twentysomething

On a dark desert highway-

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Dean/Cas

Summary: ""Mr. Smith," Dr. Meyer says, and Dean's amused to see that the same rumpled, academic absent-mindedness that he'd seen last week wasn't changed by throwing a tux on. "I wasn't aware you would be here." Dean gives him the best "aw shucks" smile in his arsenal."

Length: 4000 wordsish.

Warnings: Borrowing viciously and blatantly from a freaking Jerry Bruckheimer movie.

Notes: I can't resist a) Justin Bartha, b) Diane Kruger and c) fake history, so it's only natural that National Treasure is an oft-watched dvd in my household. So, yeah, this happened. merelyn picked this out for today (saving you from some tragic alternatives that will show up later this month) and by dint of her innumerable good qualities- including her fantastic fruit tart- is my favorite.



Sam stares at him.

"Are you fucking high?" he asks, just barely restraining himself from pulling up Dean's eyelids to look at his pupils. Dean grins.

"Nope. We're going to steal the Declaration of Independence."

Dean can just see Sam crossing himself out of the corner of his eye.


---


Dean considers himself observant- years of hustling guys at Georgetown out of their daddies' trust fund money has made him a pretty good judge of people- so he thinks his best bet is definitely the Carter family Bible.

He pulls it down from the shelf and Sam would probably punch him in the face if he actually screwed with the book himself, so instead he wraps it carefully before wiping it down with the weird glowy shit. He takes Dr. Meyer to be the kind of person who unwraps a present slowly, delicately pulling off tape and folding the paper for later, so they should be good.

Sam makes whiny, delicate faces when Dean offers to help with the nitpicky tech stuff so Dean just rolls his eyes and gets to work on the fake ID and sweet talks Jo into letting him 'borrow' a tux for the night. Dean is momentarily grateful that they're not trying to smuggle Sam in, because finding jeans for Sam is hard enough, let alone formal wear.

Luckily, Dean is used to getting himself out of trouble with a loose smile and a lot of bullshit, and he's not surprised to find that getting himself into trouble is almost easier. So he can't help the confident smirk that pops on to his face when Dr. Meyer turns, surprised.

"Mr. Smith," Dr. Meyer says, and Dean's amused to see that the same rumpled, academic absent-mindedness that he'd seen last week wasn't changed by throwing a tux on. "I wasn't aware you would be here." Dean gives him the best "aw shucks" smile in his arsenal.

"Well, after our conversation last week, I felt compelled to make a donation. I guess it got me into this shindig," Dean offers and Dr. Meyer blinks owlishly and then frowns.

"Speaking of our conversation last week..." he trails off, hands fidgeting, so Dean hands him the champagne glass carefully, which Dr. Meyer takes, staring at it for a moment. "Mr. Smith, I don't know if I can accept your gift," Dean smiles, but honestly this time, because, yeah, Dean called that one right.

"I wanted you to have it, you needed it," Dean says easily. Dr. Meyer looks trapped in an etiquette dilemma.

"It's a beautiful rendering," he says, like a confession. "I frequent estate sales for family bibles." And, yeah, Dean can see that- Dr. Meyer pawing through old toys and useless clothing hoping for something good, something he wants, and what the hell is Dean thinking about.

"Dean, seriously, are you hitting on the Declaration guy?" Sam asks, tinny and bitchy in Dean's ear. "Can you just- focus, Jesus." Dean smiles twice as charmingly at Dr. Meyer, just to piss Sam off, even though he knows Sam can't see him.

"Well, then," Dean says, only to be brought up short by a balding guy with a smarmy, fat face.

"Well, Castiel, who is this?" The guy asks, and Dean strongly suspects this dude is a douche bag. Dr. Meyer looks vaguely resigned.

"Zachariah, this is Dean Smith, Mr. Smith, this is Dr. Adler," he says, like hobnobbing isn't his specialty, or even a course he took at the Learning Annex. Dean imagines that Dr. Meyer- Castiel- would much rather be holed up in his office, working, cataloging the latest piece of history he's managed to find and Dean can't help but like a guy like that. And really, he'd listened to him and Sam longer than anyone else had in a long time- well, who wasn't Lucian.

"And what do you do, Mr. Smith?" Dr. Adler asks and- watching the way Castiel is frantically sipping at his glass of champagne- yeah, the guy is probably a douche.

