Castiel Novak was asleep. Again. He had been out late last night, drinking, and gotten back to the house early. It was practically high noon and he was snoozing still, deep in dreamland. The thick black leather couch was covered in mismatched blankets and dirty clothes. A duffel bag or two was slung up against the wall. All around him were posters of famous bands and broken amps and cases for all the guitars stacked in the studio – mounted on the wall, or chillaxing on stands, all the guitars were polished and well looked after. After all, the owner of the house was a music lover. Capos and picks and polish littered the tables.
Heavy footsteps came down the stairs, pausing halfway. They took in the figure on the couch with reproach. Continuing their decent, they lifted something from a stand and tossed it onto the sleeping figure. Jumping out of his skin Castiel gripped the electric guitar protectively and snapped out of his dreams. "I told you to practice, not sleep," Dean scolded.
"Would it help if I said I was dreaming about you?" Cas offered sleepily, yawning.
"No," Dean shot back, swiftly taking his coffee and going into the soundproof room in the back. The confidence in his stride was arrogance but he smelled like a fresh shower and a shave. Nice combo.
Sighing, Cas rolled over and sat up, rubbing his face as he balanced the electric guitar against his knee. It had been weeks of this banter. After being kicked out of his house last month, Cas had been forced to ask lodgings of his guitar teacher, a man teaching music at the local college; Dean Winchester. Cas himself was going to classes too, but not many and not nearly often enough.
He was in a rut. His life had taken a back-slide after his last ex ditched him and took most of his stuff; including his car. He'd lost everything - even his family, when he'd told them why he'd lost all his things. Because he'd been dating a guy. A rough guy into some bad stuff. A rough guy who had smashed his heart into pieces.
But Dean was the only one who cared. He was there with open arms, and an open couch, when Cas had come to his doorstep in the middle of the night. An angry, emotional mess. He didn't care that he was gay or that he was destitute. He'd made him dinner and set him up straightened him out in the time he'd been allowed to stay here. His kindness had done wonders for the young prodigy. Finally, someone was helping him heal from the wounds he'd inflicted on himself.
That was something Cas wanted to repay. He had no way to repay him, of course, jobless and having to pay for classes and lessons. But he had another idea. One Dean seemed keen on reflecting away from him.
Rising from the couch, Cas followed Dean into the soundproof room and sat on one of the stools, plugging up the guitar as his teacher tuned an acoustic in the corner by the table. His blue eyes softened as he watched Dean's agile fingers turn each end until the strings sang in perfect melody. It made his heart ache to see such love for music. Looking down at his own guitar, he pulled a pick from his pocket and began to work out a small beginning chord. Truth was, he had a crush on Dean. A major one. They were only a few years apart and Dean had his entire life together. Job, damn nice car, a house, a community… He was accommodating and gruff and rough around the edges but he was full of kindness. It was like seeing a ball of light in a rose bush. Get through the thorns and you get to the most fantastic part of a person.
Truth was, the song he was playing was about Dean. He'd written a melody a few days ago trying to get his emotions onto paper. The pen had jumped and scribbled in his hand until it was done. Until it was perfect. Well, not perfect; it needed tweaking. But he was sure he'd captured everything in the rough draft.
Fingers working over the strings, Cas drew a sweet, sad melody out of the air and sent it reverberating across the room from the hissing amplifier. He plucked each string and slid his fingers along the frets and poured his heart into getting everything just perfect. The draw of the pauses, the silence in between choruses, the buzz of the notes. Everything was drawn out exactly right. He finished it off shortly and realized he'd had his eyes shut. Blinking, he looked at his guitar, which was balanced precariously in his lap. He needed a strap for it. Maybe Iron Man. Then he could name the guitar Toni.
Lifting his eyes to see if Dean had anything to say, he was taken aback by the look in his eyes. His heart jumped into his throat and his face flushed with heat. Dean's full attention was trained on him. Those sharp, edgy green eyes were drinking him in with guarded sincerity, the level of affection in the part of his lips made Cas's pulse race. The love there was everything Cas had wished for and way more. He broke his stare as if realizing he was being silent and cleared his throat.
"That's damn good, kid," he offered.
Cas cradled his guitar and stared at him, nodding gently. "I've been… working on it for someone." His words seemed foreign on his tongue, as if someone else was making him confess. The sting of anxiety in his roiling belly spread to his chest and throat. He tried to swallow it away as Dean shifted in his chair but it was useless.
Looking him over, Dean appeared to be debating something internally. He clenched his jaw. His Adams apple bobbed. Cas held his breath. It was like a storm inside him. Then, finally, Dean nodded in return, meeting his eyes with a guarded acceptance. "Well it needs some work. But it's a damn good start."