Chapter Text
Another conference. The third one this year. The second one this trimester. Castiel is frankly more than a little done. Unlike many of his coworkers, he hates going to conferences. Between the sessions and the networking, he can’t ever find the time to visit the city where the conference takes place either, which would at least partially make up for having to attend the event itself. No, he has to spend days on end with people he scarcely ever likes, and the trip as a whole distracts him from whatever he’s working on at home at the moment, which annoys him immensely. He likes to stay focused and finish something once he’s started it, and having to leave something halfway done to travel out of town for a conference always irritates him.
It isn’t helping that this specific conference sucks. It’s the kind of gathering that used to be interesting and innovative, but, once it became a must-go, it stopped being a pioneering event and became an opportunity for established people and companies to peacock around the place. Powerful businesspeople shaking other powerful businesspeople’s hands to reassure each other just how powerful they are with each handshake. If you are somebody – anybody – in the field of renewable energy and neighboring areas, you make sure to be here, plain and simple.
Castiel hates it. The hubris and entitlement that characterize this and similar events. The demonstration, clear as day, that most of these people have forgotten what all of this is really about. Finding sustainable ways of living to guarantee the survival of the human species on this planet by giving their one and only home a little respite from the uncontrolled exploitation of its natural resources that is sending it to the brink.
“The earth is hotter than Brad Pitt”, Castiel had read in one of the many posters held by a kid in a picture taken during one of the FridayforFuture strikes that had been shared on his Twitter timeline. It had made him smile at the time, as witty as it was. But it wasn’t funny, not really. It was absolutely true, and terrifying.
And his company and the companies these men and women work at are supposed to be focusing on fighting that. On finding innovative, sustainable solutions to deal with such things as the greenhouse effect and climate change. That’s why Castiel gets up every morning and goes to work.
He isn’t a saint – it’s not like he doesn’t get anything in return. Quite the opposite, in fact, since he makes a lot of money out of it. He can’t deny that, nor is he ashamed of it. Partly because he invests a huge part of his own money in green start-ups he considers promising, to maximize the chances someone will come up with helpful solutions. And partly because he has always firmly believed that honest work deserves to be rewarded.
As a result, he leads a comfortable life. He doesn’t want for anything, and his family and closest friends don’t want for anything either. But he also makes sure to live as low impact a life as possible, as comfortable as it is, aided by all the latest developments in the green living research field, which help him find a good balance between not having to give up on his comforts completely and not exploiting more resources than strictly necessary.
These are the reasons why he worked hard to become the CFO of one of the largest companies in the field of renewable energy in the country. Not to be able to get powerful and powerful and parade that power around with his tail fanned. He isn’t interested in displays of power of any kind. He, simply, doesn’t give a rat’s ass about that.
He fought tooth and nail to get to his position because he is well aware that a fish rots from the head down. And if he wanted to work in a company that actually has moral standards and upholds those standards, he reasoned, he had to make sure he’d become one of the heads of the fish in question. If you want something done well, do it yourself, right?
Now he does have a say on important decisions, such as that, yes, it is OK to invest so much money on research and development rather than banking on revenues, or that revenues are better reinvested in becoming a living role model and providing all their buildings with solar panels and water fountains and 100% recyclable office supplies. Or that investing on funding a green education program in primary and middle schools in the state isn’t just a deductible expense and a golden choice in terms of PR, but also the right thing to do, because if people are educated from a young age, the chances they’ll become responsible and respectful adults increase exponentially.
The dark side of the coin is that, to be able to do and have all that, he does have to put on a good face and act the CFO part, both at headquarters and when traveling as a representative for his company.
It goes without saying that Castiel despises that particular aspect of the compromise with a passion. So much so he’s known among his colleagues and competitors as a big-headed jerk. As much as he tries to be good at networking, the only way he knows to avoid making it perspicuous how much he dislikes certain people or behaviors is to put up a stoic mask and keep a blank expression. No reaction is better than disgust, he believes. That doesn’t exactly make him win brownie points as the most charming, amicable or hilarious of them all, Castiel knows that. He figures he’d be out of a job pretty quickly if he truly said what’s on his mind though, so he’ll take his reputation as a snotty know-it-all who looks down on people any day. That reputation prevents certain kinds of people from approaching him after all, so he can’t exactly say he’s oh so sorry about it. And those he does business with regularly know who he truly is and can’t be bothered to lend an ear to what the chatty Cathys who have taken up permanent residence in the grapevine have to say about him.
It’s really not surprising then that Castiel has tried to reason, then plead, then bribe his way out of this shindig. But, in his position, he simply wasn’t allowed to escape this torture.
‘At least the food is better than last year, and more copious too. They must have changed the catering service, finally,’ is what’s going through his mind while he’s tasting the finger food at the welcome reception, one of the events of the “social program” of the conference delegates are not obliged, but are expected, to attend, so everyone knows who has showed up, and who hasn’t.
He’s not exactly eager to start a conversation with anyone. His very presence is more than enough to signal that, yes, Castiel Novak is here. Other than eating something and doing a countdown in his head from 2000, waiting for the moment it’ll be socially acceptable for him to excuse himself and go get some necessary shut eye before the official opening tomorrow morning, he doesn’t feel pressured to have any more active a role.
He doubts anybody is dying to talk to him anyway. They’ll all find a moment to exchange a few words in the next few days, because they cannot not do that and neither can he, but people aren’t exactly in line to meet and greet him before they absolutely have to.
Correction.
Someone is clearly determined to speak to him, if the confident stride of the gorgeous man walking in his direction and his eager green eyes and even more eager smile aren’t deceiving him.
Castiel would be more than a little invested, and little Castiel more than a little onboard, in being the focus of such a handsome man’s interest, if the handsome man in question wasn’t one of the most despicable people on the planet.
So he plasters the fakest of smiles on his face, gets the big guns ready – you don’t get to occupy Castiel’s position if you don’t have a huge brain and an uncanny ability to beat into submission those who dare cross you, and aren’t afraid to use either, or both, when needed – and steels himself before addressing the slimy individual approaching him.
“Hello, Dean.”