Written for the Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2013

"Let me make sure I understand."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm not explaining this again, Dean."

"You get a call from your ex-stalker—"

"—she wasn't my stalker, Dean—"

"—the same girl who once broke into your gym locker and wore your gross, sweaty clothes around all day so she could 'feel close to you' is definitely a stalker. This same girl, she offers you ten thousand dollars to spend a week at her house, and you agreed?"

"…okay, so that gym locker thing was pretty weird, but she calmed down a lot after that, and anyway, she's married now."

"Well, that makes everything okay, then!"

"She was looking for models for a new project she's working on, and she remembered me!"

"Possibly because she wallpapered her room with pictures of you."

"She has a legitimate photography business, Dean. I googled her website and, er, hacked into her business records."

"Well, that's a little unethical, don't you think, Sammy?"

"Don't call me that. And I had to make sure this wasn't anything weird."

"Well, your little test didn't work, then, because this is so, so weird."

"I notice it didn't keep you from coming with me."

Dean tapped his hands on the steering wheel in time with his music. It was hard to argue with that, so he didn't bother.

Judging by Sam's smirk, he took that as a win.

Dean switched tactics. "I'm surprised at you, Sam. Taking a week off in the middle of the semester? Aren't you worried this will ruin your perfect GPA?"

Sam slunk a little in his seat.

Now that was interesting. Dean hadn't actually expected to score a hit with that one—Sam was always doing his schoolwork weeks in advance, the nerd. "Is there something else you're not telling me here, Sammy?"

"Well… you know I'm involved in a few study groups at school, and we were working on Latin the other day, and Jess happened to mention that she ran into Becky at the coffee shop and she was looking for models…"

Dean started laughing so hard he had to pull over.

"It's not that funny!" Sam said, bitch-facing.

"I see how it is." Dean said, when he could speak again. "I'm putting up with this modeling shit so you can try and score with the chick you still haven't managed to ask out in the three years you've been at college."

"We're just friends, Dean."

"Yeah, because your pansy-ass is too terrified to make a move."

"Sometimes people are just friends!"

"Okay, whatever, man. This is the most ridiculous in your long history of ridiculous attempts to get her to notice you, but I am nothing if not supportive of your pitiful efforts to get laid."

"Dean…"

"So long as you weren't lying about that ten thousand dollars thing. I'm taking time off work for this, dude."

"Nope, I signed a contract and everything: seven days, four photoshoots, ten thousand dollars. And she's putting us up in her mansion and feeding us for the whole week as part of the deal."

"Her mansion?"

"Yeah, her new husband is some big-time author or something, a millionaire. She just does photography for fun."

"Crazy Becky's a millionaire? Sometimes I don't understand the world."

"I don't know what to tell you, Dean."

"How about looking at that map and telling me how much farther we have to go?"

"Sam, you made it! You look great!"

"Uh, thanks, Becky, you too," Sam said, trying to extract himself from her overly enthusiastic flying hug.

Dean wondered what the appropriate way was to greet someone with whom your primary interaction was chasing them and their camera off your property. "Hey."

"Oh, hi Dean," she said, peering at him over Sam's shoulder. "Wow, you turned out better than I expected. I was a little worried when Sam insisted that the two of you were a package deal, but you'll do fine."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Sam succeeded in escaping the Death Hug, and suggested they all go into the house.

Becky bounced along, tugging Sam's hand as she showed off the artwork that covered every available surface in the vast entryway, babbling on about the origin and significance of every picture and statue. Dean tuned her out.

She finally wound down when they arrived in an oppressively white room. The walls, ceiling and floor were all white, along with all of the furniture, and the only decoration was white fabric draped artfully along the walls.

Creepy.

The only color in the whole room was the people, their group and three strangers.

One, judging by Sam's suddenly bright red face, was the infamous Jess. She was a knockout, all blonde hair and long legs, shown off to her advantage by her cute blue summer dress. Sam had good taste.

The other two were guys, and they were both scruffy looking, which made Dean fill a little better about his own tattered jeans. One was wearing shorts and a ratty t-shirt with an even rattier bathrobe over it. He had a few days' growth of beard and if he was a model, Dean would eat his jacket. The other guy was wearing loose pants and a long-sleeved shirt with the ugliest trenchcoat Dean had ever seen thrown over it, and for some reason he was barefoot. But despite his wild dark hair and comfortable clothes, he was young and good-looking (you know, for a dude) and was probably here for the picture taking.

