play it all night long - part III
The interview is one of the most surreal experiences of Dean’s life even if, to be honest, he’s there just because he had to drive Castiel to the bar and then he stayed as… he doesn’t even know what. Audience? Moral support? Who the hell knows?
Anyway, Dean convinces Castiel not to go in a suit or otherwise Ellen will take one look and send the both of them away (hell, Ash freaking sleeps on the pool table half of the time, suits aren’t really a good idea). Dean doesn’t know why there’s something strange about Castiel in jeans and a plain grey shirt under the trench coat, it’s not like he hasn’t seen him in the suit just once, but… whatever. He won’t dwell on it.
They arrive at the bar at five, before opening time, and there are Ellen, Jo and Ash sitting at one table. Castiel actually looks nervous and Dean realizes he doesn’t have an idea of how Ellen hires people.
Well.
He’ll just watch.
“So, that your friend?” Ellen asks, standing up and coming near them.
“Yeah,” Dean coughs before stepping out of the way. “Ellen, this is Castiel. Castiel, this is Ellen and over there are Jo and Ash. And now I’m stepping out of this.”
“Coward,” Ellen says at him even if she isn’t serious, and then she stares at Castiel for maybe ten seconds.
“Well, nice to meet you. So. You’re the one searching for a job. From your face, I gather that you’ve never tended bar in your life, have you?”
“Thank you. And no. I never have. But…”
“Don’t tell me you learn fast. Everyone says that and half of the time they don’t. Anyway, Jo, get the shots out.”
Dean blinks and Castiel does, too. Ellen just smirks. “How’s your tolerance?”
“Excuse me?” Castiel asks, looking genuinely puzzled.
“I don’t hire anyone if they get drunk at the drop of an eye. How’s your tolerance?”
Castiel suddenly stops being nervous and Dean thinks he can see a glint in his eyes.
“I believe you should try me.”
Ellen raises an eyebrow. “Fine. At the table.”
This will end badly, Dean thinks.
Five minutes later, Castiel has downed his second row of shots and he has barely blinked.
“You can’t possibly not be drunk,” Jo says, looking at him with something like awe.
“Well. I believe I’m starting to feel something,” Castiel replies, and fuck this, Ellen is actually impressed and Dean can count on his fingers the times he has seen her impressed.
“I think we can start talking now,” she says taking a seat in front of Castiel.
“Woah, man, your friend can hold his liquor,” Ash mutters, standing next to Dean and handing him a beer bottle along with the Ram Jam bootleg, conveniently burned on a CD. Dean takes them, thankful for the company .
“He sure does. And by the way, I have a favor to ask.”
Ash rolls his eyes and leans his elbow on the counter. “Which freaking Deep Purple bootleg you want me to get for you?” he asks, and Dean smirks. Well, if he’s completely impaired at downloading music online and, as stated, Ash is a freaking hacker, so Dean can take advantage of it, can’t he?
He starts giving Ash a list of a lot more than one Deep Purple bootleg and before he knows it twenty minutes have passed and Ellen is clapping Castiel on the back.
Turns out that she hates doing the accounting and checking the math, but Jo is a disaster at it and Ash has either cleaning or fixing the place’s website and everything else to do, and she can totally switch bartending again with Jo if someone else takes her place there. And anyway, if they need it, the guy can fucking learn to bartend, Dean is sure.
Which is how Dean realizes that he just totally found Castiel a job and well, it feels good to have helped. Really.
--
“So,” he asks on the ride back home while he lets some Aerosmith play in the background, “what did you agree on back there?”
“She has given me an advanced paycheck for two months so that I can cover my debt with the bank and have enough left, but it means I won’t start to really earn anything for a while. But I will try to find a cheap room, you already went beyond your duties here and I don’t want to impose myself much longer.”
Castiel isn’t saying it like it’s a problem, he’s saying it like he’s sincerely both sorry for falling into Dean’s life out of thin air, more or less, and grateful because Dean did solve most of his problems in twenty-four hours; and then Dean realizes that if he has some small amount of his paycheck left over and collects tips once each week, Castiel might find a cheap place, except that in the best of options it will have rats living in the bathroom.
And for some reason, he really feels fucking responsible.
