Chapter Text
It's not that Dean Winchester’s life was bad. Sure, it definitely had had its rough patches. Very rough patches. Right now though, it was okay. And that was the thing, it was okay.
It was bland, plain and boring. It was chronically unexciting and unoriginal and empty.
He was pushing 30, single, working a 9-to-5 soulless desk job he disliked more every single day. It doesn't help that he actually generally ends up staying well after 5pm.
But lately, even when his friends or his brother reached out to do something, he generally refused. He was just fed up with existence itself. All he wanted to do when he got off work was to go home, have a drink, watch one of his shows during dinner, and sleep. He didn't have the energy or the motivation for game nights or LARPing or whatever Charlie usually tried to get him to do. Even on weekends.
He knew it wasn't good. Saying you want your life to be more than it is isn't gonna do shit if you don't actually do anything. But his boredom had pulled him into a sort of lethargic place he didn't feel like getting out of. It had served him well to be numb. Had helped when he grew up with a neglectful, borderline abusive father and a little brother to raise, working since he was 14 to help pay the bills, to make sure his little brother could focus on his grades. And it had paid off. Sam was going to Stanford now, studying to be a lawyer.
For the past two weeks, instead of getting straight home after work, Dean would go to the bar that was just a couple blocks from his apartment.
The Wearh's Lair wasn't exactly his usual type of spot, vibe wise. It was a gothic bar, like The Addams Family meets The Portrait of Dorian Gray. But the owner, Benny, was a buddy of his and usually gave him free fries, so that's all he needed.
So he'd been coming here every day, or almost, for the past two weeks and though Benny seemed a little worried, he said he'd rather have Dean drink here than alone at home.
And it's not like he was getting plastered. He usually had a beer or two then went home and fell asleep watching ‘Dr Sexy, MD’ or ‘Scooby-Doo’.
This would be nothing to write home about, except for the last week and a half, Dean notices this guy. He's always here when Dean is, usually walks in a couple minutes after him, sits on his right, nurses a drink or two, and he never leaves before him.
And it could just be a patron, except Benny says he has never seen him before, and knows basically nothing about the guy. And for some reason, Dean is curious about the man in the trench coat. Which he never takes off, by the way.
Sometimes he feels his eyes on him, burning holes into him, but when he turns to the man, he's never looking at him. He just stares straight ahead or into his glass.
Except today. Today, when Dean looks, he finally catches his eyes. And damn those eyes. He doesn't know if it's a trick of the light, but they're impossibly blue. And kind.
“Hi there. Do we know each other?” He manages to ask.
The stranger gives him a small smile.
“I don't know, do we ?”
Okay. A little weird. But there's nothing threatening about the man, so Dean feels like he can keep talking to him. For now.
“I've seen you around a lot recently.”
It's meant to be an ice breaker, small talk, but he's caught off guard when the man says:
“Yes, I've noticed you too.”
Well, it's not that strange. It makes sense that he would notice him, after seeing him almost everyday. But it's the way he says it that catches Dean's breath. He's not sure what it is.
With the man's body angled towards him, Dean sees a white shirt, navy blue tie and black suit jacket underneath the trenchcoat. His hair's lightly tussled and his tie loosened, top two buttons undone, yet he looks almost ethereal.
“Well…my name's Dean,” he says, extending a hand.
He doesn't know why he feels so sociable all of the sudden.
“Hello, Dean. I'm…Jimmy,” the man says, taking his hand.
And his hand is soft, and large, and cold from the glass it was previously wrapped around. But everything else about him feels warm. Almost…familiar. Like he's seen him before and just can't quite place him.
“Nice to meet you. So, Jimmy, what has you coming into the place nearly every day lately ? I'd never seen you around here before.”
He is just so curious. Sue him.
“I'm…waiting to run into an old friend,” he answers simply.
Dean doesn't push. He's curious but they don't know each other. He doesn't want to pry too much.
“What about you, Dean ?”
He should have anticipated the man would question him back.
“Just a functioning alcoholic,” he jokes.