"Has everyone met Chuck?" Becky asked, bounding over to bathrobe guy and giving him a very long, loud kiss. Hopefully that was her husband. "He wanted to meet all of you!"

"Uh, hey," Chuck said, looking like he would rather, in fact, be anywhere but here.

"He's in the writing zone right now," Becky whispered loud enough for the whole room to hear. "So you probably won't be seeing much of him this week."

"And speaking of that…" Chuck said, edging towards the door.

"Of course!" Becky said, smacking his butt as he scurried past.

Dean didn't know what his face looked right now, but Sam kicked his shin when he saw it.

"I suppose most of you know each other," Becky said, "but I'll introduce you just in case. I knew Sam back in high school, and this is his brother, Dean. Jess here works at my favorite coffee shop, and Cas," this was wild hair dude, "is my yoga instructor."

The four of them waved awkwardly at each other. Personally, Dean thought this was the weirdest way of recruiting models he'd ever heard of, but then, if he were a millionaire, he'd probably do weird shit, too. Maybe travel the country and search out the best pie, then build a new national monument to it. Did you need a permit for that?

"This first day is just for settling in; we'll start shooting tomorrow," Becky was saying. "The chef will serve dinner at six, but if you're hungry at other times the kitchen is always open. Um, what else… I've set aside the east hall for you to sleep in. The rest of the crew is staying here, too, so I only have two rooms available for you four, but everyone gets their own bed. Here, let me show you the way."

Dean sighed; he'd spent virtually his whole life sharing a room with Sam and his ear-splitting snoring, but what the hell, at least he was used to it.

Then he caught sight of Sam giving him the puppy eyes behind Becky's back. Sam glanced at Jess, then back at Dean. Tears shimmered in his wide eyes.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

Sam's lower lip wobbled a little.

Dean scowled and looked away. That expression should be illegal. But because he was a giant sucker, he slowed his stride to fall in pace with the yoga guy, Cas. "Hey," he said.

"You look like you're about to be sexiled," Cas said, grinning.

Dean couldn't help but smile back. At least he seemed like a cool guy. "Yeah. You mind?"

"Not at all. This is a big step up for me; I've been sleeping on a bench at the Y for the past few weeks."

"Geez, really?" And Dean thought his shitty apartment was bad.

"Eh, it's not so bad. There's always hot water in the shower, and it saves the commute. I teach a morning and evening yoga class there, and tai chi in the afternoons."

"So… if you have a job, why are you…?" Dean asked awkwardly.

"I want to have my own studio one day, and if they're willing to let me stay there for free, well, then I'm that much closer to my dream, aren't I?"

"You're kind of strange, aren't you," Dean said, before he could censor himself.

Cas laughed. "That's what everyone tells me. And what brings you here? You don't really give off the model vibe."

"Yeah, no. I'm a mechanic. That gargantuan little brother of mine got a full ride to college, but that doesn't include food and board, not to mention books, a computer, all that shit. I'm helping him out, and I certainly wasn't going to pass up to ten thousand bucks for a measly week of work."

"Fair enough."

Sam and Jess disappeared into one of the rooms, laughing and completely wrapped up in each other.

"So, guess this is us," Dean said, hovering awkwardly outside the second door.

"Or the linen closet," Cas said, pushing open the door.

They went into the room, which had fancy wood-paneling on every wall and two king-size beds with thick, red velvet curtains. Reproductions of famous works of art—or possibly the originals, who knows?—lined the walls.

"Wow," Cas said, looking more disturbed than impressed. Dean immediately felt more at ease; he wasn't used to this kind of… opulence… and it was a relief to be around someone who felt the same.

"I feel like I should be wearing a doublet," Dean joked.

"I'll have you know I look fabulous in a hoop skirt," Cas said, disappearing into the attached bathroom.

Dean laughed. "Wait, you were joking, right?"

The next morning, Cas was already gone by the time Dean woke up. It was nice that the guy wasn't intrusive, but it was a little weird that his moving around hadn't woken Dean up. He was normally a light sleeper.

Well, whatever. Breakfast was calling. He barely had time to grab a bagel before Becky waltzed into the kitchen with her thousand-watt smile. "There you are! Everyone's waiting!"

He meekly followed her downstairs, stuffing as much of the bagel into his mouth as he could. He was still chipmunk-cheeked when he found Sam, Jess and Cas. Sam covered his eyes in shame.

