#mentalhealthworker!Castiel

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Livin In You: Chapter 10

Fandom: Supernatural Rating: Explicit Pairing: Destiel Summary: Castiel is a mental health worker who is just fine with the way his life is. The only thing that really bugs him is how much his co-worker, and friend, Meg, mentions Dean Winchester, the most famous rock star in the modern age. Meg drags him to a concert, and he ends up getting tied into the wild and angsty life of Dean Winchester. Suddenly his old life seems boring, but so much calmer. Suddenly, it matters to him that he’s still a virgin. Suddenly, this rock star that he despised the mention of now matters to him. Dean Winchester is a rock star who’s on top of the world when it comes to music. Yet there’s more that he wants. He misses Lisa and Ben, he craves connection, craves being himself. Any hope for that amidst his alcoholic life all changes when Zachariah, the head exec of Heaven’s Records, pairs with a new exec, Michael Edlund -- the Archangel of Music. Under Michael’s dominance, he’s no longer in control of his own life. There are rules. No more sex with fans. No more alcohol. And in Dean’s view, no more god damn free will. Yet he stumbles into Castiel. Chapter Word Count: 2725

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CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 3 | CHAPTER 4 | CHAPTER 5 | CHAPTER 6 | CHAPTER 7 | CHAPTER 8 | CHAPTER 9

Dean had to get up to throw up once or twice in the night, and between all that, he forgot Castiel existed. Sure, he passed his sleeping form with a head of hair that was black in the darkness on his way to the bathroom. But the other man wasn’t nearly as important as his shaking body, and reeling stomach.

Eventually, some time before five A.M., he managed to fall into sleep that wasn’t restless or broken by the after effects of his drunkenness. By the time he fully woke up, the room was dark, the curtains pulled closed so daylight wouldn’t filter through. Dean knew this kind of dark. It was the dark of waking up late. He supposed he didn’t really care. His head hurt, an incessant ache that wouldn’t leave, and his stomach just felt wrong.

He groaned as he rolled over and cracked an eye open.

A bottle of gatorade was on his nightstand, along with two pills of aspirin lying on a tissue.

Garth. His incredibly friendly and chipper assistant must’ve done this.

Dean sat up, took the medicine and started drinking the gatorade. It wasn’t till he felt well enough to walk out into the main living quarters of the hotel suite that he remembered another person was there.

Really, it was the back of Castiel’s head that gave it away.

Was the dude seriously still sleeping?

Dean shrugged after some consideration. Maybe he’s a third shifter. But what to do with him?

That thought hit him hard, and Dean sat down in a chair across from the part of the couch Castiel was sleeping on, open bottle of half-finished gatorade in his hand.

“Shit.”

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, or so vehemently. He must have because Castiel started from sleep, and then turned his head this way and that, eyes wild. He backed away from Dean. But then there was recognition, and he relaxed, but didn’t seem at all pleased.

Well, Dean could take people not liking him… he hoped.

Why didn’t Cas like him? He knew he’d asked him, but it just didn’t make any fucking sense.

He was Dean Winchester!

“Mornin’, sunshine,” Dean quipped. “Want me to call Garth and get us some coffee?”

Castiel started righting himself properly, pulling the blanket up into his lap. He ran a hand through his hair, but it was still a mess, and to Dean it looked a lot like sex-hair. God, it looked good on him.

He nodded.

“Yes, I think that will suffice.”

“You got a fancy way of talking.”

Castiel just gave him a look that said… Actually, Dean didn’t really know what it said. In the daylight, Castiel seemed difficult to read. It made Dean uncomfortable. Who was this man?

And what am I going to do with him?

This wasn’t like the other times Dean had brought people back to his room, not just because he hadn’t slept with him — which was super weird in this instance — but because he wasn’t allowed to be here. His presence would surely get sniffed out. Crowley could’ve talked to Clif already. Though Dean figured Clif wasn’t working with his manager behind his back. He was Dean’s bodyguard. So maybe even if Clif had gotten a call, he wouldn’t run to tell mommy about Dean and his new friend.

But how to keep his new friend hidden?

It also meant there was the issue of the car as well. Dean would have some money missing, and there were witnesses.

Hell, witnesses?

What was he even thinking like?

It wasn’t like it was a crime scene. Okay, aside from crashing his car into Castiel’s, it wasn’t a crime scene.

But Zachariah could smell the original sin on an otherwise innocent baby fifteen miles off. Dean was screwed, especially with Michael as the head honcho now.

God damn it!

Dean’s face must have gone through a lot of transformations because Castiel asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Oh? Uh, nothing.” He walked back over to his bedroom to go grab his phone, and before he closed the doors behind him said, “Just uh… just gonna call Garth.”

With the doors closed, he took a deep breath, and then ran a hand through his hair.

This was crazy. Not his usual brand of crazy. Hell, maybe it wasn’t even that bad.

But then Dean remembered a beer bottle getting taken out of his hand, remembered Zach’s stern — maybe even angry — face. He remembered what he’d told him. He owned Dean now.

