Work Text:
Dean Winchester awoke on a hard, wooden floor with a ringing noise in one ear, an unidentified pair of pants right in front of him, and cherry pie crusted to the side of his face.
Again.
And all he wanted to do was lay here and be miserable for several more hours, but instead, he was forced to move by a loud, insistent knocking on the door.
He crawled over to where he thought the door probably was, only to find that it was already ajar. He tugged it open with his fingers and then fell back against the wall next to it. "It was fucking open," he groaned.
"I didn't want to invade your privacy, Mr Winchester."
It had been years since he'd been called Mr Winchester. He'd have analyzed it a little more, but his head was on fire and there was a strange looking man in a trench coat in his doorway and he really had enough things on his mind right now, thanks.
"Who are you?" he grumbled, trying his best to rub the pie off his face, but it seemed to be stuck there for the foreseeable future.
"My name is Castiel Novak. The record company sent me here to meet with you. About your behavior in the band."
There was a noise from the bedroom next door, and a moment later, a woman walked out wearing one of Dean's favorite plaid shirts over her own jeans from the previous day, tying her hair up in a messy bun as she went. "Nope, I'm talking to the asshole first."
"He's right there." Dean pointed to the record guy with the weird name, who frowned in response to Dean's lame joke.
Lisa ignored it completely. "Dean, I just want you to know that I'm done. This was fun at first, but these days it just seems like I'm always the one cleaning up all your messes, and it's been one too many times now. You've got thirty seconds to tell me that you're going to stop doing this shit, or I'm out the door."
Dean stared at her. "What the- you couldn't have given me some warning?"
"You mean like the warnings I gave you the last five times you pulled some crazy stunt? Did you drink so much that you were still drunk in the mornings so you don't remember?"
"Lisa, please, it's not that simple-" he tried to protest.
"That's thirty seconds. Time's up. Have fun on the rest of your tour, Dean."
Lisa swung her purse over her shoulder and stalked out, still in Dean's favorite shirt, not looking back once.
To add insult to injury, the record guy did not leave too. He tucked his hands under Dean's armpits and hauled him up into a standing position that made Dean's stomach roll, and the guy must be a lot stronger than he looked, because it didn't seem to be any effort for him at all.
Dean braced himself against the wall, watching as the guy stepped back, brushing off his hands with a look of distaste on his face.
"Get in the shower. Clean yourself up. There's a car waiting for you outside. We'll talk there, just as soon as you're wearing real clothes and don't smell like a farmyard animal."
The man swept out of the room, and Dean watched his coat billow behind him all the way down the hall.
--
"So, tell me again who you are. Because I don't need to deal with any more people. We got a manager, and a producer, and everything we need, and we're doing fine, we're selling out everywhere, and we don't need any stupid executives who've never listened to real music in their life poking their noses in and telling us how to make better music."
Dean was slumped in the back seat of a fancy black car, gulping from a bottle of cold water which had been helpfully provided for him. He could really use a diner breakfast, but judging by the stony look on this guy's face, that wasn't really an option right now.
"Believe me, Mr Winchester, I have no interest in interfering with your musical direction. I have never listened to this... this Leaden Zipper or whoever you base your music off of. But there are other issues at play here. For example, just last night you set fire, on stage, to an undergarment that a female fan threw towards you. You then proceeded to end your concert with an unplanned firecracker display that was not sanctioned by health and safety. Following this, yourself and your bandmates decided to hold an open-for-all party in the hotel's decorative garden, which is intended to be closed after seven P.M, leaving the garden entirely ruined and requiring months of repair. You need help, and we're here to give it to you."
"Leaden Zipper..." Dean muttered under his breath, furious. "So what? Look, I got money, I'll pay for the damages, I'll even write a fucking letter of apology to the hotel if that's what it takes. Yeah, I screw up sometimes, but I always try to fix it, so what's the big deal?"
Castiel shook his head, and for the first time, Dean saw something that might have been an emotion cross his face. It made him look like less of a creepy jerk and more like a human being. Dean hated to admit this, but Castiel was actually very cute, the kind of guy Dean would have gone for if they'd met at a party or something and there was no 'trying to mess with Dean's career' involved.
...Or maybe Dean was just a bit delirious still. "The issue is that you're getting mentioned in the papers, and the record company is getting complaints. It doesn't look good for our image if you're constantly pulling stunts like this. If you don't stop, then we will be forced to let you go, even with the album that's scheduled for release next month."
"Right," Dean scoffed, finally getting what this was about. "You don't wanna help me. This is all about your image, and your money. Should have known. You executives are all the same. Well, you guys can fuck off, right? We don't need you."
--
Band meetings for The Custard Pies were usually an informal affair. Dean was lying on his back on the floor, occasionally propping himself up just enough to slurp coffee from an oversized pink and white striped mug. Benny, the drummer, was sprawled half asleep on a squashy beanbag, and Ash, the bassist, was cross-legged on one side of the couch playing Mario Kart with Charlie, the singer, who was upside down with her legs hooked over the top of the couch and her hair pooling on the floor, somehow still managing to win every race.
"So, we should probably start talking about songs and stuff," Dean vaguely suggested at one point, trying his best to make himself heard over the squeals of Toad and Bowser Jr. "Like, I know we've been trying out some of our originals at shows and they've been doing okay, but are they going on the album?"
"Maybe as bonus tracks?" Benny suggested.
"Hey, that's a good idea. Which ones, though?"
There was no response, and after a few seconds, Dean frowned and sat up, only to see that Benny had fallen dead asleep in his beanbag, his mouth open and practically begging for someone to throw things into.
Dean was just glancing around the room looking for decent throwing items when there was a ring at the doorbell.
Who the hell was at his door?
He got up to open it, and was horrified to see that it was Castiel, the same executive guy from a few days ago, standing on the doorstep and looking around the apartment complex in distaste. He appeared to be wearing the exact same suit, tie and trench coat he'd worn the last time they'd spoken. It was a little unnerving.
