Wait and See

A Word From Chelsea

The newest Supernatural book, "Lazarus Rising", has an epigraph at the beginning. Being a gospel of the Winchester Brothers and the Apocalypse that has been foretold. There are a couple people, hilariously religious people, who are horrified at that. In fact a great deal of the publicity that is pushing the book up bestseller lists is the reaction to people who are horrified at the way that a "fake gospel" is wound into the story and how the narrative occasionally diverts into the voice of a prophet foretelling the story of the Winchesters next adventure.

Chelsea thought it was funny.

Especially because she not only knows the stupid, cheesy, sci-fi show was the gospel, really, actually the gospel, but she'd met the prophet and the Archangel playing God and as of this morning had met all of the boys who'd stuck it to the Apocalypse with Free Will, tears, and whiskey. She'd read the whole series in like two months and now sometimes she wondered if she would ever pop up in the gospel one day.

Course, she had the prophet's phone number. She could just call him up and ask if she ever made it into Holy Writ.

And that's her life now.

It's still hard to believe it. The monsters, the ghosts, helping save people and hunt things. She loves it. It's a little shallow, but she likes knowing that no matter how boring and pointless her day job seems, when she goes over to Dean and Cas's she matters.

But mostly she just really loves Dean and Cas and they love her. She moved to South Dakota from Minneapolis for this hotel management job years ago and she never really made friends… until they broke down a door in her hotel and started shooting off salt rounds. And now she stays over so often that she keeps spare clothes there and had noticed that all of the pillows had migrated into one bedroom. She has friends that appeared at her house minutes after being called in a panic and showed up with bowie knives they knew how to use. And she is their friend who winds up at Target shopping for clothes for Lucifer's ex-vessel when he suddenly comes back from the dead.

And she was shopping with her ex-angel buddy who had a hickey on his neck and something on his mind, both obviously caused by the same ex- Hunter.

Like ya do.

Cas hadn't said more than twenty words since he'd gotten in the car. He did that sometimes, when he was trying to figure out how to phrase a question or whether or not he wanted to talk about something. Chelsea was picking out clothes that seemed like what Sam would wear based on what she knew about him from the Gospel according to Chuck. Every once in a while Cas would hand her something he thought Sam would like and she would pick out another one like it in a size that Sam could wear.

She picks out jeans and doesn't ask about the hickey. She picks out undershirts and doesn't ask about the hickey. She tosses socks into the cart and doesn't ask about the hickey. She's debating whether or not Sam would mind boxers with flamingos on them (and definitely not thinking about the fact that she knows Sam wears boxers because of the parts of the gospel where Sam, broad and muscular and tall had had adventurous, vertical sex, because she had definitely skipped over those parts and had in no way re-read a few of them several times. No siree) when Cas finally says, "I think Dean and I are having sex."

That is not what Chelsea was expecting to hear. She spends a lot of time with Cas so now that she's heard it she's not surprised that's what he chose to start with, but it's just so bizarre that it takes her a moment to evaluate.

Dean and Cas moving from pillows in the same bed to sex in a week seems nearly impossible. Dean's a big mess of denial, Cas is a virgin and if they keep at the pace they've been at since she met them they'll both have dentures before they have sex. She plays the statement over in her mind again and realizes that it's mostly a question.

"You're not sure?"

Cas sighs, frowning at the socks as though they have offended him. "Dean says there has to be penetration for it to "count" as sex. But Tony said that sex was characterized by two people being naked and orgasming together. And he had more experience with sex between men."

"Okay…" Chelsea says, making a note of naked and orgasming. She's surprised Dean had it in him, and has a very uncharitable thought that it might be more about Dean being crazy with grief over Sam and having a hard time dealing with being more or less forced to quit drinking before she reminds herself about how Dean and Cas are together.

Cas looks at Dean like he could cup the world in his hands, and Cas is the only person Dean really lets in. Sure he'll talk to Chelsea and he'll stumble through confessions and uncomfortable truths, but he and Cas stand basically toe to toe and whisper together. She's realized, by the time Cas had wound up in the hospital that Cas was Dean's entire world, it was one of the reasons she'd quietly stopped dating him, but when she'd asked Dean if there was something more between them and he hadn't even known what she'd meant she had chastised herself that it didn't have to be romantic. It could be a brothers in arms type of thing. She's stopped believing that possibility after the hand holding had gotten really common, but it could have been true.

"So… do you want to be having sex with Dean?" She asks.

"I…think very highly of him," Cas comes back with. "He is… dear to me. And I want… I have always wanted… him to have someone to… "

"Love him like he deserves?" Chelsea asks. She's certainly thought about it. Whenever she saw him hunched over a book at the table, hiding the slight wateriness to his eyes, she's thought about it.

Cas shrugs, but it's a yes.

Despite how insanely different Cas and Dean are as people, it's moments like this where it's painfully obvious where Cas learned to be human. When he couches his feeling in terms of someone else's.

"Okay… and would being with Dean- dating Dean and being in a relationship with Dean and having sex with Dean- would all of that make you happy?"

Cas shrugs again. "I don't like the idea of not being with him. I umm… I've thought about it. But this isn't… quite what I was hoping for."

Chelsea can imagine. She and Dean don't exactly hang out and paint eachother's nails, but they were friends and he told her things. If this was the first she was hearing about it Dean must be in full denial mode.

She squeezes Cas's hand. "Let's go get some soup and equalite for Sam ad then I'll take you out for a frappachino and we can talk about this. Okay?"


