#journalist!cas

Chapters 4 and 5 have been posted! Let me know what you think. (PS, the story finally earned that explicit rating :))

(Gonna tag some of my favorite bloggers here since I’m new to the Destiel fandom and have been on hiatus from the SPN fandom for over eight years lol If any of you guys have time to give my story a read, it would literally make my month.)

Castiel Novak is an asshole.

Seriously, screw Castiel Novak and his gorgeous eyes and hismessy hair and his terrible attitude and the fact that he’ll barely even give Dean the time of day, even though they’ve been at the same college for three years.

Screw him, and screw Dean’s life that he agreed to do an interviewwith him, because now he’s stuck sitting across a café table from an unfairlyhot douchebag who won’t even deign to look him in the eyes half the time.

“How old were you when you first became interested in baseball?”Castiel asks curtly, writing something on his notepad. He sounds as annoyed asDean feels, like he’d rather be anywhere other than here, and that makes two ofthem.

Dean casts his thoughts back several years – a lot ofyears. “Probably ten years old? I never really did the whole ‘little league’ or‘t-ball’ thing, I didn’t actually join a team until high school, but when I wasten, uh…” He trails off for a second, wondering how much he should spill about his less-than-storybook childhood, before deciding to gloss over…well, almost everything. “When I was ten, my brother and I went to live withour Uncle Bobby. He took us to the park to play baseball one day, and it just kind of stuck, I guess.”

Castiel, the asshole, doesn’t even glance up – just scribblesaway on his notepad, looking bored. Dean stews silently in his seat, resistingthe urge to fidget, and wonders why the hell he agreed to this interview again? School spirit? The free coffee and donut?

Then Castiel finally glances up, blue eyes boring into his withan intensity that freezes him in place, and oh yeah, he remembers now - becausehe’s got a massive, unrequited crush, and apparently he’s a sadist and a glutton forpunishment, that’s why.

“Who would you say has been your biggest supporter?”

“Uh –“ Dean is distracted for a moment, pinned by those eyes -

- until the silence stretches on too long, and then those eyesnarrow at him, Castiel’s lips pressing together in annoyance. “It’s just anarticle for the school paper, Dean. You don’t have to think of anyaward-winning answers.”

That snaps Dean out of it, and he shoots a withering glare across thetable. “I guess,” he says loudly, deciding to ignore Castiel’s jab, “probably my brother. He’s always pushing me to do more things formyself, and playing college baseball was one of them. He’s the one whopushed me to look into baseball scholarships.”

“I see.” The tone says that yes, Castiel sees, and he obviouslydoesn’t really care. Castiel moves on. “What’s your favorite professional team?”

Dean huffs a laugh at that. “Honestly? Don’t really have one.Anything but the Cubs, I guess. I had an ex-boyfriend in high school that was adiehard Cubs fan and things didn’t end great between us, so now I can’t reallystand them. Not fair to the team, I guess, but ’s how it goes.”

Castiel jots down another few notes, eyes roving over his notepad. “And did you ever –“

He cuts off, snapping his mouth shut so abruptly thatDean actually hears his teeth click. His head jerks up like it’d been yanked by astring. The effect would’ve been hilarious if Castiel wasn’t gaping at Deanlike he’d grown an extra head, and Dean fidgetsuncomfortably under the scrutiny. Maybe the guy was a Cubs fan?

“What?” he finally snaps.

“You said ex-boyfriend,” Castiel points out.

“Uh, yeah, thanks, Captain Obvious?”

Instead of moving on now that the point is clarified, Castiel looks more confused. “Wait asecond, you’re not straight?”

Dean’s eyebrows pinch together. “No? Who said I wasstraight?”

“I…well, no one actually said, but I just thought…”

“Nah, man, I’m bi. I mean, I don’t exactly broadcast the fact, but it’s notlike I’m not in the closet, either.”

“But –“ Castiel looks totally thrown off, floundering, and it’s a little - okay, a lot - gratifying. It’s sweet karma, that’s what it is, for all the times he’s made Dean feel like a lumbering Neanderthal. “You’redating Jo Harvelle!”

“Okay, one, that’s gross, I’m not dating Jo, she’s practicallymy sister,” Dean says, making a face. “And B, you do realize I’d stillbe bi even if I was dating a girl, right? That’s, like, the very definition ofbeing bisexual. Y’know. Dating men or women. Innies or outies. Both.”

“Yes, I know that,” Castiel snaps, looking flustered. “Ijust…never realized you were bi,” he ends lamely.

Dean can’t believe they’re actually having this conversation. “Are you serious? Dude, I go to the campus LGBTQ meetings, we’ve literally seen each other there!”

“Yes, but you always come with Charlie Bradbury!” Castiel protests. “I just thought you were attending as an ‘ally’!”