Which totally should not be happening, but still.
Not to mention that he usually spends his mornings (or early afternoons) being mostly miserable unless Sam calls and it was good to have company around, this morning.
Then again, he barely knows the guy.
Then again, the guy is pretty much okay, if not slightly better than okay. Even if he’s kind of weird, but it’s not like Dean is the poster boy for average.
Oh, fuck this, he thinks.
“You know what, you really don’t need to spend money when you’re in that situation. Not to mention that cheap rooms will probably cause your death quickly.”
“What should I do then?”
“Uh. Well. It’s not like I’m kicking you out.”
Castiel looks at him like he’s actually crazy. “I can’t possibly…”
“Hey, I’m not saying anything like what you were about to say. I meant, if you want to stay until you have enough money to get yourself a decent place, it’s fine. You can, I dunno, buy groceries or tidy shit up or whatever. There’s a lot of stuff I should do that I don’t. And well, it’d be… nice to have someone around, I guess. It kind of gets lonely,” he ends, lowering his voice.
Castiel’s expression softens slightly before his eyes narrow again.
“But you have only… really known me for one day or so. Doesn’t it feel uncomfortable?”
It should. But it doesn’t. So Dean parks the car because he sees a free spot and turns to Castiel after shutting the engine down.
“Dude, I talked to you for a fucking month once every two days. And you’re the only person who knows about the wreck stuff I actually chose to tell, everyone else knows because they knew me before it happened or close to it. It’s not like it’d be much different if I just wanted a roommate and put an ad in the paper, right?”
“You are serious.”
“Deadly serious. And hey, if you wanted to kill me, I can defend myself. Seriously. Just, buy groceries and maybe pay for small expenses and it’s covered. I bought out the damn thing anyway. So, deal?”
Castiel stares at him for another good fifteen seconds. Then his mouth curls up in a smile which, though small, manages to actually light his face up for a couple of seconds before he nods and holds his hand out.
“Deal,” he answers seriously as they shake. And fuck, he has really soft fingers, in comparison to Dean’s. Then again, selling insurances doesn’t ruin your hands as much as fixing cars for three years does.
And that’s why Dean finds himself with a roommate in less than forty-eight hours.
He has a suspicion that his life just got even weirder.
--
Then again, when he wakes up the following morning (Monday: the only day he actually has normal sleeping patterns) he finds the coffee pot loaded and the pancakes waiting for him even if Castiel has obviously been up for a while, since he has already re-made his bed on the couch, not to mention that he’s properly dressed.
Then, after he’s done eating, Dean realizes that he forgot a rather fundamental thing. There’s a part of him, the rational one, which says that he’s doing something utterly batshit crazy, but then again, in for a penny, in for a pound. He gets dressed, says he has to run an errand and gets out. Meanwhile he thinks about the song with which he should open tonight.
When he’s done with his errand, he has settled on Ozzy Osbourne, he thinks something like Crazy Train , without speaking before so at least he’ll wake a few people up. He smirks and figures it’s not a bad idea, indeed. Then he gets back home again, where Castiel is folding clothes carefully and repositioning them into the suitcases. Apparently he had packed in haste. When Dean drops to sit on the chair in front of his desk, Castiel is looking at a shirt disapprovingly.
“I think I’ll have to ask you for an iron. The one I used was already in the apartment along with the furniture.”
“Help yourself, it’s in the closet. You can set the whole shebang here, I need to check some stuff in the magazines anyway and I don’t mind. By the way, when do you have to be at Ellen’s tonight?”
“Five, she said. In theory I should have normal hours, but she said they’d need the bartending tonight because… Jo, I think, asked the evening off.”
“Do you need me to drop you off there? It’s on the way and I need to be at the station at six anyway.”
“You don’t really have to…”
“Relax. It’s cool.”
Castiel then nods and goes to grab the iron.
It feels strangely domestic and it makes something inside Dean clench.
--
That evening, he stops in front of Ellen’s and Castiel is about to get out of the car when Dean tells him to wait.
“I forgot to give you something.”
And then he hands Castiel a copy of the keys.
Castiel looks dumbfounded for a second.
