**Author's Note: _
Awww yes! Another Desitel fic! WHOOP!
If I am honest, I am actually extremely excited for this one. (;
I do plan on future smut, so if you want that you're going to have to wait a little bit- and I also don't know how many ch. this is going to have- I'm just going to roll with it and hope for the best.
ALSO THIS IS FUCKING LONG. ALMOST 4,000 WORDS HOLY SHIT. AND IT'S ALL A-FUCKING-U! :O
Castiel Novak was an aspiring writer, trying to get the latest scoop and the best stories. Most people at his magazine barely even turned an eye towards him and that he hated it, but Castiel was fine with that. It just meant he'd stand out more when he got the best article published with his name under the title.
Most thought that was actually the goal Castiel was shooting for- when actually it was becoming the CEO of Angel Weekly (recommended by my best friend Sharon) instead of some random intern. He'd already had to write several bogus articles, so he should at least get a shot at the headlines.
Right now, Castiel was walking along the crowded sidewalks of New York City, cars honking and stopped on the road beside him. It was warm enough today for him to wear his favorite suit, his tan trench coat over his arm as he walked.
The city was what drew him here. The bustling life, the people, the way the sun glints off the windows. At first, it was a wonderful sight. So many things to see and take in, to process. But as Castiel reaches his five year mark of being a New Yorker- the city loses its exotic flare. Now, it's just skyscrapers that are too tall and people who are too slow or are always in Castiel's way.
He enters his office building, putting his hands into his dress pants pockets and sighing. The elevator is packed, too packed for how he usually likes it to be. Castiel's desk is up on the thirty-fifth floor, so there's no chance in hell he's going to take the stairs there. He piles himself into the elevator and presses the bottom through the crowd of people.
Castiel just wanted to hurry up, today was a big day for himself and his job.
Chuck was calling a meeting, other writers lining the table and holding their notebooks out and chewing the end of their pens. This was a usual habit amongst them, along with long nights filled with countless coffee mugs and editing beyond their scheduled hours. In the end though, it was worth it if you got the story of a lifetime.
"Alright- so we're going to try and get some celebrity interviews in. Us already got one in with Robert Downey Jr so we're gonna have to up our game. I've gone around, put some words in and guess who's just agreed to do an interview with us?"
"What?" They all asked in unison.
Chuck smiles, brushing some invisible and probably nonexistent lint of his tailored suit, "Dean Winchester has agreed to let us talk to him."
All the girls in the room nearly screamed, biting their lips and squealing. Most of the guys only saw the opportunity for a really good article. Castiel only wrote it down.
Dean Winchester was an out-of-nowhere hit, literally popping into the list of well known names and everyone taking to him immediately. Castiel remembers when the first photos of him appeared in other magazines, and he had to admit Dean was kind of a good looking man- okay better than good looking- but Castiel figured Dean was probably like most celebrities. Self-centered and egotistical brainless sensation. He'd probably tell off whoever was going to do the interview with enough curse words to fill a dictionary with them. He'd become so famous for playing a single role in a small-budget movie called Turning Pages that landed him a place to walk on the red carpet- no one expected it, especially the man himself.
Castiel sighed, instead of freaking out or seeing the possibility of interviewing him, only tried to think about the other possible leads he might follow.
Chuck cleared his throat, all the noise dying down into silence.
"Our next big story is with big time movie-star hit Meg Masters. She recently played in To the Stars that was a box-office smash. She's agreed to do a five minute interview with one of us as her schedule is quite full with new offers and such. Make it quick, simple, and worth the money I'm paying you to get this story right."
Castiel had heard a lot about Meg Masters, just like Dean Winchester. He knew about how she started up in New Hampshire before working her way up town through the circuit of leading roles. She was more of a gradual progression in her fame timeline, more graceful and based off her talents. Castiel was happy her name was listed, and found the interview he was going to chase.
Chuck called the meeting off, most having a quick word with him before leaving out of the door. As Castiel was leaving, Chuck called him over and eyeing the budding reporter as he walked up to him.
Chuck smiled, patting Castiel in the shoulder, "You're a good kid, you know your stuff and your articles are worded perfectly. I'm going to give you the shot of your career."
