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Devin stretched, luxuriating in the concept of sleeping in. Classes were out. They didn’t have to shepherd confused undergrads through what they thought was a perfectly reasonable syllabus for another two weeks, when the summer session would start.
In the meantime, relaxing with the cat and catching up on reading and sleep it was.
They reached out for Atlas, patting blindly around the bed before concluding that he must already be up and about.
Oh well. Devin snuggled further into the blankets, right up until a loud engine purred up the street and stopped seemingly right in front of their duplex.
Devin rolled over and peeked one eye open, glaring out the window. There was a beat up old farm truck out there, that had probably looked well-used in the 1980s and had definitely not improved since.
Figuring that if they had to be awake at least there would be entertainment, Devin scooped up the cat and settled down on the window seat to observe.
Not spy. Just observe.
The driver side door opened and a very large man with shaggy hair got out, twisting and stretching. He was dressed like he’d rolled around in a Bass Pro shop, and Devin squinted suspiciously. A contractor?
Then another guy, who mostly looked tired, got out of the other side of the truck, and Devin realized. They must be the new tenants in the other side of the duplex.
The taller guy very awkwardly reached out his hand, and the trench coat guy took it, and they walked up the front walk together.
Whatever they did next, Devin didn’t know, because they were busy. “Baaaaabe,” they yelled, going in search of Atlas. “Babe, there’s new gays next door! We’re not the only ones in the neighborhood!”
“More gays?” Atlas asked, appearing from around the corner to the kitchen. “Should we… do something? Put up a flag? Show them that we’re. Supportive?”
“We should take them cookies,” Devin said firmly, years of southern hospitality programming kicking in. “Do we have white chocolate?”
Three or so hours later, a plate of chocolate cookies with white chocolate chips had been assembled, and a not insignificant number of cookies eaten before they made it onto the plate at all.
“Fuck,” Devin said, staring at the plate. “This means I’m going to have to talk to them.”
“Yes, dear,” Atlas pointed out. “That’s how social interaction works.”
“Maybe we’ll make friends, that would be nice. Or maybe they’re complete weirdos and this was a bad idea and I shouldn’t-“ Devin stopped when Atlas gently cupped their face.
“Breathe.”
Devin took a breath.
“You are very anxious.”
Devin nodded.
“It will be fine.”
And with that, Atlas picked up the plate and they both went next door to meet their new neighbors.
***
Trench coat guy opened the door, and stood there squinting at both of them.
“Um. Hello?” Devin said.
“Hello.”
That wasn’t encouraging.
“Cookies,” Atlas reminded, holding out the plate.
“Right! Yes. We brought you cookies. As sort of a welcome to the neighborhood thing.”
Atlas held out the plate of cookies. After a long period of scrutiny, the guy took them and held them awkwardly.
“Guests?” said the tall guy, appearing behind the trench coat guy. Devin tried, shamelessly, to peek into their house just to see what it looked like. They appeared to have no furniture whatsoever.
“Hello,” Atlas was saying, diplomatically covering for Devin’s lack of response. “I’m Atlas, that’s Devin, we’re your next door neighbors and wanted to welcome you.”
“Ah!” Taller guy fumbled around with his hands, then held one out to shake. “I’m Sam, that’s Cas.”
Devin noticed, upon shaking Sam’s hand, that his fumbling had in fact been him slipping on a silver ring.
Interesting. Not like either of them would be a particular threat to his marriage, but maybe he was weird about that.
“Right,” Sam said, moving like he was about to pat Cas on the shoulder and then thinking better of it, shifting his hand back into his pocket. “Nice to meet you.”
“Right, you too,” Devin said, turning to walk away with Atlas.
As they walked away, Devin distinctly heard Cas mutter “better test these,” and then the distinctive crinkle of an aluminum foil covered plate being handed to a person who wasn’t quite prepared to suddenly be holding it.
“Test them? Did you hear that?” Devin asked as soon as they heard the door swung closed behind the two men.
“Angel,” Atlas said, very seriously. “I think our neighbors might be weird.”
Devin frowned playfully. “Well that can’t be right. We’re supposed to be the weird neighbors.”
