Chapter Text
“What happened to that chick who was hanging around?” Michael’s question comes at the end of a long exhale, smoke filling the air around his head like a gray halo. His eyes are half closed, watching Castiel’s face as he hands off the joint pinched between finger and thumb to Raphael.
“You mean the one he was dating?” Raphael asks with a snort.
Castiel kicks at Raphael’s foot halfheartedly and closes his eyes to enjoy the rush of blood through his ears. He’s sprawled in the middle of Michael’s living room floor, body humming with the effects of choice weed and the warm sun on his bare stomach. He thinks about the question for a moment, a pang of guilt echoing through his chest at the memory of how surprised she’d been when he told her he wasn’t really as into their relationship as she was. Daphne was a good girl, cute, but she wanted kids and that was definitely not Castiel’s bag.
“We disagreed about the direction our romance appeared to be going,” Castiel finally answers, pasting a grin on his face. Michael and Raphael dissolve into laughter; Castiel just keeps smiling and reaches blindly for the joint he knows he’ll find waiting.
“Just like every other chick you’ve dated since we were kids,” Michael says as Castiel takes a deep drag. He feels toes digging into his thigh, but he doesn’t open his eyes. “Starting to think there’s something wrong with you, man.”
Castiel shrugs and exhales slowly, passing off the joint before stretching, long and catlike and wriggling his body more fully into the afternoon sun. When he finally opens his eyes, Raphael is watching him curiously and Michael’s eyes are closed. He’s known these guys since they were kids and it’s not as though they don’t know that he’s just as happy to take a dude home as a chick; it’s that they seem determined that it’s something he’ll get over.
What they don’t know is that Castiel views dating women as good business. Some creepy fuck with a bar they want to play in has a sister who needs a date to the prom? Castiel is willing to do what needs to be done to get the gig. He knows they’re all in high demand since their little band got on the radar, the difference is that while Raphael and Michael are enjoying being balls-deep in the girl of the week, Castiel doesn’t see it as any different from dragging equipment up five flights of stairs to his tiny, piece of shit apartment after every show since it’s still all he can afford. Dating some bar owner’s kid sister is just another means to an end.
“He’s waiting for Prince Charming,” Michael says, not for the first time, and he and Raphael have another laugh at Castiel’s expense.
“Get fucked,” Castiel replies good-naturedly, flipping them both off before pushing to his feet. He sways in place, ignoring the laughter of his band mates as he gets his bearings and heads off toward the front door with a smirk plastered on his face. Before he opens it, he looks back over his shoulder and tells them, “Load in’s at eight; you bastards had better be there to help this time.”
***
Unsurprisingly, Michael and Raphael don’t make it to the bar until after eight thirty, long after Castiel has finished loading in the heavy equipment. They wander up nonchalantly as he’s wiping his face on an already soaked bandana, feigning innocence. Once they get everything set up and Raphael has decided his drums are in tune enough to suffice; they rush through soundcheck. Castiel is glad that Daphne doesn’t seem to be working, though there’s another bartender - a pretty girl with long, red hair - who’s giving him the eye as he watches the first opening act play their set.
Castiel’s band, Linear Lime Fortress, takes the stage next and their show is off and running without a hitch. They pace themselves for a forty-five-minute set played to an enthusiastic, screaming crowd that’s packed like sardines into the little bar. The energy is high and Michael is bouncing around the stage like a coked up jackrabbit, swinging his guitar so wildly it’s a wonder he ever hits any note at all, much less the right ones.
Somewhere around the middle of the set, Castiel leans out over the crowd, taunting them with lyrics he knows they know, pushing his hair out of his face as he finds himself nose to nose with someone who’s screaming the words right back. He nearly falls off the stage when the lights swing out of his eyes and he can see the guy in front of him. His vivid green eyes are half closed, but still unmistakably those of a guy who started showing up at gigs out of nowhere a month and a half-ago. Every time Castiel has tried to find him after a show; the guy is already gone. The more he disappears, the more Castiel wants to talk to him. Now here he is, right in Castiel’s face, his sandy hair dark with sweat and his plush, pink lips almost close enough to kiss as they scream about the ways in which a government is similar to a bad relationship.
With great effort, Castiel drags himself away and bounces across the stage, narrowly missing Michael in the process. As they launch into the next song, his heart is pounding from more than just the music. The rest of the set goes by in a flash and Castiel is exhausted by the time he takes a bow and heads off the stage. When he makes it to the edge, he turns and scans the crowd, looking for the elusive green-eyed boy only to find that - as always - he’s nowhere to be seen. With a frustrated curse, Castiel pulls the bandana out of his back pocket to wipe his face. He grabs his leather jacket off a worn chair and heads out the back door for a little peace and quiet and a well-earned cigarette.
The wide alley is lit only by a little orange-tinted light over the bar’s back door, a perfect change from bright lights and claustrophobic feeling of being on stage. Castiel takes a deep breath, inhaling the dirt-wet scent of fresh rain and shivering against the chill of the autumn night. He pulls his creaking leather jacket closer around himself and lights his cigarette before shoving his Zippo back into his jeans pocket. His ears still ring from the music, but he leans back against the cold brick wall and smiles with satisfaction.
