"Cas, settle down. My apartment isn't going to swallow you, I promise," Anna said, smiling softly as she sat down next to him on the plush red sofa. She gave him a soft pat on the shoulder before sitting back and pulling her legs and a glass of wine with her.

"Sorry," he laughed. It wasn't often that he was reminded of how socially awkward he was, so sitting with Anna in her perfectly decorated, airy but colorfully modern, apartment was really making him think about how much he usually didn't care what other people thought.

Anna could seriously cook, too, and she was easy to be around. Every weird thing he did, she just brushed it off with a laugh and a pat on the shoulder. After telling Cas to stop fidgeting and sit down on the sofa which was apparently also going to be his bed (and which was also not to be worried about because it was from Ikea), she had put on a Fleetwood Mac record. He wasn't sure if she was doing it just because he was "Chick Rock" or if she really liked Fleetwood Mac, but it was alright, he guessed. Obviously it was her record, but he had a shitload of records at home that he hated, but had to know because it was his job. At least her stereo system was amazing. He knew she was making more than him because the morning show was the station's biggest pull, but this was the first time he'd really thought about it.

"Cas?" He turned to find her staring at him, an eyebrow raised.

"What?"

She smiled, touching his knee.

"Are you okay? I'm sure your apartment will be fine," she asked. He shrugged, coming to his senses and sitting back.

"Sorry, sometimes I have a hard time getting my brain to slow down," he answered.

"Yeah, tell me about it," she laughed, "Usually Gabe is calling me every three hours to find out if I've seen some show or heard about some thing that happened. He's a lot more enthusiastic about work than I am, to say the least."

"Really? He alway struck me as a bit of an instigator," he replied, thinking of the numerous times Gabriel had drunk dialed him and ended up sleeping it off on his couch, or the times he'd told the morning show audience how hung over he was.

"Well, yeah, he's just a crazy little bastard, I guess." They both laughed at that. There was a pleasant pause afterward, Castiel suddenly feeling a lot more comfortable.

"You know, I'm sorry we haven't talked much before this," he said. She gave him a big smile for that.

"Yeah, me too. So," she hit him on the shoulder, playfully soft, unlike most female friends he had, who just liked to beat him up, "Talk to me. Tell me what you did before you started at the station." Cas whistled. Now, that was a while ago.

"Well, I was in school for a while, out at State-"

"Really? I went to State! What was your major?" she interrupted excitedly.

"Um, religion and writing, actually. But I wasn't that great at the religion part," he answered sheepishly, "And I ended up not finishing my degree so..."

"Eh," she shrugged supportively.

"What about you?"

"Oh," she laughed, "Communications with a focus in broadcast journalism, you know. Pretty predictable. How did you ever end up as a DJ?"

"Oh, well, it was a little weird actually. One of my professors had a huge crush on me. I was really broke and they kept sending me recording work, for like, books for the blind and eventually other stuff, you know," he answered, "After I dropped out of school I really needed a job, and all I had to put on my resume was some bartending and voice work."

"Huh, how crazy. Your professor had a crush on you?" she repeated.

"Yeah, I guess when you stop taking your creative writing workshops seriously and just write smut it makes an impression," he answered dryly. She laughed.

"I'd never pictured you as the smut writing type," she joked, "I mean, Chuck, definitely, but not quiet 'I'm your copilot' Cas."

"It's the quiet ones, you know," he joked back.

"Why did you drop out?" she asked, pouring herself another glass of wine. He was doing his best to refrain from drinking in front of a coworker, having learned that lesson a long time ago, and picked up his own glass of water from the coffee table, turning it in his hands.

"Well, my mom passed away, and my sister was only eighteen. She needed me, so, you know. It wasn't a hard choice," he answered. Anna's hand was suddenly covering his.

"Cas, that's... Your dad wasn't around?"

"No, he left when I was a lot younger," he answered somewhat awkwardly, not sure how the conversation had taken this turn.

"How old were you?" she asked.

"When I dropped out? Almost twenty-two, so not that young really. I mean, it worked out. I ended up moving back home, and I was lucky to have plenty of work, and got to do a lot of voice stuff basically from my closet, you know," he shrugged. "Lisa never wanted to go to school beyond community college, and she didn't need to. She's smart. She stayed in our hometown, working in real estate, and I moved out here for an internship and then 102 hired me. The rest is history." She squeezed his hand.

"Wow, I never would've guessed all that," she said sympathetically.

"What, you don't have a sad childhood behind you or anything?" he tried to joke.

"Well, not really. My parents fought a lot, but they always took care of me, you know. They live in Georgia, so we see each other sometimes," she answered. "Oh! They almost disowned me for dating a black guy in college," she added, her hand shooting upward as if she'd struck gold. He had to laugh at that. It was almost common ground, considering the sitcom-worthy tribulations he'd experienced as an openly gay man in a small mountain town.

"Sorry," she said quietly, her hand flattening itself somewhere between his shoulder and chest, "I just drank this entire bottle of wine without realizing it."

"I understand the feeling," he chuckled. Suddenly, she lunged forward and her mouth was on his, her hands on his neck and in his hair. He flailed for a moment before finding her shoulders and managing to push her away as gently as he could.

"Oh God, I'm sorry," she was already panicking, "I didn't mean to... attack you, it's just, I kind of like you, and..." she sighed and deflated, now significantly closer to him.

"Oh, no, Anna, that's..." he stammered, still trying to process what had just happened and what she was saying.

"I mean, I didn't invite you over because I-I just wanted to help," she tried to explain. He gaped at her.

"I, I mean, wow. I thought you knew, or that Gabriel would've told you. I mean, I figured everyone knew. Chuck knows," he laughed nervously.

"What?" she asked, looking up at him sadly.

"I'm gay. Completely. Sadly. Otherwise, I mean, one bottle of wine wouldn't stop me from taking advantage of you in an instant," he said flatly. She stared at him for a long moment before covering her mouth with a hand.

"Oh God, I'm embarrassed," she laughed.

"No, don't be. Really," he replied, "It's fine. It's my own fault."

"Why, because you don't come to work in drag? I'm just really clueless, and probably drunk," she shook her head.

"Anna, please. Don't be. Happens more often than I'd like to admit," he answered, somehow trying to deal with the now irreparably awkward situation.

"I'm just going to... go to bed," she said, standing from the couch. "Without you," she added jokingly. They both laughed somewhat half-heartedly.

"Well, goodnight, then," he answered. She was already almost half way across the room, and just managed to smile tightly.

As soon as she was gone, he turned to stare at his reflection in the tv, realizing peripherally that the record had stopped playing a while ago.