***
One thing that Devin hadn’t quite factored into their day plans was that the fence separating the back yard between the two halves of the duplex was only five feet tall, and that they could see over it quite easily. And so could the new neighbors.
“I really think we could fit a small chicken coop back here,” Devin called to Atlas, who was sitting on the back porch with a lemonade. They poked around at the base of a tree for a bit, envisioning a small coop and chicken run. “We’d have fresh eggs. And chickens.”
“We’re out of salt rounds,” said a voice that was distinctly not Atlas, because that wasn’t Atlas’s voice and was also a completely nonsensical thing to say.
“Where’s the silver knife?” came another voice, and that was Sam, the big guy.
Huh. Weird neighbors indeed.
Devin continued to scheme about chickens, and Atlas continued to sip lemonade and indulge their ideas, and then a squinty face appeared over the fence. “Hello,” Cas said. “Have you felt any cold spots recently.”
“It’s May,” Devin said, baffled.
“So no,” Cas clarified. “Any lights flickering?”
“When I was little we had a heat lamp short out and set one of our chicken coops on fire,” Devin answered, because they were still focused on chickens and had only half-processed the question.
“No flickering lights,” Atlas said. “Why?”
Cas, instead of answering, frowned slightly and started squinting at the fence.
“Want to do a double date night sometime?” Devin asked, social anxiety warring with the need to make sure the New Queers felt safe and welcomed.
“Oh, we don’t- really do that,” Cas said. “But thank you.”
And he turned around and walked away.
“Babe,” Devin said, aghast. “They don’t do date night.”
“Babe,” Atlas deadpanned back. “They are real people, not fictional. You can’t fix them.”
“Wasn’t gonna try!”
Still, they appeared at the block’s outdoor movie night, complete with movie projected onto someone’s garage door and popcorn made by Darryl, who lived four houses down and collected model trains.
They then wandered around the movie night, shaking hands with people and fiddling with what looked like an old Walkman. Once, Devin could have sworn that Sam had surreptitiously flicked some water from his cup at them and it had landed on their arm.
What they did not do was act like a married couple. At all. No hand holding, no touching, no pet names. They stood an awkward eight inches away from each other at all times.
“Babe,” Devin whispered, scooting closer to Atlas’s side and ignoring the glare the very homophobic Mr. Wright was shooting them both. “Do they seem off to you?”
“Hmm?” Atlas murmured, their attention totally fixed on Batman onscreen.
“Sam and Cas. Do they seem weird to you?”
“I mean I think everyone is a little bit weird,” Atlas whispered back. “But yeah.”
“Maybe they need socialization. They seem like they never got socialized as children.”
“Angel, why do I feel like you’re about to try to rehabilitate the weird survivalist possible cult members into society?”
Devin pouted, playfully swatting Atlas. “I was just saying .”
***
Things continued much in that vein until approximately a week later, when Atlas saw a beautiful classic car pull up in front of the duplex.
“Babe,” he said, poking their head out into the backyard, where Devin was trying very hard to build a small chicken coop. “New development.”
Devin immediately abandoned the project, following Atlas into the house, where they both stared out at the car.
A tall man got out of the car and stretched, obviously popping his back.
“What,” Devin grumped. “Does this neighborhood just attract very weird, kind of hot random guys?”
The door opened and Cas hurried out of it, immediately falling into a hug with his face tucked in the new man’s shoulder. Then the new man led Cas back up to the door, his hand casually resting on Cas’s waist.
“Babe,” Devin said, thunderstruck.
“ Babe, ” Atlas repeated. “ Infidelity? ”
The fascination from this new development notwithstanding, the chicken coop still needed to be built, and so Atlas was press ganged into assistance, with the promise of kisses as a reward.
While they were outside, sort of building but also sort of just goofing off and making out, the new guy appeared on the other side of the fence. “Dean,” he said, staring at them.
“Atlas,” Atlas said, disentangling themself from a roll of chicken wire, three zip ties, and Devin.
“Devin,” said Devin, slightly miffed at having their goofing off time interrupted.
“Noticed any cold spots recently?” Dean asked.
“Cas already checked,” Devin said, standing up and walking over. “How do y’all know each other?”
“I’m Sam’s brother,” Dean said. “You notice anything weird, you call me, okay?” He handed over a business card, which said DEAN on one side and had a phone number on the other.
