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The first time Deanna sees her, she knows Cas is hers. “Like. Fuck, Sammy,” she groans. “You should’ve seen this chick. I’ve gotta have her. I’m gonna have her.”
“Casanova,” Sam says, distracted. She’s trying to frost a birthday cake and doing a pretty shitty job of it.
“You didn’t see her, man,” she says. “You wouldn’t get it.”
“No. I wouldn’t,” Sam says flatly. “Fuck!!” She’s been using a Ziploc bag to frost the cake and it just exploded in her hands. “Fuck!! Stupid– God dammit. Stupid fucking cake, stupid fucking…”
“God a little somethin’,” Deanna says. “On your nose? And hands? Actually, it’s kinda all over you.” Sammy needs to LISTEN, but it’s kinda funny to watch her turn all red and angry.
Sam, covered in white frosting, glowers. “Can you just shut the fuck up? For one second? I have to start all over now!”
“I don’t know why you even bother,” Deanna says. “It’s not like he’s gonna appreciate it.”
Sam glares. “Shut up. Yes, he will.”
“I’m sorry, when was the last time Luke said thank you? For anything?? When was the last time he took you somewhere nice? Did he make you a cake for your birthday?”
“OK, but I don’t need a cake for my birthday. I don’t need to go on stupid dates. Just–” A glob of frosting drips off her elbow and plops onto the cheap linoleum floor. “Whatever.” Sam throws the Ziploc bag in the trash and mutters something about Deanna minding her own fuckin’ business.
“You’re my baby sister. You’re my business.”
Sam rolls her eyes. “Whatever. I’m taking a shower.” Without a word, she storms off to the bathroom. The cheap particleboard door doesn’t produce a satisfying slam, but Sam sure tries.
God. Kids.
When she’s outta the shower, the fucked up cake is in the trash, and they’re crashed out in front of the TV, Deanna tries again.
“Her name’s Cas.”
Sam looks up from her ramen. “Who?”
“The chick! The one I saw today!”
Sam looks bored. “The one you’ve ‘gotta have’?”
“Gonna have,” Deanna corrects. “She’s gonna be hangin’ off me by the end of the week, I tell you that.”
“OK. Cool.”
“Dude.” She pokes Sam with her foot, grinning when she frowns at her too-long toenails. “A little active listening wouldn’t hurt.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ask questions! Have a conversation!”
“If you wanna tell me about her so bad, why don’t you just fuckin’ tell me?”
God, Sammy’s such a moody little bitch lately. She turned fourteen a month ago and it’s like…you can’t tell her anything, she can’t be assed to have an actual conversation, everything’s horrible and everyone’s out to get her and nobody understands her.
Melodrama. All the time.
Her little boyfriend – well…the thirty-year-old freak basically molesting her – certainly doesn’t help. Luke is SUCH a creep.
“Fine,” Deanna sighs. She makes herself comfortable on the cheap leather couch and mutes whatever boring-ass nature documentary Sammy was watching. “Fiiiiine. So. As I was saying, her name’s Castiel.”
Sam looks at her weird. “Wait, Cas is Castiel?”
“Yeah??”
“Dude, you’re so fucked,” she laughs.
“Whaddaya mean?”
“Castiel Novak? Novak Farms? Her dad’s a preacher?? Like, super fire and brimstone, ‘All gays are goin’ to Hell’, that kinda preacher??” Her voice gets higher and smarmier and more smirky-disbelieving with every question.
Well. That’s a kink in her plan. Deanna frowns. “How in the hell d’you even know that?”
“Her brother’s in my grade,” Sam says. “Jimmy.”
“Is this Jimmy kid like his daddy?” Deanna says dubiously. She’s gonna have to make some tweaks to her whole “possessing Cas for the rest of her life” thing if her dad and her brother are God-bothering freaks.
“Oh, yeah. Major evangelical vibes.”
“Huh.” So is Cas a good little church mouse too? There’s a question.
“You’re barkin’ up the wrong tree. I’d find some other girl to torment,” Sam advises.
Deanna kicks her. “Can it.”
“You can it.”
“I’m not tormenting her. I’m just gonna show her she’s mine.”
Her sister frowns. “You’re makin’ it sound like she belongs to you.”
Deanna frowns right back. “She does.”
You think Sammy woulda learned up by now: Deanna gets the girl. That’s just how it goes. Look, she loves the shit out of Sam, but the kid can be seriously slow on the uptake sometimes.
“She just doesn’t know it yet, right?” Sam says, unimpressed.
Deanna ignores the sarcasm ‘cause she’s just that patient. “Exactly. I’ll sit with her at lunch tomorrow and tell her the score. Then we’ll go from there.”
Sam grabs the remote and turns the volume back on. “Good luck with that.”
Bitch.
~~~
The very next day, Deanna strolls into the cafeteria and ignores her friends. They’re OK, but this isn't about them.
Cas Novak sits alone at a table in the corner with her back against the wall. She’s surrounded by books and folders and papers and she keeps her head down low. She’s got everything set up like a fort, almost. Like she’s trying to hide from the rest of the student body.
Shy. Deanna likes shy.
She plops down next to Cas. “Hey.”
The poor kid jumps about ten feet. She even shrieks a little.
