Found this online and is a must read!

"Looking For a Run-In"

The first time they met was on a rainy Tuesday in September.

Fact: Public Parking Lots are nothing short of highway robbery, Dean thinks as he feeds the meter eight dollars in coins for the hour. A countdown clock appears on screen, and he mentally tells the machine to shove it when it orders him to have a nice day. His shift ran late at the Roadhouse last night; if he wasn't so worried about Sam bitching at him for being late again, he could be catching up on some glorious sleep. Instead, he's driving across town for a stupid lunch date with his nerdy brother.

To top it off, he's so hungry his stomach feels like it's collapsing in on itself, and the grey clouds overhead spell rain.

God dammit.

It doesn't matter that Dean's been in West and Allen's Professional Accounting Services Building once a week for the past year and then some; he still feels under-dressed and overwhelmed every time he enters the lobby. The room is a traffic hazard, what with the blinding shininess of... well, everything. There are hot secretaries behind a large desk taking names and numbers (and occasionally giving them out, if Dean's extra suave that day), large elevators that play hacked up instrumental versions of top hits, and cameras set up at every fucking corner, because apparently this building is important enough to give a shit about.

And Sammy is the big-shot top lawyer who actually works here.

Dean can't help it if a grin slips across his face while he plops himself down on one of the large couches to wait. His pride in his baby brother knows no bounds.
But if Sam thinks he's getting out of buying lunch today, he's totally getting itching powder in his pants again.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a total mooch? Because you're a total mooch." At this point, Sam crosses his arms. "Seriously Dean, I paid last week - it's your turn."

"Dude come on! I just fed the meter a friggin' wishing well's in coins! And I gotta get gas! Have a heart, Sammy!"

His brother grumbles and pushes some hair out of his eyes. "It's Sam, you jerk." Sam pulls Bitchface #37 - Get my name right, you're embarrassing me in public, oh my god, Dean, stop it - and starts walking towards the doors. Dean tries not to smirk.

"Bitch, cut your hair. You look like Rapunzel." He reaches over and tugs on a luscious lock to make a point, until Sam slaps his hand away, eyes darting nervously around the foyer for any colleagues who might be watching. "I do not. And I like it this length, I can tuck it behind my ears now."

"So that all the boys know that you're a no-nonsense girl?"

"Oh, shut up. You're one to- Crap, it's raining isn't it?" Sam sighs as they take about five steps outside. Dean counts this conversation as a win for him, but because Sammy is such a prissy bitch, he turns around and makes Dean follow him back inside and wait in the lobby again, so that Sam can get his fancy lawyer jacket from all the way upstairs.

Dean doesn't complain, though - not outwardly, anyways. He's got a theory that if his brother is exposed to too much water, he'll melt like that green bitch from the Wizard of Oz. And then who would pay for Dean's lunch?

He walks back to the couches and wonders how much sleep he could catch before Sam comes back, when an unusually loud voice grabs his attention.

It's coming from the other side of the lobby, and by the looks of it, belongs to this mean-looking fucker standing over a smaller guy in a trenchcoat.

Sergeant Hartman (this guy is freaking loud) says something about a family and someone being an ingrate, and as Dean moves a little closer he can pick out a few choice curses that make the secretaries, listening nearby, wince. Trenchcoat just stands there with a blank look on his face, taking it, and something about it makes Dean's stomach twist. Or maybe that's just hunger. Anyways.

Normally, Dean would walk away or pretend not to notice. It's really none of his business and, who knows? Maybe the guy getting reamed out deserves the verbal shitstorm hitting him in the face. But maybe because today' s been kind of shitty, or because he's been yelled at so much in his own life that he hates watching it happen to other people, Dean walks up beside the two-man show and interrupts by putting a hand on the big guy's shoulder.

"Dude. Indoor voice," he suggests, in the most commanding voice he can muster.

