Title: For rent
Relationship: Castiel Novak/Dean Winchester
Type: Alternate-Universe
See, things aren't supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be a young, wild, free and fucking rich man. But no no no no no no . God said, 'you can't get everything you want you lil shit' and made a joke with his life.
He's standing in front of the altar – altar for fuck's sake – tuxedo and all, feeling out of sorts. Like someone just shoved a fucking horse up his arse and was told to do a perfect production of ballet. The priest in front of him says something about sickness and health and poorer or richer, the type of false promises that some self-proclaimed holy thrust under people's nose thinking it'll keep them together.
Forever.
Like that exist, right? So why the hell is he doing this again?
Oh yeah, it happened three fucking days ago.
He's hangover as fuck, he tries to move and it feels like a really really bad idea but his phone's been ringing for a while now, and he loves Stairway to heaven but goddamn it could be fucking annoying when it's nine or ten in the morning. Dean sits up and looks for his mobile, "Jesus mother of-" he choked when he felt the throbbing pain his last night's conquest gave and what the fucking hell? It's like probably past one in the afternoon, Christ.
Finally locating his phone – which was wedged between the thigh of (what's her name again? Something with S? Oh, right Shiela) Shiela and someone else's thigh, (Kit or kat, he doesn't fucking remember and hey, it's not like there's a fucking rule about one night stands and names right? Except, don't give a dip shit what or who as long as he can shove his dick when he needs it) and smiles as he remember that his night was god damn well spent if he say so himself.
He was cut out of his ego petting when he brought the said device in his ear only to hear a soft sweet voice at the end, "Good morning love or should I say afternoon?"
"Good afternoon, Lala D" he answers with too much enthusiasm despite his raging hangover.
"Oh, someone had a good night" his grandmother coos. "Anyway, I am very sorry darling, I can't come home tomorrow for your twenty fifth birthday." She was genuinely sad; she loves her grandsons too much for their own good or more like for Dean's good.
"Hey La, its okay. I'll be fine, you know I'm your big boy." He walks to the door, wobbling slightly while looking back at –Shiela? – Shiela and Kit-kat gesturing them to hurry up as they sit up and fumbling with their clothes.
Deana Campbell or Lala D, as Dean and Sam would call her is not an idiot. She loves her grandsons very much even though she never really liked their father. And when her two favorite little boys were found alone in the Winchester mansion by the helper, she took them home and told John to stay with your that woman and never come back. Deana spent her waking day giving everything for her daughter's boys. She knows them like she knows the alphabet, easy elementary, and maybe that's why she lets Dean get away with everything – she could add Sam but really, she'll let the baby of the family get away with everything if Sam did anything that needed to get away with; everyone knows Sam is the gentle giant of the family, he takes after her mother in ways Dean didn't. – because she knows Dean, she knows and trust her grandson because even with his recklessness, he's loyal bordering to a fault and he loves his family too much unlike his father despite the boy's hero worship for the man before everything went to hell.
"I know, I really feel bad, I'll make it up to you. What do you want for your birthday?"
Phone in hand, against his ears, Dean walked his 'one-night-bed-warmers' (yes, with 's' because, duh? Awesome!) out the door each with a last farewell grope from their behinds. "How about you give me my trust fund tomorrow?" he chuckles a hint of hope in his voice. The thing is, it's not that he doubts he'll get his trust fund tomorrow, he just want to make sure. Especially with the kind of shit he's in right now.
The problem is Dean knows he's rich. So, he wastes what he thinks he has too much. So he uses some of his client's deposit in exchange for sex and booze and every night at the bar impressing chicks and (sometimes dudes with dicks that gets hard for dudes like him) wasting life because he's fucking Dean fucking Winchester, a smile away from burning anyone's underwear and lots of cash for shit like gambling and just shit, because he's turning twenty five tomorrow and a few millions won't hurt his trust fund.
Which is like a hundred million dollars.
Which he will be fucking swimming on tomorrow.
Because tomorrow is his birthday and he will be twenty five and he will get his trust fucking fund. Hell to the yeah mother fucker.
His internal fist pump was aborted when his grandmother sighs, "You know you'll get it, Dee. You are turning twenty five tomorrow and you will get it tomorrow." He's in the kitchen now pulling a slice of pie, not bothering to wear anything but boxers.
"Awesome." he sighs, mouth full of Apple pie. "fun-fucking-tastic." Seriously.
There was a loud banging in the Novak's front door, the sound travelling from room to room and startling Castiel awake and his siblings; Gabriel and Anna.
The three grunts in unison, but it's that time of the month and Castiel knows better not to let Uriel wait unless they want to live without a door or even worse, live in the streets. Even though it's only him, Gabriel and Anna, finding a decent shade on the street that can accommodate the three of them is near impossible.
He rubs the sleep away from his eyes while he tries to tame his hair- tame enough to look decent and not look like a slob. He quickly jerks Anna and Gabriel awake, he will need the extra mouth and puppy eyes he can get if they all want a roof above their heads.
They shuffle behind the door, pleasing smiles plastered across their faces and true enough, when they open the door, a scowling Uriel awaits.
"Good morning, Uriel." They say at the same time. They've been doing this for months so it's not really shocking that they sound perfectly in sync. A well practiced morning indeed.
"Novaks." Uriel says with disdain, "You're already six months late in paying your rent, now either you pay me now or leave."
"Uriel-" Anna tries but was cut off by Uriel.
"No, Anna. I've been patient with you and your brothers but if you do not pay me what you owe, the street is wide for you and your little family to sleep on." he spats
They stood there at a loss for words. They've been struggling for a good year now with Anna's pregnancy and Gabriel was fired due to his… well, antics. It's been ten years since their father left them with nothing but 'Sorry, take care of your sister and brothers' to Michael. But Michael would have none of it and left with their father, leaving a fifteen year old Castiel in charge. Castiel didn't resent his brother nor his father for leaving him with the such responsibility, even when he's supposed to be the one being taken care of since he's the youngest. Instead, Castiel took the responsibility without batting an eye. He never questioned why, he just did and he loved and protected what little he had left. "We will give you your money, Uriel." he says calmly. "We only wish for a little time."
"I've given you plenty for the past six months, Castiel." Uriel snaps
With a little convincing and puppy eyes from Anna, Uriel let them have until next week to pay their rent.
"What a dick!" Gabriel snarls as he watch Castiel phase, thinking. "How are we going to do this, huh?" he sighs.
"I don't know Gabe." Replies Anna dejectedly. "Cas?" she turns her gaze towards her brother. Castiel always was the smart one after all.
"I do not know either." There's a long pause. "But we cannot give up," he smiles softly at his sister. "We are Novaks and Novaks will never concede."
"Sorry lil bro. You're supposed to be running naked, having sex and doing the walk of shame. Instead, you're doing this…" Gabe gestures his hand between the three of them "taking care of us instead of the other way around." he says sadly.
A/N: I wanna cry because I want this fic to be good but my english and grammar and shit is shit and I still don't fucking have my one and true beta that I will spend the rest of my life worshiping. *pining forever*
Anyway, as I just said, this is so unbeta'ed, all fault is on my account and I just want a be-eh-eh-eh-ta *sobs, sniffle, wipes snot* please enjoy *touches your face with snot-hands* oops. (whispers "beta for rent")
Please leave comments! Thanks for taking a time off and reading my crappy feelings. 3
* .vu jfyi