Chapter Text
“Testing….testing…one, two, three…hey is this thing on?”
The smell of the dive, the scrambled noise of an electric guitar tuning, and the taps on the microphone; all sounds that got Castiel Novak going. It was the night before a big gig, the one that lead up to the ultimate event; the battle of the bands at the convention center in downtown Topeka, Kansas. All of the bands from the local area and even some from different states would be performing there.
“You’re good, Cas. Sounds great.” The voice came from the owner of the dive, Dean Winchester. The place had been in his family since 1953. His grandfather, Henry Winchester, opened the joint as a side job, since his other line of work provided little to no money for him and his family. He did odd jobs around his community; people loved him. It was passed down from father to son; soon Dean would pass it on to his son or his brother’s son. Sam Winchester was Dean’s little brother by four years. Dean’s looked after him since Dean was four and Sam was six months old; around the time their Mom died in a tragic fire that stayed in the papers for a month. Their dad died in 2005 in a car accident.
The dive was Dean’s pride and joy; other than his “baby”, a 1967 Chevrolet Impala that was the color of night. He decorated his dive with all sorts of things; old license plates his uncle Bobby Singer had at his Salvage shop, a Winchester rifle he’d found at an auction, and old records from bands like Metallica and Blue Oyster Cult.
He was currently in an on-again off-again relationship with a family friend; Jo Harvelle, the daughter of Ellen Harvelle, who owned the Roadhouse down the block. Ellen has known both the boys since they were eight and four. Dean and Jo grew up together; back then Jo was the only girl Dean knew who was into cars and fighting and army men like he was. His brother, Sam, and his girlfriend Jessica, met at Stanford, where Sam went to study law. Sam and Jessica are now engaged, much to Dean’s delight.
“So Cas, when do all the other guys get here?” Dean asked; he was cleaning off the tables, preparing for the concert tonight.
“They should be coming soon. Anna said she was having trouble fitting her keyboard into her car, and Gabriel had to get new strings for his bass.” Castiel tapped on the microphone again. “You need to get a new one of these, man. It’s falling apart.
Dean snickered. “Yeah, tell him that.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of Sam, who was sweeping on the other side of the dive. “He’s the one in charge of the money around here.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Cas turned his attention to the drum set on stage; surrounded by empty guitar and mike stands, held together by black duct tape. The paint was chipping off the drum set; exposing the water-damaged wood underneath. “Your drum set is complete crap. And these stands…” He lightly kicked the guitar stand closest to his foot; it toppled over and into pieces, “Aren’t much better.”
“I know, but money’s been tight lately. People just don’t wanna come here anymore, man. And we’re so far outta town; we hardly get the traffic we used to.” Dean shook his head. “We’re damn lucky you guys are popular enough to actually get people here; you’re the best thing that’s happened to us since the blizzard of ’04.”
Cas smiled. “Well, I’m glad you accepted us. We haven’t been that successful lately either.” Cas jumped down from the stage and straddled the chair in front of Dean. “Our van has broken down too many times to count, we’re losing members to new jobs or family members, and Balthazar’s acting like a dick.” He scowled at the mention of the lead singer. He’s the one who started the band, and the lead guitarist.
“Dude, why don’t you just rough him up? He could use a good ass-kicking.” Dean punched the air. “I’d show that skinny British dick a thing or two.”
Cas laughed. “I’m sure you would.”
“Hey, you two! Quit flirting and help me.” Sam said from across the room.
“Keep your pants on, Sammy! I was just taking a break.” Dean straightened from the table he was leaning on and walked toward his brother. “Gimme that. You sweep like a five year old.” He grabbed the wooden broom out of Sam’s hand. “Bitch.”
“I do not. You can’t do any better.” Sam pouted and snatched the rag off Dean’s shoulder. “Jerk.”
The place was quiet; the only sounds that could be heard were of the broom; the straw bristles rustling against the polished wood floor. Just then, they saw a pair of headlights pull into the parking lot.
“That’s definitely Gabriel. I’d know the sound of his car anywhere.” Cas got up from his seat and walked quickly to the door; he wanted to help Gabriel with the amps for his bass.
“I’ll be back. Don’t miss me too much.” He winked in the direction of Dean.
“Oh, don’t worry. He will.” Sam said; dodging the swing of the broom handle from his red-faced older brother.
“Ha. Hilarious, Sammy. Now move your ass.” He shoved Sam out of the way. “Go…cut your hair or something.”
“Ha. No. Jess likes it this way. Besides, you know that if I DID get it cut, people wouldn’t be able to tell us apart.”
“Is that such a bad thing? You sound like that’s a bad thing.” Dean said with a snicker. He snapped the rag he had in his back pocket against Sam’s bottom.
“…shut up, Dean.” Sam turned red and hid his face. “Get sweeping.”
“Yes, boss.”