Chapter Text
Castiel has been having the worst art block.
He’s been so uninspired and he cannot focus on his work (probably because of all the noises of people honking at others on the streets).
He sat at his desk in his small ass room in his small ass apartment. He just looked at his sketchbook, tapping his pencil like it would help him think of an idea. He thought of something but quickly got distracted when there was the loudest honk to ever exist. When he focused on his sketchbook again, he forgot the idea.
Why did he decide to live in New York City? Everything about it is horrible. Castiel sighed and got up, turned off his light and tried to go to sleep.
He ended up watching YouTube until 12 AM.
The next morning, he procrastinated as he didn’t want to get up and do his job for once. He usually enjoys his job. He makes good money and genuinely enjoys drawing and painting (…most of the time). Days like these he hates his job. No inspiration and the city being so loud he couldn’t concentrate. His work is usually handed off into museums— most aren’t like fancy fancy museums but there is quite a few in fancy museums and he actually sells quite a bit in one day.
But he hasn’t come out with a new piece of art in almost 4 months. So sure he still has stable income from his other pieces but he likes structure. And he hates when he doesn’t follow that structure and get a new piece of work out.
Usually, when he gets an art block, Meg, Castiel’s best friend, offered to be his muse (that’s what Meg liked to call it but Castiel just called her inspiration so he didn’t feed into her ego). But Meg was out of state— she was visiting family in Chicago. She wouldn’t be back for another two weeks and Cas didn’t want to wait that long. He already waited long enough.
He finally got out of bed a little over 4 hours after he woke up. He checked the time: 10:32 AM. He usually woke up and got out of bed at 6:30. Which Meg said he was insane for.
He made some coffee lazily, rubbing his eyes to get the sleepiness out as the coffee machine does its job. The machine beeped after a bit and he took his coffee out and started drinking it. Meg also said he was insane for putting nothing in his coffee.
He also made himself some breakfast. Eggs on some avocado toast with bacon on the side. Cas ate in silence mostly. After eating, he went to go get dressed. The artist picked out a sweater as it was early October. So it wasn’t too cold but not too hot. And then he also picked out some cargo jeans. He brushed his teeth, brushed his hair, used the bathroom, and washed his hands.
He packed all his drawing supplies that he needed at the moment— his sketchbook, graphite pencils, a few of his favorite erasers, and charcoal. He hated doing digital art for some reason. He respected and is even friends with people who do digital art but it’s just not his cup of tea. He does more traditional art on paper and canvases— realism/Classical, portraiture, landscape, still life, figure drawing/painting. That kind of thing.
Then he finally left his apartment and politely said good morning to one of his neighbors that wakes up early as he does and he headed out. When he got outside, he was met with the rather disgusting smell and the loudness of the city. He was so close to just moving somewhere else— the country preferably. Southern areas. But he had many friends in this state that he didn’t want to leave.
He walked to an ATM to get some cash because he planned on maybe getting some food in Central Park as he worked and most stands only took cash. He got 50 bucks and then headed off to the park.
He found a perfect place— a bench under a tree with the sun not beaming in his eyes. He took out his sketchbook and one of his pencils and looked around for inspiration. He tried to do some landscape of Central Park but it didn’t come out good at all. He groaned softly. He erased and then drew again just to erase again. He was getting nowhere.
He gave up after a few hours and went back to his apartment. Out of frustration, he curled up in bed and zoned out, staring at the wall.
BEEEEPPPPP. BEEEEPPPPP.
Dean groaned, slapping some button on his alarm clock to get it to shut up. Maybe he turned it off or only snoozed it.
He got up lazily and heard his 17 year old baby brother walking into the apartment from his morning run. Dean checked the time. 7:30 AM. It was too early for life.
BEEEEPPPPP. BEEEEPPPPP.
Dean silenced the alarm clock again but this time he turned it off for good.
The Winchester managed to get himself out of his bed and bedroom and stumbled around the small apartment. Sam turned and saw him. “Morning. Do you work at the café or mechanics today? I have a job interview at that Italian place today. 6 PM.”
”Mechanics for the next two days. And I work from 9:30 to 5:00. So I should be home around 5:30. You may need to walk.” Sam nods in understanding. “Are you going to hop in the shower? If not I am.”
”No you can go get your sweatiness off.” Sam chuckled softly and went to the shower. Dean made himself some coffee and stole some leftovers from the fridge and heated them up for breakfast.
He ate in silence, just staring off thinking about how the hell he’s going to afford Sam’s senior fees and college. He started his senior year in early September. About a month ago. Bobby and Ellen paid his senior fees but Dean felt the need to pay them back. Eight hundred dollars they paid for Sam to have a good senior year. Cap and gown, walking across the stage, yearbook, and senior pictures.
