Dean dumped his bag on the floor and glared at the newcomer.
"Listen, buddy, I don't know what the hell planet you're from…"
"He's from planet kick-our-asses-and-get-us-suspended," Gabriel hissed at him, eyes wide with terror. "In the galaxy of don't-be-a-wise-ass."
"No way. He can't just come in here and tell us how to run our frat…"
"It rather appears that he can." Balthazar sighed, not pausing in his bookshelf stacking. "And, has."
"You would do well to listen to your friends, Mr Winchester." The newcomer did not smile, and continued to glare at Dean. "Now, if you would care to show me around?"
"Sure." Dean said, eventually, managing to just about reconfigure his features into something resembling a smile (in roughly the same way a shark resembles a goldfish), "but, uh, could the guys have a chance to tidy their dorms first? We had kinda a rough weekend, and you should really see the house as it normally is, right?"
Castiel didn't immediately object, and Dean turned his smile on the other members of his Fraternity.
"Alright guys. Want to get this place ship shape?"
They nodded, and dispersed into their dorms. Every pledge learned shortly after initiation that 'ship shape' was a code phrase, meaning 'I don't care how you do it, but scare this dipshit off by whatever means necessary'. Only those who could survive the house in Ship Shape earned the (grudging) respect of the Frat members. It may sound immature, but it was really used more for self-defence than anything; the young men of Omega Beta Pi had long since learned that they couldn't steal what they couldn't find.
However, this had the unfortunate side effect of leaving Dean alone with the strange new visitor.
"I guess we could start in the kitchen?"
Castiel nodded, and waited for Dean to lead the way. Dean stared at him.
"Since you're already in it."
Castiel looked around at the wall of cupboards, the old fridge, the cooker that had never been cleaned, and the tiny, ex-diner, grease-and-tacky-formica-covered table.
"This?" Castiel said.
"That." Dean nodded.
"This is your kitchen?"
Dean nodded again. "And that…" he pointed at the adjoining room, where the other Frat members had been restacking bookshelves. "that's the library. Slash study. Downstairs there's a bathroom, and a closet. Then in the basement there's two bedrooms, plus… y'know, basement space, then there's four bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs, and another two bedrooms up in the attic."
Castiel stared at him for a moment, as if trying to decipher a joke. Then, he realised Dean was being serious.
"Oh… Well… It's a little smaller than I'd expected, but, uh…"
"It's not the size tha counts. It's what you do with it." Dean grinned. It was a cocky, lopsided grin that put Castiel on edge. He found himself instantly wanting to punch it off of his smug face. How could this boy (for he was a boy, no more than nineteen and obviously incredibly immature) be in charge of a fraternity? No wonder the place was a pig sty, no wonder everyone on campus treated the house like a joke. Well, thought Castiel, fighting back a blush under Dean's insolent grin, they should enjoy their last few moments of being such delinquents. He was here to do a job, and they would get dragged up into a respectable condition, just like any other house. No matter what scruffy-blonde-haired, green-eyed, clearly-works-out-a-lot with his cocky grin and freckles and
Castiel held a quick mental wake for the victims of the thought that had derailed so violently and so quickly, before following Dean through to the ground floor bathroom. It held a bathtub with a shower nozzle clinging to the wall above it, a rust covered towel rail, a mirror and sink so close to the bath that you may as well have washed your hands in the tub, and a toilet, which… yegh. It had been decorated in the seventies, but the tile was chipped and thick with grime, and the wall bubbled and swelled with damp. The air stank of mould.
"This needs fixing." Castiel sighed. "How long has it been…"
"A couple of years ago there was a really harsh winter. Damp got in and no one's come to fix it, no matter how much Chuck bitches about his asthma and Balthazar mutters about his lawyer dad."
Dean swung the door shut on the little bathroom that couldn't, and pushed open a door that revealed a stairwell, leading down into the basement.
"Ash! You ready for inspection?"
And so, resigned to his task, Castiel marched down into the gloom.
(-*-)
Ash's room was a collection of cheap retro memorabilia, boxes of books and a plethora of wires, circuit boards and other technological innards, such that if it hadn't been for the bare drywall, Castiel wouldn't have known where the basement space ended and the improvised bedroom began. In stark contrast, the other bedroom held in the basement was only too distinct.
Walls lined with steel, decked with newspaper clippings, printed out maps and the odd poster of a half-naked woman, and (most worryingly), arcane looking runes and sigils painted on every inch of available space.
"Garth's room." Dean said, by way of an explanation. "He's gone home for a few days. The nurse said he needed a psychological rest. I don't see the problem, really, if he believes in ghosts and shit let him believe."
"I think the problem came more from barricading the board of directors into the conference room," Ash said, leaning against the door behind Castiel. "And when he tried to force one of them to eat a whole handful of salt."
Castiel stared at both of them, waiting for the joke. Dean shrugged, and grinned his cocky grin again.
"College is a stressful time."
Next up was Balthazar's room, on the first floor. Dimly lit, even with the curtains wide open, it was a bed whose legs had been broken off in an attempt to replicate a bed he had 'thought was much more fuck-worthy' from his favourite TV show. Clothes lay strewn everywhere, as did cigarette cartons, empty bottles and books.
Chuck's room was… terrifying, frankly, with what looked very much like a still taking up most of the space.
"He's not making moonshine," Dean said, in response to Castiel's raised eyebrows. As he turned his back on the domestic pharmacy that sat by Chuck's bed, however, he could have sworn he heard someone mutter the words "right this second".
Two of the rooms on the floor were unoccupied, the doors firmly locked, "to avoid squatters or spies", and the attic…
Oh God, the attic.
If some poor, misguided soul had ever made a pornographic version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, the props and set had ended up in the attic of the Omega Beta Pi house. Everywhere Castiel looked there were edible panties, flavoured condoms and chocolate lube. Gabriel, who apparently had no shame, grinned up at him from the pink and purple zebra print bed.
"They say man cannot live by bread alone. They don't say shit about candy and sex."
Although made up as a room, the other half of the attic sat unoccupied, meaning there were three unused rooms in the house, and no suggestion of another room.
"And where is your room?" Castiel asked Dean, trying to keep the dread out of his voice. Dean looked him up and down slowly, locking eyes with him with such a fierce glare that Castiel had to fight the urge to shrink away. Dean closed the space between them, drawing himself up to his full height (a few inches taller than Castiel, but enough to make a point), and leant close to his ear.
"I'm not like these sluts. You gotta buy me dinner first."
With that, and to Gabriel's amusement, Dean flashed another cocky grin and left.