Deanna snickers. “Dude. Calm down.”
Cas balls her hands into fists and presses herself into the wall. “You scared me,” she says softly.
Deanna’s not gonna say sorry, ‘cause she’s not, but she does try to soften herself a little. She smiles. “Wasn’t tryin’ to scare you, gorgeous. I just wanted to say hi.”
“Um. Hi.”
“Hi,” Deanna says. She scooches towards Cas until their legs are touching. “That can’t be comfortable.”
“I’m fine.”
“Just relax, man.”
“I was relaxed,” Cas mumbles. Until you came over here and started bothering me, is left unsaid.
Deanna’s kinda annoyed, but she tries to get her temper under control – for Cas’s sake. Can’t start a relationship with anger!
“Here, let’s start over.” Deanna sticks out a hand – Cas seems like the kind of girl who can appreciate a good handshake. “I’m Deanna. Winchester.”
Cas shakes her hand. “I know who you are. We have English together.”
“OK. Good, that’s good. You’re Castiel, huh? Novak?”
“Cas is fine,” Cas says. She still seems suspicious, tightly-wound.
“OK, cool. Cas, then. Yanno, I like what you have to say in class. You’re pretty smart.”
That gets a tentative smile out of Cas, but it’s tinged with this awkward kind of sadness Deanna wants to fix. “You don’t have to butter me up.”
“Huh?”
“You want me to look over your Lord of the Flies essay, right? Or write it for you? I know you have a D in English, so–”
Deanna sees red. OK, first of all, how dare Cas?? She seriously thinks Deanna’s shallow enough to waste her time buttering her up ‘cause she wants homework help? Yeah, right. Also?? How the fuck does she know she has a D? That’s literally none of her business. Little bitch. Deanna forces herself to take a deep, deep breath and comforts herself with the image of Cas, red in the face and crying for another finger inside her.
It works. Kinda.
“No,” she says. “That’s not why I came over here. I came over here ‘cause I think you’re cool and I wanna be friends.”
That seems to take the wind out of Cas’s self-righteous sails. “Wait, what?”
“Yeah. I like you.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I wanna get to know you, kid.”
“I don’t get it.” Cas shakes her head. “You’re popular. Everybody likes you. Why–” She pales. “Oh. You’re making fun of me.”
Oh. Shit. “I’m not makin’ fun of you!” Deanna says. “Why don’t you believe me?”
“Because nobody wants to get to know me,” Cas says. She tightens her grip on the book she’s been reading – Catcher in the Rye – and tries to scoot away before meeting more wall. “Nobody wants to be my friend.”
Deanna doesn’t usually feel much for other people, but her heart kinda breaks for Castiel. Like. She’s been at this school for six months and she genuinely didn’t realize the pretty little thing existed until a week ago.
“Well, I’m not just anybody. I’m Deanna fuckin’ Winchester, and I’m gonna be your friend, OK?”
Cas smiles, practically trembling. “OK.”
“D’you believe me?”
A nervous little nod. “...yeah.”
All-fuckin’-right.
~~~
Deanna sits with Cas every day at lunch for the rest of the week. She asks lots of questions and learns even more. Cas is seventeen, her favorite thing in the world is reading, and her favorite place in the world is her family’s peach grove. She also gets some more info on the stuff she already knows: her daddy is a preacher, a fire-and-brimstone Baptist. Novak Farms produces a bunch of shit, from pork to oranges to cabbage to cowhide. Her daddy’s rich as sin. Got a whole network of people who live and work on the farm so he can spend his time hollering about hell and damnation and keeping a close eye on his children.
Jimmy is Cas’s only brother and he’s just as holy-rolling as Charles Novak. Chuck, not Charlie, Cas corrected her firmly on Tuesday. Charlie was Daddy’s daddy, and he was a heretic.
“My little sister knows your little brother,” Deanna says that same day. “Says they’re in the same class at school.”
This little slice of Georgia nowhere has just enough people to fill a couple schools and supply the paper mill where most of Dad’s drinking buddies work. Not Dad, of course. He’s not trashy like that.
Cas screws up her face for a second, thoughtful. “Is your little sister…Samantha?”
“Yeah. Has Jimmy mentioned her?”
Cas’s cheeks go red. “Um…yes.”
“What?”
“He…” Cas bites her lip and Deanna just about starts barking. God, she’s hot. “He hasn’t been…kind. Please don’t be mad.”
Deanna frowns. This…might be hard. ‘Cause she knows what lots of people think of them: There’s those white trash Winchesters, there’s their drug-dealing daddy, there’s that little girl running around with a grown man, there’s the bulldyke daughter. She knows it. She’s heard it. But Sammy – you don’t just shit on Sammy. That’s her baby fuckin’ sister.
“Do you think badly about her?” she challenges.
Cas’s blue eyes shoot wide. “No! Of course not! I don’t know her. It wouldn’t be fair to judge her.”
Deanna grunts. She’s placated for NOW, but that could change in a fuckin’ instant. She doesn’t play about Sammy.
On Friday, Deanna feels like she knows enough about her shy little buddy to strike. “Soo…are you busy after school?”
“Why?”
“I’m wondering if you wanna come over,” Deanna says. “We could watch a movie or…something.” She waggles her eyebrows, unsure if Cas will get the innuendo or not.
