For CheyanneChika. Happy (late) birthday!

Huge thanks to splitjaw, for being an awesome beta-reader. You can find her lurking somewhere on tumblr.

Oh, and I own absolutely nothing to do with Supernatural. Really.

Chance Encounters and Misunderstandings

Dean Winchester was in a bad mood. There were several reasons for this. His alarm hadn't gone off that morning, and he'd had less than ten minutes to get up, get ready and get to work on time. Then, once he had gotten to work just in time to avoid a reprimanding lecture from his boss, Bobby, on the importance of being on time and work needing to be done, he had somehow gotten his foot caught on a tire-iron and tripped; in a rather spectacular show of flailing limbs and colourful swear words, he landed face-first in an open toolbox, smacking his left hand rather painfully into a car bumper. His wrist had consequently swollen to an impressive size and turned a rather nasty shade of purple. Ellen, Bobby's wife, had bandaged it up and put ice on it, but he still couldn't move it properly without it hurting, so Bobby put him on office-duty, since he refused to go home (in hindsight, a mistake), and he was still able to type and answer a phone with his good hand. He had thought his day couldn't get any worse at that point, and then he had remembered the date, and it hit him like a punch to the gut. Today would have been their three-year anniversary.

Dean had experienced his fair-share of relationships and break-ups, both good and bad. Cassie – sweet, gorgeous Cassie – who had been the first, and perhaps the only, person he had ever fallen in love with. They had dated throughout her college years and everything about them had been intense; the love, the sex, the fights. Passionate, that was what his mom had once called them. Eventually things had become too much for them and she had broken it off, despite their feelings for one another. A string of one night stands had followed that as Dean tried to bury his feelings in cheap alcohol and loose women. Once he had gotten his act together, grown up a little bit, there had been Carmen. Sexy, smart and caring, she had been perfect – just not for him, apparently. A few others had followed after that, none too memorable, if Dean was being completely honest. The more recent ones had included Lisa and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, as his friends had taken to calling him, the thought of whom still made his heart clench and his stomach drop, made him feel like the air was knocked out of his lungs – and not in a good way.

The thought of past, failed relationships always put Dean in a bad mood, but combined with the pressing reminder of the date, barely-buried memories were dug up once again, fresh and in technicolor. It had ended a few months ago and although he liked to think he was completely (sort of) over it, moments like these showed that he so wasn't.

That had just been the morning. He spent his entire lunch break with his mother, who had decided to come check on him at work after Ellen had called, telling her about his accident. After showing an embarrassing amount of motherly concern in front of his co-workers, Ash and Pamela, (who watched the whole scene with huge, shit-eating grins on their faces, and would no doubt make fun of him for weeks to come), she proceeded to update him on all the family news and neighbourhood gossip. As much as Dean loved his mom, he really didn't care that his second cousin three times removed was planning on building an extension on her house, or that old Mrs Geller from across the street was apparently dating a man half her age. He hm-ed, and oh, really-ed and almost choked on his own tongue when she asked him if he would consider going on a date with her dentist, who was, according to her, 'Gay, single and a perfect match for Dean.' After insisting several times that, no, he absolutely did not want to go on a date with Garth Fitzgerald, and that he really should be getting back to work, she decided to head back home, making him promise to pop round for dinner sometime in the week and to, "Have a think about Garth, sweetie."

He had then resumed the mind-numbingly boring task of filing and accounting until five pm rolled around, and he left work in his beloved 1967 Chevrolet Impala. And had to spend almost an hour in rush-hour traffic.

To summarize: Dean Winchester's day had been crappy. He was in a bad mood. He wanted nothing more than to get back to his apartment, have a hot shower, collapse into his bed and sleep for about a week. Some kind of higher power out there must of had it in for him though, as his phone started ringing as soon as he crossed the threshold. He checked the ID and flipped it open.

"I hate my life," he whined as he kicked off his shoes.

"Well hello to you too," said Charlie on the other end of the line. Dean shrugged his jacket off and threw it over the back of the couch.

"No. I really, really do." He said, making his way to the kitchen and opening the fridge.

"Aw, poor baby. Tell me all about it," she cooed mockingly at Dean, who sighed as he stuck his head inside the cool interior of fridge.

"I was almost late for work, then I tripped over a goddamn tire-iron and may have fractured my wrist, so I spent the whole day typing and answering phone calls."

"Wow, yeah. Phone calls. Hell on Earth." Her voice cut across him, but he ignored her remark and continued.

"Then my mom showed up and tried to set my up with her dentist," he heard Charlie snort.

"What, you don't think Garth is a catch?" she teased, and Dean scowled at the bottle of ketchup in the fridge, pretending it was the annoying redhead he was currently talking to.

"Not funny." He pouted, no longer caring how much he sounded like a whiny bitch. "Then I was stuck in rush-hour traffic, and to top it all off, there's no more beer." He slammed the fridge door shut and leaned against it with his eyes closed. "Also, today was gonna be our anniversary." He said, his voice weaker than before and laced with exhaustion. There was a pause at the other end of the line as Charlie thought. Though maybe she had just accidentally hung up on him, again. "Charlie?"

"Right!" she exclaimed suddenly, making Dean jump and knock his head against the corner of the fridge.

"Ow. What?" he asked, rubbing his head and scowling at the fridge, as if it was somehow its fault that he had accidentally head-butted it.

