eat your dirty laundry
by jadedofmara

eat your dirty laundry

jadedofmara

Summary

Office politics and Dean's stupid office crush combine into a perfect storm — literally.

Notes

eat your dirty laundry

Dean pulled into the KAZS station parking lot in the dark of early morning, headlights cutting through the inky blue. His four hours of sleep were doing him no favors, and as he walked in he knew the station's space-age coffee maker would be the only ting keeping him alive this morning. 

If nothing else, waiting for the pressure boiler to heat up and espresso beans to grind gave him a moment to collect his thoughts. Only two more monthis til his contract was up, and he could renegotiate to move to dayside and maybe even get paid enough to move out of his brother's guest room. Only two more months and he could get to a market in the top 150 and get paid the same peanuts but get broadcast beyond northern Kansas and central Nebraska.

Grabbing his horrible coffee concoction from the driptray, he made his way to the bullpen to grab a rundown and bother whoever was in there. He brightened up seeing it was Cas, his favorite meteorologist.

"Mornin', sunshine," he said, leaning a bit too far into his space.

Cas didn't react. "Good morning, Dean. What does this sounding look like to you?"

Dean choked a little on his coffee. "Sounding?"

Cas sighed and turned around, rolling his big blue eyes. "It's when they send a balloon up and it measures air temperature and humidity."

Dean looked at the graph thing on Cas' computer. "It looks like a graph thing. And one of the lines goes up, and one of the lines zig-zags a lot?"

"That's what I was afraid of," Cas said. 

"Yeah?" Dean asked.

Cas pointed a long finger at one of the lines on the graph. "When the lines intersect, it means the atmosphere is unstable, and severe storms are more likely. The more unstable the atmosphere--"

"The more severe the storms," Dean interrupted.

Cas slumped a little. "Yeah."

"Has the National Weather Service said anything?" Dean asked.

"The Hastings office is monitoring it, but it's not even 6 a.m."

Dean looked at his watch. 5:47. Shit. "I gotta get on the desk. I trust your judgement though. Knock 'em dead."

With that, he gave Cas a rough pat on the shoulder and headed out to the studio. Billie, the floor manager, waved him over.

"You read the rundown yet?" She asked.

Dean glanced it over. In the A block, his rights were getting stripped away, in the B block a kid broke a fishing record with a Barbie fishing rod. At least in the C block he would get to improv banter with Cas before doing it all over again at 7 a.m.

"Remember to smile this time," Billie reminded him. 

Dean grimaced with all his teeth. "You got it." He walked backwards to take his place next to Jo behind the desk, clipped his lav mic to his blazer and put in his earpiece.

But the thing was, he could deliver all the vile news every morning with a smile. It was his job. Be careful not to alienate the geriatric ghouls who actually watch the 6 o'clock news, because it was his practiced neutrality or fuckin' Fox News. And as they came out of the B block into commercial, he didn't feel any more disillusioned than usual. And his favorite part of the morning was coming up: Cas. 

Dean could see him in the control room, sharing a heated discussion with Naomi the news director. However it ended, it meant Cas came into the studio in a mood. As he took his place in front of the chroma key, the reflected green light set his features into a sickly pallor.

Cas looked over at him. "Dean. As journalists, our job is to tell the truth, right? Even if it's inconvenient?"

Dean didn't like where this is going. "Yeah, man."

Cas nodded, having made up his mind. "You've been a good friend at this station. Thank you for your support."

"Of course, I trust you. Cas, what--"

Billie cut in. "We're back in five, four--

"Thank you, Dean."

"Three, ✌🏾, ☝🏾"

"I love you."

kick 'em while they're up

Dean looked from Cas to the monitor. He wasn't smiling. He was live.

His foot stuttered on his prompter pedal. "Welcome back to KAZS Channel 15 News," Dean read. There was a man's voice in his ear. "While the sunshine and humid air might draw you outside today," Dean started. He couldn't understand the man in his ear. Oh fuck, he was talking over him. He was talking out of turn. He shut up.

Dean was going to die on the desk. He was going to have a heart attack or stroke and die on live television, the only testament to his memory being a viral clip on some asshole's Blogspot, and his stupid unobtainable crush said he loved him, and his mic might have been hot when he said it. And there was no voice in his ear. The studio was silent. Jo wasn't cutting in.