"Good day, Mr Winchester. I was informed that there was a band meeting happening today?"
Dean banged his head against the doorframe, groaning. "Yeah. Band meeting. As in for band members, to discuss band stuff."
"Excellent. So, may I come in?"
"As in, not for dickhead executives," Dean added, when it seemed like the guy still needed clarification.
"This only works if you cooperate, Dean."
"Great. I don't want this to work. This is me, not cooperating."
Castiel's eyes darkened, and once again, he didn't bother arguing further. He just grabbed Dean by the shoulders, spinning him round until he was out of the way, giving Castiel space to walk through the door with his coat swishing behind him as he strode into the living room.
The other three sat up when they saw him. It was like an instinct to defend themselves against someone who wasn't part of the pack, as Charlie quickly righted herself while Ash grabbed the controllers and switched off the television, and Benny jerked awake, wiping the drool off his chin.
"Who're you?" he mumbled sleepily.
"My name is Castiel Novak, I'm an executive from the record company. I'm here to make sure the four of you get everything done on time."
Ash, Benny and Charlie all pulled identical faces, and it seemed that no matter how much they argued about band stuff among themselves, here was one thing they could agree on - they definitely didn't want this stranger strolling into their midst and trying to fuck things up for them.
"So, I hear you are releasing an album," Castiel stated, pulling a hard wooden chair out from under the kitchen table and sitting down in it, either oblivious to the tension or ignoring it. "What kind of progress are you making on that?"
There was a silence, and at some point Dean realized that his bandmates were all staring at him, waiting for him to answer. He didn't know when he'd become their spokesperson.
"It's going good. We're trying to keep the details just between the four of us. Top secret, don't want word getting out."
"I understand," Castiel nodded seriously. "I won't say a word to anyone."
Dean bit his tongue to stop himself from yelling at the guy, and judging by the constipated look on Benny's face, he was doing the same.
Castiel ignored the awkward silence and continued. "I'm concerned about the ways the four of you are promoting this album, and the image it presents. Have you thought about altering the cover art?"
He pulled one of the provisional designs out of his jacket pocket and held it up to show the group.
"What are you talking about?" Ash finally spoke up. "A guy with Zep tattoos balancing custard pies on his dick? It looks badass. What the hell were you going to suggest, the four of us skipping through a field of daisies?"
"Daisies are not necessary, I just thought you may benefit from a design that is less offensive and more likely to attract new listeners to your work..."
Dean stared at the art in question, and his chest tightened as breathing got harder. He remembered all four of them loving it immediately the first time they'd seen it, back in the designer's studio where the walls were plastered with hundreds of similar pieces, but here, being shown to them by a stuffy man in a suit, it looked out of place, and made Dean uneasy.
And it wasn't that Dean thought it was inappropriate, or that he disagreed with peoples' rights to include nudity on their album covers, it just... maybe wasn't very Zeppelin. And it might distract people's attention away from the music, which was the thing Dean had cared most about in the first place.
But he wasn't about to admit that Castiel was right, about anything, so instead he attacked.
"You can get the fuck out of our house!" Dean screeched, advancing on Castiel, physically driving him towards the door. "We didn't ask for this, we're doing just fine without you, our fans love us the way we are!"
He opened the door and gave Castiel a shove, just hard enough for him to stumble backwards, losing his composure for a moment as he tripped over the threshold.
Dean slammed the door as loud as he could, making it rattle and hurt his ears. He hoped that Castiel was still close enough to feel the same effect. Then, Dean rested his forehead against the door, trying to stave off an anxious headache - something that was a lot harder to get rid of than Castiel himself.
--
"I'm joining the four of you for your television appearance today."
"What?" Dean snorted. He'd successfully managed to avoid Castiel for several days since the band meeting and he didn't want their winning streak to end. "Not a chance. Get out of here. Who let you in? You don't even have a pass."
Castiel squinted as though passes were beneath him and he couldn't understand why he would need one anyway. "I've been doing some research into your band. I feel I could appropriately answer questions about your music now and fit into the group."
Dean thought he would probably regret asking this, especially when it would be so much easier to insult Castiel, but- "What kind of research?"
"I watched some videos of the four of you performing. The sound quality was generally as atrocious as your regard for safety regulations. So then I looked into some of the original Led Zeppelin music." Castiel smiled proudly as though he were saying something very impressive, and added, "I very much enjoyed Stairway to Heaven."
Dean scoffed. "What are you, a high schooler who smokes weed and wants to sound like he understands real music? Trust you to only listen to the most popular song."
"That's their most popular song?" Castiel ignored Dean's insults. "I am not surprised, I imagine it is popular for a reason. It is musically excellent."
Dean shook his head. Castiel could play dumb all he wanted, but there was no way he hadn't known Stairway to Heaven. Everyone on the face of the planet knew Stairway to Heaven. That was how Dean had got his record deal in the first place, because of the band's YouTube cover of that song. He was glad it existed, but to him, it was nothing more than a gateway to bigger and better things.
The TV host, Balthazar, called, "And now it is my great pleasure to introduce The Custard Pies, and the man who makes their music possible, Castiel Novak!"
His British accent made everything sound sarcastic, even though it wasn't. Dean strode onto the set with a swagger, not waiting for any of the others, and quipped, "Actually, I think it's Jimmy Page who makes our music possible, not some baby in a trench coat."
There was a roar of laughter from the crowd, and Dean raised an eyebrow as if to say that he wasn't joking.
He took his seat in the center of the couch, waiting for the other band members to file in around him before leaning forward to shake Balthazar's hand, offering him an unnecessarily flirtatious wink as he did so. Several people in the crowd wolf-whistled.
There was a smirk on Balthazar's face when he sat back down, and he had to take a minute to compose himself as he read from a piece of paper.
