Colours and Whites Can Mix -- As Long As You Like Pink Underwear {Two}
November 19, 2010
Dean awoke to some strange exotic creature devoted solely to shrieking in his ear. A quick fist settled the score, and he rolled out of bed. With a practiced ease, he avoided the broken skeletons of alarm clocks past.
Coffee time. Dean no function coffee well without.
After several refreshing cups of java, Dean grabbed his overflowing laundry bag with a groan. Work, work, work, then off to his job. Oh, the things he did to make a living.
The apartments had a fairly decent laundry room located in the basement. If he took the stairs quickly, he could get in his cardio exercise for the day.
When he arrived, he stopped short of the door. Someone was in there. And not just any someone, but the same someone who filled his dreams last night. It was Blue Eyes.
Dean quickly dropped the bag and fixed his hair in the reflection from one of the ever-leaking pipes. It was kind of like looking in a spoon, so his hair was probably horrible. He was debating running upstairs and changing when the laundry room door opened.
“Excuse me.” Oh lord, his voice. Dean sternly told his knees not to melt as he listened to the rough, gravelly sex voice his new neighbor had. “Do you have any extra detergent?”
“Deter-what?” Dean’s mind was blank. “Uh, yeah, detergent. I have some.”
There was an awkward pause where they considered each other.
“Could I use some, please? I didn’t grab enough from my room.”
Dean blinked, “Yeah.” The awkward silence continued.
Shaking himself from his lapse in neuro-function, Dean threw on his most winning smile. “You can have anything you want, man.”
“The detergent will be fine.”
Oh. Well then.
Dean grabbed his stuff and entered the room cautiously, making sure no one else was around. He had big plans for this blue-eyed guy with the sexy voice, and he certainly wasn’t into voyeurism.
He handed a jug of some generic detergent over to the guy. “Hi, I’m Dean.”
Blue Eyes nodded, focusing on his laundry.
“This is usually where the other person is like, nice to meet you, my name is-“
“Look, I’m sorry, but I’m not supposed to tell anyone my name. It’s against the rules.”
Dean raised an eyebrow a-la Ellen. “Whose rules?”
“God’s. You can call me Elder.”
“Elmer, like the Fudd?”
Blue Eyes laughed, “El-Der. It’s a title. Do you think I look like an Elmer?”
“I was thinking it would be a real shame if you were an Elmer.” Dean winked, and then noticed what the Elder-Elmer guy was up to. “You know, you’re really bad at this laundry shit.”
“What?”
“You have colors and whites together. Unless you’re into pink undies, you have to separate them. They just don’t mix.”
“Thanks.” The guy laughed, and started pulling out white socks and such. “I’ve never had to do laundry before. It would serve those guys right if they wind up with pink underwear.”
Dean chuckled and began sorting his laundry, too. “So is this, like, a hazing thing? Are you a pledge?”
“Excuse me?”
“Is the laundry thing a hazing thing, are you trying to be Kappa Beta Theta or some shit?”
“No, I’m just a greenie.”
“A what?”
“It’s my first day as a missionary.”
That damned awkward silence returned. This new factoid threw a big, fat wrench in Dean’s plans to kidnap this guy and have his babies.
“So, you guys aren’t frat boys?”
“Nope. And in accordance to the prophecy, I get to do the laundry.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
The small quirk of the guy’s mouth gave him away. Dean laughed, “You’re shitting me.”
“Kind of, yeah.”
“Are you allowed to do that?”
“I don’t think it’s against the rules.” Elder-Dude chuckled, his voice was just made to make Dean wanna do bad things. “You’re just too easy.”
This was his chance. Dean leaned over the washing machine, so he was mere inches from Blue Eyes’ face. “That’s what I’ve heard.”
Immediately, he could see Elder’s face flame up. Gotcha.
“Thanks for the laundry advice.” The red-faced beauty fled.
Shit. Maybe Dean was out of practice with this.
November 22, 2010
Dean sidled dejectedly into the Roadhouse. He had spent the rest of the weekend trying to get another chance with Elder, but had been neatly side-stepped every time.
“What’s wrong with you, Dean-o?” Ellen sat at the bar surrounded by a small mountain of bills and receipts. “You look like the cat dragged you in, chewed you up, and spit you out like sour milk.”
“Thanks for the compliment.” Dean groaned melodramatically and sat down next to her. “It’s just that my life is over.”
