Angel: A City of Lost Angels Story
Chapter 10: An Angel Bartender

Angel’s POV

Angel stretched with hands to the sky as she stood in front of the Yard gate. She really enjoyed the security of sleeping in hammocks, but it meant stretching everything out for hours after. Patting her banded knife for security, she padded to the gate and exited. She had overheard chatter in the cafeteria that the bar was re-opening again today, and started the short walk to it.

She had spent days listening in on conversations, joining excited groups with gossip, and memorizing names. She learned all she could about city inhabitants and their true or untrue histories. She felt more confident and more curious, but mostly felt cabin fever, so a bar visit would be perfect.

Pushing the bar door open, she was surprised to see so many tables full with figures and the jukebox actually clunking out some tunes. Some song sang ‘Let’s do it doggy style so we can both watch X-files’ and a variety of cats danced in the open floor space. She took note of one heavily armoured female sitting on the couch with a beer. Human maybe?

Many table patrons at first glance looked vampiric, all impeccably dressed as if heading to a fancy party. Most had wine glasses, others had beer steins. Some eyes floated over her, but she didn’t break stride heading for the bar. She was eager to see how Gabriel was feeling. “Gabe?” she asked when she reached the bartop, seeing no one.

A blonde head of shaggy hair appeared with an arm full of meat jerky bags. His white collared shirt had a spill of something red on one rib. “Mr Castiel!” she said surprised.

He smiled and tossed his head to rid his view of some hair strands. “Angel, I had hoped to see you love.” He always seemed so calm and collected, but Angel felt like a sudden love-struck pup at seeing and hearing him again. He stuffed the jerky bags into a drawer and grabbed an empty glass to place in front of her. “Thirsty?”

She smiled, unable to contain herself at the reality that THE king of angels was here playing bartender. “Yes sir, whiskey please.” She fisted a handful of bullets Dai had given her and clinked them into a glass ashtray on the bar. She slid onto the stool against the wall and glanced around the bar again. “Busy in here sir.” she stated as the filled glass appeared in front of her and the ash tray disappeared.

Castiel ran fingers through his hair and scratched on his defined jaw. “Yes. Seems a week being closed has left the city parched.” He leaned back on the liquor wall edge and crossed his arms over his chest as he looked her over. Shaking his head at an unvoiced thought he asked “Tell me Angel, where does this ‘sir’ come from? You cats only ever call me versions of FeatherButt, or once Sir Flaps a Lot.”

Angel laughed softly, then shook her head. “Training I suppose. I’ve been taught to call men sir since before I can remember.” She took a drink and hissed softly at the dry burn. “It’s a hard habit to break, I guess. I can call you Sir.. Flaps A Lot if you’d rather?”

“I like sir.” He answered softly. There was some vulnerability in his voice. She felt a small switch in her head that Castiel deserved the term sir, but not everyone did. Turning to the display wall with a cough, he added quickly and a little louder “Or just Castiel is fine too, love. I… I have a proposition for you Angel.” He spoke fast without looking at her. Her ears perked at the words.

“Yes sir?”

He turned to face her, his charismatic smile wide. “I’d like your help running this place for a bit. I’m admittedly a little out of touch with all of..” he gestured around himself, “..this. We think having someone other than an angel serving the factions here may help to traverse the city division that I’ve let get out of hand too. It would be a step towards peace at least. Gabriel thought there was poetry too in someone named Angel being the first to bridge the gap.”

Angel smiled for a multitude of reasons. She could be useful in a safe place and repay her thanks. She could use the position to benefit her new Tribe role and her own curiosity. Gabriel and Castiel had talked about her, and she may get to spend some time with this walking Adonis… She nodded a few times to the staring Castiel.

—-

Castiel’s POV

Castiel brightened. “Really?! Excellent!” Holy Hell she agreed! “Well, when you finish your whiskey we can get started. There’s no drinking on the job, love.” He was still floored that she asked for whiskey, expecting a Shirley Temple or something fruity.

His heart thumped as she smiled again, the fifth one today. He was happy to see the last days with the Tribe had benefitted her confidence and her belly. She didn’t look near like the skinny lost kitten she was only a week ago. A jealous voice in his head wondered if Daishkan had a heavy hand in that guidance. That tomcat had trouble keeping his hands off anything to be sure. Castiel sighed. He needed to get a grip on himself. Intrusive sexual thoughts started the second he saw her at the bar. He was certainly afflicted with lust, but envy now too? He was checking sins off his Bingo card in a hurry.

He knew Peacekeeper David was going to have an aneurysm when he found out Castiel had actually gone and done what was only meant to be a frustrated joke. ‘Well why don’t you just ask that damn cat to run the place if you’re so Hell bent on keeping it going?!’ he had said. David wanted the bar closed permanently as it was just a waste of resources. Always the quick wit, Gabe inserted a joke about trading angels for an Angel, and Castiel hadn’t been able to think of anything else since. Not that thinking about her wasn’t constantly on his mind anyway. He had convinced himself it was a good idea, plus he’d get to spend some more time with her to understand the effects she had on him.

She drank more frequently and spun on the stool to look out over the bar floor, seemingly unbothered that he was openly staring at her again. As she lifted the heavy mug to her lips, her cropped grey sweater rode up a little and he saw a blotch of black ink that would be just under the round of her left breast. Leaning forward on the bar acting casual, he made out the tattoo on her next lifted sip: ‘Pet 137’.

He turned to frown at the liquor wall, then busied his hands washing dishes. The tattoo placement and number was unmistakeable as a sexual slave. Combined with the collar scars, her lifelong training of ‘sir’, and her original fear of the sexually aggressive Dai.. the dots connected in his head. Lord help him. He felt the anger inside starting to build at what must have been in her past.

He mentally committed to help her replace happiness in this new life. To give her the freedom she had never experienced, and provide her the room to discover who she was. He would help her any way he could, while trying to perhaps replace out what she was to him.