Chapter Text
Chapter One
At a crowded downtown nightclub, Dean sits at the bar surrounded by adoring fans, his bandmates, and people who just want to be around celebrities. The atmosphere is absolutely saturated with fake people and fake smiles and he’s had enough. Suddenly overwhelmed, Dean drops enough bills to more than cover his tab plus a hefty tip. Then he gets up and exits through the back, hoping nobody will notice and try to follow him. Unfortunately, It wouldn’t be the first time it happened.
Outside the moon is high and full. The air is crisp and refreshing and he breathes it in, and feels the tension steadily leak out of him. He’s never liked the publicity parts of being famous. Not like this anyway. Meet and Greets are fun and exciting but this is just…he can’t handle being around so many people just trying to impress him. He doesn’t want to be treated like some kind of god, he just wants to sing! It’s really cool that he gets to have concerts, go on tour and hear himself on the radio. But life used to be so much simpler when he was just a kid singing to himself in the shower.
Hell, life even started changing for him in high school after he entered the talent show and everyone heard his uniquely deep but smooth voice. Girls were lining up to date him, every guy wanted to be his new best friend. All the jocks wanted him to join their team! That didn’t even make any sense! He hadn’t played anything but baseball since 3rd grade and even that he hadn’t played in years. Why couldn’t singing bring him and others joy without adding complications and make people treat him differently?
Leaning his back against the cold faded red brick wall of the outside of the club, Dean realizes it’s only 9pm. He’s definitely not ready to head home alone for the night, but where can he possibly go and not have a mob of people wanting a picture with him or an autograph?
Sighing, he slips his hands in his jeans pockets and starts walking toward his condo, resigned to either find somewhere to have an actual conversation that isn’t about his music, or go just home alone and restart The Good Place. The Furniture store beside his building is likely well past their hours of business, but Dean notices the lights are on. Though it’s not likely in this part of town, he decides to peek in to make sure they aren’t being robbed.
There’s a man sitting at the desk, doing paperwork with reading glasses on. Likely the manager or owner, Dean thinks. The man seems pretty ordinary at first glance, but something about him seems like just the kind of real, down to earth person he’d like to meet. Dean excitedly knocks carefully on the glass and points to the door.
The man looks up, brow furrows in obvious confusion and mouths something, most likely ‘We’re closed’, as if Dean couldn’t already tell. Dean nods, and points to the door again, insisting.
The man sighs, running his fingers through his dark hair, messing it up from its neatly combed appearance. Putting his pencil behind his ear, he gets up and leaves his glasses behind on his desk as he walks over to the window.
“We’re closed”, he says out loud this time, voice deep, though somewhat muffled through the glass as he points to the sign where it tells their business hours. It’s clear he’s frustrated, but he figures he probably already was before he appeared, so Dean tries not to take it personally.
“Do you know who I am?” Dean asks, hoping against hope that the man doesn’t.
Unbelievably, the man shakes his head and looks at Dean like he’s nuts.
A pleased smile crosses Dean’s face as he chuckles, “Cool. I’ll come back tomorrow,” he says, waving goodbye and heading next door.
Dean doesn’t see the man looking after him and checking the door to make sure it’s locked. He watches Dean enter the building next door, then shrugs before going back to his desk to finish what he was working on before he was interrupted.
**************
Dean’s next day is a free day until 5pm. So, he sleeps til noon, gets up, eats breakfast, then heads next door to the furniture store. Instead of the man he’d seen last night, there’s a thin redhead behind the counter, talking on the phone. Her mouth is moving as fast as her fingers are flying across the keyboard. When he steps inside, the simple doorbell noise goes off to alert them of someone coming in.
“Hello, be right with you. Feel free to look around!” she greets cheerily, without stopping her hands, or even looking up from her computer.
Offering an awkward, “Thanks,” Dean starts pretending to consider the first pieces that he comes across. It’s a living room set and so he does his best to play the part of an interested customer. He makes sure to compare the different prices of a few different pieces on their own vs. the entire set and such until someone approaches him.
While Dean fully expects the redhead to be standing in front of him, instead it’s the man who was working late the night before. Said man’s eyes go wide as soon as Dean looks up at him and he seems to recognize his face. Dean can’t help but cringe. He sighs, “You recognize me now, don’t you?” he asks, voice full of the disappointment he feels.
“Yeah, actually I do.”
Great. Dean thinks to himself, sarcastically.
“So?” the man asks expectantly, crossing his arms tightly across his chest.
Dean is very confused now. “Uh, so, what?”
The man doesn’t attempt to hide his eye roll, before he sighs. “So, you wanna tell me why the hell you were hanging around outside my store last night like a weirdo?"
At that the redhead’s ears must perk up because a split second later, she’s crossing the floor and puts herself a step closer to Dean than to the other man, face hardened.
“You did what?! What the fuck were you doing? Were you going to try to rob him, or are you some type of rapist or serial killer or something?!” she demands, shoving Dean’s shoulders back with each question with alarming strength for her tiny size.
“Charlie,” the man snaps.
The girl, Charlie apparently, takes a step back from him, with no less hatred in her eyes.
“I didn’t mean any harm. Honest.”
The man speaks up again. “Okay, but what do you want? Did you really have a sudden need to buy furniture at 9 oclock at night, or were you trying to freak me out just for the hell of it?”
