Fallen

Chapter Seven

     I sit in the booth of this diner looking at my father sitting across from me, thinking about how I will probably never be able to bring myself to call him dad. I did once when I prayed to him, but even without saying it to his face, it felt strange. I suppose that's normal right? Someone who's supposed to be your dad finally shows up after almost 18 years of being M.I.A., you can't be expected to be daddy's little girl right away, right? I wonder how Castiel feels about the whole thing. If he even feels anything at all.

     The voice of a middle-aged waitress pulls me back into reality. "What'll everyone be having tonight?"

     "I will have the fattest, cheesiest burger you have," I say. "With extra bacon."

     Dean glances at me from beside Cas for a split second and almost looks impressed. "I'll have the same. Heavy on the onions."

     Sam shakes his head. Cas tells the waitress that he's not eating, and Sam orders a salad with some kind of girly vinaigrette.

     "Extra white girl on the side," I call to the waitress as she walks away. Dean laughs.

     "What?" Sam defends. "It's good for you!"

     "Yeah, but meat is good for the soul," I say.

     "That's not true," Cas flatly says. "Food has no effect on human souls."

     I laugh. "It's an exaggeration." He gives me a confused look. "You're way too literal, Cassy."

He ignores my comment. After a few seconds of silence, I pick up the salt shaker and set it on the table space in front of me. I move my hands to my lap under the table and stare at the shaker. I focus on it and try to imagine it sliding across the table. My eyes squint as I try to concentrate on it.

"Uh, Cel?" Sam says.

"What?" I say, not taking my eyes off the shaker.

"What are you doing?" He chuckles.

"Trying to move the salt shaker," I explain. "Now shut up, I'm concentrating." I see Dean smile out of the corner of my eye.

"Simply imagining that you're moving it will not make it move," Cas says. "You have to will it to move."

I flash my eyes up at him, looking at him through my eyelashes. "Isn't that the same thing?"

"No, it-" he pauses, frustrated. "You have to imagine that whatever you're trying to move is a part of you."

     My eyebrows raise. "Yes, Master Yoda."

Sam raises his eyebrows and turns to me. "You don't like sci-fi, but you've seen Star Wars?"

"Hey, Star Wars is an exception!" I defend. A little louder than I probably should have, I'll admit. I clear my throat. "Whatever."

I turn my attention back to the salt shaker. I take a deep breath and focus on it. I relax my body. I am one with the salt shaker. I clear my mind of everything but the salt and the glass that contains it. Then, the shaker slides across the table and tips over in front of Dean, just as I've told it to.

"Whoops," I smirk. All three pairs of eyes are on me, but I'm looking directly at Dean. "Dean spilled the salt." I'm sure I look and sound like a total psycho, but I don't care. On the outside, I'm playing it cool, but on the inside, I'm screaming my head off with excitement. I just made a frickin salt shaker move with my mind.

"Better toss some over your shoulder to eliminate the bad luck," I say to Dean.

Rolling his eyes, he picks up the salt shaker and sweeps the spilled salt off the table with his hand. He smacks the shaker down on the table in front of me and leaves his hand on it for a moment. "Bet you can't do it again," he growls. His green eyes challenge me.

This time, I don't even have to look at the shaker. I never break eye contact with Dean as the shaker goes flying off the table and breaks on the side of the bar next to us with a small pop. I look at the broken salt shaker on the floor and sink into my seat, ducking underneath my hands.

"Celeste!" Cas sternly says.

"I'm sorry! I didn't know it was gonna do that!" I feel the heat rush to my face.

Dean's expression hasn't changed, and his gaze has stayed fixed on me. "Who spilled the salt now?" The half serious, half playful look on his face sends chills down my spine and only makes my face more hot.

Screw you, Dean Winchester. Screw you.