"I'm a... freelance historian," Dean says, because that's more or less true. Dr. Adler sneers.

"Funny, I've never heard of you," Dr. Adler says. "Where are you published?" Castiel chokes and Dean, instinctively, pats him on the back, hard. Castiel freezes for a second before coughing slightly.

"Let me take that," Dean offers, taking Castiel's glass, mindful of the stem, keeping the prints intact.

"Thank you," Castiel says quietly, and God, his eyes are really blue.

"Dean," Sam hisses in his ear. Dean fights the urge to roll his eyes. Well, first things first. Dean smiles as sweetly as possible at Dr. Adler.

"Well, you know what they say, Dr. Adler," Dean says cheerfully. "Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing." Castiel looks at him like Dean is strange and curious and like he wants to put Dean under a magnifying glass somewhere and read him. Dean is not exactly averse to the idea.

"Benjamin Franklin," Castiel murmurs with the hint of a smile somewhere on his face and Dean knew he liked him for a reason. Dr. Adler is sputtering softly, like he knows he was insulted but can't really take offense, and there are a crap-ton of people looking like they're just waiting to occupy the doctors’ time, so Dean's job here is done.

"Gentlemen," Dean says, nodding his way out of the conversation, and conveniently enough, Senator Warner and his wife take his place and Dean slips down the hallway unnoticed.

"So glad you spent time flirting with the head of the Archives rather than you know, getting the Declaration, awesome, Dean." Sam mutters in his ear. Dean rolls his eyes, closing the door of the handicapped stall.

"Relax, princess, all part of the cover," Dean coos at him, rolling the latex finger condom thing on as he puts the glass into the ziplock bag. Dean smirks as he pulls off one perfect index print, chucking the evidence in the trash.

"Yeah, it was totally part of your cover to seduce him by quoting your old, fat, gouty hero." Sam snipes and Dean should have asked God for a little brother instead of a little sister.

"Ben Franklin is a Boss," Dean says with a shrug, scanning into the elevator. "See, our evil plan is working like a charm." Sam snorts, with gusto.

"Yeah, you can say that when you're back in the van," Sam jokes, but Dean can hear how nervous he is.

"And speaking of that, you wanna turn off the cameras?" Dean asks. He can hear Sam's eye-roll from here.

"They're already off, Dean," Sam says. Dean takes this opportunity to flip Sam off. "Oh, real mature, thanks." Dean grins and books it down the hall to the Preservation Room. Fishing the black light out of his pocket, he crosses the fingers on his other hand, but sure enough, keys light up.

"Okay, Sammy, we have t, u, i, a, f, l, and x." Dean says, scanning the keyboard quickly. Sam hmms quietly in his ear.

"I'm not getting anything sensible-" Sam huffs a laugh. "You said he was a religious scholar, right?" Dean raises an eyebrow- that Sam can't see, right.

"Yeah, I'd say so." Dean replies, waiting for Sam to get to the point.

"Try 'fiat lux,'" Sam suggests and Dean snorts, because of course that's Castiel's password. The door chimes open and Dean's never been so glad that Mom had insisted on them being raised Catholic instead of Episcopalian.

"Let there be Light, indeed," Dean says, and hello, big beautiful case full of treasure map. And you know, priceless, invaluable history. Dean slips out the drill in his pocket and yeah, it's happy to see him. Dean's halfway through opening the case when he hears Sam start hissing and freaking.

"Dean, Dean- shit, my feed is gone- I have-- Go. Go!" Sam shouts and Christ, he's in Dean's ear, there's no need to yell. Dean figures there's no damn way he's giving up after getting this far, so he just picks up the whole case.

"Dean, get out of there!" Sam yells. "Leave the Declaration!" Dean laughs.

"Like hell. I'll just get in the elevator, finish in there." Dean says calmly, heading back out the door.

"Yeah, I've heard that before," Sam mutters. Dean smiles, but that freezes on his face when he looks back down the hall to see Lucian and Uriel there with the rest of his crew.

"Winchester," Lucian breathes, like he can't believe Dean survived one little exploding ship. Dean grins, even as Uriel raises his gun and- shoots.

Motherfucker!