They were in what must have been the basement, but it looked more like a ballroom, or an anthill. It was all one, enormous room, filled to the brim with a forest of equipment, backdrops and screens sectioning off different parts of the room. Throughout the mess a truly frightening number of people ran about shouting and waving papers, equipment, and who knows what else.

"Charlie!" Becky yelled, her voice more than a match for the ruckus.

A cute redhead wearing a white corset top and brown leggings emerged from the chaos. She smiled and waved. "Hey folks! I'm Charlie, the creative director for the shoot. I designed all your costumes and the sets and everything. Not that you probably care about that. The important part is that I'll be taking you to Balthazar to get your makeup and costumes sorted so we can get started."

Like ducklings, they obediently trotted after her, while Becky went to do who knows what. Actually… "So what exactly does Becky do, then?" Dean asked. "I thought she was kind of running the show here?"

"She is; she tells me what she wants, then it's my job to translate that vision into reality. So that means, if you end up with a concept you don't like, don't blame me," Charlie said, with an unsettling smile.

Dean was immediately afraid of what was in store.

This fear was not alleviated by Balthazar, who had a smarmy look about him that immediately put Dean on edge. He seemed to pick up on it somehow, because he winked at Dean obnoxiously. "Well, well, aren't you all just delicious."

Dean edged away.

"Girls!" Balthazar shouted, making Dean jump. Three women, probably about Sam's age, appeared out of nowhere. "Get these people to hair and makeup. I'll take them one at a time to make sure their clothes fit. You can never trust someone else's measurements."

"Not yet!" someone interrupted. Dean had the brief impression of shortness and a fine suit as yet another person pushed into his personal space.

"Fuck off, Crowley, some of us are working here," Balthazar said to the newcomer.

"No one does anything until these forms are signed," Crowley said, totally unbothered by Balthazar's hostility.

"We already signed contracts," Sam said.

"These are non-disclosure forms, appearance releases, and risk acknowledgment forms. Strictly routine." He dropped about a hundred pieces of paper on the table with a thud, scattering makeup everywhere.

Balthazar made a scandalized noise.

The four of them signed the whole lot, even though Sam complained the entire time about not having enough time to read it properly.

"It lets us use the pictures and says you can't sue us if you're mauled by lions or die of syphilis or anything," Crowley said helpfully.

"Is that likely?" Dean asked, pausing.

"Some behaviors are more high-risk than others," Balthazar said with another wink. "Looks like you're done. Come on, darling."

"Excuse me?" Dean hissed, even as Balthazar dragged him behind one of the screens and began measuring him.

"Is that really necessary?" Dean said, pretending that his voice hadn't gone dangerously high towards the end there.

Balthazar smirked from where he was measuring Dean's inseam—for the third time. "It never hurts to be thorough," he said primly, not-quite-groping Dean in the process.

Dean muttered darkly under his breath.

"I love these bow legs," Balthazar said, measuring the space between Dean's knees for some obscure reason—or possibly no reason. "Adorable. This could be your signature."

"Uh, sure," Dean said, trying to subtly check himself out in one of the myriad floor-length mirrors in Balthazar's "office". Were his legs really that weird-looking? They just looked like his normal legs to him.

"You're fabulous, don't worry about it," Balthazar said, slapping him on the ass.

Dean tried and failed not to make an offended noise like some kind of girl. He was forced to gather the shreds of his dignity and walk, not run, away, Balthazar's mocking laughter ringing in his ears.

Of course it wasn't much of an escape, because then he had to sit in a chair and get his hair styled and makeup put on his face. This was mortifying. He couldn't even properly enjoy how all three makeup girls came over to exclaim over his eyes and his freckles and how cute he was, because then they started talking about foundation and eyeshadow and hell no.

"Adorable," Sam said, seemingly unbothered by the fact that he had makeup on only half his face, or that he was wearing makeup at all.

"Always knew you were a girl," Dean said. "How was getting groped by Balthazar?"

Sam frowned. "Uncomfortable. I'm pretty sure that kind of harassment's illegal."

"Dude, turn off lawyer-mode for five minutes, it wasn't that bad."

"I got a phone number out of it," Cas said, smoothly interrupting their conversation.

Dean startled, almost getting a mascara brush in his eye. And there was a sentence he hoped he never had to think again. "Make some noise or something," he said.

"I believe I just did," Cas said.

"Are you always such a smart-ass?"

Cas fluttered his eyelashes. "Only for you."

"I'm going to go check on Jess," Sam said, sliding out of his seat and out from the curtain tent, much to his makeup girl's frustration.