“…okay, I guess I could see that,” Dean concedes. “But c’mon, I’vebeen hitting on you since Chem Lab in freshman year. I’veasked you out like five times!”

And always been shot down, too. Brutally, without an ounce of mercy. Not that Dean is bitter or anything. Nope, he’s definitely not bitter. Not at all.

Castiel actually has the good grace to look ashamed,fidgeting with his pencil and glancing down at his lap. “…I just thought youwere being facetious.”

Dean gapes. “What?”

“It means ‘teasing’, behaving in a joking or humorous -” 

“I know what ‘facetious’ means!” Dean interrupts. “I just can’tbelieve you thought I was flirting with you as a joke,like some kind of monumental asshole.”

“I didn’t think you were an asshole, necessarily,” Castiel mutters, looking moresheepish by the moment. “Just…disingenuous.”

“What?”

“It means – “

“I know what ‘disingenuous’ means, Cas! Christ!” Dean’s anger ismounting, stoked by each discouraging revelation, and it doesn’t help that Castiel apparently thinks he’s an utter moron. “You know I’m an Education major, right? You’ve been asking me about baseball for the last halfhour, but you haven’t asked a single question about what I’m actually doing hereat college. Surprise, surprise - I’m actually halfway decent at my classes, too.”

“I…was not aware of that, no,” Castiel says quietly, then seems to realize what he’s said and hurriedly adds, “Not the part about you doing well in classes, I meant the part about you being an Education major! I wasn’t aware you were majoring in Education.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, well, baseball ain’t much use to me aftergraduation. I wanna be an English teacher, for yourinformation.”

Castiel looks properly cowed, and, for once, is apparently outof things to say. An awkward silence descends on the table – Castiel staringdown at his notepad, Dean glaring across the table at him. He’s simmering with anger, a righteous anger because he knows it’sjustified, but in the face of Castiel’s hunched shoulders and ducked head, it’s starting towaver a bit. 

Castiel breaks the silence first, clearing his throat andlooking up into Dean’s eyes. God, even as pissed as he is, Dean’s still a sucker for those blue eyes.

“Dean, I apologize. I’ve treated you very unfairly these pastthree years, and you didn’t deserve it. I’m realizing now that I made a lot ofassumptions about you that are untrue, but it affected the way I treated you. I’ve been a complete assbutt, and I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

Castiel sounds properly chastised. Like a pricked balloon, Dean’s anger starts to deflate inthe face of that earnest, hopeful expression, and he sighs and runs a handthrough his hair. “Yeah, well. Y’know what they say about assuming, I guess,” he jokes weakly.

Castiel cocks his head, looking nonplussed. “No?”

“Oh. Really? Uh –“ Dean doesn’t really want to say it now, incase it pisses Castiel off and makes him revert back to being a douchebag, but Cas is obviously waiting, full of curiosity, so hebites the bullet. “…when you assume, you make an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me’,” he quoteslamely.

There’s a beat of silence, and then Castiel bursts out laughing. Dean stares, a little entranced. He definitely didn’t expect that reaction. He’s barely ever seenCastiel crack a smile, much less laugh, and it’s - wow. He wouldn’t mind seeing a lot more of this Cas.

Castiel meets his gaze, eyes still crinkled with mirth.

“Dean, do you think it would be possible to start over? No assumptions?”

“Yeah. I’d like that, Cas.”

“Good. I’m Castiel Novak.”

When Castiel holds out a hand across the table, Dean shakes it, amused. Castiel’s palm iswarm and broad against his. “Hi, Cas. I’m Dean Winchester.”

Summary: Castiel Novak is a low level reporter for the New York Post, up until he gets his big break: ASL star Dean Winchester has broken a goal scoring record and Castiel has been assigned to his personal story, meaning two weeks of close proximities. Except, the thing is; they've kind of got history.

Cas was in the middle of going through paperwork and design choices from the new apparel manufacturer in Washington when his phone rang. He picked it up, flicking his finger across the screen without bothering to look at it before balancing it on his shoulder.

“Cas Shurley,” he said quickly, continuing his task of organizing the print-outs in front of him.

“Hey,” a baritone voice sounded on the other end and he froze. It was Dean.

Dropping the papers, Cas spun in his chair, his hand flying up to hold the phone against his ear. “Hey,” he echoed, his surprise making coherent thought difficult.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Dean told him and Cas could hear the faint sound of traffic in the background behind him.

“No, no. I was just – Papers,” he stuttered, failing spectacularly at his attempt to be cool and he rolled his eyes at himself. “Paperwork.”

Cas stared at the blinking cursor on his screen and frowned. He’d been sitting there for twenty minutes but he couldn’t bring himself to start typing. He’d already listened to his interview with Dean eight times through but he couldn’t get over the feeling that something was amiss.

The way Dean had looked at him when he told him about their change in writing style, it felt off and it was bugging the shit out of him.

