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Imbibing of Delightful Blue Eyes

Chapter Text


Everything was perfectly fine on the set of Angels before Castiel Novak showed up.

Shooting was easy, acting a breeze and due dates were met without fault. Dean Winchester got the job done with undeniable skill and an open, respective mind. He had been acting his whole life, starting with simple commercials at an early age and eventually rising to higher fame in the television industry. His dad’s best friend, Bobby Singer, signed him on to Singer Productions to act on this super cool show called Angels about four years ago and ever since, Dean’s life had been practically awesome.

Sure, he didn’t exactly have time for a real relationship or any true friendships outside of work besides his brother Sam and his co-worker Charlie Bradbury, but that was alright. Dean was a big boy who didn’t need to have tons of friends to be famous. After failing at a casual romance with Lisa Braeden a few seasons ago when she guest-starred, Dean decided that work was his number one priority and nothing would get in the way. Especially not a possible love interest.

Which, honestly, Dean had only had one in the past, but Lisa was happily married now and no other person had really sparked up that much curiosity inside of him.

Until now.

It was the beginning of the fourth season of Angels and Dean was ready to give it his all. He always did, and every season came out fruitful with fairly constant ratings and praiseful articles. They had a small, but dedicated fan base that kept them on the air, and every actor and actress that guest starred or became a part of the show created something new and exciting that made the show even better than before. It’s eccentric, different and totally fun. It’s the perfect combination between humor and drama and horror and it was a great career move for Dean. Bobby stopped by every once in a while to check in on the show, sometimes to visit Dean, other times to make sure the producer Gabriel Novak wasn’t screwing everything up or littering his candy wrappers around set and getting them in the shots.

The gist of the show centered around Dean’s character, a brilliant, yet mysterious doctor with a secret. Some may say it was a cliché, doing the whole “secret angel” thing, but with their excellent fight scenes, vivacious dialogue and gripping characters, Angels was an enjoyable show that Dean loved acting on, as did the rest of his gang and fans.

At only twenty-six, Dean felt like he had experienced the whole world, tasted every different type of food, had one-night stands with all different types of varying, ethical women from diverse cultures, and experimented on all of the fake specimens the crew had brought him with a hammer or some sort of doctor prop, both on the show and off. He felt like maybe he wasn’t doing so bad in life.

It was peaceful. Sort of.

He was a handsome actor with a bright future, plenty of money and a hopeful retirement. He has goals. Ambitions. An itinerary mapping out the rest of his life. And maybe Dean is a tiny bit lonely, but whatever, right? Everyone feels that way some point in their lives.


But back again with his life being attached to an anchor and tipped upside down into the deepest part of the ocean and having no hope of returning intact.

With the beginning of another season came a group of new characters and with that came the hustle and bustle of fresh scripts and new crew members who are trying to get the hang of the wheelchairs and beds inside of the abandoned hospital Singer Productions had bought all those years ago. The hardest thing for Dean was getting back into the groove of being a whole other person who happened to have extraterrestrial powers.

Oh, and wings. Well, not in the beginning, but his character eventually gets them back. (That was an awesome episode…)

It doesn’t take too long, but Dean always has to have a few days of being a loner and avoiding Balthazar (the director) and getting back into the head of Jensen Ackles. Jensen is a proclaimed doctor who helps more people than the average with his angelic power, undiscovered by his fellow staff and friends. The first season had been Jensen being cast from Heaven, left with only his mojo and forced to live as a human on earth. The fans slowly figured out his past and what he did to get kicked out of God’s kingdom, how he was betrayed and framed for a murder by an unknown adversary.

His best friend, Felicia Day, gave Jensen his name when he fell to earth and because of her intense research and interest in the topic of angelic beings and celestial wars, she’s the perfect best friend. Strangely enough, it’s already the fourth season and Felicia is the only one who knows about him being an angel, besides the loads of demons and monsters that come his way and try to kill him and stuff.

(They never get very far.)

Dean’s been told that that will change soon enough and he’s both nervous and excited for how that will play out. There have even been rumors among the set about there will finally being a love interest for Jensen. Hopefully that will boost the ratings and give Angels an awesome, new twist. Lisa’s character, Cindy Sampson, was one of Jensen’s patients back in the beginning of the second season. But even though Dean and Lisa had some chemistry outside of the show, Jensen and Cindy just didn’t get that far. They were great friends, sure, but the fans didn’t see anything between them besides Cindy’s thanks for being saved by Jensen.

Cindy was eventually killed off (because, you know, death) and Jensen went back to being a sort of loner with his lesbian best friend and his patients in a tiny hospital.

