Red Hood (Chapter 5)
To say that Castiel was unimpressed with Dean’s apartment would be an understatement. To be fair, he had yet to step foot in the building, but the outside was telling enough. The front door didn’t even open to the street, it was down an alley, right across the narrow way from the dumpsters from the Chinese restaurant. Cas could practically smell the Hep C coming from the brick walls.
Worse, there was no doorman, not even an intercom. Just a door with the screen missing that lead up to a steep set of stairs. A solitary, bare light bulb illuminated the stairwell. Cas was 70% sure he’d end up at the ER some way or another by the night’s end.
Dean’s text had said that his apartment was on the second floor, number seven. Dean’s floor was marginally better than the outside. There was a funky smell coming from apartment four, but it seemed clean enough. Collecting himself and preparing for the worst, Cas knocked on the door with three short raps.
Over the past couple of days, Castiel had resigned himself to the fact that Dean had called him to the shithole that he called home to break up with Cas. Actually, Cas wasn’t entirely sure ‘break up’ was the correct term if they had only been on one date. He figured it was at least good that Dean was man enough to do it to his face. If Dean had broken it off via text, Cas was sure he would have taken a bat to the Impala.
And of course it was just his fucking luck that when Dean opened the door, he looked like he had just come from a fucking GQ photoshoot. His hair was carelessly styled in the way that Cas knew took him less than 30 seconds, and his outfit was likely whatever he had managed to buy on deep discount from his work. And still, he looked like a dream. This was easily one of the gayest thoughts that had ever crossed Castiel’s mind. And that included a very interesting weekend at Fire Island right after he had publically come out of the closet.
“Hey.” Dean greeted like Cas had just stopped by to watch the newest horror flick about demonic possession.
Cas didn’t reply, and instead opted to stare stonily at Dean until he moved out of the way. If Dean was going to do what Cas thought, he was going to make it as awkward as possible for the man. Clearly put off, Dean made a sort of shrugging motion and stepped aside to make room for Cas to pass.
He hated himself for liking the apartment. Hell, he found it endearing. The furniture was cheap, there was a faint burnt mark almost hidden by the heinously ugly orange recliner, and there was a ‘Firemen of San Diego’ calendar hanging in the kitchen.
Dean caught him staring at the wall calendar. He chuckled nervously. “Oh, yeah. About that. Sammy gave it to me for Christmas. I don’t think he thought I’d actually put it up.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. Jesus, if Cas had to be in the apartment any longer with Dean’s adorable awkwardness there was going to be a problem.
Castiel gave him a pointed look.
“Okay, yeah. Do you want to sit down? No, okay. Shit.” Dean was rambling. And Castiel would absolutely not smile. “Okay.” Dean took a deep breath. “So, first off, I wanna say that I’m really sorry about the way I’ve been acting. It’s been embarrassing, and you don’t deserve it Cas. Second, I want you to know that I don’t blame you for what happened with the tabloids. It’s shitty that it happened, but I know it’s not your fault.”
As much as he was trying to will his hopes from rising, it wasn’t working.
“And, ya know, if you don’t completely hate me by now,” Dean paused “I’d like to give this a shot.”
Before Cas’ brain gave him permission to speak, he heard himself talking. “What?”
Dean looked pretty taken aback and made a confused noise.
Cas remained silent, his mind working furiously. Why was he even considering forgiving Dean? The other man had proven to be nothing more than an incompetent man-child stuck in a stage of arrested development. But, a voice pointed out from the back of Cas’ mind, he’s also loyal, hardworking and full of love. And, the voice continued, he has an ass that just won’t quit. Cas’ brain was a traitor and he hated it. His dick too.
“Sammy said it was going to be hard.” Dean wrung his hands and looked vaguely nauseated. “I really dig you, Cas. The whole fame thing isn’t my cup of tea, but I can deal. I swear.” At least he looked earnest.
Cas made what he hoped was a non-committal grunt, and judging by Dean’s face, it hit the target.
“So…” Dean trailed off. “Do you wanna say anything?”
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Dean.” Cas admitted, letting his crossed arms fall to his sides. “What’s gonna happen the next time the paparazzi finds us? Are you going to move to Siberia?” He closed the space between him and Dean, forcing him to look him in the eye. “Because I guaran-fucking-tee I’m not going to go through this bullshit again.” Cas’ old frustration was returning, combined with the anger over his reaction over just being in the same vicinity as Dean. “So, tell me, Dean. Are you going to pull this shit every week? Or can you nut up and deal?”
“I can deal.”
“Great.” Cas’ whole body relaxed and he backed up a few steps from Dean. “Pick me up tomorrow morning. We’re going out.”
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“Nuh-uh, dude. No way.”
“Dean.”
“I’m serious. This isn’t happening.”
“You owe me.”
“Are you going to hold that over me for the rest of my friggin’ life?” Dean growled.