He had been hearing his own voice on the audio track, a half-second after he said anything. Dean closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. And smiled. Jo hadn't cut in because it was his script to read.

"Channel 15 meteorologist Castiel Novak has today's forecast, with some important information about potential severe weather. Castiel, tell us what's happening today," Dean finished.

Cas had taken Dean's struggle to compose himself, and he was smiling and ready to point at the big map. "Thank you, Dean," he started, his on-air voice higher and smoother than the sexy gravel he usually spoke in.

"Today's hot and humid atmospheric conditions might have you looking to beat the heat, but you really should consider staying close to shelter this afternoon. A blast of wet air from the Gulf of Mexico means there's a lot of potential for severe storms in today's forecast, potentially bringing heavy rain, large hail and even possibly a few tornadoes," Cas said.

He turned back toward the green screen, gesturing in a way that hopefully translated to viewers on screen. "Already, we're seeing some cloud development near McCook and Holdriege, and the sun's only just come up. So keep an eye on the sky and make sure you have a way to receive weather alerts, whether it's through a weather radio or on your smartphone through our KAZS Channel 15 app. Back to you, Dean."

Dean forced out a chuckle. "Looks like a rough day today, Castiel, do you have any wild weather safety tips?"

"Absolutely. The best place to shelter during a severe weather event is in a windowless interior room or ideally in a basement. If you find yourself on the road, you should pull over in the face of large hail to reduce damage to your car. You should never shelter under an overpass during a tornado, and you should never attempt to outrun a tornado. Find shelter and get to safety."

Billie signalled he had 30 seconds before the last break.

Dean nodded, a smlie still on his face. "Thank you, Castiel. You always do a good job of keeping our local community safe. Up next after the break, we have an update on the Cherry Pie Festival this weekend - and the latest change may surprise you."

And Dean was off the hook for 90 scant seconds. He saw Naomi in the control room ask Kevin the audio engineer a question, to which he responded with a nod. She opened the door and stormed into the studio.

"Castiel!" she yelled.

Cas finished putting his mic away, sending one last glance Dean's way.

"My office. Now," Naomi commanded.

Cas followed her out of the studio. Dean had a bad feeling about that.

Billie made eye contact with him, then made a show of regulating her breathing. Oh. Dean copied her breaths, closed his eyes, and got ready for the last countdown that meant he could wrap up this literal shit show and grab a moment to breathe before doing it all over again at 7.

And he could compartmentalize. Maybe it just looked to the average viewer like his coffee hadn't kicked in yet. So when he walked out of the studio and into the bullpen, he wasn't particularly surprised not to see Cas. The man was probably getting reamed out by Naomi. Fair enough.

Dean continued his walk through the station to the front lobby, where he was greeted by the distinct scent of cotton candy. He sighed and looked to Claire the receptionist.

"You know you can't be doing that inside," he said.

Claire rolled her eyes. "What, using air freshener?"

Dean held out his hand. "No. Give me your vape."

With another eyeroll, Claire handed it over.

Taking it outside and stepping out of view of the front doors, Dean leaned against the cinderblock wall of the TV station. He wiped germs off the vape pen with his tie and took a hit, letting the nicotine calm his nerves after the shitshow of a morning that was only half-over. He hadn't  smoked in months, but something about today told him he'd need it.

Sometimes zoning out on his break was the simplest pleasure he got in a day. The air was humid and already a little hot, but a cool breeze worked its way through the spring leaves and toward Dean's little hideout.

As the sun spread her golden-hour rays over the prairie, reflecting red across the clouds, Dean took one last hit and checked his watch. Almost 7 o'clock, time to do it all again. Dean pocketed Claire's confiscated vape as he walked back into the station. He decided to take a meandering loop to the studio, through the bullpen. Maybe say something, about something, now that he had time to breathe.