It’s hard to get back into the groove, that’s for sure. Dean’s routine usually begins with some warm ups and getting his voice to do that thing that the writers and the fans love. Dean’s usual gruff and deep voice is replaced with something more professional and powerful like, deeper and cleaner. It should be able to make both teenage girls at home and Jensen’s fellow nurses fall under his angelic mantra, or some shit like that.

His shoulders should be stiffer, his eyes softer, yet full of mystery, his talk thoughtfully complacent and intelligent. It’s a lot to get back to after a summer of hanging around with Sam and his dad in his hometown, Lawrence, Kansas and being free and casual without the pressure of not looking at the cameras and forgetting every line he had memorized the day before.

Jensen is nice and all, but his gait is much different and Dean sort of has to walk around his dressing room for a few hours before shooting the first scene to get used to walking like an idiot. Charlie is always reassuring him that he doesn’t look stupid, just not like Dean, which, he guesses is a good thing. But still. It doesn’t take too long before his mind-set was being switched over to Jensen’s and then the makeup department was rushing him out of his room and into world of Angels.

Everything was supposed to be normal, just like any other season beginning. Another season full of powerful scenes and plot twists and baked goods from the snack table by stage 7.

And then it wasn’t.




Dean Winchester’s life changed the day he met Castiel Novak.

The first time their eyes met was while Dean was on his way to his first scene of the day. His doctor get-up was a bit too stifling for his liking and his pristine white lab coat flowed behind him like he was in a goddamn TV show.

Which, Dean was. In a television show.

He was memorizing lines along the way, passing by gigantic props and trying to get the damn lines to stick to his brain when he first saw him. The man was sitting on the back of a truck, hands folded neatly in his lap and his dark, unruly hair sticking up every which way like he had never been taught how to use a freaking hairbrush.

And he was staring at Dean like he had nothing better to do on this sweltering, hot-as-hell, day.

The only reason Dean stopped to look was because of the ridiculous sweater the man was wearing. It was bright yellow. Loose, much too big for the guy. It was practically slipping off of his shoulders. And a giant bee was stitched right on the front of it.

Seriously, who the hell wears stuff like that?

“You an extra?” Dean calls out, growing more and more annoyed by the second. He was already late to set and he didn’t need some guy being all pervy on him on the first day back.

“No,” the man answers simply. His voice is surprisingly deep, rough like sandpaper and as gravelly as the driveway leading to Dean’s summer house in Colorado.

Dean stomps towards him until he’s a few feet away.

“Then what the fuck are you staring at?”

Dean doesn’t mean to be so harsh, but come on. The guy’s creepy. In a hot sort of way.

So yeah, maybe he’s a tiny bit attractive. Dean can see pale skin vanishing beneath the man’s sweater when he shrugs his shoulder up so the sweater doesn’t slip down. He can see the long column of his neck, perfectly unblemished and practically begging to be bruised by a pair of eager lips. And those eyes, shit. His gaze is practically burning, something unreadable in those peculiar bright blue eyes.

Dean can’t even break eye contact long enough to realize that it’s weird to be looking deep into the eyes of a stranger. A pervy stranger. Who has a staring problem.

“You are very attractive,” the guy says, like it’s obvious. “It is difficult for me not to stare, but if you would prefer that I look away, I understand.”

Those words bring a blush to Dean’s cheeks. Which is stupid, because he gets these sort of comments thrown at him every day, from different people who use even more vulgar language and less clothes. But this guy has no compunction, no hesitation and it’s sort of disconcerting.

“Yeah, maybe you shouldn’t stare so much,” Dean blurts.

A soft smile spreads its way across the man’s face, his lips quirking up and his eyebrows raising. He stares harder. Dean can’t look away. “Maybe so,” the man says with a light smirk.

“Dean Winchester, if you don’t get your perky ass to set right now, Chuck is going to throw a bitch fit,” someone says from behind him.

Dean finally breaks eye contact with the man to look at his co-star Charlie Bradbury with an apologetic look, grinning awkwardly with his face still hot from their heated staring contest. Charlie’s fiery red hair glints dangerously in the sun and she looks pretty pissed off, which is really terrifying if you know her. Outside of work and during scenes, they’re the best of friends. But when combining Dean’s forgetfulness and lack of thinking ahead, their personalities crash. Charlie is a total neat freak who likes to go by the schedule during the week, but Dean just sort of goes with the flow and hope he gets through it okay.