"He has it so bad for her," Dean said, watching his brother run off to defend Jess's honor with proud amusement.

"Yeah, that's definitely why he was rushing off," Cas said, smiling like Dean was missing something.

Before Dean could ask about it, they were pronounced 'finished' and hustled off to wardrobe, where their clothes were waiting for them.

"If the clothes were already made, why did we need to get measured?" Dean asked.

"I'm a yoga instructor, not a fashion designer," Cas said, his voice muffled by his shirt. "How the hell should I know? Usually I just go around naked."

Dean choked on nothing. "What?"

Cas's grinning face emerged from the hem of his new t-shirt.

"You're a pain in the ass, you know that, right?"

"It's been said."

Jess and Sam arrived soon after, and Dean was relieved to see that they were all in relatively normal clothes. He'd seen magazines, and models wore some weird shit. They looked like a redneck convention in their jeans and plaid, but it could have been a lot worse, and Jess looked like an angel in a long white dress.

Sam certainly couldn't take his eyes off her.

"Dude, you look like a trucker," Dean said, as Cas pulled a baseball cap over his unruly hair. "Except all the other truckers would probably beat you up."

Cas wasn't a short guy, but between Sam, who was clearly part-giant, and Dean in a sweet leather jacket that added even more bulk to his already respectable shoulders, Cas looked small. It didn't help that his plaid shirt was a few sizes too big, and his face practically disappeared behind his hat and beard.

Cas seemed to read his mind, because he scratched at his facial hair irritably. "I suppose I know why Becky insisted that I start growing a beard when she came in last. I hope this is a one-time thing; I've been fantasizing about shaving these last few days."

"Aren't you guys ready yet?" Charlie demanded, sticking her head into the room. "Oh, you are. Well, stop standing around and get in here, then!"

The chaos was slightly tamed, and they were led an open area with a bed, a fake tree, and a 1967 Chevy Impala.

"That is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," Dean said, stroking the hood.

"Dean, you're making me uncomfortable," Sam muttered.

"This is perfect!" Becky said, right in Dean's ear. "You're getting right into character. I guess I had no reason to worry."

Dean was too busy whispering sweet nothings to this gorgeous car to be offended. Would anyone notice if he drove off in it?

"Chuck's going to be with us today," Becky said, waving to Chuck, who was dozing in one of those cloth director's chairs, still wearing that awful robe. "I wanted to start with some pictures inspired by Chuck's amazing book series, Supernatural" she sighed loudly and held her hands over her heart "and he's having a bit of writer's block, so maybe it will be inspirational!"

After that it was a whirlwind of barked orders and bright lights. Jess was playing Sam's dead girlfriend, his inspiration for a life of crime-fighting and… ghost-busting? The plot of these books wasn't too clear to Dean. But the two of them blew it out of the water, Sam hardly having to struggle to look at her longingly, and she looked ethereal with her hair loose around her shoulders and her dress reflecting all the light.

Then Sam and Dean posed together, playing two characters who were brothers, and that required no imagination at all. They half-hugged, laughed, posed in and around the car, then pretended to beat each other up. Then they were supposed to be sad—"in the depths of despair" as Becky put it—which was harder. It wasn't like Dean could cry on cue!

Cas was playing their friend, Bobby, and they did several shots with the three of them together. Cas's character was a teacher or mentor of some kind, and they had him reading from old-looking books, then whacking Sam and Dean upside the head with said books (with entirely too much enthusiasm, in Dean's opinion), then just the three of them hanging around the car, drinking beer and talking.

Then Jess came out again dressed in a skintight black number that had Sam's jaw practically on the floor. Apparently she was now Sam's new girlfriend (Dean was sensing a theme here), the demon Ruby, set to seduce Sam away from the side of truth and light. She was seductive all right, and Dean had to look away in order to respect the brotherly rules of I saw her first.

Cas slipped away to change back into his regular clothes, loose white pants and a top, again with the trenchcoat. The bastard was done already, while Dean was on standby in case they wanted him for something else. Becky was threatening to pose him and Sam together in ways that frankly made Dean a bit uncomfortable.

But in the meantime, she had Sam stripped to the waist and posing for the camera, some weird star drawn on his chest, and fans blowing his hair back wildly. He looked completely ridiculous and Dean could hardly stop laughing.

"Admire my flowing locks!" Dean said, tossing his head dramatically and fluttering his hands.

Cas laughed, then gave Dean a courtly bow. "Fair maiden, of the flowing hair, may I have this dance?"