Cas blushes bright pink, but she doesn’t say anything. Hm. Can’t quite tell if she gets it, but…whatever. She’s got time.
Ugh, she’s so CUTE. Long black curls, big blue eyes, pale skin, a pretty mouth with those pouty lips. GOD, she just wants to shove her fingers in Cas’s mouth and tell her to suck.
“Oh, I dunno…” She can hear the squeak of Cas’s sneakers as she scuffs ‘em on the cheap flooring. “Daddy, he prefers for us to come straight home.”
“Well, howzabout I come to you?”
Cas pulls a face. “I– I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. We don’t really have people over…”
“Why?”
“Daddy just prefers–”
“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” Deanna groans. “You’ve gotta cut the apron strings, Cassie. D’you always do what he says?”
“Um? Yes? He’s my father?”
Jesus fuckin’ Christ. “Then ask him if I can come over.”
“When?”
“This weekend,” Deanna decides. “Saturday, maybe. I’ll sleep over.”
“Oh. Um. We have church on Sunday morning, I don’t think–”
And never let it be said Deanna won’t sacrifice anything for pussy, because she says, “I’ll go to church with you guys.”
Sigh.
~~~
According to Cas, it took one hour and lots of promises to convince Father Douchebag to allow Deanna over for a sleepover. Apparently he had to pray over it. Like. A lot. Absolute freak behavior, but whatever.
“Soo…” Sam says on Saturday morning, smirking as Deanna gets herself ready. “Are you actually doing this?”
“Yep,” Deanna says, popping the ‘P.’ She throws her hair up in a ponytail and inspects it. “Does this look straight to you?”
Sam snorts. “You? Straight? Never.”
“God, you’re such a brat. I mean the fuckin’ ponytail.”
Sam helps her fix her hair and makes her change her outfit twice before she deems her “ready” to seduce Cas, while still playing the modest-good-girl role. Deanna appreciates the assistance. She’s a damn fine dresser, her make-up’s always flawless, blahblahblah, but dear old dad is conservative enough that her usual outfits might send him into fits.
She settles on a pair of blue jeans and one of Sammy’s little girl cardigans over a white T-shirt. It’s the best they can do. Deanna ties her Chucks and kisses Sam on the cheek. “Tell Lucifer to fuck off for me.”
“Dee-nuh,” Sam says. “Stop it. His friggin’ name isn’t–”
“He’s gotta be the devil if he’s diddling a child!” she sing-songs.
It’s a tired argument. Luke’s been after Sam since the sixth grade and Dad’s shotgun – wielded by Deanna herself, fuckin’ duh – didn’t chase him off. She tried. But Dad said it was good to have a man lookin’ out for their baby and Luke hasn’t beat on her or anything, so Deanna kiiiiiinda just had to give it up. She’s not happy about it. It's whatever.
“He’s not diddling me,” Sam says. “You were eatin’ pussy when you were younger than me, so–”
“Alright, alright. Calm down. Just tell him your big sister said fuck off, that’s all you gotta do.” She ruffles the kid’s hair and hops in the Impala.
Alright.
Let’s fuckin’ go.
~~~
When Deanna knocks on the door of the palatial fuckin’ home, she finds herself almost…nervous. Like. What the hell?? She’s NEVER nervous! But Novak farms is fucking HUGE. The orchards literally go as far as the eye can see – and that’s not an expression. She quite literally cannot see the end of the orchards. Just. Trees fuckin’ everywhere. Deanna can hear people hollering and shouting behind the house as they…dunno, do whatever people who work on a farm do. There’s the lowing of cattle and some kind of clanging noise that echoes all the property.
As for the house itself, it’s like a damn castle. There’s literal turrets. It’s nothing like the McMansions that dot the richer areas of town, it’s all white columns and windows and a damn cupola like the state capitol building.
Shit, dude. Deanna’s never been around so much wealth in her life. She’s not intimidated, but she’s kinda…mad. Like. No one needs this much money.
The door is opened before Deanna can start really stewing. There’s a littler Cas clone, black-haired and blue-eyed, but his mouth’s turned down and his arms are crossed. The little brother.
“Deanna,” the kid says prissily.
“Yep, that’s me!” She grins and he doesn’t return it. Honestly, the expression on his face is more like a grimace. Yikes. “You’re Jimmy, huh?”
“Yes.” He just sorta…stands there.
You’re blocking the doorway, dipshit, she doesn’t say. “Well. Nice to meet you.” She offers him a hand to shake.
He deigns to take it. “Nice to meet you too.”
Awkward. Fucking. Silence.
Before Deanna can do something stupid, like tell the buttoned-up little freak that he looks like a fag, a man appears behind him. He’s tall, with a neatly-trimmed beard and clothes that are way too formal for a Saturday.
“You must be Deanna.”
“Yessir. You must be Pastor Novak.”
He smiles beatifically. Sir. Pastor. That was the right thing to say. “Come on in, Deanna. Jimmy, move aside.”
She was kiiiiiinda expecting a Call me Chuck!! sorta thing, but apparently not. Prick. Instead, she says, “Nice to meet you, sir” and follows him inside. Jimmy gives her a fussy little glare. Deanna considers asking where Cas is, but she’s got a feeling Daddy Chuck is planning on interrogating her.