“Sorry, Char,” Dean says shyly, scratching his head and clutching the script in his hand. “I was just, uh, talking to…” He turns back to the blue-eyed man who has now tilted his head, lips still tipped up in the corner. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“I did not tell you my name,” the man says.

“Of course. You. Didn’t…” Dean laughs awkwardly and licks his lips.

Dean still has no idea what’s going on in inside this guy’s head and it’s sort of annoying, because Dean enjoys being able to read peoples’ faces after all these years of being in the television industry and how does this guy keep such a straight face when they’re looking at each other this way-


“Right!” Dean looks away. Blushes again. Shit. “I have to go, uh, act and stuff,” Dean babbles. “I’ll see you around. Probably. Right?”

The man smiles gently again. “Yes. That is right.”



More staring.


“Okay! I really, really have to go. Bye, uh, dude.”

That was totally smooth in Dean’s opinion. So smooth, impossibly smooth, so smooth that as soon as him and Charlie stepped through the door of stage 8, she punched him in the arm.


“You deserve that, you big dope.”



“It’s a new day, Jensen,” Felicia says, patting him on the arm. “So get in there and make it good one.”

Jensen looks up at the hospital with an extra dramatic flair and a faint smirk and then- “CUT!”

Dean breaks out of character and he can’t help giggling at Charlie. It’s always hard being melodramatic one minute and “normal” the next during the first couple of days. And, maybe the first few months.

“That was great, Jensen!” Chuck says cheerfully, bounding up with a clipboard in his hands and a headset tucked in his curly hair. “And Charlie, I love the eyebrow raise. It’s pure gold and the fangirls are going to love it!”

Charlie flips her hair dramatically. “I try, Chuck. I try.”

Chuck taps his pen on his clipboard and his face turns serious. “Okay, for the next scene I was thinking…”




Dean didn’t have time to think about the blue-eyed man for a while.

Well, he didn’t exactly have time to think of anything, really, besides the work at hand and trying not to fuck up every single scene that included Charlie and Jo Harvelle, who plays Alona Tal, a hot little nurse alongside Jensen Ackles. The writers have played on Jensen and Alona’s relationship in the past, but their fanbase saw way more action between Alona and Felicia. (Felona. Cute right?) That had been a great choice for both the show and the LGBT community, but now the fans were practically begging for Jensen to have some sort of relationship this upcoming season.

It can drive the fans crazy, especially after being on the air for four years without Jensen having any sexual relations with other characters (not even a kiss!). The main protagonist should have some sort of development, right? He should be able to drop some of his past angelic superiority and learn how a human acts, mannerisms and all. Jensen should be able to grow and adapt to his life on earth. Dean totally agrees, but no one on the show right now seems like the right fit for his character.

But of course, that can’t last for long when it comes to Dean’s life. Some would say that he’s lucky; Dean retorts by saying that his life changes in really fucked up ways. His past proves it. But that’s a whole ‘nother story.

Dean runs through the script one more time later that week, the last scene of the first episode ready to be shot. It’s surprising and different from the usual set up and it sort of makes his heart race when his eyes skim over the printed words. The fans are going to love this.

And this character… Yeah, he can’t wait.

Dean suddenly remembers that this isn’t just a job. This is something he enjoys, something he loves more than most actors who just… Do it. But Dean experiences something beautiful that unfurls inside of him when he acts. He had totally forgotten about that this past week, but this changes everything. It brings back the excitement, the entertainment.

Ready, set… Action.




“Jensen, what’s happening?” Felicia whispers, gripping Jensen’s forearm as they wait for an unknown assailant to suddenly jump out a tree or possibly from the sky. At least, that’s what Felicia is thinking.

They’re hiding behind a bush in the middle of seemingly nowhere and it’s barely even light outside, being only like six in the morning. Jensen stares ahead without answering her, at where a wooden cross is stuck in the ground, a mound of dirt in front of it, somnolent and still. A grave.

And a poorly dug one, at that.

“What the hell, Jen?” Felicia hisses. Her thighs are beginning to ache from kneeling in the same position for the past hour or so. “What are we doing here?”

The only thing Jensen had said in that time was that they had to stay here and not move, or else.

“Or else what?” Felicia had asked an hour earlier.

Jensen hadn’t answered. And he isn’t now.

Felicia wishes she could see his bright green eyes. They always manage to calm her down, whether Jensen means to do it with help from a shot of his grace or by just being him, but it’s too dim to see them. Of course. Always at the worst time.

It’s another ten minutes, and Felicia is about to say something along the lines of telling Jensen to go screw himself, when he suddenly straightens up. “It’s happening,” Jensen whispers, tapping her knee a few times, rapidly.

