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“You did what,” Cas says flatly, increasingly unimpressed by the shit-eating grin on Dean’s face.
“Just… giving you a leg up!”
“On national TV.”
“There’s that,” Dean admits. “C’mon, it’s just funny. Not like there’s any chance they’re actually gonna pick us.”
“Good,” Cas says, “because I know where you sleep.”
-----
“So,” Tan sings from the backseat, “who’s our hero this week?”
“This week’s hero,” Bobby announces, producing a manila envelope with a flourish, “is… oh, God,” he finishes blankly.
“I think that’s a little out of our pay grade, Bobbers,” Jonathan points out.
Bobby blinks. “Right. This week’s hero is… Cas-tee-ell.”
“Cas-a-what-now?” Karamo asks, grabbing for the folder with one hand, but Bobby hunches over, shielding it.
“What aren’t you telling us?” Tan asks, exasperated.
Silently, Bobby holds up his cheat sheet so only Tan can see it, snapshots of Dean and Cas shuffled to the front.
Tan lets out a shriek, ignoring Karamo’s cursing as he nearly swerves off the road. “And we’re getting paid for this?”
An hour later, they’re pulling up outside a brick duplex just outside downtown Lawrence, Kansas. It’s small but well-kept, shaded by oak trees and with the suggestion of a garden creeping down to the backyard, which Bobby eyes approvingly.
“Wait,” Antoni says suddenly, unbuckling his seatbelt and almost tripping over himself hopping out of the car, “is that -- are those apple trees?” Without waiting for a response, he bounds over to the yard, plucking a ripe red apple and bringing it to his mouth with a deep inhale.
“Worms, Antoni!” Karamo yells. “Worms!”
“Worth it!” Antoni returns, and unhesitatingly bites into it, closing his eyes as the juice dribbles down his chin.
At that moment the front door opens and a man steps out, shading his eyes against the midafternoon sun. “Hey, what -- oh, Jesus.”
“Oh my God!” Jonathan shrieks. He skips over, plucking at the golden-blonde hair. “Are you sure we can’t do a two-for-one here?” he calls over his shoulder.
“Oh my God,” the guy echoes, batting Jonathan’s hands away, but there’s a smile in his voice. “Y’all really are insane, aren’t you?”
There’s a pause, and then a chorus of noncommittal noises and shuffling of feet, and Dean bursts out laughing. “All right, all right, c’mon in.” He turns and clomps back inside, followed by the boys one after another until only Jonathan remains outside for a moment, his hands clasped in front of him and eyes raised beatifically to the sky, mouthing silently, I love this job so much.
----
“So,” Tan takes over, once they’re all inside and ensconced on a mishmash of living room furniture, with Castiel sitting alone in an armchair with wide and slightly terrified eyes. “Cas. What’s the goal for this week?”
“Um,” Cas says. He shifts, sliding his hands under his thighs, then folding them on his lap, picking at the ill-fitting slacks. “I have a conference this weekend, and Dean thinks --”
“Not what Dean thinks,” Karamo interrupts gently, even as Dean settles a reassuring hand on Cas’ shoulder. “What do you want?”
Dean squeezes almost imperceptibly, and Cas straightens, clearing his throat. “Uh, confidence. To look more put together. To feel more put together.” He runs his hand through his hair, sending the strands into further disarray, and Jonathan visibly twitches.
“All right,” Tan exclaims, jumping up and clapping his hands. “I’m going to go ahead and steal this ridiculously handsome man to take a look at his closet. Dean, would you give Bobby a quick tour of the apartment, since you very much live here too?”
“Uh, sure,” Dean agrees. He gestures down a hallway, and they’re already well into conversation by the time they’re out of earshot.
---
“So,” Antoni says, succinctly.
“No,” Karamo declares.
“...Maybe?” Jonathan offers.
“Oh, come on,” Antoni finally gives in. “We’re all seeing it, right?”
Karamo sighs. “We’re all seeing two ridiculously handsome men --”
“Who are totally in lo-oooove,” Jonathan sings, ignoring Karamo’s glare.
“-- and that is not our job, Jonny.”
“... hmph.”
“Anyway. Look. We are not playing matchmaker after ten minutes of conversation, capisce?”
“Spoilsport,” Antoni and Jonathan mutter in unison.
----
Tan sits on Cas’ bed with his chin on his hands, staring up at the blur of neutral clothing in the closet, as Cas fidgets uncomfortably.
“So,” Tan finally says, standing up.
“Boring, I know,” Cas mumbles.
