#He is like a wet cat someone found behind the Walmart

[pyre-sea]

Guess who’s watching Dressrosa and rediscovering my love for Bartolomeo

:)  I love him so much, I want to pick him up and shake him. 

[satbiym]

Both Alike in Dignity by satbiym

Summary

Breaking News!

This just in, according to the Lotus Pier Police Department, Walmart has now banned local man for driving an electric cart while drinking wine from a Pringles Can at 9AM.

Walmart Employee, Wei Wuxian, who first reported the drunk man, when asked for about this ban said, “Nah man, we’ve all been there, you know? Let he who hasn’t had the exact same urge cast the first stone!”

The man in question could not be reached for any comments.

We’ll keep you updated as the story progresses.

Next up! Is your cat plotting to kill you? Find out, after the break.

Listen.

Listen.

Lan Wangji hadn’t thought his recent (unwilling) transfer to Lotus Pier, brother’s engagement (to a complete and utter asshole) and his (first ever) heartbreak would impact him much.

But if the police officer in front of him was to be believed, he might have to reconsider some of his earlier considerations.

Like where he got his groceries and sandalwood moisturizer, because it appeared that the logistics of shopping at Walmart were now… legally complicated.

When the Walmart Employee who started it all starts challenging him at every turn, Wangji’s life is turned upside down yet again. Thus begins a journey of saving bunnies, breaking engagements and starting a cult.

… and somewhere along the way, maybe falling in love.

AKA: The not-so-tragic Romeo-and-Juliet love story that shook the foundations of Lotus Pier, now with 1000% more Walmart representation!

ACT 1 Prologue

O, here

Will I set up my everlasting rest,

And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars

From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last!

Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you

The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss

A dateless bargain to engrossing death!

X

Lan Wangji woke up to the sound of clucking, the smell of hay and the taste of what appeared to be all the grime of the world; his mouth was - Lan Wangji was certain - now housing the occupants of Pandora’s box, presumably to accelerate Lan Wangji’s descent into the abyss from sheer, unfiltered anguish.

And no. Lan Wangji was not being a - as his dear brother would claim - drama llama, and the fact that you thought so makes you complicit in the heinous system of victim blaming. Stew in that.

However, putting aside your blatant enthusiasm for contributing to a systemic socio-economic issue, the point was, Lan Wangji had woken up disoriented, not quite ready to do so and all the more resentful for it.

By the smells and sounds assaulting his senses, he could deduce that he was not the sole occupant of the space he had somehow found himself in.

Lan Wangji forced his eyes open with a repressed hiss at the bright light that caused him to almost empty his stomach right then and there, and looked around.

Oh.

He was in a barn.

He had never been in a barn before. Lan Wangji looked around with curiosity, only to lock gazes with someone whose very glare seemed to scream: Colonizer! Begone!

It might have been his equal parts fascination and disdain for British history, but it did seem like his co-occupants weren’t very pleased about his presence in their midst.

The rooster cocked his head and, with a considerable amount of self-importance and flair for the dramatics, as if the audience had only validated his illusions of self-grandior, crowed.

Loudly.

Lan Wangji flinched back, unable to bear a sound he had only ever read about and heard in movies or ironic ringtones born from phones of people he never spoke to again, especially as his head felt like it was splitting itself apart.

Clutching his pounding head with his hands, Lan Wangji offhandedly wondered if this was how Zeus had felt right before Athena had been born out of his split skull.

The rooster continued its morning call, caring naught for Lan Wangji’s lifelong practice of vegetarianism or his regular recycling habits. The world truly was not kind to those who tried, Lan Wangji despaired.

His clothes were dirty and disheveled, hair unsightly and a rooster was loudly proclaiming that Lan Wangji was not welcome in his territory. He couldn’t remember how he had ended up in this situation. The last thing he could recall was loud laughter, turning instinctively (as if he could do anything other than heed the siren call of that laugh) and watching as We-

No.

Lan Wangji got up.

Answers could wait. He needed to first get out of here and maybe get some food. For some reason, despite it being early morning he was ravenous.

Only, before Lan Wangji could proceed with his plan, the barn door abruptly opened, hinges creaking and even silencing the self-aggrandizing rooster.

Lan Wangji looked at the newcomer with trepidation, making sure his face remained as stoic as the muscles would allow.

A woman stood with sharp light behind her, making her seem all the more ominous. Upon seeing Lan Wangji, she stopped, doorknobs still held in her hands.

They surveyed each other for a second, but before the twisting in Lan Wangji’s stomach could get too much, the woman broke out in a wide grin, open and unerringly friendly.

“Doctor! What’s a fella like you doing in a place like this?” She boomed, voice echoing off of the rafters of the barn.

Lan Wangji blinked. He had never before understood how someone could relate their complex and intricate human experiences to pithy existential questions that were carelessly tossed en masse. But, it seemed like today was a day for revelations.

Lan Wangji bowed slightly and intoned, “Apologies for trespassing, Ma’am.”

The woman’s eyes widened and her face seemed to somehow become fevered, as if she was coming down with the flu. She fluttered her hands, almost dancing in her place, and giggled, “Oh, don’t worry about it, Doctor! It must be the lack of apples in my diet!”

What.

Lan Wangji decided this conversation wasn’t worth the emotional toll as of this moment and with another bow took his leave. He very firmly did not run, he simply… power walked. It was better for the cardiovascular system.

But as he reached the door his stomach made itself heard. Lan Wangji paused, he wasn’t familiar enough with this area to be able to locate a restaurant quickly enough. He turned back, the woman was turned towards him presumably watching him leave to ensure he never darkened her doorstep again with his trespassing.

“Excuse me, Ma’am, where is the nearest restaurant that serves breakfast at this time?” He asked.

The woman laughed and said, “Doctor, I think even you’d find it difficult to find a diner serving breakfast at 2 in the afternoon.”

Lan Wangji’s eyes widened against his permission. He had never woken up past 5 AM since the day his Uncle had taken him in. But then, why…

“Your rooster. He was…” Lan Wangji trailed off, unsure how to describe the unholy shrieks of anarchy the beast had been emitting to his definitely demonic overlords.

The woman slapped her knee as she shook with laughter, “Oh, that’s just Henry for ya! He is up and cock-a-doodle-dooing at all hours of the afternoon. My husband likes to tell me it’s because he’s working on a different timezone. ‘We, Bertha,’ he says, ‘have gotten ourselves a foreign rooster!’” The woman continued, voice much softer and fonder than before.

Look, Lan Wangji was a certified veterinarian.

Lan Wangji even had a PhD!

But no amount of wet lab or theoretical knowledge of “roosters can crow at any time of the day” could prevent the inherent wrongness of the realization that the movies had lied to him.

“But if it’s lunch ya want, then there is Mellie’s diner right down the road, next to the Walmart.” She continued, positively brimming with good-natured joviality but that didn’t stop Lan Wangji’s traitorous heart from lurching at the end of her sentence.

Lan Wangji nodded, ignoring his inner turmoil and after sending one last look at the anachronistic hell bird, walked to the direction the woman had indicated towards, recent memory still evading his grasp.

Maybe it was the headache still pounding away or his avoiding thinking about recent revelations by trying to recover his lost memories, but so engrossed in his own mind was he that it was almost a surprise when he reached the diner cheerfully proclaiming itself as being Mellie’s.

Straightening his clothes and wishing he had had the chance to wash up, Lan Wangji walked in, the bell at the door chiming sweetly, announcing his presence to all the other patrons.

The diner was full, Lan Wangji noted. Not that you would know it by ear, seeing as they all fell silent and turned to look at him like he was a particularly interesting alien species.

Lan Wangji waited until a man wearing a garishly cheerful uniform walked up to him nervously.

“Table for one.” Lan Wangji said, voice level and seemingly oblivious to the way the many eyes had not moved past him.