Sure enough, he walks her to a huge dining room and directs her — and Jimmy, for some fucking reason?? – to sit down at a dining table big enough to seat an army. She sits down on Chuck’s left-hand side, right across from Jimmy, all smiles.
There’s a moment of silence. “Castiel is in the kitchen preparing dinner,” Chuck says.
“Ah,” Deanna responds, not sure what the fuck that has to do with her.
“I’d like to ask you a few questions, Deanna, and then you may go help her in the kitchen.”
“Sure thing, sir!” she chirps. He’s…having her over for dinner…and she’s making the fucking dinner?? Aren’t Christians all concerned about guests and hospitality?? What the fuck.
Chuck nods. “My son will observe.”
“OK…?”
“Castiel tells me your friendship has come on rather suddenly,” the pastor says. “One day you were cavorting around with the ‘popular kids’,” he says, with honest to God air quotes, “and the next day, you’re sitting with her at lunch and inviting her for a sleepover. What are your intentions with my daughter?”
She blinks. What. The. Hell. “Um…I don’t have any particular intentions here. I like Cas…tiel,” she finishes when he raises his eyebrows at the nickname. Stuffy jack-wad. “She’s very nice, sir. I like hanging out with her. I wanted to– branch out,” she finishes awkwardly.
I wanna fuck your daughter so hard she screams. I want her to realize EXACTLY who she belongs to. I want her to get the fuck out of your creepy patriachal freak house and come live with me. I wanna lock her in my basement so she can never leave.
“Hmm…” Chuck says, and doesn’t say much else.
“Hmm…” Jimmy echoes.
“I don’t have any, uh, ill intentions, sir. I just wanted to make a new friend.”
“Well,” he says, kinda like he’s admitting something, “my daughter doesn’t have many friends. It is nice to see her with a well-meaning companion. You can’t deny that.”
Deanna doesn’t respond.
“That said,” Chuck continues. “I want only good influences around my Castiel. She’s very precious to me, Deanna.”
“I understand that, sir,” she says. “If I had a daughter, I’d want good influences around her too.” Once again: what. the. hell. She feels like he’s about to start asking her to recite Bible verses or something.
And apparently she’s pretty fucking close, ‘cause he says, “Are you a woman of faith, Deanna?”
Jesus Christ on a goddamn pony. If she lies, he might ask what church she goes to or…or ask her to name her favorite parable or something. No fuckin’ idea.
“No, sir,” she says carefully, “but I’m…spiritually curious. I want to be a person of faith and I’m– I’m very interested in exploring that. And…” She searches for the right words. “And finding…and accepting…Jesus. Uh. Into my heart.”
For the first time since she arrived, Pastor Douchebag looks mildly approving. “I see.”
“May I ask a question?” Jimmy says.
Oh. Damn, Deanna completely forgot he was here. The kid’s sitting on the very edge of his uncomfortable-ass chair. Practically vibrating.
“Uh, sure,” she says.
“It’s about your younger sister.”
OhmyfuckingGOD. “Yeah?” she says tightly. If he gets shitty about Sam, she might just blow this whole thing up. Might start throwing punches.
“As I understand it,” Jimmy says, his voice snotty and superior, “your sister has a boyfriend.”
“She does, yeah.”
“I personally think eighth grade is too young for boyfriends,” he says.
Oh, God. THAT’S the worry? Well, you’re clearly never getting laid until your wedding night, you slimy little dweeb. God…how to go about this… “Sammy is her own person,” she says. “And our dad is OK with it – you’ve gotta obey your dad’s rules right?” she asks reasonably. “And that includes stuff he’s OK with.”
Ahhh…got him right where it hurts.
“Yes,” Jimmy says, “it’s good to obey your dad, of course, but–”
Thankfully he doesn’t mention that Sammy’s boyfriend is a grown-ass pedo freak who picks her up on his motorcycle from the freakin’ junior high. Maybe he thinks Luke is their dad?
Yikes.
She suffers through a few more minutes of stilted conversation, unsure if she’s passing their stupid invisible test or not. When the silence spreads a little too thin, Chuck sends her through a heavy swinging door into their kitchen.
And holy fuckin’ shit, man.
This kitchen could fit two of her shitty apartment. It’s HUGE. So fuckin’ shiny her eyes basically burn. The sink is gigantic, there’s pots and pans hanging from the ceiling, everything’s stainless steel, and everything’s clean as a whistle.
Cas is elbow-deep in some kind of meat and veggie filling. But when she turns around, she gets all bright and happy. “Deanna!” she says. “Hi! I– honestly, I wasn’t sure if you were coming or not! I’m so excited you’re here!”
The simple excitement just warms her right up, inside and out. A couple days ago, they didn’t even know each other. Now, she’s sleeping over at her fucking mansion and going to church with her tomorrow.
The things I do for pussy,
“Of course I came,” she says. “Just chatted with your dad and Jimmy for a second, that’s why I’m late.”
“Oh, jeez.” Cas smiles guiltily. “I– um.” She looks at the swinging door and lowers her voice to a whisper. “Sorry. Did he give you the business?”