"You are going to make yourself look pretty, and I am going to pick you up, and we are going out, to a bar, where you will drown your sorrows in drink. The hangover you will have tomorrow will make today's problems seem like nothing." She said assertively. Dean rubbed the back of his neck hesitantly.

"Look, Charlie, I'm not sure – "

"Nope. No arguing, Winchester. As your best friend, it is my duty to get you completely and totally inebriated when you're feeling miserable. Now get ready, I'll pick you up in twenty." And with that, she hung up. Dean sighed, but a small smile fought its way on to his lips. He put his phone down on the kitchen counter and headed to the bathroom. He was in desperate need of a relaxing shower after his tough day and to mentally prepare himself for the night ahead.

Exactly twenty minutes later, Dean was being pushed into Charlie's small Fiat, squeezed next to Tessa, who was dressed in a small, elegant black dress, and Andy who was dressed – well. Pretty much the same as always. Even if they were going to classiest club in town, Andy could somehow get away with wearing ripped up jeans and old hoodies. He was a very persuasive guy when he wanted to be. Despite that he was more than a little on the geeky side, he just oozed charisma that made him likable to everyone.

The front seat was taken up by Charlie's box of LARP equipment, ready for next weekend; they had planned the trip to the annual Renaissance faire months ago, and though Dean liked to pretend Charlie was forcing him to go, everyone knew he enjoyed it just as much.

As they drove across town, Tessa and Andy spoke about their respective days. Tess was busy as ever at work; her boss had taken it upon himself to improve their work standard by making everyone work ridiculous hours. Dean knew she didn't mind though, no matter how much she pretended to complain; she loved her job. He couldn't understand how anyone could love accounting, but to each their own. No one was really sure what Andy did for a living, but knew that it paid him enough to live in relative comfort (albeit in a van), and purchase large quantities of weed. When they turned to Dean and asked him how his day had been, the murderous look that flashed in his eyes must have been enough, because they swiftly moved the conversation on to Andy's girlfriend, Tracey, and his plans of proposal.

After a fifteen-minute drive, Charlie pulled up her car and parked opposite a brick-walled building with a neon sign above the door: Hornz and Halos. Dean snorted and gave Charlie a dubious look, but she simply curled her fingers around his upper arm and pulled him toward the building. Tessa and Andy had made a bee-line for the bar, and were waving at the other two from their stools. They made their way over to their friends, Charlie's hand firmly between his shoulder blades pushing him forward. He rolled his eyes at her, but sat down next to Andy and ordered a drink from a woman with short blonde hair, hazel eyes and a devilish smile.

Some time and some alcoholic beverages later, Dean found himself well on his way to drunk, feeling rather relaxed and content. The alcohol was buzzing nicely in his veins. As he downed the last of his beer, he turned on his stool and leaned his back against the bar, taking in Hornz and Halos properly.

Despite the ridiculous name, the bar was actually pretty nice. The whole place was cast in dim light, and fairy-lights hung down from the ceiling, spreading across the room like a huge, luminous cobweb. The stools and booths were all black or blood-red leather, and the bar itself seemed to be made of cool black marble. On the largest wall was an incredible mural, depicting a demon and an angel face to face, either about to rip each other's throats out or rip each other's clothes off – it was hard to tell. The demon was dressed provocatively in a revealing dominatrix-like outfit, identifiable by the entirely-black eyes and small red horns peeking out of her dark hair. The angel was her complete opposite – short blonde hair, a plain white shirt. His eyes seemed to be glowing white, and impressive black wings spread out behind him. A halo was set at a jaunty angle above his head. Their faces were twisted in identical expressions of either hatred or lust. Maybe both.

The music playing wasn't half bad either. Since they had arrived, Dean had thought he had heard faint notes of Iron Maiden, Black Sabbath, and even Metallica. Maybe this place wasn't as bad as he'd originally thought it would be.

Charlie was flirting shamelessly with a tall, dark-haired woman on the other side of the room, who seemed to be flirting back. Next to him, Tessa and Andy were laughing loudly, doing shots of something called purple nurples. Dean shook his head fondly as Andy gave him a wide grin, baring his stained teeth and Tessa, who was normally one of the most dignified people he knew, spun around on her barstool, giggling incessantly – a tell-tale sign she had had far too much to drink. He placed his empty beer bottle down on the counter and called out to the nearest bartender.

"'Scuse me," he called out. A dark haired man appeared in front of him, seemingly out of thin air.

"Yes sir, how can I help you?" he asked in a rough voice.

"I – " Dean started to answer, but seemed to lose the ability to speak when he looked up at the bartender. He was dressed in a simple white shirt, its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a loose blue tie around his neck, and black slacks. That wasn't what had Dean speechless, however. As soon as Dean's eyes landed on the bartender's face, the only thought his brain seemed capable of thinking was a rather unhelpful, adolescent, HOT! The man seemed to skirt the line between masculine and delicate perfectly. His entire lower face was covered in a smooth dusting of stubble, his dark hair untamed and mussed in a way that just screamed sex-hair. Yet his bright blue eyes were wide and innocent, and made him seem somehow vulnerable. They were captivating, and Dean found himself unable to look away. It was when he noticed the man's lips moving with no sound coming out that he realised he was being spoken to.

"Huh?" he asked dumbly. The bartender smirked amusedly at him and his eyes shone.

"I said, would you like me to get you another?" he asked, nodding his head at Dean's hand. Dean looked down and was almost surprised to see the empty bottle there.