The server nodded and with a look of confusion but as if directed by an external puppeteer as he played a role he hadn’t realized he had auditioned for, walked Lan Wangji to the nearest empty table, which was, to Lan Wangji’s consternment, right next to a raised television playing the local news.

As Lan Wangji moved, the eyes of the diner’s patrons followed.

But at this point, Lan Wangji was used to it. The stares, the open differential awe you’d give to a limited edition figurine, prized but untouchable. Alien and inalienable.

It seemed as if moving to a new town hadn’t been the answer to this particular quirk of circumstance.

The server cleared his throat, a sound that reverberated in the silence of the diner, sounding like a caricature of the act. Lan Wangji looked at him, askance.

“May I take your order, Doctor?” The server asked, seemingly flushed for some reason.

The server, Lan Wangji offhandedly noted, had gray eyes. Eyes which were somehow too reminiscent of another pair of eyes and at the same time, not gray enough to be an apropos comparison.

A pair of eyes that danced into being more silver than gray on any given day and answered more questions than Lan Wangji had been prepared to have had answered when he had moved to this town.

“Salad.” Lan Wangji intoned.

The man bobbed his head and clutching the unopened menu in his hands, walked away. Lan Wangji resumed staring ahead at nothingness and contemplated the recent disorder that had been wrought on his life: abrupt, unwelcome and without even the good grace of having sent a courtesy invitation.

Dear So-and-So,

You have been cordially invited to witness the anarchy that has befallen what many experts could identify as the remains of a perfectly fine life that didn’t deserve to have experienced the full spectrum of human emotion when it was perfectly fine without it, thank you very much.

The noise returned gradually.

Lan Wangji tuned back in just as the news anchor changed to a woman he had heard at the grocery store last week as she shouted about deadlines and leads into her phone while carefully cradling a carton of eggs.

Maybe it was that familiarity bred sustained patience for the a person’s presence, but Lan Wangji found himself turning his attention to the television as she spoke, almost jumping with preppy excitement. The excitement made sense a moment later as the television flashed with red signs alerting the other patrons of an incoming breaking news story.

She cleared her throat and clutching her ear-piece, said with alacrity, “This just in! According to the Lotus Pier Police Department, Walmart has now banned local man for driving an electric cart while drinking wine from a Pringles Can at 9AM.”

Lan Wangji blinked, Who in the world-

A video of a long-haired man grinning cheerfully flashed onto the screen and Lan Wangji’s thoughts halted to a stop.

Surely-

She continued, her voice loud and clear in the silent diner as all awaited the rest of the story, “Walmart Employee, Wei Wuxian, who first reported the drunk man, when asked for about this ban said and I quote, ‘Nah man, we’ve all been there, you know? Let he who hasn’t had the exact same urge cast the first stone!’”

The diner’s patron’s hooted and some laughed as someone yelled, “Yeah! You tell ‘em, Wei Wuxian!”

The news anchor continued, “The man in question could not be reached for any comments. We’ll keep you updated as the story progresses. Next up! Is your cat plotting to kill you? Find out, after the break.”

A cheerful anthem broke the segment, signalling a break and an advertisement of the local Walmart and its services filled the screen.

The patrons were still laughing and loudly discussing the news.

“That Wei Wuxian, he will never change!”

“Why should he? He is just perfect!”

“Oh, please. He is so out of your league. You know he is going to be the one to inherit Walmart after Madam Yu steps down as President of the franchise, right? Stop dreaming.”

Lan Wangji clenched his fist, hidden by the table.

“Forget his hopeless delusions! what about that story, right?! Who in the world could do something like that?!”

Lan Wangji turned back to his staring at nothingness, eavesdropping was prohibited, even if they were making it really hard to not eavesdrop with their loud voices and inclusion of the whole diner into their conversation.

The diner bell chimed.

Lan Wangji paid it no mind, at least until he sensed a presence coming towards him. He looked up. It was a uniformed police officer. The officer stopped before his table and waited until he had Lan Wangji’s attention before speaking “Are you Doctor Lan Wangji?”

Lan Wangji, with a foreboding feeling in his gut, inclined his head. The other diner patrons, at this point, weren’t even pretending not to be listening in. Clearly, they hadn’t been brought up by Lan Qiren.

The police officer nodded, pulling out an envelope which he handed to Lan Wangji.

“I am here to inform you that you have hereby been banned from Walmart for the foreseeable future in light of the incident that took place this morning.”

Lan Wangji blinked, a sort of rushing sound echoing in his ears. He didn’t understand.

“I am afraid I do not know what you are referring to, Officer.” Lan Wangji said, outwardly calm despite a dawning in his chest, like he had almost grabbed hold of an late-blooming epiphany but it was still dancing out of his reach.

The officer looked back flatly and said, “I am referring to your operating an electric cart while intoxicated at walmart at nine o’clock this morning.”

Lan Wangji stilled.

The epiphany had stopped dancing out of his reach, simply vanishing into a whiff of smoke and regrets.

And it appeared that so had he.

… Or so he wished.

“I am afraid you have the wrong person, Officer,” Lan Wangji said succinctly, not believing even his own words because somehow that - considering how disobedient, contradictory and unruly his life had been behaving - sounded… about right.

The Officer raised an unimpressed eyebrow and pulled out a credit-card sized object, handing it to Lan Wangji.

It was a... picture.

In it was a laughing Wei Ying, hands tied together with a white ribbon throwing up peace signs regardless, flushed and all the more beautiful for it.

It was a lovely picture and Lan Wangji wanted copies, but how was this proof of his alleged crime? If this was some kind of joke-

The officer, probably impatient with Lan Wangji’s lack of enlightenment, pointed behind Wei Ying, at…

Oh.

Yeah, alright. That was him riding an electric cart while drinking from a pringles can.

Lan Wangji nodded, pocketing the photograph, focused on making sure the internal screaming remained internal, “Noted. Anything else?”

The officer raised his other eyebrow and said grimly, “Not at this moment, no, Doctor.”

Lan Wangji inclined his head and turned back to stare at the spot he had been staring at before, dismissing the officer and uncaring as he walked away.

Everyone pretended they weren’t staring at Lan Wangji, though somehow he felt their presence more keenly than before when they hadn’t even been trying to conceal their stares, as the server walked up to him.

“Um, D-Doctor? Your meal.” The server stumbled out, hands quickly depositing the plate on the table before swiftly walking away before Lan Wangji even had a chance to look at the food.

Lan Wangji looked at his plate.

It was not a salad.

X

A glooming peace this morning with it brings;

The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head:

Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things;

Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished:

For never was a story of more woe

Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.

[aleatoryalarmalligator]

Life Story Part 84

I decided to dye my hair rainbow again about a week before the concert was going to happen. I had hopes that this might cause me to stand out more, plus it looked neat and felt right to me. I remember in the chilly morning airy atmosphere of the small wood stove room where we kept our computers, I sat on the floor and I perfected the Gogol Bordello painting, scrutinizing every edge to make sure it was as perfect as it could be. Psychologically, I readied myself and emptied out all unwanted weaknesses in my feelings and thinking. I warned everyone to avoid me if they were angry. We could fight and settle it out after the concert. I needed to be as pure as possible to go to this concert. I was definitely ready to have fun, but it was also quite important to me that I fully grasped the purpose and radiated that purpose in what I did.

The plans had changed to being a bit more reasonable. My mother was going to drive up to our grandma's. I would follow behind her in my car with David as the passenger. We would stay the night at my grandma's, and have them drive us into Spokane in the morning. The concert didn't start till early evening, but I insisted on being there in the morning. I guess I thought the chance would more than likely open up for me to give Eugene the painting if I was to see him early before the show and before other people showed up. I knew in a pragmatic way I would feel like a failure if I didn't pull this off. And maybe having met Chad I. Ginsberg years ago had given me a misconception that famous people are eager to meet their fans. Some of them just aren't, or can't be. I was hoping Eugene was friendly in person. I had heard no negative stories.