“What do you-?”

Then she sees it.

And feels it, which is the snap that unravels Felicia’s cool.

The ground is moving beneath them, rumbling like an earthquake, and she grips Jensen’s sleeve tighter. She stares at the grave twenty feet away, watching as the dirt moves up and down. Like someone is trying to rise from underneath.

The sky rolls above them and the clouds gather to block out the hint of sun shining through the trees surrounding the field. Felicia watches with awe as the grave rumbles and quakes, as dirt spills from the mound and spreads out like a blind lake, as the wind whips her hair into her face.

She wishes she had brought a hair tie.

Then she squeaks loudly when something breaks through the disrupted soil and Jensen stands quickly, striding towards the grave in his black trench coat, both terrifying and beautiful at the same time.

Felicia swears she sees the outline of his wings when lightning cracks in the sky above.


Jensen moves like an illusion, a ghost, and as he nears the grave, he finally sees it. The hand grasping for air, still covered from the wrist down in the fresh earth, trying to reach freedom and air. He wonders if maybe he should reconsider his plans and leave the human to die where he belongs.

But that would mean sending him back to Hell and if Jensen knows one thing, it’s that being damned for eternity in utter shame and brokenness is one of the worst things a being, human and angel, can endure.

So he doesn’t think.

Instead, he bends down and grips the hand sticking out of the ground.

Jensen pulls, and instantly the earth surrounding the hand breaks, collapses, making way for the burrowed man climbing from his wooden coffin.

First comes the arm, then the shoulder and then the rest of him, all at once. The man gasps, coughing and trying to get clean oxygen to flood back into his aching lungs. He’s covered in dirt, head to toe, and Jensen can barely distinguish the pale skin under the man’s dark clothing and the crop of messy dark hair upon his head.

Jensen doesn’t let go of the man’s hand once he has been saved from below. He feels the tingle rising from their joined palms. His grace flares in recognition, something that it has never done before. At least, not since being in the presence of his Divine Father in Heaven.

But that was long ago.

And this is a man. And it’s not supposed to happen.

The man before him collapses on his back, still clinging to Jensen’s hand like it’s the only piece of sanity he has left inside of him. He’s breathing hard, a look of discomfort and agony on his face. His eyebrows are scrunched together and he groans as he grips at his ribs, as if expecting even greater pain than the one at hand.

Then he opens his eyes and Jensen tries not to gasp.

The blue in the man’s eyes is illuminated by the darkness surrounding him, the dirt streaked across his face. They’re like liquid oceans in the midst of a tsunami and it’s almost unnatural, as the man looks up at Jensen with awe.

Or maybe it is simply confusion.

“What the hell?” The guy starts to yell, but his voice is rough and immediately he breaks out into a coughing fit.

The hand not clenching Jensen’s is thrown over his own mouth as the man curls in on himself and coughs heavily. Blood is smeared in the creases between his fingers when his shaking hand pulls away and he makes strange noises. Jensen hates seeing this man in pain and his grace can sense it too, reaching for him and sparking at the edge of Jensen’s fingertips.

Jensen sighs before crouching down and pressing two fingertips to the man’s forehead. Instantly, he slips into unconsciousness and his hand goes limp in Jensen’s. “Jensen!?” Felicia says, hurrying up next to the angel. “What the hell!?”

Jensen ignores her as a million thoughts mill throughout his mind like a song on repeat. It takes only a second to make a hard decision, but it feels like years inside of his head. It’s almost painful, so Jensen tries not this get to him. He scoops the man up into his arms without any regrets, feeling a strong pulling sensation rush through him.

This shouldn’t feel so right. This man- a stranger who Jensen barely knows, someone who doesn’t even know him- shouldn’t feel this warm and pleasant in his arms, pressed up against his chest like a child. His breath is gentle and quiet and it lulls Jensen into staring at the sharp angle of his jaw, the long line of his nose, the dark, fanned eyelashes brushing against the top of his dirt-stained cheeks. His hair looks so soft

“Jensen!” Felicia punches him in the arm and even though it doesn’t hurt, he breaks out of the strange spell and turns to look at his best friend. “Seriously, what the hell!? You dragged me out here in the middle of the night to watch some guy get raised from the freaking dead. You owe me a freaking explanation!”

“You’re right,” Jensen agrees, nodding. “I’m sorry, Fel, but right now we need to get this man somewhere safe.”

Felicia glares, glances down at the man passed out in her friend’s arms, and then sighs. “Right. Fine. But you’re telling me all about it later! Oh, and you are not going to just fly off like last time and leave me alone to answer all the questions.” Jensen smiles sheepishly and Felicia groans. “I’ll drive.”