"Oh, sure." He said, trying to restart his brain before he came across as a complete social retard. The bartender nodded, but didn't move. He seemed to be waiting for something. He looked pointedly at Dean, and smirked again when a confused frown settled on Dean's face.

"Your bottle." He said, directing his attention back to the empty beer bottle in Dean's hand.

"What about it?" Dean asked, confused, and his frown grew. The blue-eyed bartender's smile widened.

"Well, I was planning on getting rid of it. But you seem to be rather fond of it, I could let you keep it if you'd prefer?" he said, his voice and face serious, his eyes sparkling teasingly. The tips of Dean's ears turned pink in embarrassment of his own stupidity.

"No, no, I – No. Take it, please." And wow, Dean was pretty sure this was a new low-point for him, in terms of awkwardness. Since when did he become a flustered teenage girl when confronted with a pretty guy? He released his grip on the bottle, and the bartender snatched it up, shooting Dean a last smile before setting off down the bar. Dean resisted the strong urge to repeatedly smack his head against the counter.

The sound of muffled laughter and high-pitched giggles to his left made him turn, and he saw Andy trying to stifle his laughter with his sleeve, and Tessa with her head resting on the counter, her face scrunched up, tears starting to stream down her cheeks as she cackled. Dean raised an eyebrow at them.

"What?" he asked. Andy's eyes scrunched up as he laughed into his sleeve, as if Dean had just told the funniest joke ever. Tessa burst into a new fit of giggles, before calming herself enough to speak.

"Deanie's got a cru-ush!" She sang obnoxiously off-key, her words slightly slurred.

"What?" he snapped, the back of his neck heating up. "What are you talking about?" Tessa rolled her eyes at him and leaned across Andy to ruffle his hair, drastically misjudging the distance and ending up toppled over their laps.

"Dude, could you have been more obvious?" Andy asked. Dean scowled and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I don't know what you're talking about." His lips formed a pout. Andy snorted.

"Sure, whatever you say," he said, knocking back another purple nurple with a knowing grin at Dean. Suddenly, Tessa jolted upright and rolled off their legs, staggering to her feet. She swayed where she stood for a moment, before taking a few uneven steps.

"Tess?" Dean asked, frowning with concern. "What's up? Where are you going?" He reached out to steady her, but she flapped his hand away.

"M'gonna tell Charlie all about the good news!" She said, loud and over-enthusiastic. It took Dean a split-second too long to figure out what she meant, and by then she was already making her way over to Charlie and the other woman.

"Tessa! Tess, no – don't – !" He sighed in resignation as Tessa blew him a kiss, almost toppling over her own feet in the process. Andy was still grinning at him, but raised his hands in mock-surrender when Dean glared at him. His attention was drawn back to the bar as a cool beer was placed in front of him with a dull thud. His eyes flickered from the beer to the bartender, who smiled when their eyes met. He ignored the twisting feeling in his stomach and took a sip of beer instead. He swallowed and gave the bartender, who was still just standing there, a small smile.

He was about to say something, maybe strike up a conversation, when he was assaulted by a very drunk, very noisy red-headed lesbian, who screeched "Deeeeean!" right in his ear. He winced and shot an apologetic look at the bartender, who merely smiled, yet again.

"What, Charlie?"

She seemed to take that as an invitation to drape herself over his back and prop her head on his shoulder, her arms wound around his chest.

"He's a cutie," she said, thankfully still sober enough to remember to be somewhat discreet, and whisper it in his ear, "you should ask him out."

Dean scoffed.

"I'm serious!"

He rolled his eyes.

"Whatever." He muttered. She flicked his ear. "Ow!" He scowled as his hand flew up to protect his ear from further assault, "What was that for?"

Out of the corner of his eye he could see the bartender biting his lip, holding back a laugh, pretending to be occupied organising something underneath the bar. Charlie rolled her eyes at him and pressed a kiss to his temple. "Don't be an idiot, okay?" she said, ruffling his hair before heading back to the woman she had been flirting with on the other side of the room. Dean grumbled, but let the corner of his mouth lift in a small smile as he watched her walk away. When he turned back to face the bar, the bartender's expression was unreadable. The tips of his lips were down-turned and a tiny frown creased the space between his eyebrows. When he caught Dean looking, the expression vanished and a polite little smile appeared. He looked like he was about to leave, head down the other end of the bar, and Dean forced himself to stop acting like some awkward high-schooler asking someone to prom, and man the fuck up.

"So, uh," he said, speaking way louder than he usually did. The blue-eyed man paused and looked at Dean with an eyebrow raised, prompting him to continue. "You been working here long?" Possibly one of the lamest things he could have said, but Blue Eyes didn't seem to mind, since he was still smiling and angling his body to a more conversation-friendly position.

"No, I don't work here," he replied.

Dean paused for a moment, trying to figure out if the alcohol was making his brain hazy, or if that sentence simply didn't make much sense. "Dude. You're in a bar, serving drinks in exchange for money. I'm pretty sure that means you work here."

The bartender laughed, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. "I'm filling in for a friend." He explained.

"Oh, right," said Dean. Unable to think of anything else to say, he took a swig of his new, cold beer. The silence between them grew past the point of Dean's comfort, and he struggled to think of something to say to break it. He should ask him out. At least, that was what the alcohol-infused part of his brain was telling him to do. The other, more rational and slightly relationship-phobic part of his brain was strictly telling him not to ask him out, under any circumstances. It was enough to make him feel a little schizophrenic, and more than a little queasy, if he was being honest.