Dean went to the far wall and groaned, hanging his head against it. Really, he wanted to use it to bang his head, but most doctors wouldn’t advise that as a way to relieve his headache.

Dean straightened, closing his eyes.

Was it worth a shot?

No, definitely not.

So Dean got out his phone, and called Garth. He could do the shouting thing he’d done the night before, but in hindsight that had seemed rude. His drunk self obviously hadn’t cared.

“Morning, Dean Bean! Well, hmm… oh no, it’s not noon yet, but cutting it pretty close there. What’s up?”

“Wondering if you could get me and my friend some coffee. And uh, you were in here earlier, right?”

“Was I?”

“Gatorade, aspirin,” Dean added.

“Oh no, silly, that was your friend there. He was up earlier and asked me to pick those things up for you. He grabbed them at the door, brought them to your room himself.”

That had Dean pause in what he was about to say.

Cas had done that? He’d thought about him?

That started to make Dean feel guilty for practically kidnapping the guy. Or had it been the other way around? He’d been the drunk one after all. Huh, how did that work? There was another emotion there too, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. It was pretty foreign to him, or had been in the couple of years since he’d left Ben. Was it… affection?

No, that would be bullshit. He’d just met the guy last night, and part of him still wanted to sleep with him. This was just a messed up situation.

“Dean-o? De-ean!”

“Hmm, what? Yeah.”

“You all good?”

“Yeah, um… Coffee. You know the regular I like, and for him, just make sure to bring packets of sugar and cream and stuff, I don’t really know what he likes.”

“Okie dokie. See you in ten.”

“Five?”

“Dean, I don’t control the pace at which the world runs.”

“Okay, ten,” he relented. “And, oh, is Sam up?”

“I’m not his assistant too, Dean. 

“Okay, but he’s famous by association. I know you and Clif keep tabs on him when he’s not staying underground.”

“Yes, he’s up.”

“Cool, thanks.”

Despite feeling like shit, Dean took the opportunity of some private time to get dressed. Nothing fancy. For him nothing fancy stil came out to a thousand dollars or more per outfit, but it was just jeans, a black undershirt, a white and blue flannel, and a leather jacket. The boots were nice too. Custom-made combat boots with gold inlays.

“Great, now I feel underdressed,” Castiel said as Dean walked back into the room.

“Uh… I have some jeans,” he told him, plopping down on the couch beside his… whatever he was.

Cas made a face. “Not sure they’d fit.”

Dean smiled, glancing at Cas’ hips and legs. He whacked him playfully on the thigh. “Come on, you should be able to squeeze those into a pair. Not like you’re fat. You’re just…” Dean couldn’t think of the word, and trailed off. Thick, muscular, large, beautiful. Yeah, all of that. Fuck. “Yeah, body’s shaped differently. But come on, I can get my bowlegs into these, you should be fine.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and sighed, brushing Dean’s hand off of his leg.

“Fine.”

“Bottom drawer,” Dean said helpfully as Castiel went into his room.

Part of Dean wanted to follow him, wanted to watch him take off those sweatpants, or maybe even take them off for him. The jeans he was wearing were ripped at the knees, but he figured the skin of his knees would be fine with a bit of friction on the floor. Rugburn didn’t hurt too badly, not as bad as his hand still did. At least he’d somehow managed to get that taped and bandaged up. There was an ace wrap around it as well. So he was still able to function, use it for some things, just not all the sexy things going through his head at the moment.

Dean was drawn from his sensual reverie as there was a knock on the door. He went and answered it, apprehensive, gut twisting.

This was it.

Crowley knew. Zach knew. He was going to lose his dream, everything.

Dean sighed in relief, leaning against the open door when he saw it was just Sam. He was dressed in dress pants, a white button-up shirt, and a tie. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow. In one hand was a yellow legal pad, a pen pressed between that and the crook of his thumb.

“What, you lawyering today or something?” Dean asked.

“Yes. The contract’s going to be sent over, and we have business to discuss apparently.”

Dean just stared at him, contemplating slamming the door in his face. Reality was not fun right now. He glanced back at his gatorade he’d left on the coffee table. Was there anyone around who could pull a Jesus and turn it into alcohol? Huh, maybe Sam. He had the look, what with the scruff and the hair and all.

Eventually Sam said, “Morning. Or…” He held up his wrist, looking at his watch. “Actually, no. Good afternoon.”

Dean rolled his eyes, and then let Sam in.

“Thanks for coming,” he eventually said, relenting, knowing it wasn’t his brother’s fault that any of this was happening.

But shit, he’d forgotten about the contract.

“You want anything to drink?” Dean asked, playing the gracious host.

“Nah, I’m good.”

Dean settled back down on the couch with his gatorade, and Sam eyed the blanket, taking a seat away from it.

Dean ignored the look, though he surely wanted answers. “So who’s dropping off the contract?”

“Don’t know.”

“When’ll they be here?”

“One.”

Dean sighed at that. Okay, he had some time to get Cas out of his hair.

