meadowlarklogs | Wᴇ ʜɪᴅᴇ ᴏᴜʀ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴs Uɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ sᴜʀғᴀᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʀʏ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴇɴᴅ ( closed )

[ six feet of flannel and smirks is hard to miss, and cas spots him crossing the room, colors bright against the stark white backdrop of everything inside the Company offices.

Passing by Sam’s workstation, it becomes clear where he’s headed, and Cas drops his eyes back down to the scrawled equations and formulas in front of him, letting out a softly huffed, quiet laugh for the man’s audacity. He’s working, Dean, what are you doing. Ignore that there’s a small smile on his lips anyway, that’s what the ducked head is making a half-assed attempt to hide.

Scribbling away at a notepad, Cas has a pencil tucked behind his ear and a different one in his hand being used, because he forgot about the one behind his ear. It happens. Dean saunters up and Cas flickers the briefest glance up at him, but doesn’t stop with his scribbling. ]

Don’t you have work to be doing, Dean? [ Cas asks the steno pad in front of him, ] The hydraulics on the sector 4 platform need repairs.

[ See? Right there, prime example -- the pencil behind his ear that he definitely forgot considering there's a pencil in his hand -- that's the kind of adorable crap Dean's a sucker for. He's, like, sixty percent sure Castiel is hiding a smile in that otherwise impressive mask, so Dean hits him with one of his own. ]

Mornin', Cas.

[ Cheerfully greeted, as though he didn't just get called out on not working.

When he slows to a stop at Castiel's workstation, his hands automatically find whatever fidget toy, stress ball, or interesting something Cas has on it. He's a tactile person, with a clearly liberal view of personal property. ]

See, the thing is... I was thinking, man am I ready for my company-approved mandatory hour long lunch break.

[ No way he's leading anywhere with that. ]

And then I was thinking... you know who else probably likes eating food? Cas. Maybe that guy has a company-approved mandatory hour long lunch break, too.

Edited 2020-11-23 21:00 (UTC)

[ dean's grabbing at things that don't belong to him, like a child full of restless energy, and cas watches from the edge of his vision while dean commandeers his favorite knick knack - a rubik’s cube-esque little puzzle box, something he occupies himself with when he hits a wall with a problem. Now, dean’s fondling the thing and cas’s eyes catch on his fingers gliding over the toy, distracted with thoughts about work hewn calluses, mechanic dexterity. he's a tactile, physical personality, and there's something both appealing and apt about dean working with his hands, crafting and molding complex machines with them.

it’s a cute, endearing kind of nonsense, the way he rambles on, and his voice has an easy, smooth drawl to it that worms in around all the parts of cas that want to be stubborn and standoffish and laser focused on work. the beaming smile and bright eyes don't help, so he does his best not to look at either of those, not if he wants to stay on task. ]

Fair conclusion.

[ admitted absently. yes, he does have a company-approved mandatory hour long lunch break, and clearly dean wants to combine those breaks, but what’s the point in connecting the dots for him? ]

Like most all employees, and humans, I do require sustenance to live. [ cas confirms mildly, turning his attention from the notepad to his computer. dean winchester has a talent for distraction, and for cas, who'd always prided himself in his focus and efficiency, it's both infuriating and intriguing. dean's something he simply can't ignore. ] Is this a new revelation you’ve stumbled on?

[ finally, his eyes turn back on dean’s, brows arched expectantly, with a hint of amusement, as a hand reaches to snatch his puzzle box back. that's not yours, stop touching it, you manbaby. ]

[ The puzzle box goes with a momentary pout on Dean's part, an unvoiced I was playing with that protest that doesn't manifest past the two seconds it exists in his feelings.

No worries, Cas has tons of other shit on his desk so he'll just pluck something else out, not even remotely dissuaded. ]

See, humans yes. But here I was this whole time thinkin' you were an angel.

[ Smooth, right? It's a cheesy line, and it's delivered with an expression that makes it clear he knows exactly how cheesy it is. The self-mockery's part of his appeal, he's told.

But he's not done yet. ]

And I asked myself, 'Self, what in the hell would an angel even eat?' And then it hit me.

[ Pause for dramatic effect. ]

Angel food cake. They're serving it in the fancy cafeteria I'm not supposed to know about. Grab your coat, let's see how it stacks up.

Edited 2020-11-24 03:38 (UTC)

[ and there goes cas's pencil sharpener. there is no winning.

except, dean calls him an angel, and it's such high praise, cas is left blinking dumbly. sure, it's cheesy, and that part pulls an involuntary scoff of a laugh, let out through the first genuine smile that gets past his mask. okay, fucker, you got him with that one. ]

An angel. Really? Here, building death traps?