A voice than sounded suspiciously like Charlie screamed Come on, Winchester! through his mind, effectively silencing his worried thoughts. He took a deep breath and clutched the bottle in his hands tightly. He needed to play it cool, casual. He could do that. He could so do that. He was the king of cool and casual. He opened his mouth, about to speak, but a frown crossed over the bartender's features before the words even made their way out. He was looking at something behind Dean.

"Um, I'm afraid your girlfriend may have just vomited all over the floor."

Dean frowned at the bartender's words. Girlfriend? He was pretty sure he would have remembered if he had a girlfriend, wouldn't he? He turned and followed the bartender's gaze until his eyes landed on Charlie, who was hunched over, hands on her knees, the pretty brunette rubbing soothing circles into her back, trying not to look too revolted. Dean reacted almost automatically, and was standing up and reaching into his back pocket for his wallet before his brain could even properly understand what was going on. He threw some bills on the counter to pay for their tab, and grabbed Tessa and Andy by the shoulders.

"I, uh..." he said to the bartender, waving in the general direction of his best friend by way of explaining. The bartender nodded understandingly. "And, uh, sorry about the, y'know, puke an' stuff..." Dean said sheepishly.

"It's fine." Said the dark-haired man, giving him a small reassuring smile. "Happens all the time. Go take care of her, she looks like she needs you." Dean nodded and dragged Andy and Tessa over to where Charlie was, shooting one last, apologetic smile at the bartender over his shoulder. When he reached her, he scooped her up in his arms and made for the door. He was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. It was the brunette. "Give her this," she said, handing him a napkin with a number scrawled on it. "Tell her to give me a call when she's more... sober." Dean nodded, but as his hands were rather occupied carrying a moaning redhead, Andy took it for him and stuffed it into Dean's back pocket, clumsily groping him in the process.

"S'rry." He slurred. Dean rolled his eyes, and the four of them headed for the exit. He cast a glance at the bar, hoping to catch a last glimpse of the bartender, but he was nowhere to be seen. The female bartender who had served him at the beginning of the night caught his eye though, and winked. Dean snorted and pushed the door open with his shoulder.

As the most sober of the four (which wasn't saying much), Dean decided to drive, praying they didn't get pulled over. He dropped Tessa off at her apartment, and stopped outside Andy's girlfriend's house, before driving over to Charlie's, where he decided to spend the night on her couch. That night, he dreamt of blue eyes and smiling bartenders. It wasn't until the next afternoon – having woken up to a dreadful hangover – that he realised that he didn't even know the bartender's name.

The last thing Dean Winchester wanted was a relationship. With his disastrous track record, either driving people away or being manipulated and broken by others, it would probably be for the best if he just steered away from any kind of romantic attachments or entanglements. He wasn't even interested in a casual hook-up, which was probably something to be worried about – ever since his late teens, his life had been dominated by one night stands, every now and then interrupted by the occasional serious relationship, which, more-often than not left him feeling either broken-hearted or guilty.

He was just out of a serious relationship, and wasn't looking for a rebound, or any other kind of new romance. Those, he thought, were pretty solid reasons not to act on his slight attraction to the blue-eyed bartender at Hornz and Halos. That, and he probably would have looked like a massive stalker if he turned up there specifically looking for him. Besides, 'cutie bartender', as Charlie had taken to calling him, might not have even been gay.

So, in the two weeks that followed the night at Hornz and Halos, he did his best to stop his thoughts drifting to the dark-haired man during his conscious hours. He could not, however, do anything about his dreams. So he just ignored them, trying to deny their existence, and tried to find ways to distract himself, so as not to let his mind wander.

That was how he somehow found himself agreeing to go shopping at the mall with Charlie and Tessa. In hindsight, there were much better ways to keep his mind occupied – ways that didn't involve walking around for hours, making his feet ache and constantly having to answer questions such as 'Does this make my ass look big?' and 'Do these shoes go with this dress?' He was occasionally interested in dudes, not a fashion expert. Jesus.

After several hours of this, Dean decided he need to take a break from the overwhelming feeling of claustrophobia that came from being surrounded by chattering people and racks of clothes, and the crappy mall music. He made his way to the food court, just in the hope of finding something to drink to cool off and a place to sit down for a while. As he followed signs indicating that the food court was located on the fourth floor, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He reached in and pulled it out, flipping it open to read a text message from Charlie.

T gone, wrk emrgncy. Meet u at fd crt in 10?

Dean sighed at his friend's abuse of text abbreviations, and tapped out an affirmative reply, not paying any attention whatsoever as to where he was walking – and crashed into what he would have assumed was a wall, were it not for the surprised cry; the would-be wall was actually a man. Almost dropping his phone in surprise, he hastily stuffed it in one of his pockets and pulled the man off the ground.

"Oh my god, I am so, so sorr – " His words died in his throat as he saw just who he had run into. There, standing right in front of him with a flustered, yet amused expression on his face was the subject of Dean's recent fantasies; 'cutie bartender'. Dean took in his appearance quickly. He wasn't dressed as formally as he had been in Hornz and Halos. Today he was wearing a loose, light-blue tunic-type shirt, that nicely complimented his eyes, and baggy, faded jeans. He was tall, Dean realised. Not as tall as Dean himself, but still quite tall. 'Cutie bartender' gave a small, but purposeful cough, and Dean's eyes snapped back up to his face. He was smirking knowingly at Dean, whose face was heating up from being caught in the act of checking him out.

