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“I don’t understand, why must I pick a colour?”
Charlie rolls her eyes again, and it’s definitely a habit that’s going to hang out with the rest of the things she’s picked up on since having met the Winchesters and co. It’s, thankfully, the least deadly, unless she could eye roll Metadouche to death, though considering what the crew’s been telling her, it apparently takes a lot more gunpowder and dairy products to take him down.
“It’s,” she starts but backtracking on everything she knows about Cas from the supposed Gospels and from the brothers, she decides against it. For all that Metatron’s jammed into the once-again-Angel-of-the-Lord, she would have assumed origami folding skills would be on the list, but then again, Cas has no idea who Deadpool is and that significantly impacted their new best friendship.
She shakes her head. “Actually, don’t think about it too hard.”
“But—”
“It’s a game, Cas,” Dean boasts from the side suddenly. He and Sam had been trading man-to-man heartfelt stories of what-ifs and long walks along the beach or something or another for the past hour, Voldemort’s scar completely ignored even though everyone knows it’s still bothering him. “Kids fold it up and read each other their fortunes.”
Cas squints at the folded piece of paper in Charlie’s hands before tilting his head to the side in wonder, and dear God—Hannah?—it’s even more hilarious in person. Charlie suppresses a giggle, and holds out the cootie catcher again for Cas to pick his poison.
“Green,” he finally answers.
Beside her, Charlie can see in her peripheral Sam’s raised eyebrow and she wants to mutter, obvious, but angelic ears are tuned up, so she doesn’t. She just hopes Cas isn’t reading her mind. Hey, Cas, tell me how you feel about Johnlock if you’re reading my thoughts. Cas sits across from her silently and patiently; Charlie breathes a sigh of relief.
“Alrighty then. G-R-E-E-N,” she spells out with each flap of the origami in her hand. “Now pick a number,” she instructs, tipping the cootie catcher in Cas’s direction again with all the printed numbers.
“Seven, but I still don’t understand. There are no sigils or symbols that would allow that piece of paper to dictate my fortune. I also watched you write in it with Sam’s pen and I see no witchcraft in your soul.”
Charlie sighs along with Sam, but it’s Dean who chuckles into his beer before clapping a hand onto Cas’s back, squeezing his shoulders in a way that makes Charlie want to melt. The older Winchester pushes himself up from the seat, announcing that he’s going to get more beer from the fridge, and he pulls onto Cas’s eyes as he walks away.
“It’s a make believe game,” Sam suddenly says and it snaps Charlie from her observation. She nods quickly before counting out the number seven as she moves her fingers back and forth.
There’s something about the way Cas stares at the paper quizzingly, like he’s trying to pull it apart molecule by molecule, that has Charlie a little nervous, being the holder and all. When she stops, she shows Cas the remaining four numbers that are visible.
“Pick another number.”
“Six.”
A grin quickly places itself on Charlie’s lips, and she leans back, pulling the cootie catcher with her. Sam throws his head over her shoulder like an excited puppy, long hair tickling the side of her neck when she flips the flap over and reveals the fortune. Sam sends out a booming laugh and she feels a bubble of spit land on her cheek from him, but is too amused to comment—maybe later.
“What is it?” Cas asks. He looks like a lost three year old wanting to play with the older kids, but is given the TV remote control instead of the actual game controller. Eyes shiny and glistening with hope and eagerness blended in a mix of awesomeness.
Charlie presses her lips together, but it doesn’t make her smile any less obvious. When she leans over with the cootie catcher fortune, prompting Cas to do the same and limit the space between them, she watches his expression turn from adorable to downright, utter shock.
“I-I…” Cas closes and opens his mouth several times in multiple successions. There’s a sound that sounds like tires screeching on pavement, before he says, “W-What? How did you...But you—” And then nothing.
Charlie’s officially putting making a literal angel speechless in her top three accomplishments list and feels no shame. Honestly, the results would have been the same anyway, regardless of what number Cas picked, and even though Sam vetoed hair braiding earlier, and even though she doesn’t have her Xbox—dammit, Charlie, be more prepared—she feels like this slumber party is still a victory worthy of Gandalf’s fireworks.
Cas is still staring at the cootie catcher, decoding its mysteries while his brows pinched together and his stress lines becoming very prominent. It’s only when Dean comes back with a six pack (with one, clearly empty can in his hand) does the angel’s face change from mystified to horrified.
“Hey, what’d I miss? Did Cas get his fortune yet?”