Taking Cas out for coffee is a little manipulative. Something about sitting with a cup of ice, sugar and cream with a little coffee in it makes Cas feel like he's expected to talk. Chelsea's always assumed that his brief fling with Tony had come about be Cas, confronted with a cup of stewed bean juice, had said something like "I am interested in pursuing a romantic relationship" and Tony had found him charming.

Maybe it's something he thinks he learned on TV. Whatever the case, Chelsea's too curious to be above using it against him.

So he tells her all about the last couple weeks. Things she already knows: Dean half passed out drunk because he ran out of books. Things she doesn't know, like sleeping in the big bedroom together has been going on for weeks.

She lets out a little "whoa" when it turns out Dean kissed Cas first, but can't quite figure out how to put into words why Dean starting it means they're both in way over their heads.

And Cas keeps going. Making out all week and getting to what Chelsea wouldn't necessarily count as sex, but is close enough that she can see why Cas thinks it counts and Dean is worried that it does.

After the fourth time Cas says "penis" and the third time he says "ejaculate" in a normal, conversational tone and volume the guy behind them gets up purposefully bumping into Cas so hard the Angel falls forward.

Chelsea's up before she feels her muscles moving, standing in front of the guy with her hands on her hips already barking that he either leaves now, or he leaves in a couple seconds with a chair leg shoved up his ass.

The guys shoves her shoulders and Cas is at him, reaching down for his pocket where Chelsea remembers too late that he carries a knife.

There's a weird feeling, like a second long cold shower, and Chelsea and Cas are sitting back down. Their drinks have been refilled. The guy is gone, and no one around them looks as though they noticed anything happening.

Cas ducks down and picks a snickers wrapper off the floor. "Gabriel," he comments.

Chelsea decides to process the fact that an all-seeing god is directly impacting her life at some other time.

She decides to use the example that was just presented too them. It feels a little like taking Cas's innocence, but better her than Dean.

"That's what Dean's afraid of, you know."

"Being shoved?" Cas asks. His expression is blank, but Chelsea spends a lot of time with Cas. Sometimes he's putting it on.

"No. People thinking he's weak. Vulnerable. Gay."

"I don't understand how sexual orientation is related to weakness."

"Neither do I," Chelsea sighs. "But it's something that men like that dude," she points to the now empty space behind Cas, "and Dean believe is true."

"Dean doesn't think I'm weak."

"You're… something different to Dean. I think you know that. And you know what he's like. He'll forgive other people in a heartbeat for things he'll spend eternity flogging himself for. He's got his father and every crazy macho Hunter he's ever met breathing down his neck, telling him he can't have this and on top of it, he believes he doesn't deserve it."

"So… what should I do?" Cas asks.

"I'm not sure. Give him some breathing room for starters, but don't let him off too easy. He'll come around." She sets her hand comfortingly over Cas's. "I've seen you two together. You're his world."

"Sam is his world," Cas corrects immediately.

Chelsea nods in acknowledgement. "I've noticed. But I'll bet that Dean is Sams' world too. Sam wants Dean to be happy, and so do you and Bobby and I. Four against one is decent odds. Right?"

Cas gives her one of his slow-bloom little smiles. "Right."


Dean's asleep in the armchair when they get back to the house. Cas tenderly tucks a blanket around him, even though he's still in his jacket. Chelsea calls Bobby and tells him the news. She can hear the tears in the old Hunter's voice and invited him over for dinner. She warns him that Sam is changed, but he seems fine, so that he's not shocked when he gets there. Then she sends Cas upstairs for a collared shirt and starts putting away the weak stomach food and pulling out dishes to make dinner.

She ducks down for the salad bowl. A dirty, ratty duffel falls out of the cupboard when she opens it.

"Boys," She sighs. Then she unzips the bag.

Clothes.

Weapons.

Cash.

Fake IDs.

Extra Credit Cards.

"Dammit, Dean," she sighs as the meaning dawns on her. She hears Cas coming down the stairs, sips the bag shut and bolts down to the basement. She chucks the bag into the mostly unused panic room and runs back upstairs, where Cas is looking puzzled in the kitchen.

"What were you doing downstairs?"

"Sorry. Though I heard something. Long day. Bobby's coming in from Mitchell wit Karen. Why don't you get dinner started and while I let Ellen in on our little miracle of the day. We'll wake the boys up in about half an hour?" She buttons Cas's shirt up a little higher so that the collar hides the hickey completely. Cas smoothes his shirt down almost self-conciously.

Cas starts putting together dinner and Chelsea zones out while he bosses her around his kitchen, trying to think of the best way to confront Dean without making it worse.

Sam wakes up after about half an hour. Rather than haul him back upstairs Cas helps him get dressed in the living room.

Dry and in clothes that fit he actually looks fine. Tired, as Cas drops him into a seat and puts him in charge of salad, and a little sadly resigned when Chelsea gives him a chocolate Equalite because no one's sure he can get dinner down quite yet, but fine.

They let Dean sleep. Cas thinks he's needs it. Chelsea needs to give it an hour before she can trust herself not to slap him. But the way he yells "Sam!" when he wakes up to an empty couch softens that impulse.

"I'm in here," Sam calls back.

Dean gets assigned mashed potatoes and clears his throat uncomfortably at the way Sam smirks at him when Cas sets the bowl in front of him and he starts mashing instantly.

Everything is weirdly domestic and normal, the way it usually feels at Cas and Dean's place. Labeled phones and spell books everywhere while heroes make dinner.

And then Sam bellows out a noise like a lion, jumps to his feet and hurls the salad bowl across the kitchen. Chelsea ducks out of the way just in time, and Dean is already barreling Sam down to the ground.



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