Chapter Text
“Dean Winchester. Six foot, one inch tall. Approximately One-Hundred-and-Seventy-Five pounds of lean muscle, and the dream of every woman who's ever had to sit through a major league baseball game in the history of the Boston Red Sox.” Balthazar Du Lac dropped a hefty stack of folders atop of Castiel's desk with a grin, “We would like you to get his story. The ins and outs of Dean Winchester; what he likes, what he dislikes, any superfluous kinks.”
“Mister Du Lac, didn't you assign this to Becky last month? The month before, I believe Anna had it, and prior to that, Jo?” Cas stared at the folders with a noticeable grimace.
“Ah, yes... Before that, we had also given it to Lisa, Cassie, and Jessica. They all failed, so we figured, why not take our token gay man and have him give it a go. Maybe he isn't interested in the ladies.”
“So you believe that I, a man who has never done a thing more than edit and blog your information, should suddenly become a reporter because I'm gay?”
“Well that... Plus, I know you've always wanted to get out and see the world Castiel. If you can get Winchester to agree to let you cover him, you will get to travel over the states with him, potentially over seas depending on how well things may or may not go. You never know with a baseball player, especially one with a 3-digit pitching speed for his fastball. Think of it Castiel. We'll give you until tomorrow to agree, and you have until the beginning of the season to actually get the approval. From there, you have through the entire season and, if need be, post season, to write your article. We give you full artistic license. Within reason of course.”
“I do not believe you know what 'full artistic license' means if you think to add restrictions to it. However, I do not need a night to think, I will attempt the story.”
“Amazing! Thank you Castiel; you are an angel.” Balthazar nodded, placing a second bundle on the desk, “Your press pass as well as extra expense sheets are within that folder. Winchester is doing a photo shoot for some random clothing product and we've managed to get an in with his manager, this one time only, for one of our reporters to go and see him.” Balthazar choked back a laugh, “So long as we don't send Becky ever again. Ever. You have two hours to get ready and meet Mister Shurley outside of the Spellblock Photo Studio.” Cas sighed and gathered the folders, placing them into his bag to read later, “Oh, and Castiel? If you mess this up, please don't think you'll ever get out of the editors box and into the field again. Ciao.” With a snide smile, Balthazar walked away, closing himself away in his office without another word.
Cas paled slightly, quickening his speed. This was his chance, apparently his only chance, and he was not going to mess this up. “You can do this Castiel. This shouldn't be a problem at all. I mean, he is just a famous pitcher that has turned down the most aesthetically pleasing women in the office, and Becky...” He swallowed, nearing the brink of panic, before he shook his head, renewing his determination and rushing to his car; within Boston traffic, it could take him five minutes or an hour to get across town to the studio.
~*~
It had taken almost the full two hours for Castiel to proceed through traffic and enter the studio. His hair was windswept, almost akin to bedhead, with his tie haphazardly hanging from his neck, “My apologies. My name is Castiel Novak, I am here to speak with Mister Shurley?” He stood up straight in an attempt to make him seem more professional, and adjusted his coat, “I am from the online magazine and blog, 'Out Of Left Field'.”
The man at the door rolled his eyes continued to stand in the doorway; moving only after catching sight of a shaky looking man, “Golem, it's fine. He does actually have an appointment. Go back to Aaron and see if there is anything else Dean needs, okay?” The large man nodded and walked away without a word, “Sorry about that. Golem isn't a very social man, and he doesn't speak much... He is great at keeping people away from our pitcher though, so at least he can do his job. Mister Novak, right?”
“Please, call me Castiel. It is a pleasure to meet you Mister Shurley. I truly hope Mister Winchester will allow me to cover him. I would love to get his real story.”
“Well, in the end, that is for Dean to decide; and please, call me Chuck. No reason to be formal with me, I'm just a manager. I really don't do much other than make sure Dean shows up for work and keeps his schedule.” Chuck laughed, “Besides, you can't be as crazy as the others than the OLF blog sent us. Hopefully.” Cas smiled a little and adjusted his messenger bag, holding out his hand to shake Chuck's; the gesture was returned with a larger smile, “Come with me, Dean is almost done.”
Chuck walked Castiel through the twists and turns of the studio, keeping close enough to continue short conversation, but far enough away that Castiel was able to take in the scene around him. There were lights set, what appeared to be, randomly through the studio, surrounded by props and filters, “Mister Shu--- Chuck, I did not realize this studio was so large. Will we be reaching where we need to be soon?” His voice was quiet, and almost halfhearted. He wanted nothing more than to continue exploring the maze like studio, but before Chuck could respond, the two men had entered a wide open area, painted a stark white and flooded with natural and unnatural light, and within it was Dean Winchester, clad in nothing more than a tight set of undergarments, sprawled across a leather couch; his eyes flashing a deep emerald forest green, and those eyes were locked on Castiel.