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Chapter Three


After last night, I was on unsure ground as to my relationship with Dean. When he was rude, abrasive and insulting I knew what to say, how to act. But after last night, in the face of his unexpected kindness, I wasn't as confident. How could I be so disrespectful to someone who had been so gentle and supportive just the evening before? It was quite confusing. Especially because his idea was actually quite ingenious. After offering up the suggestion to Michael as a suitable compromise, we were communicating more effectively than ever before. And all thanks to Dean Winchester.

He was late again the following morning, but instead of arguing with him about how much time he had wasted, I decided to let it go. When he brought me the newest properties purchases for inspection, I listened to what he had to say rather than immediately brush him off as being wrong. He was still mostly wrong, but even I had to admit that I had been doing him a disservice by simply ignoring what he had to say. One or two of his suggestions had merit, and I even took him up on those suggestions.

It was the most productive day at work we had ever had. And the next day was even better. And the next day. We began conversing at work over breaks, and then lunches. He told me about his brother Sam, who was attending university at Stanford and how he was helping his divorced parents to pay for the tuition and living expenses so Sam would not be distracted from his studies. I told him more about Michael and how we grew up together. This resulted in more mockery, but I swiftly began to understand that it wasn't meant to be malicious. 

I began talking him with me as we scouted for locations. While the outdoor scenes were eventually going to be filmed in New Zealand, interior shots could be filmed here at a much lower cost. I also started joining him on shopping excursions. 
Lunches turned into dinners. He even started driving me home at night in his "baby" a 1967 Impala. How he could afford to drive it with Californian gas prices was astounding to me, but he would not even consider another mode of transportation. I have to admit, I was impressed at his skill in restoration. The car looked practically brand new and well taken care of. 

My days at work had gone from misery inducing to a looked forward to joy. The only problem was that the closer Dean and I grew, the more upset Michael became. At first he seemed pleased that I had taken his advice and befriended Dean. But as more and more of my stories involved him in some way, Michael became less enthused. More sullen. We began to disagree even more than usual. As happy and enjoyable as my days had become at work, my evenings at home were becoming less so. It was even worse on the days he was out of town for work, our texts to each other were less and less feeling of warmth and caring. I seemed to be inexplicably incapable of conflating my work life with my home life so that both were peaceful and productive.


One thing I really liked about this new thing me and Cas had going was how freakin predictable he was. Whenever he was in a shit mood (thankfully mostly Mr. Perfect douchey shirt man's fault these days) he put on those nerd-rock glasses of his. Once I'd figured that shit out, it made judging his moods like a million times easier to predict. Which meant we were getting along fucking fabulously as of late. 

For example, I was working late in the office catching up on some script details (what? You think because Gabe assigned me to Cas' team, that means he'll remember what he said? Fuck no. It means I do Cas' work and what ever Gabe wants on top of it) when Cas wandered back into the building looking wrecked behind those glasses, even though he tried to hide it. 

"It would seem that I've become accustomed to rides home with you." he smiled weakly at me. I closed up my laptop and shoved over on the window seat I was sitting on, a clear invitation for him to join me. 

"Alright dude. Spill, what did Señor Perfecto do now?"

Cas rolled his eyes at me while dumping his man-purse on the floor and sagging into the seat next to me. "Why must you always assume its him?"

Leaning over, I flicked his glasses. Not enough to hurt. I'm not a complete jackass. Just enough to make a point. "Cause you only wear these when he goes hyper-douche on you."

Watching him quickly fumble the glasses off was kind of adorable, even I have to admit it. "C'mon dude. Tell me. I don't need you reaming me out in front of the glorified oompa loompa again." 

It was weird seeing the guy all deflated like this. I was way too used to the stick being so far up his ass he couldn't bend over. Didn't matter how 'wonderful' this jackass was. Cas didn't deserve to have all his bluster knocked out after a damn phone conversation. 

"We just cannot seem to have a conversation without one of us instigating an argument with the other. We used to get along so well..."

"Yeah. When you went along with every thought that passed through his oversized head." Yeah. That earned me a glare. Still worth it. 

"As I was saying." Another glare. "Something just seems to be missing between us lately. Something necessary."

"Oooh! Let me guess! It's the spark isn't it? The magic. Carriage rides by moonlight and flowers on your bed every morning right?" Sarcasm. The best way to make a point. 

"Even though you are clearly mocking me, you do make an excellent point. The "spark" as you so refer to it is fading. And I am at a loss as to how to recover it." he looked so depressed and dejected in that moment, I couldn't resist throwing an arm around his shoulders and pulling him in for a hug. 

"I keep telling you, movies just made up that bullshit to sell more tickets. Love isn't real, it's never going to be real, and you're gonna be a much happier dude once you figure that out." Clapping him on the back, I jumped up from the seat and faced him. "But until you get your ruffled head out of your tight-ass, we're going to do the next best thing."

"And that is?" He eyed me suspiciously. Which, yeah he was totally right to do so cause I was kinda planning on corrupting him. Just a little bit.

"We? Are getting wasted."


I could have used the excuse that Dean was my transportation home, so thus I had no say in where he actually drove us. But to be completely honest (some thing I had been denying myself as of late) I was actually looking forward to a little rebellion. Especially since I wouldn't be alone this time. 

Sitting there though, at a little table with a tray full of brightly colored shots, on a work night, without Michael, without even telling Michael, a little bit of guilt was starting to seep in.