Dean spends a second thanking God that the glass is bulletproof, even as he hears Lucian shout to stop shooting. And because God looks after children, fools and Winchesters, the elevator doors slide open behind him- and after jabbing the door close button frantically, the door closes in Lucian's face.

"Dean, Dean, what the fuck was that?" Sam demands. Dean frowns, going back to work on the case.

"Yeah, that was Lucian. I guess he really thought we were dead, because I swear he nearly shat his pants, Sammy." Dean says cheerfully. Sam makes a noise of dismay.

"So, I guess our plan called "Never See That Guy Again" worked out really well," Sam mutters. Dean smiles faintly.

"Sorry about that one, Sambo." Dean replies and finally, he can slide the case open and gently- gently- roll the Declaration into a tube. Dean takes a deep breath and carefully tucks it into his jacket.

"Alright, now will you get in the van, so we can go, so Lucian stops trying to kill you?" Sam asks and Dean can hear Sam starting the car.

"To be fair, Uriel was doing the shooting," Dean mumbles as he stops in his tracks- hmm. Gift shop. "I have an idea."

"No, Dean, no ideas, just get out, what are you- why?" Sam whines. Dean's grinning with his own brilliance until the cashier thinks he's shoplifting. Which is only half right and the moment Dean hands over his credit card, he knows they're fucked, so fucked.

He feels no less fucked when he hears an almost familiar voice calling after him.

"Mr. Smith!"

Shit.

Dean's starting to think he's home free when he makes it to the van, but no sooner does he put the actual Declaration away than he turns to see Castiel staring at him.

"Mr. Smith, you weren't on either guest list," he says, a hair short of accusing, and that's when the sirens go off. Motherfucker. Castiel's eyes widen and he stares at the rolled tube in Dean's hand.

"I- you didn't!" Castiel cries. Dean makes a face.

"It's a souvenir?" he tries. Castiel glares and Dean almost feels bad for a moment until Castiel punches him in the face.

"Jesus Christ," Dean mutters, holding his jaw. For a skinny little guy like that, he can hit. Castiel snatches the fake Declaration out of his hand and starts marching back across toward the Archives, shouting for security and yeah, Dean needs to get out of here now.

Which is of course when Lucian appears out of a fucking- is that a taco truck? Shit a Goddamn, he appears of nowhere and pulls- fuck, he pulls Castiel and the fake Declaration into the truck.

"Should we go?" Sam shouts. Dean slams into shotgun.

"No, fuck, he has Cas in the back of his fucking taco truck!" Dean shouts, even as- son of a bitch, Uriel is shooting at him again. Sam, bless him, throws the van into gear and is hot on their trail.

And abstractly, Dean knew Lucian would hire anyone- he had hired Alastair, after all- but he didn't think they were that dumb to drive through a fucking construction zone and that's when the door swings open and Cas is hanging from it like a ragdoll. Dean mutters a string of expletives under his breath as he worms his way back into the body of the van.

"What are you doing?" Sam demands. Dean opens the sliding door.

"Get closer!" Dean calls.

"When this is done, I'm going to fucking kill you, Dean," Sam yells, but he speeds up and inches closer.

"Cas!" Dean shouts. Cas seems to at least recognize him as the lesser of two evils, because he automatically reaches out toward Dean, but the door swings back in as Lucian's truck and Sam swerve to avoid a huge ditch. Fucking D.C. potholes. After a long terrible moment where Dean is sure the other door will close and they'll have just handed an innocent man over to a really ruthless bastard, but then it swings back out and Dean, through sheer bloody luck and determination, pulls Cas into the van.

"They have it," Cas gasps. "They have the Declaration, we need to get it," Dean shakes his head. Figures, one track mind.

"Are you alright?" Dean asks, ignoring Sam's snort from the front seat. Cas stares at him with wild eyes.

"No, they have the Declaration," Cas insists, tugging at Dean's lapels. Dean really tries not to think that, with his hair even more disordered and cheeks flushed, Cas is even more attractive. Dean grins.

"No, we have it," Dean says calmly, showing Cas the poster tube and the Declaration inside and he really should be less surprised when Cas tries to snatch it. "Man, you save a guy from thieves and assholes and this is what you get." Sam flings a look over his shoulder that clearly says "quit hitting on him." Cas frowns, like he's disappointed in Dean and Dean doesn't really know why that bugs him- he did the right thing, here.

