summary: They hear yelling from Michael's penthouse, and it's all downhill from there.
It wasn't that Dean didn't like Castiel's brothers. Sure, they were endlessly annoying on most days and smug assholes at best, but overall, things generally went smoothly whenever they crossed paths. What Dean didn't like was being confronted by all three of them at once.
He tried to hide his uneasiness, he really did, for Cas' sake, because God knows how much crap that man put up with for him. But right now- when they were standing side by side in an elevator that had three of its four walls covered in mirrors and consequently made Dean feel even more sick to his stomach than he already did- pretending everything was A-okay was just not happening. And the damn Muzak wasn't helping either.
"Dean." How Cas could express so much calm in just one syllable was anybody's guess. "Relax, there's no reason to worry."
Except that every single threat that Michael had ever made about Cas being off-limits, that Dean had always taken as a joke was currently running through his mind, and it wasn't so funny anymore. But other than that, Cas was right. No reason to worry whatsoever.
Ha freaking ha.
"What's the matter?"
The blonde exhaled sharply. "It's just that-" His lips thinned. "Growin' up, we were always just friends, you know, and now we're... not."
"And how does that affect your having dinner with my family?"
"Just... you know."
Despite the major lack of eloquence, Castiel seemed to understand what Dean was getting at. "Dean, my brothers always knew our friendship worked differently compared to other people's. I've never made friends easily, and the fact that I'd taken so much interest in you undoubtedly hinted at something... special." His eyebrows quirked amusedly as the elevator pinged and its doors opened up. "Their attitude towards you won't change in any way just because we are dating now."
His words worked, but any sort of comfort Dean had gotten flew out of the window when the muted yells came into earshot. Dean had hoped the swears were coming from another apartment, until he realised that Michael's penthouse was the only residence on the damn floor. What truly terrified him, though, was the silence that fell over the entire apartment the minute the elevator door closed behind them. He was grateful when he felt Cas' fingers slip in between his own.
There was a shout of, "Holy shit, was that the elevator, Mikey?!" and Dean barely had the time to register the voice as Gabriel's when a blond head poked out into he hallway.
"Looks like the lovebirds finally made it," Lucifer drawled, crossing his arms. The rest of him came into full view and he pressed on, "Oh, and they're holding hands."
Great. They were there for all of one millisecond, and Dean was already feeling twitchy.
Whatever retort Dean wanted to make was swallowed down, and instead he occupied himself with undoing the laces of his boots (rule number one in Michael Novak's house: shoes off before you do anything else).
"Hello, Lucifer. How are you?" Castiel returned as he toed out of his soft sneakers.
Lucifer caught his brother's head in the crook of his arm. Ruffling Castiel's hair despite his muffled sigh, the blond answered simply, "Starving." With an alarmingly bright grin, he looked over to Dean and jerked his chin deeper into the apartment. Dean followed warily as Lucifer tugged Cas along.
Michael's penthouse was gigantic. Its furniture was in sleek and modern shapes, varying between glossy metal, polished glass, and colour-coordinated shades of peacock blue, charcoal grey and chalky white. Two potted ferns and one particularly tall ficus tree stood in the corner, while an arrangement of magazines and one Wall Street Journal sat neatly stacked on a coffee table. Walls of windows stretching from the ceiling to the floor circled the entire living room, giving a near three-sixty view of Lawrence twinkling softly in the purple evening. There was nothing actually separating the living room from the dining room except for a single-step platform, raised about half a foot from the rest of the floor. On each end of the living room stood a lonesome archway, one leading to the bedrooms and the other leading to the kitchen, the source of all the noise.
Cas' buddy from work, Balthazar, lounged on one of the blue sofas, smirking behind his wine glass when the three entered. While Lucifer settled beside him with his feet propped onto his lap, the Brit remarked, "So, I hear California turned out very interesting." He received a wry smile and a scowl from Castiel and Dean respectively, but paid no attention. "Come off it. When were you going to tell us?" he asked, setting his glass aside.
"Never sounded pretty good to me," Dean muttered under his breath at the same time Castiel said, "Where are Michael and Gabriel?"
"Kitchen, Cassie!" Gabriel's chipper voice answered, and Cas' hand was in Dean's again, pulling him in the direction of the call. "C'mere, let me see if you got a tan!"
"Yeah? Don't hold your breath," Dean told him when they entered.
Gabriel barreled past him and caught Castiel in a crushing hug. Cas flailed a little, but managed to get one arm around his brother's lower back.
"It's good to see you, Gabriel."