[ doesn't feel very angelic, but somehow dean doesn't see that stain on him. he's successfully drawn cas's attention away from his work. angel food cake, he says, and cas presses his lips in a line to avoid the encroaching smile.

it's unfair how charming this level self-deprecating cheese is, and cas angles his eyes back to his computer screen - less towards the open programs, more towards the small clock in the bottom corner. it is about lunch time. and yet - ]

I'm in the middle of a project, Dean, I can't drop everything just because you want to wax poetic about deserts.

[ but he wants to. cas would absolutely love to listen to this ridiculous man ramble sweet nonsense about snack cakes at him. it's absurd how much he wants to. ]

Edited 2020-11-24 17:20 (UTC)

[ Death was an angel too, Cas. They're warriors, read the bible.

Doesn't matter, that laugh-scoff keeps the smile on his face, it's pure encouragement, he'll take it. ]

Perfect, so it's settled. Dinner. What time am I picking you up?

[ Because that's what that means right? What he heard wasn't no, it was a whole bunch of not no. His whole... body language vibe is not no. Dean's pretty good at reading people. ]

[ and now they've jumped from company mandated lunch to nebulously timed dinner fast enough to give cas whiplash. ]

What? I never said—

[ how has this happened to him. why has this happened to him. how does an establishment as strictly governed and organized as the Company keep an employee that's the embodiment of social chaos. cas huffs, shaking his head at the audacity of this offensively attractive problem of a human being, and attempting a put-upon frown. ]

Following a conversation with you is exhausting. [ cas reaches out to snatch his pencil sharpener back too, tapping it back down in it's proper, assigned space on his desk resolutely. ] Quarry's soon. I'm probably working late tonight.

[ which is still not no, but it isn't a yes yet either. ]

Edited 2020-11-25 04:36 (UTC)

Alright, alright.

[ His hands come up in a gentle surrender, and it's accompanied by the shake of his head. You can only push so much before it starts to get creepy. He'll back off, and he'll gently return Cas's pencil sharpener where he found it. ]

You win this round.

[ That doesn't stop him from gently pointing. ]

But five bucks says I'm gonna get you to fall in love with me before all's said and done. Just watch.

[ dean barely knows him, and they spent their first conversation bickering and annoyed with each other, but here he is, making claims like fall in love. head at a tilt, cas watches him like he's trying to solve a puzzle for a long, silent, pensive moment. at length, the smallest smirk appears. ]

Only five bucks?

[ come on, dean winchester, if you're going to drop the L word, put a little more risk behind it. another, shorter, thoughtful pause, and cas picks up his abandoned pencil, scrawling something at the edge of his notepad.

maybe declaring cas winner has something to do with it, maybe it's dean shooting off a wild challenge like that, but he tears off the small section of paper and holds it out calmly, chin tipped up with an arched brow. congrats, you win his address. ]

Eight-thirty. Don't be late.

[ You've never seen a grown man light up like Dean Winchester does right then. Kid in a candy store as he plucks that paper up to give it a quick scope - it's an address - and it's followed immediately with a snap and a fist pump. Full-on eyes closed, head tipped back fist pump that goes breakfast club in two seconds. ]

Yessss.

[ Men are probably supposed to have dignity or shame or something, right? At some point in his twenties he probably would have gone for suave, probably been too transparently cool about it. He's older now. He doesn't bother hiding it behind a wink and a smooth line. Frankly, he knows better. That shit doesn't sell, but genuine and obvious enthusiasm does. ]

Eight-thirty.

[ He echoes, shaking the paper at Cas in a manner almost accusatory.

That is, apparently, his goodbye — because he spins around on his heels and starts striding out.

Annoying the entire department by going WOO in one quick holler, ruffling some rando's hair on the way past and informing them eight thirty.

And then he's gone.

Do you have regrets yet, Cas? ]

[ look at him. look at this grown man with a full-time job and a bank account and possibly a mortgage fist pumping like a punch-drunk fool. cas's hand hurries to cover the grin that breaks across his face watching this dork do his victory strut across his office space, ignoring what coworkers' eyes raise from their work to bounce between him and dean.

forget what men are supposed to have, this kind of unabashed glee dean's giving off is more attractive than any attempt at suave or smooth would've been. some intern gets an uncalled for hair fluffing and cas tries his best not to let his snort-laugh come out too loudly.

he's sure there'll be regrets at some point, but right now, watching this ridiculous man celebrate as if cas just awarded him a lottery pot of gold, he can't come up with a single one.

so if cas rests his chin in his palm and watches dean bounce away, sue him. this kind of thing doesn't come along every day, not at this age anyway.

but just for good measure, he does call out after dean's retreating back. ]

And fix sector 4, please!

