Netflix AU
"Hello, Netflix customer service. This is Castiel, how may I help you?" Wow, okay, that's a voice, Dean Winchester thought. It reminded him of his morning coffee. Strong and familiar, but with an edge that Dean could never quite put his finger on. Pretty deep, kinda gravelly—goddamn, I need to get laid STAT—
"Hello?" The voice crackled again over Dean's cell phone.
"Oh, yeah, hi," Dean coughed, "I'm, uh, I'm having trouble with my Netflix." Smooth, Winchester. Because the customer service guy— Carter? Casper? Cas-something— hasn't already figured that out.
"Absolutely, sir. Give me a moment so I can pull up your account details," the voice replied. Faint clicking from the man's keyboard drifted over the line as he spoke.
"Okay, awesome," Dean replied. After a moment, he pursed his lips, sucked in a breath, and ventured, "So, what was your name again?"
"Castiel."
"Okay, awesome." Dean rubbed his temples. Wait, shit, didn't I just say that? Crap. Ah, whatever. Looking at his watch, Dean yawned for what seemed like the fifteenth time in the last hour. 11:31, on a Friday night no less. He should be out, doing something, picking someone up… the hunter groaned in irritation.
"What was that, sir?" Castiel asked.
"Oh, nothing. I'm just frustrated," Dean faltered.
"That is completely understandable, sir," Castiel said, "What seems to be the problem?"
"I'm tryna stream Game of Thrones. My moron of a little brother watched it without me, so I gotta catch up," Dean replied. There was no response, save for increased clicking noises from the customer service center. Dean fiddled with his favorite pocketknife and mused over the past few months. It'd been great to settle down a bit, Dean admitted to himself. But having a secret hideaway at his house made it difficult to meet girls—or guys, not that he'd tell Sam—at the local bar, which was not very local. He remembered the brunette chick he'd banged last time, the one with the nice ass and one-sided smile. Playing through their midsummer encounter, Dean's gloominess dissipated until he realized that instead of the girl's high voice, he was substituting the rough, sandpapery one of the man on the phone. His eyes snapped open. Shit, he hadn't even realized that he'd closed them. This was not good. Maybe I'd better hang up, Dean thought. I can try to get a chick. He pulled the phone away from his ear, but just as he was about to press the "end call" button, the other man's voice came through from the speaker.
"Probably just an access issue. I should have it fixed in about thirty minutes," he assured. Dean temporarily forgot about his other needs as he faced the prospect of waiting another half hour to see what asshole moves Joffrey pulled next. He checked the time again: 11:38.
"So, do I hang up or something?" Dean asked.
"No, I would like you to remain on the phone until the service begins working again." The Netflix guy—crap, Dean forgot his name again already—began to type again. Dean wrinkled his nose. A minute passed. He yawned. Damn, it was late. When did I become an old man? Dean wondered. I bet the customer service dude is tired too. Unless he's in India or something, but his voice doesn't sound Indian. Definitely not Indian.
"What time is it for you, Cas?" Dean blurted. Immediately, he wanted to slap himself upside the head. Where the hell did that name come from? Cas? That's what you get for not finishing high school—a shit memory. God, this guy's gonna hate me.
"I'm not at liberty to give out my location, sir," Cas recited, seemingly unfazed by the new nickname. Dean felt heat rise in his cheeks.
"Oh, yeah, sure. Sorry."
"It is no problem, Mr. Winchester." Mr. Winchester. Goddamn it all. Dean was really blushing now, and it had to stop.
"It's Dean," he stated, keeping his voice as steady as possible.
"My apologies, sir. Dean." Cas was silent for a few seconds, before he abruptly announced, "I must put you on hold for a few minutes. I have to go elsewhere in my building to check on the status of your account."
"Oka—" Hold music cut Dean off halfway through. Ah, well. I've got a few minutes. Might as well grab a beer. Dean put the phone on speaker and tucked it into his pocket before walking into the bunker's kitchen. He busied himself with a few chores, and before he knew it, Cas' voice came through over the tinny speaker.
"I believe your service should be working again. Did you want to try streaming your show?"
"Yeah, sounds good," Dean replied. He walked down the hallway back to his room, half-drunk beer in one hand and phone in the other. Plopping himself down on the bed, he woke up the computer and selected the newest episode.
