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Wayword Sons	By : Looking_Glass Category: Supernatural > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 1342 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, nor do I claim ownership to Dean and Castiel. I am not, in any way, profiting off of this. Any similarity to real people or situations, while awesome, is purely coincidental.

Chapter List
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The next morning, Dean forced himself to roll out of bed at 8:15 instead of hitting the snooze button as he usually did. He took a quick shower, threw on a faded pair of jeans and a grease-stained shirt, and headed off to work. Bobby was surprised when the Impala pulled up right at 9:00. “Well, look who decided to grace us with his presence on time today,” he said, more to himself than to Dean, who was not amused.
“Yeah, yeah, Bobby. Shut up. I figured I’d do a little research on Toyotas before that ass-hat comes in at noon.”
They had a shop computer for such research, but it wasn’t much. John Winchester had purchased it brand new in 1994. It functioned, but just barely. It still ran on a dial-up connection. It took Dean all of the next hour to find what he wanted to find out about the Prius and the complicated cooling system inside. I’m gonna charge this guy out the ass for this, Dean decided.

As 12:00 approached, Dean busied himself with repairs on the Oldsmobile that he hadn’t completed the day before. The phone rang, and Bobby said he’d get it. Dean looked up expectantly, hoping it would be the Prius guy calling to cancel, but Bobby shook his head once and turned around, engaged in bargaining with someone on the price of an alignment. Just then, a silver car pulled into the drive and stopped just short of the shop. Dean ducked out from beneath the hood of the Oldsmobile and pulled the bottom of his shirt up to wipe the grease and sweat off of his face.

The car was tiny and looked entirely too much like a sophisticated spaceship for its own good. Dean inwardly shook his head, muttering, fuckin’ prius. The driver’s side door opened, and a young man, perhaps a few years older than Dean, emerged, wearing an outfit that was so out of place Dean almost couldn’t believe it. It had to be at least 90 degrees outside, and the guy was wearing a long sleeve collared shirt and a sweater vest. It took Dean a moment to get past this strange get-up and actually look into his face. He had softly messy black hair and the bluest eyes Dean had ever seen. The combination of these features was striking. He looked like a guy who would drive a Prius. A guy that wasn’t from around here.

The man approached hesitantly, asking, “Dean? I was told to ask for Dean.” His voice was low and gruff, in stark contrast to his odd wardrobe, but in perfect unison with his unusual features. Dean approached him with his hand outstretched. “That’s me. So, what’s the problem, exactly?” He walked over to the spaceship and peeked inside. Spotless. Figures.

“A few days ago, the air conditioning stopped working.”

“Like, it stopped blowing cold air?”

“No,” the man replied, “it stopped blowing air altogether.”

“Okay,” Dean replied. “Why don’t you pull it in over here and I’ll take a look at it.” He gestured to an empty bay next to the Oldsmobile. The guy didn’t say a word as he pulled the car inside and got out, handing over the square black key. Dean took the odd little box from him and sat in the car, fumbling for the ignition. He tried not to look confused as he searched for the place to stick the key. Eventually he discovered a small, rectangular slot next to the steering wheel and jammed it in. Now what? He wondered. He should have anticipated that the car wouldn’t turn on like a normal vehicle, but he hadn’t thought to research that.
Finally, after a few more awkward moments, he asked, “Um… Is there a trick to turning this thing on, or…”
“Oh!” the man exclaimed. “My apologies,” and he leaned into the car. Dean tried to push himself back as far as he could but the guy was still practically on top of him. At least he smelled nice. He pushed a button on the dash and retreated from the car, which didn’t so much roar as it did purr softly to life. Dean looked from the car up to the man and back, and asked, “is it on?”

“Yes,” the other man responded. “It’s very quiet.”

Dean held his hand up to one of the driver’s side vents, feeling air blowing through. It felt wonderful on his sweaty skin. “So,” he stalled, looking up into the man’s pale face, “what was your name?”

“Castiel,” the man said.

Dean couldn’t help himself this time. “What kind of name is that?”

“It’s biblical,” Castiel replied. “My father is a priest. He named me after an angel of the Lord.”

Oh great, Dean thought. He’s a bible-thumper, too. “Well, Cas,” he said, turning back to the dash and holding both hands up to the vents, “What did you say the problem was again?”

“The air conditioning system has stopped working altogether,” Castiel replied, cocking his head to the side in confusion.

“It seems like it’s working to me,” Dean said, wiggling his fingers in front of the vent closest to the door. Castiel’s eyes narrowed as he reached a hand inside and felt the cold air blowing out. “That wasn’t working a moment ago,” he told Dean, leaving his hand in front of the vent. He looked so confused that Dean couldn’t help but smile. “It’s trying to make you out to be a liar,” he said. “Look, I’ll run a diagnostic on it and see if I can find the problem.”

While Dean got the diagnostic scanner hooked up to the Prius, Castiel remained standing awkwardly about a foot away, soundlessly watching Dean work. After a few minutes of shooting uncomfortable sideways glances at him, Dean had had enough. “Hey,” he said, “why don’t you come sit in the passenger seat while I do this. We don’t have a waiting room and you must be dying in this heat.” Dean couldn’t see any sweat on the man’s face, but he couldn’t imagine how he wouldn’t be hot with his odd cold-weather outfit.