“Not boring,” Tan assures him, then pauses. “Well, a bit,” he amends, fairly. “But you don’t have to make any drastic changes! Your basic pieces aren’t bad, just a bit nondescript, and all you have to do is add in a bit of color or pattern here and there for style.”
Cas squints suspiciously at the rack of plain white shirts as if they’re going to burst into flame, but he nods.
Encouraged, Tan continues: “And… pieces that fit.”
“My clothes fit,” Cas says mulishly, and Tan hides a grin.
“Sweetheart, they do not.” He unearths a packet of safety pins, tucking Cas’ cheap white button-down around his frame and adding a few to the ugly beige pants, then steps back, considering. “Wait, but…” He reaches forward, hand hovering somewhere between Cas’ bicep and pectorals, then pauses. “May I?”
Cas half-shrugs, but he doesn’t flinch, so Tan gently pokes at the muscles in Cas’ arms, then chest.
“Oh my God,” Tan exclaims in delight. “You are hiding this?”
Cas bats his hand away, but Tan catches the tiny smile at his mouth, and he gasps in mock horror. “Oh, you knew it! You smug bastard! I will have you in a crop top by the end of this week, I swear. Or at least a shirt that fits. And that coat --”
“Nope,” Cas says, succinctly, and Tan sighs.
“Fine, the coat stays. But we will get it tailored.”
----
Cas sits at their small table as Antoni pokes through the kitchen.
“You have to have some preferences,” Antoni says with a sigh, but Cas just shrugs.
“I like most things,” he offers. “Except peanut butter and jelly.”
Antoni blinks. “Really?”
“Tastes like molecules,” Cas declares with finality, and the air of an inside joke; Antoni thinks he hears Dean snort somewhere in the hall, and decides to seize on it.
He looks pointedly around the kitchen, clean and fairly well-equipped. “Look,” he says, “Dean’s told us he likes to cook. What does he usually make?”
“Burgers,” Cas says immediately, with a small smile. “Burgers and pie.”
Antoni raises an eyebrow. “So, for the record, you know what Dean likes, but not what you like?”
Cas’ face shuts down slightly, and Antoni kicks himself.
“Anyway,” he continues brightly, “that’s a good starting point. So, what we’re going to do is take these burgers and pie, and ramp them up from delicious to decadent, infusing the burgers with a simple Cuban citrus sauce, served with avocado, caramelized onions, and a garlic-tequila aioli.”
Cas snorts. “He’d probably like that.
“And then we’re going to up his game with a salted caramel apple pie.”
Cas’ eyes go wide, and Antoni laughs at the obvious panic. “I promise, it’ll be amazing. We’ll start with a prepared crust for now, and the only difference from any other apple pie is the caramel sauce, which has exactly four ingredients.
Cas shifts nervously, but he nods, another small smile on his face.
----
“So how long have you lived with Dean?” Bobby asks, looking at the living room appraisingly.
“Nine years,” Cas replies, eyes darting around absently, and Bobby’s eyebrows go up.
.
“Nine years?” The apartment is spacious enough, with an extra bedroom occupied by a mattress on the floor, and an office and a tiny den, on top of their bedrooms and the living room and kitchen, but it doesn’t seem to hold nine years of home.
“Nine years altogether,” Cas clarifies, blushing, noting Bobby’s look of surprise. “Two in college, then a frankly terrible apartment for another four. Then I secured an assistant professorship, and Dean got promoted at his auto shop, so we had the money to get a decent place for the last three years.”
Bobby cocks his head. “He’s a mechanic?”
“Yes,” Cas bristles. “An amazing one. And –”
“Hey!” Bobby laughs, holding his hands up. “I only asked because that big black beauty in your driveway makes more sense now.”
Cas immediately relaxes, a smile quirking on his lips. “Feel free to ask him about her, but he’ll never shut up.”
“I totally will.” Bobby moves around the kitchen, opening drawers and cupboards. “Antoni says your kitchen is in decent shape, so I’m going to leave it alone for now. What do you want?”
Cas is silent for a moment, chewing his lip. “I don’t really have a family,” he finally says. “But Dean does. And they’re …” He pauses a second again. “They’re kind of mine too. I’d like to have a better space, with a real guest room for his brother, and at least a pull-out in the living room.”
Bobby watches him for a moment, decides not to ask. “So, your room needs to be cleaned up, and another bookcase or seven put in, but it’s not terrible. I think we should focus on the den and living room. The spaces you guys hang out together.”
Cas grins at him briefly, then drops his eyes, but is still smiling.