"It seems to be working on my end, Mr.—Dean," Cas interjected.
"Wait… yep, it's streaming. Thanks a lot, man," Dean said. Hey, maybe my Netflix'll break down again tomorrow and I'll have to call this guy back just for the voice. Damn, how can a voice be so freaking attractive? Dean struggled to pull himself together. C'mon. Don't be stupid. It's just a customer service rep that's probably in Canada or some shit. You're being desperate.
"Maybe," Cas spoke again, "Maybe I should stay on the line, just to make sure that it continues to stream correctly." Was Dean imagining it, or did he hear a hitch in Cas' voice? Either way, he wasn't gonna turn the man down.
"Sure, that'd be smart. Y'know, for the technology and all that. Good service," Dean agreed. It didn't come out quite as coherently as he'd wanted, though.
"Then just continue to play the episode, Dean. What's on your screen will be mirrored on mine, so I can keep track of any technical errors you may have," Cas explained, "You may have to update me on the plot, however."
"I thought you were doing this for 'technical errors,' huh?" Dean teased. Whoops, that was flirtier than intended. Whatever.
"I like to get enjoyment where I can," Cas retorted smoothly. Dean gulped. Certainly Dean wasn't imagining that—Cas was definitely teasing him back. He pressed play, and began telling Cas about the characters as the opening credits rolled.
"That was pretty great," Dean broke the silence as the final words flashed across the screen. The episode was engaging, but if Dean was being honest, watching with Cas was even more so. The guy had a rumbling laugh that matched his voice perfectly. Dean spent more time tuning into Cas' reactions than the show itself, a fact that made Dean feel like a ditzy schoolgirl.
"I agree. I'd never seen Game of Thrones before, and I believe you have converted me," Cas chuckled, unaware of Dean's predicament. I bet I could convert you a couple of ways, Dean smirked.
"I am surprised that you get service at all where you are. It's a very secluded spot," Cas continued.
"What? How do you know where I live?" Dean was bewildered. Apparently, supernatural spells didn't protect you from the prying eyes of a video streaming company.
"It's listed in your account, Mr. Winchester," Cas answered.
"Dean," Dean corrected automatically.
"Sorry," the representative apologized. Shit, now you've gone and made him feel bad. Shit.
"Don't worry about it, Cas," Dean assured, "Anyways, how'd ya know that the service sucks here? Do you have one of those maps, like in the Verizon commercials?"
"I am familiar with the area," Cas said simply. Dean's eyes widened. He grabbed an empty beer bottle from his nightstand and twisted the top repeatedly, working his jaw. Aw, to hell with it, Dean thought. I'm gonna go for it.
"Well, you're right. The only place around here that gets good reception is the Moby," Dean said nonchalantly. He heard choking sound from the other end and inquired, "Cas, man, you okay?"
"I'm fine, Dean," Cas cleared his throat, "Just swallowed wrong."
"That doesn't happen at the Moby," Dean quipped. Shit, too sexual. That's what you get for bringing up an underground gay bar. The guy's probably a raging homophobe and he's gonna cancel your Netflix subscription forever. No guy, no Game of Thrones. Nice one. Dean's internal monologue blabbered on as the phone line went silent, interrupted only by Cas' occasional cough.
"No, it doesn't. At least not in my experience," Cas said, startling Dean out of his growing void of self-pity.
"Excuse me, what?" Dean shook his head. "What was that?"
"I said, not in my experience." Cas spoke slowly and deliberately, and his voice rounded out each vowel, and Dean shivered.
"Oh." One syllable was all Dean could muster. Surprise clogged his throat like a bite of bad taco.
"I live a couple hours away, so I like to make my visits count," Cas said. Dean caught a slight waver in the other man's voice, and for the first time he wondered if Cas was as close to crapping his own pants as Dean was.
"Same here," Dean said.
"I know," Cas retorted, and Dean could hear the smile in Cas' voice.
"So, um…" For the first time in a really, really long time, Dean had no clue what to say.
"I tend to be there on Thursdays," Cas offered.
"Okay, awesome." A smile broke through and spread across Dean's face.
"See you Thursday, Mr. Winchester."
"Dean."
"Sounds good, Dean." Cas laughed quietly and ended the call.
Goddamn, this guy is gonna be the death of me.