(Dude, I could write CHAPTERS about this, but drabble it is!)

Castiel Novak considers himself to be patient. Mild mannered. Even as a calm sea.

Oh, how he wishes that were true.

Currently he’s pushed his glasses up on his forehead to rub at the bridge of his nose where an astonishing power headache behind his eyes. 

He wants to burn the local alt-rock station to the ground. No, he wants to burn all radio stations to the ground. Who the hell thought it was a good idea to giveaway recording studio time? Especially when the only prerequisite had been, “dial the phone fastest.” No auditions, no sifting through, just be one of the lucky callers.

The contest isn’t paying dividends. But Castiel is paid to do this for one hour per person, so he drops his headphones around his neck while winner #1 pterodactyl screeches her way through a Top 50 synth-hit. He doesn’t even have to listen to know what to say and when. “That’s great, Becky,” he says blankly. “Let’s run through it one more time.”

The only saving grace about it being today and not tomorrow is that today he doesn’t have to actually listen. They screech, scream, growl, and voice-crack their way through their songs, and Castiel records it all. Tomorrow is going to suck because he will have to listen. Lay the tracks to best effect and somehow pull together a passable mastertape to send to them.

He’s not sure why he bothers with professional pride. Becky thinks she’s hot shit and hasn’t hit a note head on since she opened her mouth forty-five minutes ago. She wouldn’t notice the difference. But Castiel will autotune her to death if only to save himself some minor ear bleeding later.

Garth at least can carry a tune, but leaves Castiel with the vague worry that the lanky man thinks he actually is Johnny Cash.

Benny can’t sing his way out of… well, anything, but he doesn’t pretend to. He follows the adage, “when in doubt, sing loud.”

Jo is okay, but so nervous that she ends up forgetting all the lyrics.

Castiel is just sitting back in his chair hoping to embrace the sweet silence of death, when Dean ambles into the recording studio carrying a truly tragic looking guitar. He sits on the stool and waits for Castiel to stop staring.

It takes a minute, but then, Castiel remembers the rest of his day and thinks, the pretty ones are usually the worst. He sighs. Clicks on the microphone. “What will you be singing today?”

In a melodious baritone, Dean leans towards the microphone and simply says, “Lynyrd Skynyrd.”

Castiel shrugs. He can’t possibly give a shit anymore. “Whenever you’re ready.”

His guitar work is a bit sloppy off the cuff, but it only takes two seconds for Castiel to recognize Simple Man. He only has a moment to mourn the murder of a classic, because when Dean starts singing, Castiel shoots up ramrod straight in his seat.

Clearly, Dean doesn’t know anything about recording. He’s slumps over his guitar and doesn’t consider the position of the microphone because his voice fades in and out a little bit when he sways. 

He’s gorgeous and he’s good. Castiel would record a dozen – a hundred people to hear something like Dean’s understated, heartfelt, blessedly on tune voice.

He can’t even believe it when Dean finishes singing. It feels like he’d just started a second a go. But he places his hands over the strings and the song is over.

Castiel opens his mouth. Closes it. He could cry. He tosses off his headphones and stalks to the recording room. When the door flies open, Dean looks surprised. He blinks at Castiel. Gapes. His ears turn an interesting shade of red.

Castiel wants to kiss him to assuage both his attraction and his gratitude. But instead he says, “you’re the best singer who’s been here all day. You’re the best I’ve heard in months. But you suck at recording.” He jabs his finger out almost angrily. “Sit up straight and sing directly into the mic. I’m going to get another one for your guitar. If you keep moving around and depriving me of your voice, I’ll lose my mind.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean says faintly, shell-shocked.

Castiel stalks back to the door and whips around again. “Do you know other songs?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, a small smile blooming on his full lips. “Tons.”

Castiel waves a hand. “I want to hear them all.”

Those green eyes warm further. “Got no other plans tonight.” He’s almost cheeky.

Castiel smirks. “Yes, you do. You’re going to sing me to sleep.” He closes the door behind him leaving Dean laughing beautifully behind him.