The stranger, Jimmy, tilts his head slightly to the side like a curious dog, but he doesn't say anything. It's like he's trying to figure him out by just looking at him, like some equation. The attention makes Dean squirm. He finishes his drink and leaves a few bills on the counter.
“Well, you have a good night Jimmy. I guess I'll, uh, see you around.”
He stands and gives a quick nod to Benny who's busy serving someone else, and he leaves.
When he lies in his bed that night, he can't help thinking about the stranger. Dean can't shake the feeling he's seen his face somewhere before. And what a face it is! A beautiful face, those gorgeous blue eyes, and an expression of…calm. And kindness, and sincerity. He's never quite seen that in anyone. If he'd met him before he would remember. And yet…
The second time they meet, Dean is on his lunch break. He gets a longer one from time to time and he always uses the time to go to the bakery across the street from the office. Missouri's is one of Dean's few comforts in life. Everything that woman cooks is wonderful, and her pies might be the best he's ever had. And he's had a lot of pie.
When he walks in that day, there's only one person sitting inside, and that person is the stranger from the bar. Jimmy.
He's sitting by the window with a mug and a piece of pie in front of him, reading some newspaper.
“Hello my dear, do you want your usual ?” Missouri calls from behind the counter.
Dean turns to her and smiles.
“Yes, thank you Missouri.”
“Go sit, I'll bring it to you in a jiffy.”
She goes into the back and leaves him alone with the stranger. Dean tries to take a discreet look at him but fails miserably.
“Hello, Dean,” the man greets him when he catches his eyes.
“Hi there,” he answers with a nod.
“Are you feeling better ?
“Sorry ?”
“When we last spoke, at the bar, you seemed…troubled.”
Dean frowns.
“I'm fine, man. Was fine then too.”
Jimmy doesn't say anything, but it's clear he doesn't believe a word Dean says.
Dean should take a seat. He should just go sit alone to enjoy his lunch. But instead he finds himself walking to the table the man's sitting at, despite himself.
“Watcha reading?”
“I believe this is a condensed telling of current news,” he says flatly. “Do you want to join me ?”
He shouldn't, really. This man is a stranger after all. But the hopeful look on his face manages to make him sit across from him.
“Are you from around here?” he asks.
“Not really. I've arrived recently.”
“Yeah? Where you from ?”
It's just small talk really, but Jimmy doesn't seem to mind.
“Nowhere in particular. I've moved around a lot.”
“I know what that's like,” Dean winces.
A shadow passes by in Jimmy's eyes. Or a twinkle. But it's gone as soon as it appears.
“You do ?”
Somehow that sounds less like a question and more like a statement.
“So, are you planning to stay a while ?”
“Yes, I think so. At least as long as I'm needed.”
Missouri comes to give him his plate and drink with a smile. Dean momentarily forgets about the man across from him and digs into his food. But a set of eyes quickly remind him of his presence. Dean looks up to find the man grinning at him.
“Something wrong ?” He asks, mouth full.
The man shakes his head. “No, not at all.”
He takes a sip from his mug and looks back at his newspaper.
It should feel weird to be eating with this stranger just in front of him, but for some reason it doesn't. Dean feels perfectly fine. Comfortable even. When he's finished he pays the bill and gets up to leave.
“Goodbye, Dean. Have a good rest of your day,” the man tells him with a warm smile.
“Uh, thanks. You too, pal.”
And he leaves, a little flustered.
It accompanies him all the way back to the office. What is it about that man ? Those eyes, that kind smile and serene expression. It makes him feel all…warm, inside.
Sure, Dean hasn't had a hookup in a while, on account of not interacting with anyone, and he may be a little touch-starved by now. And Jimmy sure isn't hard on the eyes. But come on, this is ridiculous. The man wasn't even flirting with him. Was he ?
That night Dean dreams strange things. He dreams of a castle in the woods, wooden swords, and laughter. And two big blue eyes looking in his.
The days pass and Dean wreckage of a life only sinks further. Work is bleeding him dry. He hasn't answered his best friend Charlie in days, and he never really leaves home in his free time.