"First question, and this one comes from an audience member. You guys haven't released the track list for the album yet, so are you all focusing on Zep's biggest hits, or are you including some of the lesser known songs?"
Dean smirked, straightening up in his seat, ready to preach the gospel of the underappreciated Boogie With Stu. "Well, mystery audience member-"
"I think it's important to remember what the original band is best known for," Castiel butted in. "We should trust the fans to know what they're talking about when they say what songs are best."
Dean seethed, wondering if it was wise to pick a fight with Castiel on national television.
He decided it wasn't wise, but he did it anyway. "That's not true. What the general public looks for in music is completely different to what actual music fans, with a decent knowledge base, look for. That's why all the best songs get ignored by casual fans."
"Why should the opinions of 'serious fans' matter more? Aren't you looking for a mass appeal, and to introduce this music to as many people as possible?" Castiel retorted, complete with air quotes, getting right up in Dean's face. The audience was silent. They were never this quiet while celebrity guests were on the show.
Balthazar cleared his throat. "Some musical disagreements, it seems. Perhaps we should move onto the second question. In what ways is your group dynamic similar to that of the original Zeppelin members?"
"I will keep this up. Unlike you, I have no issues with causing a scene in public," Dean hissed into Castiel's ear.
Castiel's eyes burned, but he didn't say a word for the rest of the interview. It might have been Dean's imagination, but the audience seemed upset at the lack of further arguments.
--
Dean flopped down onto Charlie's bed and waited for her to get home from lunch with a friend. She took so long that Dean ended up taking a nap in her bed, and he only woke up when she showed up and started pelting him with his guitar picks and yelling that she'd start breaking them in half if he didn't stop doing this.
"He's an interfering dickhead and he needs to get our of my life," was Dean's completely off topic retort, but he'd been rehearsing it before he went to sleep and he had to say it before he forgot.
Charlie sighed and dropped the pot of guitar picks down on the desk before flopping onto the bed next to Dean. "For someone you claim to hate, you sure do talk about him a lot."
"Yeah? Well, you talk about how much you hate the Hobbit movies a lot. Same deal."
"They're terrible, overworked adaptations redeemed only by Martin Freeman's inspired portrayal of Bilbo and his relationship with Thorin," she recited as though from a script. "My point is, Castiel's around so often that I'd have thought you'd want to forget about him whenever he's not."
Dean groaned, having no better response than that.
"Is he really... that bad?" Charlie asked in a small voice, and Dean sat up, looking betrayed.
Charlie ducked from the inevitable punch to the face. "I mean it! I hate the idea of people interfering with our music just as much as you do, but, Castiel's trying. He seems to actually want to learn more about us, even if he's not doing a great job of it."
The problem was that the more Castiel learned about the band's music, the more of an asshole he was, and the more he seemed to feel entitled to have an opinion on what Dean and the band got up to. And considering he'd acted pretty damn entitled in the first place, this was quite an impressive feat.
It made Dean uneasy when Castiel would just show up uninvited in their practice rooms while Benny was recording his backing tracks, and say "Ah, a drum solo. I recognize this. Is this part of Moby Dick?" Dean would have to explain that no, in actual fact the band were just recording each instrument separately - and then he would wonder to himself why he was even trying with this man, and why Castiel was even attempting to understand the band's music.
"Give him a chance. I think he likes you," Charlie teased, and Dean flipped her his middle finger, wondering why he'd ever thought complaining to her would be a good idea.
--
"You know what could really improve your public image?"
"Nothing. My public image is great. Ain't no reputation like a bad reputation," Dean quipped, and Castiel pulled a face as though he was physically nauseated by the words.
"Well, for one thing, no longer using tired cliches such as that one could certainly improve peoples' opinions of you," Castiel said in a voice so dry that he must have scrubbed his mouth with sandpaper before he started speaking.
Dean rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright, alright. What did you want to say, or did you just call me in here to insult me?"
"Both," Castiel shrugged, and Dean was so tempted to yell at him for that, but he didn't have the chance before Castiel continued, "I came to suggest that you do some charity work. Right now people see you as very one sided. You do your crazy stunts on stage which apparently entertain people for reasons I am unable to fathom, but there's no more to you than that. If you got involved with a charity, then perhaps people would start to see a new side to you, and after seeing others' reactions, perhaps you would want to follow that side of yourself further."
Dean frowned. "Charity work? You mean like, I should go walk around in public places and pick up the trash, shit like that?" He ducked his head to avoid the judgmental look that he was completely sure was in Castiel's eyes right now.
"There are lots of forms of charity work, Dean," Castiel explained with a long-suffering sigh, as though Dean was a five year old child who had been put in his care. "Picking up trash is only one of them, and not ones that celebrities usually engage in, for obvious reasons. You could start small. Pick a cause that interests you, then attend some kind of benefit associated with it - get the word out that you may have an interest in the cause. Everything else can come later."
Dean thought about this for a while, and he hated the fact that he wasn't just dismissing this instantly, but- "What sorts of causes did you have in mind?"
"Anything you want. You could be against child abuse, against animal testing, LGBT discrimination, trying to help the environment - what interests you? What do you care about?"
"My brother," Dean said, slowly.
"I don't think-"
Dean cut him off. "My brother, Sam. He used to go to Stanford, got a full ride there cause of how hard he worked in high school. Man, I was so proud of him when he got in. I remember driving him all the way to California, and he was next to me in the front seat, and he wouldn't shut up the whole way there. He was so excited to be going. And for the first few terms, he got As in all his classes, everything we all expected of him. And then, without warning - he crashed. End of his second year, he came back and his grades were Cs and Ds and he was a wreck, dude. Barely recognized him. He was having a total breakdown and he couldn't talk to anyone about it or ask for help because he didn't want people to think he was a failure. No matter how many times I told him he wasn't, he just refused to believe it, you know? Because of all the things his friends said, about how asking for help meant being weak, he had to just keep on pretending like things were fine. Worst part was, my dad, he didn't agree with me. He hadn't even wanted Sam to go to college in the first place, but he was still furious with him for failing. Then Sam dropped out, halfway through the next semester, because he was sure he was going to fail everything. And there was nothing I could do. Nothing except help him find a job back home and tell him that I loved him no matter what, but... he had so much potential, you've no idea, and he could have been something really great if he'd just been more open about everything he was going through. So if I'm going to get involved in anything, I want it to be mental health stuff, and raising awareness about those problems that people have, and letting people know that it's okay to struggle with those things, and to talk about it."