The morning of the concert, I packed up with David, and headed off behind my mother. It was a crisp lovely early November morning. It was the sort of weather that, though cold, is complimented and evened out by the sunshine. Sitting behind the wheel I felt powerful. I listened to a best of Kinks, which wasn't a very good compilation, and then David listened to Sonic Youth. It really was a lovely day. We ended up stopping at a rural grocery store in Fernwood. I felt a tingling in my thoughts, and I was feeling impulsive and hyper. In an effort to park in the parking lot, I accidentally pushed the gas pedal instead and nearly smashed Allison  - who was walking in front of me, into a power line. I was literally two inches to breaking her against this pole before I found the breaks and slammed them. I spent a lot of time looking over this situation later on, reassessing how I operated. It had been completely reckless and distasteful. I often times imagined a difference scenario and realized just how close it had been to truly happening. Had I panicked only a little bit differently, I might very well have seriously wounded Allison.

My grandma Marie looked surprised to see me. She was surprised to see how much thinner I was, and looked at my hair with complete distaste written upon her face. She made comments about me being 'too old' to be dyeing my hair, and too old to be going to concerts. I didn't concern myself with her biases. I could tell she was partly offended because me looking the way I did was seen as a betrayal to her and what she expected of me.

The next morning, we gathered up our things to go. The weather was horrifically unsuitable. The wind was blowing like crazy, and it was alternating between hale and rain, all of it flying at an angle in your face more than it did drop on your head. My mom had picked up some kind of crab dip from a gas station the day before, and David and Allison had been eating on it. I didn't eat any of it. Right before we were about to go, David began to throw up suddenly, pushing past everyone to get to the toilet. He refused to stay home though, which was understandable. When we got into the Spokane area, the weather had somehow become even more inhospitable. I was under dressed. Sarah had convinced me to buy a Gogol Bordello jacket, and it was very light fitting. I didn't want to ruin it with a coat, so I had decided I would wear this jacket regardless. David had only a light hoodie, and Allison wore two flannels since she didn't have a real winter coat. My mother stopped at a Walmart, and bought us each umbrellas. She was hoping it would help us stay dry. We would be waiting outside for seven hours before the show. I was willing to withstand all manner of discomfort to be there though, and may actually have seen this as some kind of a test.

The second we walked out of my mother's van, to be dropped in downtown Spokane, the wind immediately picked up into a frozen flurry all around us. I was immediately freezing. The wind was so strong that both mine and Allison's umbrellas busted apart before my mother's van could even get out of eyesight. But we were there, for what it was worth and I was ready. I carefully kept my painting tucked under my jacket in order to keep it from getting wet. The tour van was parked out in the front, but there was little to no action to be seen. Nobody else was there. There weren't even many street pedestrians since it was so miserable out. We managed to find a small area of the building that overlapped the sidewalk, and we huddled up there together to stave off the cold winds.

I could sense that the band members knew we were there. When I first arrived, I had felt confident that I could bump into Eugene and just say hello. I had practiced my approach mentally so many times. It still felt stiff though, and unreal. And the more I sat there, the more I realized that maybe the band really wasn't about talking to us. They might have suspected we were waiting to rampage them or accost them. Perhaps I had overdone it for showing up so early? In the situation, I felt less certain as to what I should do. I didn't want to give up. One way or the other I had to get this painting to Eugene. This wasn't even about me anymore. I just couldn't leave feeling like a failure.

Eventually two of the band members walked by. Sure enough, my doubts were answered as they looked down at us with caution and fear. I instantly felt bad for them, and felt a sense of shame for having been there. I know that simply sitting there wasn't hurting them, but I felt bad no less. We had nowhere else to go, and no money to speak of – else I might have considered loosely the prospect of perhaps finding somewhere to sit. Allison, David and I smiled timidly. One of the band members we saw was Elizabeth Sun. As she walked by with this open look of worry on her face, Allison whispered to me that Elizabeth was beautiful. When Allison said this, we could tell that Elizabeth had heard it and she suddenly seemed less nervous about us. I think her fear was that we would chase her down. I imagine there must have been some incentive to worry. Perhaps the band had bad experiences. Or maybe it was just a quiet day. I could tell the weather was getting everyone down too, whether they wanted to let it or not.

Eventually, our bodies just turned to shivering stone as we sat there all day. We were frozen solid. I eventually walked around the building in hopes of demonstrating that I wasn't waiting outside the bus like some kind of wild cat on the prowl, waiting for the little mice to leave their hole. Perhaps that was what I had started off there wanting to do. Sarah had coached me a lot, telling me I had to not fear that my existence and my whims weren't valuable and that I should somehow disappear in the face of other's expectations. I wanted something, and I should reach for it. However, given that I was now here, could grasp the vibes of our situation, I wanted to reassess it all. Also, I was hoping that walking around would warm us up a bit. When we went around the back of the venue – we lingered about. I felt that if Eugene was going to leave his tour van or wanted to, he was not going to do it so long as we were sitting there. As much as I needed to get this painting to him, I had to allow that respect. As we were sitting behind the venue an elderly gypsy woman walked over and came to talk to us. She wasn't  a member of the band, but she was in some form – part of their inner circle. I had never seen her before. She suggested we go to a nearby restaurant and pick up something to eat close by. We nodded and said we would, but of course we didn't have any money to do that. I felt she had told us that to give the band members space to leave their van.

So instead we all tried to not be too close to the van. It was now more a situation of feeling like an obstacle to someone else. Eventually, the wind died down, and we came back to the front of the venue to warm up. The members had now moved into the building, and didn't seem as concerned about us. I felt more within my rights to be there. Internally, I did everything in my power to not let the morning's discouragements from seeping into my sense of self worth. I had accepted that I might simply have not been able to give Eugene the painting when I had wanted to. There would come another time perhaps.

As we had been sitting there, a small crowd of people got in line. We had been sitting in a line that we had sort of started, but what they had done in order to be first was start a new line, rendering our line obsolete. From what I could tell, it was a mother and her daughters and her daughter's friends and some other people that she knew. They looked us over and made rude comments about us being there. I instantly hated these people. They talked about how rich they were, the mom kept on insisting we all know about the time she slept with one of the members of The Germs. It's hard to describe how awful they were. I guess what I really disliked about them was the fact that I thought they were the antithesis of Gogol Bordello and their music. They were materialistic, pushy, and quick to judge. They were there to be seen.

We slowly made our way into the building through the line. As we did so, more and more people started coming in behind us. This family of people in front of us began calling out to friends and people they knew and letting them in front of us. Under one of these girl's breath, I heard her make a racist comment about not thinking her white friends should have to stand with the Mexicans and other groups of people who were in the back. It was infuriating. I couldn't believe they could be fans of Gogol Bordello and be this horrible and racist. Gogol bordello literally is a multicultural band, famously so. There was a clear half-unsaid distinction going on here, and these rich white assholes honestly felt they deserved to be ahead, and all of their friends deserved to stand in line too, while the rest of us just sat there. I could tell other people in line felt it too and were very confused behind us, but nobody said anything. It seemed so contradictory to what everyone who was there should have stood unanimously for.

As this group of people in front of us let more and more people in the line to cut in front of us, it was becoming questionable if we would even get a front row position. This seemed massively unfair. We had frozen half to death since morning to be there first, and we had been in line for it and everything. I had literally been waiting for this concert to happen since early summer, and now these rich people were just stepping on me like I was nothing. This family seemed to know a ton of people, and it all seemed preestablished between them that they and their friends got in first. I looked over at Allison and David and I could tell they felt the same way. We were poor people to them, and this is how they probably lived their lives. To them it was no big deal.