“Now this I have to hear.” Jo popped up from behind the bar. Dean promptly fell off his stool.
“Where the fuck did you come from?”
“Hell. Now, spill. You wouldn’t answer any of my calls this weekend, and I want the deets.”
Dean cowered under her glare. She really was learning her mother’s tricks. “You know I have new neighbors, right?”
“Yeah, the last ones like got sick of you peeing in their plants.”
“Yeah, well, it was allegedly.” He played with the hem of his leather jacket. “Although, I must admit, it was allegedly fun to allegedly piss on those asshole’s petunias. I mean, who the fuck puts potted plants outside their shitty little tenth-floor apartment?”
Ellen rose from her seat and headed to the kitchen. “Such a charming young man, Dean Winchester.”
“Oh, you flatter me. Don’t think Jo hasn’t mentioned 1987, Ell.”
“Joanna Beth.”
“I was drunk, god, Mom.”
“Joanna Beth!”
“And maybe a little stoned.” She giggled. “Do you think that was really ecstasy, Dean?”
Ellen made a scandalized noise and hurried away.
“Nice, now she’s off to check your room. Maybe frisk you later.”
“It was worth it.” Jo handed him a cup of coffee. “How about a pick-me-up?”
“If I wasn’t in love, I’d kiss you.” He sighed blissfully into his coffee.
“Say what now, Dean?”
“I’m in love. For real, this time.”
“It’s not that stripper, what was his name?”
“He’s about as far from a stripper as you can be. He has dark hair and the most gorgeous eyes ever.”
“It’s not that old weatherman from Channel 9, right? I know he’s famous and he liked you, but Dean, buddy. It’ll never work out.”
Ew. Dean put down his coffee in disgust. That weatherman was icky.
“Can I just say that is the grossest thing ever.”
“I’m glad you agree.”
“Jo, he’s a missionary.” Dean let out his breath in a deep sigh. “They’re all missionaries.”
She gave him a weird look and tried to hide a snicker. It was not an attractive combination.
“What kind of missionaries?”
Dean sighed, “Do you honestly expect me to know what kind?”
“I guess not, Mr. God-was-my-co-pilot-but-I-ate-him.” Jo chuckled. “So, when can I meet him?”
“Oh, sometime around never.”
“Dean. As your hag, I officially have dibs on meeting your new boyfriend before anyone else.”
“That’s my problem! He’s not my boyfriend! He won’t even talk to me since I flirted with him.”
“Then it’s time for Operation: Missionary Position.”
“Please never say that again.”
“Deal.”
November 24, 2010
Castiel was starting to understand Los Angeles.
It was loud and scary and just looked like a mass of dots. It was jumbled and disconnected, and quite frankly, it scared the heck out of him.
But it had its beauty, and its culture. Castiel got to experience that first-hand as he and Uriel biked from house to house, spreading the word of God.
It’s never easy being Mormon, and getting hundreds of doors slammed in his face every day attested to that. He just wished someone would listen. God can change lives, improve them in ways people never consider.
After a day full of closing doors the sun began to lower and the two of them returned home. A lovely blonde girl was leaving as they arrived, and when she saw them, her eyes lit up.
“Are you the new neighbors? The missionary guys?”
“Yes, miss.” Uriel answered quietly. He was never good around pretty girls. “We are.”
“How does it work? Do you do appointments or just show up and hope for the best?”
“Do you need an appointment, miss?” Castiel asked, eagerly jumping on the opportunity.
“Yeah, well, not me. My friend’s life has just been so, uh, void of meaning. He could use some God in his life, you know?” She hesitated, “What kind of missionaries are you, exactly?”
“We’re Mormons.” Uriel took the conversation back. “When and where, miss?”
“How about now? He lives just upstairs.”
“Lead the way.” Uriel grabbed the door and held it for her. “After you, miss.”
She giggled and led them to the elevator. “Tenth floor. He has a great view.”
“Our residence is on the tenth floor as well. Perhaps we have already spoken to him?”
“I doubt it. He isn’t the most verbal of guys.” Her eyes glinted in a way that made Castiel’s stomach turn. She was up to something. He had seen that glint a million times in his siblings’ eyes. Usually right before they pulled a particularly elaborate prank.
They made their way through the building relatively unscathed. There was a close call with Castiel’s two left feet and a slight lip in the carpet, but Uriel grabbing the back of his suit coat remedied that.