Dean gave him a suspicious look, still not sure how seriously he should take anything Cas said. "I think if one of us is the girl here, it's definitely you," he said finally, pointing at Cas's hair. After being under a hat all day, it was even more out of control than before, sticking up wildly in every direction.

"I see your point," Cas said. "Good sir." He fluttered his eyelashes, then pulled at the edges of his trenchcoat and curtsied. "May I have this dance?"

"Umm…"

It wasn't really a question, because Cas put one hand on Dean's shoulder and the other on his elbow and began waltzing around the small waiting area, the equipment throwing weird shadows against the sheets draped everywhere.

Dean just went with it; it was Cas's idea, and he could hardly be held responsible for how crazy the guy was. He did make sure he was the one leading, though, and Cas played it up, letting his trenchcoat swirl like a woman's skirt. He didn't seem the tiniest bit bothered by how ridiculous they must look.

They were both laughing when they finally stopped, Dean never having quite caught the rhythm of the steps. Whatever, it wasn't like ballroom dancing was something that came up frequently in his life.

"Wait, don't move!"

They both froze, only then realizing how uncomfortably close they were standing, as Chuck launched himself out of his chair and began circling Dean and Cas, squinting at everything and waving his hands and muttering to himself. His shout had brought all activity in the room to a sudden halt.

"Ooh," Becky said, coming to see what the fuss was about.

"Oh," Dean said, once he saw it, too.

"What?" Cas asked, annoyed.

"Dude, you've got…" Dean waved a hand vaguely. Some trick of the lights, or the equipment, or something, had cast shadows against the sheet that looked eerily like wings, protruding from Cas's back. There was even a goddamn light making a goddamn golden halo on his dark hair. It was almost beautiful, if you could overlook the ridiculous trenchcoat and overall dorkiness. Or some manlier adjective than freaking 'beautiful', what was even going on in his head right now.

Cas elbowed him in the stomach for that less than helpful response.

"What's your name again?" Chuck asked, coming to a halt about two inches from Cas's face.

"It's Cas," Cas said, seemingly unbothered by this intrusion in his personal space. Well, Dean was bothered on his behalf. And on his own behalf, as he was standing next to Cas, so Chuck was practically standing on top of him. "Or, Castiel. Castiel Novak."

"That's an unusual name," Chuck said.

"I'm named after an angel," Cas said, shrugging.

"An angel… of course! Angels!"

"Baby?" Becky said, joining the others inside Dean's personal bubble.

"I have… I want… I have an idea!" Chuck said, sounding more surprised than pleased. "Put this guy back in front of the camera. But lose the beard. And put him in some actual clothes. Actually, the trenchcoat can stay." He abruptly walked away, muttering to himself about needing paper.

"You heard the man!" Becky said, clapping her hands and getting everyone moving again.

"This is a tai chi uniform, and perfectly functional clothing," Cas said, with great dignity. "But since you're finally letting me shave I won't complain."

Not that it would have mattered, because all three makeup girls and Balthazar hustled him away. Charlie ran after them. "That wasn't much guidance!" she yelled at Becky, who wasn't listening as she'd gone to talk to the photographer.

Dean and Jess exchanged looks, then sat on the floor where they hopefully wouldn't be noticed, and watched an enthusiastic photography assistant show Sam his pin-up shots. Jess was funny as well as hot, and she giggled right along with Dean at Sam's misfortune. She was good for that kid.

Cas eventually returned, wearing an ill-fitting black suit and a backwards blue tie under his trenchcoat. Did they have some kind of allergy to giving him clothes that fit? They'd somewhat tamed his hair, so it looked merely windswept, rather than dragged backwards through a hedge. Without the distracting facial hair, his face was completely dominated by big blue eyes and a full, almost girly mouth.

"I look stupid, right?" Cas said, as Dean stood there gaping like an idiot. "I can't remember the last time I wore a suit."

"Ah, perfect!" Chuck exclaimed. He was scribbling furiously on the back of one the appearance releases, much to Crowley's obvious irritation. "I sent Dean to hell, and I couldn't figure out what to do next, but angels! Why didn't I think of that? The angel Castiel! But before he was touched by an angel, he was an ordinary human. A tax accountant!" He squinted at Cas. "Or a moderately successful ad salesman."

Cas looked offended by this.

"You sent me to hell?" Dean asked, confused.

"The main characters are also named Sam and Dean," Becky said. "That's how I knew Sam and I were meant to be. Meant to be best friends, I mean."