----
“Oh my God,” Jonathan breathes, sifting his hands through Cas’ hair. “Is this really my life?” He sniffs Cas’ neck, and Cas lets out an embarrassing squeak, but is also laughing, a little bit, and Jonathan laughs too, tugging on a stray strand.
“Look.” He pulls Cas’ hair up until it’s sticking up straight, then fidgets with it, arranging it to the sides, down the middle, and finally just mussing it until it’s sticking up in all directions. “Honey, you have it all.”
“Okay. So, the peach fuzz: really good look on you. And this sex-hair? Oh, my God. You could do literally nothing else, just gorg, and I kind of hate you for it. But, since apparently Dean says you’re this scary-smart professor, we’ve got to do something about these chappy lips and this hair.”
Cas’ hand automatically rubs at his lips, and Jonathan bats it away. “So, Dean told us you like bees, which is amazing for honey puns. But also amazing for your lips.” He holds up a small jar then pours a dollop onto the back of his hand, adding some sugar and a dash of olive oil before mixing it all together and smearing it on Cas’ lips. “Scrub that in for a minute, feels like you have fresh little baby lips. Meanwhile, your hair. And this beautiful little stubble.”
Cas’ eyes go wide, one hand going to his hair and the other to his cheek, and Jonathan bursts out laughing. “We’re not going to shear you, honey!”
----
“Have you ever worn glasses?” Tan says abruptly, as Cas tries on yet another blazer, tugging at the sleeves.
“Um, sometimes,” Cas answers. He shifts around, smoothing the fabric over his ass, and Tan rubs his forehead. “Usually contacts.”
“Okay. Well, glasses can actually add to your style, especially with eyes like yours. Can I see the ones you wear?”
“Uh, sure.” Cas rummages through his nightstand and comes up with a nondescript pair of wire-frames, perching them on his nose and squinting through the kaleidoscope of his contacts through the glasses.
“Oh, that does not look pleasant,” Tan laughs. “Take them off before you give yourself a migraine.”
Cas obeys, looking slightly put out, and folds them onto his dresser.
“So, I don’t actually dislike them,” Tan says, picking them up and holding them in front of his face. “They’re neutral, and certainly don’t detract from anything, but they’re bland.”
“I’m a theologian,” Cas inserts mulishly, and Tan hides a grin.
“Yes, but you should be a young, interesting, hot theologian,” he declares. Rummaging in his bags, he produces a handful of lensless plastic frames. “Try these on. They don’t draw attention by themselves, but they’ll frame your bone structure and highlight your gorgeous eyes.”
Hesitantly, Cas grabs the first pair. Narrow and circular, they barely outline his eyes, and they hardly touch his nose before Cas is snatching them off, and Tan holds up his hands half in amusement and half apology.
“Okay, so no. Sometimes they work surprisingly well, so I thought I’d throw them in. What about these?”
Still half-glaring suspiciously, Cas settles the next pair on, squarish and slightly oversized.
“Okay, no, I love these!” Tan exclaims. “Look: the lenses are big enough to highlight those gorgeous eyes, but the frames sit right where your jawline is, which leads the eye all the way down to your chin.”
Cas studies his reflection in the mirror, head tilted. “I like them,” he finally declares, with finality, and Tan huffs a sigh of satisfaction.
“Fantastic,” he says, plucking the frames off Cas’ face. “We’ll order you two pairs, with prescription and without.”
“Okay,” Cas agrees, with a small smile. “Dean makes fun of my ‘nerd-glasses.’”
“Well,” Tan says without missing a beat, “won’t it be a bit fun to show him your sexy-glasses then, especially after we get you into a few casual outfits that actually work for you, won’t it?”
Cas flushes again, and Tan turns around just long enough to scream silently at the camera before heading back to Cas’ closet.
----
Jonathan rubs some product in his hands, smoothing Cas’ hair while still leaving a few spiky spots, looking intentional instead of just-rolled-out-of-bed.
“Thirty seconds,” he admonishes. “Thirty seconds to take you from questionable grad student to sexy professor.”
“I am not --”
Jonathan ignores him, spinning the chair around and examining Cas’ face critically.
“Personally, I want to see those cheekbones, because, Jesus help me Lord.” He tilts Cas’ face up and around. “But what do you want?”
Cas flushes instantly. “I like, uh. I like the ‘peach fuzz’.”
“Yes!” Jonathan dips his fingers into some unidentifiable jar of goo, then rubs it along Cas’ face and neck. “Your skin is amazing, but you need to be more deliberate, deciding what you want instead of just slashing away.” He shaves carefully along Cas’ jawline, leaving his neck clean but stubble framing his face.
“Give me strength,” Jonathan says, fanning himself. “Give me strength.”