They reached apartment 1019 and the blonde girl knocked obnoxiously. “Hey, Dean Bean. We have some visitors.”
The door opened and revealed none other than laundry guy. He scowled at his friend before stopping short. Obviously there was a little awkwardness floating around after what he had said. Castiel’s head began to ache again.
This was not going to end well.
November 24, 2010
Dean slammed the door in his guests’ faces. He couldn’t help it. Elder dude was standing right outside and his apartment was a mess. He had had a party the night before and the remnants were scattered throughout his home. There was a fucking dildo sitting on his kitchen table. A nude statue of some Greek chick posed provocatively on the coffee table and condom balloons hung in great bundles from various light fixtures. That definitely wasn’t going to impress the love of his life.
He tossed the dildo in the dishwasher, and the naked statue joined his orange juice in the mini bar. There wasn’t much he could do with the condoms, so he began grabbing what he could and throwing them out the window. They floated quite nicely and landed in the community garden at the foot of his building. At any another time, he would have found that hilarious, but now, he was in a panic.
Running back to the door, he pulled it open with what he hoped was a sexy look. “How may I be of service?”
Jo socked him in the shoulder, again, and pushed inside. Ouch. His shoulder was probably permanently damaged from all the times she punched him.
Blue Eyes and Stick-in-Butt stood waiting for an invitation. “Would you like to come in?”
They nodded and followed Jo into the recently de-sexed living room. Elder was looking particularly fine this evening, Los Angeles seemed to be agreeing with him.
“What’s going on?” He looked from his guests to his devious best friend. He could kiss her; she got Blue Eyes into his apartment, and she didn’t even need to use those handcuffs she bought at Spencer’s.
Stick-in-Butt started, “Mr… I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”
“Dean.” Elder and Dean spoke at the same time, the former flushed and looked away while Dean beamed. He’d remembered his name.
“Dean, your friend here tells us your life is void of meaning.”
“Really? Void? I said void?”
“And we’d like to offer you a chance to reinvent yourself, using the power of Christ.”
“Uh-huh.” Dean shot his fiercest glare at Jo. She didn’t deserve a kiss; she deserved a bitch slap. “And what would that entail?”
“Just try to understand that there is something out there, something bigger than you or your problems. God has a plan for you.” Blue Eyes answered, that voice of his almost made Dean want to convert.
Smirking, Jo asked, “What’s the church's stance on gay rights, Elder?”
Stick-in-Butt cut in, “We don’t have a stance, miss. Gay and right don’t even belong in the same sentence.”
Oh no, he didn’t.
“But right and right wing go hand in hand?” Now Jo was pissed. “I think it’s time for you to go, pal.”
“I think it is. Elder, we’re leaving.”
They stood stiffly, and practically fled out the door. Great. Now Blue Eyes would never talk to Dean.
“What the fuck did you do that for, Jo?” Opening the mini bar, he grabbed his fucking naked statue because he fucking liked it and he fucking wanted it on his fucking coffee table. Fuck it.
That felt good.
“I thought it’d be good for you to get to know him better. I didn’t know they were such fucking assholes.” Jo was so angry she was shaking. “I’m sorry, Dean-o. I didn’t know.”
“Now you see why I’m having so much trouble.”
“Yeah. I bet you a hundred bucks that guy’s a virgin. It’s unnatural at his age. But at least we know one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Your one true love, he totally digs you, too.”
“Say what now?”
Conspiratorially, Jo beckoned him closer. “He couldn’t take his eyes off your ass when you went to sit down.”
“I knew my ass looked good in these jeans.”
“Your ass looks good in everything, honey.”
“Damn straight.”
November 24, 2010
Castiel breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed quietly behind him. He was not in the habit of rule breaking, but he just could not sleep with Gabriel’s animated snoring. He had discovered the green-eyes, or at least incredibly similar ones. Dean, his new neighbor, was the owner, but Castiel would swear on Jimmy’s grave that he never met him before.
He wracked his brain for any possible conclusions, but drew only blanks. Punching the down button, he allowed his thoughts to wander again. This time he found flashes of lightly tanned skin and a quick, cheeky grin. He felt the ghost of lips on his neck and jumped, looking around the hall. He was alone. Maybe he had better talk to the doctors again about his headaches.
The elevator was a creaky relic of the 1980s, and smelled like a urinal. It was unpleasant enough to keep his focus off of the distinct feeling he’d forgotten something important.