One Saturday night he's home alone, drinking, and the apartment starts to feel stuffy. Claustrophobic. Like the walls are closing in on him. And if he doesn't get out he's gonna get crushed. So he grabs his house keys and walks right out the door.
Generally driving around would make him feel good but he's had too much to drink for that. He doesn't want to risk crashing his Baby.
So he just walks. Walks and walks until he plops down on a bench in the park.
It's 2am, the streets are quiet. It's a clear night, he can see the stars. And he feels…so fucking empty.
The truth is, he hasn't been doing well since…well, ever maybe, but especially not since his father died, several months ago.
The man had been barely 55, and he'd drunk himself to death. Dean knew it would happen eventually. He had a complicated relationship with the man when was alive, and his death hadn't uncomplicated things. It still hurt though.
At least the stars are pretty tonight.
“Are you okay ?” A voice calls for Dean snapping him out of his thoughts, making him jump.
“Jesus fuck!” He yelps, turning towards the person. “You almost gave me a heart attack, man!”
It's dark out, but by the light of the full moon he can see the eyes of the man beside him very clearly.
“Jimmy? What the fuck are you doing here ?”
It comes out a little accusatory, a little unpleasant, but the man doesn't comment on it.
“I could not sleep, so I went for some fresh air.”
Dean looks him up and down, and realizes the man is indeed wearing pajamas under his trench coat.
“Why are you crying?” He asks gently.
Dean frowns and brings a hand to his cheek only to find it wet. He hadn't even realised.
“I'm fine.”
“Are you sure ?”
The man takes a small step towards him but stays a respectable distance.
“Look, dude, you seem nice and all, but I don't know you. I'm not going to pour my heart out to a stranger.”
The man tilts his head like he's studying him.
“I understand. Do you need any help getting back home?”
It occurs to Dean that Jimmy has noticed his drunken state. He shouldn't care about what this guy thinks, yet he feels ashamed.
“I'm good.”
“Alright. Be safe. Good bye, Dean.”
He closes his eyes and waits to hear footsteps retreating. When he can't hear them anymore, he opens them again. He wipes his cheeks and decides to walk back home. It's getting cold out there and he's tired.
Things don't get easier, but at least they don't get worse. His manager seems to notice his tiredness, and after all the extra hours he's put in lately, she decides to give him a break. Which means she lightens his load slightly and makes sure he leaves on time. Maybe that's things being ‘easier’ after all.
He still feels the same, but at least he's got time to prepare for Sam's birthday coming up. He still has to get him a gift. So Friday after work, he goes to the bookstore. He doesn't know what he's gonna get him, but he knows he'll find it here.
He walks through the aisles of books, waiting for something to strike him as good for his nerd of a brother. He must look a little lost cause an employee walks up to him.
“Hello, did you need any help finding something?”
That voice. That deep, gravelly voice he's heard so much lately.
Dean turns and is unsurprisingly faced with the impossible blue eyes he was expecting.
“You've got to be kidding me?!”
Jimmy frowns, confused.
“I'm sorry?”
“Are you stalking me dude ?”
“Why would I do that?”
“I don't know, you tell me. It seems like for the past month or so, every time I turn you're just here.”
It is starting to be a little creepy. How's this guy everywhere?
“I am not stalking you, this is my job.”
Now that he takes a look at him, Jimmy does look slightly different. For one there's no trench coat. No suit jacket or tie either. Just a white shirt open at the collar, and a name tag.
“Right. Well, my point still stands.”
“Can I help you find something or do you just want me to go then ?” he asks, patient.
Dean sighs deeply. He's getting nowhere by himself, and he'd like to get home soon.
“I'm looking for a gift for my brother.”
“Are you looking for fiction or nonfiction?”
“I- I don't know.”
“Okay. What about what he likes ? What are his interests?”
“He's an overall nerd. He's studying to be a lawyer. He likes history and true crime and spooky stuff.”
Jimmy grins, and there's a spark in his eyes.
“Do you know some of the books he's already read and liked ?”