Jensen nods and they walk for about a mile towards where Felicia’s BMW is waiting on the side of a dirt road. She climbs into the driver’s seat while Jensen opens the back door and gently lays the unconscious man back on the seat. Jensen tries to pull away quickly, but he finds that his grace doesn’t want him to.

It wants him to lean over and stay. It is begging him to run his hand into those disheveled raven locks and trace his finger across the collar bone peering out from under the man’s black t-shirt. As if that is acceptable.

But Jensen doesn’t know this man as well as his grace thinks. And this man doesn’t know him at all.

“Dammit, Jensen, stop goggling over the poor guy! It’s creepy, no matter how good lookin’ he is,” Felicia snaps.

Jensen sighs and turns, but he realizes that he’s still gripping the man’s hand tightly in his own.

“You have been saved, Dmitri Collins,” Jensen whispers before letting go. “By a fallen angel. Isn’t that ironic?”




Dean holds the position for another few seconds before-

“Cut!” Balthazar yells.

Dean breathes out slowly, closing his eyes and cracking his neck. Damn, Jensen Ackles really needs to relax and use a heating pad or Dean’s going to die from being paralyzed from straining his neck all the freaking time.

He starts to plan out his weekend. Maybe I’ll go visit Sam, Dean thinks. And then-

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean startles and bumps his head on the roof of Felicia’s fake BMW. He curses silently, rubbing his head and trying not to scream at the guy in front of him.

It’s the apparent extra that stared too much, who turned Dean’s day upside down if just for a moment. During the scene, Dean couldn’t help being amazed by the man’s acting, how his disposition and even his facial expressions were complete opposites in the eyes of the cameras.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Dean’s eyes pop open and he’s staring into the same blue eyes that drove him crazy less than a week ago, less than ten minutes ago. They are quite lovely. Not that Dean notices or anything. “Yeah, well, the staring doesn’t help, bucko.”

The guy is leaning back on his hands, tilting his head and looking at Dean with that same undefinable look. “I said I was sorry.” He gives Dean a tiny, infinitesimal smile. “You did very well on that scene, Dean.”

Now it’s Dean’s turn to tilt his head. “How do you know my name?”

“I remember your friend Charlie calling you that earlier this week,” the guy explains, sitting up even further.

Oh, right. Right after this guy told Dean he was good looking. And that does not bring a blush to Dean’s cheeks.

Then Dean realizes that he’s still leaning over him, boxing him into the small backseat of the car. “Oh, right.”

He awkwardly moves away and glances around to see if anyone saw what a creep he was being. Nobody saw of course, except Charlie of course. She always seems to catch Dean at his most awkward and vulnerable moments. How she still loves him is beyond his understanding, but at least she sticks around and keeps him in line.

But she is laughing at the moment, so Dean makes a mental reminder to tickle her to death later.

The guy scoots forward until he’s resting his feet on the fake grass beneath them. He’s still staring at Dean like he’s expecting a freaking gift card or something. Or, maybe he’s waiting for Dean to say thank you or something. For the compliment.

“You did good too, man. Pretty good at faking coming alive, so that’s cool.” God, he sounds like such an idiotic douchebag…

Then the guy laughs and it’s sort of like music to Dean’s ears. It’s deep, throaty, and genuine. Dean’s favorite type of laughter. It comes from the belly, from the heart. “I’ve had lots of experience,” the guy jokes.

He stands up then, and Dean’s aware that this guy has no respect for personal space. Like, none at all. He’s barely a foot away and Dean catches a whiff of sweet rain and something musky, something that makes his mouth water suspiciously. “I am Castiel Novak,” the man suddenly says, thrusting his hand forward and looking into Dean’s eyes without backing down.

Dean doesn’t understand how he can be so forthright without fear, but it’s sort of a respective aspect in this guy’s personality.

“I- I’m Dean. Winchester. Dean Winchester. Which you probably already know,” he stutters with a weird smile.

The corner of Castiel’s lips tug up. Dean reaches for his hand and then they’re shaking hands like normal people would, and do.

Wait, are normal people supposed to feel a spark run through their arm when touching another person’s hand?

“It is very nice to meet you, Dean Winchester,” Castiel says in his gravelly voice. “I expect that we will be seeing more of each other in the near future.”

Chapter Text

And they do.

See more of each other.

And it’s aggravating.