----
Karamo just observes, at first. These two guys welcomed five gay dudes into their home with warmth and laughter and jokes, but that doesn’t mean both or either are out of the closet – or in the closet, really, despite the way they look at each other. His instincts are good, but not perfect.
He calls Jonathan on the way to pick Cas up.
“Yes, boobie?”
“Should I push it?” Karamo asks bluntly. “Should I just try to make sure he’s comfortable and confident, and leave the rest to them?”
There’s a pause, then a sigh.
“If any of us can, you can,” Jonathan admits. “If you can get them on board, we can take it from there.”
Karamo rubs his nose between two fingertips. “This is not what I signed up for.”
“Suck it up, buttercup,” Jonathan sings, and Karamo can almost hear the swish of his hair as he hangs up.
----
“So tell me about this conference,” Karamo says, fingers steepled solemnly under his chin – an effect somewhat countered by the slow circles he’s spinning in Cas’ desk chair.
Cas shrugs, shifting awkwardly on the corner of the bed. “Uh… it’s a conference?” he offers.
“It’s a conference,” Karamo repeats, pausing his chair long enough to raise his eyes to the ceiling. “Academic, right?”
“Oh,” Cas mumbles, flushing slightly. “Yeah. Uh, theology. Not very exciting.”
Karamo cocks an eyebrow at him. “Sounds like it’s interesting to you. Are you… pursuing the seminary?” he ventures, wondering suddenly if Operation Cas-and-Dean needs to hit the brakes immediately.
To his relief, Cas just snorts. “My upbringing shut down any interest in that path, had I any interest in it to begin with. But the impact that millennia of theology has had on current social trends is fascinating. Though the subject does not endear me to many colleagues.” He shrugs again, ruefully, looking at the floor.
Karamo studies him briefly, then decides to change direction. “So, is Dean going with you? Moral support and all that?”
Cas’ eyes snap to his, unreadable, but he can’t quite hide a small smile. “He is. His work is fairly flexible and he enjoys the road trips. And I don’t have to make up a fake plus-one for the… socializing.” He ends with actual air quotes, which Karamo seizes on to excuse his choked laughter.
“You do realize,” he finally says, carefully, “Dean is your plus-one?”
Cas narrows his eyes and studies him, in turn, and for a moment Karamo feels oddly exposed under the bright blue eyes. But then Cas groans, folding forward to drop his head into his hands.
“Yes,” he says to his knees. “I realize. And if you tell him that, I will smite you.”
Okay, then, Karamo thinks, gears turning in his head, but he opts to table it. “All right,” he says, kicking off one last spin in the chair before standing up. “Show me how you’re going to give this talk.”
----
“So,” Bobby says, hopping up to sit on the kitchen counter and ignoring the baleful glare Dean gives him, “the boys are busy getting Cas together, but this is your home too. What do you want?”
“For you to get off my fuckin’ counter,” Dean grumbles, but Bobby just raises his bottle of beer with an innocent smile.
Dean returns the salute grudgingly, then sighs. “I dunno, man. I just… more like a home, y’know?”
Bobby cocks his head. “It’s not a home now?”
“I mean, it is, but like…” he gestures around vaguely at the haphazard furniture and blank walls. “Was cool in college, who cares, right? And even after, y’know, two broke dudes sharing their first bachelor pad.” He trails off, chewing his lip. “But we’re staring down thirty, you know? Sucks living in a place it feels like someone has a foot out the door.”
He avoids quite meeting Bobby’s eyes, and Bobby doesn’t push it.
“Well, Cas said he definitely wants a decent guest room so your brother has an actual place to crash here, right?”
Dean’s eyes widen slightly. “He did?”
“And a nicer space for the rest of your family to hang out here.”
Dean blinks, then looks down. “Uh, Sam’s the only family I really got,” he mumbles towards his hands.
Bobby stares at him in genuine surprise. “Found family is family, right? I mean, have you met my asshole family currently invading your lives?”
Dean snorts, but he’s smiling when he looks back up. “Yeah, some old guy smarter’n me once told me something like that.”
“Well, you should listen to him and me, because you’ll break Cas’ heart if you tell him otherwise.” He hops off the counter without waiting for Dean’s reaction and wanders into the living room. “What are your feelings on a sectional over here?”
----
“Holy crap,” Dean exhales as he looks around the apartment. “The fuck did you guys do this place in like three days?
“I have an amazing team,” Bobby assures him, hopping back onto the counter, and Dean is so absorbed in the renovations he can’t even remember to bitch about it.
Dean glances up to the living room wall, formerly blank, and stops short.