At the Harvelle Roadhouse cafe he gets 16 dollars an hour and at Bobby’s mechanics he gets twenty five.
He finished his breakfast and then got changed into his uniform for working at the mechanic shop which is overalls over a white t-shirt. He brushed his hair as well and then came out of his bedroom after getting changed and waited ten minutes for Sam to get out of the shower so he can brush his teeth.
After he brushed his teeth, he said a quick goodbye to Sam before heading out the apartment door. He hoped in his 67 impala and started driving. The traffic always sucked in Queens. He drove for fifteen minutes before arriving at the shop and he was on opening shift with his best friend, Charlie.
”Hey, Winchester!” Dean came over to Charlie after the redhead in question called his name. “Hi, Charlie. How was that uh—“ Dean tried to remember the function she went to last night. Charlie is always doing something. “Reproductive rights function?” Dean nodded, now remembering.
”Met a girl.” Charlie said. “Hot?” Dean shot back. “Cute.”
”So— do you think something is going to happen or was it just another one night stand?” Charlie chuckled, “You say that like you don’t do one night stands and they suck.” Dean sighed before saying, “Charlie.” The woman in question laughed before saying, “Right. It was just another one night stand. If you can’t score at a reproductive rights function then you simply cannot score.”
Dean laughed. He then said, “Pictures?” Charlie smiled, pulling out her phone and pulling up her camera roll. “Pictures or it didn’t happen, right?” She gives the green eyed man her phone so Dean could scroll through them.
The older man looked through the photos before giving the phone back to Charlie. “You have to fix that Jeep Smith has. He wants it back by Friday.” Dean looked at Charlie like she was joking. “That thing is toast! The frame is so bent and the engine is ruined. Not to mention this thing is old as hell.” Charlie is like, “I don’t know why he’s keeping it but he is. And it’s 17 years older than your car. It’s not that much older.” “Yeah but I take care of my baby! He clearly doesn’t.”
”Even if I could get this fixed— how am I supposed to in two days?!” Charlie sighed. “I tried telling him that! But he said if it’s not fixed by Friday he’ll talk to Bobby. And we can’t fuck this up he’s literally one of our best— if not best— customers.” Dean sighed, understanding where his best friend was coming from and headed to the jeep and gets to work.
After a long day of work, he went back home. Sam was already gone because he always wants to be early. Dean sends him a quick good luck text before getting himself in the shower and washing the day away. Literally and figuratively. Literally because he had to scrub oil off of himself. Figuratively because showers calm him. After his shower, he made himself dinner which to no surprise was pie and beer. He sat down on his couch, continuing to watch his horror movie marathon he’s been doing for this past week and a half, watching any and every horror movie he could find.
Sam came back two hours later. “So?” Dean asked. Sam sighed. “I don’t think so. I’m sorry Dean.” The older hugged the younger, “It’s alright, Sammy.”
In two days, he managed to get it running but the frame definitely didn’t look pretty. “I’m sorry Bobby.” Dean said, sitting down in a chair in Bobby’s living room. Bobby sighed. “It’s okay. I’ll talk to him. You did a lot more than I would be able to do in two days. Just worry about everything else you need to focus on in life, you idjit.”
Dean went home and immediately crashed in his bed. The next day, he got up and got ready in his work uniform to work at the roadhouse which is a rustic cafe he works at. He headed out the door and got in his car. Due to traffic and distance, it would probably take an hour. He knew it was crazy to drive an hour for his job but he had gotten arrested a lot before because he was a “troubled kid” and people don’t want to hire with a non clean record apparently that he had to get a job in the place his friends work at.
He got there and started opening. He was opening with Jo. They worked together to open and it didn’t take long. It’s usually quiet for the first thirty minutes to hour of opening and only a few customers. And it was always the same customers. But today, a guy came in early and he wasn’t a regular. He sat down at a stool by the counter. Dean walked to him. “Hello welcome to Harvelle’s Roadhouse, what can I get you?” The guy thought for a moment before saying, “Eggs. Scrambled. And coffee. Black. Thank you.” Dean smiled sweetly, “Of course.” Before walking off and preparing the order.
He went to the kitchen and put the order in before heading back to the main part of the cafe and continuing to get the area ready for opening. He saw the guy staring at his sketchbook and zoning out but Dean doesn’t stick his nose in the guy’s business. Fifteen minutes later, he got the order and brought it to the man. “There you are. Anything else?” The older man shook his head. “Alright. Ask for Dean if you need me.”
”I’m Castiel.”