"Really?" Castiel felt hope rise in his chest. This was his chance, the opportunity of a lifetime about to be placed right at his feet.
Meg Masters here I come!
"I want you to interview Dean Winchester."
Castiel felt his heart cringe, the door leading to his best headline ever slamming in his face, "Oh..."
Chuck gripped his shoulder a little tighter, "Hey, this isn't a bad opportunity and you know it. I figured you were probably leaning towards Meg a little more- but honestly? Dean's offered up as much time as needed, while Meg said we could only do five minutes because she doesn't want to deal with annoying questions."
"She said that?"
Chuck nodded, "Afraid she's a full time bitch who barely cares about anyone but herself. She only did the interview with us because we're a small magazine and barely anybody reads our stuff."
"But we're the third top selling magazine in New York-"
"Doesn't matter to her. Against herself, everything's second best and always will be. Dean's multitudes nicer than her, and I've got a knack you two will really hit it off."
Castiel swallows, "All right, I'll do it... I hope you're right."
Chuck snorts, "I know I am- I run this place right? Look- just act natural and everything will be fine. I'll tell Dean you're the one who's gonna be talking to him."
Castiel leaves, taking a slow taxi cab home. It's an endless blur of people and yellow, cars that congest the streets so bad that Castiel usually walks home. But he's tired, and it's pouring- and dammit if he's gonna be staying up late tonight.
His interview with Dean Winchester is tomorrow, so he's got to be in top notch condition and have his questions already prepared. Although its not exactly what he wanted- it was better than a paragraph about each zodiac reading for the week.
The cab pulls up, brakes screeching and the rain pounding on the metal. Castiel threw the money at the driver, yanking up his trench coat over his head and somehow managing to sprint to the overhang without bumping into anyone. He could hear the soft patters of feet in the rainwater as he buzzed into his apartment.
It wasn't much, nothing in New York with his paycheck really was. The paint was faded, the furniture bought from a closing sale at some long-gone retailer. It only looked so nice because Castiel kept it clean. What else was he supposed to do when words wouldn't forge themselves in his mind?
The squeaking of his shoes announced his arrival, his cat jogging up to him and mewling loudly. Her name was Misty, after her dark coat that no matter how dry she really was always managed to look or seem damp. Castiel supposed it was her love of getting in the tub after his showers and slipping in the toilet whenever she drunk out of it. She had bowls, but she refused to even acknowledge them and their purpose.
"Hey girl," Castiel bends down and scratches her head, "got a new lead today. Guess who's seeing Dean Winchester in the morning?"
Misty meowed, rubbing herself against Castiel's pants and leg.
Castiel sighs, going over to his small and worn desk, flipping open his laptop- probably his most expensive possession- and opened up a tab.
In the search engine, he typed: Dean Winchester.
The word document stared at Castiel, the cursor blinking and so vastly empty. He'd start a sentence, then erase it. Frustrated sighs escape his mouth, brows furrowed and hands rubbing his temple.
"Why is this so hard?!" Castiel snaps.
Misty mewls beside him, rubbing up against his leg. Castiel picks her up, rubbing her arched spine as she licks his face and calms him down. These questions might be tough, but they were nowhere near impossible.
"Chuck said to act natural," he sets Misty down, "so let's say Dean is just an average Joe... Like we accidentally run into each other and start talking."
He writes, the words flowing from his brain to his fingers and onto the word document. Pride fills Castiel as he sees the questions on the screen. He's sure to accomplish something at the very least. The time ticks by, the clock reading nine when Castiel calls it.
Showering doesn't help. His stomach is in knots and he's sure he's going to at least vomit twice. He was hoping his anxiety would just wane over time, but it seemed with every passing minute it only grew more monstrous, threatening to eat him alive whole.
"Get a grip on yourself- damn!"
Coffee only settles his nerves in the slightest way. He's got the address to Dean's condo memorized in his brain and he's sure he might even fuck that up and say the wrong number or something like he always does when the pressure cracks him. By the end, he was praying in the taxi that he wasn't going to screw up his only shot at making it big in a too competitive city.