He finished his rant, and it took him a moment to remember that he was sitting on an uncomfortable chair in Castiel's office in the recording studios, and that he wasn't back in Kansas with his father and his brother, aged twenty-four, terrified for his brother's health with no idea how he could keep the peace between the two of them. He raised his head from where he'd been staring down at his knees, and he met Castiel's eyes.
He'd never seen them without a layer of ice in front of them before.
"I- thankyou for telling me that, Dean. I will look into some options for you."
--
Dean spent a solid two weeks cursing himself for opening up to Castiel like that. What the fuck had he even been thinking? He was stupid, stupid, stupid for being honest there. He should never have gone along with Castiel's plan, or if he had, then he should have just lied and said that he was really passionate about endangered pandas or something. As it was, Castiel knew one of his weak spots now. And Dean didn't understand why he'd given him that power. Even his bandmates didn't know the full story about what had happened with Sam.
He desperately wished there was a way to take information back from someone.
He threw himself into the recording, pressuring Ash and Benny and Charlie to spend even more time in the studio than they normally did, because that was a place where he could take out his anger at himself. Nobody cared if he was too aggressive when he plucked the strings of his guitar. He was supposed to sound like that, it just made the record more like how he sounded on stage every week anyway.
The four of them had just finished up a truly epic take of Traveling Riverside Blues, and Charlie had insisted that they all take a break and get some water. "Don't give me that look, Dean, my throat's starting to hurt and I know you'll be ten times as pissed at me if I have to pull out of any shows," she pointed out as she grabbed a package of cookies out of her bag and tossed him one.
Dean shoved the whole cookie into his mouth at once and started to chew, and that was the exact moment the door swung open, revealing Castiel Novak.
Of fucking course.
He gave this dumb, dorky wave that Dean would probably have thought was cute if it had been coming from anybody else and called out, "Dean? Can I see you in my office for a moment?"
The words and their slightly-too-kind tone reminded Dean of being an elementary school kid called in to see the principal.
"Do I get a choice?" he mumbled with his mouth full of cookie, because he could damn well play the part of the petulant child when he wanted to.
"Yes, you have a choice, but I think this is something you'll be happy about," Castiel replied, and Dean's head snapped up in shock, because he'd expected an insult in return as well as some kind of ultimatum about what would happen if he didn't go with Castiel.
"I- okay," was all he could manage, swallowing his cookie as fast as he could and scampering out of the room after Castiel, not even looking back to see the confused looks his bandmates were exchanging.
As soon as the two of them were safely inside Castiel's office with the door shut behind them, Castiel began.
"I've found something. A charity event for you."
--
"I swear to God, Dean Winchester, if going to this thing as your plus one sparks any more tabloid rumors that I am straight, I will personally ram a fiery cactus up your asshole."
"You'd have to see me naked for that, and I think that would just make the rumors worse, so I'm going to take a wild guess and say that my asshole is safe for the time being."
Dean was bantering back at Charlie just the same as he always did, but his face was pale and his voice shook a little. The truth was, he needed Charlie there, and he wouldn't be able to get through this night without some kind of moral support. And Charlie knew this, even if she didn't know exactly why this was so important to him. Neither of them would speak it aloud, but the thumb she rubbed up and down his jacket sleeve where she'd taken his arm told him all he needed to know.
They took seats together at a table in the back, mostly hidden from the minglers taking up most of the room - but it didn't take long before a man slid into the seat on the opposite side of Dean. He groaned, because he'd hoped nobody else would talk to him tonight. He didn't know if he felt better or worse when he saw who it was.
"Castiel? What the hell are you doing here?"
"I obtained an invitation for Dean Winchester plus one. I assumed-"
"Charlie's my plus one," Dean stated, gesturing to the seat next to him.
Castiel shrugged. "No matter. They let me through the door, and I'm here now, so you have a plus two."
That wasn't the point at all, and Dean wanted to tell Castiel to stop worming his way into every area of his life, but just then, the first speaker took the stage and the room quietened down.
"Good evening everyone, and thanks for coming out tonight. I know you're all hungry, but we have several amazing talks lined up for you tonight between courses. To start with, I'm going to discuss the general public's attitude towards mental health and how we can alter it, and then after the starter we'll move on to..."
Dean listened to the man speak, and as the speech continued he felt an ache in his chest, his teeth biting down on his lip involuntarily, his toes curling in his uncomfortable shoes because this had been a fucking terrible idea and there was no way he could handle a whole night of this.
"Castiel, I can't fucking do this, please, you have to let me get out of here."
Castiel raised a finger to his lips, trying to quieten Dean down, and Dean opened his mouth to create a scene, to yell, because that was what he was good at doing-
Castiel placed a hand on Dean's shoulder and leaned in close to whisper to him. "After the speech. When the speech is over, they'll bring out the food, and then you can slip away, and nobody will notice you. How does that sound?"
Dean glared, and he wasn't sure if he was glaring at himself for being weak or Castiel for being nice or the world in general for being such a fucking mess, but he knew he was glaring because if he didn't get annoyed then he would start crying or something equally ridiculous. But he was definitely glaring, and Castiel's hand wasn't leaving his shoulder, even as the other man was turning his attention back to the speaker - maybe to keep up appearances or maybe to give Dean his personal space, Dean couldn't tell.