"You stole it," Cas argues. Dean rolls his eyes.

"We stole it, so those guys, you know, the mean ones, the douchebags, the ones who kidnapped you, couldn't steal it," Dean rebuts. Cas's frown turns into something more like a pout.

"But you still stole it," Cas says, almost plaintive, like Dean did it on purpose to hurt him. Dean scrubs at his face with his hands, because he was prepared for yelling, even for another punch and his jaw throbs faintly- but this is a low blow.

"Look, Cas, okay, so we did, but we had to- to keep it safe." Dean insists, because if Lucian took it, God knows what he'd do to it. This was the only way.

"Wait, so, what did he have, if Lucian took a fake?" Sam calls out from the front seat, as the car slows on more residential roads.

"I, uh, got it from the gift shop, which since the cashier thought I was stealing it," Dean says, ignoring when Cas glares and mutters "You did steal it," balefully. "I had to pay twice. Which, speaking of that, Sammy, we... can't go home." Sam pulls over and stares at Dean.

"What." he says flatly. Dean winces.

"I might have had to use my credit card," Dean admits and Sam looks like he wants to kill Dean first and then himself second.

"Are you kidding, shit, damn, shit," Sam mumbles, banging his head against the steering wheel. Dean sees Cas open the door out of the corner of his eye- and the only reason he catches him is because he ran track in high school- the bastard is fast.

"Let go of me," Cas demands, holding on to the Declaration tightly while Dean is holding on to him, but after a lot of weaseling, Dean gets the tube back.

"Fine, go," Dean says, shrugging his shoulders, letting go of Cas. Cas glares at Dean.

"I'm not leaving without the Declaration," Cas promises, still breathing hard and Dean sighs. Jesus.

"We're going to give it back!" Dean cries, because seriously, no one seems to believe them on that point. "I wasn't lying when I said we just needed it for a few tests!" Cas crosses his arms.

"Mr. Smith, how can I believe that?" Cas asks and Dean winces.

"Okay, my name is Winchester, I did lie about that." Dean admits. Cas closes his eyes.

"I should have- Winchester. Dean and Sam Winchester." Cas mutters. Dean is really tired of people reacting like that when they hear his last name.

"Dean," Sam says, a few feet away from them. "If we can't go to the apartment..." Dean's night is just getting better and better.

"We can't," Dean says weakly. Sam sighs.

"Dean, I really don't want to do it either, but our apartment is under surveillance by now probably, it's only a matter of time anyway." Sam says and Dean cannot even begin to describe the ways he does not want to tell Dad about this.

"Sammy, I do not want to drive to Philadelphia tonight," Dean complains, but there is really- once more- no other option. He turns to Cas. "Look, Cas- Dr. Meyer. Go home, tell them you were kidnapped- not by us- whatever, but we have to go, and we're taking the Declaration with us." Cas just gives Dean a look.

"If I cannot stop you from taking it, or from doing whatever it is you think you need to do, I am going with you," he insists. Dean covers his face with his hands. "And even if you left me behind, I know where you're going and I will simply bring the FBI with me." When Dean looks up, Cas is smiling that vague smile and Sam is staring at Dean like he wishes he was an only child.

So, instead of sensibly going back to the clean room set up in their apartment, Dean finds himself in a rumpled tux with his stupid little brother and the hot guy they kidnapped on John Winchester's doorstep at 12:30 am, praying that God will strike him dead before Dad answers the door.

When Dad opens the door and Dean is still alive, Dean can only assume this is because there is no God.

"Well, son," Dad drawls, leaning in the doorway in his familiar shitty bathrobe and 10 o'clock shadow. "I knew they finally approved gay marriage in the District, but I would have hoped to get an invite." And that- in a nutshell- is why Dean didn't want to do this. Cas just looks befuddled, but Sam sighs and makes his saddest face at Dad.

"You should let your daughter-in-law in, then," Sam says and while Dean is trying to kill Sam with his mind, Cas just says "But I am not a woman." Dean thinks that Grandpa Samuel should have warned him about shit like this when he said Dean was taking on a great responsibility.

"So, boys," Dad says, stepping back and letting them in. "I can't imagine this is a social visit." Dean and Sam look at each other and immediately throw up rock, paper, scissors. And- crap, rock smashes scissors, again.