"Dean, I don't think I should be doing this."

He looked up from where he had been dividing the shots between us. "That's because we haven't started yet. The time to bemoan any and all decisions is tomorrow morning. When the hangover hits."

He finished this statement by nudging one of the purple colored shots closer to me, almost to the edge of the table, where I would either have to take hold of it or allow it to be dumped into my lap. "First off, you are not reassuring me that this is the correct decision to make. And secondly, bemoan? Dean, have you been reading books again?" He glared at me, but it wasn't a full one. It seemed like it was mixed with sheepishness and humor.

"Hey. When you have a genius for a little brother you pick up a thing or two." He grabbed a shot then and tossed it back effectively ending that portion of the discussion. "C'mon dude. You're one behind now."

"Dean. You haven't really explained. What are we doing here? Why are we doing this?" I held one of the tiny glasses in my hand but had not consumed it yet. 

"That. That right there is your problem." He said as he leaned across the table to point at me. "Why why why. Who the fuck cares? You're so fucking concerned with fucking why! Haven't you ever done something just for the shit of it? No planning, no set up, no perfectly matched whatever. Just 'Oh I feel like getting shitfaced tonight!'" He downed another shot. "Now you're two behind." Dean slammed the glass back down on the tray. "Look Cas, sometimes ya just gotta live a little and planning everything to the whatever degree takes the fun out of it. Time to get motherfucking random!" He looked around the room and grinned manically when he spotted a somewhat attractive male sitting fairly close to us at the bar. "Cas." He lightly smacked my arm excitedly. "Down your shots then go buy that dude a drink."

I could only stare at him in confusion. He grinned at me, drank a third shot and slapped my arm. "It's fuckin' easy as shit. Watch." And he got up from the table and... Well sauntered over to the stranger was really the only way to put it. "Dean. Dean!" I hissed at him, attempting to get his attention but to no avail. With no other course of action, I drank one of the citrus-flavored drinks and followed him to the bar. 

"Dude. I have to tell you this. My friend? With the sex hair and nerd glasses? Thinks you're smokin'. What are you drinking cause he's buying you another one." Dean leaned over the bar and attempted to gain the bartender's attention. I, on the other hand, was completely mortified. I could feel the embarrassment rising on my face as soon as the strange male turned to look at me. But then the embarrassment passed and in its place rose a deviousness I had never thought I'd be capable of. 

I locked eyes with the stranger and smiled sweetly at him. "It's not true you know. Really. My friend Dean is the one interested in you." Dean stopped his attempted at procuring additional drinks and turned to face me. With a much more malicious smile, I directed my next words to Dean, "He's just very shy when it comes to these things." 

Dean just smirked back at me. "Yeah alright." He turned back to the strange man who was looking between us rather confusedly. "What he said. More importantly, what are you drinking and can I get you more of it?" He leaned closer to the man, his smirk turning into a leer.

Grabbing Dean's arm, I profusely apologized to the stranger and dragged my friend back to our table before he did something else embarrassing or harassing. "What were you doing?!" I hissed at him, attempting to keep my voice a low as possible in the crowded and noisy bar. 

"What? He was cute. S'not like you called dibs or nothin'." He downed the last shot and looked forlornly at his side of the table with empty glasses. "No more shots."

"Never mind that! You know I am engaged. To be married. Why would you even suggest I buy another person a drink? Society's rules dictate that buying a person a drink in an establishment such as this is a clear indicator of sexual interest." I grabbed his arm again and shook it gently in an attempt to ensure his focus and attention was on me. 

Dean just smiled broadly before tossing his head back and laughing uproariously. "Dude." He managed to gasp out. "You just bought me a shitload of shots. Does that mean you have the hots for me?" 

I pulled my hand back as quickly as I could, the embarrassed flush staining my cheeks once again. He was correct. I had thought nothing of buying alcoholic drinks for the both of us. 

"See? This is what I'm talking about." Dean flailed his arms about in a drunken attempt to clarify his point with actions. "You can't relax! No one here is going to runoff to call Michael Von Douchenstein and report back that you had after-work drinks with a friend. So let's drink your freakin' shots and enjoy the fact that there are still several more hours to go until we have to face the Diabetes Poster Child again!" 

It is the strangest sensation, the feeling of your resolve weakening. "Gabriel can be taxing..." Though a genius, Gabriel's tendency to change his mind after plans were already put into place could be incredibly frustrating on occasion. "And if you were to consume all of these yourself," I indicated the remaining shots on my side of the table. "You would be completely unable to make it to work on time and my own schedule for the day would suffer..."

Dean's whole face lit up and his smile stretched from ear to ear. "Now we're talkin'! Bottoms up Angelboy!" he exclaimed while placing one of the shot glasses into my hand forcefully enough that some of the liquid inside spilled out on to my hand. With an audible sigh, I resigned myself to defeat, gripped the tiny glass firmly in my hand and 'tossed back' it's contents. Dean made loud yet delighted shouts as I gently placed the glass back on the table and went to pick up the next one.

I don't remember much from that night after that moment. I do remember dancing with Dean in the middle of the establishment, both of us laughing hysterically at the other. It's an odd memory because I did not think that places such as the Roadhouse had dance floors installed on the premises... 

Chapter Five


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Life is a test and I get bad marks

November 2012

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