He pulled up his browser and did a general search on Static Sleep, groaning when thousands of results loaded on his screen. He sighed and clicked on the first video that popped up.

After four hours of reading past articles and watching old interviews, he couldn’t find one segment where the members of the band discussed their writing process in detail. It certainly wasn’t well-known that Dean was the main songwriter on the previous three albums.

As interesting as it would be to read as a fan, as much credibility as it would lend to his article, he couldn’t get over the feeling that he would be betraying Dean if he included what he’d told him.

He sat back in his chair, listening to the sound of Dean’s guitar playing in his apartment. He’d had their Red Line in the Sand album playing on repeat the entire day as he struggled to write his article and he wondered what it was exactly that was holding him back – why this was such a big deal to him.

Read at AO3

The air smelled like sweat and beer, the smoke from the stage lingering over the heads of the crowd as the pulse of the drums thrummed through his skin. Castiel Shurley made his way to the side of the stage, pulling his best friend with him as he maneuvered through the crowd.

“What’re we doing?” Charlie shouted, wiping her sweaty red hair from her face as they emerged in a small clear patch to the right of the main crowd.

“Static Sleep is next,” Cas explained, looking around for a good vantage point to see the stage clearly for the next act. He spotted a nice clearing by the VIP section, a safe distance away from the area he knew would soon house a very volatile circle pit.

He set off toward the spot, knowing that Charlie would follow close behind. After ten years of concerts together, they knew better than to get separated, especially at a large outdoor venue.

Rock for Cancer, the annual benefit hosted in San Diego, was one of the more popular events of the year for rock fans on the west coast. Bands from across the globe got together to play sets over the course of three days to raise money for cancer research and related charities. Cas’s website had donated ad space and merchandise for the event for the last three years and he was always in attendance.

But this year, he was even more excited. Mainly because he’d been hired by Metal Monthly magazine to interview Dean Winchester, lead guitarist for Static Sleep, while they were in town for the benefit.

“Are you excited?” Charlie asked, her voice loud in the sudden silence. The band that had been playing was preparing to exit the stage, techs already working frantically to set up for Static Sleep.

Cas quirked a brow at his best friend. “It’s just an interview,” he said coolly, knowing full well that Charlie knew more than anyone how important it was to him, but still not willing to admit his nervous excitement. He’d always managed to stay focused and calm when meeting famous musicians, but Dean Winchester was one of his personal favorites and had been since he was in high school.

“Right.” Charlie took a swallow of her beer. “Just an interview. With probably the greatest guitarist of our generation. Who just happens to be brilliant and stupid fucking hot -”

“I don’t date musicians,” Cas said firmly, frowning at the skeptical look on Charlie’s face.

“Yes, yes. I know. Mister Professional Integrity, I know. But you’re going to be meeting Dean fucking Winchester tomorrow. You’re allowed to be excited.”

“I’ve met hundreds of musicians,” Cas retorted and almost laughed as Charlie dramatically rolled her eyes.

“You’re such a pain – Oh, look! There’s Sam.” Charlie pointed at the stage excitedly, beer from her cup sloshing over the side and spilling onto her hand. “I swear, if I wasn’t gay…” Cas laughed as Charlie floundered before turning his attention to the stage.

Sam Winchester, singer and rhythm guitarist for Static Sleep was standing on the left side of the stage, talking with a guy Cas recognized as one of the stage techs for the main stage. He fiddled with the monitor in his right ear as he chatted, straightening slightly when Benny LaFitte, the band’s bass player, smacked his ass as he passed him. Sam hollered something over his shoulder and Benny laughed as he turned to the cabinet set up beside the drum riser.

They were still close enough to the stage to hear the test kicks to the bass drum and Cas blinked, his excitement notching up as he saw Kevin Tran sitting behind the drums, yelling something to a figure standing just beyond the curtain to his right.

Kevin shook his head, smiling as he turned his attention back to testing his kit and Cas barely felt when Charlie grabbed his arm and started shaking him. “There he is,” she teased in a sing-song voice and Cas would’ve shoved her if not for the way his heart was pounding in his ears.

Dean Winchester made his way from behind the curtain, his signature Ibanez guitar slung casually at his side. He was clad in a pair of ripped blue jeans and a black button-down that was opened just enough to show a hint of the tattoos on his chest, sleeves rolled up to reveal the colorful spread on both of his forearms as he checked the wireless pack on his guitar.

Cas bit down on his lips and turned to Charlie, who was looking at him with a knowing smirk.

“I’ve met hundreds of musicians,” he said again, his stern expression holding for just a couple of seconds before his excitement broke free in the form of a sloppy grin. “This is ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Charlie said fondly and they both looked back at the stage as the speakers whined and the sound of Dean’s guitar sang out over the silence, signaling the start of their set.

(AU)

Wordcount: 3869

Rating: Explicit