out his fist to be bumped. Dean complies, feeling awkward.
“No problem,” he says. “If something else comes up, give me a call. Don’t- don’t try this shit on your own. This was… weirdly easy.”
Their agreement overlaps, and Dean turns to look back at where Cas is standing next to the car.
“I’d better go,” he says. “You two stay safe.” He’s already walking backwards.
“Bye Dean!” Calls out Barnes.
“Still won’t tell us your name?” Says Demian, with a laugh in his voice.
“Still Dean!” He calls back, turning around properly with one hand held up in a wave.
As he makes his way back to the car, he can hear the two of them gathering up their supplies. He’s left them with the lighter fluid and rocksalt, just in case.
“D’you think we like, inspired him?” He hears Barnes ask quietly.
“I dunno, but he does seem happier,” Demian replies. Dean walks faster.
Back at the car, Cas gives him a look.
“Don’t,” Dean warns.
“Your affinity for collecting the strange ones is impressive,” Cas says.
“Yeah, well, that includes you, so zip it.”
Dean’s just about to drive off when a yelp comes up over the graveyard.
“Uuuh, guys?” Demian yells, overlapping with Barnes’s panicked screaming.
“Wrong grave! Wrong grave!”