When even more people were being beckoned to walk in front of us, Allison suddenly stood her ground. She looked at them and she looked at the family in front of us and said 'NO!' Allison, who was always shy and people pleasing had suddenly had enough. I could see the look in her face – she was ready to physically fight them. I had never seen this level of bravery in her before, and I was almost instantly ashamed for having not defended our situation better. The mother started making fun of Allison's appearance and telling her friends to ignore Allison and cut anyway. But this didn't stop Allison. She physically used her body to prevent the friends from pushing ahead. They looked at each other and I could tell they felt embarrassed. The friends of the family clearly knew they were in the wrong for cutting and were embarrassed at having been called out by this young fourteen year old girl who seemed to have nothing to lose.

The family continued to try to fight Allison, but Allison called them out and said 'WE TRAVELED HOURS TO GET HERE, WE WORKED HARD TO GET THE MONEY TO SEE THIS SHOW, AND WE SHOWED UP HERE BEFORE ANYONE ELSE! YOU DON'T HAVE THE RIGHT TO DECIDE WHO GOES IN FIRST JUST BECAUSE YOU ARE RICH! YOU ARE NOT BETTER THAN US.' She wasn't yelling but it had hushed the people up all around us. Some of the people who had been beckoned to the front of the line then voluntarily left to the back again – maybe in self realization. The mother and her daughter's faces looked like they had been slapped in the face. They were infuriated and tried to put their words in, but it all came down to them calling Allison a bitch. And  they were outnumbered. Because a whole bunch of the people behind us had seen this happen too, including a lot of the Mexicans this asshole family had claimed they were better than, and while nobody was outright applauding, everyone had been listening and they started making the same statements and agreeing with Allison among themselves.

I really was growing to be pretty proud of Allison. She had discovered her creative self, had courageously taken up singing and playing a musical instrument all that year. I wanted to do whatever I had to to support her. And despite the fact that my father had always seen her as a little babyish numskull, Allison was incredibly brave and smart. When the people had started shoving in in front of us, I had sort of shut down – silently internalizing the idea that maybe I was unworthy, all of which was second nature to me even though I had done a lot of working on myself. I was so proud of Allison, I honestly had to wipe away a small tear forming in the corner of my eye.

We ended up getting a perfect place in the front of the stage. I was here, and this was real. The first band that performed was called Forro in the Dark. They had this amazingly cool singer who played drums with his hands. I ended up getting my hands on one of their cds and it didn't do any justice to what I had seen live. I think years later this guy did music with Thom Yorke, which doesn't surprise me since it really was a very unique and amazing performance. And then Gogol Bordello came on stage, and it was fun and amazing. We all danced about and had a good time. My ribs didn't get crushed in like they had for Them Crooked Vultures the year before. Eugene was of course beautiful, but what really was amazing was taking it all in. Every member played an instrument. I think there were nine members. It was fantastic. I didn't even want to concern myself with Eugene specifically. It seemed besides the point in being there and living in that moment. Instead I just completely let go.

Allison however, had suddenly been struck with the crab dip that she had eaten, and in the last part of the last song she began to throw up. The venue people came over and gave her some water, which helped. I tried to focus on the band, but it seemed more important to make sure Allison was fine. After the concert was over soon after, we sat down for a moment so that Allison could cool down. It had been a very high energy concert, probably the highest energy concert I had ever been to, if you excluded the more violent nature of some of the previous concerts. Allison had overheated with everyone all around her moving and dancing. We just sat there for awhile, until it was time to get out of there. I had been given my mother's phone to let her know we were ready to come home. Of course it's an hour and a half drive between my grandma's and Spokane, so the wait would take some time.

Given that we were going to be there anyway, and there were also a lot of people waiting to meet the band outside the venue, we hung around the front with them. If it had been cold before, it was even colder now, so Allison, David and I latched on to one another for warmth shamelessly. I clutched my painting in my hand, ready for the opportunity to give it to Eugene. Sitting there in the small crowd that night, I realize that everyone was basically there to see Eugene. I feel like I latched more meaning in my presence there, as I was less interested in the celebrity aspect and more interested in making some connection that would be meaningful, but in the end, I had to try my best to counteract the fact that I was feeling a little bit foolish. Other band members came out, and nobody wanted to talk to them. They just wanted to see Eugene, who was in the tour van. There was a separator between the people waiting and the opening of the van. I closed my eyes and reminded myself that I had the right to be there and that every point in my life was one millionth of a step to where I needed to be. Everything worth having in life is paved with psychological discomfort and some level of humility. I regained some confidence. I knew that if Eugene understood that I had painted something for him, he would understand.

That night as well it is worth noting, Primus and Wolfmother had been playing in the next door venue. At the time, I liked Wolfmother, and I have had a love/hate relationship with Primus, but at the time I was leaning more towards dislike than like. I mean, I liked them, but there was something insane about their music that made me feel crazy. We could see on the other side of the road, Les Claypool drinking a beer and laughing in the bus.

As Allison and David and I were huddled together, Sergey came out, the Russian fiddle player. Nobody was interested in talking to him for whatever reason. He came out directly to us. He had been seeing us huddled together outside the bus and he had been stricken by all three of us as family huddled together for warmth. It was written all over his face.  He didn't say a word as he came over, only smiled the most loving smile I think we had ever received collectively. He looked at us sentimentally for about a full minute. Sergey didn't speak good English and I didn't know what to tell him exactly. He was endeared by all three of us clinging to one another for warmth. I felt like he was capturing all three of us in his memory bank as a picture to take with him. Eventually a very out of sorts drunk woman came up to him and began banging on the tour bus demanding that she was cold and hungry and wanted in the bus. Sergey shuffled back in the bus and came out with a poncho and a slice of pizza for her. She accepted them, and with someone she was with who was sober she made her way down the road. David later told me that she had been trying to kiss him. I hope she made it home okay.

Eventually, Eugene came out of the bus. He's one of those people who's eyes darken underneath and seem to sink into their skull when they are tired. His head was low, and I couldn't help but feel that he really didn't want to meet anyone tonight. Maybe everyone just assumed he was a 24-7 people person. He could very well have been sick. I will never know, but it was so surreal to see him, as a human being walking around. He quietly signed some people's pens and papers. Peopel were climbing over one another to get to him. I could tell he was trying to make this hurried up, and I knew my time to give him the painting was probably in the next minute and a half. He tiredly took some selfies with a few fans. It was kind of horrifying. He wasn't smiling at all, and then they would take the picture with some unspoken agreement to make it quick. He would smile momentarily for the picture and then as soon as that ten seconds was over, he wasn't smiling anymore. It reminded me of factory work. I thought it seemed degrading and without contextual meaning or experience that would make the selfie worth having, but the people didn't seem to mind. Fame is really weird.

I knew he wasn't going to get to everyone. He was just going through the motions and what little he was forcing himself into was wearing him out. So I decided to waste no more time. I gently nudged between a bunch of the people to get in front to give him the picture. Ordinarily, I would never have done this, but sort of knew that what I was doing was a little bit more important than what they had in mind, as many of them were just reaching out to touch him. At first the people were all mad at me and confused that I had assertively pushed ahead, but when they saw the painting, and Allison and David were behind me explaining my situation, everyone in the small group seemed to recognize the importance of the painting and understand, some of them even helped usher me forward, like we were all peasants but I was the one holding the offering to the king before us.