"You know what, Cas, I think you might've gotten paler," Gabriel stated as he looked over his little brother. His pout easily slipped into a grin when he turned to Dean. "But, look at you, lover boy, all freckly and bronze. You even got a teensy bit of highlights!" The timer on the oven went off, and Gabriel quickly creaked the small glass door open. Peeking in and muttering, "Still needs another five minutes," he threw a glance over his shoulder. "Mikey, get a look at the guy who sticks his tongue down your baby brother's throat."
The awkward level blasted off well beyond the scale.
Michael, who Dean didn't even notice rummaging through the fridge, suddenly got up from his haunches and shut the door with a little more force than necessary. The fact that he held iceberg lettuce in his hands didn't make him any less intimidating.
The silence was tense, and it didn't disperse even when Gabriel cried a delighted, "Oh, good! You found it!" and took the green, leafy plant from his elder brother.
Michael couldn't seem to settle on what he wanted to say. Dean's brain took the moment to helpfully note that the fridge was large enough to fit a grown man inside.
"Winchester." Dean visibly jolted and got his head to focus on Michael. The Novak opened his mouth slowly, and Dean had an idea that he was picking his words carefully, if only for Castiel's sake. "How was the weather?"
Behind them, Gabriel unceremoniously burst into cackles, and did little to stifle them.
"Uh." Okay, weather. Safe topic, no chance of blurting out something inappropriate. Good choice, Michael. "Ah, good, yeah. No rain, so Jess was thrilled," Dean said while Cas stepped closer to his brother.
"And the wedding?" Michael asked, simultaneously accepting the hug from Castiel with one arm and flicking Gabriel in the back of the head with the other.
Dean nodded, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Great. It went great. Gabe, we gonna eat or what?"
Gabriel, who had been cursing Michael under his breath, replied, "Yep, all done. Get Lu and Balth to help with the table, okay?"
If there was one good thing coming out of this whole fiasco, it was that Dean was definitely not gonna go home hungry. Every single meal had a fancy french name, and as a result Dean- having taken Spanish in high school- couldn't follow what was what when Gabriel ran them through the different plates of food. The only thing he was sure he got right was the Greek salad. As for the rest, he'd have to guess. From that he could tell, the soup was leek and potato, and the finely sliced, roasted meat fenced in by golden potatoes was chicken.
"What's Sam planning to do next, now that the wedding's over?" Michael asked once the soup bowls had been cleared to the side.
Dean, accepting the salad bowl from Cas, replied, "He's found a local firm that's willing to try him out and see how it goes, then maybe make him an associate. Says he starts once he and Jess get back from the honeymoon."
Michael nodded. "And you? When does Henricksen want you back?"
"By the start of next month."
As the conversation turned to Gabriel and a story about one of his new coworkers, Dean helped himself to some potatoes, but stopped short when he felt a soft prod at his sock-clad foot. It stopped for a split second, then returned higher up by his ankle. A glance to the side established that it wasn't Cas- he was currently listening to his brother, but it couldn't have been him anyway, since he sat on Dean's left and the tap had come from the right. When the poke came again, Dean jerked his chin up, eyes honing in on the one person who just had to be across him.
Lucifer, the bastard, was openly leering at Balthazar- who was sitting beside Dean- pretending like he wasn't trying to play the world's awkwardest game of footsie with the Winchester. But Dean bit the proverbial bullet and turned back to his chicken. He did his best to remind himself this was all for Cas, to put in some goddamn effort in order to not fuck up.
Dean forced himself to listen to what Michael was talking about (which was his upcoming trip to Washington) so he could ignore Lucifer's persistent tapping.
"I still need to have Hester mail me the inventory-"
Two pokes, but Dean stayed stone-faced.
"-Raphael is planning to fly out early, however-"
A sharper jab.
"-don't think it's necessary, but Zachariah insists-"
Dean didn't hear the rest, his blood having frozen over when he felt the blond brush his foot against his calf. He jumped back sharply, inadvertently scooting his chair back a few inches.
"Are you okay, Dean?" Cas asked softly, looking genuinely worried.
"M'fine, just bit myself," Dean grit out. In the corner of his eye, he noticed Michael squint in his direction, though he didn't stop talking. Dean gave Cas what he hoped was a reassuring smile, even though he could feel it didn't reach his eyes, before subtly moving his chair back in again.
The second time Lucifer's foot came around, Dean was sure to kick him right in the shin, hard.
"Ow! Balth, what the hell?!" the Novak exclaimed.
All talk promptly stopped when everyone turned to Lucifer's boyfriend. Balthazar's fork stopped midair. "Pardon me?" He blinked.