On screen, Jensen and Misha (Dmitri’s nickname) clearly have this undeniable spark that causes their ratings to go up by 30% and a chemistry that the fans immediately latched onto, writing fan letters about Cockles, as they call it, and how Misha is the perfect candidate for Jensen’s love interest. The writers now walk around with smiles bright on their smug little faces and everyone seems buzzed for upcoming episodes containing both characters.

And now, with them over halfway through the fourth season, there is no doubt in everyone’s mind that Cockles will happen. It’s totally inevitable and perfect for the show. It was a good move and everyone really loves Misha Collins, saying that he’s totally perfect for Jensen and an awesome friend for Felicia when Jensen’s off saving the world or whatever he does. Everything seems really awesome, even with the hardships being endured in the show and everyone’s happy.

Except Dean Winchester.

Now, you can call him a stubborn asshole all you want. Even he can admit the spark between Misha and Jensen. But he just hasn’t exactly clicked with his brand new co-star like everyone else has.

Charlie loves Castiel. So do Chuck and Balthazar and even Bobby, which is surprising considering he barely comes by the set when Dean’s there, but sure when Castiel is there, Bobby suddenly stops by with plates of homemade cookies Jody just happened to bake at five in the morning and a new, cheesy joke to exclaim to everyone on set.

Dean isn’t jealous.

No siree bob.

He has everything he could ever wish for! His job pays well, he has people who care about him, Sam is falling in love with a gorgeous girl who loves him back and his parents are finally settling down into some sort of retirement…

Dean’s happy.

“Hello, Dean.”

Now Dean’s irritated.

Turning around with a comb clutched tightly in his hand, hair still all gelled up in various degrees of an untidy state, Dean prepares the deadly glare he will pointedly direct at his annoying blue-eyed co-star. But he’s sort of at a loss for words.

“Um… Cas, why are you shirtless, buddy?”

Why indeed.

Not that Dean’s complaining exactly. During shooting and being on-screen together, Dean had never really seen the man without various layers of clothing on. But now, Castiel’s slim body is on full display and Dean’s mouth has gone dry.

Castiel isn’t ripped, but he sure is toned, with a flat stomach and nice shoulders and a prominent collar bone. And since their first scene together, he had grown into a neat tan, his once pale skin now golden and Dean licks his lips as he stares at the sharpest pair of hipbones he had ever seen.

“The makeup department wishes to mark me with fake cuts and blood,” Castiel explains, reaching around Dean to grab a brush. “Today I will have a shirtless scene.”

Dean watches carefully as Castiel attempts to tame his hair, but no matter how hard he tries, it comes up as if he just had heated sex that involved lots of hair pulling.

He wonders what Castiel’s hair would look like if he, say, pulled at it a couple times…

“Damn. I told Uriel I would get it to stay down today,” Castiel grumbles, setting the brush down and aiming for a comb.

“Lost cause, huh?” Dean asks absentmindedly.

“Apparently.” Castiel turns to him, leaning his hip against the vanity. He smiles and it takes all Dean has to not smile back. “Are you ready to rehearse for next week’s episode?”

“Haven’t gotten the script yet,” Dean says, going back to spiking up his hair. “Been busy with this week’s script.”

“Well, I know that since you aren’t all that happy with Jensen and Misha’s building relationship,” Castiel continues, crossing his arms, voice airing on the edge of caution, but perhaps he’s just imagining it. “That we should possibly read lines alone.”

“What do you mean?”

“You may be more comfortable if we first practice in an environment more suitable for you to get into character.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “Again, what? What’s happening?”

Sighing, Castiel shakes his head. “I do not want this to affect your performance. I would rather you talk to Chuck about it.”

He clenches his fist and slams down his comb. “Great. Awesome communication, Cas. You make it sound like I’m losing my job.”

Before Castiel can say anything, Dean is storming away, irritated for no reason. It was always him that Chuck talked to first. But now it’s the new guy who’s getting all the info while Dean is left in the dust like an idiot.

Chuck!” Dean yells, marching onto set, still in his favorite ratty t-shirt and jeans.

“Dean! Hey,” Chuck says nervously, eyes growing larger with every step closer. “Hey, uh, bro. I mean- Sir! Wh-what’s up?”

“What’s up? Huh, I don’t know… How would I know when you’re over here telling Cas everything while I get the shitty end of being out of the loop!?” Dean exclaims, muscles clenching in anger.

Chuck squeaks and grips his clipboard tight to his chest. “Look man, I’m sorry. Cas always likes to know all the details so he doesn’t do anything wrong and he just asked me about next week and the script and I had it right here in my hands so I thought, “What’s the harm in giving it to him early?” and so I did and he just suggested that I sort of keep it quiet for your sake and I agreed and now we’re here. In- in this moment.”