Eugene saw the painting and his eyes seemed suddenly less deadened. He looked me in the face, and asked if it was for him. I smiled and nodded, and he smiled back and took it and thanked me. I could tell he wanted to look at it without the hands and faces all on him. After this exchange, I left the crowd. He signed a few more autographs and went back into the bus, my painting held in his lovely hands – the one I had worked on the den floor and labored on. It was surreal to see it drift into the van with him as the door shut behind him. I watched him as he went into the van. He set the picture down for the other members to see it. Then he grabbed a bottle of alcohol and chugged it and grabbed a big steaming piece of delicious looking cheesy pizza and took a big bite. Everyone in the van looked happy, like one big warm family. The crowd began clearing out. Primus's van drove off. Ten minutes later, I watched Gogol Bordello's van drive away too, a beacon of light glowing farther and farther into the distance in the dark and dank Spokane streets. It turned a corner, and suddenly the streets were silent and cold and alone, very much the way the morning had started, but even darker, like some dark thick substance had consumed everything and we were left standing in no man's land.

We sat against the cold brick wall, and waited for our mom to come get us. It took her forever, but eventually she arrived. The van was warm. I felt empty somehow, and full at the same time as we drove down the road in the winter night down Sprague, through the Spokane Valley and into Post Falls which became Coeur De Alene, past that into the dark rural areas of north Idaho with it's mystic snowy hills and sharp tall black pines till eventually we made it back home. My grandma and mother had gotten themselves worked up in some kind of self righteous mood, feeling like we had really put them out. My grandmother stated that we were ruining my mother's life in a low key kind of snobby way, for having stayed out so late. I could barely hear them. My heart was elsewhere. My mind was flooded with the strange combination of heartsick sadness and this tender sense of completeness. I had done everything I had set out to do. I had put so much emotional energy into this day, and now this day was complete. What next? For all I knew, the painting had been tossed out the window as they drove to the next city. I couldn't let that bother me. I had followed through. But there was a sadness in that very fact I had not expected to have with me.

The next morning, it was time to go. I slept very hard. I woke up invigorated. It was onto the next thing. David got in the back seat of the car. We put in Goo by Sonic Youth and took off down the road behind my mother's van. We hadn't left town yet. My mother stopped at a stop light and then began driving down the road. I didn't feel like I would be able to follow right behind her if I waited for the next car to pass, so without realizing myself I didn't make the full stop that I should have. I was slightly panicked and made the turn. Suddenly there were flashing lights behind me, and a police siren whooped behind me. I couldn't even believe what was happening. David turned around and confirmed it. There was a police car pulling me over, and I hadn't even left town yet. My mom was far away by then and kept on going. For a moment there I didn't know what to do or where to park. I turned into the grocery store parking lot and forgot to put on my blinker, which made things even worse. I awkwardly parked. I was besides myself. Of course I didn't have a license to be driving. My father had told me there was registration in the car, but there actually wasn't.

I rolled down the window, and the officer asked me if I knew why he pulled me over. I had no idea. I could only think of the fact that I had forgotten to put on my blinker. He asked me for my stuff, and I had to look at him and explain I had none of that. He was besides himself. He looked at me and explained to me that it was incredibly irresponsible for me to be driving like I was. I am sure it didn't help that I had rainbow hair. I looked like I had been partying all night, and in a way I had been given the Gogol Bordello concert. I tried to explain to him that I didn't know how I would ever learn to drive if I didn't just drive. He didn't like that answer, but I could tell somewhere in the corner of his thoughts he felt a little bit sorry for me. He told me to wait in the car and he would be back. I felt frozen in disbelief while I waited. David solemnly stood at attention in the back seat. We discussed our options. My one great hope was that I didn't have to go to jail.

Eventually he came back to the vehicle and explained to me that he was dropping the charges against my driving, but given the circumstances and the legalities of me driving to begin with, he was fining me 350$. He told me it would be fine if I left the vehicle in the lot overnight, and I should just walk back to my grandma's house, which was about three minutes from where I was anyway. Ultimately, he was fair with me. This was my second real dealing with a policeman since Roxanne had got me smoking when I had been young. He had every right to pull me over honestly. I wish I could go into some mode of 'fuck the police', and I can on other occasions but on this occasion I had pulled a California stop (I think that's what people call it), and my driving had just looked wonky. Given I had nearly smashed my sister to a post the day before, I probably wasn't safe to be driving around. Especially with the way I tended to drift in and out of magical thinking, seeing symbolism more than I saw reality at times. And then there was the fact that I was so high strung. I should probably not have been driving, and I might not have had my father not insisted that I do so to begin with. I thanked the cop for dropping some of the violations. I believe he had felt some level of pity for me. David and I locked the car and headed back to my grandma's.

My mom had realized she had lost us, and she used this as an excuse to just drive to some remote part of the woods. Allison had to yell at her to come back to see if we were at my grandma's still – which took about an hour or so. My grandma was oddly calm about the entire ordeal. She laughed and told me it happens to the best of us. My nerves were shot. Everything seemed so confusing. One second it had all been this Gogol Bordello thing, and now had gotten pulled over. My psyche was a foaming cocktail of contrasting emotions and levels of awareness. I called my dad and told him the news. He wasn't that mad either. Nobody was particularly angry at me. Eventually my mom showed back up and I rode home with her. My father came and got the car a few weeks later.

Upon coming home, I connected with Sarah and she told me all about how she had met Mark Lanegan. It had been dreary weather in Seattle as well. Mark Lanegan had come out of his tour van. Mark Lanegan is a shy, and at times really doesn't pretend he wants to talk to anyone. He's noted to be this way, even among friends and fellow musicians. He was in a particularly bad day that day, but Sarah didn't let that phase her. Like the devilish little sprite that she is, she talked to him anyway. He didn't want to talk at first, but Sarah decided to charm and humor him to cut through the thick exterior. She asked him if he would do the Egyptian in a picture with her that Alex was ready to take. At first he refused, but she could tell he was beginning to crack and be amused. Eventually, and surprisingly, he caved in and did it. If you type in 'Mark Lanegan 2010' into Google search, the first thing you will see is the pictures of her meeting him in Texas in 2008, and her meeting Mark in Seattle that day in 2010 doing the Egyptian like she asked.

The next few weeks for me were a strange come-down from the previous months. My mind felt really calm, and yet there was a growing sadness. I think some of it came from the reality of the the actual dimensions of what I wanted and trying to understand what that something was. Did I want the something in question, or did I only thrive on the idea of wanting it? I had never had real goals before. I had had countless visions and dreams and desires and hard to explain encounters that I had sensed coming my way before they happened, but I hadn't ever experienced up to that point what it really meant to have a goal. Eugene could not be a goal for me. I still thought he was a beautiful person, and the idea of pursuing him still intrigued me – I still felt this pulse of inspiration when I saw him in pictures or in interviews or listened to Gogol Bordello, but when I looked at the situation for what it was, in order to even make it to a level where I wasn't being anything more than a sort of psycho fan with delusions of grandeur, I would almost have to let go of him and focus on myself almost entirely and let those inner concepts dictate who and where I went from here. Who knows where my own mind would take me. I wasn't going to be able to predict who I would become. But that had to be the starting point if I wanted to have that kind of originality. You simply can't make another person your goal, anymore than a person should simply be means to an end.

Secondly, when I met Eugene, when we had made eye contact, it  had been admittedly different than what I had expected. I wasn't totally willing to be honest with myself, but we just weren't a match. Lets ignore for an instant that I am and never will be Eugene Hutz's type. Lets ignore our age difference, and even his fame against my complete and total obscurity and history of isolated depression. I am not even going to say that it was because I am ugly and he was beautiful or anything disparaging about myself because despite societal norms I actually think that being compatible or having chemistry with someone can take those superficial elements off the table completely. Beyond any of that, Eugene and I were and are from two different worlds, and we were not designed to be compatible or have chemistry. His music and his intellectual ideas had sparked something so greatly needed within me, as well as just being able to see someone and acknowledge that they were physically gorgeous was great for me when I had become so disconnected from my physical self and living in the moment. I don't think there could have been a more perfect human being for me to fall for, because that strange obsession really did bring out the best in me. I don't know that very many people in my life brought that out of me the way Eugene had. But those things were very much reactions inside my own head. They had nothing to do with Eugene.