Castiel came and sat in the seat next to Dean and continued watching him with interest. Dean couldn’t help but continue giving the guy sidelong glances. Something was off about him. He didn’t speak out of turn, and when he did talk, his speech was too careful- too precise. It didn’t seem to be put-on, as Dean had first thought it was. He just seemed shy and intense. “So,” Dean began, wanting to fill the silence, “what’s a guy like you doing in Lawrence?”

“I’m enrolled in the seminary in Kansas City,” Castiel replied. “I called every automotive shop in town and none of them wanted to work on a Prius. You were the only person within thirty miles that said yes.”

Just my luck, Dean thought. The diagnostic was taking much longer than usual. “So, seminary, huh?” he asked, incredulous. Dean had never been a believer in much. His father had taken them to church once or twice on special occasions, but religious sentiment had never stuck. “Taking after your dad?”

“Yes,” Castiel replied, “I’ve followed in his footsteps. It’s what he wanted.”

Dean didn’t feel like delving into the subject of absent (or dead) parents, so he changed the subject. “Is that getup part of the deal? You have to cover up all the time to be a priest or something?” He inclined his head at Castiel’s sweater vest.

“No,” the man replied, “it’s a personal preference.” He left it at that. Dean just widened his eyes in mock understanding and remained silent. After a moment, Castiel turned in his seat and looked at Dean in a way that made him uncomfortable. “So, Dean,” he began as he studied Dean’s freckled face and green eyes, “you’re fairly young.”
Dean didn’t know whether to be offended or flattered. “I’m 23,” he said.

“Are you in college?” Castiel asked, genuinely interested.

“Oh, no,” Dean replied, still staring intently at the diagnostic screen, although it was telling him nothing new. “Didn’t even finish high school. Nope, school just wasn’t for me. I trust my gut more than my head most of the time, anyway,” he said. It was true. He had never felt like he could learn anything in school that would be of any value in his future professions. Dean liked to work with his hands and actually feel like he was accomplishing something. He couldn’t think of a fate much worse than being stuck behind a desk all day.

“How long have you been working as a mechanic?” Castiel asked.

“I’ve been fixing cars most of my life,” Dean said. “My dad opened this shop after my mom died, and he taught me the tricks of the trade. I’ve been working here full time about eight years now. So what about you, man?” He asked, curiosity finally getting the best of him. “You really want to be a priest, or are you just doing it because your dad wants you to?”

Castiel bristled a bit at the question, but he appeared to genuinely consider it before answering. “I think it’s what I was born to do,” he finally replied. “It’s true, my father did want this for me, but I can’t imagine doing anything else. Almost everyone in my family has gone into the priesthood. It’s what we do.”

“So you’ve got brothers?” Dean asked. “I’ve got a little brother. Sam.”

“Are you and Sam close?” Castiel asked.

“Nah, not anymore. Sammy needed to go off and find himself, I guess,” Dean said, staring back at the diagnostic screen with unfocused eyes. “I haven’t talked to him since he started college.”

“My brothers and I were all very close until one of them turned against my father. He accused him of being too concerned with the affairs of the church and not caring enough about our family. My father tried to explain to him that the congregation was our family, and that one day my brother would have his own congregation and would understand, but my brother told him that he didn’t want to go into the seminary, and he abandoned the family. It pains me to know that my brother felt so unloved. I would contact him, if I could, just to let him know that I still care, but I don’t know how to reach him.”

Dean hadn’t been prepared for the conversation to take this turn. He chewed the inside of his cheek and said nothing, thinking about Sam and how much he missed the kid. After a few minutes of silence, Castiel asked, “So, your father opened this repair shop. Would that mean that your last name is Winchester?”

“That’s right,” Dean said.

“Is that your father?” Castiel asked, pointing out the window at Bobby, who had begun aimlessly wandering around the shop. Dean guessed that he’d gotten curious about the Prius situation and was trying to pretend like he wasn’t investigating.

“No, that’s Bobby. He’s kind of been like a father to Sam and me, though.”

“He looks… angry,” Castiel said.
Dean laughed. “Nah, that’s just his face.” A small smile crept across Castiel’s face for the first time, and Dean laughed again. As if he could hear them, Bobby turned and looked inside the Prius, giving Dean a cock-eyed, questioning glare. Dean just inclined his head once and looked back down at the diagnostic screen so Bobby wouldn’t see him laughing.

“Look, buddy,” he said to Castiel after a moment of scrolling through the results on the screen a second time just to be sure, “I can’t find anything wrong with the thing, and I can’t help you unless I see what it’s actually doing when the air isn’t blowing. It seems to be working fine.” He ran his hand over the vent once more, checking that the air was still coming out strong. “You have my number, so just call if the A/C goes out again.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel said. “I’m very sorry to have inconvenienced you.”

“Hey, no problem.” Dean chuckled, opening the door and stepping out. “It got me out of the heat for awhile.”

Castiel met Dean at the driver’s side and reached into his back pocket, producing a brown leather wallet. “What do I owe you?”

Technically, a diagnostic evaluation was $35, but Dean just told him, “you know what, no charge. Just bring it back if there’s anything else I can do for you.”

Castiel put the wallet away. “I certainly will. Thank you, Dean.” And he left.
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Wayword Sons