Standing Together

Chapter 72

Dean and Castiel are still driving around in the impala an hour or so later when they notice a police car driving behind them, no siren going but with blue lights flashing. Dean pulls over to the side of the road to let them pass, like any responsible citizen would.

But when the cop car pulls up behind them, they know they're in trouble.

"Son of a bitch," Dean mutters under his breath. "What did I do?"

"Oh, I don't know," Castiel says sarcastically. "Maybe it was the whole 'going 50 on a 25-mile-an-hour street."

"Okay, the street's empty!" Dean says defensively. "And it's a a straight shot ahead. There's no reason not to go 50 here!"

Castiel doesn't think very much of this at first. He's not the one driving, after all. He'll be fine, even if Dean does get a speeding ticket. But when he sees the cop out the window, his eyes immediately fixated on the gun in his holster. Cops with guns are never a good match with gay people, but in the Bible Belt? And he looks like an old white man, which certainly doesn't help with the conservative values in the south. This could be really badly.

Dean parks the car and rolls down his window, sticking his head out the window. "What can I do ya for?"

"Do you know how fast you were going?" the officer asks.

"Would I get in less trouble if I said yes or no?" Dean asks.

Castiel subtly slides farther away from him, as if he can really move in a car seat. What's this idiot doing? Is he trying to make this worse?

"You think you're funny, boy?" the cop asks, though it's clearly a rhetorical question, and he's not happy in the slightest.

Dean's demeanor changes immediately, and he says a polite and sincere, "Sorry, sir."

"Out of the car," the officer barks.

"I'm sorry, sir, but that's going to be difficult," Dean says, and Castiel's surprised by the lack of 'can't' in that sentence. He's really going all-out on this sucking up thing. "I broke my leg."

The cop steps back a few feet to look inside the car at Dean's cast before seeming to accept that. "Okay, you can stay inside for now. Have you been drinking?"

"No, sir," Dean says respectfully.

"You mind proving that?"

"I do not mind," Dean replies.

"Say the ABCs backwards," the cop demands.

Castiel stares at him in disbelief. If that's supposed to prove Dean isn't drunk, they might as well put him in handcuffs now, because no one knows the ABCs backwards.

But Dean fucking does it anyway. No hesitation, no thinking it through. He just rattles all 26 letters like it's nothing.

The officer grins. "Damn, Dean. I can't believe you still remember that."

Dean starts laughing at that. "Of course I do! You drilled them into my head when I barely knew it going forward!"

The cop laughs, too. "And I clearly did a great job, too."

Castiel looks between the two, confused. What the hell is happening right now? Are they still in trouble?

"I really had you going there for a second," the officer says, amused.

"Well, come on," Dean says. "It's been years. I didn't know if you'd remember me."

"Of course I did," he says. "You and Sammy were basically my first kids." He glances at the back seat, then asks, "Speaking of, where is your brother?"

"That's a great question," Dean says. "I'm guessing he's still in California for school."

"Did he make it to Stanford?" the officer asks.

Dean nods. "Just like he said. If you thought he was a smart eight-year-old, you ain't seen nothing yet."

A car whizzes by in the opposite direction, which seems to remind them where they are. Maybe the side of the road isn't the ideal place to chat.

"Want to head to the station?" the officer asks. "I don't know how busy you are, but if you have time, you could go see the rest of the guys. I'm sure there's a lot of people there that would like to see you in one piece." He pauses, then says, "Well, forget the leg and you're in one piece."

Castiel looks at Dean expectantly. He's waiting for the questioning look, for Dean to ask if he's okay with it, so he can say no.

But Dean just says, "Hey, why not? Meet you there?"

"Sounds like a plan."

The officer walks back to his police car, and Dean rolls his window up — which takes an excessively long time with the crank windows. Castiel waits until it's completely closed before he speaks, out of a small fear of the cop hearing him.

"Dean, what the hell?" Castiel hisses.

"Oh, right, I probably should have introduced you," Dean says, completely misreading the situation. "That's Officer Fischer. He's pretty cool. I think you'd like him."

"No, Dean, that's not my problem!" Castiel says.

"Then what is your problem?" Dean asks, confused.

"That we're going to a goddamn police station in the middle of freaking homophobic-as-fuck Texas!" Castiel practically yells. "Have you ever watched the news?"

Dean scoffs. "Seriously? You're scared they're gonna, like, shoot you for being gay?" He rolls his eyes. "First of all, everyone knows you're a bazillionaire, and you or your family could hire a damn good lawyer and take down anyone that messes with you. No one would risk that. Second, it's a police station. It's full of people. No one could get away with trying anything.

"And, last but certainly not least, I know these guys. They're good people. I promise." He takes Castiel's hand and squeezes it reassuringly. "It's gonna be fine, okay? It's gonna be better than fine. I think you're really gonna like them, if you can just look past the fact that they're cops. Just trust me on this, okay?"

Castiel hesitates, then sighs. "Fine. Let's go to the police station."