
Title: Chalk and Cheese
Author: terencefletcher
Artist: PieDarling
Rating: Mature
Pairings: Dean/Cas, minor Sam/Jessica
Wordcount: 20000
Warnings/Tags: Alternate Universe, romance, cultural differences, sightseeing, British!Cas, American!Dean
Posting: 11/13/2018Summary:
When a long-awaited week off doesn’t go as planned with Sam having to leave alone, Dean is determined to just lock himself in the house. Booze, junk food, and TV — and he’ll be fine. It always was. It works right until the next morning, when a weird stranger appears on his doorstep and, all of a sudden, claims a room.
Trying not to stare too openly, Dean held his gaze at the stranger’s face. His pale cheeks were scrubby, his eyes underlined with dark shadows. It wasn’t a hangover (Dean was an expert in that), but it wasn’t something other than booze either: the stranger’s blue eyes were bright and perfectly focused upon Dean. He remembered that kind of look very well — that had been the way Mr. Folsom, his middle school music teacher, eyed Dean’s t-shirt with the Metallica print. But Mr. Folsom never visited the Winchesters house and never stood on the porch with the expression of a debt collector.
“Has Wall Street crashed?”
The stranger frowned, then cracked a tiny smile.
“I am sorry. My plane was delayed, and I missed the connecting flight. I took a night train…” He gestured vaguely, as though in an attempt to excuse himself without literally saying so. “I was afraid you wouldn’t be home.”
Dean blinked, then glanced at his watch. It was half past ten. Sober, he would have never slept that long. With Sam at home, he would have never drunk that much.
“So… How can I help?”
“Do you still have that room?”
Dean blinked again. “Which room?”
“For me.”
It was both ridiculous and embarrassing, the way it got with two people speaking different languages emotionally enough not to notice they could not understand each other.
With an effort, Dean met the stranger’s eye.
“I’m not sure I understand.”
The stranger pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper from the inner pocket of his coat.
“Isn’t this your advert?”
It suddenly began to dawn on Dean that this visit wasn’t a mistake. He was starting to guess what this all was about.
“My advert?” he asked in a low voice.
“On the bedfinder.com, that holiday website… Here…” He looked down at his paper and started reading aloud, “Dean Winchester, Lawrence, Kansas, USA. A week is available from the fifth to the twelfth of June. A separate bedroom in a classic city house. Or isn’t this you?”
Sammy, I’ll kill you.