When Castiel sees the door to Dean Winchester's condo, his breath is barely entering and leaving his lungs, that his heart is beating so loud in his ears that Dean might confuse it as him knocking on the damn door. Castiel tries fixing his navy tie, the one he knows that no matter how much he tries to prevent it, always winds up crooked. He braces himself, swallowing the huge lump that's formed in his throat that he thinks could be big enough to block his airway, and presses his knuckles to the door and knocks.
In seconds, the door opens. Castiel's heart is beating in his ears and he feels like he might faint any second if he doesn't sit down or run away- but he's got to do this. This interview is too important to the magazine and his career to just ditch at the last second because his balls seemed to get lost on the taxi ride over.
Dean Winchester opens the door, and immediately Castiel is awestruck. He's gorgeous, more so than in any of the pictures Castiel has seen floating around randomly in the last month. He's positive he's got eyes that can triumph over emeralds on a bad day and a smile so white that Castiel thinks bleach couldn't even get it that way. Everything about him is just- perfect.
"You must be from Angel Weekly," his voice makes Castiel almost jump, its just as incredible as the rest of him, "Castiel- right?"
The writer nods, hoping his throat can swallow right and he won't end up looking like a total fuck up, "Y-Yes, I am."
If Dean heard the stammer, he decides to ignore it, opening the door further, "Come on in, make yourself at home."
Castiel takes in the condo, and at the very least, he's floored. It's sleek, modern, and probably worth thousands more than what Castiel makes in a year. Everywhere is furniture that looks like it was custom made from the finest mahogany money can buy, matching the flooring that leads to enormous windows. It gives a view of the New York skyline that you only see in movies, making Castiel's street viewpoint from his ground floor apartment look like utter shit- which it was.
"I'll get us some wine."
Castiel sits down, his fingers shaking and fiddling with his tie again in nervous habit. The couch he's sitting on could be made from chocolate it's so fine and shiny, and Castiel debates on if it's going to melt and he's going to sink in. In moments, Dean comes back from his kitchen, placing two wine glasses and a bottle of wine on the table. When the name L' or Rogue appears before him printed on the glass he nearly faints.
"Isn't that wine worth several thousands per bottle? ..."
Dean chuckles and nods his head, the writer stiffening in his seat, "Yeah, but that's because they literally put pure gold flakes in it- for some weird reason... This was a gift from an awards ceremony from a co-star. It's not really my taste, I prefer a really good beer every now and then."
Castiel eyes every drop get poured into the glass, a shine from a flake of gold appearing every now and then. His blood is pumping in his veins, and if Castiel can make it through this interview without a heart attack- than miracles do in fact, exist. He grabs his wine glass, staring at how it sloshes unevenly as he brings it slowly to his lips. As it runs down his throat, he can understand why famous people buy it on a whim.
"So," Dean grabs his drink and sits on an exact copy of the couch Castiel is sitting on across from him, crossing his legs, "onto our questions then."
Castiel nearly fumbles, grabbing his notebook out and unsheathing the tip of his pen, "Oh um- what were you doing before Turning Pages?"
"I was in Lawrence, Kansas. It's a small town- one that it's common for everyone to grow up with each other. My job at the time was literally being a server at the town restaurant. It wasn't much- but it paid the bills."
"Okay," Castiel scribbles Dean's response down, "How did the role of Alex Varnes come to you?"
Dean smiles again, "Well, while I was in high school I did drama for the hell of it. Turns out, I impressed a few people and that's how Mike heard about me. One day, out of the blue, he just turns up asking if I wanted a shot at the big times or some hope raising thing that most people would jump for."
"Obviously your response was yes."
He chuckles then, biting his lip a little, "Not exactly- no… I didn't want it at first. I didn't think acting was my thing at the time, that I wasn't any good. It started out as a class grade and remained that way until I graduated and it didn't matter anymore."
Castiel tilts his head, "So how did Mike convince you to take the part?"
"He made me read the script." Dean shrugs, bringing the glass to his lips for a second and continuing, "I connected with Alex in some way, felt like I could build his character or some actor nonsense. Either way, I was onboard from there onwards."
