Chapter Text
Castiel did not plan for it to happen like this.
To be fair, Castiel doubted that anyone in existence had imagination enough to plan something like this for themselves. Well, except for maybe Becky Rosen, who was a notorious day dreamer and a schemer to boot.
In fact, if anyone was behind it, it would have been her. Though Castiel knew her well enough to surmise that if she had had any say in this at all, it would have been her wearing this wedding dress instead of him.
Just his luck, Becky was out of town with some guy named Chuck she met online and he was stuck in the dress. Probably literally stuck, come to think of it. His luck was turning out in full form today.
And now he was sitting in the tower of a castle, studiously avoiding the gaze of Dean Winchester of all people, in an honest-to-God wedding dress, wondering how in the world he got himself into this mess.
It all started when he came back home.
…
Castiel Novak stood still in the back of the boat as the wind rushed by him. It lifted his dark hair in curling tendrils and sent chills through his trench coat, but he stood straight and still all the same. To anyone outside of Castiel’s head, that might have seemed strange. But anyone inside of Castiel’s head could see that he was just that distracted. Well distracted probably doesn’t cover it. Castiel was sad. Maybe even devastated. But definitely full of dread.
As he leaned against the peeling paint of the dirty grey boat and watched the churning water left in its wake, he played with the plain gold ring held tensely between his fingers. The mark it had made on his left hand after so many months of wearing it had long since faded, but the ring itself was reminder enough of what it meant. He was 32, divorced, and going back to living at home with his brother. On an island that didn’t even have a proper ferry.
Castiel sighed and took a deep breath before gathering the ring into his fist and tossing it overboard. He wasn’t going to need it anymore anyway.
...
Once the boat docked and Castiel disembarked with his carryon rolling suitcase in his arms, the real fun began. He hadn’t told Gabriel he was coming, so there was no one waiting to pick him up. He carried the suitcase up the beach, slipping on the rocks as he went. As he trudged the familiar path he thanked God somewhat ironically that the airport lost his other suitcase, with which he would otherwise be struggling right this very moment.
“Good to know God has my back,” he huffed as he stepped into a hidden puddle of mud.
When the Sunshine Bed and Breakfast finally came into view, it was a welcome sight. If only because it was November and really quite cold to be walking outside with wet shoes. Castiel dug his key out of his pocket and fit it into the lock, swinging the door open unceremoniously. He was greeted by a series of very loud, very obnoxious bells signaling his arrival, to which he rolled his eyes vigorously. He dragged his suitcase inside and closed the door. His shoes squelched uncomfortably as he hung his dirty trench coat in the closet, and Castiel stooped down to tug them off. Once the bells quieted down he could hear the tell-tale signs of a wheelchair coming towards him, so he stood up straight and braced himself for what was coming.
“Cassie?” a shocked voice let out from the door at the end of the entryway. Castiel met his brother’s eyes somewhat guiltily, but Gabriel didn’t miss a beat. “Well come on over here and give your old brother a hug,” he said. Castiel knew better than to deny Gabriel anything when he’d just showed up to his house uninvited, so he shuffled over and obliged. Gabriel loved making people bend over awkwardly to hug him in his chair.
After Castiel had straightened up, Gabriel motioned for him to turn the chair around and push him back through the house. Once again, he obliged. “Are you okay?” Gabriel asked nonchalantly to the air behind him.
“I’m fine,” Castiel replied loudly.
“Are you sure?” Gabriel needled.
“I’m fine.” Castiel repeated; but his voice cracked a bit when he said it.
“Well that’s good. Just so long as you’re fine,” Gabriel said with raised eyebrows as Castiel brought the chair to a gentle stop in the kitchen. “I’m making tea.”
“Tea sounds good.”
…
An hour later, they were still sitting at the table in the kitchen. As Gabriel finished up his latest loud and improbable story with a wicked grin, he changed tack before Castiel could so much as smile noncommittally.
“I don’t suppose you’re in the mood for a wedding,” Gabriel said.
Castiel shrugged from his chair at the table. “It can’t get any worse.”
The two set off on the walk to the chapel, Castiel still in the slightly mud-speckled suit he came in and Gabriel wearing a festive sweater with two white doves kissing inside a ribbon heart.
“So no ring, huh?” Gabriel asked as they made their way. At Castiel’s silence, Gabriel pressed on. “You should’ve listened to me from the start, little bro. April was never right for you.”
“I know,” Castiel sighed. “But, well. She took me out of this place.” He squinted in thoughtful disgust. “I thought she was an angel, but she was—“
“A devil? A witch? No, I know. She *was* an angel. An angel of *death*.”
“Gabriel,” Castiel started.
“There is somebody out there for you,” Gabriel interrupted. “Somebody selfless and faithful and kind. But you’ll never meet them if you’re hiding here.”
“Good. I don’t want to meet them,” Castiel ground out.
“Oh come now. You can’t deprive them of the pure sex that is Castiel Novak. Women love you. You’re like kryptonite to men.”
“Isn’t kryptonite a bad thing?”
“Oh my god, Cassie I’m so proud that you know that. Anyway, we’re here.” Gabriel wheeled himself out of Castiel’s grasp and into the doorway of the church. “Hello Mabel, Castiel’s back,” he said to the old woman at the door.
Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Are we late?” he asked.
“Too late to marry him,” the old woman replied. “Quick, get inside.”
Castiel swung the heavy door open and stepped inside. Immediately, the bridal march began and everyone turned in their seats to look at him. Castiel froze, his eyes sweeping up the aisle to the man at the altar. The music stopped abruptly.