“Yeah.” Whatever the hell that means. She smiles. “No worries.”
“OK. He’s, uh, he’s just protective.”
“Whatever.” She waves her off. “I was told you needed some help with dinner.”
Cas finally smiles right back. “Yeah, c’mere.”
Well. Time to make some fuckin’ dinner.
~~~
Cas’s room is…babyish. Like, the walls are painted this pale pink and there’s framed posters of stylized Bible verses everywhere. FEARFULLY AND WONDERFULLY MADE on purple paper with gold flowers everywhere, that kinda thing. A bed that’s just like everything else in this house: fucking huge. Four poster bed, a canopy, and this huge white duvet with little stars all over it. There’s a Bible on her side table and a small bookshelf that’s totally full to bursting in one corner. White wicker furniture like it’s the friggin’ 80s or something. A honey-colored hope chest at the foot of the gigantic bed.
“You can put your sleeping bag here,” Cas says, pointing to the space next to the bed. She’s laid out one of those sleeping pad things, like the kind you’re supposed to stick under your sleeping bag when you’re camping on hard ground.
“Ohhhh… Oh, shit.” Deanna bites her lip and watches Cas’s eyes widen a little bit. She fights a grin. ‘Cause here’s phase one of her plan. “I forgot a sleeping bag. Crap, Cas, I’m so sorry.”
“Oh!” Cas says. “It’s OK! You can–”
“I can just sleep on the pad,” she says, giving it a little poke with her toe. “I’m sure it’s fine. If I could maybe borrow a blanket–”
“No, no, it’s OK! Why don’t you sleep in my bed?” Completely guileless. Totally innocent. Smiley little sweetheart.
“Oh, sure!” she says, like it hasn’t occurred to her at all. “Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks.”
“As long as you don’t snore,” Cas teases.
Castiel? Making a joke? THAT’S a damn surprise. “No promises.” She sticks her tongue out and fights the wolfish sneer that’s trying its best to spread across her face, ‘cause she’s got her baby RIGHT where she wants her.
It’s only 8:30, but they’re in pajamas. Cas has a very strict bedtime, 9:00pm nightly, and she never stays up any later.
“Well,” she whispers, like her dad’s listening at the door or something, “that’s not entirely true. I do stay up late reading sometimes.”
“You are SUCH a fucking dork,” Deanna says fondly.
It takes Cas a second to realize she’s just joshing her. “Not everyone’s a rebel like you, Deanna Michelle,” she sniffs.
Deanna pokes her shoulder. “Rebel with a cause.”
“Oh, hush.” They get into bed once they’ve brushed their teeth side by side like old married people. That’ll be every fuckin’ day soon…
Chuck visits them at 8:50 and Deanna tumbles to the floor, surprised, when Cas pushes her outta the bed. She gets to her feet right as Chuck comes in. He kisses Cas’s forehead, then Deanna’s – what the SHIT – and bids them goodnight.
O…K…
“Sorry,” Cas says sheepishly, “for pushing you. Dad wouldn’t like us sharing a bed. I– panicked.”
Deanna climbs back in bed and snuggles down. With a convincing amount of confusion, she asks, “How come?”
Cas blushes so fuckin’ prettily, pink all the way from the tips of her ears and down to her chest. God knows how red she is under that dowdy nightgown. And did Deanna make up that little look Cas shot her when she changed into her sweatpants and one of her daddy’s old T-shirts? No, right? There was definitely some thinly-disguised…something going on.
“It’s…um…OK, I’m not making any suggestions about you, so please don’t be mad. OK?” Cas says.
“Yeah, OK. What is it?” Deanna props herself up on her elbow and – yanno, side bar: this bed is like a fucking CLOUD.
“He…well, if we’re too close to each other… I– Oh, gosh. OK. I can’t believe I’m saying this. Just–” A stuttering mess. “If I get too close to other girls, Daddy gets pretty squirrely. He doesn’t want to encourage…” Her voice falls to a whisper. “Homosexuality.”
“Ohhhh…I gotcha.”
“Sorry,” Cas says. “I’m– I’m not implying anything about you. I promise! I know that’s– a pretty ugly thing to insinuate.” All big eyes and nerves, she says, “I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad. It’s not you, it’s just Daddy–”
“Hey,” Deanna says. She puts a hand on Cas’s cheek. “It’s OK. Your dad’s rules, yanno, they’re a little…unorthodox, I guess, but…”
“It’s just– he’s worried about my eternal soul. I get it. Nobody wants to burn in the Lake of Fire,” she says lightly.
Hmm…OK. Yeah, this might actually be a little harder than Deanna thought. She’s sweet-talked a whole lotta cheerleaders and prom queen-types outta their panties over the years, fingered whiny ice queens under the bleachers, licked right into the stupid Southern belles from everytown, God’s country, US of A, but…
“Mmm…” Deanna says. Non-commital. So Cas doesn’t know she’s a lesbian. Which is…honestly kinda weird, ‘cause it’s not like she’s subtle?? Pretty much the whole school knows?? Is she just that innocent and socially isolated, or is she waiting for Deanna to let down her guard so she can start proselytizing? ‘Cause. Full offense? Uninterested.
“Are you mad at me?” Cas says.