"Well, that's weird," Dean said.

Charlie was nowhere to be found, so Becky set Dean and Cas in front of one of the screens, the shadow-wings placed purposefully this time, and told them to 'get creative'. "Try and imagine it," she said. "We're not shooting yet, just trying to get you in the right headspace. So the story is that Castiel is an angel who just pulled you from years of suffering in hell. How are you feeling? Show us."

"Bwuh?" Dean said. He wasn't an actor. He turned to tell Cas this, but the guy seemed to have grown three feet in the last ten seconds and had fixed him with a laser stare that had Dean frozen in his tracks. "Meh?" he squeaked.

"I'm an angel of the lord," Cas said, and Christ, even his voice was deeper. What the hell? Cas took a step forward. "I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."

"Oh my god I'm totally using that," Chuck muttered, pencil scratching away.

"That's perfect, Dean!" Becky said.

Dean was pretty sure his face said 'frightened rabbit' right now, but whatever, he couldn't seem to look away. Cas kept walking forward at a slow, hypnotic pace, until they were nose to nose. They weren't actually touching anywhere, but if one of them breathed too deeply they would be.

"I saved you, Dean," Cas said, and Dean could feel his breath against his face.

"Why?" Dean said, deciding to start pulling his own weight here. He let his expression go conflicted, angry and sad and overwhelmed all at once. In the background, Becky squealed again.

"You deserved to be saved," Cas said, solemnly. His face, which had been so mobile and expressive up until now, was completely still, all his focus on Dean.

"Okay, we're ready!" Charlie said from somewhere off to the side, breaking the moment.

"Great! Cas, Dean, this way!" Becky said, waving them along.

Charlie had transformed a corner of the room into a creepy tableau, broken furniture and gruesome paintings against a backdrop of red and yellow cloth. "Hell," Charlie said proudly. "Not bad for twenty minutes of prep time, if I do say so myself."

Becky and Charlie positioned Dean and Cas in various ways with much muttering and shaking of heads.

"It's still missing something," Becky said.

"Yes, but what?" Charlie said.

"How about this?" Sam said. He held up an antique sword. "Storming hell, might want a weapon."

"Mm, yes, good," Chuck said, still scribbling away. "A garrison of angels laid siege to hell, but only one angel made it through the demonic ranks…"

"Dean, take off your jacket," Charlie said. As soon as he'd tossed it aside, she grabbed his t-shirt and ripped it.

"Whoa, hey!"

"Relax, tiger, your virtue is in no danger. You're not my type." She fluttered her eyelashes at Jess, who looked both surprised and flattered.

Dean's jaw dropped, and Charlie took advantage of his distraction to upend a bucket of dark red paint over his head. "Hey!" he sputtered. "My mouth was open and everything!"

"Oops," Charlie said, unrepentantly.

"Why do you even have all this stuff down here?" Dean asked, trying to wipe the paint out of his eyes with his paint-covered hand.

"You never know what you might need during a photoshoot," Charlie said practically, wiping the paint from his eyes with a cloth. "There. Now I think we're getting somewhere."

"Yes, I like this," Becky said. "Dean, go over there! Now lie on the floor; remember, you're a tortured soul. And Cas, you swoop down from heaven and pull him out. Try to look… ethereal."

The paint had dried and was flaking every time Dean even breathed by the time they were finally done. But even he had to admit that they'd gotten a phenomenal picture. They must have tried a hundred poses, but the one everyone kept returning to was Dean kneeling, looking up at Cas in wonder as the angel gripped his bicep and promised a return to life. The lighting people had somehow gotten it so the light only fell on Cas, while Dean was left in shadow and sticky red paint. That damn halo lit up his hair and, with his sword raised, Dean half-believed Cas really was an angel.

Dean got to take a break while they tried a few pictures with Cas and the others. Charlie particularly loved putting "Castiel" and "Ruby" in the same picture, capturing the struggle between angel and demon.

"I had no idea modeling was so much work," Dean said, barely able to eat the steak dinner the chef prepared, which was a damn shame. He did manage to rally in time for dessert, a delicious cherry pie.

"A quarter of the way done now," Sam said.

"Maybe you'd feel better if you showered," Jess said pointedly, brushing red paint flakes away from her plate.

"Too hungry," Dean whined.

Sam and Jess both rolled their eyes at the same time—creepy—but Cas, who was a good friend, offered Dean the rest of his slice of pie.