“What…”
“Hey, you can’t always wait for me and I’ve got crazy schedules. Just makes sense, right?”
Castiel nods shortly and Dean smirks in return.
“Okay. That was it. No big deal.”
Castiel doesn’t look too convinced, but he shakes his head and thanks him before opening the door. Then he turns back to Dean for a second.
“Just… just one thing. I think I will be there until late tonight.”
“Ah, I’ll just pick you up when I get back.”
“Yes but… I will miss…”
And then Dean starts to laugh. It’s not mocking though, and at least thankfully Castiel doesn’t look too upset.
“They always listen to the program, don’t worry. And if Ellen puts you at accounting duty, they have another radio in a room in the back, I think.”
“Good. I would hate to miss it.”
And then he actually winks at Dean before getting out of the car.
--
When Dean gets in the common room to have some coffee, Chuck is already there along with Andy. Thankfully no one else is around and it’s good because they’re the two people Dean is actually half-friends with.
Except that he really didn’t need to hear the conversation they were having. Because fuck it, having Chuck writing short stories for gay porn magazines for a second job even if he’s totally straight is weird enough (nothing against the gay porn magazines; Dean has nothing against any porn for a general rule, but sincerely he’d rather stick to Busty Asian Beauties), but having Andy actually suggesting plots to him because while he keeps on saying that he’s pretty much straight he experimented a lot in college, and with a lot he means a lot…
Yeah. Well. It can be sort of really embarrassing.
“… so,” Chuck is saying as Dean gets in, “you really think that having Jimmy and Michael doing it in the car would be too much?”
“Man,” Andy answers as he shakes his head and takes a smoke from a joint, which in theory isn’t allowed but in practice is overlooked, “I’m not saying that sex in the car isn’t hot. I’m saying that if you have two adult males you can’t possibly make them do it in the back of a fucking Toyota. Unless you want them to get cramps later.”
“… you might have a point. Damn.”
“Jesus, gross,” Dean says going straight to the coffee machine.
“Hi yourself, Dean,” Andy greets, and Dean rolls his eyes at him while Chuck still stares at his piece of paper which is half printed and half written long-hand with notes and arrows and stuff.
“Can’t you talk about that while having a drink… not here?” Dean asks pushing twenty cents into the coffee machine.
“You don’t know anything about art,” Chuck mutters, and Dean sighs and goes over to the table, picking the piece of paper up.
“Jimmy stared intently at Michael’s lips without being able to help thoughts that were entirely lascivious; but how could he not, when they were just barely parted, red as a ripe apple, with that pink tongue slowly licking the beer off? He was worried of staring too blatantly, and he couldn’t help wondering about what was going to wait for the two of them after they were done with the first part of their first date and finally went back to Jimmy’s small car? Jesus Christ, you’re really saying that this stuff gets people hot and bothered?”
“Hey, that’s the build-up!” Chuck answers as he grabs the sheet back. “And anyway… hey, Dean, which model did you say your car is?”
Before Dean can answer, Andy smacks Chuck on the head. “He has a ’67 Chevy Impala, you… ah, how sad it is when people don’t get how sweet can a ride be,” Andy sighs, and Dean remembers why he likes him. Andy is positively the only person Dean knows who comes close to getting how perfect is car is, and he has to give him props for that.
“And you think two grown men could fit in the back?” Chuck asks, perfectly serious, and Dean feels filled with terror.
“You aren’t making those two fuck in my car!”
“Oh, it wouldn’t be your car, just the same model,” Chuck says, actually sounding genuinely smug, which is news because Chuck never sounds smug so naturally.
“Anyway,” Andy interrupts, “I’m pretty sure they could. If they bend the right way, that’s a given.”
“Jesus Christ,” Dean says, and drinks his coffee.
“And by the way, Dean, what happened with your number one fan the other day?” Chuck asks, like he’s genuinely interested, and Dean almost spits out the coffee.
“Yeah, what happened?” Andy chimes in, and Dean curses them both. Then he curses himself for having told Andy about Castiel once, at the beginning. Because after all having someone calling you all the time was something to talk about. He wishes he didn’t, now.
“Er, he, uh, got fired and had to leave his apartment,” Dean mutters, taking a second sip of coffee.