"That was me," Dean hissed at Lucifer.
The other mouthed a mute, "Oh," then added to Balthazar, "So that's why you weren't responding."
Cas sighed, and pulled up the puppy eyes. "Lucifer, whatever you're doing, please stop."
Lucifer chuckled. "No, believe me, as hilarious as this situation is, it was unintentional. Promise," he said to Dean.
"So, Dean," Gabriel started again once things settled down. "How was the ride?"
Dean's brow furrowed, and he clarified, "Uh, the plane ride?"
"Sure, if that's what you want to call it. How'd it go? Was Cas, you know, on top of things?"
Jesus Christ.
"And Cas, how was Dean? He scream a lot?"
"Gabriel, that's enough," Michael ordered.
"What about take-off, Cassie? You guys manage to get it up all right?" Lucifer asked, then leaned in over his plate. "Was the cockpit satisfying?" There was a loud thud coming from underneath the table, followed closely by the Novak groaning, "God damn it, Dean, I was kidding."
"That one was me, Lucifer," Castiel corrected monotonously, and Dean wanted to kiss him then and there. Cas shot him a small side-glance, smiling gently. His hand found the other's under the table- Dean could feel it when Cas' thumb rubbed against his knuckle.
Dinner took a much calmer route after that, and soon enough, Dean was sitting on the sofa with a plate of steaming apple pie, Cas having had kicked him out of the kitchen to keep him from helping with the dishes. Michael was seated next to him, watching the ridiculously-sized plasma screen TV switch through a myriad of channels as he searched for a worthwhile program. They didn't talk, the resulting quiet was plenty uncomfortable, and the longer it carried on, the more likely it was that Dean would blab about something stupid out of sheer pressure.
Animal Planet flickered to life, and Michael seemed temped for a moment, until he realised it was a documentary on woodworms and thought better of it. Next was National Geographic, but whatever show that had been airing had already reached the ending credits.
Dean's head snapped up in surprise when Michael decided to speak. "You know, when Cas said you were taking him out to Sam's wedding, I didn't realise he meant you were taking him as his date." His tone was all casual, like he wasn't struggling with the urge to throttle something (probably Dean).
Dean stayed silent, because what the hell was he supposed to say to that?
Michael pressed on while Fox Crime came and went. "It's serious, then? There's no way this is going to turn into some horrible practical joke Gabriel's orchestrated?"
To his own astonishment, Dean chuckled. "Nope."
MLB Network was up next, and the other's finger wavered on the remote. It was a re-run of last night's game- Yankees versus Mets.
"Do I need to warn you?" Michael asked seriously, his eyes never leaving the pitcher on TV.
"Anything in mind that you haven't been telling me since high school?" Dean countered.
"No."
"Then we're good."
"Good," Michael returned.
Dean scowled as the screen declared the hit as strike one. "What was Turley doing?"
"Completely ridiculous, he was off throughout the whole game," Michael agreed with a grimace.
Dean nodded, then stopped short. He blinked one, twice, and looked over at the Novak. Michael met his glance with a similar look of confused wonder.
"You know, Dean," Michael finally declared, "there might be something worthwhile about you after all."
He could have been imagining things, but Dean thought he saw a small hint of a smile.
Castiel watched the soapsuds glide down the sides of the sink as he loaded the last of Michael's glazed, porcelain plates into the dishwasher. After he wiped down his hands against a cloth, he leaned back against the counter. From the living room, the high-pitched ping of a metal bat hitting a baseball could be heard, immediately met with cheers of a televised crowd and two real-life whoops of triumph.
Gabriel snickered beside him as the dishwasher hummed to life. "Idiots. Fifteen years, and they never realised they're both giant, nerdy fanboys."
"I don't think they realise how similar they actually are," Castiel concurred.
Another hit, this time accompanied by groans and a particularly bewildered, "Are you serious?!"
Gabriel tossed his own rag over his shoulder. "You're lucky your love muffin's not a Red Sox buff, otherwise we'd be in real trouble."
A/N: Let me start off by saying, I know nothing about baseball. Everything mentioned is from the Internet, so please don't hurt me if it's all wrong!
Okay, now that that's over, some general stuff: This is gonna be a series of oneshots based after the events of 'Fake it Till You Make It'. It would be helpful to read that first, but I think you can manage if you don't. Also, there's no real schedule for writing here, this is just my way of coping with impending exams (finals start in May D:), so updates will vary!
For those who wonder, the title 'Little Darling' is a reference to The Beatles's 'Here Comes The Sun'!