"Fancy meeting you here," said 'cutie bartender', and Dean's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, because... was he flirting? It sounded like flirting, from the way he spoke the words. After weeks of convincing himself that he wasn't interested in 'cutie bartender' and that 'cutie bartender' wasn't even remotely interested in him, the sudden encounter and possible-flirting was almost enough to make him speechless. Almost, but not quite. He was still Dean Winchester, god dammit, and it was going to take more than a little light flirting to render him speechless.

"Yeah. Town's not that big, I guess." He muttered, running a hand through his hair. 'Cutie bartender' hummed in agreement, and bounced on his heels.

"So, you haven't been back to Hornz and Halos recently?" he asked, and something in his tone made Dean think it was a little more than just polite small-talk. Then again, maybe it was just wishful thinking.

"Um, no." He said, then narrowed his eyes as a thought occurred to him. "I thought you said you didn't work there?"

The blue-eyed man's face broke into a wide, happy grin, as if pleased that Dean had retained that small information. "Oh, I don't. But I have ways of knowing things," he said mysteriously. Dean raised an expectant eyebrow at him, but he either didn't notice or intentionally ignored it. "Why haven't you been back? I thought – I mean, it seemed like you enjoyed yourself." His head was tilted slightly to one side as he waited for Dean's answer, and something about that sight tugged at his heart. He shook his head – as if it would somehow prevent his transformation into a teenage girl whenever he was around 'cutie bartender' – and answered, his voice a little deeper and gruffer than usual.

"I've been busy lately. Work and..." I swear to god, if you say 'Ren faire' or 'cosplay', I will kill you. "Things with Charlie." He smiled, pleased with the vagueness of his answer; there was no need to scare off the guy with his total geekiness too soon. But when he looked back at 'cutie bartender', he was wearing the same expression Dean had glimpsed that night in Hornz and Halos – slightly downcast, regretful. Dean frowned. What had he said? Before he could ask, the expression was gone, replaced with a smile Dean could tell was forced.

"How is your girlfriend?" The bartender asked politely. Dean's frown grew momentarily before he remembered – he had never corrected the bartender about his false assumption.

"Oh, no, we're not – " he began, but a loud voice with a British accent cut across his explanation before he could finish.

"Cassie!"

Dean and company turned simultaneously to face the direction the voice had come from. A man with short blond hair was walking towards them. He was wearing a very low-cut grey v-neck shirt underneath a black jacket, with dark jeans. It took Dean a moment to realise he was addressing 'cutie bartender'. Cassie. It must have been a nickname. Huh. What were the odds of this guy having the same nickname as his first serious girlfriend?

"Balthazar." Cassie said calmly.

"Will you stop wandering off? You're supposed to be helping me." Said the irritated blond; the dark-haired man rolled his eyes and let out a dramatic sigh, but a smile was curling the corner of his lip. In a sort of response to 'cutie bartender's' – it was too weird calling him by a nickname without even knowing his actual name, especially since it was the same as his college sweatheart's – sigh, the blond tossed his hand in the air and threw his head to the side, in a pretty convincing diva-move. By the time Balthazar reached them, the two were grinning widely at each other, and Dean was feeling a little awkward and out of place.

"Drama queen," said 'cutie bartender' with a grin. Balthazar snorted.

"Don't you know it," he said with a wink, throwing his arm around his friend's shoulders, tugging him closer. "Oh," he said, seemingly noticing Dean's presence for the first time, "who's your friend, Cassie?" It was then that something clicked in Dean's mind, and the realisation hit him with the force and impact of a steamroller. The amiable banter, the smiles, the wink, the arm over the shoulders, the current closeness of the pair; they weren't friends, they were lovers. Oh god. Dean's stomach twisted into a knot.

The blue-eyed man turned to Balthazar, his boyfriend, to reply.

"This is, uh..." He faltered when he realised he didn't know Dean's name, and Dean took the opportunity to speak.

"Nothing. No one. And I, uh, have to leave. Right now. But, um, it was nice to meet you? Bye!" He was already walking away, ignoring the confused looks on the men's faces.

He walked stiffly all the way to the fourth floor, his shoulders squared, his hands clenched into fists. He was such an idiot. Of course Blue Eyes hadn't been flirting with him, he had just been being friendly. Dean had imagined the whole thing. Was he that pathetic? He spotted Charlie slumped against the wall outside Burger King, looking distinctively bored. She glanced up at him when he approached.

"What took you so long? You get lost or something?" she asked. Not waiting for a reply, she continued, "I'm starving, let's eat."

They ordered their meals and sat at one of the tables in the lesser-occupied part of the restaurant. Charlie devoured her burger with gusto, but Dean could only manage a small bite; he didn't feel much like eating.

A week passed since the mall outing, and Dean had certainly not had increasingly dirty dreams about a completely unavailable man with blue eyes and black hair. Certainly not. What a ridiculous notion.

He was currently sitting in the Impala, Metallica at full blast, waiting for Sam in the parking lot of the airport. His brother was coming home for spring break. He glanced at his watch. Sam's flight should have landed by now, he was probably collecting his luggage. Dean sent him a quick text telling him where the car was parked, and leaned back into the seat, closing his eyes and breathing in the soft smell of old leather. He knew it was kind of a dick move, waiting in the parking lot rather than in the airport itself, but he absolutely hated planes, flying, and anything associated with them – no matter what anyone said, flying was not natural as far as humans were concerned, and sitting in a small metal container 20 000 feet in the air was just a death wish. So yeah, he would be waiting for his little brother in the safe confines of his car, thank you very much.