Big Guy turns his head and stares at Dean's hand, looking confused. Then he notices there's an arm attached and finally Dean's presence clicks in his head. He pulls a stink-face. "Excuse me?" he demands.

"No offence, man, but I'd like to leave with my hearing intact, y'know? Pretty sure everyone else here does too. It's a rare person who can pull off the hearing aid look. Then again, Cindy over there is pretty fine and can pull off just about anything, lucky girl." At this point Dean nods to the blonde secretary in question, who blushes and pretends to type. "Me, though, I just don't think I can rock it. So maybe stop yelling at this poor guy, and do the rest of us a favour and take a walk."

Trenchcoat just stares at Dean with these wide blue eyes, as the other man glares at him in a way that says, I would take great pleasure in your death, so get the fuck out of my face. Dean wonders if the angry constipated look is something that happens to everyone, or just this guy. Out loud, the larger man says, "This is none of your business. Stay out of it." Dean thinks he catches something like insect or maggot at the end, but his ears are kind of buzzing from the volume, so he could be mistaken.

He shrugs. "Then don't do it in a public place."

The other guy's glare intensifies and Dean's sure he'd be halfway to hell by now if looks could kill. Ah well.

Bring it on.

"You listen to me, you li-"

Dean stops him and pulls himself up to his full height which, while not as tall as the big man, is not insubstantial. "No, you listen," he bites out, losing patience. "This is supposed to be a professional building, right? Then act like a professional and take your stupid problems somewhere else - preferably somewhere in the vicinity of an anger management clinic. You think bitching this poor guy out in front of a crowd makes you a big man? You're pathetic. People here have work to do and appointments to dread, so why don't you just fuck off and save the shouting match for your next redneck Thanksgiving?"

Everyone - employees and clients alike - are all staring, and Dean hopes at least one of them will have the decency to call 911 if the other guy decides to throw the first punch. He really doesn't want to drag himself back to the hospital again.

The man really seems to think about this, if his shaking fists are of any indication, but whatever action he planned on taking halts when a security guard finally approaches.

Growling but releasing his fists, he spits, "You should mind your mouth, boy. I will find you. And when I do you will wish you'd never taken your first breath."

Dean holds up his hands and twists his face into mock-fear. "Oh lordy, forgive me, sir," he gasps with mock alarm, "I'll never stand up to a loud-mouthed dick again!"

Eyes still promising to end Dean and all future generations of Winchester, guy storms off and nearly breaks one of the big ass doors on his way out.

Dean snorts. "Jackass."

He turns, expecting Trenchcoat to be super stoked by the fact that Dean just rescued his ass (and ears), or yell at him to mind his own business next time. Instead he does neither, and just stares hard enough that he could be trying to burn a hole into Dean's head. Weird.

"Uh. You ok now dude?" Dean asks. Smiling, he gives the guy a quick once-over. Not counting the odd staring thing, the guy's fine, in both senses of the word, in a cute, nerdy way. His blue suit looks a little rumpled, his tie's not done up right and the trenchcoat would give parents nightmares of playground indecencies, but the soft-looking sex hair and striking blue eyes make Dean nod appreciatively.

Were he still working his old job, and this guy showed up, maybe Dean would have stuck with it longer. Or rather, been stuck on it longer (ha). Then again, the fact that the guy is still staring is kind of creepy, and maybe he's into weird kinky shit - in that case, Dean will pass. Too much stress goes with that crap.

Waving a hand in front of Trenchcoat's face, Dean tries not to be too creeped-out when he doesn't even blink. "Hello?" he calls. "You in there, Constantine?" Blue eyes shift slightly upwards and lock onto Dean's, and the intensity makes Dean gulp and try to ignore the pull in his stomach again. The guy's got a really piercing gaze, and for a moment Dean wonders if he's melting his brain with laser vision or something.

Not that Dean's paying special attention to the state of his mouth or anything, but he notices that he guys lips are chapped when they part, as though he's about to say something. That is, until a Sasquatch hand taps Dean on the shoulder. He spins around instantly, thinking that the other guy's changed his mind about backing the fuck off, but instead slams into Sam's chest.

