This was my efforts for this years DCBB. Apologies for taking my time in uploading, I've had some formatting issues.

There is some incredible artwork that goes with this story, but this site doesn't allow you to post links. All I can say is that they're on my AO3 account with this story, featuring in chapters 1 and 14.

I hope you enjoy this story!

Dean picked up his sandwich, and bit down on it with a groan. Sam had done well on the lunch run today. It was a rare day where the meatballs were still warm by the time Dean remembered there had even been a lunch run.

Even better, today Sam had even gotten a side of freaking pie. There was a giant slab of lemon meringue to follow up the meatball sub. Like a reward for progressing with his latest work. Yep, today was a good day.

He'd been working hard on his latest sculpture, lost in the details that he was trying to build up into something beautiful, when Charlie had reminded him that he had to eat. He was grateful that he had actually heard the reminder from his little sister this time.

Dean was pretty happy with the way things were. He had recently won a major art prize, he was popular enough be able to charge a decent amount for his work - enough to convert their garage into his own studio and be able to pay Charlie to pretend to be his PA, but still new enough to the art scene that he wasn't being inundated with commission work. It felt good to get up in the morning, come down and beat metal into shape until one of his siblings brought him back to the real world.

Right now he was alone in his studio, just him and his sandwich, having their moment. Charlie was busy in the office, sorting out paperwork and playing games online, and Sam had probably gone back to his office a few blocks away. He loved the studio, even though Sam regularly called it a death trap with all the supplies and equipment interspersed by his creations. He mainly worked with sheet metal and steel rods. His interest in creating with the materials had come from an internship at a garage where he discovered he had a knack for bending dents out of the car frameworks. Now he was surrounded by a man made entirely of different sized cogs who was mid-run; interlocking steel girders that had taken ages to bend into an almost cuboid shape, the beams overlapping each other without any cohesion to the pattern. There was a tangle of coat hangers suspended from the ceiling in the shape of a hot air balloon, and a half-finished collection of car engine parts that he was trying to hold into some kind of vehicle. And his latest project, a homage to his mother. The project he had stopped working on in order to eat.

He had gotten about halfway through his sandwich - double cheese as well. Dean was sure something was up with Sam. normally his brother sucked at remembering what Dean liked - when Charlie came walking into the workshop area of the studio, talking in her normal upbeat, rapid way to whoever was with her. Dean couldn't see who it could be through all the twisted metal.

"And this is where the magic happens! Dean is here somewhere. He's been working towards the upcoming show at the Emin gallery, so if you're looking for a commission piece you might have to wait. I don't want to yell for him, he works with some pretty sharp stuff so accidents could happen. I'm sure when we find him, he'll give you the tour."

Dean left his lunch on the bench regretfully, and moved through the crowd of his work to find his younger sister in her brightly coloured clothes that only highlighted her bright red hair - and matched her bright personality - peering around a piece comprised entirely of old cogs. There was a man with her, standing with his back to Dean.

"Hey," Dean said softly. The man turned first, looking faintly surprised. He was handsome in a preppy, well-dressed sort of way, with bright blue eyes and messy dark hair. Dean's breath caught in his throat. He was gorgeous, and definitely Dean's type. He had to force himself to focus, to remember that this man was a client. Probably some manager looking for artwork to decorate his office, by orders higher up the hierarchy. Charlie whipped around a moment later and beamed at him.

"Hey! Potential buyer," Charlie nodded at the guy, who smiled but said nothing. Dean leaned against one of the more solid pieces, the interlocking steel girders, and folded his arms, waiting. Trying to play it cool, and not show how much he was already attracted to this man. Charlie rolled her eyes, still smiling. "Dean, play nice." She turned to the mystery man. "Ignore his moodiness. He's a serious artist."

She skipped away, leaving Dean with this guy, who hadn't even tried to introduce himself. Instead, he was looking at the cog sculpture again. He reached out a hand to touch the curve of the statue's elbow, and Dean cleared his throat. Charlie and Sam loved touching that one too, in the same spot. He didn't know why, but it drove him absolutely crazy, especially as that was the only part he couldn't reinforce.

"That's seven thousand dollars. You break it, you bought it."

The guy retracted his hand, and turned back to Dean.

"So, why are you interrupting me?" He cringed internally. Maybe Charlie was right, maybe he sounded too moody. It was an unintentional consequence of trying not to flirt.

"I was interested in getting some new art from a skilled craftsman. You come highly recommended. Your assistant said that it would be possible to look at some pieces that might be suitable."

"Sure you can afford me?" Dean quipped. The other guy gave a small smile.

"I'm sure I'll find something in my price range."

"Well, I guess if you can fuck about with a sculpture for seven thousand dollars," Dean shrugged.

"It's intriguing."

"Uh-huh." Dean didn't have much time for anyone who thought they could throw out buzz words in an attempt to sound knowledgable. Even if they were one of the best looking guys he'd seen in a while. 'Intriguing' was up there with 'challenging' or 'revolutionary'.