And I just hadn't felt it. I knew from my experience at a young age when I had swooned over Zack what chemistry felt like. Zack and I had had some sort of chemistry to build off – a zinging feeling between us as our eyes met. It's not even entirely something that requires you to feel sexually attracted to someone or the need to form that kind of bond. Sometimes it can be you and another person and you can just tell you operate in the same wave length and could make very close friends. It washes over you and it's not about choice or forcing it. It's like magnets. There was none from Eugene. Honestly, too – Eugene is very anti postmodern. I don't flatter myself by calling myself some lofty term like 'postmodernist', but essentially postmodernism is very real to my life. I don't like the outcome of some elements of postmodernism and I honor far more highly the concept of originality and a primal sense of human connection – but I can't insulate myself from it, and I don't consider myself some warrior against the concept.  I am living in a postmodern world, and it's deeply ingrained with how I view the my surroundings and identity. I could never live in Eugene's wave length. It simply isn't who I am, for better or worse. He couldn't live on mine either.

He had really appreciated and respected the painting I had given him. I know he had. But there could never be anything more between us, even if I became some kind of superstar that I didn't even want to become and I was the one outclassing him. It had been such a lovely and beautiful blissful fantasy to submerge myself in, to feel like Eugene was liberating me from myself. Eugene took me out of the darkest depression I had ever gone through. I had been so depressed and lost that I had no way of even comprehending it. And now I had to be weened from this fantasy, and while I felt really good in some ways, I also felt like I had been punched in the chest. I tried to explain it to Allison, David and Sarah but they didn't get it. They thought I was just let down because he was famous and I wasn't, or I was chubby and he clearly dated exotic dancers in abundance. It was far more spirit-based for me and it frustrated me that this in depth reality for me could be reduced to something trivially besides the point. I mean, I know it sounds nuts to talk about marrying a famous person – I feel that completely, but for me it had depth and meaning and a sense of urgency in something to live for and up to it up to that point.

After I got back home, after the car was brought back, and things had more or less gotten back to normal, I realized very seriously I was going to have to prepare myself for getting a job. Sarah was dead set on getting me a place to work at Zany's as a dishwasher, and I was going to need to dye my hair black again to cover up the rainbow hair that lay beneath. So I did that. In a way, everything felt darker. I still was motivated to lose more weight. It wasn't as easy to convince myself to do it without imagining I was doing so to marry Eugene, but I pushed myself anyway and continued with my weight loss. What disturbed me was this realization that I wasn't entirely in control, and I had spent the year believing I was. I did everything right. I wasn't pitying myself or blaming anyone even when it was there doing. But sometimes the weight wouldn't go when I worked on it. Sometimes, despite everything I knew and felt, I couldn't control who I was becoming. And sometimes I just woke up and I felt like I was living in some dark dream world and everything and everyone I thought I knew was a backwards version of themselves. Sometimes I felt two contradicting feeling at once, only to have even more divisive and confusing feelings building on top of those feelings and I felt like I was going crazy. Sometimes I couldn't explain this to Sarah or Allison or anyone and I got this sense that they really didn't want to hear me go on and on about myself. It felt sometimes like my inner world was becoming like the Joy Division album, Unknown Pleasures sounds. Like I was entering some kind of hellish underbelly that was psychological and like living in some nightmarish isolation dungeon that there was no escape from. It had chosen me, I hadn't chosen it. I felt shaky. Yet everything was calm and serene and I felt more awake then I ever had been and ready. I felt like something was going to happen. Something wasn't right in my surroundings but it was difficult for me to pinpoint what that something was. I figured I would just have to wait and see what happened next.

PART 83 - https://tinyurl.com/yasrxfkj

PART 82 - https://tinyurl.com/y9wvecz3

PART 81 - https://tinyurl.com/yc7bm62r

My Life Story in Chapters, PARTS 1-80 (this link below will lead you to a list of all the chapters i have written thus far).

http://aleatoryalarmalligator.tumblr.com/post/168782771574/life-story-sections-1-8

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

😎🤓⛈

Okie dokie, so this is officially the first Destiel fic I’ve ever finished! Woo! It got a little longer than I planned and the ending is a little rushed but I hope you like it anyway! (also on ao3!)

Dean was cool, okay? The coolest, in fact.

He drove the coolest car in the world. His baby was sleek and sexy and powerful, buttery soft leather bench seats perfect for long drives or sleeping on when no local hotels had any vacancies. And of course, the backseat was perfect for a different kind of late night activity.

He listened to the coolest music, the Holy Grail that was classic rock. He didn't care what Claire said, Led Zeppelin and Bob Seger would forever be cooler than what kids these days tried to pass off as music. Guitars and soul-filled lyrics would always beat out techno music and whatever the hell dubstep is.

He had one of the coolest, and most ridiculously dangerous, jobs on the face of the earth, hunting supernatural creatures only rivaled by pornstar as far as awesome jobs went. If his life hadn't gotten so fucked up when he was so young, he totally would have been a pornstar. Why? Because he's cool.

He lived in the coolest place in Kansas, if not the entire United States itself, in a freaking super secret underground bunker. That said it all really especially since the Bunker was indeed super secret.

He was damn good-looking if he did say so himself, what with his all-American, Midwestern good looks and gorgeous smile that could charm the pants off of virtually anyone. According to the laws of the universe, and high school for that matter, his physical attractiveness definitely made him cool.

He had survived forty years worth of torture in Hell and come back with a neat handprint on his arm as a souvenir. He had done a stint in Purgatory and come out smelling like a rose. He had fought demons and angels and Knights of Hell and pagan gods and the Darkness and lived to tell the tale. Only someone insanely cool could do that.

And to top it all off, like a scoop of vanilla ice cream on a nice piece of apple pie, he was dating a certified, wing-possessing, angel blade carrying angel of the freaking Lord, whom he had met. It didn't get much cooler than that.

So, the point is that Dean was cool. The coolest. Cool and aloof and brooding. Like a Batman type.

Definitely not the type that turned into a pathetic, blushing, bumbling nerd over his aforementioned dorky little angel boyfriend. Nope, not all. Except that he was. He totally, totally was.

He and Cas had been dating for months — four months, two weeks, and three days to be exact, not that Dean was counting or marking it off on his calendar because that would be super uncool — and he still found himself blushing like an idiot over the most innocent things.

Innocent things like whenever Cas leaned over while they were cooking dinner together to press a soft, chaste kiss to his cheek. Or when he would reach over to tangle his and Dean's fingers together for no reason other than he wanted to hold hands.

Or when Cas would snuggle with him in the front seat of the Impala on days when Sam generously relinquished shotgun, laying his head on Dean's shoulder as they drove home after a hunt. Or when Cas would just stare at him, from across the kitchen table in the Bunker or a wobbly table at a hole in the wall diner, like Dean was the most precious, incredible thing he had ever seen.

Or when Cas would wander into the kitchen in the morning, grumpy from a lack of caffeine with his hair sticking up in all directions, and wrap his arms around Dean's waist from behind, pressing his cheek against Dean's back and complaining about how early it was. Or when Cas would encourage Dean to lay down on the couch with his head in the angel's lap, it always leading to them watching Netflix while Cas ran his fingers through Dean's hair.

Basically whenever Cas did anything remotely affection. Which was pretty often, Dean's embarrassing little habit an almost daily occurrence much to the amusement of Sam.

He thought the whole thing was freaking hilarious. Cas making Dean blush never failed to make Sam erupt into a fit of laughter, almost hysterical as he pointed at Dean's flushed face, making incoherent jokes about Dean resembling a tomato.

He was also rather fond of snapping pictures on his phone. Pictures that he usually sent to Charlie, Claire, Garth, Jody, and now Eileen whom he had been Skyping with regularly.