He had seen a small garden outside his building as they arrived. It seemed to be the perfect place to try and clear his mind of thoughts of his green-eyed neighbor.
There were muffled pops and cussing emanating from somewhere near the sunflower patch, however. Curious, he peeked around the corner and saw the object of his troubles right in front of him. Dean was swearing like a sailor and attempting to grab a bundle of oddly-shaped balloons from the apple tree.
“Of course. You fucking balloons had to choose to land in the fucking treetops.” Dean scrambled against the tree in a feeble attempt to climb up it. “Kids play in this garden, goddamnit!”
As if on cue, an apple fell from a high branch and hit him squarely between the eyes. “SHIT! Do I look like Sir Isaac Fucking Newton to you?! And now I’m bleeding!”
Castiel stepped forwards automatically to help. His sudden movement must have caught Dean’s eye because he raised his fists threateningly. The gesture was somewhat less effective due to Castiel witnessing his lost fight with a piece of fruit.
“Whoever the fuck that is, come out right now. I am so not in the fucking mood to get mugged or hit up for drugs.”
“I mean no harm.” Castiel stepped quietly into the light. “I just wanted to see the garden. I’ll go.”
Dean’s eyes widened and he dropped his fists. “Wait. Elder, right?” He paused, and looked up at the weird balloons. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about climbing trees, would you”
“Enough to know you won’t be able to. The park service must cut the lower branches off, look at the scarring.” Castiel pointed to several obvious, jagged marks on the trunk. “Better get a ladder.”
“How much do you weigh?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Castiel stared, starting to get the picture. “I don’t know, 140 something.”
“Perfect. If I give you a boost, you can reach my… balloons, right?” Dean smirked and put his hands out. “You’re a missionary. You have to help your neighbor and shit.”
This was not going to help him clear his head. Breaking his neck for some balloons and being in the company of the owner of the green eyes was about the farthest from clear he could be.
“All right, but I must return quickly, before Uri-my companions know I left.”
“I can keep a secret if you can.”
Castiel looked cautiously at Dean. “Can you really lift me?”
“Sure thing, Elmer.”
Carefully, he placed one foot in the cradle of Dean’s cupped hands before grabbing a hold of the rough tree bark. Dean grunted and hoisted him up several feet, just long enough for him to grab the balloons. With another grunt, Dean slipped and they tumbled head over heels into the sunflowers.
This was not going well for him, bemoaned Castiel wordlessly. Now, not only were his temples throbbing, he had scratches on his wrists where the bark had scraped along his skin. Blood welled up in the deepest cuts. The fall had knocked the air from his lungs and he coughed painfully.
“Son of a bi-“ Dean stopped himself. “Biscuit. Are you all right, man?”
“I believe I will be once my lungs start working again.” He sat up and inspected his cuts a little more thoroughly. “Yes, I’m fine. Nothing a band aid or two won’t fix.”
“I have some in my apartment, your companions would never know.”
Castiel weighed his options, go with his neighbor and suffer from more green-eyed dreams, or try and find bandages in Gabriel’s pigsty of a medicine cabinet.
“All right, but I have to go back to my room soon. I shouldn’t even be here.”
“Fair enough.”
The elevator ride had never taken so long. Castiel was acutely aware of Dean’s curious and concerned glances, especially in such a confined space. They reached their floor and Dean ran forward to open his door. Castiel began to regret his decision.
“The bathroom is the first door on the left. Band aids and peroxide and stuff are in the top drawer.”
“Thank you.” Castiel meandered into the cozy powder-blue bathroom. His own apartment was much less homey because four twenty-something guys do not a clean house maketh.
He took care of his scrapes with only a few hisses of pain. His head still ached, but it was starting to die down in the soft lighting of the apartment.
A yawn broke through suddenly. It was time to go to bed.
He exited the bathroom and turned to find himself nose to nose with his neighbor.
“You know you never did tell me your name.” Dean breathed softly.
Castiel hesitated, his brain seemed to freeze up. “I can’t.”
Dean leaned in, impossibly close. A hairsbreadth from touching noses, from touching lips. All Castiel could see was the dilated black of his pupils ringed by that impossible green, and he felt the phantom lips on the back of his neck once more. He jumped, startled, and broke the connection.
“I have to go.”
Dean caught his wrist gently as he pulled away, but Castiel shook his head.