“And he calls you?” Andy asks, taking another drag from the joint.
“Yeah. So what?”
“So he’s probably more socially impaired than you are,” Chuck says as he scribbles ’67 Impala over Toyota in the sheet. Jesus.
“Hey, shut up! Anyway, uh, I went to check it out.”
For the next minute, there’s silence.
“And then?” Andy pressures when he realizes Dean won’t answer.
“He moved in with me,” Dean mutters lowly, and Chuck actually chokes himself with the water he was just drinking from a bottle that was on the table.
Well, it feels like a small revenge.
“You’re fucking with me,” Chuck says then, and Dean shakes his head.
“Nope. Far from me.”
“Are you crazy? He could try to kill you!”
Dean genuinely laughs and trashes the plastic glass, stained with coffee.
“I seriously doubt that.”
Andy stares at him and then shakes his head and takes another drag.
“Well, I knew you were nine kinds of crazy, but this one beats them all.”
“Hey, he’s perfectly okay. So what?”
Andy looks at Chuck and Chuck looks back, then they both shake their heads and Chuck starts asking him whoever he thinks should top, and Dean thinks that he really, really needs a fucking drink. Maybe he’ll go hang around the studio. Fine, there’s someone doing the news or the weather report, but in comparison, he’ll take anything.
--
“Dean, seriously,” Chuck starts after Dean finishes his shift and there’s some commercials airing before the 3 AM - 5 AM program, “are you really sure? I mean. He called more than anyone else, I’ll give you that, but are you sure it’s… you know, safe?”
Dean rolls his eyes as he buttons up his jacket.
“Chuck, he’s okay. Really. And it isn’t forever.”
Chuck doesn’t really seem much convinced but he lets him go. As he goes back to Ellen’s to pick Castiel up, Dean can’t shake it from his head though. Has he really been too quick making decisions? Because really, Chuck does have a point. And it’s not a point he hasn’t considered, but he had quickly brushed it off before.
He’s about ready to have an headache as soon as he pulls up in front of Ellen’s, and then Castiel gets into the car, the right corner of his mouth slightly curled up and his face slightly flushed.
“I liked that song about that train you aired in the beginning,” Castiel says, his voice low, as Dean starts again, and fuck being sensible. Dean can’t really bring himself to even contemplate that he made a mistake, not when he’s half-smiling back and he feels like his work is being valued.
--
For two weeks, everything goes surprisingly smooth.
Their schedules don’t coincide often, but if Castiel gets home at normal hours, Dean will find him awake when he gets back from work because the guy actually stays up to listen to the program anyway and he apparently doesn’t need to sleep eight hours each night. Well, good for him. Anyway, that isn’t the point. The point is that they see each other every day but not all the time, which on one side is kind of good because Dean thinks that sharing your space with the same people all the time can’t exactly be healthy (first hand experience); also, Castiel is definitely good at buying groceries regularly, more than Dean is, so the fridge is never half-empty, and they work some decent way of splitting chores. Also, Dean’s living room becomes a lot more livable even if there are still open suitcases on the floor, but then again Dean’s wardrobe is very small and barely holds his stuff in. It’s crazy how in two weeks they actually come up with a routine that works.
Then something happens that proves how much Dean can exactly forget stuff.
Because even if he has talked with Sam regularly for said two weeks, he has never told him that he has a roommate.
And he remembered that Sam was actually coming there when Sam told him the time today.
Now this is a goddamn problem, he thinks as he stares at the phone, because while he doesn’t want Sam to go to a hotel, he doesn’t even want to kick Castiel out. Just, no.
“What’s wrong?” Castiel asks then, and it probably was obvious that Dean is in a mess. Er.
“Uh. I might have forgotten something. My brother, you know, the one at Stanford? Is coming here for spring break with his girlfriend and… I had totally spaced it out when, uh…”
Castiel shakes his head and nods like he actually gets it.
“Dean, it’s not a problem. I will just start looking for another place now, I’m sure that…”
“Wait up. Didn’t Ellen give you three months’ worth of paycheck?”
