3. The Other One

Duuuuuude! Where R U? Castiel's interview is being shown today & U promised U'd be here!

Jimmy sighs as he reads the text from Meg, before tossing his phone to one side in favour of focusing on his guitar. He can't think of a convincing excuse to reply with right now; she's going to murder him regardless of what he tells her, out of anger at the fact that he hasn't shown up to her Castiel Interview Watching Party - or CIWP, as Sam and Amelia have dubbed it. Instead, he's dressed as aforementioned Castiel, in black slacks and a plain button down shirt, stubble expertly applied, sitting on the floor of one of the booths at the recording studio where Dean has agreed to meet him. He's already surrounded by screwed up pieces of paper, choruses and verses of different song lyrics that he's tried to formulate into whole songs, without much success. There's another collection of words on the current sheet of paper in front of him, the ones that he's trying to put a tune to whilst he waits, but it's not going so well.

"Wondered where you were hidin'."

Jimmy's head snaps up at the sound of the voice, only to see Dean peering at him through the glass, grinning. He reaches for the door handle, and walks in a moment later, now that Castiel has been startled.

"Was startin' to think you'd bailed on me," Dean continues, raising an eyebrow at the paper that crunches under his feet. "But apparently not. What's all this?"

"I was trying to come up with some song lyrics for our collaboration," Jimmy explains. "None of them were working."

"Really?" Dean sits down opposite him, cross-legged, reaching for one of the pieces of paper, and unfolding it, reading the words aloud. "Would you put up resistance, would it make a difference, would you know the real me, me in my old blue jeans."

"I know. They suck."

"No way, man," Dean says, but Jimmy simply shakes his head, prompting him to discard the lyrics once more. "What'cha workin' on now?"

"I'm not really sure yet," Jimmy admits. "It's got more than what anything else I've written today has, but it's not finished."

"Huh," Dean says. "Can I hear it?"

"Uh -" Jimmy stumbles for a moment. Half of the lyrics of this thing - it's not a song yet - are his vented frustrations over the past day or so. Possibly not enough for Dean to recognise and make the connections, but, still, the risk is there. "I guess? Bear in mind, it's not finished, so there's still some gaps."

"That's cool." Dean rests his palms on his knees, an indication that he's ready and eager to listen. "Take it away, buddy."

"Right. Yeah. Um..." Jimmy shifts, plucking a few odd strings on his guitar, before carrying on with the soft melody he'd been playing before Dean arrived, pulling the sheet of paper towards him in order to reference.

When I walk in a room, everybody stops,

Cameras flashing, people fighting for the best shot,

They like my hair, the clothes I wear,

Everybody wants to know what I'm doing next,

Sometimes I wish I could stay home, just be by myself

I want to be...

He hums wordlessly in place of the missing lyrics, the ones that he hasn't thought of yet (or won't sing for fear of risking suspicion).

So you want to be just like, so you want to be just like,

Think you want to be just like me,

Everybody's watching me, it's not as easy as it seems,

To be super, super, to be super, superman.

"Yeah, I know," Jimmy says, once he's finished singing. "It's kind of cheesy, but -"

"Cheesy can be good sometimes," Dean says, as if to reassure him. "If it comes from the heart."

"Thought you didn't do that sort of thing."

Dean raises an eyebrow, an amused smile on his face. "What made you think that?"

Jimmy opens his mouth to answer, before stopping. Dean himself had given him that idea, when they were all at the Winchester house only yesterday; the phrase "No chick-flick moments" had left Dean's mouth at least three times.

"Your music," he says finally, unable to come up with another answer. "Um, I think it's not as cheesy as my songs."

Dean snorts. "Dude, are you kiddin'? All of my music is cheesy, at least in the beginning, without any backin' track. Look at True Friend, jeez. Sappiest shit I've ever written."

"That was my favourite. Says a lot, doesn't it?"

"Yeah. I wrote it about my brothers, a few years ago."

"You have brothers?" Jimmy asks, feigning ignorance.

"Two. Well, one half brother and one full brother, but, like Uncle Bobby always said, family don't end with blood. Adam and Sammy, they're called. Adam's only young, but Sammy's in college here in Pontiac, studyin' to be a lawyer - speaking of Sammy -" Dean reaches into his pocket suddenly, retrieving his buzzing phone, chuckling as he looks at the messages on the screen. "Looks like he's got friends over now I'm not there to embarrass him. God, I wish you could see them; they're the most mismatched bunch of people you could ever meet."

"Is that so?" Jimmy says; it's taking all of his acting skills to remain casual.

"Yeah, man. I mean, there's Sammy, obviously, then there's Meg, she's, like, your biggest fan, apparently, then Amelia, who seems to hate your guts - M'sure it's nothin' personal -"

"I'm sure." He can't quite keep the dryness out of his tone.

"And then there's Sammy's boyfriend, and his brother. Both of 'em are weird; Gabe is way too obsessed with pullin' pranks on people, an' the other one -"

"The other one?"

Other one.

Other one.

Who the fuck does this guy think he is?

"Yeah...er, Jim, or somethin', I think Sammy said. No matter; all he did was sit in the corner of the kitchen wearin' one of those dorky sweaters and snark -"

"It was not dorky!" Jimmy says, indignant, before quickly regaining his composure. "I, uh, I rather like those sweaters."

Dean snorts. "Why doesn't that surprise me? I'm sure you and him would get on. Now -" He closes the subject, patting Jimmy on the knee, missing the glare that is being fired in his direction. "Are we gonna write a song, or what?"

Well, that was that :) See you soon, my little sock puppets... x