AN: Don't hate me. I haven't forgotten about this. I've simply changed my writing style, and so vastly that it makes me cringe thinking about finishing this in the style in which it begun. But I can't put it off any longer.
Sigh. Let's get this over with.
(Or … not.)

Castiel sat opposite Morgan, their eyes not meeting; both in silence and both too stubborn to break it. Morgan had wished for a quiet weekend alone in her house where she could (brood about her arm and) work out a way to still participate in the Battle of the Bands in the comfort of her home, so it came as much of a shock when she discovered Castiel waiting in the doorway early that morning; hands tucked behind his back, waiting – a little too impatiently – for her to let him inside.

"What took you so long?" he had asked her, to which Morgan replied with a simple, "I didn't have to let you in, you know."

And so, the morning passed in such a manner; Castiel would shoot glances at the silent Morgan from across the room, and when she noticed, he would quickly look away. Confused and slightly irritated by Castiel's actions, Morgan would return the stare –or glare, rather- for several moments before returning to what she was doing previously; picking at her cast.

"Don't do that," Castiel finally managed to mutter softly. Pushing himself up off the chair, he crossed the small living room in two strides and took a seat next to Morgan, of who was following his movements, her head tilted to the side in confusion.

"Do what?" Morgan asked, watching as Castiel moved her hand away from her caste. Castiel didn't reply, instead, turned away. He hadn't intended on moving, not at all. He just … What was he thinking? His body seemed to move on its own.

Shaking her head, Morgan sighed, picking at the fraying edge of her caste once more. Without looking, Castiel grabbed her free wrist gently, bringing it to settle on the couch, his hand atop hers.

"That," he said. "Don't do that."

Morgan opened her mouth to retort before a frown crossed her face. What had gotten into him? He wasn't being as obnoxious and intolerable as he usually was. Maybe he felt guilty for breaking her wrist? Morgan had to hold back a laugh. That wasn't likely.

"Castiel?" she murmured quietly, turning to face him. The red head followed suit and lifted his head slowly to look up at her. His eyes widened at the closeness of their faces and he fought the urge to glance away quickly.

"Mmm?" he said softly, raising his eyebrows.

"You can let go of my hand now," Morgan said, her lips curling upwards into a smirk.

Immediately, Castiel withdrew his hand, stuffing it into the pocket of his brown suede jacket. He could feel his cheeks beginning to heat up and tilted his head forward; the slight adjustment causing his flaming red hair to obscure his face.

"Sorry," he muttered quickly, shifting on the couch in order to have as much space between them as possible.

A quiet laugh escaped Morgan's lips and she got to her feet, her free hand dragging through her messy bed head.

"Right then, "said Morgan, "since you, for reasons that are unfathomable, don't seem to be leaving any time soon, I am going to go have a shower. Make yourself at home or whatever. Touch the fridge and you're out."

Castiel raised his hand in mock salute and watched her leave. The second Morgan had disappeared down the hallway and into the bathroom, he leaned back heavily against the couch, his fists grabbing at his hair in frustration. A long, annoyed sigh escaped his lips and he shook his head.

"What are you doing, Castiel?" he growled quietly. "Morgan is your band mate. He'd never like you like that!"

It had been a good fifteen minutes of waiting in the lounge room when Castiel made his way down the hallway. He had been patient enough, Castiel decided. If Morgan wanted to be in the shower for a century, that was his own problem! One thing was certain, though.

"If he comes out looking like a wrinkled prune, it's his own damn fault," Castiel murmured quietly.

He wasn't usually the one to go wandering through a person's house without their permission (or supervision), but Morgan had given him strict instructions to stay away from the fridge and that alone. Nothing at all was mentioned about the rest of the house.

Passing past the bathroom's closed door, Castiel rolled his eyes; the shower was off, but that didn't mean Morgan wasn't taking a long time. Probably drying his hair, Castiel decided.

"What a girl."

Continuing down the hallway, Castiel smiled to himself as he looked upon the simple framed photos that hung against the walls; Morgan as a child with ebony hair that hung just past the ears with various family members of differing ages on either side. Morgan, still very young , covered in mud and grass stains, soccer ball tucked under arm wearing the most determined expression Castiel had ever seen.

"Typical," he breathed, his lips still curled upwards in a smile. At the very end of the hallway, a particular photo caught his attention and Castiel frowned. His eyes scanned over the image, taking in the long, slightly wavy ebony hair, peach lips and soft complexion. The short tartan skirt and white blouse marked her as a student. Castiel snorted.

"She's pretty. Why didn't Morgan tell me he had a sister?"

With a backwards back down the hallway, Castiel allowed his shoulders to slump. Morgan would still be in the bathroom for the next year by the looks of it. Maybe Castiel could surprise him? That would be fun. Morgan seemed to be the type of guy to like surprises. And Castiel wanted desperately to apologise (as indirectly as possible) for what he had done to his drummers arm.

Yes, he decided. Surprising Morgan was a good idea. But what could he do? Resting his hand on the pearl white door handle, Castiel glanced upwards. A large, navy 'M' made from balsa was stuck to the middle by adhesive tape.

"Maybe I could hide in his room and scare him," Castiel pondered and a quiet chuckle escaped his lips as he pictured the startled look that would cross Morgan's face.

"Scare first, surprise later. Perfect."

Castiel's brows furrowed as he entered the room; it was anything but what he had expected. Instead of finding the walls littered with posters of Motionless in White and Clockwork Asphyxiation like his own, he found bare, crisp white walls with nothing but a large mirror fastened to the far wall. With white curtains, peach carpet and beige furniture, Castiel couldn't help but laugh. This was the last thing he had expected from his drummer.

The bathroom door opened and Castiel heard Morgan call out to him – an apology, of sorts- as it was hard to bathe with a plastic bag taped over one arm to stop the caste from disintegrating. Footsteps echoed down the hallway, the floorboards beneath Morgan creaking at odd intervals.

Castiel needed a place to hide. Behind the bed? No, that wasn't good enough. The wardrobe! Yes! That was perfect! Crossing the room quickly, Castiel yanked the double doors open and, with a quick glance towards the bedroom door, he turned to face his hiding spot. And froze. His hands falling to his side.

Morgan had reached the outside of the bedroom now. "I'll be down in a minute, Cas," came the echoing voice. "I'm just going to get dressed!"

The bedroom door opened and a loud scream left Morgan's lips. Castiel turned towards the sound and his eyes widened in shock. There, in the doorway, stood Morgan, towel around torso, hair, dripping wet hanging in eyes.

"What are you doing?" Morgan was angry. Furious.

Breaking his gaze away from Morgan, Castiel glanced back at the wardrobe of which he had forced open; the colourful cotton garments that had been pushed to the far side of the wardrobe were unmistakably …

Castiel turned back towards Morgan, hair dripping and covered only with a towel. Immediately, his cheeks flamed and he looked at the floor.

"Morgan," he breathed, still in shock. "You … You're a girl?"

A/N: Aight. It happened. It happened in the lamest way possible. Happy?

Subliminal messaging/product placement/advertising in this chapter.
Can you guess what with? Mehehe.