"Flash before my eyes," he sang under his breath, "now it's time to die." He heard someone snort in his ear, and jumped violently. He turned and saw Sam, his freakishly tall brother, leaning down and watching him with amusement written all over his face.

"Guess you really haven't changed since high school, huh?" Sam said.

Dean scowled up at him. "Bitch," he said, getting out of the car.

"Jerk," replied a grinning Sam, as he pulled him into a hug.

"How've you been, Sammy? How's college life treating you?" Dean asked, unable to hide the pride in his tone, because his little brother was going to Stanford. Stanford. Sam just shrugged and grinned sheepishly.

"Okay, I guess," he said. Dean knocked his shoulder.

"I'm proud of you, you giant nerd." He said, reaching up to ruffle Sam's hair. His brother snorted and pushed him into the Impala. Dean punched his shoulder, before grabbing his suitcase and putting it in the trunk. By the time he regained his seat, Sam was already sitting in the passenger seat, riffling through the cassettes. Dean revved the engine to life and started driving out of the airport car park.

All the drive to the supermarket, Sam ranted about how Dean needed to update his cassette tape collection ("Cassette tapes, Dean!"), almost had a heart attack when Dean sped up to avoid a red light ("Road safety, Dean!") and talked about the subjects he was studying, most of which Dean tuned out and only pretended to listen to, because he honestly didn't understand what half the words coming out of his brother's mouth meant. Just like old times.

By the time they were walking down the Frozen Foods aisle, Sam had moved on to the topic of Jessica (whose name he always said in a slightly awed, reverent tone), a girl in one of his classes, who he was crushing on pathetically, but didn't dare ask out.

"God Sammy, just grow a pair and ask the girl out. I mean, what's the worst that could happen?" Dean asked absently as he debated which brand of frozen peas their mom would prefer. As Sam grumbled something about public humiliation and his heart getting ripped out and trodden on, he decided to go for the peas to the right, on a whim, chucking the bag into the basket amongst the other items on the shopping list their mom had given him.

They made their way to the Cakes, Pastries & Pies section of the store, where Dean set about the delicate task of choosing the perfect pie. If he was going to be eating store-bought pie, it sure as hell wasn't going to be some lame-ass, soggy-crust-and-unidentifiable-fruit deal. Hell no.

After about twenty minutes of Dean walking back and forth down the aisle, eyes narrowed, muttering under his breath with Sam standing with his arms crossed, rolling his eyes, he finally chose a pie and placed it carefully on top of the contents of the basket.

"Every time, Dean," Sam moaned, earning a glare from Dean, "you do know it's just pie, right?"

Dean scoffed. "'Just pie', do you hear yourself sometimes? Pie is sacred."

"Wise words indeed," said a voice from beside them, even though Dean could have sworn they had been the only two people standing in the aisle. He turned, a scowl already fixing itself on to his face, prepared to snap out some kind of snarky remark about listening to other people's conversations, but when he saw the person standing there, the annoyance on his face slipped, replaced with shock. There, smiling at him like an old friend, was Cassie. Dean's mouth snapped open and shut several times as he struggled for words. What the hell? He had spoken to the guy once, about a month ago, and now he was running into him every other week? He just wished the universe would stop screwing with him – the guy had a boyfriend, he was off-limits, why did the universe keep throwing him in Dean's face if he couldn't have him?

"Um, thanks?" he said, after another awkward silence had stretched out between them. Sam let out a rather loud cough and headed down the aisle, just out of ear-reach, pretending to be fascinated by the large selection of baking soda. Dean smiled and sent out a silent thanks to his brother.

"So you like pie?" asked 'cutie bartender'. Dean nodded fervently – pie, cars and metal were three subjects he knew he could talk about.

"I love pie." He all but moaned.

The blue-eyed man grinned at him. "Really?" he asked – Dean gave another enthusiastic nod – "I don't think I've met someone more passionate about baked goods than me before."

Dean's cheeks warmed, but his interest had been caught by the man's remark.

"You a big fan?" he asked. The blue-eyed man smirked, as though Dean had just made a clever joke.

"I'm a baker, when I'm not being forced to bartend." Dean felt his eyes widen and his jaw drop as he stared at the man in amazement.

"No way! Seriously?" Two red spots appeared high on 'cutie bartender's' – 'cutie baker's' cheeks as Dean continued to look at him with reverence. He nodded and dug in his pocket, pulling out a slightly crumpled business card. He handed it to Dean.

"Come check out our pies. You might find something you like." He said, with a smirk and a wink, before disappearing down the aisle, leaving Dean gaping like an idiot. It took his brain a moment to start functioning again, then he looked down at the business card he had been given.

Angel Cakes

41 Lazarus Street

(555) 319 – 4514

C. Novak

Dean almost did a double take because, seriously? Angel Cakes? Who came up with these names? It had to be the same person who had come up with Hornz and Halos, the two were just too cheesy not to be linked. He stared at the small card, thinking over the wink, trying to decipher what it meant. Was it just fun-flirting or actual serious-flirting? Probably the former, given the fact that he had a boyfriend, he thought bitterly. Dean was having a hard time accepting the fact that a breathtaking man who made pies for a living couldn't be his. The universe well and truly hated him. He must have been silent for longer than he thought, because Sam, who had returned to his side as soon as 'cutie baker' had left, was smirking at him.