The pen in Castiel's hand scribbles out the words, "There were rumors that you and your co-star might of had a fling or connection on set- is that true?"
"If I met the person of my dreams on a movie set- than I'd be the luckiest man in the world. But no, Jess and I are friends and nothing more. It took forever to film the kissing scenes because we kept laughing and I'm sure most of the blooper reel is just us giggling like little girls."
"So you're not in a relationship?"
Dean's brow quirks, and for a moment, the writer in Castiel leaves his head. Did he just ask Dean Winchester- a man who looks like he's fucking photoshopped in person- if he were single? Of course he isn't! The man could make girls swoon with the bat of an eyelash. Castiel wouldn't be surprised if Dean just said he had many relationships or hook ups- because most celebrities did. They'd see someone, have a little fun, and then leave like they never met or saw each other. So the cycle of fame went and remained.
Dean narrows his eyes just a fraction, his gaze unwavering and eyes set firmly on Castiel and the writer is sure he can see him freaking out mentally, "Currently, no. I haven't found the right- partner, so to say."
"Any ideas for one?" Castiel is praying his swallow in inaudible and that he can pull through this, that he can calm himself down before the interview makes him jump out of the windows and to the pavement below. He needs to pull himself together. Chuck would surely fire him if he fucked up.
He blushes as Dean smirks, "I do love black hair and blue eyes."
The sentence makes Castiel fidget a little. He doesn't know if Dean's just being honest or his brain is fucking with him more under pressure. He was confident it was the latter.
"A-Anything else you just want to randomly add?"
"They have to love coffee, be okay with animals, and most of all- be able to make me laugh."
Castiel is holding onto the pen so hard he's sure it might snap any moment, he forces himself to bring his gaze to Dean's calm one, "Laugh?"
Dean chuckles, "Yes- it's a must have on my checklist. Do you know how many people don't know a good joke when they see one?"
"Not many I'm assuming."
"Exactly!" Dean takes another sip of the wine, "You have a sense of humor right Cas?"
Castiel is stunned for a moment at the nickname, instead, he continues on, "Once I wrote a review on Jason DeRulo's album that he released a few months ago."
Dean leans forward in anticipation, "What did you say?"
"Well-" Castiel collects his thoughts, "I said it must take special type of self-centered person to sing their own name into a song- as if anyone wanted to steal his shit music in the first place."
Dean starts laughing, his shoulders shaking and a smiling wide on his face, clapping his hands together to praise Castiel's opinion, "Agreed- that was perfect!"
Dean smile doesn't leave, and Castiel blushes and has to remember that he has to complete this interview instead of joking about shitty musicians. Dean said he'd give him unlimited time- but that didn't mean Castiel wanted to spend a lot of it questioning him back and forth. Besides, who liked that happening anyways? He was sure Dean was growing tired of him.
The rest of the interview went a little smoother than Castiel had expected. Dean would laugh and smile and answer truthfully in short answers, which was a blessing because Castiel still couldn't write straight still. The only thing Castiel didn't expect was for Dean to ask for his notebook for a second. He hoped the celebrity ignored his little doodles in the corner while figuring out questions. Instead, Dean uses the pen and adds a little what Castiel already has written. A few more blushes and stutters later, Castiel was walking towards the door and thanking Dean for giving him the time out of his day for him.
"No- it's perfectly fine, Cas." Dean opens the door, "You can call or text whenever you have anymore questions, or if you want to for no reason- I'll answer."
Before Castiel can say anything, Dean winks and shuts the door.
The reporter just stands there bewildered for a moment. Did Dean Winchester just- ...?
As he's walking back towards the cab, Castiel's flustered and messing with his tie like his life depends on it. His head is pounding and he feels like his balance is off and he's swaying. If his interviews after this were going to affect him so severely then maybe he'd have to quit or just stay within the range of the horoscope safe haven. As he gets into the taxi, he looks over as to what Dean added.
He nearly fainted when he sees Dean's number scrawled up in the top corner saying 'Text me anytime you want. -DW'.
L'or Rogue : The Red Gold