“No, baby.” It slips off Deanna’s tongue and…yeah, OK. She’s not making it up. Cas shivers.
“Promise?” she asks, her voice small.
“Promise. Look, it’s not your fault your daddy’s crazy.”
“Crazy?” Cas pulls away. “He’s not–”
“Yanno what, never mind. Why don’t we go to bed, huh, kid? Got church in the morning, don’t we?”
Cas still looks troubled. “Daddy’s not crazy, Deanna.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I know he can be…um…overbearing, but he’s a man of God and…and it took a lot for him to let you come over.”
“I know.” She shoves down a whole lotta annoyance and turns that into a smile. “And I’m glad I’m here. Now c’mon,” she says firmly. “Let’s go to bed.”
“OK,” Cas says. “I’ll see you in the morning?”
“Sure thing, baby.”
~~~
And so it goes. Every Saturday for a month, Deanna goes to Cas’s house for an awkward dinner; answers Pastor Douchenozzle’s invasive-ass, probing-ass questions; humors snotty little Jimmy’s snotty little questions, pretty much all of them about Sam – kid’s got a crush, surely. She watches a G-rated movie in the living room with the whoooooole family ‘cause Chuck can’t stand to leave his children alone for forty fucking seconds. It was ‘Toy Story’ last week. This week it’s ‘Snow White.’ (And of course he fucking grumbles when the prince kisses her. Yeah, the dude is cartoonishly prudish.) Then they’ll sit down for evening prayer, which is basically just listening to Chuck yap for half an hour. Then it’s off to bed, where she flirts with Cas and watches her squirm, and falls asleep by 9:30 like a fucking eight-year-old.
Then church.
Which. Holy shit.
BORING. Literally so. fucking. boring. Impossibly boring. Improbably boring. Cosmically boring.
Blahblahblah, sinners and heretics, blahblahblah, homos are goin’ to Hell, blahblahblah, girls these days with their short skirts and their outside-of-marriage sex-u-al reLATIONS, as Chuck spits one weekend. SNORE.
Deanna’s always left wriggling in the pews in one of Cas’s itchy church dresses, ‘cause she doesn’t fuckin’ own any of that shit. Then she goes to their dumb every-fucking-week potluck and drives herself home.
Sammy, of course, thinks it’s hilarious. “You’re gonna get baptized before you get in her pants,” she laughs two months in. “Deanna Winchester, church-goin’ good girl. Never thought I’d see the day.”
Deanna socks her in the arm so hard she leaves a bruise.
~~~
Two months becomes three.
Deanna’s losing her mind a little bit. She ditched her friends so hard they want nothing to do with her. Literally, they’re months into this sticky-ass summer and nobody’s called. She goes to church so often she gets asked to co-lead the children’s ministry when Mrs. Abernathy’s out sick one week. She’s at Cas’s house so much Chuck starts almost liking her.
“I’m gonna fucking kill myself,” she moans to Sam one Sunday after church. “I’m gonna lock everyone in the church and then burn it down with all of us inside. I’m gonna put fuckin’ cyanide in the grape juice. I’m gonna–”
“You could give it up,” Sam says.
“Dude. No. I’m close.”
“She’s basically your only friend except me. You guys sleep in the same bed all the time. If nothing’s happened yet, nothing’s gonna–”
“Shut up, bitch,” Deanna grumbles sourly. Cas is HERS, OK? Hers. She just doesn’t know it yet. “I’m almost there.”
“Sure. And Dad gives a fuck about us. Tell me more true shit.”
“Dude, I do not have time for your daddy issues. Dad loves us.” He’s a helluva guy, Sammy’s just sore ‘cause he missed her friggin’ eighth grade graduation. He was BUSY, OK? It was months ago. And Deanna showed up, didn’t she?? Cas did too!
And Luke. Can’t forget fuckin’ Lucifer-Luke.
“Jerk,” Sam mutters.
Whatever.
Still. Sam does have the teeniest, tiniest point. From May to August, she’s been sleeping in the same bed as Castiel, but they never do any of that romance novel shit, like waking up in each other’s arms or with a leg shoved between their thighs. Nothing like that. Cas sleeps like a fuckin’ 1800s lady, the covers pulled all the way up to her chin, her arms crossed like Dracula for some reason(???), and a smile on her face. Same position all night. No nightmares, no twitching, not even rolling on her side.
It might be time to make some moves.
~~~
It’s all she thinks about for the next week when she talks to Cas on the phone on Tuesday – another generous allowance on the part of Pastor Dickweed – she loses it a little bit. ‘Cause all innocent, Cas says, Deanna, I just wanted to…thank you.
“Thank me?”
There’s some rustling down the line, a muffled, Just talking to Deanna, sir! before she says, her voice all bubbly and sweet, I just wanted to thank you for bein’ my friend. I– I didn’t have any friends a couple months ago, and now I’ve got the best friend in the whole entire world. I just appreciate you. You– you mean so much to me, Dee.
Fucking great. A normal person would probably be all fluttery and appreciative. Best friends!! Whoo!!