“Goodnight, Dean.”
Three
Dean awoke to some strange exotic creature devoted solely to shrieking in his ear. A quick fist settled the score, and he rolled out of bed. With a practiced ease, he avoided the broken skeletons of alarm clocks past.
Coffee time. Dean no function coffee well without.
After several refreshing cups of java, Dean grabbed his overflowing laundry bag with a groan. Work, work, work, then off to his job. Oh, the things he did to make a living.
The apartments had a fairly decent laundry room located in the basement. If he took the stairs quickly, he could get in his cardio exercise for the day.
When he arrived, he stopped short of the door. Someone was in there. And not just any someone, but the same someone who filled his dreams last night. It was Blue Eyes.
Dean quickly dropped the bag and fixed his hair in the reflection from one of the ever-leaking pipes. It was kind of like looking in a spoon, so his hair was probably horrible. He was debating running upstairs and changing when the laundry room door opened.
“Excuse me.” Oh lord, his voice. Dean sternly told his knees not to melt as he listened to the rough, gravelly sex voice his new neighbor had. “Do you have any extra detergent?”
“Deter-what?” Dean’s mind was blank. “Uh, yeah, detergent. I have some.”
There was an awkward pause where they considered each other.
“Could I use some, please? I didn’t grab enough from my room.”
Dean blinked, “Yeah.” The awkward silence continued.
Shaking himself from his lapse in neuro-function, Dean threw on his most winning smile. “You can have anything you want, man.”
“The detergent will be fine.”
Oh. Well then.
Dean grabbed his stuff and entered the room cautiously, making sure no one else was around. He had big plans for this blue-eyed guy with the sexy voice, and he certainly wasn’t into voyeurism.
He handed a jug of some generic detergent over to the guy. “Hi, I’m Dean.”
Blue Eyes nodded, focusing on his laundry.
“This is usually where the other person is like, nice to meet you, my name is-“
“Look, I’m sorry, but I’m not supposed to tell anyone my name. It’s against the rules.”
Dean raised an eyebrow a-la Ellen. “Whose rules?”
“God’s. You can call me Elder.”
“Elmer, like the Fudd?”
Blue Eyes laughed, “El-Der. It’s a title. Do you think I look like an Elmer?”
“I was thinking it would be a real shame if you were an Elmer.” Dean winked, and then noticed what the Elder-Elmer guy was up to. “You know, you’re really bad at this laundry shit.”
“What?”
“You have colors and whites together. Unless you’re into pink undies, you have to separate them. They just don’t mix.”
“Thanks.” The guy laughed, and started pulling out white socks and such. “I’ve never had to do laundry before. It would serve those guys right if they wind up with pink underwear.”
Dean chuckled and began sorting his laundry, too. “So is this, like, a hazing thing? Are you a pledge?”
“Excuse me?”
“Is the laundry thing a hazing thing, are you trying to be Kappa Beta Theta or some shit?”
“No, I’m just a greenie.”
“A what?”
“It’s my first day as a missionary.”
That damned awkward silence returned. This new factoid threw a big, fat wrench in Dean’s plans to kidnap this guy and have his babies.
“So, you guys aren’t frat boys?”
“Nope. And in accordance to the prophecy, I get to do the laundry.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
The small quirk of the guy’s mouth gave him away. Dean laughed, “You’re shitting me.”
“Kind of, yeah.”
“Are you allowed to do that?”
“I don’t think it’s against the rules.” Elder-Dude chuckled, his voice was just made to make Dean wanna do bad things. “You’re just too easy.”
This was his chance. Dean leaned over the washing machine, so he was mere inches from Blue Eyes’ face. “That’s what I’ve heard.”
Immediately, he could see Elder’s face flame up. Gotcha.
“Thanks for the laundry advice.” The red-faced beauty fled.
Shit. Maybe Dean was out of practice with this.
November 22, 2010
Dean sidled dejectedly into the Roadhouse. He had spent the rest of the weekend trying to get another chance with Elder, but had been neatly side-stepped every time.
“What’s wrong with you, Dean-o?” Ellen sat at the bar surrounded by a small mountain of bills and receipts. “You look like the cat dragged you in, chewed you up, and spit you out like sour milk.”
“Thanks for the compliment.” Dean groaned melodramatically and sat down next to her. “It’s just that my life is over.”
“Now this I have to hear.” Jo popped up from behind the bar. Dean promptly fell off his stool.