“Sorry,” Cas croaked out. “Hello, Inias.” Castiel stepped awkwardly to the side to join Gabriel, who had snuck in behind him and was now no-so-silently shaking with mirth.
“You’re too late, Castiel,” said a voice from the doorway. “He’s mine, now.”
The music started up again and Castiel watched forlornly as Bartholomew made his way to the front.
…
Castiel had never been a big fan of parties, but this one was particularly painful. It was all he could do not to put his head in his hands and break down next to the punch bowl while Gabriel made a fool of himself running over people’s toes on the dance floor. He had just decided to put his escape plan into action when he turned around and nearly smacked right into Inias.
“Castiel,” Inias said. “How long are you back for?”
“I don’t know,” Castiel replied, truthfully. “I’m thinking of staying.”
“I thought you said nothing ever happened here,” Inias said, eyes narrowed.
“Well, nothing happening is becoming very appealing.”
They both looked down at their shoes.
“I truly hope you’ll be—” Castiel looked up. Inias was gone. Castiel breathed out. “Happy.”
…
The next morning, Castiel made his way to the bookstore before Gabriel even got up. To be fair, Gabriel had had a lot of liquor the night before, so it was really not that early. The bookstore was Castiel’s favorite store on Isle la Motte. It was run by a couple of little old ladies, one of which was a little out of it and always thought Castiel was her late husband. They didn’t just sell books, but music and odds-and-ends too. Castiel thought there was a sort of human dignity in a homey place like that.
When he stepped inside, the ladies were all gathered behind the counter, sitting in the rocking chairs lined up in a row.
“Castiel! You’re back!” Muriel said.
“Yes,” Castiel replied. “I ran out of ways to describe pockets,” he explained.
“That’s too bad,” Hester chimed in. “For the menswear catalog,” she added. “I bet they’ll regret letting you slip through their fingers.”
Castiel smiled wanly.
“Now you’ve got time to write what you want to,” Muriel said. “I’m telling you: ‘Isle la Motte: a History, the Definitive Guide’ by Castiel Novak. We sell it here, we split the proceeds.”
“A guidebook. To here. Yes, I can see it now: ‘come see our disused toilet that may or may not be haunted by the ghost of a drowned cow,’” Castiel joked.
“You see?” asked Hester. “You need to channel this creative energy. Or you’ll get restless and go wandering off again.”
“I’m just not sure the guidebook will sell. No one ever comes here anymore.” Castiel was cut off by Muriel shoving a paper in his face. He took it and read it curiously. “A marketing conference? Here?”
“They want my castle,” Muriel said excitedly. “As is, for a week.”
“They’ll have money, too,” Hester added.
“No throwing yourself at the visitors,” Sheila interjected. “You’re just so pretty, Charles.”
…
Castiel went home after that to make something for the hangover Gabriel was sure to have. And to tell him about the marketers, since he knew it would get him excited. Sure enough, as soon as Gabriel heard the news he insisted they go outside and clean the Bed and Breakfast sign—by which it turned out he meant that Castiel would clean and he would supervise. After a long while of working in which the sign got only marginally cleaner, Castiel stopped for a break.
“Are you sure you don’t need me to go in and get your coat?” he asked. “I don’t want you to catch a cold.”
“I’m dying either way,” was Gabriel’s reply.
Unfortunately, Castiel couldn’t argue with that. Gabriel had been sick for a long time now.
“No, what I need is to get out of here,” Gabriel continued. “Cassie, I gotta do something. Travel the world, drink strawberry daiquiris, be thrown into a volcano.” He threw the rag he was holding into the bucket on the ground resignedly. “But you need money for that.”
It was just a short while later that a strange shiny black car pulled up.
“If they ask, tell them we had two stars but they fell off,” Gabriel whispered out of the side of his mouth as it approached. When the car stopped and the window rolled down, Gabriel put on his most charming smile and his game show host demeanor. “Hello, and welcomeeee to the Sunshine, the only Bed and Breakfast open on Isle la Motte! It’s your lucky day! We have rooms available!”
The blonde man driving the car took off his sunglasses and tucked them into his tailored suit pocket. “We’re looking for the castle,” he said in a bored sounding British accent. “We’re…”—he waved his hand—“marketing people.”
“Why I’d be happy to take you there,” Gabriel said. “For twenty dollars.”
“Gabriel,” Castiel said, glaring. He turned to the man and smiled. “I’ll take you.”
The door to the backseat opened from the inside and Castiel got in.
…
Castiel sat wedged between the door and somebody apparently named Alfie, who in no way looked old enough to be at a marketing conference but seemed very kind. Next to him on the far side was a very large man named Uriel, in the front was a pleasant-looking woman named Hannah, and the blond man in the driver’s seat turned out to be named Balthazar. All in all, it was looking to be one of Castiel’s weirder days.
When they finally arrived at the old castle, they spilled out of the car like a breath of fresh air. The castle was not really a castle. It was some sort of military fort that had been mostly torn down, then repurposed into a house and then a B&B and then left to fall into disrepair once the tourists stopped coming. But it was the only thing remotely like a castle on the island, so Castiel had no doubt this was the correct place.
Still, he stood there uncertainly as the group stared up at the building like they were looking at a train wreck and couldn’t peel their eyes away.
“Spectacular,” Balthazar finally breathed out. “We’re dead.” He looked around at his colleagues and noticed Castiel still standing there. “You can go,” he told him, motioning with one of his hands. And then he was off, stalking towards the entrance to the building.
Castiel narrowed his eyes in confusion but did as he was told. As he left, he heard Hannah say “she’s not going to blame YOU, Balthazar. She’s a reasonable woman.”
Castiel didn’t know what all that was about. But whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.