Chapter Text
Like a lot of things in Dean’s life, this whole thing had begun as a way to help out his brother. There was, officially, nothing he wouldn’t do for that kid, which he knew because he had now done everything.
Dean could remember a time when Sam couldn’t draw to save his life, when the kid once tried to draw the three little pigs, and it was everything Dean could do to keep from laughing. He had praised the attempt, and put it on the refrigerator, because that was what Mary had done with his own horrible artwork at around the same age. When he had caught John smirking at it that night, he had glowered protectively in warning, and then they had just smiled at one another when John had told Sam how wonderful it looked. So Sam had been convinced he was an artistic prodigy by the time he was in first grade.
It turned out that the little guy, by the time he had become a big guy, had some real talent. After years of talking about drafting and architecture, Sam finally admitted that fashion design was his true passion. Once John had recovered from that, he had shrugged and said he didn’t care, so long as Sam could pay his own bills after college. Anything between the Marines and nothing was acceptable to their father, which was a relief to Sam and stressful to Dean, since the Marines was the only option he could think of other than nothing. That and being a rockstar, but it turned out the talent in the family had been used up by Sam in order to bring weird clothing designs to life.
So he had worked on cars, because that was on the acceptable spectrum, and he was good at it. It also paid Sam’s bills after college.
It had taken a while before the guy had broken into the design world, but he had been diligent and had worked tirelessly, until he had carved out a niche for himself, and some big shots had taken notice.
Dean had often been Sam’s reluctant model, for countless projects. Mostly, it had consisted of “Okay, just turn a little so I can see how it’s going to move.” And Dean didn’t know much about what he was doing, but Sam always appreciated him, so he never minded much, except that one time Sam burst in during the Wildcats championship game in the fourth quarter with a measuring tape and pins. He had put his foot down and instituted the ban on “freaking emergency Ken Doll Dean makeover parties” during ball games after that, and there had been peace in the apartment ever since.
So he probably should have seen this coming.
He glowered darkly at his brother in the mirror. “I’m a painted whore.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean, you’re wearing the most basic-I could have done a lot more. Stop touching it! Do you want your whole face to look flat in photos?”
“I hate you a little bit right now.”
“I know you do. But really you should hate Michael. He’s the one who bailed on me last minute. I’m just lucky you two have almost the same build. A few adjustments was all it took. I need to get back to lighting. Are you good?”
“Peachy,” he snapped.
Sam ground his teeth. “I’ll never understand how I’m the straight brother. Your masculinity is so freaking fragile! I swear to god, Dean, if you-“
“Go! I know. I know how important this is for you. Just go. Do the interview and whatever. I’m ready to be pretty. Go.” He fussed with his collar. Michael’s shoulders weren’t quite so broad. It felt tight, but Sam had said it was supposed to be, so...
His brother sighed in defeat. “There’s nothing else I can do,” he murmured to himself.
Dean looked back at him. “Hey. That’s because you’ve done it all. Okay? You’re good. Do your interview, and smile. I can fake my way through this. I promise. Then you owe me steak. With a side of cheeseburger.”
At last, Sam smirked at him. He took a deep breath. “Yeah. Okay. My jacket does amazing stuff for you, dude. If I can make you look good, I call it a win.”
He winked. “I make your jacket look good, bitch.”
“Jerk,” Sam laughed back. Then the young man took another, deeper breath and hurried out toward the cameras. Dean noticed his kid brother also looked like he belonged in magazines, with his light, trendy glasses, his smart and modern fitted brown suit, his long hair styled back in a savvy wave.
Ordinarily, Dean would consider them complete opposites. But not today. Today, Dean wore a charcoal suit that made him look like he belonged at the side of Eliot Ness. It was a three-piece double breasted suit, with a white shirt and blue patterned tie, complete with matching fedora and long overcoat. His hair was slicked down, and anyone could believe he had walked straight out of the 1940s, except that Sam’s design was weirdly comfortable in a way Dean guessed the ‘40s really hadn’t been.