“Well, yes, but…”
“Dude. You don’t have nearly enough money to move out now,” which makes sense, but why the fuck is Dean getting so worked up over it? It’s like he’s trying to keep the guy close, which doesn’t make fucking sense unless he’s actually starting to get sort of attached. And he doesn’t have time to think about that now.
“You are right, but I don’t see many other options,” Castiel says, and he still sounds totally okay with it.
Dean wants to kick himself for some reason, and then he remembers that he has the solution to his problems, or at least part of it.
“Actually, I have a cot in the storage room. It’s decent enough and well, we could just stash it in my room and you’d sleep there. Sam and Jess can have the couch and we’re all set. What about it?”
If Dean isn’t wrong, Castiel actually looks relieved.
“That would be… quite good.”
And so that’s settled, and since they’re there and Dean still hasn’t tried to clean shit up, they spend that Sunday fixing the living room. Dean, after an hour, thinks that he might as well have given Castiel permission to mess around a long before, because the guy is a fucking neat freak. First, while Dean sorts out taxes from fanmail on the desk, he completely re-arranges the bookshelves so that he clears out space for all the Rolling Stone issues, and while Dean keeps on sorting the taxes he actually divides Classic Rock from Guitar Player from Spin, and in the end, even if they still need to be piled up against the wall, they look like neat piles. Which actually means that for the first time in ages Dean can properly clean the floor (after finally finishing with the taxes), and so even if Castiel’s suitcases are still out in the open and it isn’t exactly a palace, at least you don’t end up crashing to the ground because you tripped into Jimi Hendrix’s face looking at you from a random Uncut cover.
Now Dean just needs to tell Sam.
That might be a problem, but he’s sure that postponing until three days before will work wonders.
Also, they had Hard Rain on while doing the tidying business and Dean couldn’t really not help noticing how much Castiel seems to like that particular version of Shelter From The Storm.
--
Dean decides that if he needs to tell Sam, he wants to call him while on neutral ground. Which is why he does it, exactly one week before Sam is due to arrive with Jess, in the radio station’s common room. Sadly, the room isn’t empty when he gets in.
“So what, they’re at the second date now? And you really want them to go to a freaking bsdm club?” Andy asks, sounding like he doesn’t like the idea.
“What can I do? I already had them cuffing each other on the first! After the car, anyway. And the publisher says that he needs the sequel to be fucking steamy, what else?”
“Ewww, I’ll need bleach,” Dean sighs as Chuck points at something on the goddamn piece of paper. “And er, you two, I need to make a call. Can you, uh, postpone the, um, editing for five minutes?”
“Sure thing, man,” Andy shrugs taking out another joint, “but what’s going on?”
“He needs to tell his brother that he has a roommate,” Chuck mutters as he scribbles something on the back of the piece of paper.
“You really know how to keep confidential information to yourself,” Dean snorts before going towards the window and pressing the speed dial for Sam.
Thankfully, he picks it up just after a couple of rings.
“Dean? Is something wrong?”
“Wrong? No, why?”
“You never called at seven in the evening,” Sam says, sounding surprised, and yeah, well, not definitely one of Dean’s favorite times of the day to call.
“Yeah, well, I just, uh. Needed to tell you something before you arrive. Nothing’s wrong,” he starts, anticipating Sam’s question. “It’s just, uh, Igotaroommate.”
“What?”
“I-got-a-roommate, Sam.”
“Since when? And who is he?”
“Er, since, recently. And he’s, uh, a friend.”
There are five second of silence and when Sam speaks Dean knows that he’s pulling a spectacular bitchface.
“Dean. You didn’t manage to stick with one friendship until you dropped out of high school, or even after for that matter. Just tell me the truth.”
Dean lets out a breath and does, wishing that Chuck and Andy weren’t staring at him.
There are ten seconds of silence, after he’s done.
“Jesus,” Sam mutters. “Okay, I get it. We’ll find some hotel, if…”
“No! No, you don’t need to. He can, uh, just sleep on the cot in my room. Really.”
“Dean, seriously? I mean, do you even trust the guy?”
Dean takes another breath. “He really didn’t give me any reason not to. He’s okay. He isn’t living off me, if that’s what you’re worried about. He’s not bad to have around. And well, you know, some people might want company once in a while, right?”