"I like the steampunk influence. Embracing the modern while looking back at the past, while utilising materials you have to hand. I like that you use a relevant material to help tell the piece. Especially with the man running … I was just wondering how you managed to defy gravity so easily with it."

"So, you want that one?" Dean ignored the bullshit. Even if it was accurate bullshit. His mind was back on his half-eaten sandwich. And the pie. Oh God, the pie was going to taste so good.

"Perhaps. If there's nothing else that catches my eye. Is there anything you recommend?"

Dean shrugged.

"Anything I made in this room with a price tag. But if I made it for the gallery, you're going to have to wait for it."

"That sounds reasonable. May I look around, or will you show me some pieces?"

Dean was annoyaned that his meatball sub was once again going to be cold by the time he got to it, but he wasn't stupid enough to chase away a sale, or be totally rude to this Adonis. He stood up and thrust his thumb at the nearest completed work.

"There's this one. And that one," he nodded to the cog man, and started winding his way through the studio, around his lathe and acid baths and sculptures and hammer collection. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the man looking at each tool with slight trepidation as well as admiring the artwork.

"Another one," he pointed up at the piece made from bent coat hangers that was suspended from the ceiling. "Collection," he pointed to a sculpture made of engine parts, which had smaller variations dotted close by. "Any time you wanna tell me it speaks to you, go right ahead."

"Your assistant normally takes care of sales, doesn't she?" The man said wryly.

"Apparently I have a negative energy. Of course, this comes from the girl who likes to play dress up at the weekend in the local park." Dean shrugged, and rounded a glass work, spying his lunch ten feet away. God, it still smelled good.

"What about this," the other man sounded unsure. Dean turned and saw him admiring the glass piece. It had taken him forever to learn how to manipulate and colour molten glass. Eventually he'd created this piece, with an abstract red heart suspended by clear whorls of glass that fed into a translucent glass cage. It was one of his most personal pieces, and Dean hadn't yet slapped a price tag on it. He rarely wanted to keep his creations, but this one was a little different.

"What about it?" He tried to sound off-hand. Maybe if this guy could start chattering about the fragmented image of the heart within the cage and the fragility of the glass or all the other bullshit that of course Dean had considered when creating this piece, he could sneak over and grab his sandwich, choke it down while the guy talked about its commentary on the fleeting nature of emotions and the human condition. Or whatever other crap Sam had used to describe it when he was securing the heart inside.

"It's different. Not metal. I like different."

"Uh-huh."

"Would this be out of my price range?" The guy asked innocently.

"I haven't priced it yet. What do you think it's worth?"

"I don't know, Dean. I don't want you to laugh me out the studio by going too low, or too high."

Ugh, could this guy not just let him eat already? Losing his patience completely, Dean gestured to the table. Which, granted, he had made.

"If you're shit out of cash, there's this piece. I call it 'starving artist's lunch'. Four hundred dollars."

The other guy gave a small smile.

"I interrupted your meal, I'm sorry. For what it's worth? I don't think Subway would let you get away with hijacking their brand."

"Probably not."

"I'll leave you to your lunch, and continue looking around, if that's okay? If you trust me."

"Can you tell the difference between equipment and art?"

The client smiled easily, scratching at a spot behind his ear and somehow messing up his hair more than it already was. It was kind of endearing.

"I'll manage. But you might get lucky and sell me a soldering iron for a five hundred per cent mark up."

Dean rolled his eyes, but sat back at the table, and dug back into his now cold sandwich. The guy, whoever he was, was actually pretty funny. And cute. But Dean couldn't enjoy his meal as much as he had been, and not just because it was now cold. He was hyper aware of this guy, of him picking through the workshop and potentially breaking something valuable. And sure, the sweater looked expensive and the guy had on some cologne, and his hair was all shiny, but Dean didn't want to think about how much damage one little fall could cause, how much it would cost either of them. He carried the sandwich back amongst his creations and sought the guy out, finding him in front of his latest project, a half-made person comprised of iron curlicues.

"I like this one."

"It's not done."

"I like its potential."

Dean forced himself not to roll his eyes.

"It's going in the show."

"I can wait. May I have this one?"

"It's going to cost you."

They stood either side of the iron person. Dean took another bite of his sandwich as the other man gave a small smile.

"Isn't that the point? That your sculptures cost money?"

"I'm thinking this one's going to end up nearer twenty-five thousand. So if you got the green, you can have it."

"After the show."

"Mmmm."

The stranger looked down at the iron swirls, which came up to their waists, the rest of the form looking strangely empty without the adornments.

"I have a proposition for you, if you would at least consider it?"

Dean swallowed his mouthful hard, and waited, not giving anything away.

"I have a series of functions coming up that I'm unable to get out of. If I could, I would. I'm normally fairly successful at escaping the pretension. But on this occasion, it's unavoidable, and I'm expected to turn up with a guest. Would you consider coming with me?"

Dean froze as he lifted the sandwich for another bite. This guy was hitting on him? Or was he reading it wrong? It wouldn't be the first time he thought he had a chance with a guy and it turned out he was mistaken. Like with Benny. That still hurt, Benny's rejection, and Dean's complete misunderstanding of what had been building between them. The guy was clearly desperate for some help, that was all.