The first time Sam had taken a picture of Dean's blushing face, Cas and Dean had been curled up on the couch, watching some action movie they had found on Netflix. In the middle of some ridiculous action sequence with a gratuitous amount of obviously fake blood and slow motion, Cas had tipped his head to the side to lay a quick kiss on Dean's jaw.

Sam who had been sitting in a nearby armchair, tapping away on his laptop, had seized the opportunity and taken a quick picture of Dean's bright pink cheeks. When Dean had realized what Sam had done, he had hopped off the couch and launched himself at his younger brother who fled down the hall, his laughter echoing through the Bunker.

Dean still owed Sam a good kick in the ass for all of the pictures he had taken of him blushing. Mostly because it was so freaking embarrassing.

He was almost forty, as both loathe and proud as he was to admit it, he shouldn't be blushing like some ten year old girl every time his boyfriend kissed him. Especially since Cas never blushed. Never.

Dean had tried getting his angel to blush by giving him a taste of his own medicine but it never worked.

He had tried sneaking up behind Cas and twirling him around to peck him on the cheek but it hadn't worked. Cas had just huffed a laugh and smiled up at him, big and bright and breathtaking, greeting Dean with his signature, "Hello, Dean."

He had tried doing sappy, romantic things like spontaneously pulling Cas into an impromptu dance when they were supposed to be doing the dishes. After swaying around with Cas in his arms, their fingers intertwined as they danced, Dean had even dipped Cas, kissing the tip of his nose. But still no dice.

He had even tried performing over the top romantic gestures like bringing Cas breakfast in bed along with a bouquet of roses, lilies, and daisies that he had picked in the fields around the Bunker. Cas had been delighted, tugging Dean into an overjoyed kiss, but he hadn't blushed.

Dean had tried everything he could think of. He even asked Charlie for advice, then Sam when Charlie's plan fell through.

But Cas never blushed, no matter what Dean did. It would have been infuriating if Dean didn't love Cas so much.

And he did. So much so that it was almost embarrassing in itself, almost enough to make Dean blush without any action on Cas' part.

Even though none of his past attempts at making Cas had failed miserably, Dean was far from giving up. He was no quitter, damn it. He would make Cas blush, he just needed a new plan.

A burst pipe in the wall that flooded Cas' room provided the perfect opportunity. And yes, he realized that taking advantage of his boyfriend's misfortune was definitely a dick move, but he was a man on a mission.

Cas had stomped into the kitchen hours earlier than he usually did, typically dead to the world until late morning. He was in a pair of sopping wet sweatpants, a downright murderous expression on his face as he reported that a pipe had burst.

Luckily, his room stopped flooding after a while but his mattress was completely unsalvageable, the pipe bursting just above it and thoroughly soaking the bed and in the process, Cas. Soaking wet, his hair plastered to his forehead, he had looked like a grumpy cat that someone had tossed in the bathtub.

Dean hadn't been able to hold back his laughter, doubling over as Cas pouted about his ruined mattress. That had earned him a rather pissed off glare from Cas who had crossed his arms over his chest, tapping his foot impatiently in the puddle of water pooling on the floor around him.

Fortunately, Dean redeemed himself by offering to run Cas a hot shower and grab him some clothes, Cas' face lighting up at the thought. As Cas warmed back up in the hot shower, Dean braved the flood in his room to grab the angel a change of clothes, picking out a plain t-shirt, a comfy looking flannel that used to belong to Sam, and a pair of jeans they had picked up for him at the nearest Walmart.

His consideration earned him a grateful kiss on the couch when Cas emerged from the bathroom in the clothes Dean had picked out for him, looking much happier than earlier. As he finished mopping up the puddle in the kitchen, Sam told Cas that he could stay in one of the other guest rooms until they got his room fixed up which would be a few days thanks to the thunderstorm raging outside.

But Dean had vetoed that idea immediately. Instead, he invited Cas to stay with him for the time being, curling his arm around his boyfriend's shoulders as he made the offer.

Cas had squinted at him as he asked if Dean was sure, his head cocked to the side like a curious puppy. Dean had assured him that he was sure, leaning over to kiss Cas on the forehead, ruffling his damp hair until it stuck up in all different directions.

The day had passed without any further incident, most of their time spent looking for cases online to no avail. Things had definitely tapered off after the Darkness had been placated and God had reopened Heaven to the angels, returning their home and their wings.

They had Skyped with Claire for a bit, all three of them awkwardly cramming into frame as they talked about the last few weeks. Claire told them about what classes she had picked for her next semester and complained about midterms, tacking on that she and Alex were getting along much better now.

After talking to Jody for a while, the sheriff teasing Dean about what a cute couple he and Cas made until he ended up flushing pink, they decided to call it a day. Over a cozy dinner of homemade chili, they watched the season premiere of Game of Thrones, squished together on the couch with Cas' head on Dean's shoulder.

Still hungry, Dean had rustled up some ice cream from the freezer, a decadent rocky road that called to him like a siren. Forgoing bowls, he simply grabbed three spoons and carried the carton back to the couch where they all helped themselves to the dessert.

And yes, Dean may have blushed when Cas took his first taste and let out a delighted, breathy little sigh that Dean was definitely going to think about later when he was alone. But it wasn't his fault, Cas was just that good at making him blush.

Some time after they had finished off the ice cream, Dean decided to retire for the evening, standing up and stretching as he announced how tired he was. He had leaned down to peck Cas on the cheek, telling him to come to his room whenever he was ready, before padding down the hall to the bathroom to take a shower.

Then, he waited for Cas.

Sprawled out on his back on his bed, he stretched out his legs, wiggling his toes and shifting around to get more comfortable. After his shower he had thrown on a black t-shirt and some black boxer briefs and plopped down on his luxurious memory foam mattress, leaving room for Cas to slip into bed beside him, perfectly content with just drifting off to sleep.

But of course, now that he was freshly showered and dressed for bed, the last thing he wanted to do was actually go to sleep, suddenly feeling wide awake. Grumbling about how freaking typical that was, he shimmied around again, grabbing his TV remote to do some intense channel surfing.

He had just settled on a rerun of Family Feud with the original host when a tentative knock came at his bedroom door. A smile stretched across his face as he called, "Come in!"

The door opened a few inches to reveal an almost timid looking Cas, still in the clothes Dean had grabbed him earlier, a small smile on his face. Taking a few steps into Dean's room, he closed the door behind him and glanced around a bit, grinning at the pictures Dean had on his nightstand, proudly displayed in brand new frames.

Cas hesitated by the door for a little longer before announcing, "I assume I'll be sleeping on the couch."

He pointed at the green couch by the door as he said it, drawing Dean's attention to the sofa. Snapping his eyes back up to meet Cas' he argued, "What? No. Dude, you're sleeping in the bed with me."

"Oh," Cas murmured simply, his gaze shifting over to the spot on the bed Dean had left for him. A small smile lifted the corner of his lips when Dean patted the spot beside his hip, flashing Cas his most charming grin.

Why Cas thought he was going to be relegated to the couch all night was a mystery to him. He paused, smile freezing on his face, as something occurred to him. Sitting up, he amended "Uh, I mean, y'know... Unless you're more comfortable with that. I can take the couch if you want so you can have the bed."

Fortunately, Cas cut him off before he ended up rambling any more than he already had. With an amused little smile, he informed Dean, "I'd rather share the bed with you."

"Oh," Dean said intelligently. "Uh, good. So, you gonna get changed? Trust me, jeans ain't the most comfortable thing to sleep in."

Cas blinked and looked down at himself, as though he had completely forgotten about what he was wearing. Glancing back up at Dean, he admitted, "I don't have any other clothes with me—" he hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the door "—I can go grab some."

"Nah, don't bother," Dean countered. Waving his hand at his dresser, he suggested, "Just borrow some of mine, babe."

