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[personal profile] badluck

Chapter Two

Dean


After leaving the Stepford Couple to their weird ass anti-booze fun, I decided to make up for all the drinks they weren't drinking and head out to the Roadhouse, it being probably the best part about LA. It was cheap, it was within walking distance of my apartment, and it had decent music on the old jukebox in the corner. It was also an amazing place to find company for an evening, if you know what I mean. Fuck you, I can be classy and phrase things delicately. Sometimes.

Anyway. After watching Sappy and Sappier make horrifying puppy faces at each other for twenty minutes, and not even with the excuse of alcohol, I was now in desperate need of lots of my own (alcohol, not puppy faces) and hopefully really athletic sex with a hot stranger. And there, at the end of the bar, was tall, brunette and gorgeous waiting for me. She just didn't know it yet.

Obviously, not wanting to seem desperate, I didn't immediately sit next to her and just start chatting. That's just begging for a reject. Instead, I sat a few seats down from the bar, local brew in a pint (makes you seem loyal to the area or some shit) and waited for her to catch my eye. Didn't take long (never does really) before we were playing a lazy little game of "look away." Which is now my cue to shift on down towards her for introductions and more drinking.

"Hey there." She smiled at me. Always a good sign.

"Hey yourself."

"You look familiar. Have I seen you in something?" it's fucking LA. Even the worst struggling actress has at least a commercial job under her belt. Great ice breaker that flatters rather than makes you look like a perv with the creepy stares.

"Probably. I'm a model. Some runway. Mostly print." This night as finally starting to look up. "What about you?"

"I'm the assistant director on a big budget film." it's not a lie when you're only removing one small word from your job title. Everyone knows assistants TO the director get laid way less. Hollywood fact.

After shooting the shit and a few more drinks later, I started working on my end game. And that's when I got hit with the sad puppy stare. You know what the fuck I'm talking about. The sad puppy stare that always starts with, "you're really nice but..."

"Look Dean, you're really fun and all but..."

"Hey, it's cool. No worries. Catch you later then." Girls always appreciate a guy who isn't pushy. Especially when the next one is a total douche about rejection. So, I decided to wait the inevitable and made my way around the Roadhouse. I'd give her one, maybe two douchebags before she was at my table again.

Castiel


Dinner was perfect. Our favorite little Italian place. A carriage ride, specifically catered for us, and now a moonlit stroll along the beach, waves lapping at our bare feet, pants cuffed around our ankles. Everything was straight out of a movie script. Just how it should be.

And then it happened. Or should I say he? That Neanderthal had once again spoiled what was supposed to be a wonderful experience. There he was rolling around in the sand with a woman. They were both clearly intoxicated and it took them a few moments to realize they were no longer alone.

"Duuuuuuuuuude! Cas! We have got to stop meeting like this!" He exclaimed while his eyebrows did something fairly awkward looking. He leaped up from the sand and approached us, arms out in what looked like an attempt at a personal space violation. I moved much closer to Michael, clinging tightly to his arm. "Yes. Hello Dean. Goodbye Dean."

Dean then did the most bizarre thing. He... laughed. It was a rather odd reaction to my rudeness. I could only stare in confusion until the woman he had previously been interacting with moved from her place on the beach to join us.

"Dean?" She wrapped her arms around him, clearly missing his attention for some unknown reason. He moved his arm to rest on her shoulders, tucking her closer to himself.

"Lisa, this is Cas. He works in movies with me. Cas this is Lisa, she models occasionally. And that's Michael. I... forget what he does. "

"Architecture. I design buildings for companies around the world." Michael responded with much more grace and politeness than the situation required. But that's my love. His capacity for beauty is only slightly less than his grace and poise.

"Oh. It's very nice to meet you both. I um... I like your shirts. They um... match very nicely."

She ducked her face into the crook of Dean's neck as he pulled her even closer. Something that I previously thought was impossible. While Michael kindly thanked her for the compliment, I was busy fuming with rage. They were both clearly mocking us, something I especially did not want to experience tonight of all nights. In my righteous anger, I missed the rest of the conversation that was going on in front of me.

"So how long have you two been together Dean?"

Dean looked down at Lisa and they both burst into undignified giggles. "Oh maybe about two hours or so? How about you two? Lookin' pretty cosy there Cas." There went those ridiculous eyebrows again.

Thankfully, Michael was more than willing to respond, sparing me from having to actually make conversation, my irritation growing with every second. "We're actually celebrating our anniversary tonight."

Dean's eyes got abnormally wide. "You guys are married?! 

I simply rolled my eyes at the ridiculous person standing in front of me. We were never going to be rid of the ignoramus anytime soon. The evening was effectively ruined at this point. "The anniversary of when we first fell in love."

His face gaped at us again. "People do that? Seriously? Why would you want to live bad writing? No offense Cas, but c'mon. That's some terrible Harlequin level shit there."

All of a sudden, it didn't matter anymore that Michael would be upset with me for being rude to my employee. It didn't matter that our wonderful, perfect evening had been demolished by a selfish, ignorant and inelegant individual. All that mattered was that I was finished with being insulted and mocked on such an important night to me. For the second time in our acquaintance, I walked away from Dean Winchester, without uttering a word. I left him, his lady of the night, and my beautiful love and did not look back, even when I heard Michael call out my name. 

Dean


The next morning was rough. Extracting myself from Lisa's place with "promises" to "call" her sometime, I barely had enough time to get back to my place to shower (again, fucking beach sex) and change let alone make it to Cas' meeting on time. But seriously, these early hours shit needed to go. 