And Charlie, Hannah bless her, would have bullshitted through this, because she knows how uncomfortable Cas is about this rather sensitive issue they must and will discuss later, but before she could even lie to Dean, the servant of God himself makes it his mission to swallow her hands with his, pushing her and the cootie catcher under the table, and tells Dean:
“Actually, Sam has agree to let us braid his hair.”
Sam snorts, but does a double-take when he realizes he was the topic of choice. “Wait, what?”
Underneath the table, Cas wrestles—quite easily—the cootie catcher away from Charlie’s hold, not that she tries very hard to keep it from him. Calling out their new friendship earlier and smacking him on the shoulder had made a dent on her knuckles and she knows not to mess with a guy who feels like an anvil underneath all those taxpayer layers.
Dean chortles, deep and loud and full of angst, the kind Charlie wishes she could analyze right about now, but all she could do is watch as Cas sneakily slide the origami into his suit pocket. For the dozenth time that night, she rolls her eyes.
“Alright, so you going to show us any time soon, or…” Dean begins and it takes a moment before Charlie realizes he’s addressing to her.
“Show you what?” There’s a hint of panic in her voice, and Cas looks like he’s about to vomit wavelengths and rainbows with unicorns too, because there’s no way Dean could be talking about the cootie catcher. At least, that’s what Charlie hopes.
Dean nods his drink in Sam’s direction, and his brother groans into his hands. “Y’know, the twisty hair thing.”
Charlie frowns. “Why, because I’m a girl, I know how to braid?” She does know how to braid actually. One does not cosplay Lara Croft and not braid their hair.
“I know how to braid,” Sam quips, and Charlie knows for a fact that the giant of a man only said so to avoid banters between her and Dean; she’s thankful for it. “I-uh, Jess taught me. I used to braid her hair,” Sam finishes.
She holds her breath momentarily, but Dean laughs again through the what-could-have-been somber mood, and insists Sam show them. Sam fervently shakes his head, standing up from his seat and says, “Hey, Cas, why don’t I show you your room. I know you don’t need sleep anymore, but you should get your own space too.”
The pair leave, and now it's just her and Batman in the room. She thinks that makes her Robin, but she'd much rather be Batwoman. Much prettier, and gets the ladies too.
Dean has knowing eyes on her by the time Cas and Sam step away from the room, and he places his beer down with a solid thump, which makes her jump in her seat. Charlie stares at him and his wide shoulders and oh Hannah, she knows that look. She’s hit final boss mode and he’s going to interrogate her like the past five cops she’s outrun.
“So what’d that cootie catcher say?” Honest. Fast. So Bad Cop. She only wishes Sam was here to play the Good Cop.
Charlie does a little half shrug, reluctant to really give in, but then Dean leans in and tells her, “I saw you and Sam. I saw the look on Cas’s face. What, did you think it’d take me that long to find beer? I saw the whole thing. Now cough it up, Red.”
“Or what?” Charlie challenges, but then Dean raises an eyebrow that spells do you really want to ask me that, and she finds herself rolling her eyes again. It’s become a nasty habit.
She lifts her thigh, revealing the flattened square and passes it over to Dean. She hopes he doesn’t mind how warm the paper is, having been under her butt and all. When Dean looks at her, impressed and still questioning her, Charlie feels like Dean’s been playing this parent role for far too long, because it almost feels like she’s going to be grounded soon for sneaking out in the middle of the night and taking the car out for a spin.
“What? I was on the run, I’m a grade A badass. I know how to pickpocket, even from angels that are taller than I thought they’d be.”
Dean grins, sliding the cootie catcher to his side. He opens up the flaps, and Charlie sees the same wide-eyed panic that had been on Cas’s face earlier on Dean’s, and then softening eyes. He turns the paper in his hand, reading each of the fortunes before clearing his throat.
“That obvious, huh?”
Charlie nods. “Yeah, like as obvious as Red Wedding.”
“Hey, the hell that was. Those arrows came out of no where. And I thought I told you to never speak of that to me. No more Game of Thrones references,” Dean scolds with a frown, pointing at her with the paper in his hand.
She scoffs, but then reaches into her other pocket, tossing a pen to his face.
“He’ll be looking for that once he realizes it’s gone,” Charlie tells him.
A breathy laugh escapes Dean, but he takes the pen anyway. Another point for Charlie, though she thinks she’s tired herself out this round. Looking over her shoulder before she makes it to the bedroom, she sees Dean write haphazardly into the cootie catcher, and place it into the trenchcoat pocket that Cas left hanging over his seat.
She rolls her eyes and thinks, where would these boys be without me?