Sector 4!

[ Called back merrily without turning around, a cheerful acknowledgement in his echo.

He fixes sector four. He goes home. He gets ready. He shows up at Castiel's place at eight twenty-five. Still in casual dress, but nicer than what he wears to work. Button up shirt done up half-way over a t-shirt, his least battered pair of jeans. One single long-stemmed rose because listen, he's a fan of the classics, a little effort goes a long way. It's a fancy touch that doesn't remotely match the place he actually takes them — the rim of one of the last 'good' sectors that sells food instead of just handing out rations.

It's a sort of hybrid between a dive bar and an irish pub. Small, informal, full of laughter. How Cas takes it will tell him what he needs to know about whether or not they'll work.

He tried this, once. Dating above his station. Made it for a solid few months with Blake, but at the end of the day the guy never really... got it. He never really dropped down to Dean's level, so much as it felt like he kept trying to pull Dean up to his. That's never gonna happen. Maybe this will go better, or maybe they do one date and call it. ]

[ cas didn't work late. when five o'clock hit, it's actually embarrassing how fast this grown man sped home and began carding through his closet. dates haven't exactly been a frequent occurrence for cas, and he isn't exactly in his 20s anymore. most aren't quite as persistent as dean, or as charming, so it's been a while. he ends up in a button down shirt with a soft, woven sweater tugged over it (layers, always layers (maybe he's anemic?)). slacks, sensible shoes.

a rose greets him when he opens the door at eight twenty-five, and cas doesn't conceal his grin. a romantic, how refreshing. he hadn't known what to expect from dean winchester, but this, this he's certainly pleased with. Nice touch, cas tells him as he brings to flower to his nose, inhaling the sweet scent of it. it sets a fine tone, and they make their way to the bar.

Castiel's parents were Shrikes - not nearly warm, but fairly well off. he knew about the outer circles of the city, had a few explorations out to them during his Cotillion days, but always felt off in the space, unbelonging. not that belonging is a sentiment cas ever felt in any great abundance, but this was more like intrusion. but now, here, with dean leading him along and a chorus of laughter filling the room, it's warm and it's inviting, and it's alive in ways the upper rings of the city (especially the volary) rarely ever is.

immediately, cas's eyes are roaming, attention drawn away from dean as he soaks in the details of the bar, observes the people, watches conversations, postures and mannerisms, skims over the decor and follows the bar tender as they mix and pour drinks. it isn't confusion or any kind of disdain, but more like open wonder, curiosity. there's music playing somewhere, cas craning his neck to seek out the source, though he does get distracted and have to shuffle his way around the crowd back towards dean. ] Do you live near here?

[ He watches Castiel's expression with easy and loose amusement, settling in on a bar stool and bracing a forearm against the bar almost immediately. It's not a bad start, all things considered, even if he is the nerdiest looking guy in the joint. ]

Maybe a quarter mile that direction.

[ He agrees with a little nod in the general westward vicinity. ]

Not quite as pretty to look at as your neighborhood, but it ain't bad.

[ Considering where he came from and all. Single mom supporting the two of them didn't exactly make for the best digs. ]

[ he's definitely the nerdiest looking guy in the joint, he's full on in a sweater with a collar poking out the top, he may as well have a pocket protector. the obviously out of place look doesn't seem to bother him, though, and cas slides into the stool next to dean, watching the people a couple seats over for a brief few seconds before focusing his attention entirely on dean. ]

It may be pretty, but it's lifeless.

[ now that they're outside of work, the air of professional distance and impassivity is dropped. some things he isn't as willing to voice inside the Company building, and up until dean winchester and his aggressive flirting, romantic entanglements was one. we've already crossed that line and broken that personal rule, may as well go all in. where he lives is a matter of circumstance around his birth, and survival in a cut-throat society. not personal choice.

watching dean with a sidelong, studying gaze, cas takes in the ease of him in the environment, the casual way he fits in with the color and noise and activity. ]

Do you like it better here?

Yup.

( Casually but confidently, not a speck of doubt in that declaration. He glances over at the bartender — he's here often enough that the guy knows what Dean drinks, so he just holds up two fingers. The bartender nods, and he turns his attention back to Cas. The whole interaction takes maybe two seconds tops, seamless. )

Like you said, man, it's so freakin' lifeless the closer you get to the Volary. Everything's... artificial. Even the people.