Fuming, Dean stomps his foot, at a loss for words. “So now you’re talking about me behind my back?”

“What? Dean, no! You’re my friend!” Chuck shakes his head over and over again. “Just… Just read the script and I think you’ll understand.”

Chuck hands him something and Dean snatches it up, scanning over it with scrutiny, waiting for the words, And Jensen dies, or something along those lines.

But what he doesn’t expect to see are the words, Jensen looks at Misha with something lustful before surging forward and-

“Oh my God,” Dean scans the words over and over again, each round causing him to feel heavier, more fearful and tight. His heart pounds with something he can’t quite identify.

And kissing him passionately.

“I have to go,” Dean says abruptly, clutching the script in his hand, wrinkling it beyond repair.

“Dean, wait!”

But he doesn’t listen. He hurries out of the set and down into the stairwell that’s off limits to set design and the camera, bursting out of the old hospital’s exit door.

The air feels nice on his heated skin, but his mind is alit with the idea of kissing Castiel.

And maybe that’s not even the big problem. Knowing that he’ll have to kiss him and act like he’s in love and show the whole world the press of his lips against another man’s….

The problem is that Dean realizes that he sort of wants to.




Dean apologizes to everyone who deserves an apology after skipping filming altogether for the day. Gabriel gives him grace, since he’s never done it before- which shows just how much this Castiel guy is fucking with his mind- but he tells him to be ready to come extra early tomorrow so they don’t lose more precious time and much needed footage.

He doesn’t know how he’ll survive facing it again.

Everyone must know what his issue is. It’s obvious, it has been so obvious since the first few weeks of filming with Castiel, that Dean dislikes his co-star. That his infuriating personality, his deep-set stares, his stupid laugh and half smile and words of encouragement have been driving Dean insane since the beginning.

Every day, it was something.

Castiel bringing his stupidly amazing chocolate chip cookies for the whole cast and crew every Friday. Squeezing Dean’s hand after hard scenes, the ones that one of them may have to be emotional in. Visiting him in his dressing room and telling him random facts, even if Dean doesn’t seem to be listening.

But he is.

All the time.

And, yeah. So maybe Dean does care about those facts, and maybe he really enjoys those goddamn cookies and maybe he needs that little touch every once in a while, just to keep him in step with the reality around him.

Hadn’t Balthazar mentioned that at one point or another? How with Castiel around, Dean seems calmer? More able?

And Charlie tells him from time to time that Castiel never looks at anyone else the way he looks at Dean. That the only time she sees it anywhere else, it’s during Misha and Jensen’s scenes. And that usually that’s when Dean looks back at him the same way without any shame, without having to hide it, as she says.

He realizes that that’s usually because he is so freaking impressed by Castiel’s acting. How in real life he is just this quiet dude who has extensive knowledge and a love for animals and intense blue eyes, but when he plays Misha he is a totally different person. He’s outgoing, hilarious, flirtatious, especially around Jensen, and with Dean’s amazement comes their spark.

Everyone sees it, so why can’t Dean?

He consults his little brother about it that night over an ice cold beer and a rack of ribs from the Harvelle’s Roadhouse. Whenever he has the chance he makes sure to stop by and eat a whole bunch, even if Uriel scolds him afterwards, saying chub isn’t good for the cameras.

But who cares, because Dean doesn’t know whether his job will be on the line tomorrow or not.

“You’re so stupid,” Sam says.

Dean chokes on his beer. “Wh-what?”

“Seriously?” Sam loosens his tie, shaking his head. “It’s Cas, dude. You talk about him all the time.”

“What!? No I don’t!”

“Huh, really? Cause I clearly remember you non-stop talking about the guy over Thanksgiving dinner at mom’s, saying how amazing of an actor he is and how it was brilliant to add him to the show. And-” He cuts in before Dean can interject- “You specifically told us all how you were thinking about inviting him for Christmas.”

So. Yeah, maybe that happened. Granted he had already gone through a mini-sized 6-pack and accepted Sam’s untouched scotch by the time he got onto the topic of his blue-eyed co-star.

And once he got to that point… Well, it’s not his fault that the words kept spilling out and he couldn’t stop them and that he was breathless by the end because apparently he had told them everything.

“Mom asked me if you guys were dating afterwards.”

Dean groans and rubs his face, shaking his head. “Never let me get that hammered in front of mom again, I beg of you.”

Chuckling, Sam pats his brother’s arm before sitting back, clearly happy with himself. “Look, it would be nice to finally meet the guy. And after your little speech, I’m sure mom and dad are dying to-”

No, nope, not happening.”