“I don't know… As a kid he read Goosebumps and the Odyssey.”
“I see. Did he read anything by Carver Edlund by any chance ?”
The name is familiar to Dean. It takes his memory goblin a few seconds to retrieve the file for him.
“Is that the guy who wrote about people hunting monsters ?”
“Yes, that's the one.”
“Yes, Sam loved those, he made me read them to him, even though he could read by himself already.”
“Then I have just the thing for you. Follow me.”
Dean follows the man through the rows of packed shelves, to a section in the back. He retrieves one from a shelf and hands it to Dean.
The book is thick and heavy, hardback with golden foliage. The title reads: Compendium of the Supernatural: bestiary, sacred rituals, magical symbolism, and arcane artifacts by Carver Edlund.
“This came out recently. I find that nostalgia makes for a good gift,” Jimmy says.
Dean has to admit, this is actually quite perfect. Sam will love it.
“Thanks, man.”
Jimmy smiles as he watches him take the book and walk away.
It's a full two weeks before Dean sees Jimmy again. The first week he didn't really notice, until one night, sitting at the bar he realises that the man isn't sitting to his right as usual. He doesn't think much of it. Maybe he's busy. Why would he care anyway?
The second week, it starts being weird. He'd gotten used to the man existing in his orbit. He would see him almost everyday before. Sometimes from afar, both going about their day, and sometimes they'd exchange hellos. But for the last two weeks: nothing. He almost considers going back to the bookstore to see if the man is still there.
And during that absence, the feeling of having met Jimmy before grows. Grates on him actually. There's something about those too blue eyes that are so familiar. But he can't, for the life of him, remember where he knows him from. He even asks Sam, who has a much better memory than him, if he's ever talked about someone named Jimmy, or even James, before. Sam says that name doesn't ring any bells.
In the meantime, his dreams have also gotten weird. Dean is always a child in them lately. He dreams of sleeping in the Impala as his father would drag him and his brother from town to town. Dreams of having to make do with the little money John would leave them when he decided to fuck-off to God knows where for a day or two. He dreams of his father coming home smelling like cheap alcohol, and trying to dodge him when he would start swinging, while making sure he never swung at Sammy. He dreams about hanging out in the wrong crowds at school, older boys, stoners... Smoking and petty robberies and dabbling in drugs. Nightmares. Memories.
But there were also a few of him being a pirate, or a cowboy, or a knight, slaying beasts and monsters with his right hand man. It's not Sam, it's some other boy who's face he never gets to really see in his dreams. But they have a bunch of adventures together.
All those dreams have weight to them. Dean knows it, feels it. He doesn't know too much about psychology but he's thinking the memory dreams from his childhood might stem from some trauma brought back by his dad's death. But he doesn't have the time or the will to deal with all this crap. Even though Sam keeps mentioning therapy.
And the adventure ones ? Well he doesn't know. Maybe his subconscious is trying to provide some escapism. Regardless, they're much nicer, although Dean always wakes up from them feeling like he forgot something.
He finally sees Jimmy again after these two weeks. He walks into Benny's bar and the other man is already there. But for the first time, he's not alone. He's not sitting at his usual spot at the bar either, he's in a booth with a little brunette sitting across from him. She's got a wicked smile on her face and she must sense that Dean's watching cause their eyes lock immediately. He thinks this is what rabbits must feel like when they catch the eyes of a wolf. But in a second she looks away, her attention back on Jimmy.
Dean goes to the bar and starts chatting with Benny while he makes him his drink. Then he hears heels clacking and stopping beside him.
“Hi, I'd like another margarita and an Old Fashion for my friend,” she says in a sultry voice.
That's the girl. The girl that was sitting with Jimmy. Benny turns to her, smiles and says he'll get those right up. When he turns his back, she turns to Dean.
“You've been staring, pretty boy,” she says with that same wicked grin from earlier.
“Sorry. Didn't mean to,” he apologies, a little caught off guard.
“Didn't you ?”
“No. I just…never saw you with Jimmy before. Never seen anyone with him, for that matter.”