And he stayed. It felt like every muscle in his body was tense and squirming to get him out of there, as though there were bugs crawling inside him and the only way he could get rid of them was by running from the room as fast as possible and getting somewhere where it wasn't so hot and there weren't so many damn people.
But he stayed.
"So, in conclusion, although society's stigma is ever-present and inescapable, there are many steps we can take to fight it. Together."
The second the cheering commenced, Dean scraped back his chair, throwing Castiel's hand away from him and dashing from the room, sure he hadn't run that fast since his brief experimentation with sports in high school (the one that he'd quickly thrown aside in favor of music.) He collapsed to the ground in an alleyway around the side of the building and tilted his head to the sky, relishing the cold wind that slapped him in the face. He dug in the inside pocket of his borrowed jacket for the flask he always kept with him and five minutes later he'd managed to down the entire thing, the hot whiskey bubbling down his throat contrasting with the cold air surrounding him, and it wasn't enough.
He could go home, but home went going back to the apartment that he shared with the rest of the band, and he wasn't in the mood to have them make comments about his clothes and try to convince him to play video games with them. He just wanted to zap himself from here into his bedroom where he could be completely alone. But that wasn't possible, so he stumbled to the liquor store, where he could at least get drunk enough that he wouldn't actually care what happened next.
He bought another bottle of whiskey because that was what his dad always drank after fights with Sam, and what John had always sent Dean out to buy more of when he was too drunk to get served, so that was the section Dean instinctively gravitated towards in the store.
He barely cared about the fact that the police might pick him up if he was caught swigging from a large and clearly alcoholic bottle in public, but he didn't want to get recognized and maybe have to deal with any fans right now, so he retreated back into his alley until he'd had enough to drink that Ash and Benny wouldn't bother him when he got home, and then he called for a cab that charged him double for being drunk.
He barely made it to his bedroom before he passed out, half on the bed and half on the floor, his clothes getting steadily more wrinkled from the odd position, dead asleep, the half-empty bottle of whiskey rolling across the floor until it came to a stop right by his guitar.
There were vague pictures in Dean's drunken dreams, but nothing he could quite get a handle on. Nothing tangible, just him, floating through scenes conjured by his imagination. Until, that is, his mind settled on a kitchen. It looked a little like his own, but in some kind of alternate universe where there weren't a million dirty dishes in the sink and the cupboard was filled with more than ramen noodles and he'd painted the place yellow and put a little pot plant in the window.
He was cooking breakfast, bacon sizzling in one pan while he poured pancake batter into another, his mouth watering from the smell and from his own hunger. He didn't flinch when he felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist, a heavy but comforting weight settling onto his shoulder. He'd expected this, somehow, and it seemed like nothing to turn around and lean into the embrace of the dark haired man, who whispered, "Breakfast is looking wonderful. But not as wonderful as you, sweetheart."
Dean jolted awake, his mouth dry from a combination of the dream and the hangover, trying to sort through the kind of thoughts that were unwanted at any time of day, but especially at five in the morning.
Castiel just had such a commanding presence. People naturally wanted to listen to his authority. And he wouldn't take no for an answer, either. He worked hard and he fought for what he wanted and that thing he did where he just bodily moved Dean around like Dean weighed nothing more than a child? Dean wished he didn't find it hot, but at the same time, he couldn't deny that he did. And that was easy enough to ignore when the guy was treating him like shit, but then he'd had to go and be nice to Dean like some kind of decent human being...
The point was, Castiel was the worst. The literal worst. He'd never listened to a good song in his life and he was the kind of guy who still thought capitalism was a pretty neat idea really and he talked down to people and he thought he was always right and yet here Dean was, dreaming about him. Not sex dreams, no, Dean had had more of those about far more inappropriate people, and Cas - no, Castiel, he reminded himself, that part of the dream hadn't been real - was an attractive man, so the sex dreams were understandable. It was these domestic dreams that were the problem, these dreams that featured him making breakfast in the morning, when if he was honest, he knew that in real life, that would probably end with him throwing pancake batter at Castiel's dumb face in his rage. It didn't make any goddamn sense.
He rolled over and tried to get back to sleep. Usually, sleep came easy to him, but today, for the first time in years, he saw the sunrise.
--
By this point, Dean had lost track of the amount of shows he'd performed on no sleep, or drunk, or high, or unable to actually remember the guitar chords for any of his songs. The shows usually turned out fine, or if they didn't then nobody ever complained. And the problem was that when his mind was in any one of these altered states, it came with the wonderful side effect of not getting any stage fright whatsoever.
Meaning that today, he was standing in his dressing room unable to even pick up his guitar, literally shaking in terror.
He was less worried about the crowd. He'd played enough crowds that he was fairly confident in his abilities to entertain a group of people, and he knew that the screaming was so constant and the lights were so bright that he wouldn't even notice anyone in the crowd who wasn't having an amazing time.
No, the reason he was scared was because of stupid fucking Castiel Novak, who had invited himself at the last minute to sit backstage during the show and watch the band, especially Dean, from the wings - silently judging whatever they decided to do.
Dean didn't care what Castiel thought. He didn't. But he was completely incapable of casting all thoughts of him aside. Because every time he managed to forget about how much he hated Castiel for being a pretentious prick, his mind was filled with thoughts of the man's beautiful pink lips and the exact shapes they made when they curled around every single word. And if he was lucky enough ever to stop thinking about Castiel's lips, his mind immediately returned to how much of an asshole he was.
No matter what Dean was thinking about, Castiel was involved somehow, and Dean could no longer remember what he'd thought about before Castiel had barged into his life and started finding a way into every single fucking thought that crossed Dean's brain. Castiel just fit, even in the tiniest corners of Dean's mind where there should be no room for him - he was there.
Dean's only hope was to distract himself, as much as he could. Distracting himself came in the form of jumping around the stage so aggressively that he didn't have the energy left to think about anything else, and of thinking up insane stunts to pull on stage of the kind that would surely earn him a stern talking to from Castiel in the morning. But a stern talking to was good, because it would remind him or how much he hated the idiot, and why he should never want anything to do with him.