“God, no. I just…” Dean sighs, putting his hands up in surrender, “Look, I saw the light on and first I wanted to make sure you weren’t being robbed. I live in this neighborhood and I hoped that wasn’t the case, but that’s why I first stepped up to the window.
“And when you saw I clearly wasn’t being robbed?”
“It’s gonna sound stupid as hell, but I’d been hoping to find someone to talk to. Someone who wasn’t the type of person I usually get to be around.”
Charlie scoffs, “Seriously, that’s your story?! You expect us to believe-”
“Enough. Charlie, get back to work please. I can handle this.”
With fire still in her eyes, Charlie tears her eyes away from Dean to aim them at the man. “Whatever you say, boss .”
“Answer the question.” the man says calmly.
“Yeah, man, that’s really my story. Remember when I asked if you know who I am?”
“Yeah that was actually pretty creepy.”
Dean chuckles, “I’m sorry. I guess I can see how that would be creepy if the roles were reversed. But the reason I asked is because, I’m…I’m Dean Smith, okay?” He says his name significantly lower than the rest, bracing for the man to suddenly get starstruck, but the moment never comes.
The man looks just as confused as last night. “Is…that supposed to mean something to me?”
"Wait, so you really don't know who I am?"
"No, I really don't."
"Wow, that is awesome !"
"O-kay…"
"I know this is a really weird way to meet someone, but I'm honestly just looking for someone to talk to. I need a friend. Is there any chance at all we could have lunch or coffee or something? Where we can talk and maybe try to forget about me being unintentionally creepy? I live next door and I promise I’m not an axe murderer or anything."
"Give me one good reason I should believe you're not trying to manipulate me or something."
"I literally don't know anything about you. I wouldn't even know of a reason to try and trick you, and I'd like to get to know each other better. I promise, that's all I want is someone to talk to. Someone new who sees me as just some guy."
The man retorts, "You are just some guy.”
“I’ll tell you something about me, but please don’t make a big deal about it, okay?”
The man cocks a brow, looking unimpressed, “Sure.”
“Okay. So, I’m uh…I’m famous.”
When the man’s facial expression doesn’t change a single bit, and he fails to react at all, Dean tries again.
“I’m a famous singer/songwriter. Some of my songs are: Drowning, Watching Over Me, Sounds of Someday, Jump on Into the Fire. None of these are familiar to you?”
“Nope. But I really mainly listen to a mix of classic rock, indie, and pop.”
Charlie is right beside him once again, but this time, she has obvious stars in her eyes. “Oh my god! I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you! You’re Dean Smith?!”
“You know him?”
“Seriously, Castiel, you don’t ?!” She immediately pulls up pictures on her phone of Dean on stage at one of his last concerts to show her boss.
“I’m so sorry for how I acted before, Mr. Smith. I’m just super protective of my people, and Cas here, is my best friend,” she explains.
Dean dismisses her apology, “It’s fine, I get it. It’s always nice when people care enough to be protective.” He looks back over to Castiel, “So, Castiel. Do you trust I’m not a serial killer now?”
Castiel sizes him up, skeptically, but drops his arms by his side. “I suppose so.”
“Alright, cool. Thanks, Charlie.”
“Oh my god, can I get an autograph?!”
Dean puts on a fake smile and nods, “Sure, no problem. Got a pen and something to write on?”
After Charlie gets the autograph, Castiel sends her back to work and leads Dean to the back, into the tiny break room, motioning for him to sit down.
Dean obliges and sits across from Castiel, cautiously optimistic.
“So, why did you want someone to talk to? You said someone unlike the people you are usually around. I guess that means your adoring fans?”
“Yeah. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love my fans. But sometimes, a big chunk of the ones I get to be around are trying to get something from me. Are trying to impress me and treat me like I’m some kind of god, instead of-”
“Just some guy,” Castiel finishes for him.
“Exactly.”
“I guess considering your career that makes more sense with that context. Is there something specific you wanted to talk about with someone who isn’t a fan?”
“Just someone to talk to. Meet someone and become friends. That’s it, plain and simple.”
“Fair enough. Give me your phone and I’ll add my number. Then you can text me and I’ll save yours in mine. I won’t be available much during store hours, but I’m open to texting and getting to know you. Let’s just get one thing straight right now, though.”
“Alright, shoot.”
“I don’t mean to presume your sexuality or romantic interests, but either way, this isn’t going to be some fling. I don’t do casual hookups and I’m not getting involved with someone sexually, without some type of serious commitment. And I don’t jump into romantic relationships easily or quickly. Just putting that out there, and drawing my boundaries.”
“I respect that. I won’t lie, I’ve had my share of casual sex. But always safe and consensual with everyone involved. I’ve never felt fulfilled by hookups though. And besides, I’m honestly not looking for a hookup or a romantic relationship. I really am just wanting friendship.”
“I understand. As long as we understand each other. I won’t cross or push your boundaries and I expect the same in return. That is how any relationship grows and stays healthy and happy, platonic or otherwise.”
“Cool. Got it.”
Castiel puts his number in Dean’s phone and Dean texts him, to save his number too.
“So, can I text you tonight once the store closes?”
“Yes, that would be fine, Dean. Thank you for asking.”
“You’re welcome.”