Cas' desk had been cleared off, laptop and coffee and mementos all gone.

dirty little secrets, pretty little lies

Dean gets through the 7 a.m. newscast entirely on autopilot. To cover for having shitcanned their fucking meteorologist, they've filled time with a recycled VOSOT about the humane society, with Dean reading the scripted voice-over before the sound on tape played. Instead of a forecast, they had Jo smile sweetly and announce clear weather from now until the end of the month. All to serve the good peope of Kansas their Thursday morning newscast.

Which doesn't sound right, but what the fuck is he going to do, call her out on air and go off-script for a second time this morning? So all he can do is chuckle and tell viewers to still keep an umbrella handy, because you never know. And then that was it, time to come up with pitches before the 9 a.m. all-staff meeting. And not get fired, or any more outed than he already was.

Dean'd been at his desk with his third cup of coffee for all of five minutes when Naomi came to summon him to her office. What's worse, she'd worn kid gloves the entire time.

Naomi's office was sterile, lit up in fluorescent lights with white Scandanavian furnishings. It was the only office in the building that managed to escape the Office Space-eclectic energy of an underfunded corporate-owned TV station. Dean sat his ass on the tiny plastic chair and begged not to break it.

Naomi leaned across her desk and gave her best version of a reassuring smile. It wasn't very convincing.

"Dean," she started. "I want you to know, you did an admirable job on set this morning."

"What?" Dean asked.

Naomi sighed. "To be sexually harassed like that, on live television, is truly awful. You were able to recover and smile through it. Not many would be."

Dean couldn't control what hsi eyebrows were doing. "I wasn't--"

"Dean," Naomi cut in. "I've been a woman in television for more than 30 years. There is no shame in being harassed. You didn't do anything wrong today."

Dean could only nod.

"I'm especially impressed you were able to stay neutral, considering the... nature, of your harasser."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

Naomi twisted her lips. "People like that, who spread their message to people who shouldn't have to hear it, and won't rest until we all agree. To do that to a captive audience of one, in front of a captive audience of thousands? I just can't see how someone could take pride in it."

Dean laughed a little. Anything to get out of this conversation. "This might make good content, at least. Teach our audience how to tell what is and isn't harassment. Because I think I'd know harassment."

Naomi smiled and stood. "That's a good idea. Let's get down to the conference room."

Dean followed her out of the office and into the stifling board room, plopping into a seat next to Jo. She had Tweetdeck open in front of her, with one column on reactions to this morning's news, and one column on the tag #kswx. Every other reporter started trickling in, until they had to bring in the shitty chairs from the hallway.

When a sufficient audience had arrived, Zachariah, director of sales, stood. 

"Good morning, everyone," he began.

The gathered staff replied with some decent energy.

Zachariah gave an exaggeurated sigh. "Is that the best we can do? Let's try again. Good morning, everyone!"

His assembled congregants replied again, if not with more enthusiasm, at least with more volume.

"Good enough," he said, rolling his eyes. "Before we get into the main topic of today's meeting, I just want to remind everyone about this weekend's Cherry Pie Festival! As presenting sponsors, it's very important that we show a supportive presence at the event. Please show up for however long you can. Have some pie! Have a beer! Have a nostalgic good time and play out the town's greatest hits!"

"We're totally not getting paid for that," a low voice said in Dean's ear, making him jump.

It was just Claire. Dean rolled his eyes, making a little "what do you think" face.

Naomi spoke from where she was seated next to Zachariah. "How does the weather look this weekend?"

"The National Weather Service says --" Jo began.

"It will be sunny and perfect," Naomi finished.

Claire dutifully took down that note on her shitty little laptop, before asking, "Do we have a plan if it's not, though?"

Naomi smiled with thin lips. "We do have a plan, but we won't need it, because the weather will be sunny and perfect."

"Mm-hm," Claire replied in high pitch.

And with that, the pitch meeting began in earnest. Dean supplied a package idea about the town's only gluten-free bakery's preparations for the fest and a VOSOT about decorations picked up along the way. He then took the opportunity to completely fucking zone out.

It wasn't until everyone began packing up to get work done for the day when he tuned back in to see Jo showing him her computer screen. On it was a map of southern Nebraska and central Kansas lit up in highlighter yellow.

"Would you look at that," Dean said.

"Hastings just issued a tornado watch," Jo said, looking around the room. They were the last ones left. "Looks like Cas was right."