A drawer slammed shut, and there was some cursing. Sam straightened, looking at the doors to Dean’s bedroom.

“Who else is here?” he asked.

Dean shrugged. “A friend.”

Sam looked at Dean, then back at the doors, then Dean again.

“Is it that guy from last night? Dean, tell me you didn’t.”

“I didn’t.”

Sam’s eyebrows, which had been furrowed with concern, now rose in a disbelieving look.

“He’s getting dressed. You can ask him yourself when he comes out. But” — Dean broke up his speech with a long swallow of gatorade — “I need to get rid of him somehow. Or, I don’t know, hide him. I kinda like having him around.”

“Dean, you’re not supposed to—”

“Like I said, I didn’t.”

“And okay, then what about the issue from last night? What exactly am I risking my license for today?”

“Car accident.”

“Are you serious?!”

That was when Castiel slid open the doors and walked back into the room. Dean noticed that the knuckles of his right hand were red, like they’d gotten slammed in a drawer. That must’ve been what had happened.

“Uh…”

That was Castiel, and Sam was already being business-like, getting up and going over to shake his hand.

“Sam Winchester,” he said. “And you are? I didn’t get your name from Dean yet.”

“Castiel,” he said, and then added, “uh… Novak.”

“So what’s the situation?” Sam asked.

The poor guy looked like a deer caught in headlights, so Dean went over and grabbed him, having him sit beside him. He couldn’t tell if Castiel liked that or not; he seemed neutral about it more than anything. Dean was far from neutral. He’d gotten a good look at Castiel in his jeans, and god, had it been a mistake to tell him he’d fit? He didn’t exactly, but wow, he looked damn good. The material hugged his body, and somewhere in Dean started pulsing as he eyed the unmistakable bulge of his denim-wrapped groin. Dean figured if Cas turned around he’d see the clothing hug his ass too, just like it did in the front and to his thighs.

Dean eyed him even as they sat together. He hadn’t noticed he’d drifted off and started biting on his bottom lip, till he heard Castiel talking about what had happened.

Thank god he was taking the lead. Dean still had a headache.

He zoned out till Garth arrived with the coffee, and as he started back over, Sam reprimanded, “You were supposed to come right back to the hotel.”

“What are you, my babysitter?” he snapped. 

He passed Castiel his coffee and packets of cream and sugar and sat back down. Dean had a sip of his own coffee, and saw Cas start preparing his the way he liked it.

Sam just breathed deeply and gave Dean a sympathetic look. “I’m not trying to hurt you, Dean, or-or… control you like what everyone else wants to do. I just want you to be careful. I know how much your music means to you.”

Dean argued, “Think having my own life is pretty important too.”

“That’s not what—”

“Wait, what are you talking about?” Castiel asked. “What’s happening?”

Sam and Dean immediately shut up, and Dean turned to Cas with big eyes. Shit, he hadn’t meant for any of this to come up around him. They were just supposed to talk about Castiel’s car and the insurance company.

“Not important,” he eventually said.

Castiel didn’t just shrug it off as he expected. Instead, the strange man gave him a look that seemed to say a million things at once: I understand. I’m here if you need to talk. You’re not alone.

Dean’s breath caught in his throat as he looked at that handsome face and into those startlingly blue eyes.

How the hell could he do that?

Sam cleared his throat, and both turned back to him.

“We can discuss it later,” Sam said. “And uh… Castiel, I’m not sure how good of a friend of my brother’s you are. I—”

Cas: “Oh, we just met last night. When he crashed his car into mine.”

Sam gave a tight smile, “Lovely.”

Dean wanted to roll his eyes at the tension he saw in Sam, but he didn’t. His brother was doing a big thing for him. Dean could at least repay him by not being an asshole for a couple of minutes.

The discussion was exhausting, but they eventually got it all sorted out, Sam taking notes on his yellow legal pad, and after a few Sam-dominated phone calls with various people and insurance agents, it was all settled.

And according to his watch it was one P.M.

Fuck.

There was a knock on the door.

Dean’s eyes went wide, and he grabbed Cas in a panic, while another hand reached out for his brother, as if he wanted to grab him to hide behind.

“Shit, shit. Cas, you gotta go.”

“Go where? I can’t leave, unless you have any ideas as to how I could survive the drop from the window.”

Dean got him up, pushing him over to the bedroom. “Bedroom,” he urged. “Stay quiet.”

Sam was going to get the door.

Dean tried sliding the bedroom doors closed, but Castiel held on just before they were about to obscure his face.

“What’s happening?”

“Nothing. Let you out soon, and uh… maybe get in the closet?”

“The closet? Dean!”

Footsteps sounded. Dean closed the doors, and then turned. He fixed his outfit, making it look like he’d just come out of his room from getting dressed and was straightening his clothes.

The man who had arrived was wearing white dress shoes. It was the first thing Dean noticed, and as his gaze traveled upwards, he stopped dead.

“Mr. Edlund.”

The dark-haired man with glimmering blue eyes who held a thick packet of papers smiled. “Please, call me Michael.”

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