Miracles
I Believe in Miracles
Castiel sat opposite Dean, both his hands laying flat on the table as he stole cautious glances around the room.
People’s faces were bathed in a light that yellowed their faces and darkened the shadows swelling beneath their eyelids. None of them spoke in the deliberate tone the angel himself might; they all shouted and cheered, or contributed to the music in an obnoxious display of karaoke. The dirty checkered shirts and frayed jeans adorned by the rowdy citizens were in stark contrast to the borderline luminescent trench coat Castiel wore.
“They all look like you,” Castiel pointed out, his gaze returning to Dean. There was no hint of a smile on his lips, just his usual blank curiosity.
Dean chuckled as he wrapped his fingers around the glass of beer in front of him. “Yeah, well – I’m better looking.”
Following a casual squinting of his eyes as he scrutinised Dean, Castiel shrugged and nodded.
“See, this is probably the heaven of hell.”
This earned an eyebrow raise from Castiel. “Hell doesn’t have its own heaven.”
“You’re missing the point.” Dean turned to gesture around the room. “You have your wonderful variety of sins here, right?”
“Definitely.”
“You got your gluttony, your lust, your pride, your wrath – probably not your sloth because it kind of involves leaving the house...”
“Sounds heavenly,” Castiel added with a grimace.
“Yeah, but it’s got all this stuff with some good music and no devil stabbing your ass with a pitchfork.”
The angel shifted slightly in his seat so that he could pinpoint the jukebox with his gaze. “This is good music?”
“This is Led Zeppelin.”
“So...”
“So, yes. This is good music.” Dean raised his glass to his lips and took a gulp. As he wiped his mouth, he said, “Speaks for the soul and all that good stuff.”
The words had barely stumbled from Dean’s mouth before the Zeppelin track faded out. He didn’t give it a thought until the next song was in full swing.
“Wait a second – who requested this?”
Castiel’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I thought bars had good music?”
You Sexy Thing was blaring exuberantly in the background, causing the tone of the room to change before Dean’s eyes.
“I thought it spoke for the soul?” Castiel went on.
“Not this,” Dean hissed.
He began sculling his beer back determinedly in an effort to distract himself.
The angel’s eyes lifted to the ceiling as he pondered. “You know...” he began.
Dean grunted through his drink in response.
“You know, I make miracles.”
Dean proceeded to choke on the liquid.
“I expect you believe in them now –”
“Cas!” The man’s voice was a breathless growl as he tried to regain use of his voice. “Stop talking. Seriously.”
“So, according to your soul...”
“We’re leaving. Right now.” Dean pushed back his bar stool, ignoring the shriek it made.
Castiel merely tilted his head curiously as he watched his frantic friend. “... I’m a sexy thing?”
Dean never invited Castiel to a bar again.
People’s faces were bathed in a light that yellowed their faces and darkened the shadows swelling beneath their eyelids. None of them spoke in the deliberate tone the angel himself might; they all shouted and cheered, or contributed to the music in an obnoxious display of karaoke. The dirty checkered shirts and frayed jeans adorned by the rowdy citizens were in stark contrast to the borderline luminescent trench coat Castiel wore.
“They all look like you,” Castiel pointed out, his gaze returning to Dean. There was no hint of a smile on his lips, just his usual blank curiosity.
Dean chuckled as he wrapped his fingers around the glass of beer in front of him. “Yeah, well – I’m better looking.”
Following a casual squinting of his eyes as he scrutinised Dean, Castiel shrugged and nodded.
“See, this is probably the heaven of hell.”
This earned an eyebrow raise from Castiel. “Hell doesn’t have its own heaven.”
“You’re missing the point.” Dean turned to gesture around the room. “You have your wonderful variety of sins here, right?”
“Definitely.”
“You got your gluttony, your lust, your pride, your wrath – probably not your sloth because it kind of involves leaving the house...”
“Sounds heavenly,” Castiel added with a grimace.
“Yeah, but it’s got all this stuff with some good music and no devil stabbing your ass with a pitchfork.”
The angel shifted slightly in his seat so that he could pinpoint the jukebox with his gaze. “This is good music?”
“This is Led Zeppelin.”
“So...”
“So, yes. This is good music.” Dean raised his glass to his lips and took a gulp. As he wiped his mouth, he said, “Speaks for the soul and all that good stuff.”
The words had barely stumbled from Dean’s mouth before the Zeppelin track faded out. He didn’t give it a thought until the next song was in full swing.
“Wait a second – who requested this?”
Castiel’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I thought bars had good music?”
You Sexy Thing was blaring exuberantly in the background, causing the tone of the room to change before Dean’s eyes.
“I thought it spoke for the soul?” Castiel went on.
“Not this,” Dean hissed.
He began sculling his beer back determinedly in an effort to distract himself.
The angel’s eyes lifted to the ceiling as he pondered. “You know...” he began.
Dean grunted through his drink in response.
“You know, I make miracles.”
Dean proceeded to choke on the liquid.
“I expect you believe in them now –”
“Cas!” The man’s voice was a breathless growl as he tried to regain use of his voice. “Stop talking. Seriously.”
“So, according to your soul...”
“We’re leaving. Right now.” Dean pushed back his bar stool, ignoring the shriek it made.
Castiel merely tilted his head curiously as he watched his frantic friend. “... I’m a sexy thing?”
Dean never invited Castiel to a bar again.