But Deanna has HAD IT. HAD UP TO FUCKIN’ HERE. She’s been patient for MONTHS. She GOES TO CHURCH. SHE SITS THROUGH COUNTLESS BORING DINNERS WITH CAS’S PRISSY-ASS BROTHER AND HER DOUCHEBAG FATHER. SHE LOST ALL HER NOT-LOSER FRIENDS AND MAKES NICE WITH CHURCH LADIES AND DIVERTS HER ATTENTION AWAY FROM BREAKING UP SAMMY AND HER PEDO BOYFRIEND.
EVERYTHING is for Cas. Or about Cas. She can’t fucking take it anymore.
Deanna? Cas says quietly.
Oh. Shit. “Thank you, baby,” she says. “I– yeah. That’s really sweet. You’re my best friend too. I’m looking forward to our sleepover this weekend.”
Me too!!
She’s gonna make a move this weekend. She has to.
And if Cas doesn’t like it? Well. Too fuckin’ bad.
~~~
The week passes, glacial and stupid. And there Deanna is, another insufferable dinner in the books.
She’s given up the whole “Oopsie! I forgot my sleeping bag!!” thing forever ago. Cas doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she’s pretty eager to get to bed, to lay beside one another and talk.
Once you tug the self-righteous holy roller thing aside, Cas is actually pretty damn interesting. She thinks deeply. She wants to go to college one day. She worries about her little brother becoming “unkind.”
There’s a lot going on in that geeky little head of hers. And you know what? She blushes and wiggles and looks away every time Deanna flirts with her. She DOES. That has to mean something. Fuck.
So she strips out of her sweats this time, strolls up to Cas’s stupid, gigantic bed in a Dad’s T-shirt and panties.
Big blue eyes get bigger and bluer.
“Um…Deanna…”
“What?”
“You’re…” God, that pretty face. “You– I think you forgot to put your pants on.”
“Naw,” Deanna says. “I’m not wearin’ ‘em tonight. Come on, it’s hot outside.”
“I…I guess…but the AC–”
“Dude. why is it a problem? It’s just a body. It’s not like I’m paradin’ naked through the streets like Jezebel.”
“Jezebel never–” Cas cuts herself off. “Oh. You’re joking?”
“Yeah. Duh. C’mon, it’s hot in here. You’ve gotta be burnin’ up in that freakin’ grandma nightie, right?”
“Umm…” Cas rocks back and forth on her heels. “I guess. It– it is pretty hot.”
“So just wear a T-shirt or something. Why is it a big deal?”
She watches the thoughts flit through Cas’s mind, watches her consider it. “It’s just a body,” she repeats.
“It’s not a sin to go to bed,” she says with a shrug.
“Yeah. I…I guess. I’ll find a T-shirt.” She slowly pulls her nightgown off and…
Oh. FUCK. Deanna’s mouth is fucking watering. All curves and perfect tits and too-wide hips. She doesn’t shave anywhere. Daddy probably won’t let her, Deanna thinks dimly as she watches her friend’s perfect fucking body move through the room.
Her little white panties…
And something in her? It just…kinda…snaps.
Deanna hooks a foot around Cas’s ankle and watches, amused, when she trips over herself. Her tits wobble as she stumbles over her feet and lands, ungainly, on her stupid bed.
Then Deanna’s on her like a puma. She claps a hand over Cas’s mouth and moves to straddle her hips.
“OK, baby,” she whispers. “OK, here’s the deal. I’ve been waiting for months.”
“Mmmf??” Castiel says, muffled.
“Months,” Deanna confirms. “I’ve been tryin’ to get between your legs for goddamn months. So here’s how it’s gonna go. I’m gonna uncover your mouth and you’re not gonna scream. Got it?”
Castiel nods against her hand.
Deanna pulls her hand away and just…God, she’s so into her. It HURTS. Cas looks…kinda terrified, actually, but she’s so goddamn beautiful. Her big eyes and her trembling lips…
Deanna has to kiss her. She just HAS to. She presses a soft kiss against those plush lips, ready for Cas to be stiff and frightened, maybe to buck her off or scream…
No. Cas melts into it.
She’s a terrible kisser. She shoves her tongue into Deanna’s mouth like a junior high kid with his first kiss.
This IS her first kiss, Deanna reminds herself, and FUCK if that doesn’t have her wet enough to soak right through her panties.
She’s gonna be Cas’s first EVERYTHING.
She tries to ease her into the kiss, to slow her down, to stop slobbering all over her, but…yeah. Nothing doing.
Deanna finally pulls back, her face literally COVERED in Cas’s spit. Cas is red as a tomato, all blotchy and awkward, but it’s hot.
“Yeah?” Deanna says.
“Yeah.”
“Since when are you a fag, Cas?” she says, nuzzling against her neck just to feel her shiver.
“I’m not a– oh,” she gasps as Deanna drags her tongue up her neck. “I’m not a…a homosexual.”
“Then what the fuck are you,” Deanna mutters. “Teasin’ me, sharing a bed with me, blushin’ whenever I look at you sideways…”
“I don’t know,” Cas whispers. Her eyes dart towards the closed door. Not locked. Daddy Douchebag would never allow it. “I don’t know. You confuse me. I– I want to– when we’re in bed…I want to…”
“Fuck?” Deanna murmurs, grinning against Cas’s collarbone when the poor little freak shivers.
“Cuddle,” she corrects weakly. “I want you to cuddle me.”
