weary_head | timed to May 28th

Entry tags:

angua

timed to May 28th

The Winchester was empty.

Dean had wandered past its silent tables before, snuck in after hours in search of pie, but it wasn't after hours. It was seven p.m. on a Friday night, a prime dinner hour on a prime dinner night, and yet Dean stood alone in the doorway, pulling fitfully at the sleeves of his suit.

He'd worn the suit before. It was his favorite, and judging by the way Angua looked at him when he was in it, he looked handsom in it, so Dean couldn't understand why the collar seemed so tight now, or why the jacket seemed so hot. The lights of the Winchester were turned down low and intimate, emitting no heat for him to blame, and the breeze through the windows was fresh and sweet. Touching his hand to the flush on his neck, Dean swore quietly, taking another cool sip of water before he returned to the door.

Any time now, he'd see Angua on the path. She'd be beautiful, because she always was, and the sight of her would stop his breath, because it always did. It was strange to think on now when Dean felt so close to gasping into a paper bag, but he knew, as soon as he saw her everything would fall into place.

He'd begun working at the clinic more than a year ago. This last week he'd gone back to school. He had a best friend and a hobby that didn't involve a gun, he had a little girl who he looked on as a daughter, he had a dog and a home and a life that could be shared someone. Maybe Dean had a long, long way to go towards perfect, but he'd worked hard to be the kind of man a woman like Angua deserved. He loved her. Compared to the life he'd known, the island was still and safe, and there was time, and there was no one to take it away from him.

Leaning his shoulder against the door, Dean watched the path for a sudden spill of long blond hair. He loved her, he could have this, and it was time.

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"I would try," Angua said with a grin, taking a sip once he'd poured.

She laughed. "I don't doubt it. Do you know what George is?" Or was, she supposed.

"Uh, a damn good cook, I hope," said Dean, pouring his own glass. "Neil said he was one of his best."

"Well, don't say anything, but he was a werewolf, same as me. That's probably why he's so good," Angua said over the rim of her glass. Normally she wouldn't out someone, but she knew Dean wouldn't tell anyone.

"Huh." Dean wouldn't have pegged the other guy, not as cheery and, well, dorky as George was, but then not every werewolf was a sinister, growling monster. Angua and the wolves of her home world was proof enough of that.

"You guys should become BFFs," he said, "then we can eat like this all the time."

Angua looked amused, and tipped her glass toward him. "Could you really give up meat, Dean?"

"Not even if you asked me to," said Dean, but his smug smile soon faltered. "Well, probably if you asked me to." He did most things Angua asked him to. "You won't...ask me to, right?"

"You let a giant hellhound sleep in our bed when it's storming and he's too scared to sleep outside," Angua said. "I hardly think eating meat is your worst habit."

She winked. "That's a no."

Dean's shoulders relaxed. The idea of never eating another burger was enough to make him tear up, however good the food in front of them smelled now. Reaching for it, Dean pulled off the smaller lid. "You ready for the first course?"

"Yes please," Angua said, remembering her manners and everything. Dean really was so sweet like this.

"'Kay." Dean grinned and grabbed the larger serving fork, scooping a few sizeable chunks of caprese salad onto Angua's plate. He wouldn't admit liking anything with so much green in it, but Dean actually liked this one.

"There you go." He grabbed the wine bottle as he resettled and refilled both their glasses, figuring he'd be needing it tonight.

"That looks delicious," Angua said in delight, appreciating a good vegetarian dish she hadn't had to make herself.

She gave the wine refill a curious look. "Why Dean Winchester, are you trying to get me drunk? You know I don't need alcohol to let you in my pants." She tried a bite of the salad. "Or up my skirt, in this instance."

"Why Miss Uberwald," Dean returned, "are you trying to distract me from this excellent dinner I've had prepared?" He made himself sip rather than gulp at the wine like he wanted to, gesturing for her to eat. He'd join her as soon as his stomach stopped turning flips.

"I don't know, you seem content to watch me eat," Angua grinned, eating more, anyway. She nudged his foot under the table. "This is really good, honey. You picked a good chef."

"So how was your day?"

"Oh, you know," said Dean. "Class, clinic, couple'a hours of homework." He smiled, setting down his glass. "Beginning to regret this whole respectable thing."

"Maybe it'd be a good idea to only work during the day," Angua suggested. And she truly didn't say so simply because she hated the Catscratch Club, but it was kind of a lot, working days and nights.

"Was thinking about it," said Dean, but the truth was, most of the reason he liked working there was because he shared his shift with Roger. "But who'd watch over our cockjob roommate? Boy needs a sitter."

"He is an adult," Angua pointed out. She twirled her fork. "Sort of."

She grinned. "Mostly."

"An almost adult who goes around punching people during his shift," said Dean with a roll of his eyes, but he picked up his fork, finally tucking into the meal. He loved him, but Dean hadn't come here to talk about Roger tonight.

The bite he put in his mouth was good, good enough that Dean looked down at his fork in surprise. "There's really no meat in this."

Did he now? If Roger didn't cool it, Angua would have to pay a visit to the Club. She had a feeling she could instill more fear into Roger than Dean could. Dean was much too soft on him.

Angua laughed at the expression on Dean's face. "Would you like me to go kill a boar for you, darling? I could. I'm wearing my best hunting boots."

Dean gave her heels an appraising look. "Yeah, you could probably stab something to death with those things," he said, forking in another mouthful, "but you'd ruin my favorite dress."

Finishing the last of his course in three bites, Dean wondered whether he should slow down and rerehearse his speech in his head, or hurry the hell up before he ruined it. Stuck between both options, he opted for more wine.

"That's why I wore it," Angua said. She knew which outfits she looked best in by the way Dean looked at her in them, and sometimes by the sex they had afterward.

She gave the refill a curious look, but didn't say anything. She finished the salad, licking some stray sauce from her thumb.

"That was delicious, thank you."

Dean's eyes lingered on her mouth, an indiscretion he'd probably never shake, not even if she married him and they grew old together.

"Glad you liked it," he said, putting aside his own plate, too. Even if it had been meat, he couldn't have finished it right now. "You ready for round two?"

"Always," Angua said, setting her plate on top of Dean's. "More vegetarian?"

"You know it," said Dean, lifting the warm plate off a dish of roasted eggplant, which George had somehow managed to arrange in such a way as to hide that it was utterly meatless. It even smelled good.

"Huh. If I like this, I don't have to join the Dark Side, right?"

"Gods, that smells delicious. I love eggplant," Angua said, leaning forward to get a good whiff.

"What's the Dark Side? Is that what you call vegetarianism behind my back?"

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