“Where the fuck did you come from?”
“Hell. Now, spill. You wouldn’t answer any of my calls this weekend, and I want the deets.”
Dean cowered under her glare. She really was learning her mother’s tricks. “You know I have new neighbors, right?”
“Yeah, the last ones like got sick of you peeing in their plants.”
“Yeah, well, it was allegedly.” He played with the hem of his leather jacket. “Although, I must admit, it was allegedly fun to allegedly piss on those asshole’s petunias. I mean, who the fuck puts potted plants outside their shitty little tenth-floor apartment?”
Ellen rose from her seat and headed to the kitchen. “Such a charming young man, Dean Winchester.”
“Oh, you flatter me. Don’t think Jo hasn’t mentioned 1987, Ell.”
“Joanna Beth.”
“I was drunk, god, Mom.”
“Joanna Beth!”
“And maybe a little stoned.” She giggled. “Do you think that was really ecstasy, Dean?”
Ellen made a scandalized noise and hurried away.
“Nice, now she’s off to check your room. Maybe frisk you later.”
“It was worth it.” Jo handed him a cup of coffee. “How about a pick-me-up?”
“If I wasn’t in love, I’d kiss you.” He sighed blissfully into his coffee.
“Say what now, Dean?”
“I’m in love. For real, this time.”
“It’s not that stripper, what was his name?”
“He’s about as far from a stripper as you can be. He has dark hair and the most gorgeous eyes ever.”
“It’s not that old weatherman from Channel 9, right? I know he’s famous and he liked you, but Dean, buddy. It’ll never work out.”
Ew. Dean put down his coffee in disgust. That weatherman was icky.
“Can I just say that is the grossest thing ever.”
“I’m glad you agree.”
“Jo, he’s a missionary.” Dean let out his breath in a deep sigh. “They’re all missionaries.”
She gave him a weird look and tried to hide a snicker. It was not an attractive combination.
“What kind of missionaries?”
Dean sighed, “Do you honestly expect me to know what kind?”
“I guess not, Mr. God-was-my-co-pilot-but-I-ate-him.” Jo chuckled. “So, when can I meet him?”
“Oh, sometime around never.”
“Dean. As your hag, I officially have dibs on meeting your new boyfriend before anyone else.”
“That’s my problem! He’s not my boyfriend! He won’t even talk to me since I flirted with him.”
“Then it’s time for Operation: Missionary Position.”
“Please never say that again.”
“Deal.”
November 24, 2010
Castiel was starting to understand Los Angeles.
It was loud and scary and just looked like a mass of dots. It was jumbled and disconnected, and quite frankly, it scared the heck out of him.
But it had its beauty, and its culture. Castiel got to experience that first-hand as he and Uriel biked from house to house, spreading the word of God.
It’s never easy being Mormon, and getting hundreds of doors slammed in his face every day attested to that. He just wished someone would listen. God can change lives, improve them in ways people never consider.
After a day full of closing doors the sun began to lower and the two of them returned home. A lovely blonde girl was leaving as they arrived, and when she saw them, her eyes lit up.
“Are you the new neighbors? The missionary guys?”
“Yes, miss.” Uriel answered quietly. He was never good around pretty girls. “We are.”
“How does it work? Do you do appointments or just show up and hope for the best?”
“Do you need an appointment, miss?” Castiel asked, eagerly jumping on the opportunity.
“Yeah, well, not me. My friend’s life has just been so, uh, void of meaning. He could use some God in his life, you know?” She hesitated, “What kind of missionaries are you, exactly?”
“We’re Mormons.” Uriel took the conversation back. “When and where, miss?”
“How about now? He lives just upstairs.”
“Lead the way.” Uriel grabbed the door and held it for her. “After you, miss.”
She giggled and led them to the elevator. “Tenth floor. He has a great view.”
“Our residence is on the tenth floor as well. Perhaps we have already spoken to him?”
“I doubt it. He isn’t the most verbal of guys.” Her eyes glinted in a way that made Castiel’s stomach turn. She was up to something. He had seen that glint a million times in his siblings’ eyes. Usually right before they pulled a particularly elaborate prank.
They made their way through the building relatively unscathed. There was a close call with Castiel’s two left feet and a slight lip in the carpet, but Uriel grabbing the back of his suit coat remedied that.