“This is --”
“Baby, yeah,” Bobby says. “I may have called in a favor from a photographer friend. She’s too gorgeous not to be on display.”
“But I mean, this whole thing is for Cas…”
“His idea,” Bobby says casually, sliding off the counter. “We didn’t touch your room, of course, and frankly the kitchen is amazing as it is, which I’d guess is your doing.”
Dean snorts. “The guy makes good coffee, but otherwise, yeah, not so much.”
“And I am so happy to leave that to Antoni. Want to see the rest?” Without waiting for an answer, he shepherds Dean across to the guest room.
“Dude, it’s just a guest room,” Dean mumbles. “It’s not like…”
He stops at the doorway. The room is still simply furnished, but a queen-sized bed had replaced the mattress, along with a fat armchair in one corner and a small flat-screen TV on the wall. But there are clear hints of Sam in the decoration, and Dean’s eyes linger on the plaid bedspread and matching curtains.
He rubs the back of his neck with an awkward cough. “So, uh, Cas’ idea too?”
“Yup,” Bobby says breezily, and without waiting for a reply, he leads Dean back out and to the den.
“So,” he says loudly, before Dean has a fit about the missing well-worn recliners and the loveseat in their place, “for the record, we haven’t trashed your chairs, because that isn’t fair to you. But those things made this room almost unusable.” He gestures at the low wooden coffee table now gracing the middle of the room, and the quirky octagonal liquor cabinet sitting neatly in the corner. “We can put it back, but what do you think?”
Dean grumbles something clearly obscene under his breath, but he sinks down onto side of the loveseat, clomping his feet onto the table with intentional noise. Bobby waits patiently, not missing the glance Dean gives to the empty space beside him, until he finally hears a grunt of approval and breathes a sigh of relief.
----
“All right,” Antoni says, beginning to unload the grocery bags, “so I know it looks like a lot --”
“Yes,” Cas agrees, staring at the citrus and spices and various ingredients taking over the kitchen counter. “It does.”
“I promise, these all take about thirty seconds each,” Antoni assures him. “Will you get out a cutting board and a grater, and some measuring spoons?” He pauses. “And a juicer, if you have one?”
Cas nods, and shortly unloads an armful of equipment onto the counter, kicking cupboard doors closed behind him.
“Have you used these before?” Antoni asks curiously.
“I have used spoons,” Cas deadpans. “And even, on occasion, a knife.”
“Ass,” Antoni laughs, and Cas quirks a grin in his direction. “What I meant was, can you juice an orange and zest a lemon that doesn’t take ten hours?”
“Um.” Cas pokes at the orange, catching it before it falls off. “No?”
“Well, now you’ll be able to.” He sets the grater on the cutting board, and shows Cas how to gently grate the rinds before squeezing the rest of the juice out. “Easy enough, right?”
“I… guess so?” Cas says uncertainly. “But what do I…”
“The rest is easy. Measure out the spices, rip up some bread, and just mash it all together. Then just mix in your ground chuck and your burgers are ready to grill.”
“I don’t know how to…”
“You are going to know how to,” Antoni interrupts. “Bobby picked up this grill pan from Target, so you can just throw them on here with a little oil.” He brushes the pan, watching as Cas hesitantly shapes the meat into patties. “Good! Here: toss ‘em on, and we’ll get starting with the aioli.”
Cas gingerly puts the first patty onto the pan, yanking his fingers away as it starts to sizzle.
“Like a professional,” Antoni laughs. “Seriously, you’re doing great. So, now, we’ve just got to mix up some mayo and sour cream, spices, and a little tequila, and we’re almost good to go.”
“Can I have some tequila,” Cas grumbles, poking at the burgers with a spatula until Antoni bats his hand away.
“Later,” Antoni promises, but before Cas can reply, the front door clatters open, and Cas freezes.
“You got this,” Antoni assures him, and as if on cue, Dean appears in the doorway.
“Dude.” He sniffs at the kitchen. “Oh my God. What…”
Cas smiles at him, opening his mouth to answer, and Antoni interrupts him again. “Nope!” he informs Dean, steering him out the kitchen door, slamming it behind himself and leaning against it.
“But I just…”
“It’s a surprise, dummy,” Antoni says, pointing Cas back to the stove. “You’ve still got the aioli to make, and we’ve barely started on the pie.”
“Fine,” Cas grumbles. “I just… I don’t…”
“Cas,” Antoni relents, “do you trust me?”
Cas squints at him, then down at the burgers, inhaling briefly. “I guess.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Antoni laughs, and Cas’ eyes crinkle. “It’s gonna be great.”