The first half of the show was almost over when Dean came up with the perfect idea. It was hard, these days, to go bigger and better than what he'd done in past shows, and to live up to the crowd's expectations - but he thought this just might manage it.
So he dashed over to steal the microphone from Charlie, and mostly as a big 'fuck you' to Castiel, yelled into it-
"We're playing one more song for you before we take a break, but after we come back out, we're going to explode the fucking drum kit! I've got explosives! It's gonna be insane! Until then, here's No Quarter!"
--
Castiel stormed into the dressing room where Dean was taking a breather during the interval.
"The show's off."
Dean wasn't sure he'd ever seen Castiel look angry before - not this uncontrolled kind of angry where his rage was consuming him and stopping him from being able to handle the situation in his normal calm and collected manner.
Dean snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. The show's not off, we've got ten thousand people out there screaming for us to get back on stage as soon as we can."
Castiel shook his head, advancing on Dean, almost spitting in his face, and Dean was genuinely scared by this point. "You fucking heard me, Dean Winchester. The show's off. I saw you at the benefit. You're unstable! You're a danger to yourself, you're a danger to your bandmates, and most important of all, you're a danger to every single member of the audience who's paid good money to see you. Frankly? I don't know why everyone's put up with your shit for this long. You shouldn't be allowed to perform. You should probably be in jail."
Dean laughed, and there was no humor in it, he just didn't want Castiel to see he was afraid - or worse, that he was hurt. "You know what? I don't think you have any actual power! I think you just come in here with your cool long coat trying to intimidate us all into doing whatever you want, but honestly? There's nothing you can do. So I'm gonna walk back out there. I'm gonna put on the greatest fucking show any of their pretty little minds have ever seen. And there's not a fucking thing you can do about it."
"Oh, isn't there?" Castiel's eyes glittered, and Dean knew then that he'd made a terrible mistake. "I've got some interesting news for you. Your head roadie? Gabriel? The guy who controls the loudspeaker, through which I can make any announcement I so choose? He's my brother."
Dean stared at him and pretended his heart hadn't just skipped five or six beats. "You're bluffing."
"I'd show you proof. But right now I have a crowd to address."
Dean was desperate. He couldn't see a way around this situation. If the show was cancelled, the audience would riot, he'd get a reputation as the kind of guy who couldn't live up to his promises, and that wasn't even including whatever Castiel might say about him. He had to somehow stop him, but Castiel was closer to the door, and could probably outrun him since he hadn't just been leaping about on stage for an hour, and if he really did have the influence he said--
Dean only had one solution that might work.
It would fuck him over later, but for now, it would work.
He grabbed Castiel by the shoulders, the same way Castiel had done to him so many times in the past, forcing him backwards against the wall and crashing their mouths together, kissing him roughly, barely getting a chance to appreciate how soft and pliant Castiel's beautiful lips were because he was too busy deepening the kiss, taking everything he could possibly get from Castiel, nipping and biting at his lips as he moaned into his mouth.
It was wrong and forbidden and perfect and probably the best kiss Dean could ever remember and it was over far too soon when Castiel placed a hand on his chest and pushed him away, sending him stumbling back into his dressing table.
But Castiel was calm once again now, terrifyingly so, and even though his eyes looked glazed and his lips were bright red there was still a venomous focus in his expression that made Dean cower away from him.
"I'm sorry," he squeaked. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."
"What exactly didn't you mean, Dean?" Dean wanted to back away further, but Castiel's voice was so quiet that he didn't think he'd be able to hear it. "You didn't mean to physically assault me purely so that I would not be able to carry out my threat of cancelling your show?"
"Physically- I didn't- it wasn't like-" Dean had to lean against the wall for support. How badly had he just fucked up?
"What would you call it, then?"
Dean suddenly realized something, something that changed everything. It was almost enough to make him smile.
"You kissed back."
Castiel frowned. "Excuse me?"
"When I kissed you, you kissed back. I'd have stopped if you didn't. All I wanted was to take you by surprise, give myself a chance to get to the sound room first. I'd managed that already. But you kissed back, so I got into the moment and I kept going."
Castiel raised an eyebrow as though denying the accusation, and that certainly wasn't something that Dean was going to tolerate.
"I don't kiss people who don't wanna be kissed, Cas. I'm a shitty person but I'm not that shitty of a person. I don't care why you did it, but you gotta admit, you kissed me back."
Castiel opened his mouth, then stopped. Tilted his head to one side, confused. "Did you just call me Cas?"
"Well, that's your name, isn't it-- oh, shit." Dean slapped his forehead with one hand, unable to believe he'd been so stupid. He'd been calling the guy Cas in his head for weeks now, ever since the dream, but he'd always been so careful not to say it out loud, to address the guy professionally and not let on to any stupid affectionate thoughts that he may or may not be having.
"You called me Cas by mistake. When you needed to distract me, your first thought was to kiss me. When I kissed back, you got into the moment." Castiel smirked. "Does the big, bad rock star Dean Winchester have a little crush?"
Dean knew that the bright red of his cheeks said it all.
"And I thought you were an asshole when we first met..." he muttered.
Cas' mouth quirked into a tiny smile at the exact moment that Gabriel's voice blared into his headset, "You're back on stage in thirty seconds, nerd!"
Dean gave Cas a desperate, confused look before running towards his entry point.
--
Dean strode out onto the stage. The other three were already there waiting for him, and if the crowd had been roaring before he got there, he was sure that it doubled in intensity the second he appeared from behind the curtain. It was intoxicating, the way the crowd seemed to metaphorically catch fire the second they saw him, the feeling that he could ignite a group of people like that.
And it felt even better knowing that at any second he wanted, he could make everyone even more excited, just by carrying out one of his incredible stunts.
But still. Maybe there were more important things than making a crowd of people scream.