They reached apartment 1019 and the blonde girl knocked obnoxiously. “Hey, Dean Bean. We have some visitors.”
The door opened and revealed none other than laundry guy. He scowled at his friend before stopping short. Obviously there was a little awkwardness floating around after what he had said. Castiel’s head began to ache again.
This was not going to end well.
November 24, 2010
Dean slammed the door in his guests’ faces. He couldn’t help it. Elder dude was standing right outside and his apartment was a mess. He had had a party the night before and the remnants were scattered throughout his home. There was a fucking dildo sitting on his kitchen table. A nude statue of some Greek chick posed provocatively on the coffee table and condom balloons hung in great bundles from various light fixtures. That definitely wasn’t going to impress the love of his life.
He tossed the dildo in the dishwasher, and the naked statue joined his orange juice in the mini bar. There wasn’t much he could do with the condoms, so he began grabbing what he could and throwing them out the window. They floated quite nicely and landed in the community garden at the foot of his building. At any another time, he would have found that hilarious, but now, he was in a panic.
Running back to the door, he pulled it open with what he hoped was a sexy look. “How may I be of service?”
Jo socked him in the shoulder, again, and pushed inside. Ouch. His shoulder was probably permanently damaged from all the times she punched him.
Blue Eyes and Stick-in-Butt stood waiting for an invitation. “Would you like to come in?”
They nodded and followed Jo into the recently de-sexed living room. Elder was looking particularly fine this evening, Los Angeles seemed to be agreeing with him.
“What’s going on?” He looked from his guests to his devious best friend. He could kiss her; she got Blue Eyes into his apartment, and she didn’t even need to use those handcuffs she bought at Spencer’s.
Stick-in-Butt started, “Mr… I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”
“Dean.” Elder and Dean spoke at the same time, the former flushed and looked away while Dean beamed. He’d remembered his name.
“Dean, your friend here tells us your life is void of meaning.”
“Really? Void? I said void?”
“And we’d like to offer you a chance to reinvent yourself, using the power of Christ.”
“Uh-huh.” Dean shot his fiercest glare at Jo. She didn’t deserve a kiss; she deserved a bitch slap. “And what would that entail?”
“Just try to understand that there is something out there, something bigger than you or your problems. God has a plan for you.” Blue Eyes answered, that voice of his almost made Dean want to convert.
Smirking, Jo asked, “What’s the church's stance on gay rights, Elder?”
Stick-in-Butt cut in, “We don’t have a stance, miss. Gay and right don’t even belong in the same sentence.”
Oh no, he didn’t.
“But right and right wing go hand in hand?” Now Jo was pissed. “I think it’s time for you to go, pal.”
“I think it is. Elder, we’re leaving.”
They stood stiffly, and practically fled out the door. Great. Now Blue Eyes would never talk to Dean.
“What the fuck did you do that for, Jo?” Opening the mini bar, he grabbed his fucking naked statue because he fucking liked it and he fucking wanted it on his fucking coffee table. Fuck it.
That felt good.
“I thought it’d be good for you to get to know him better. I didn’t know they were such fucking assholes.” Jo was so angry she was shaking. “I’m sorry, Dean-o. I didn’t know.”
“Now you see why I’m having so much trouble.”
“Yeah. I bet you a hundred bucks that guy’s a virgin. It’s unnatural at his age. But at least we know one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Your one true love, he totally digs you, too.”
“Say what now?”
Conspiratorially, Jo beckoned him closer. “He couldn’t take his eyes off your ass when you went to sit down.”
“I knew my ass looked good in these jeans.”
“Your ass looks good in everything, honey.”
“Damn straight.”
November 24, 2010
Castiel breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed quietly behind him. He was not in the habit of rule breaking, but he just could not sleep with Gabriel’s animated snoring. He had discovered the green-eyes, or at least incredibly similar ones. Dean, his new neighbor, was the owner, but Castiel would swear on Jimmy’s grave that he never met him before.
He wracked his brain for any possible conclusions, but drew only blanks. Punching the down button, he allowed his thoughts to wander again. This time he found flashes of lightly tanned skin and a quick, cheeky grin. He felt the ghost of lips on his neck and jumped, looking around the hall. He was alone. Maybe he had better talk to the doctors again about his headaches.
The elevator was a creaky relic of the 1980s, and smelled like a urinal. It was unpleasant enough to keep his focus off of the distinct feeling he’d forgotten something important.