She frowns. “What ?”
Dean turns his head to look where Jimmy is still sitting.
“You're here with Jimmy, right ?”
The man must feel the attention because he looks up at them, locking eyes with his friend. There's a second of silent dialogue between them that Dean isn't privy to.
“Right. Yeah, I'm here with, uh, Jimmy. You know him ?”
“Sort of. We keep meeting,” Dean says, taking a sip of his whiskey.
The woman smiles to herself and Benny comes back with the drinks. She hands him a bill.
“Well, I'll say hi to him for you.”
Dean watches her walk away, feeling very weird about this whole interaction.
~
“Really, Cas ? You call yourself ‘Jimmy'.”
He rolls his eyes as she slides his drink to him.
“Just said the first name that came to mind when he asked.”
“Why didn't you give him your real name?” she asks.
“‘Castiel’ isn't exactly common, I was worried he would recognise it. Me.”
“What would be the problem with that?”
“Do you know many adults who reacted well to having their childhood imaginary friend come back ?”
“No,” she concedes. “But that might come from the fact it doesn't usually happen. Not like this at least.”
“I didn't want to freak him out. Plus, he never would have believed it was me, he just would've thought I was a psychopath. He already thinks I'm stalking him.”
“To be fair, you kind of are.”
“I'm doing my job, Meg.”
“How long have you been back to him now ?”
“Two months.”
She gives him a look.
“You need to get a move on.”
“He's an adult, it's not as easy as with kids. He has to trust me first. Come to like me.”
She sighs. “So what are you doing for that ?”
“I- I'm not sure. I know he needs my help, because I'm here, but he doesn't seem to want to get any. I can't help him if he won't let me.”
“Do you at least know what's wrong with him?”
“He's depressed. He's lonely and tired and sad.”
“Not so different from my kids.”
Cas chuckles. “I guess not. But children are easier to become friends with. I don't know how to approach him. I had to avoid him for a while so he doesn't actually think I'm following him.”
Meg turns her head to look at the back of Dean's.
“Let him come to you. You've sparked interest in him, just let it catch fire.”
“I hope you're right. And I hope it's soon. I can't stand to see him so unhappy.”
Cas was one of those imaginary friends that only ever had one human. Sure he would sometimes have periodic visits to others, but his main one had been Dean, and when he stopped believing in him, he never really took on another one full-time. Dean had been his first human, they'd grown together, and he'd become attached.
So now he mostly coached new and future imaginary friends. And once or twice a month he'd spend a day with a kid, generally those who needed an extra character for their play-pretend.
That was his life now, and he was fine with it. Until he started feeling poorly. Like he was being pulled to something, but he wasn't sure what. Then the higher-ups came and told him he was needed back. That his human, Dean, needed him back in his life. Cas had been confused. His Dean was an adult now, he hadn't seen him in 20 years, what could he need him for ? They told him the man was doing poorly, that he desperately needed his old friend back. Which was weird because it's not something they do. Going back to a human after they'd become an adult, was basically unheard of, unless they suffered from hallucinations, and even then.
So this was all very strange, but the powers that be had declared it divine intervention. Said that they had such a strong bond that they couldn't ask anyone else. No guardian angel or anything. It's still unclear why they care about Dean's wellbeing at all. To them he should just be one human.
But Cas didn't care what the reason was. He missed Dean. It had been so long now, he was excited to see him again. And it was such a cathartic moment when he did. He still looked the same. Older, of course, but still the same nose, the same lips, same eyes. Those hopeful, desperate green eyes.
Dean hadn't exactly been the happiest child. He'd lost his mother young and was left with a father who turned into a mean, dead-beat drunk, dragging him and his baby brother all across the country, unable to hold down a job for more than six months. He had to parent his little brother, and he never had time to make any friends. He needed a peer. A friend to be a kid with. An ally. And so Cas had shown up for him. He would play with him, comfort him when his father got home drunk and angry, and hold his hand in the dark as he cried.