Then he walked back into the house.
“Weirdest fuckin business card I’ve ever seen,” Atlas muttered. “Doesn’t even have a last name.”
“Is Cas having an affair with his husband’s brother? ” Devin asked.
“Probably,” Atlas said, still frowning at the business card.
“Oh my god. Poor Sam.”
“Poor Sam,” Atlas agreed, gazing at the door Dean had disappeared through.
***
The next time they interacted with their weird neighbors was the night before Devin was set to begin teaching a summer session at the college, and as such, the general bonfire noises coming from next door were annoying . “Beloved,” Devin said, very seriously. “I am about to go murder our weird neighbors. Gay or not.”
“Mm,” Atlas said from the couch, where they were reading Batman fanfiction and definitely not petting the cat in the exact style an old movie villain would. “Homophobia at work.”
“Shut upppp. What are they even doing?”
Devin peered out the window.
The three neighbors, because Dean had become a permanent fixture now, were not all visible.
Sam was building a bonfire, except it looked… weird.
“Babe, does that look like a late first century Roman funerary sacrificial pyre to you?”
“You’re the archaeologist, dear,” Atlas said, coming up to look out the window. “But yeah.”
“Great. They’re some of those guys who get like, weirdly into some fictionalized version of Rome.”
Then Dean and Cas appeared, carrying something wrapped up in a large tarp, which they placed on top of the pyre.
One furry leg flopped out.
Devin would think it was a dog, except for how it was massive.
“Are they ritually sacrificing furries?” Atlas asked.
“We should go ask,” Devin decided.
“Are you insane ?”
Devin poked their head out the door. “Hello! Could y’all keep your… whatever it is you’re doing? down please? I’ve got work tomorrow.”
“Shit, sorry,” Sam said sheepishly.
Dean pulled a silver knife that was definitely dripping with blood out of the tarp.
“In front of the civilians, Dean?” Sam asked, exasperated. “You heard her-them. You heard them. They’ve got work.”
“Nice knife,” Devin called, because Devin had very few self preservation instincts. “Spyderco?”
“Not this one, but I’ve got a few of those,” Dean admitted.
“Well, now we have to explain ourselves so they don’t call social services or anything,” Sam huffed.
“Wasn’t planning on it,” Devin, who had in fact been planning on it, said immediately.
“This is a werewolf,” Cas said. “They are vulnerable to silver. We infiltrated the community to locate and neutralize it. It was Mr. Wright. We will be gone by tomorrow morning.”
“Right,” Devin said, slightly dazed. Behind them, Atlas also tried to fit into the doorway to see what was going on. Devin walked further into the yard, followed closely by Atlas.
Dean flipped the tarp off the werewolf’s face. It was definitely a werewolf. “So you’re not married?” Atlas asked.
Sam actually cringed. “God, no.”
“But you two are,” pointing at Dean and Cas.
“Uh.” Cas said.
“What,” Dean said.
“Oh come on, ” Devin said. “My gaydar is impeccable. There’s something there.”
They both shrugged, bashfully, and Sam, who was lighting the pyre, rolled his eyes and then nodded emphatically.
“Personally I thought you’d be more freaked out by the werewolf,” Dean pointed out.
“Mostly I’m just glad we’re not facing the moral conundrum of being aware that you’re sleeping with your brother’s husband,” Atlas told him. “Although I’m sure the werewolf anxiety will hit eventually.”
The next morning, as promised, the three men were gone, with no sign that they’d been there at all. All that was left of them was a charred patch of grass in the backyard and the chicken coop, which had been completed some time between the time Devin and Atlas had gone to bed, and the time they woke up.
“They finished our coop,” Devin said, looking out the window. “That was really sweet of them.”
“Angel,” Atlas said. “They murdered a werewolf. Who happened to be our homophobic neighbor.”
“Oh Jesus fuck. You’re right. What the hell.”
***
(several days later)
“Babe! Babe. Babe. Babe. Get this. Hear me out. The existence of actual monsters throws the existing scholarship on recorded monsters in art and history into question!”
“Consider that veering off track and insisting monsters are real could tank your credibility and career?”
“GodDAMNIT.”