"Woah! Easy, Dean!" Sam looks stupidly smug as Dean steps back and brushes himself off.

"Jesus, Sammy, Do you benchpress while you work?" he snaps. "Touching you is like running into a brick shithouse!"

Sam rolls his eyes and shoves his hands in his pockets. Bitch. "Whatever. Ready to go?"

"Yeah sure, don't mind me while I fix my broken face. I just gotta check... on... huh?" Dean rubs his eyes and blinks to make sure he's not going crazy. Trenchcoat's gone, practically poofed out of thin air. What the hell? Is he part of the Matrix or something? Dean looks around the room to see if anyone looks out of place, but no such luck.

Sam just quirks an eyebrow. "What? Who are you looking for?"

Dean takes one last look around and shakes his head. "No one. Nevermind. Let's go, I'm fucking starving."

"You're always starving."

"Shut up, Sam."

"You know, if you grew a beard I bet people would think you were the late John Lennon."

Sam pulls Bitchface #23 - I don't have to impress you! - and takes another sip of his health shake. "I'm not cutting it. Let it go." His salad meets an untimely end.

Dean's bacon cheddar burger is no luckier. It's too fucking delicious for its own good. "When you blow-dry it, do you feel like McGyver?"

"Only when I'm wearing your jacket."

Dean's too busy giving in to the demands of his appetite to come back with something. Sammy can have this round.

The hour passes quickly as usual, and before Dean knows it the check is on the table and the hot waitress' number in his pocket. Sam grumbles as he pulls out a bunch of bills from his wallet and, despite his earlier words, Dean throws a few fives down to cover his share.

"By the way, Lady Lovely Locks, I got something to ask you," he says, on their way out.

Sam scowls, suspicious, as Dean unlocks the doors of the Impala. "What is it?"

"Just curious, but... There doesn't happen to be a weird guy in a flasher's coat who works in your building, is there?" Dean glances back over his shoulder as he backs out of the parking lot, and heads towards the highway. "Y'know... Black spiky hair, blue eyes... likes to stare silently at people... Any of this sound familiar to you?"

Without hesitation, Sam blinks and asks, "Why, do you owe him money?"

"No!" Dean huffs as he passes another car.

"Sleep with his girlfriend?"

"Sam!"

"...his boyfriend?"
"Oh my god, Sam, shut up," mutters Dean, as Sam laughs beside him. He'd consider the silent treatment if he didn't actually want to know the answer. "In all seriousness, though. You know a guy like that?"

Sam tilts his head back and hmm's to himself as he thinks. "Well... there's one guy...tenth floor I think? I don't know his name or anything but he's the only one I know who wears a trenchcoat year round. He might be your man." He smirks, undoing his seatbelt once the car rolls to a stop. "You don't have his shoe or anything, do you, Prince Charming? You could knock on every office in the building and see who it fits."

In response, Dean punches him in the arm. "I don't need to take this from a fucking Yeti. Here's your stupid... lawyer... banker... building... office..." Dean trails off lamely. "You know what? Just get out, bitch." He's grumbling as he shoves Sam, laughing, out of the car.

Little brothers. God.

When he gets home, his answering machine has three messages on it: the first from Jo, begging him to cover for her on Friday, the second from the cable company reminding him that his subscriptions to the Hustler, Playboy, and Soap channels will expire by the end of the month... and the third from Alistair. Dean deletes it before the machine can play it past the second word.

That twisted fucker can call all he wants, Dean's not going back. Not again.

He grabs a beer from the fridge and flops down on the couch; time to get his Xbox on. Limbo is loaded up and ready to go from the last save point. Normally, it's fun. The game is twisted and creepy and makes even dying multiple times interesting, but the main character has these striking blue eyes and messy dark hair, and honestly it makes Dean a little uncomfortable when a saw blade chops his head off.
He gives up after a few minutes, and turns on Hustler instead.