( It's spoken with the vibe that he's got first-hand experience in it, more than just interacting with Cas. )

[ eyes skip between dean and the bartender, noting the casual interaction, and cas attempts a flicker of a polite, if stiff, smile. dean's assessment isn't off, and while it isn't a very optimistic sentiment, it's one he shares. ]

We're told scaling Parliament should be our life's goal. Nothing said of what's at the top.

[ besides power and immortality, which, looking at cardinals like odinson and strange, castiel doubts that's quite as fulfilling as everyone hopes. certainly hasn't improved the character of anyone he's seen advance that far, and reaching magpie hasn't felt any better than where cas had been before. only more exposed, judged closer. all that standing, it's interesting that dean put so much effort to get him on this date. ]

So, why pursue me?

[ asked with genuine curiosity. cas doesn't consider himself much different from one of those artificial people born in a more central ring, climbing that social ladder with all the other upper class automatons. perhaps more self-aware, but the result's the same, isn't it? ]

( By the way Dean shakes his head, it's clear he's got some opinions about scaling parliament. He keeps them to himself, it ain't exactly good first date talk.

Why pursue me?

His eyes track over Cas for a second in a way that's surprisingly not lecherous. Like he's picking up little details, like he's seeing through something. )

You're different.

( Mild but decisive. The bartender drops off two tall glasses of amber beer; Dean wraps his hand around one out of sheer habit. His attention's still on Cas, unwavering. )

You don't get down on your knees for them... And you're not a douche. Most people trying to climb the ladder act like they're better than the people around them, but you don't.

( Which isn't to say he doesn't act like an asshole at all, he just does it for the right reasons when he needs to. That's pretty cohesive with Dean's own brand.

And, since this has gotten a little too serious, he tacks on; )

Plus, the quiet ones are always total freaks in the sack.

[ you're different. something about the statement hits him somewhere soft and vulnerable, startling in how deeply it touches him. a certain self-loathing has lived in him for as long as he's recognized his station and privilege about the rest of the aerie, from as young as childhood. cas thinks it's more the guilt or shame dean's picking up on than anything that makes him special, but all the same, it's flattering, and sweet, that he sees him in such a forgiving light. ]

That's, um. Thank you. [ a touch flustered, and cas ducks his head, smiling sheepish but happy. he distracts himself with grabbing for his beer, turning the glass in his hands absently. ] I don't. Think I'm any better, I mean. Worse, if anything.

[ but he doesn't expand on that. they're here for a date, not unpacking castiel's baggage, and the grin freaks in the sack brings to him is much brighter, far less hidden. the laugh that bubbles up is natural and light, cas shooting dean a sidelong look with one suggestively quirked eyebrow. ]

Well, perhaps if you win our bet, you'll find out.

[ a smirk flashes before bringing his glass to his lips, muffling it. castiel's never been that frivolous about sex, maybe doesn't require love for it, exactly, but he's not one for one night stands or casual hook ups. maybe a couple times in his 20s, but he's older now.

the music changes to the next track, and cas straightens up, looking past dean at the other patrons, a couple standing in the aisle between tables and bar stools, arms looped around waists and shoulders, swaying side to side while beaming at one another. they look happy, contented. ]

Do they dance here?

( There's a lot he could say about being worse. A lot more he can say about that bet, except that it brings him up just a little short. Throws him off his game for a second, flustered, but then he's right back in. )

Sometimes.

( He agrees with a noncommittal shrug, glancing over at the dancing couple. )

You put on the right slow song, or you pass out enough shots.

( And then back to Cas with a pointedly arched eyebrow. Why? You plan on asking? )

[ cas nearly misses the pointedly arched brow, watching the couple casually swaying with a soft, whisper of a smile. there isn't a lot of openly expressed affection and happiness in the Volary, or the Cotillion, or the Company. it's stiff, cold. this place is warm - human.

but cas blinks back in time to catch it, looking a little like bambi in the headlights as he realizes the spot he'd just put himself in. uuuuh. maybe? ]

I, um. I think more shots are in order. [ his attention drags back down to the glass in front of him, murmuring before taking a sip from it. ] Before that.

[ it seems sweet, a simple and easy form of casual intimacy. cas is a little envious of the freedom the people here have in connecting and enjoying each other, but he's not exactly a dancer. he's an academic, raised by strict, harsh parents, who did not often hold hands or snuggle or, god forbid, dance - slow or otherwise. maybe he'd feel silly doing it, maybe he just needs more alcohol in his blood first. ]

Wᴇ ʜɪᴅᴇ ᴏᴜʀ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴs Uɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ sᴜʀғᴀᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʀʏ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴇɴᴅ ( closed )

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