"God Dean, just grow a pair and ask the guy out." He teased, a wide grin on his face. Dean scowled and flipped him off, earning him a dirty look from the cashier.

It was a few days later that the business card was brought back to his attention. Charlie had been lounging on Dean's couch as the two of them watched a Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode, when she noticed it lying face down on the coffee table. She had looked at it while Dean was in the bathroom. When he returned, he barely had time to sit down before she asked, "Why do you have the business card for a bakery on Lazarus Street?"

He froze. "No reason." He replied, pretending to be engrossed in the on-screen fight, even if it was one he had seen countless times before. He could practically feel Charlie's scrutinising glare, as if her eyes were scorching his skin.

"Really?" she said disbelievingly. "I know for a fact that you're lying, Winchester, so spit it out and you'll save yourself from a world of pain."

Dean winced, but knew she was right; the last time he had withheld information from her, it hadn't been pretty. "A guy gave it to me at the store." He mumbled.

"That's it? Some guy was handing them out at the store? Jeez, why didn't you say so? You can be so melodramatic."

"He wasn't handing them out..." he muttered. He felt Charlie turn back to face him again.

"So why did he give you one?" She asked warily. "Did you know him? Did he know you? Oh god, it wasn't that crazy stalker guy who followed you around for an entire week, was it?"

Dean swallowed hard. "Hey, this is a great scene," he said, with way too much nervous enthusiasm to be serious, "don't you wanna watch this scene? It's a great scene." Chancing a nervous look at Charlie, and immediately wishing he hadn't, he saw her eyes narrowed at him, her lips pursed.

"Dean." She said sternly.

"Alright," he sighed. "It was 'cutie bartender'." There was a brief silence, during which Buffy acquainted a vamp with Mr Pointy.

"The guy from Hornz and Halos?" She asked. Dean nodded mutely. "The one you've been pining after for-frickin'-ever?"

His cheeks burned, but he nodded again.

"So did you go there? Please tell me you asked him out, and when you get back from your date, I want details. Oh my god, what's his name? I bet it's way better than, 'cutie bartender'." She glanced down at the card. "'C. Novak.' What's the 'C' stand for?" she asked, and Dean shrank back on himself and into the couch cushions, waiting for her to catch on. It didn't take long. "Oh my god, you haven't been? Seriously, this is starting to get a little pathetic now."

"Hey, I've been busy!" He said defensively, arms automatically crossing over his chest, lip already stuck out in a dramatic pout.

"Doing what, watching your balls shrivel away to nothing?" Dean turned to her and glared scathingly, but she ignored him, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. "Dean," she sighed. "Let me explain this to you very simply. An incredibly hot guy, who you like, invited you to his bakery – which, okay, has a ridiculously annoying name, but that's beside the point – where he makes pie. And you haven't been. I'm actually starting to worry something might be wrong with you." She said incredibly slowly, as if speaking to a four year old.

"It didn't mean anything, Charlie. He has a boyfriend." He explained in dull tones.

She shrugged. "So maybe he's after a threesome. Could be hot." Dean choked and Charlie rolled her eyes. "Jeez, when did you become a virginal prude?" she asked.

"About the same time you became a sexual deviant, apparently." He replied dryly, and she grinned at him, gently knocking his shoulder. On screen, the episode finished and the credits started.

"Come on," said Charlie, jumping to her feet. Dean remained on the sofa, and regarded her with a deeply unimpressed look. She sighed in exasperation and rolled her eyes, before grabbing his arm and pulling him up. "We're going." She said firmly.

"Uh, no." He freed his arm and sat back down on the couch, shaking his head and crossing his arms stiffly.

"Uh, yes." She said in a purposefully irritating tone, hands on her hips.

Dean shook his head again. "I'm not letting you drag me across town to a bakery. No way. Not gonna happen."

Fifteen minutes later, Charlie dragged him through the door of Angel Cakes. A bell chimed as they pushed it open. Inside, the bakery was small and cosy. A large glass display case and counter took up most of the room, showing off a variety of baked goods. Behind that, bread racks were lined up against the wall, next to a door that Dean assumed lead to the kitchen. There were a few comfy-looking couches and armchairs around coffee tables, the only occupants of which were an old man reading a newspaper and eating a cream puff pastry slowly, and a teenage girl with heavy, dark make-up, eating a pink cupcake and scribbling in a notebook.

Dean took slow, tentative steps towards the counter, but apparently that wasn't good enough for Miss Charlene Bradbury, who gave him a rough shove, almost sending him head-first into the glass case display. He clenched his jaw and shot her a pissy look over his shoulder, to which she replied with an innocent smile.

"Hi, welcome to Angel Cakes!" said the young man behind the counter, with enthusiasm that seemed genuine, beaming at them with all his teeth.

"Hi!" replied Charlie with just as much enthusiasm, though Dean couldn't tell if it was real or faked. "We know the owner, could we talk to him? Thanks." The man seemed a little taken aback by their request. His eyes flickered to Dean, as if verifying Charlie's statement, and he shot him a small, tight-lipped smile.

"Sure. Just wait a moment, please." He said, before turning and disappearing behind the door by the bread racks. Dean swallowed the nervous lump that seemed to have appeared in his throat and drummed his fingers on the counter. Charlie put a supportive hand on his shoulder, and looked like she was about to say something no doubt encouraging and inspirational, but her phone rang and she answered immediately, giving Dean an apologetic grimace.