They don't meet again for three weeks, and by that point Dean's almost forgotten about Trenchcoat Man and his strange staring habits. The new college semester is just starting, which spells out major business for any and all bars in the area. Drunk kids are always good for a laugh and a tip and Dean's never takes so many numbers out of his pants as he does when school's in session.

All in all, an awesome three weeks.

But now it's Tuesday again, and unless Dean wants to break a longstanding tradition, he needs to get the fuck going. He wastes about five minutes looking for his keys before realizing they're in his hand, and runs out of his apartment at light speed. Taking the stairs two at a time, he even manages to resist hitting on the cute goth girl checking her mailbox on his way down.

The reason for the rush is Sammy, who threatened to take Dean to Mucho Burrito if he was late one more time. And it doesn't matter how decent their food is; the gas that comes out of his brother afterwards is enough to take out a small village. Not to mention, even Dean's ass hurts like hell an hour after eating there. It's lose-lose, and better to just be on time.

As it turns out, though, he's got nothing to worry about. His phone rings just as he's trying to merge on to one of the busiest fucking roads in the city, and Dean fumbles in his pocket with one hand while trying not to die with the other. Who says multitasking isn't a talent?

"What?!" he spits out as he tries not to swerve into oncoming traffic.

"Oh, crap," chirps Sam, "I didn't interrupt you in the middle of jacking off again, did I?"

Dean glares out the windshield as he regains control of his precious car again. "No, I would've made you listen to me finish first. What's wrong? Hurry up, I'm driving during lunch hour. Someone is going to die if I don't get off the phone, and I really don't want it to be me."

He can practically see Sam roll his eyes over the phone. "Whatever. Listen, I'm just calling to say that I'm a bit behind schedule. It's nothing major, but I need to make a few calls and fax a few things, so just come up to my office when you get here. You know which floor, right?"

"If I didn't know you think I'm an idiot, I'd guess you were fishing for compliments, Sammy." Dean grins as he pictures Sam getting all blushy and flustered. "Don't get your panties in a bunch. It's the top floor, man. I got it." He hits the End button just in time to fly through a yellow light at the last second. Skills.

The secretaries wave to him as he walks past them towards the elevator. Cindy in particular seems to smile a little wider than usual. Then again, she's been a lot sweeter ever since he stood up to that guy a few weeks ago: apparently she digs him now that she realizes he's got balls. Nice.

A bunch of people get out as the gold elevator doors slide open, and oddly enough, Dean is left the elevator's sole remaining occupant when they close. The speakers in the corner emit a cheesy instrumental version of What Is Love, and Dean doesn't feel at all ashamed when he starts nodding his head to the side along with the beat.

Until the doors open on third, that is, and he finds Trenchcoat Man staring at him again.

Neither of them says a word until Dean decides he's had enough. "...Uh. Hi," he says weakly. Smooth, Winchester. Smooth.

Trenchcoat does nothing more than tilt his head and blink before stepping into the tiny space with Dean. The motion reminds Dean of some kind of bird. Maybe a Heron... or an Ostrich... or a-

"That's from A Night at the Roxbury, yes?"

It's not generally a opening line that makes Dean want to get naked, but holy hell this guy has a fucking sexy voice. All deep and gravelly and... and he should really say something because the guy is staring again.

"Um. What?" He cringes. Dean, you sly fox, you.

Trenchcoat tilts his head again. "The... movements of your head. They do that in the movie A Night at the Roxbury. Am I wrong?"

Dean feels his face heat up and coughs into his fist. "Oh. Uh... yeah... I mean, no. I mean, yes it's from that movie, you're right."

For about five seconds it's completely silent in the elevator. Then Dean remembers he's Dean fucking Winchester and awkward elevator rides are not on his list of things to do today. He clears his throat and plasters on his most winning smile. "Whatever, man. I like that movie. And you gotta admit, that stupid song is catchy."