Sam’s breath is kind of labored as Dean can practically hear the wheels in his sasquatch-sized brain spinning, and then he can totally picture him shaking his head.
“Whatever. You’re sure about this?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I am. I swear, you won’t even have to talk. He’s at work most of the time anyway. It won’t change anything.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Sam says, sounding half amused and half resigned, and then he tells Dean to take care and remember when they’re arriving at the airport. Then the call is over.
“How did that go?” Andy chimes in before Dean can even turn in their direction.
“Could’ve gone worse,” Dean mutters pocketing his cellphone, and Andy locks eyes with Chuck.
Damn. It can only mean that…
Chuck nods and Dean groans in return.
“No question, after the program’s done we’re so buying you a drink. At Ellen’s.”
“Andy, just…”
“So that at least we get to meet him! Or I do. Chuck sort of already has, right? And today you’re even off early, so you can come!”
Chuck says something unintelligible and keeps on scribbling on the back of his sheet.
Dean wonders if things can get more awkward and then shakes his head and goes for more coffee.
--
That night, at least, he gets awesome listeners; and well, after you get to air Sabbath, old school ACDC, Blue Oyster Cult and Aerosmith all in a row, your mood definitely changes for the better. It most definitely does, and so Dean is way more mellow as he, Andy, and Chuck barge into Ellen’s bar a quarter of an hour before closing time.
Castiel is actually behind the counter because this is Jo’s day off during which he takes her place and Dean was actually supposed to pick him up; and well, he doesn’t look that much out of his element even if he still moves a bit like he doesn’t belong, in jeans and with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbow. He sends a half-smile in Dean’s way and Dean would have returned it if Andy hadn’t elbowed him in the side.
“Dude, now, if only I wasn’t mostly straight. I’d hit that if I were you.”
“What the fuck?” Dean snaps, disentangling himself. Thankfully Chuck has a girlfriend and he isn’t going to cheat on her even by implying anything, so he’s spared the comments on his side. He orders whiskey for three as they go sitting at the counter and Castiel nods before turning his back to comply.
“Wow. The b-side is pretty nice too,” Andy murmurs, and Dean wishes he could kill him. He waves at Ellen, who’s at the check-out, and at Ash, who is cleaning up some tables, before turning to Castiel as a glass is pushed in front of him.
“Hey. Er, I guess I should introduce. Castiel, these are Chuck and Andy, respectively the guy who has the honor of taking my calls and the guy who convinces you to read philosophy crap during the afternoon; and fine whatever, he’s Castiel. You two, at least fucking shake.”
“Oh, you’re the one I used to talk to when calling, right?” Castiel asks when he shakes Chuck’s hand, and Dean tries to block out the thanks that Castiel sends Chuck’s way for not classifying him as a stalker the fourth time he called. Andy is laughing behind his hand and this feels way too fucking surreal.
“By the way, I told my brother. About, uh, the arrangements,” Dean says when it’s quiet, and Castiel nods at him.
“How did it go?”
“Decent enough. Just be extra nice to him when he arrives.”
“Dean, if it’s a problem…”
“Shut up. There’s not a problem. Now I’m finishing this drink and getting home and you’re coming with me, and we’re not talking about this until Sam arrives. And you two, stop staring and see you fucking tomorrow.”
Dean acts on his promise five minutes later and hopes that he didn’t freak everyone out too much.
He just hopes everything goes smooth when Sam arrives on Friday.
--
It actually starts so well that Dean can’t help thinking that something is going to bite him in the ass.
He goes to the airport to meet Sam’s flight; thankfully he arrives at two PM and well, if for one day he gets to the radio at midnight no one will say anything. He’s so nervous that he doesn’t even try to stop Sam from hugging him, even if he doesn’t let it last for more than fifteen seconds. He kisses Jess on the cheek after, and wow, the girl became even hotter since the last time he saw her at Christmas; he’ll have to convince Sam to propose soon. Really.
Anyway, the roommate topic is carefully averted until they are in the car and during the entire ride. The only thing that doesn’t go so well is Bad Moon Rising starting when Dean turns the radio on, and he’s quick to push in a tape. He’s never, ever driving with that song on in his life, that’s for fucking sure.
