Authors Note: So I was listening to the radio and the song A Team by Ed Sheeran came on, and this plot bunny decided to eat at my brain until I wrote about it, so here it is. Expect updates… actually don't. I'm really bad at updating, so just never expect them. Each new update can be a surprise! This follows canon as accurately as it can being AU, but I hope you will enjoy.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
White lips, pale face
Breathing in snowflakes
Burnt lungs, sour taste
Light's gone, day's end
Struggling to pay rent
Long nights, strange men
A blond male straightens his clothing one last time as he heads for the door. The room around him is dimly lit, black walls absorbing most of the light coming from the single fluorescent lamp attached to the ceiling. A bed covered in blood-red sheets sits in the far corner, but the sheets have long been pulled off and pile on the floor. The white mattress peeks out from underneath the last red blanket hanging on the bed. The floor is covered in more black, a heavy black carpet that muffles the sound of the man's footsteps as he finally arrives before the door. He reaches out to twist the doorknob and steps out of the room silently, entering the equally dimly lit hallway. The heavy wooden door swings shut behind him.
Blue eyes flutter open at the sound of the door swinging shut. There is another male in the room, and he swings his legs over the bed slowly. His eyes squeeze shut again from the sharp pain that shoots up his spine, but he ignores that in favor of heading towards the door. A long tan trench coat lays splayed out on the carpet, and the man bends down slowly to pick up his coat. There is another sharp sting in his spine, and he can't help but let out a little gasp at the pain. Straightening up again, he slides the bills the blond man placed earlier in his hand into a hidden pocket on the inside of the coat, and his arms into the oversized sleeves. He wraps the coat around his naked body and ties the belt around his waist.
The blue-eyed man stumbles a little as he makes his way out the door and down the hallway. The lights had been turned off hours ago, the establishment closed at two. The man turns to read the clock on the wall, and the 3:30 AM shaped flashing green light stings his eyes mockingly. His hands turn white from gripping the railing as he makes his way down the stairs. More pain, but duller this time. Easier to ignore. His feet finally find the last stair, and the man breathes a sigh of relief as he walks onto level ground. The stage to his right is empty, the heavy outer black curtains pulled shut so that only a few inches of the wooden base is visible. A DJ booth sits to the opposite side of the club, almost completely obscured by the shadow of the stage. The normally crowded dance floor is empty, and the colorful glass panels that make up its floor are turned off. They look their normal clear instead of the flashing neon colors that shine when customers are around.
The man walks slowly along the left-hand wall, passing by rows and rows of tables. The chairs have long since been put up and the floor underneath mopped for tomorrow's… or is that now considered today's crowd. Finally, he arrives at the bar. Layer and layers of bottles are stacked neatly in the cabinets, and the entire area still smells like alcohol. He ducks underneath the table and walks into the back room.
A hand reaches up and knocks against a door. A black plate reading manager is nailed to the side of the door.
"Come in." The blue-eyed man pushes open the door and enters the manager's office. Like the room he was in before, this one is also covered in heavy black carpet and black walls. However, this room has a jet-black desk sitting in the middle of the room instead of a bed.
"You always have to give me the most demanding ones, don't you?" The man asks. His voice is deep for someone of his build. Crowley just scoffs, smoothing a hand over his suit.
"Come on, Kitten. You know you're my best man. Can't have anyone saying the service was bad, now can we?" Crowley reaches into his desk and pulls out a clear plastic bag. A black ribbon is tied to the top, keeping the contents inside. A spiky red D is clearly written in… well, a spiky red D is written on the end of the ribbon. Castiel eyes the white powder inside the bag hungrily. "Catch, kitten" Crowley tosses the bag over towards Castiel.
The bag easily slips through Castiel's fumbling fingers and lands on the floor. Castiel wastes no time in snatching it up greedily and tucking it into his trench coat. He turns to leave, his payment received.
"See you tonight, kitten. Don't be late. You're booked all night." Crowley calls out after him as Castiel walks out.
The nightclub is just a short block away from Castiel's apartment, but he still finds it exhausting to travel such a distance. The alleyways are dark this time of night; the only things lighting his way are a few half-broken streetlights. Castiel's not quite sure how he manages to make it back to his shabby apartment, but before he realizes it he's already inside and the door is locking shut behind him.
The inside of his apartment is covered in dust. The tiny kitchen, if it could be called that, has cupboards covered in dirty dishes and take-out boxes. The main area has one shabby couch sitting in the middle of the room, beige covering ripped open to expose the stuffing inside. To the right, a door leads to Castiel's bedroom, which has one lonely bed and nightstand.
A fire escape is attached to the one window that provides some natural light into his apartment, and doubles as his balcony. A bird feeder sits nicely in the center of his makeshift balcony, the bottom filled to the brim with food. In the daytime, there would be ten to fifteen pigeons eating from it at a time. However, Castiel pays none of this any attention.
Castiel barely has time to take his money out from his pocket and place it on his nightstand before he is reaching for the needle in the top drawer.
White powder spills out onto the floor as Castiel fills the needle as quickly as he can. When he gets as much powder into the syringe as his shaking hands will allow, he throws the bag to the side as he prepares the shot. The powder dissolves as Castiel adds water into his shot.
With one practiced movement, the tip of the syringe breaks skin and the water-powder mixture is flowing into his bloodstream. Castiel sighs in happiness as the last few drops are pushed out of the syringe, and he slowly removes the needle and tosses it back into the drawer.
He can feel the effects already, energy pumping through his system. Castiel jumps out of bed, and runs to the living room to enjoy his next half hour of bliss.