Oh. My fucking. God. THAT’S her huge, scandalous fantasy??
“I want you to hold me,” Cas says quickly. The floodgates, ladies and gents, are open. “I keep thinking about it. When you’re asleep, I think about scooting across and laying on you? And then you wake up and it’s like, ‘We woke up like this!’ and we’d laugh about it and that’s that. Or– or if I was brave, I would ask you to, um, to put your arms around me. Like, I could be the little spoon?” Her voice tilts up, high and embarrassed. “I keep thinking about it. These freakin’ sleepovers are torture. I want you so much, Deanna, and I don’t even know how to–”
“God, you’re such a fucking dork,” Deanna says, literally SHAKING with lust.
“I know it’s wrong,” Cas says. “I know it’s sinful, and I don’t want you to stumble in your faith…I know I’m…I’m crossing so many lines, I don’t–”
“Stumble in my– Jesus SHITTING Christ, Castiel. I’m not a Christian. I can’t fucking stand chruch or your stupid dad or your snot-nosed little shithead brother. I hate the holy-rolling shit. It is SO boring. I’d literally rather die than go to your stupid dad’s stupid fucking church.”
Cas blinks owlishly. “You’re…not–”
“No! Christ, Cas, I started this whole thing so I could fuck you!”
“...oh.”
“And I’m gonna do that right now, OK? But, like. We can do the cuddly thing afterwards if you want. If it’s really that important to you. OK?”
Cas nods uncertainly.
“Fuckin’ another chick isn’t gonna send you to Hell.”
“Have you…have you ever…”
“Castiel, I’m a goddamn lesbian.”
“Oh,” she breathes.
“Now shut up and take it.”
And take it she does. FUCK.
She eventually gets Cas into a rhythm with the making out thing, gets their tongues sliding together slick and easy. She licks at Cas’s tits until the poor kid’s a squeaking mess, until she’s got hickies on the soft swell of her ‘cause it’s not fuckin’ like she can leave ‘em on her neck like she wants to.
The second Cas turns eighteen, she’s gonna–
Oh, hey. Wait.
“Hey, kid,” she murmurs in Cas’s ear, rolling a nipple between her fingers.
Cas whines.
“When do you turn eighteen?”
“At the end of–” Cas moans breathily. “--this month. August twenty-seventh…”
Now that’s just fuckin’ delicious. But they’ll get to that later. She bites her way down Cas’s body, the wiggling baby fat and stubbly legs just doing more to drive her fuckin’ nuts.
“Deanna…” Cas says. “Dee, I don’t think– maybe we should take it slow… We’re not even married…”
That’s her biggest fuckin’ problem right now?? The premarital pussy-eating, not the gay thing?
Well, she ain’t looking a gift horse in the mouth. “Hell, honey, I’ll marry you and we’ll square it with the Big Man,” she promises. “For now, shut up and take it, huh?”
Cas goes all lax and dreamy. “You’re gonna marry me?”
“Uh. Sure. And we’ll have a million babies. Now lie back and think of England, OK, kid?”
“Think of–”
Deanna hooks her fingers in Cas’s white panties and yanks them down before she can say another word. She’s a sweetheart, but GOD, she talks too much. When she’s got Cas within arm’s reach every day, she’ll get that fixed up. Might have to do some deprogramming from all this sky daddy bullshit, but the Baptists have the right of it in one big way: wives should be quiet and sweet and trust their man to make decisions for them. One of Chuck’s lessons that stuck: Ephesians. Wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior. Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything.
Like. She’s not a dude or anything, but that’s how she’ll have Cas. Perfect, pliant, candy-sweet Cas.
She thinks about taking her time, spreading Cas with her thumbs, tapping her clit soft and nice, easing her into it.
Nah. Fuck it. There’ll be plenty of time for that later. Deanna’s been waiting for WAY too long to go slow.
She dives right in, licking Cas sloppy and stupid, relishing every broken whine and high-pitched whimper. The kid’s gonna be a screamer, she just knows it. Cas jerks and shudders and protests a little, but Deanna ignores that. Cas will get used to it.
She tongue-fucks her and fuck, she’s been waiting for fucking long. Not gonna deny herself NOTHIN’. She slips two fingers inside, marveling at how goddamn tight she is. She takes Cas’s clit between her lips and sucks, grinning against her when Cas yells.
What would old Charlie Boy think if he walked in right now? Ha. Asshole.
Deanna rubs her just right and…fuck. She snakes a hand down her panties and rubs her clit raw, coming hard when Cas squeezes tight around her fingers and soaks her hand.
Shit.
~~~
Afterwards, when Cas is snoozing on her chest and Deanna’s craving a cigarette, she reflects on things. This is good. Cas’ll be eighteen in just a couple weeks. Then Deanna can steal away from this ivory fuckin’ tower and show her what’s what.
Her kept woman. Her little bride.
She’s not sure she can love like normal people, but maybe that’s what this feels like. Obsession. Desire. And…and the need to save Cas from a miserable rest-of-her-life, Mrs. Husband’s Last Name, some useless college degree like philosophy or art to shut her up before Daddy secures some nice church boy to keep her barefoot and pregnant. Yeah. No.
Cas is HERS.
Always is, always will be.