Cas sent him a grateful and walked over to the dresser, pulling out drawers and rifling around for something to wear. As Cas perused through Dean's wardrobe, Dean laid back down, punching his pillow a few times before settling back with a sigh.

As another family guessed what the survey said on screen, Dean's gaze strayed over to Cas as he shrugged out of the hand-me-down flannel and promptly tugged off his t-shirt. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of his shirtless boyfriend, running over the curve of Cas' shoulder and the way the muscles in his arms and chest flexed as he balled up his clothes and tossed them in Dean's laundry hamper.

He nearly swallowed his tongue, not that he would ever admit it, because Cas was seriously hot. Sure, he had always been attracted to Cas, always wondering what the dork looked like under his trench coat but this blew all of his expectations out of the water.

Cas may not have super defined abs or bulging biceps but he was all muscle, his arms sinewy and strong looking, his stomach flat with a small trail of hair beneath his navel. Cas' skin looked soft to the touch, unmarred by any human faults like scars, the tattoo he had once had above his hip gone thanks to the time God had healed him.

He bet Cas would feel amazing in his arms, skin against skin as they held each other all through the night. And yes, he realized that was right out of a chick flick but he didn't care, too busy ogling his boyfriend as he tugged off his jeans.

He was wearing a pair of starchy white boxers, so boring that it was almost hot in itself. His thighs were thick with muscle, his calves wiry like a runner's, overall the sexiest pair of legs Dean had ever seen.

Cas was unbelievably gorgeous. So, being the cool and classy gentleman that he was, Dean stuck two fingers in his mouth and wolf whistled.

Cas paused, Dean's nearly threadbare AC/DC t-shirt in his hands, and looked over at Dean, his brow furrowed in confusion. Tilting his head to the side, he narrowed his eyes a fraction and guilelessly inquired, "Why are you whistling?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "It's a wolf whistle, Cas."

"Wolves cannot whistle," Cas stated with a solemn shake of his head, still frowning. "I suppose a howl is similar enough but it certainly isn't an actual whistle."

"It's just called a wolf whistle, Cas," Dean explained with another roll of his eyes. Smirking, he further elaborated, "Means you look good. Real good, babe."

He followed up his comment with a smirk and a wink. Then, he watched in pure, unadulterated delight as Cas ducked his head, looking shy.

And what was that? Was that a blush on Cas' cheeks?

Dean squinted, focusing on Cas' face to confirm that the flush on the angel's face was indeed a blush. He wanted to pump his fist in the air and let out a whoop of triumphant but he managed to restrain himself, the gears in his mind turning.

So, was it compliments that made Cas blush? Or maybe it was something else, something less innocent.

He remembered the way Cas had fidgeted all those years ago when Dean had practically interrogated him about his virginity, how he had nervously rubbed the back of his neck and avoided meeting Dean's eyes. He thought about the terrified, embarrassed look on his face when they had been approached by the ironically dubbed Chastity at the brothel.

More recently, he had bumbled his way through an awkward explanation of why he had been half naked when that reaper bitch April had stabbed him with his own angel blade. Dean had been glad to note that they hadn't actually gotten down to having sex, Cas deserving a better first time than with some asshole manipulating him. He had also noted the way Cas had been extremely embarrassed by the whole ordeal though at the time Dean had simply thought the newly human Cas had just been embarrassed that he had been tricked.

Added to the fact that they had been together for months yet had not progressed past a few particularly heated kisses, at the behest of Cas who usually ended things before they could even get to second base, he had enough evidence to surmise that Cas was embarrassed by sex.

Cas pulled on Dean's AC/DC t-shirt, keeping his head down as he tugged it on over his head, ruffling his hair. He paused as he picked up a pair of Dean's sweatpants, glancing over at Dean's own lack of pants before dropping the sweats back into the drawer.

He shrugged and rounded the bed to climb in next to Dean, their arms brushing as he did. A contented sigh slipped out of his mouth as he sunk into the memory foam, laying his head on Dean's extra pillow.

Dean tilted his head to the side to look over at Cas, not satisfied with the fleeting blush he had finally wrought. Which gave him an idea that was pretty ingenious if he said so himself.

"Hey, you tired, babe?" He asked first. Cas didn't necessarily need to sleep but he often did, apparently rather fond of taking naps. If Dean had a dollar for every time he found Cas dozing in the library he'd be rich.

"Not especially, no," Cas replied, scooting a few inches closer in order to rest his head on Dean's shoulder. "Sam decided to go to bed and I saw no point in watching TV alone. Not when I could be with you."

Dean hesitated for a moment as his face filled with heat that Cas' comment caused. His boyfriend was such a romantic sap, especially when he wasn't even trying.

Regaining his composure, Dean grabbed the remote to his DVD player, pulling up Netflix. As he searched through the titles, he told Cas, "There's a movie I think you might like. Not real long. You up for it?"

Cas just nodded, Dean feeling the movement against his shoulder, Cas' stubble rasping against the sleeve of Dean's t-shirt. Smiling to himself, Dean queued up the movie and laid back to wait.

It was some artsy movie, something about a guy finding himself in Paris through the art and the music and the food. He had only watched it because the summary had advertised the wrong movie, a supernatural thriller that actually sounded pretty cool.

He knew that Cas would like it, would enjoy the music and the in depth monologues about the meaning of life and the inner conflict of humanity. But that wasn't why he had chosen the movie. No, it was because of the scene about half an hour in.

It was a sex scene, specifically a gay sex scene featuring miles of moonlit skin and a beautiful instrumental piece of music playing in the background. As far as sex scenes went, it was pretty good, passionate and engaging without being pornographic or gratuitous.

It was actually kind of beautiful, two men who had been dancing around each other for the whole movie finally resolving the tension between them. And, yes, it was really hot. Turning his head to the side a bit, he told Cas as much.

"This part always gets me going," he announced plainly as though he was discussing the weather not the fact that he had popped a boner once or twice while watching the scene. Before Cas could take his words too literally and ask where he was going, Dean tacked on, "Y'know, makes me horny. Turned on. Aroused."

"I'm aware of what horny means," Cas mumbled, his voice quiet as he rolled over onto his side, raising a hand to rest on Dean's chest. His voice sounded a little strange, a bit strained. When Dean took a peek at Cas' face, he saw that it was bright pink.

Upping the ante, Dean curled his arm around Cas', letting his fingers drift down over Cas' arm, teasing at the fine hair on his forearm. He smirked proudly to himself when Cas shivered in his arms, the angel blinking in surprise at his own actions.

Pulling back a few inches, Cas raised himself up on his elbow, biting his perpetually chapped bottom lip as he peered at Dean's face. Sounding both curious and somewhat accusatory, Cas ventured, "Dean...?"

"Yeah, babe?" Dean answered, trying to bite back the cocky smile he felt tugging at the corner of his lips at the sight of Cas' still flushed face. But staring into Cas' critical eyes made him break and he ended up smiling with a choked laugh.

"I knew it," Cas grumbled, his forehead creasing as he frowned, his insanely pink lips jutting out in an adorably grumpy pout. He poked Dean in the chest as he accused, "You're making fun of me."

"What? No. No, no, no," Dean rushed to assure him, sitting up and cupping Cas' face in his hands, brushing his thumbs over his cheeks. Feeling like a jackass, he apologized, "I'm sorry, Cas. I just wanted to make you blush."

"Why?" Cas asked slowly, narrowing his eyes in a way that told Dean he better think long and hard about his answer. He didn't. Instead, he just winged it.

"Because you're always making me blush and I finally found a way to get you to blush," Dean explained in one big, hurried breath. "I just wanted to see you blush, Cas. I'm sorry."

Cas hummed thoughtfully before settling back down, tugging Dean down with him. With a casual sigh, he said, "We could keep watching. I believe this scene is getting me going, as well."

It was Dean's turn to blush.

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