"So, we stole the Declaration of Independence because there's a map on the back of it, that'll lead to the treasure," Dean blurts out and Sam stares at him as if to say "Seriously?" Dad sits down, hard. Cas clears his throat. "Oh, and we sort of took Cas with us."

"This is a nightmare," Dad says, covering his eyes with a hand. "A nightmare."

"Way to go, Dean," Sam hisses. Dean flicks his ear. "Ow!" Dad levels them with a look.

"So, what, you both decide to ruin your lives and then drag me into it?" Dad asks, looking pissed, and this is why Dean didn't want to come here.

"We just need one thing, Dad, then we're gone," Sam says, already looking like he's ready to start a fight, and Cas is just watching Dean closely. Dad laughs, angry and tired.

"No, goddamn go ahead. Stay until the cops show up, I don't care anymore. This damn treasure has already ruined my life, why shouldn't it ruin yours, too. Have fun." Dad storms upstairs and Dean grabs Sam's arm before he can go after Dad and make it worse.

"C'mon, Sam. Go get some lemons." Dean says, pushing him toward to kitchen to cool down. Dean glaces over and Cas has his head tilted slightly to the left, a small frown on his face.

"Yeah, welcome to the Winchesters, it's a laugh riot, being crazy treasure hunters." Dean mutters. There's a long moment of silence before Cas presses a hand to his elbow.

"Dean, I personally checked the Declaration after you came last week. There's nothing there." Cas says quietly. Dean shakes his head.

"You need acid to reveal the ink," Dean insists, because there has to be something there. He knows it. Sam comes back in, holding a bowl of decrepit lemons and Cas steps back like he was burned.

"Anyway," Dean says, almost too loud. "Let's settle this." Sam flips the tablecloth on the 18th century public house table Dad uses for a dining room table, just in case, before they spread the Declaration over it, gently. Cas looks like he can barely watch, but before Dean can touch it with the lemon, Cas grabs his wrist, his hand warm and soft.

"Stop," Cas says, way too close, and Dean shakes his head.

"I have to," Dean replies and he's certain somewhere far above their heads Sam is composing their wedding invitations for real, but he's frozen, inappropriately up in Cas's face.

"I know," Cas reassures him. "But let me do it." Cas takes a q-tip, and carefully brushes on the lemon juice. There's a moment of pure disbelief when nothing shows up.

"You morons need heat!" Dad yells from upstairs and they all jump. Sam scrambles to the guest bedroom and brings back a blow dryer. Dean and Cas stare at him.

"What?" Sam asks defensively. "What were you going to do, throw it in the oven?" He plugs it in, turns it on low and- holy shit.

"Oh my God," Cas breathes, reverent and amazed, and Dean knows that feeling, so he smiles, too.

There, in the top right corner, is a Masonic symbol.

Dean mans the blow dryer, because Sam writes faster than him, as Cas carefully lays a thin layer of lemon juice over the back of one of the most important documents in the world.

"I hate Ottendorf ciphers," Sam mumbles, pen lid in his mouth. Dean claps his free hand on Sam's back.

"I know, buddy." Dean says soothingly. He looks up to see Dad, lurking in the door.

"Another clue, huh?" Dad asks, trying to sound surly, but Dean can hear the edge of excitement in his voice.

"You should have been there when we found The Charlotte," Sam manages. John blinks.

"She was a ship?" Dad asks, mostly to himself, Dean thinks.

"She was beautiful, Dad," Dean says and Dad turns abruptly, and walks out of the room. Sam shakes his head and Dean refocuses on finishing the task at hand. Cas puts the lemon juice down.

"That's all of the numbers," he replies to Dean and Sam's unasked question. They wait a few minutes to make sure it's dry before rolling it back up again, putting it back in its protective tube.

"The letters?" Sam asks and Dean nods. They head into the living room, Dean dragging Cas and the Declaration with him, just in case.

"Dad, we need the Silence Dogood letters," Sam says flat-out. Dad, head in his hands, sitting in his old shitty chair, shakes his head.

"I don't have them, Sam." Dad says and great. Just... great.

"What?" Sam asks and oh Jesus, this is going to suck.

"I donated them to the Franklin Institute, Sam." Dad says, muffled through his hands. Sam looks like he wants to claw his face off with his hands. Dean understands exactly how he feels.