#unfortunately every time i get back into vonnegut i think of dean winchester

[blessyourhondahurley]

Sparks Fly

The conclusion of yesterday's story. Dean performs at open mic night while Castiel swoons behind the counter.

Suptober prompt: Crossover Flufftober prompt: "You kept this?" Fictober prompt: "You’re making my head hurt." Inktober prompt: Forget

(Read on AO3)

The door closes behind the handsome man's departing back. Castiel tries desperately to look uninterested, busying himself with the dials on the front of the espresso machine. But he can't hide it: he's flustered, and he feels flushed heat creeping up his cheeks and across the back of his neck.

At the counter, Inias leans over the sign up sheet, then straightens again to crow, “Your future husband has a name! Dean Winchester, or whatever!” His normal, laconic tone has sharpened into something sarcastic, something with bite.

“Inias, please,” Castiel mutters, but his fellow clerk is relentless.

“Castiel Winchester. Mr. and Mr. Dean Winchester. The Messrs Winchester-Novak,” he singsongs, his mouth twisted into a nasty smirk.

“You're making my head hurt.” It's a feeble protest, which Inias gleefully ignores.

“Yours will be a June wedding, I think..”

Castiel groans, “What do I need to do to get you to forget about my... interest in that man?”

“Cover my next five clopens, and I'll never mention your pathetic crush again.”

“Done.”

~~~~~

That Tuesday is a particularly slow day at the store, which gives poor Castiel plenty of time to overthink. Inias had referred to his “pathetic crush,” an unfortunately apt turn of phrase. The man, Dean, is a regular customer at Eagle Eye, and Castiel is absolutely, pitifully besotted with him, and has been for months.

At first it was simple physical attraction. He's gorgeous, with a strong jaw, sparkling green eyes, and full, kissable lips. But it's Dean's literary taste that's got his head so completely turned around. He's in the store at least once a week, buying a book or two at every visit. His preferences run in particular to Vonnegut, Brautigan, and the Beat poets, but he's also taken home some Tolstoy, some Faulkner, a bit of LeGuin and VanderMeer... A few times, he's asked Castiel for a recommendation. He's bought every title Castiel has suggested, on the spot, and come back later to rave about each one.

There's a particularly lovely smile that comes across his face when he's talking about a good book. It's intoxicating to see. Castiel has wasted far too many of his idle hours lost in fantasies of what else he could do to bring that beautiful smile to light.

And now, this evening, Dean will be performing, right here in front of him, in this store. Castiel wonders what talent the man will display. Music? Dance? Poetry? Whatever he does tonight, surely it will be perfection.

~~~~~

Dean's performance is... Not perfection.

He's the fourth act of the night, right after Marv's weekly recitation of his latest mediocre poems. He stumbles and almost trips as he steps up to the microphone, both hands wrapped awkwardly around his guitar.

“Hi, my name's Dean,” he says. He's too loud, too close to the mic. He winces, then tries again, keeping his voice softer. “Sorry, um, hi. So... Wow, there's a lot of cameras in here.” He looks down and fusses with his guitar strap for a moment, takes a couple of deep breaths. “Look, I mean, I don't... I don't do... this? So, if I horribly mess up, and get really nervous, it's uh... Because I don't do this.”

The crowd is stocked with Tuesday-night regulars who have seen their share of nervous newbies. They clap and whistle in encouragement. Dean blanches at the sound.

“Here's the problem,” he says, wrapping a visibly trembling hand around the microphone stand. “I don't play, in front of people..? So, pretend you're not here.”

The crowd chuckles. Dean gives them a weak smile, then he chides, “Alright, shh, you're not supposed to be here.”

Another deep breath. He looks down at the neck of the guitar and carefully positions his fingers for his opening chord.

“Okay, here goes...”

The song he's chosen was a big enough crossover hit in its day that even Castiel, unfamiliar as he is with a lot of modern music, kind of recognizes it. It's a song about wanting someone, a plea to the object of an unrequited desire. Dean plays it stripped down, and slow. This is probably out of necessity; it's clear that he's a just a beginner on the guitar. His hands fumble at every chord change, and he struggles to keep the beat steady as he sings.

His voice, though... It's warm and honey-rich, and he packs the lyrics with all the longing a heart can hold. When he calls, “Meet me in the pouring rain, kiss me on the sidewalk,” Castiel's toes curl in his sneakers with the strength of his longing to do exactly that.

As the song goes on, Dean relaxes a bit. He even manages to stop staring down at his hands and look  out at the audience a little. Across the crowded room, somehow, his gaze finds Castiel's and locks on, and there's that smile, the one he dreams about far too often.

Dean sings, “Get me with those blue eyes, baby, as the lights go down.” Castiel knows the lyrics well enough to recognize that Dean's made a change to the color, and to understand what that might mean. For the first time since the start of his “pathetic crush,” he feels a stirring of hope. He smiles back, and quietly sings along.

~~~~~

On their first anniversary, Cas shows Dean a video of the performance. At the sound of the first clunky chord, Dean's pawing at the screen, too embarrassed to look directly at it. Cas laughs and holds the phone out of his boyfriend's reach.

Dean groans and covers his eyes. “Ohhh my God, Cas! You kept this? Where did you even get it??”

“The store records all of the open mic nights. Sometimes we use clips on our social media, with permission. Sometimes the performers request copies for their own use.” He kisses Dean on the nose. “Sometimes they're treasured mementos of unforgettable nights.”

Dean leans in and kisses him back, full on the mouth. Then he pulls away and smiles. “That was an unforgettable night. The first of many. I'm hoping for many, many more. But please never make me watch that again. I can't believe how bad I used to be.”

“You were never bad, my love,” Cas corrects him. “You were just starting out. I enjoyed listening to you then, and I enjoy listening to you now that you're more skillful.”

“Yeah?” Dean asks, and his boyfriend nods. “Well, I think you're really gonna like the song I wrote for you last night. It's so much better than that t-swizzle cover.”

He grabs his guitar, and Cas settles back to listen.

[jackklinemybeloved]

secret good spn that lives in my head episode that is told entirely in flashback and analyzes the winchester family dynamic and is called “cat’s cradle”