(Like making just one person scream. He wasn't planning on rushing into that, but it was still a nice thought.)
He stepped up to the microphone, tapped it once, the crowd growing impossibly louder as he raised it to his lips, giving a wink towards all of them, one that was sure to be captured by the roving cameras and blown up a thousand times bigger on the big screens.
"Hey, guys. Welcome back to the second half of our show."
It wasn't physically possible for them to keep getting louder. They were almost overwhelmingly loud by this point, and any other night, it'd have been enough to sweep him along with whatever they wanted. But tonight, he held his resolve.
"I've got a couple of announcements to make, and I'm sure that the first one is going to upset you. I actually won't be exploding Benny's drum kit, because I don't want to put y'all at risk, I want us all to have a great night, and, uh, not die. That said? I'm still gonna put on a great show, and there's going to be lights, and inflatables, and probably a lot of screaming. And the usual party afterwards, for anyone who's over twenty-one, or good at pretending." He glanced to the side, and he saw Cas standing in the wings, his arms crossed over his chest, and he could tell he was glaring even from such a long way away.
There were boos from the crowd, and he was sure he caught a few cries of "Loser!" but he didn't care.
Okay, he wasn't fooling anyone. He totally cared. He hated the idea that he was going to get the reputation of a boring old rocker with no sense of fun anymore.
But then he glanced at Cas again...
"Right, we're straight back in with the music - this is Ramble On! Zep never played this one live, but it's one of my favorites, so I hope you all enjoy," Dean cried, picking up his acoustic guitar.
--
Dean hurtled through the set with twice as much energy as he usually did, and at one point he turned and saw Benny in the back, red-faced and scowling at Dean as he frantically tried to keep up with the beat, after which Dean had to fight himself to keep from speeding up the songs too much.
He skidded off the stage at the end of the set, returned to play two encores, and then bounded back into the wings, coming to a halt right in front of Castiel, beaming, still high on the audience's cheers.
"You played a wonderful set, Dean," was Cas' opening line.
Dean was all set to accept the compliment and maybe follow it up with some smooth line about how Cas had been a wonderful audience, but when he opened his mouth to speak, he froze up. Anything that had existed between them in the dressing room had gone - not vanished, just locked away where Dean couldn't reach it - and he was terrified, not sure where to progress because this was all too much at once.
"I- I have to go- party- expecting- promised- can't-"
He ran, far away from Cas, making his way to the after party where he knew the guy wouldn't dare to show his face. It was a safe haven, and Dean could hide from Cas in the mass of screaming fans and loud music, and if he took enough shots then maybe he could even hide from himself.
Something about getting drunk combined with the fact that Dean's nerves had stopped him from eating all day made his stomach ache with hunger after the thirteenth or fourteenth shot, and for some reason he really liked the sound of cereal. He remembered stashing Frosted Flakes in his bedroom as a teenager and eating them late at night after he'd snuck back in from illegal parties. Perhaps the habit had never really left him.
"Alright, who wants to hit up some grocery stores?" Dean shrieked, and the next thing he knew, he had a crowd of fans and a handful of his roadies following him into the nearest Wal-Mart, all of them in various states of drunkenness and dishevelment, and what had started out as an excursion to buy cereal became a complete commotion. Three people got into a fight which was successfully broken up when a fourth person turned it into a pillow fight; two shopping carts were irreparably damaged from being crashed into each other at high speed while filled with bananas; the candy aisle was completely decimated and only half paid for; several tubs of glitter were poured over unsuspecting passers by who were only maybe part of the group; a combination of whipped cream and gardening mats were used to turn the store floor into a Slip'n'slide.
And Dean stood in the middle of it all feeling more sober than he rightfully should have considering the amount of vodka he'd ingested, no idea why he'd ever thought any of this was a good idea.
--
Dean Winchester awoke on a hard, wooden floor with a ringing noise in one ear, an unidentified pair of pants right in front of him, and cherry pie crusted to the side of his face.
Again.
He heard a noise from nearby; soft feet padding towards him, and Dean opened his eyes, only to be confronted with a pair of fluffy yellow and black striped socks.
He groaned and tilted his head upwards. Castiel Novak stood over him, fully dressed apart from the bee socks, and Dean wondered if he was secretly hiding them under his shoes all the time.
"The door was open. I figured you wouldn't want to get up to let me in. Let me carry you to bed?"
Dean hid his head in his hands, making mumbled noises of protest, but he didn't try to stop Cas scooping him up in his arms and gently carrying him to the bed, tucking him underneath a cool sheet and climbing in beside him.
Dean tried to sleep, but even with the comforting pressure of Cas breathing softly against his back, he couldn't make himself relax. After ten restless minutes, he rolled over, sighing in annoyance.
"So I guess this is the point where you yell at me and tell me I've done this one too many times and you don't wanna be the one always cleaning up after me and that you're leaving unless I clean up my act right now?" he asked, because he'd fucked up again last night, hadn't he, and even if he regretted it Cas still wasn't going to let it slide so he might as well get the yelling over with now, because that was how this always ended.
Cas cupped Dean's face in his hand. "Shh, baby, don't cry, it's okay," he soothed, and Dean wondered how Cas had known that he'd been close to tears. "I wasn't going to say any of that to you."
"It's your job, it's literally your job to say that, that's why the record company hired you."
"You're more important than them. I care about you, Dean, and I don't know when that happened, but it did. And while I don't think you should do any of this, I'm not going to give you any sort of ultimatum. I'm just going to stay here until you feel better, then I'm going to make buttered toast and apple juice because I know that's what you always have for a hangover, and then we're going to talk. Just you and me. And no matter what, I'm not going to leave you, or judge you."
Before Dean knew it he was sobbing, unable to control the noises he was making, tears running down cheeks that were probably stained bright red because he knew he was an ugly crier and right now he was embarrassed on top of that.
Cas waited. No snark. No yelling. Just a patient hand running through Dean's hair, over and over again.