Dean looks up in annoyance and catches Sam’s smirk.

He makes a mental note to never talk about anything important with his stupid little brother again.




“We have to move,” Jensen says softly, gripping Misha’s wrist tightly.

They both eye the rogue angel standing near the nurse’s station, the glint of a blade visible just below his sleeve. Alona attempts to ease him, his agitated fidgets warning her and anyone near that this man shouldn’t be messed with.

But she has always been good under pressure and it’s one of the things Jensen has always appreciated about her. And despite her vague knowledge of who he truly is- or rather what he is- she always has his back.

“Doctor Ackles is out at the moment, but I’m sure he will be back shortly,” Alona says gently, flashing the angel a perfect smile. “While you wait for him to return, can I get you some-”

“None of that, girl. I can sense him,” the angel spats, glaring.

Alona doesn’t seem fazed, but Jensen can practically feel the wheels turning in her head.

But he can’t worry about that now.

The angel whips around suddenly and Jensen is off, pulling his new companion along with him.

“Ouch,” Misha hisses, punching Jensen in the arm. “Where are we going?”

“There is a ward a few floors above that is not in use,” Jensen says briefly, abruptly stopping in front of the elevator and pushing the button.

“And how is that going to keep us from getting killed?”

Jensen pushes him through the open slot before the elevator doors have finished opening, closing them just as quickly with a slight thought. Coughing, Misha pounds a fist on his chest. “I’m not a ragdoll, Jensen, damn.”

“Sorry,” he growls, flicking buttons and checking all possible routes to escape inside of his head. “I didn’t realize that the process of saving lives involved comfort.”

“Sassy much?” But Misha is smirking again, and it’s that damn smile that follows Jensen everywhere he goes these days.

They reach the abandoned floor and lights flicker on as Jensen crosses the threshold. “So what’s the plan boss?” Misha asks, dodging a gurney and knocking his head on an IV stand. “Are we going to glide into a whole ‘nother dimension or something?”

“It’s better to rid the evil than prolong it.” Jensen unlocks an operating theater, divest of medical equipment and prescribed medicine, but it’s better than performing this particular banishing spell in front of civilians. “We must snuff out the flame once and for all.”

He looks over at Misha, who is busy examining the room, but their eyes meet. Jensen smiles. “And for today, we will not be the ones traveling to another dimension.”

“Sounds… ominous.”

“Would you mind sharing some blood?” Jensen holds up a knife and a metal bowl, raising his eyebrows.

Misha rolls his eyes. “Of course. Cause this is totally what normal people do for their angels.”

As he hops up onto the operating table, Jensen can’t help warming up at his words.

His angel.

He strips of his lab coat and rolls up his sleeves, concentrating as he grips Misha’s arm and cuts it cleanly. The blood runs down the shorter man’s forearm and into the bowl and for a moment, their eyes are locked, green on blue.

Jensen’s grace tugs him involuntarily forward, like a children’s game of hot and cold, warming up the closer it is to disheveled brown locks and lips pulled up in a haunting smirk. Playful blue eyes dare him nearer, but he swallows.

This isn’t the time to go about kissing gorgeous humans, no matter how much he wants to.

Misha winces as Jensen wipes his hand over the cut, but the wound and the blood have vanished once he pulls away. “Thank you,” he says, dipping his finger into the thick substance, the spell rolling over in his mind.

A laugh follows Misha stepping off of the table. “It’s funny, being thanked for bleeding into a bowl.”

The polished window is diluted by blood as Jensen paints the sigil, thinking of Misha’s words. “It must be strange. Have knowledge of a world you never knew existed.”

“Eh, comes with the territory of being me, I guess.” Misha cups his hands on the window and peers through, hoping to see something interesting. “Being chased down all the time is different. And, well, you.”

Jensen pauses, blood dripping off of his finger and back into the bowl. “Me?”

“You’re an angel, Jen!” Misha exclaims, throwing up his arms. “I never really believed in you guys. But now I see you, actually see you and watching you do your thing… It’s mesmerizing. Extraordinary, really.”

He’s almost at a loss for words.

Misha goes back to peering through the window, and Jensen has almost completed the complicated sigil when suddenly, Misha stumbles backwards. “We have company,” he says, blue eyes round.

The door flies open and Misha grips Jensen’s belt loop, tensing up next to him.

“Jensen,” the angel growls.

He doesn’t waste time with conversation, rather pouncing as its angel blade slides from his sleeve. Shoving Misha away, Jensen throws a punch and the fight begins.