The other guy finally stops staring long enough to press one of the buttons next to the door. "My brother convinced me to watch it with him a while ago," he admits. "It's not something I'd usually pick out, but I was... pleasantly surprised."

Dean chuckles and leans back against the wall. "Yeah, my little brother makes me watch chick flicks, of all things. Don't tell anyone, though... I wouldn't wanna damage Sammy's big, bad, lawyer street cred."

Like he's lost in thought, Trenchcoat narrows his eyes slightly. "Sammy...? You wouldn't happen to be talking about Sam Winchester, would you?"

"The one and only! I'm his big brother." Another twinge of pride fills him as he thinks of how far Sammy's come and all that he's accomplished. Apparently even weirdos know who he is. Awesome. Dean remembers to extend his hand at the last second, manners not totally forgotten. "I'm Dean. Who are you?"

Trenchcoat looks away to stare at the doors instead of Dean's face. He'd feel dismissed if they weren't such nice doors... But then again, that's not the point.

When the response finally comes, the guy mutters, "... Castiel."

Unable to help himself, Dean snorts. "Really? Who came up with that?" Dean feels his lips quirk up when Castiel gets a sort of annoyed look on his face. Obviously he's had this conversation before, but it doesn't make the expression any less cute.

"My family is very religious," he grudgingly explains, after a beat. "Castiel is the name of an Angel, though not a very common one."

Dean shrugs and scratches his arm. "Well, if it makes you feel better, I was named after my grandma." Castiel looks at him dubiously and Dean grins back. "Usually I lie and say I was named after James Dean instead. Sounds way cooler, and chicks dig it."

Castiel nods and looks away again. He must be bored of Dean's facial structure, Dean thinks, which is totally weird because Dean is fucking hot shit. But whatever, to each his own.

At this point Dean should really just stop talking and enjoy the long boring ride up to Sammy's office, but as usual his mouth decides to run off without consulting his brain first. "So, that mean son of a bitch I saw you with a few weeks ago... He hasn't come back, has he?

Castiel shakes his head. "No. Raphael has not spoken to me since that day. I believe he's doing his business... elsewhere now. According to my brother Gabriel, he is pretending I do not exist. This will make the next family reunion rather awkward, I think."

Dean's sniggering - seriously? Who names their kid Raphael in this day and age? - skids into shocked silence when Castiel finishes his sentence. Eventually he manages, "Woah! You're related to that asshole?" Castiel nods. "Wow." He whistles. "Strong resemblance." Raphael looked like he could have been an enforcer for a Mob boss; unless he'd been adopted, Dean would never have found a reason to link him and Castiel together in his mind.

"Not really." Apparently Castiel doesn't know what sarcasm is. Good to know.

That still doesn't explain, well... anything, thinks Dean. "How come he was such a dick to you, then? I mean, if you're family... Not that it's any of my business or anything."

Castiel sighs and props himself up against the wall in a similar fashion to Dean. "He wanted me to... do something illegal about his tax returns," he says reluctantly. "I denied his request. He was not pleased, to say the least."

Dean snorts. "I'll say. Whatever, man. He's the one being a douchebag. Way to do the right thing, Cas."

"You... really think so?"

Dean smiles at the surprised expression that materializes on Castiel's face. Something about his quiet tone makes Dean wonder if the guy actually thought he was at fault for obeying the goddamn law. He already knew Raphael was a dick, but now he can add "shitty brother" to the list as well. Nothing pisses Dean off more than people who don't do right by their blood. "Duh," he says. "He's the one trying to cheat the system. You're just doing your job. And, like... can't you go to jail for helping with that shit? He should be grateful you didn't tell anyone else what he wanted to do." Dean pauses. "Besides, y'know, me. But I don't even work here, so your secret's safe with me."

Castiel cocks his head, seeming genuinely interested. "What do you do?"