The meeting went... well. I blamed Sammy and some college emergency for why I was late. Gabe has a ridiculous soft spot for him. Always making me get candy to send up to him. And some of it even gets to him. Anyway, Gabe bought it and even made me write a post it to remind him to tell me to buy mine... I mean Sam's favorite candy to get him through finals. But Cas... He just glared at me, which looked pretty damn scary behind those random black framed glasses he was suddenly wearing. Can't really blame him cause he pretty much full on witnessed the lack of Sammy last night. But so began the most frustrating and annoying and fucking rage fueled week of work I have ever had. And that includes the week where Sam bitchfaced nonstop while waiting for his Stanford acceptance letters. 

Everything I did was wrong. Everything I said was wrong. Everything I bought was either "inappropriate" or the wrong color or the wrong size. Every conversation we had was pretty much non-existent. He barked out demands, I made suggestions, he glared at me and then we started the whole fucking carousel ride all the fuck over again. Every goddamn day. Until one. He'd just gotten off the phone, probably with his creepy shirt matching sugar daddy or whatever, when I brought over the latest round in shopping torture. I'd been told to find "appropriate bedroom wall hangings for a mid-twenties aged single white female." Because that's so easy to shop for. Hell it's not like network television has made millions enforcing the stereotype that men can't shop for women. And color me Mr. Goddamn Stereotypical. Apparently I failed so hard at thinking girly that it was the final dance step in this fuckedupness between me and Cas cause he just fucking lost it on me. Started yelling and tantruming up a storm about me once again not doing shit right before tossing my ass off set for the night. His little hissy fit even got me a wonderfuckingful conversation with Uriel later. I either start making Cas happier than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide, or find another set to fuck shit up on.

Fuckin' peachy. Since I wasn't allowed back on set, and wandering around the offices meant potentially running into Gaby Wonka himself, I tucked tail between my legs and hid out in Ash's office until his shift ended. Upon which we mutually agreed to drown our sorrows down at the Roadhouse; me because my job sucked harder every damn day, him because he had a crush on Jo the bartender. Not that I blame him, if it wasn't against the rules (don't fuck around in a place you want to come back to) I would have gone after her too. But his drunk cow eyes are hilarious and it was so never going to happen. (That kind of involves actually speaking to women.) So while Ash stared at Jo, I checked out everyone else. 

And that's when I noticed everyone's favorite blue-eyed dillhole in a... vesty-thingie that pretentious douches wear instead of full suits. In a bar. AT the bar. With a decidedly not non-alcoholic drink. ON A WORK DAY! Fuck yes! Maybe a little bit of blackmail might go a long way to improving our relationship. Fuck you, that is perfectly logical drunk logic. 

What I needed was a plan of action. Which I could formulate in the men's room. Cause lots of beer means lots of peeing. What I didn't expect was to run into Cas on my way out. Literally. Good thing I had just gotten out of the bathroom so everyone in the bar could think I pissed myself. 

Uriel and future dreams be damned, I was about to let him have it, when I noticed how fucking miserable he looked. Like someone had shit all over his office and he didn't know how to clean it or even where to start. (And no fuckers. It wasn't me. Thanks for the vote of confidence.) 

"Oh I'm so sorry! I wasn't looking where I was going and this is all my fault and... Oh." And wow. He managed to look both pissy and like a puppy had been murdered in front of him at the same time. "It's you. Tell me honestly. Are you some sort of universal punishment for me?"

"Right. Cause you're fucking peaches and sunshine. You make me buy girly shit nonstop, you nearly got me fired today and now I'm wearing the evidence of your booze-cheating-ness. What part of that is punishment for you?!

He... winced. He fucking winced. Like he had feelings or some shit like that. I knew the non-drinking wasn't healthy. 

"Look. About today. You... I... I shouldn't have yelled at you like that. Not in front of everyone. It was wrong of me to do so."

That's it. No more purple nurples for me. They cause hallucinations and mass hysteria. Because blaming a drink I hadn't actually partaken of that night made way more sense than Castiel Novak actually apologizing to me. I could feel the snark about to leave my mouth when my brain actually stopped me. In the worst way imaginable. I heard fucking Uriel in my head. Make him happy Winchester. If Castiel is happy, Gabriel is happy. And if Gabriel is happy? You're employed.

Sammy would be so proud of me. "Dude. Don't worry about it. I know you didn't mean it." I grinned and slapped him on the shoulder reassuringly. "Besides. I already know you weren't really pissed at me. I'm just a highly attractive verbal punching bag." 

He raised an eyebrow at me. "You do?" he stated, clear skepticism in his tone. 

"Yup. I worked on an episode of CSI last summer. Picked up a thing or two. Your problem? Is Mr Shirt Matchy-Match. He calls you a bunch of times during the day for some weird form of verbal-cuddling. And having spent the last week having my ass verbally handed to me by you, I know you've got a work ethic that puts friggin Gandhi to shame. So him calling you all the time during work hours cuts into your 'paid to be artsy' time, but you can't get pissed at him so you get pissy at me. See?! Deductive reasoning and shit! I know how to fix it too."

It had to be the booze. This was the longest Cas had let me talk without glaring and walking away since the theater. He was looking somewhat glazed and confused to be honest, but fucking hell, I was on a roll.

"See, you need to suggest texting. He gets his clingy chick flick moments a million times a day, you can type out a quick response without having your day taken up with phone calls. Win motherfucking win!" I grinned and slapped him on the back again. "Give it a try and let me know how it goes. See ya tomorrow Cas!"

Yeah it might have been a dick move walking away like that, but it was the longest we'd gone without fighting and maybe I wanted to have one night like that. Ya know? So I walked away before shit could hit the fan, collected up Ash who was still staring at Jo like a creeper, and went home. Who knows? Maybe maturity would actually work? Fuck knows I'd tried everything else. 

Chapter Four

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Life is a test and I get bad marks

November 2012

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