"You're a good man, Dean," Cas whispered, his voice close enough to Dean's ear that Dean could hear it over his own sobs. "You've made mistakes, but you are such a good man, one of the best."
Dean cried harder.
"I'm not, Cas, I've been nothing but shit to you since you showed up."
Cas waited for Dean to calm down a little before replying.
"Yes, because you believed in what you were doing," Cas whispered again once Dean's sobs had turned into nothing more than the occasional whimper. "You had the music and you had your reputation that you wanted to keep up and I'm not saying that I agree with your decisions, but I understand them. I do."
Dean shrugged. "Don't really believe in it. I like Led Zeppelin cause my dad liked them and I do all these crazy things cause I know they're what my fans want me to do, but... I don't know what the hell I actually believe in."
Cas paused, and then said, "I'm quitting my job."
"You're what?" Dean hadn't been expecting the change of topic and he definitely hadn't expected Cas to say that.
"I'm quitting. At least, I'm not going to work for your band anymore. I still want to help you, but in a way that works for both of us. I don't want to tell you what to do. Not that you ever listened when I did, but... it's a gesture. I'd very much like to be in your life, perhaps for a long time, but I want that to be freely, on your terms, and not because I'm forcing myself on you. How does that sound?"
That brought Dean's sobs right back up to eleven and he buried his face in Cas' chest and cried, hot tears staining the trench coat that Cas apparently wore in bed as well as for work.
Cas held him, and it couldn't have been a comfortable position and he must have been getting annoyed with the fact that every time Dean seemed like he was calming down, he remembered something else that Cas had said and burst into tears all over again, but Cas didn't try to rush him until he was ready.
The sun was high in the sky by the time Dean sat up, pulling Cas with him, the two of them cross legged on the bed, looking each other in the eye.
"I'm really sorry I ran off on you last night."
Cas shrugged. "I understood. You were scared. I know you find these sorts of things difficult."
Dean nodded, and the two of them fell into a comfortable silence while Dean searched for words.
"So. You want to stick around. Just as a friend, or..." Dean knew it probably wasn't the most important issue here, but he had to know.
"If just a friend is what you need right now, then yes," Cas nodded, but his voice was resigned, and there was definitely a touch of sadness.
Dean didn't blink. He generally found it hard to hold eye contact with people, but something about Cas meant that he didn't want to look away.
"And if I wanted something else as well?"
There was another pause, this one charged with some kind of tension - and then Cas placed one hand on Dean's cheek, his thumb running over Dean's second-day stubble as they both leaned forward slowly, their lips meeting in the middle for the softest kiss that had Dean's heart jumping in his throat as he ached for more of Cas' touch.
If Dean had thought their kiss in the dressing room had been his best ever kiss, this put it to shame. Even the gentlest pressure of Cas' lips was enough to have Dean melting into the touch, his eyes widening in a silent plea for more when Cas finally pulled away.
Dean tried to collect his thoughts, because if he was making changes, he was starting here, and he was actually going to say how he felt for once.
"Like I said, Cas, I don't know what I want to do with my future. The only thing I know is that I want to be with you. Because you... you make me question everything, I thought I was happy with my life, but you've shown me that... maybe I need to fix things. But I need your help figuring out how. If that's okay with you."
"You have time. There's no rush to decide what you want to do with the band, or if you want to continue at all. And I'll talk things through with you if you want, or if you'd rather talk to the rest of the band, that's fine too. We'll work it out, I promise," Cas said, one hand still on Dean's cheek, and Dean nodded slowly. He was close to tears again, just from the simple knowledge that he didn't have to deal with all this alone anymore, that there was someone right next to him that genuinely wanted to support him despite all his fuckups. So he took the energy that he would have put into crying and channeled it instead into another kiss, deeper than the first one, a kiss that said both 'thankyou' and 'I need you' all at once.
They pulled apart, and Dean broke the eye contact to jump off the bed and head towards the shower, calling over his shoulder, "How about we get breakfast first?"
--
The two of them climbed into Cas' car, Dean sitting shotgun, and his eye was immediately drawn to the open glove compartment that was crammed to the brim with a huge range of CDs - Castiel apparently knew way more about music than he was letting on, because here was Beethoven, Miles Davis, Renaissance, Marillion, Steven Wilson... at least thirty different artists, only half of which Dean recognized, and he stared at the collection in wonder.
It took him a moment to realize that Cas was staring at him in equal wonder, a fond smile on his face.
Dean blushed as soon as he realized he'd been spotted, clearing his throat and focusing his eyes on the road again. Ever so casually, he asked, "What happened to 'the most popular music is the best and we have to trust public opinion'? I don't think most of your collection fits in with that."
Cas raised an eyebrow. "Well, there are things I'm paid to say, and there are secrets that only you get to find out. I think you'll be surprised by some of them."
"I can't wait to learn them all," Dean chuckled, shaking his head, because Cas was nothing but constant surprises.
Cas just reached across the seat between them, took Dean's hand in his own, and said-
"Why don't you pick out some music?"
Unnecessary Epilogue
The Custard Pies released their Led Zeppelin cover album, and then changed their band name to Leaden Zipper to release albums of original music. Castiel was never seen on stage, but he discovered a talent for songwriting and penned several of their more experimental pieces. Dean stopped having to pay for damages from his drunken antics, and used his money instead to pay for Sam to take online classes at Stanford, so that Sam could finish his degree in his own time. Sam ended up in the same history class as Dean's head roadie, Gabriel, where the two flirted horribly over the class message boards and then fell in love. Ash and Benny still live together, and there are many rumors about their relationship among the fans, which they neither confirm or deny. Charlie moved into her girlfriend Jo's converted loft, where she secretly spent most of her time anyway - the rest of the band were always just too busy arguing to notice. Dean and Cas bought a farmhouse-style cottage in the suburbs. They keep chickens in the yard and name them after famous musicians.