"Gilda, hi," was all Dean could make out before she walked out of earshot. Of course, at that very moment, the door opened and the young cashier emerged, followed by C. Novak. Dean's throat went dry at the sight; he was wearing a white apron wound around his waist, covering old jeans, and a blue t-shirt with an Om symbol and 'NAMASTE' on it. Random smudges of white flour were scattered around; most on the apron, a few on the t-shirt, and one high on his left cheek. He hadn't yet noticed Dean, he was talking to the back of the cashier's head.

" – really, Alfie, I haven't got time for this, I haven't even glazed the new batch of éclairs yet..." He trailed off when he looked up and saw Dean standing there, rubbing the back of his neck. He immediately broke into a grin and his blue eyes sparkled.

"You came!" he exclaimed happily, sounding somewhat surprised. "I was starting to worry I'd scared you off."

Dean let out a weak laugh that sounded more like a cough. "Heh, yeah well, I had some free time and I thought I'd come check out the pie..."

"Right, the pie." Replied 'cutie baker', a sly grin on his face. Dean's ears turned red and he let out another half-laugh.

At that moment a customer entered. Alfie, who had not-so-subtly been listening to their conversation, went to deal with her, greeting her with the same excited, 'Welcome to Angel Cakes!' he had used on Charlie and Dean. During this time, Charlie had reappeared next to him, and Dean could have sworn he saw 'cutie baker' glare at her for a split-second.

"Hey, so that was Gilda, I'm gonna head over to hers." She said. A feeling of dread settled in Dean's stomach when he realised what her words meant – she would be leaving him alone in Angel Cakes. He tried not to let his inner-panic show when he replied.

"I can't believe you're abandoning me for a booty-call. Whatever happened to bros before hoes?" He said, shaking his head in mock-disappointment. Charlie snorted.

"Jealous?" She asked.

"Yes!" He grumbled. She laughed.

"Well suck it. In fact, you probably wouldn't be single if you sucked it more often." She said, her voice heavy with suggestion, her eyebrows waggling ridiculously. Dean winced.

"Your sexual innuendos are terrible." He told her.

"Yeah. But at least I'm getting some. Peace out, bitches," she said gleefully, giving him a surreptitious thumbs-up before turning and skipping out of the bakery. Dean snorted as he watched her go down the street and out of sight, before turning back to 'cutie baker', who had a small, confused smile on his lips.

"Gilda is her... girlfriend?" He asked. Dean nodded.

"Yep. They actually met that night in Hornz and Halos." He explained, the memories of that night suddenly coming back, and the familiarity of the counter separating them did nothing to prevent his face from heating up. Those bright blue eyes were a little wider than usual.

"Oh. I assumed you two were..." 'Cutie baker' trailed off, gesturing with his hands to express his thoughts.

"Together?" Dean asked with a snort.

'Cutie baker' nodded, his cheeks tingeing pink.

"Yeah," said Dean, "some people tend to think that, I'm not sure why. I mean, I love her like a sister, y'know? But I don't think I could ever date her. I meant to correct you in Hornz and Halos, but then... you know, and again in the mall, but your boyfriend showed up, so I didn't really have the chance."

'Cutie baker' was frowning, his head tilted to one side in that way Dean found strangely endearing. "My... boyfriend?"

At the confusion in his words, Dean's heart beat erratically with their potential meaning – was he single after all? Had Dean misread his interactions with the blond man? He forced his feelings down, he didn't want to get too carried away.

"Um, blond, British...?" he said, biting his lip in anticipation of the other's answer. When he burst out laughing, he wasn't sure how to interpret it, and his heart both leapt and sank at the same time, almost giving him acid reflux.

"Balthazar? God no. No. He's just an old friend," he explained, his blue eyes shining, the corners crinkled up from his smile. Oh. Dean's heart came to a stuttering halt, before slamming fast and hard against his ribcage in a frenzy.

"So, um, you're single?" he asked, aiming for casual, but his voice cracked halfway through 'single.' The baker leaned a little closer over the counter that separated them, still smiling.

"Yes, I am very single." His voice sounded deeper, and Dean felt his intestines bind themselves into a tight knot at the flurry of feelings the suggestiveness of the tone brought with it. He found himself reciprocating the other man's stance, leaning forward until only a few inches separated their faces. He opened his mouth, finally about to ask the guy out, when he realised something that made him back away, his mouth snapping shut. A terrified flicker of confusion graced Blue Eyes' features. Dean smiled gently, and extended his hand to the other, who looked at it with confusion etched across his face.

"Hi," said Dean. "I'm Dean Winchester."

The baker laughed, his blue eyes twinkling. He took Dean's hand and shook it. "Nice to meet you. I'm Castiel Novak."

Castiel. Such a unique name, that somehow suited the man perfectly. Much better than 'cutie baker' anyway.

"Well, Castiel Novak, I don't want to seem too forward, but I have to ask. Would you like to go out with me?" And although he was almost certain of Castiel's answer, Dean's stomach still twisted into an even tighter knot.

He had absolutely nothing to worry about however, as Castiel leaned forward on his elbows, beaming at him, and replied, "Dean Winchester, I'd love that." Dean's face broke into an identical smile. Maybe the universe was done screwing him over, at least for now.

And that's that. I hope you enjoyed your present, Cheyanne, and I hope you guys liked it as well. Let me know what you thought?

– Jem xo