"I'm a bartender," Dean says, his tone a combination of pride and warmth, because he really fucking loves his job. He doesn't care if it isn't high-powered or flashy; he's one of the best there is at it.

Although Cas looks like he's about to say something else, the bell dings and the doors open up to reveal the eighteenth floor. Without another word, he glances at Dean and slowly walks out of the elevator as the doors start to close. Dean sighs and leans his head back against the elevator paneling, tapping his foot as the awful music tinkers on, glad to have at least gotten Castiel's name. But the doors don't close all the way before an arm flies out between them.

As they reopen, Castiel stands on the other side looking all too adorable in his rumpled clothes and flyaway hair. Maybe, Dean figures, he forgot something, or-

"Dean..." Cas begins, albeit hesitantly, "thank you. For earlier. You didn't have to put yourself out like that for my sake." Castiel stares deep into his eyes and Dean swears he has to have some kind of hypnotic power within that gaze. "I am grateful."

Dean could make a joke about exactly how much time he's spent 'putting himself out for others', but he doesn't think the timing's appropriate and isn't sure Cas would get the joke, anyway. Instead, he just shoots a small smile the guy's way and nods. "Anytime. You just try to stay out of trouble, Cas," he says with a wink.

He thinks maybe a faint pink colors Castiel's cheeks, but the doors close before he can know for sure.

A month passes and they don't speak again, though every time Dean visits he sees Castiel in the lobby sitting by one of the massive windows, eating by himself. Dean thinks he looks like a loner in a high school cafeteria. He'd go over and sit with him if he wasn't meeting Sam, or if Castiel didn't look totally absorbed in watching people walk past the window. Then again, there's probably some kind of breakroom in the building, and if Cas really wanted, he could eat in his office.

In the end, Dean shrugs it off as just another quirk, and walks past him every time.

Meanwhile, somewhere around mid-October, he and Sam's stupid tradition breaks.

As always, Dean rides the elevator back up to Sam's floor, walks down the big hallway and enters the huge office. Normally Sam meets him downstairs, but Dean didn't see him and couldn't reach him by phone, so he decided to meet him upstairs instead. Since Alistair somehow got a hold of his cell number and hadn't stopped calling all night, Dean had turned it off and forgotten it on the coffee table on his way out.

The second he opens the door to Sam's office, he realizes that this was a mistake. Sam is sitting behind his desk talking to some old lady who, by the looks of it, is trying to give his little brother a footjob beneath his desk. It's impossible not to laugh when Sam moves back and the old lady just brings her seat closer. When Sam whips his head, he gives Dean a look that's torn between annoyance and gratitude.

Looking back to whom Dean assumes is a client (either that, or Sammy's taking the cougar thing to a whole new level), Sam forces out a businesslike smile. "I'm so sorry, Gertrude, please excuse me for a moment." He stands up faster than Dean's ever thought possible as Gertrude smiles back.

"Alright," says Gertrude, "but don't leave me hanging too long, Sam... I do hate a tease." She winks and it takes all of Dean's willpower not to explode into laughter right then and there. Sam is unamused.

"I called you over and over for an hour, why didn't you turn on your phone?" Sam mutters as he leads Dean into the hall and closes the door behind them.

"I forgot to turn it off last night and it died this morning," Dean lies and shrugs his shoulders carelessly. "Sorry, Sammy, if I'd known you had a hot date, I would've waited downstairs." He grins wide as Sam sighs and slumps his shoulders.

"She's a client," he grumbles. "I would say no but she asks for me specifically, and-"

"You're worried that the necklace from Titanic would be lost forever if you did?"

"-AND she's one of the Firm's most longstanding clients. She practically pays for this office." Sammy's whiny teenage voice flashes in Dean's memory and he does his best to keep a straight face.

"So she's your sugar-mama then? Damn, no wonder you're always wearing those fancy monkey suits." A look of oh my god, Dean, you're impossible comes his way and his lips tug upwards before he can force them back down.