He had seen a small garden outside his building as they arrived. It seemed to be the perfect place to try and clear his mind of thoughts of his green-eyed neighbor.
There were muffled pops and cussing emanating from somewhere near the sunflower patch, however. Curious, he peeked around the corner and saw the object of his troubles right in front of him. Dean was swearing like a sailor and attempting to grab a bundle of oddly-shaped balloons from the apple tree.
“Of course. You fucking balloons had to choose to land in the fucking treetops.” Dean scrambled against the tree in a feeble attempt to climb up it. “Kids play in this garden, goddamnit!”
As if on cue, an apple fell from a high branch and hit him squarely between the eyes. “SHIT! Do I look like Sir Isaac Fucking Newton to you?! And now I’m bleeding!”
Castiel stepped forwards automatically to help. His sudden movement must have caught Dean’s eye because he raised his fists threateningly. The gesture was somewhat less effective due to Castiel witnessing his lost fight with a piece of fruit.
“Whoever the fuck that is, come out right now. I am so not in the fucking mood to get mugged or hit up for drugs.”
“I mean no harm.” Castiel stepped quietly into the light. “I just wanted to see the garden. I’ll go.”
Dean’s eyes widened and he dropped his fists. “Wait. Elder, right?” He paused, and looked up at the weird balloons. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about climbing trees, would you”
“Enough to know you won’t be able to. The park service must cut the lower branches off, look at the scarring.” Castiel pointed to several obvious, jagged marks on the trunk. “Better get a ladder.”
“How much do you weigh?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Castiel stared, starting to get the picture. “I don’t know, 140 something.”
“Perfect. If I give you a boost, you can reach my… balloons, right?” Dean smirked and put his hands out. “You’re a missionary. You have to help your neighbor and shit.”
This was not going to help him clear his head. Breaking his neck for some balloons and being in the company of the owner of the green eyes was about the farthest from clear he could be.
“All right, but I must return quickly, before Uri-my companions know I left.”
“I can keep a secret if you can.”
Castiel looked cautiously at Dean. “Can you really lift me?”
“Sure thing, Elmer.”
Carefully, he placed one foot in the cradle of Dean’s cupped hands before grabbing a hold of the rough tree bark. Dean grunted and hoisted him up several feet, just long enough for him to grab the balloons. With another grunt, Dean slipped and they tumbled head over heels into the sunflowers.
This was not going well for him, bemoaned Castiel wordlessly. Now, not only were his temples throbbing, he had scratches on his wrists where the bark had scraped along his skin. Blood welled up in the deepest cuts. The fall had knocked the air from his lungs and he coughed painfully.
“Son of a bi-“ Dean stopped himself. “Biscuit. Are you all right, man?”
“I believe I will be once my lungs start working again.” He sat up and inspected his cuts a little more thoroughly. “Yes, I’m fine. Nothing a band aid or two won’t fix.”
“I have some in my apartment, your companions would never know.”
Castiel weighed his options, go with his neighbor and suffer from more green-eyed dreams, or try and find bandages in Gabriel’s pigsty of a medicine cabinet.
“All right, but I have to go back to my room soon. I shouldn’t even be here.”
“Fair enough.”
The elevator ride had never taken so long. Castiel was acutely aware of Dean’s curious and concerned glances, especially in such a confined space. They reached their floor and Dean ran forward to open his door. Castiel began to regret his decision.
“The bathroom is the first door on the left. Band aids and peroxide and stuff are in the top drawer.”
“Thank you.” Castiel meandered into the cozy powder-blue bathroom. His own apartment was much less homey because four twenty-something guys do not a clean house maketh.
He took care of his scrapes with only a few hisses of pain. His head still ached, but it was starting to die down in the soft lighting of the apartment.
A yawn broke through suddenly. It was time to go to bed.
He exited the bathroom and turned to find himself nose to nose with his neighbor.
“You know you never did tell me your name.” Dean breathed softly.
Castiel hesitated, his brain seemed to freeze up. “I can’t.”
Dean leaned in, impossibly close. A hairsbreadth from touching noses, from touching lips. All Castiel could see was the dilated black of his pupils ringed by that impossible green, and he felt the phantom lips on the back of his neck once more. He jumped, startled, and broke the connection.
“I have to go.”
Dean caught his wrist gently as he pulled away, but Castiel shook his head.
“Goodnight, Dean.”
Three