"I promise not to make any advances, I promise that there will be highly influential people there who would pay for your artwork. Even if they would use derisive terms like 'commentary of our times'. I just … I have the feeling you won't allow me to get stressed while I'm there. I like your sense of humour."

Dean was left wondering when exactly he had shown his sense of humour.

"You want to go out with me?" He said skeptically. Sure, this guy was hot, and Dean was more than interested - despite his rumbling stomach - but it seemed too good to be true that this guy was attractive, had taste in art, could afford his work and wanted to go out with him too. Maybe he was dreaming.

"Essentially.I'll pay you, if that convinces you?"

"And you can afford to do this and buy my art?"

The other man hesitated, and leaned closer to Dean, almost pressing against the sculpture.

"I can afford a lot of things, Dean. I wouldn't need you for all the functions, my friend Meg has volunteered to come to some things, but her schedule doesn't allow for all of them, and I'm in a bind."

Dean snorted.

"I'll give you ten thousand dollars for every day I need you."

"Ten thousand dollars?" Dean sounded dubious. Who could drop that kind of money on a favour?

"Twenty thousand then."

"I'm not haggling."

"And I said, I'm in a bind. Would you agree to fifty thousand for each function?"

"You're kidding, right? You've got to be joking."

"A hundred thousand."

"Stop saying numbers at me!"

"A million dollars. For each date."

Dean snorted in disbelief.

"You've got that much?"

The guy cringed, and muttered something too quietly for Dean to hear.

"What? Didn't catch that."

"I have substantially more than a million dollars. That's how I'm able to offer it to you. I'll provide a tailor in the next couple of days to get you a couple of suits. You just need to stand with me, talk to me, avoid direct questions about whether we're dating and talk me out of killing my brothers for making me do these things."

Dean snorted again, returning to the sandwich.

"Millions of dollars and multiple brothers. What are you, a Novak?" He paused, just as the sandwich touched his lips and looked at the guy again. Picking out the colour of Michael Novak's hair. Luke Novak's eyes. Gabriel Novak's wry smile. And … okay, thankfully there was nothing Balthazar Novak about this guy. But all this meant only one thing. "You are, aren't you? The mystery Novak no one knows shit about. Callie?"

"Castiel," he corrected in that small voice. "Does that change matters?"

"Yeah. I mean, no. I mean … wow. You didn't tell Charlie, it would have been the first thing she'd blab about."

"No, I didn't. I thought that might be the outcome."

"Why me?"

"Because the entire time we've been talking, you've been more interested in your sandwich than in showing off your achievements or your client base. I realise that it might be awkward, that you might not … I mean …"

Castiel broke off, rubbing the back of his neck, and Dean shrugged.

"That I might not be a stereotypical artist?" Dean supplied, and then took a bite of the sandwich.

"You do have the temperament."

Dean chewed his mouthful and contemplated Castiel's offer. He didn't really believe Castiel's offer of the money. If it even really was Castiel Novak. Sure, he could always do with the money, if it existed. It would write off his own student debts, and Sam's. It would keep Charlie in cosplay and Comic Con's for life. And Castiel Novak was surprisingly not an asshole. Dean didn't follow the family avidly, but Michael and Luke were always cutting business deals and swanning around in the press like they owned everyone, while Gabriel and Balthazar were the party brothers, pissing their fortune away in various nightclubs and vacations with a crowd of good-looking women. And once or twice, a few guys. It didn't matter what magazine of newspaper you picked up, be it Sam's copy of Forbes or Charlie's gossip rags (Dean had read them both in the can) a Novak was always there. But this brother rarely got a mention, although there was excitement if someone caught a blurry glimpse of him in the back of a photograph. There was something intriguing about being allowed into this guy's world. And Dean wasn't going to lie to himself, if this really was Castiel Novak, he found him damn sexy. Even if the money was a lie, the chance to go out with this hot guy was tempting. He was worth the ruined lunch.

"So, you're basically paying me to be your friend."

"Offering an incentive," Castiel corrected. Dean nodded.

"You don't get a discount on the sculpture. Still ten thousand."

Castiel smiled at this, although by now Dean was starting to expect it.

"You don't get to talk to people about whether we're really dating. Even your inquisitive assistant."

"For what you're offering, you can have her kidnapped."

Castiel thrust his hand forward, around the sculpture.

"Do we have a deal?"

Dean grabbed his hand and shook it, feeling himself smile.

"Deal. Now, I need some time with the sub, so … see you later?"

"Sure. I'll get your contact details from your assistant. Here's my card," Castiel passed a business card over, and smiled back faintly. "I look forward to seeing you again soon."

He wound his way back towards the office, and Dean watched him go, chewing on his sandwich once again. He couldn't say he had ever expected a member of one of the most influential families in America ask him out on a date, fake or not. But strangely, he felt excited, and not just for the paycheck at the end of it. He had the rare opportunity to get to know Castiel Novak, and he was going to enjoy every moment of it.