The flat was quiet and dark when Dean let himself in. His eyes adjusted to the darkness as he took off his shoes and leather jacket. His fingers brushed against the familiar material of a trenchcoat. He smiled; Cas was home, then. There had been some event at the school to celebrate the contract for a learning partnership with Richard Roman Enterprises which Crowley, the head of Cas's school, had managed to seal (Cas called it "a match made in hell", while Dean usually referred to it as "the Dick move"). His flatmate had joked that he might actually come home later than Dean, who had had a late shift today. Apparently, though, he had gone home early, as Dean had expected him to.

Dean dropped his bag in his room, changed into a sleeping T-shirt and sweatpants and paid a visit to the bathroom before walking further down the hallway to the kitchen. His throat was a bit sore from the cool, dry air the ventilation system blew through the airport buildings all day. Not wanting to switch on the light and possibly wake Cas, Dean felt his way past the fridge and the kitchen table before he filled himself a glass of lukewarm water. It didn't taste remarkably good but it eased the soreness in his throat.

He was just about to leave the kitchen and go to sleep when the lights were turned on.

"Who the fuck are you?" an angry female voice demanded.

Dean blinked against the harsh artificial light. A short woman with wavy, dark hair and a heart-shaped face stood in the doorway in her pants and a purple shirt. He had never met her before. "I could ask you the same thing."

She raised her chin. "My boyfriend lives here."

Boyfriend? Dean thought. Cas hadn't mentioned a lady in the last couple of months. "Well, yeah, he has a flatmate."

The woman came closer, her eyes so narrowed they almost seemed black. "I'm calling the police."

"Do that", Dean said in a tone of mock approval.
"They'll be delighted to investigate the case of a guy who broke into his own flat with a key."

She moved faster than he would have expected her to. Suddenly the cutlery drawer was open and Purple Shirt pointed a carving knife at his chest.
"Leave."

Dean wasn't stupid enough to argue with someone holding a weapon. Hands raised, he backed out of the kitchen, only to bang against Cas's door as he passed it. "Cas! Dude, come out."

The door opened seconds later. Blue eyes blinked slowly at Dean and the woman.

"Dean, what…oh." Cas approached the woman. "Meg, please put down the knife. That's Dean, my flatmate. Dean, this is Meg."

"Pleasure." His voice came out in a snarl.

Meg didn't lower the knife, either; Cas had to pry it from her fingers. She turned towards him. "You could've said something, you know."

Dean growled in annoyance; he really didn't need this at three o'clock in the morning. "Well, I'll be going to sleep, in my own bed in my own room, if you don't mind." He turned on his heels and left.

Cas and Meg were already arguing, Meg's voice getting louder and more piercing with every sentence, so he pulled the covers over his head and tried to drown out the sounds. His thoughts raced. Who was Meg? How had she and Cas found each other? Why hadn't Cas told him? Why hadn't Cas told her about Dean? And what – Dean's stomach dropped – was he supposed to do if the two ever got more serious?

Two years ago, after a nasty break-up with Mark, the tattoo artist with an inclination to aggression, Dean had been looking for a flat. But living space was rare and expensive, so it had been a stroke of luck when he had run into Cas during house-hunting. They had known each other before that; they had been good friends at school and stayed in loose contact afterwards. Dean couldn't remember who had made the suggestion that they share a flat but they had easily agreed to give it a try; and two years later they were still happy with the arrangement.

Now, however, this would change. Dean couldn't possibly share a flat with Cas-and-Meg. He would have to go looking for something else – again. The thought alone made him want to punch something. There were no flats suitable for a single person, not in the good parts of town, not for a reasonable price. Dean ground his teeth. It wasn't fair –

Quick steps in the hallway, and Meg's voice, close to his door.
"Well, it's been a real slice knowing you, Clarence."
"Castiel."
"Whatever."
The entrance door slammed shut. There was a tentative knock on Dean's door, and Cas's voice. "Dean?"

He didn't reply, and after a moment, he heard Cas go back to his room.

"I made coffee."

Dean stared at the steaming mug Cas put in front of him, then at the guy himself. Cas sighed. "Drink, please. I want to explain."

"Meg was right about one thing, you know", Dean blurted out. "You could've said."

"Said what? 'Dean, heads-up when you come home, there's a heavily intoxicated woman on the kitchen sofa'?"

"Wait, she slept on the sofa?" Dean glanced over to see the crumpled pillows and the blanket carelessly draped over the armrest. "Ew. I hope you didn't have fun on that thing. I could never sit down there again."

"Were you listening to me?" Cas asked, mildly annoyed. "We didn't 'have fun' anywhere. She was drunk."

"Good thing she has such a caring boyfriend, then, huh?"

"Dean Winchester. Will you drink your fucking coffee already and let me explain?"

Reluctantly, Dean picked up the mug. The coffee smelled delicious. He took a sip and looked at his friend expectantly.

"Meg is a journalist. Crowley knows her from the articles she wrote about Rowan High when he was the head there. He invited her to the party because she'll portray his success with his new school in a good light. But he was too busy fawning on Mr Roman –"

"– the Dick –"

"You really shouldn't let him hear that, Dean", Cas said with a smile in his voice. "Anyway, Crowley was busy so he basically threw Meg at me. Apparently, he went to college with Luke and figured that someone who is Luke's type would also be mine, because that's how brothers work." He rolled his eyes.

"It wasn't bad. Meg is a good conversational partner if she doesn't threaten one with a knife. Only, she had too much alcohol – not that I blame her, the party was dreadful – and I couldn't let her go home alone, or even get a cab. So I brought her here. I would have given her my bed and slept in the kitchen but she passed out on the couch." Cas let out a breath. "There. I didn't hide her from you, we didn't fornicate on the sofa, and you don't have to start looking for flats."

Dean nearly choked. "How'd you –"

"Well – it's the conclusion I would jump to. If you brought someone home." Cas shrugged.

Dean nodded slowly, then grinned into his coffee. "I'm not sure if she was as drunk as she pretended to be, buddy."

Cas gave him a puzzled look. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, for one, she must have agreed to come here with you. And then she was angry that you didn't tell her about me – which I understand: you wanna bang someone, you'll want to know if a third person might barge in. And she told me that you were her boyfriend, which kinda took me by surprise."

Cas coughed and got up. "Well, she was wrong to do so", he muttered.