“It’s been less than a day. I feel like I’m fully allowed to pull the guilt card for at least another week.”
Dean grumbled something and returned to the road. He wasn’t angry at Cas, not really. He was more upset at what Cas expected him to do in retribution.
“Do I really have to?”
“Yes.” Cas replied smugly, settling down in the smooth leather seats of the Impala. “Plenty of people would jump at this opportunity, Dean. You should be thankful.”
“Yeah, thankful my ass.” Dean replied sourly. “Why are you even going to this? Aren’t football players all alpha male douchebags?”
“It’s important to use your muscles in different ways. And besides, it’s nice to relax. Lisa is a very good teacher.”
“I don’t have to wear a leotard do I?”
“It’s yoga, Dean. Not ballet.” Cas explained, his voice taking on a snippier tone. “Stop complaining or we aren’t stopping for ice cream after.”
Dean shot Castiel a look. “I’m not five, Cas.”
“So you’re saying you don’t want to stop?”
Deciding that the question didn’t merit an answer, Dean turned to the road and wondered how this was his life. Two weeks ago, he was Dean Winchester, clothes salesman and all around badass. Now he’s What’s-His-Face, that dude who was seen with Cas Novak. And apparently who also went to couples yoga with said man. Cas had promised that it wasn’t couples yoga, just a normal yoga class. But Dean had his suspicions. He was a sneaky mother-fucker who’d probably send Dean away for a head to toe makeover if Dean didn’t keep an eye out.
The yoga studio wasn’t as bad as Dean expected, he’d admit that much. It was light, airy, and full of mirrors. Six colorful mats made a semi-circle around a small platform where a pretty brunette sat cross legged. A couple of people were already there, the kind of people that Dean knew made their own peanut butter at Whole Foods. Just standing in the doorway he already felt out of place. Cas had told him to wear workout gear. So he wore basketball shorts, which clearly were not made for yoga. Already Dean was foreseeing a morning of repeatedly pulling his short legs down.
Cas made small talk with the other students, while the teacher eyed Dean. While he was setting own his gym bag, she approached.
“Hi, I’m Lisa.” She greeted with one hand outstretched.
“Dean.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen you here before, is this your first time?”
Dean scoffed. “Yeah. That one dragged me here.” He jerked his thumb over to Cas.
Lisa looked surprised. “Really? That’s…unusual. Are you two good friends?”
Dean wasn’t sure he liked the way that Lisa phrased that. “I’d say we’re a little more than friends.” Dean said easily with a wink.
“Oh. Oh.” Lisa turned a little pink. “Well, it was great meeting you, Dean.” After saying that, she turned quickly and hightailed it to the platform. “Alright class, get to your mats and let’s begin.”
If Dean thought he was out of his element before, it was nothing compared to when class actually began. The rest of the class was easily folding their bodies over in seemingly impossible positions while Dean, red-faced and sweating, was struggling to handle even the most basic positions. And Cas, the bastard, shot him a smug little smile like this was a game. Which Dean had undoubtedly lost. Cas and his weird little power plays that Dean fell for every time. And if he was fully honest with himself, actually really liked.
Forty-five minutes and a possible pulled hamstring later, he was home free.
“So?”
“So, what?” Dean snapped.
“What did you think of the class?” Cas asked serenely, letting one hand trail down Dean’s forearm lightly.
“You know what I think.”
“What about some of those positions?” Cas wheedled. “The second to last one, especially.”
Dean rewound his memories, trying to remember the pose that Cas was mentioning. And then it hit him like a ton of bricks. The one that looked like something from a Russian contortionist, with the feet hooked around your ears.
Dean revised his thoughts on Cas bringing him to the yoga class. It was still at least 25% dickbaggery and showoffness, but then a solid 75% exhibitionism.
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“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Dean, slow down.” Sam urged, changing the phone from one ear to the other. “No, I absolutely do not want to hear about this.”
“I’m serious. Stop talking, Dean.”
“I will hang up on you.”
“GODDAMIT, DEAN. I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR ABOUT YOUR FUTURE ATHLETIC GAY SEX.”
“Okay, you know what? I’ve reached my limit. Go talk to somebody else about this, Dean. I cannot handle any more of this without intensive therapy.”
Snapping his phone shut, Sam sunk into the worn recliner that Jess had found at a Goodwill sophomore year. It was ugly as sin, but by far the most comfortable thing that he had ever touched. In the other room Sam heard Jess’ cell ring, and her answer.
“Hey, Dean! Oh, wow. That’s really impressive. I’d be excited too if Sam could do that.”
Sam wondered how lenient the San Diego homicide unit would be if they knew all the details.
A/N: Hey guys! I just thought this was a cool article from a real NFL player about homophobia and the view of gay marriage in professional sports and stuff. Basically, the dude is a huge BAMF. Read up.