“The Chicago way,” he muttered at the mirror. “Well, at least the jackass didn’t put me in some kind of weird abstract crap. I can be one of the Untouchables for long enough to get him through today.”
Someone drew in a strangely stuttered breath nearby, as if that someone were trying to decide whether or not to speak.
Dean turned, carefully so as not to mess up his costume. Was it a costume? He supposed it was.
The man standing off to the side of the studio’s little dressing area put a stop to Dean’s wandering thoughts. He was in a blue sweater vest over a white button down and slacks; clearly not one of the models then. But he was beautiful in a sort of way that made Dean’s breath immediately go shallow.
“Hello?” he said voicelessly. He hurried to clear his throat and stand. “Hey.”
The man in blue stood very still. “Yes,” he mumbled, as if answering a question Dean hadn’t asked. “Yeah, you’re-you’re the designer’s brother.” The voice was startlingly deep.
He nodded. “I’m Dean Winchester. You’re the, uh…” He had no idea who this guy was.
“No,” the man corrected, which was weird since Dean hadn’t guessed. “I’m Cas. Castiel Palladino. I’m just here to-to show you where to go for the shoot.”
“Oh! Okay. I’ve-I’ve never-Okay.”
Castiel’s handsome face softened. “You’ve never done this before. I can help walk you through it. I’m the personal assistant to-to the photographer, Gabriel Brillare.” He stopped and began to smile. “You’re not a model, are you?”
Dean wondered how he had managed to make that obvious already. “I’m really not. I’m...I’m a mechanic. Like you said...I’m the designer’s brother. His model bailed on him. And the clothes are my size, so…”
The man stepped closer, and held out his hand for Dean to take.
He stared. This man’s blue eyes were incredible, he realized suddenly, and wide with sincerity. Dean’s heart began to race as he placed his hand in Castiel’s.
The assistant rewarded him with another soft smile, and turned to lead him through the studio. “You know who Gabriel is, of course.”
Dean’s brain snapped to attention. This was important. It was for Sam. “Uh, he’s the, uh...photographer.”
Castiel smirked and gave a snort. He stopped them just before entering a closed room. “Listen. He’s a legend in this business. And he can make or break designers. He can’t stand a conceited designer. He’ll throw your brother into the black hole of anonymity if he’s arrogant. But he didn’t seem to be that kind.”
Dean’s eyes were wide, and he shook his head. “No. If-if anything, the guy needs more confidence.”
The assistant nodded. “Right. He’ll be okay. Gabe might mess with him, but he’s not going to destroy his career for fun unless he’s a douche.”
Well, Sam was safe then. Sam couldn’t even pretend to be conceited, except with Dean. Even then, he was mostly just adorable.
“Models are a different story.”
Dean was already nodding when he realized that meant him. “Wait. What?”
“Gabe. He’s going to be a complete jackass to you, just because he can be. Listen. Most models come in here knowing how to handle him, but you don’t have that experience. He’s going to eat you alive,” Castiel added, almost to himself.
“I can handle it,” Dean assured him.
“Yeah,” he answered in a sad tone. “You’ll have to. Look, just don’t let him get to you. Okay? Listen to his direction, no matter how he gives it. His delivery is brutal, but he knows what he’s doing, and he will expect you to hear the subtle directions under whatever else he’s saying. Okay? Just...brace yourself. He’s unpredictable.” Suddenly, Castiel’s eyes took on a bit of mischief. “And...tell you what. If you survive the shoot, dinner is on me.”
Dean stared at him, wondering if he was somehow being teased, wondering if his sexual preferences were being amplified by the stupid makeup and clothes, or if he was just that obviously intrigued by this guy. “Yeah,” he murmured finally. “Yeah, okay.” Steaks with a side of cheeseburger with Sam could happen anytime. If he could get through this without screwing up Sam’s career and his own dignity, he would absolutely deserve a night out with a handsome guy.