But then Dean grew up. Taking care of his growing brother and crumbling father was a full time job. He didn't have time to fight dragons with Cas. And like all kids he eventually stopped believing, so Cas had to leave. He only hoped Dean would one day be as happy as he deserved to be. Turns out he wasn't.
Cas knew as soon as he saw him that Dean was miserable. He could see it in the tension of his shoulders, in the tired glint of his eyes. At first he never said a word to him. He watched from afar as the best friend he's ever had went through life, his spirit dying a little more each day. Until finally their eyes locked. It hurt a bit, at first, that Dean didn't recognise him. But it had been 20 years. It was possible Dean didn't even remember his existence. It was probably for the best, he might have freaked out otherwise.
As it turns out, it's very complicated to insert yourself into someone's life without looking suspicious. Dean accused him of stalking. So to counteract that, he'd made himself scarce the last couple of weeks.
He was still unsure how he was supposed to help him anyway.
Meg eventually leaves him to ponder his options over some more drinks. When he decides to call it a night, he's stopped by a familiar face sliding in the seat across from him.
“Hi there,” Dean says with a wide smile, his cheeks pink.
Yeah, he looks drunk.
“Hello, Dean.”
“Your date left you already?” He asks, lips pursed.
“My…? Oh, you mean Meg ? She's not my date, she's a friend.”
Meg was pretty, and they had had a very short fling years ago, but… Cas didn't feel he was up for a relationship, and one night stands weren't really his thing either, so it didn't last. They became good friends instead.
“Riiight. She's the f-friend you were looking forrr?” Dean says, slightly slurring his words.
“Sorry ?”
“Y'know. Ya said y’were waiting to run into an old friend.”
“Oh. No, she's not the friend I was talking about.”
“Well did ya find them?”
“Sort of. Not quite.”
Dean blinks at him, eyes glazed.
“You're weird, man,” he mumbles.
Cas can't help but smile.
“So I've heard. Did you want something?” He asks his old friend softly.
Dean frowns deeply, eyes locked on him.
“I think I've seen you before,” he says very seriously.
Castiel couldn't decide if this was good or bad news.
“You do ?”
“Can't remember where for shit though.”
“Maybe you just have me confused with someone else. I think I just have one of those faces.”
“You don't,” Dean deadpans, looking him right in the eye.
There's a moment of silence between them. Cas isn't sure what to do or say. Seriously, how can he help the man if he doesn't know how to become his friend ?
Dean tries to stand but stumbles back into his seat.
“Do you need a ride home ?” Cas asks, seizing the opportunity.
Dean considers him warily. He's just a stranger, but so far he hasn't really given him reason to worry. Other than the fact that they seemed to always be in the same place at the same time. But every time they interacted, he was nothing but kind and polite. Maybe the alcohol is clouding his judgement, but he deems the man safe enough to get him home. He is too drunk to drive right now.
“Fine, yeah…here.”
He fishes his car keys out of his pocket and slides them over to Jimmy on the table. The man's eyes widen a little but he takes the keys and stands.
“Let's go then.”
Cas has to help Dean out of the booth, out of the bar, and into the car.
“Where to?” He asks.
The truth is: he knows where Dean lives. But he can't say that. So he lets the younger man give him directions.
It feels weird to be back in the Impala. Driving it. He remembers sitting in the back seat with Dean when Dean was a kid. Back then he had the appearance of a child too, because that's what made Dean comfortable.
They would play all sorts of games here, like I Spy and the License Plate game, and the Animal Names game. When John started to get annoyed at his son for talking to an imaginary friend, they switched over to silent games. And then he just started playing with Sam instead.
They'd spent so much time in that car, John always running away from something, never really settling down. But that car was home to Dean, and therefore it was home to Cas too.
He parks the Impala in front of Dean's apartment.
“Do you need help getting inside ?”
“Nah, I'm good.”
They both get out and Cas hands the keys back to Dean.
“Have a good night sleep, Dean.”
“Thanks, man… Oh and thanks for the book ! Sammy loved it,” he mumbles as he walks to the front door of the building.
Cas smiles softly. “Happy to help.”