He’s halfway through his cigarette and well on his way to letting go of his frustration over the constant near-misses with guy with bright green eyes and unripped jeans who is most definitely not from around here when he hears the scuff of someone walking up the alley in his direction. Castiel opens one eye and sees a familiar shape; wide shoulders and narrow hips and short spiked hair; walking toward him. He blinks slowly to make sure he isn’t imagining things. He isn’t. The mystery man is walking hesitantly his way, unmistakable for his clean clothes and the distinct lack of metal stuck anywhere in his face as it becomes clear when he steps into the faint ring of light thrown off the single bulb over Castiel’s head.
“You’re Castiel,” the man says. He seems nervous, wiping his hands on his jeans and smiling shyly. "I.. I love your music."
"Thanks, kid," Castiel answers after he blows out smoke and reminds himself to stay cool. Up close like this he can see that this "kid" isn't much younger than he is; maybe a couple of years. Cas pushes up off the wall and stares. The guy shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, clearing his throat like he wants to say something else. He’s just as beautiful close up as Castiel thought he was and he radiates something way too good and wholesome to be slumming around in a New York alley; and damned if Castiel doesn't want to just start talking and never stop. Instead he asks, "What's your name?"
"Dean," the guy says a little too quickly, a drawl evident in the single syllable. "Dean Winchester. I just moved to New York a couple of months ago.”
Castiel laughs in surprise at the added information and wonders if Dean really thinks he needs to tell people he’s not from New York City. He finds it hard to believe that there are any natives left who can’t spot an import from a mile away. Dean's face falls and he takes a half a step back, biting at his lip nervously. Castiel instantly feels like a dick for laughing at Dean’s eagerness, so he takes one last drag off his cigarette and throws it down, then offers his hand to shake.
"Where did you move here from, Dean Winchester?” Castiel asks a little more gently than he actually means to. He tries to ignore the thrill that shoots through him like pins and needles when Dean grabs his hand and shakes it firmly. The way Dean's face lights up again makes it hard to breathe and there's a blush under all those goddamned freckles splashed across Dean’s nose and cheeks and Castiel knows that he is so incredibly fucked, but he doesn't even care.
"Kansas," Dean answers.
He's looking straight into Castiel's eyes and he's just about equal parts star-struck and cocky and Castiel’s stomach flutters with the sudden realization that he has no idea what to do with a guy like this, so he runs the fingers of his left hand through his tangled hair, pushing it back out of his face again and mutters, "What the fuck's a farm boy doing in New York?"
Dean laughs like the question is the funniest thing he's ever heard, his eyes sparkling in the dim light and that's about the time Castiel notices that they're still shaking hands and decides he has no intention whatsoever of pulling away a second before he has to. By the time Dean stops laughing, he's managed to step smack into Castiel's personal space but, Castiel doesn’t really mind that, either.
In fact, he's pretty sure that he's found the Prince Charming Michael so enjoys needling him about when the freckled farm boy bows up, pushes his chest out, and growls as tough as he can, "Kansas can suck my dick."
Just then, the door swings open beside them and Raphael pokes his head out in search of Castiel. His eyes land first on Dean, then travel down his arm to the hand that’s still shaking Castiel’s. Dean jerks away quickly and takes a step back as Raphael turns his attention to his bandmate.
“There you are! We need you,” Raphael says, grinning as he looks back at Dean and arches a brow to add, “If you’re not too busy.”
“Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.” Castiel’s lips draw into a thin line as he looks up to see Dean’s face flushed red with embarrassment at Raphael’s salacious tone. He offers what he hopes is a reassuring smile then looks back to Raphael, eyes narrowing as he repeats, “In a minute.”
Raphael snorts, but mercifully lets the door slam shut as he retreats. When Castiel looks back toward Dean, he’s already starting to edge away, his face practically glowing red even in near darkness. Castiel takes a step toward him and reaches out, grabbing Dean’s elbow instinctively. Dean stops and looks up, the corners of his lips pulled down in a faint frown and all Castiel can think about is kissing him until he smiles again.
“He’s a dick,” he says instead, giving another easy smile and letting his hand slide down the thick fabric of Dean’s jacket to his wrist, afraid to let him go in case he disappears for good this time.
“Yeah, he is,” Dean says, looking back toward the door. He doesn’t pull away from the light grip on his wrist, though; a fact that gives Castiel the courage to rush blindly forward with an invitation he almost never gives.
“There’s an after party at my apartment and I want you to come, Dean,” he says in one quick breath. His heart pounds against his breastbone almost painfully as he stands completely still, afraid to even breathe lest he scare Dean away. As an afterthought, he adds a breathless, “Please?”
Dean hesitates, indecision flitting across his face as he bites at his lip again. He looks hard at Castiel, looks straight through him as though he’s sizing him up. Castiel feels like he’s going to die from the suspense by the time Dean finally gives him the same shy smile from before and nods slowly.
“I’d like that,” Dean answers and Castiel would swear he sounds a little breathless, too.