So, they spend the entire ride talking about random stuff. Sam’s degree, Jess’ degree, how in California it’s always warm and in NY it’s cold three quarters of the year, Dean’s job going fine, Ellen doing fine and a lot of other things. Dean doesn’t mention yet that Castiel works for Ellen. He’ll tell, uh, well, all in good time.
It’s a miracle, he finds a spot to park just near his building’s door and well, he’s thankful that Jess isn’t the kind of woman that brings four suitcases when staying somewhere for three days because the elevator’s broken, and he really won’t let her take her only suitcase upstairs.
Sam doesn’t look too thrilled when Dean says that he can carry his, but fuck, his brother is a fucking sasquatch, he can bring his own suitcase up the fucking stairs. And so they’re about to start climbing up the stairs when Dean feels the shuffle of someone’s feet descending the stairs and figures he’ll let them pass.
Except that he’s Castiel, who is actually wearing the trousers and shirt of his suit.
“Castiel? I thought you were up…”
“Yes, but I saw you through the window and I figured you would need help with the luggage.”
Sam’s eyebrow raises and Dean smacks himself in the head.
“Uh. Sorry. Forgot it. Sam, this is Castiel, uh, you know. Castiel, that’s my brother, and there’s Jess, his…”
“… I figure he knows,” she says, interrupting Dean and going to shake Castiel’s hand before Sam moves out of his stupor and does the same. And he totally doesn’t complain when Castiel reaches for his suitcase, except that Dean stops him before and hands him Jess’ instead. Way less heavy.
“Uh, go ahead, we’ll join you,” Dean mutters, and Castiel nods and starts climbing with Jess in tow.
Dean just knows that his brother has something to say; might as well get it out of the way.
“Dude, I can’t believe you moved in with someone with such good manners.”
“Fuck you,” Dean answers before picking Sam’s suitcase up (damn, it’s heavy); Sam can really be worse than a girl when he wants to.
“Yeah, and you’re still carrying my luggage,” Sam smirks, and Dean lets it go. It went fine. And Sam is actually impressed, or so it seems.
When, after arriving upstairs, he notices that the place is shining clean, he raises an eyebrow but Castiel just shrugs and shakes his head like he’s trying to say that it was no hardship, and Sam looks actually impressed, which is all good if you ask Dean. Jess looks pretty impressed too, and Dean chalks it up as a victory. When they make plans to all have dinner together that evening, Dean thinks that this is going way too well.
When dinner goes quite great and Sam starts actually geeking out with Castiel over some freaky book they apparently both go crazy for and that nor Dean nor Jess know in the slightest, he starts thinking that the weekend might actually be a success.
Clearly, it comes to bite him in the ass.
--
This (the coming to bite him in the ass bit) actually happens that night at fucking three-thirty AM.
He goes straight home after the program because he’s exhausted, he hasn’t slept nearly enough and four listeners wanted CCR, and while Dean can handle some in small doses, four CCR songs in almost a row are way too much. Not even on John Fogerty’s fucking birthday, he thinks as he gets into the car.
When he gets inside the apartment, the light is turned off in the living room, but not in his. He goes to the bathroom to wash his face first, then gets into the room where Castiel is lying on the cot, reading some Cormac McCarthy novel whose only visible part is the author’s name (Dean is pretty sure that it’s his own copy of Blood Meridian, though), and he’s most definitely still awake and still wearing those hideous pink and orange pajamas.
“Hey. I won’t even ask why you’re not asleep.”
“You know it,” Castiel says quietly before putting the book away. Dean nods and while Castiel turns his back at him he changes into pajama bottoms and climbs into his bed.
“Well, ‘m beat. I’d say we could both get some sleep.”
“That would be wise,” Castiel says turning off the lamp, and Dean wonders why he isn’t freaking out about sharing his goddamn room with someone. He usually doesn’t. He doesn’t even share the bed because none of his one-night stands of the last six months have come to his place.
Whatever.
He’s just about to pass out when he hears knocking on the door.
He ignores it, figuring that he imagined it.
Then someone knocks again.
And again.
“Fuck this,” he mutters as he stands up, and then all hell breaks loose.
Part IV