"I didn't think this appointment would run so late, but we've been having trouble getting... down to busine- Dean I swear to god I will punch you in the mouth- business, and I have to work through lunch to get all the legal stuff finalized. So I'm really sorry, but I can't go with you today." To his credit, Sam does look like he'd rather be lecturing Dean on cholesterol in some cafeteria than subjected to sexual harassment in his office.

Taking pity on the kid, Dean says, "Yeah... okay. No worries, Sammy." But then again, Dean is his big brother, dammit. Opportunities like these are too good to pass up. "... But does Morgan Freeman know that you're 'taking care' of Miss Daisy this afternoon?"
The sound of the office door slamming does nothing to silence Dean's laughter.

By the time the elevator reaches the first floor, Dean's finally managed to calm down, or at least enough so that people wouldn't look at him like he's a psycho. When he gets home he's probably going to start laughing all over again anyway.

Since he came all this way, though, he thinks maybe he should stop and get some food first. Glancing towards the windows to see if there are any good restaurants nearby, he notices Castiel. Or rather, the back of Castiel's head. The weirdo's staring outside again, intense as ever. Dean has no plans to stop, but he notices that, unlike the past few times he's seen Cas, this time he's not eating anything.

And Dean really should just ignore him again and leave. He should not be walking towards the guy and putting his car keys back in his pocket. And he definitely shouldn't tap him on the shoulder and smile when Cas turns his head to look at him, but Dean's a badass and generally does things he shouldn't all the time.

"Hey," he says.

Castiel blinks. "Hello."

Dean takes a few steps closer to the window and looks outside, trying to figure out what has Castiel so fascinated. "Was there a car crash or something?"

Cas does that head tilt that's just too cute for words, and looks confused. "No. I do not believe so... Why do you ask?"

"I dunno, figured something interesting was happening. You were looking outside at something pretty intensely." Dean feels a little weird standing while Cas sits - and it has nothing to do with the fact that his crotch just happens to be perfectly level with Cas's face - so he plops himself down on one of the big leather chairs to his left. Castiel doesn't seem to mind the company, so Dean continues. "Then again, I see you staring out this window every time I come by. Do you like the view?" And if this isn't the most awkward small talk of his life, he doesn't know what is.

There's no sign of a response from Castiel, and if Dean didn't see his chest moving with breath, he'd think Cas was some kind of Android.

After a pause that seems to stretch on forever, Cas explains, "It is not so much the view as the people passing by."

"Yeah? what's so great about them?" Dean leans forward in his seat, trying to crane his neck to see what Cas means.

Beneath the beige trenchcoat, shoulders rise and fall in less than a millisecond; a shrug, Dean supposes. "They're all so...diverse," says Castiel. "So unique. Each and every person walking by has their own individual story to tell, their own life. All of them are thinking different thoughts about a million different things as they pass each other. I wonder, sometimes... The people who pass by us: will we ever see them again? Will we even remember them? Will they remember others that they pass?" Castiel takes a breath and folds his hands. "I think about this as I see them all and I suppose my mind simply runs away with me."

Dean just looks at the smaller man beside him, unsure of what to say. "I... guess I've never thought of that before. That's pretty deep, man."

Castiel's head tilts down in a small, quick nod. "Usually I've eaten my lunch before I know it, and an hour's gone by without even realizing it."
At this, Dean has to laugh. He relaxes a bit more into his chair. "I know what you mean. Every time I go out with Sammy, it feels like the time is going way too fast for me. One second we're laughing and walking into some greasy diner, and the next we're back here again." And out of touch for another week...

Cas stares at him again with those stupid pretty blue eyes and unfolds his hands. "You and your brother... You're very close, I take it?"

"The closest, man. I used to think we were magnets or something, completely inseparable." Dean cracks another grin as Castiel's face appears to relax a bit, too.

"I used to be close with my brothers as well," says Cas. "My sister, too." He pauses and appears lose himself in thought before speaking again. "Time is such an odd thing. So much can change in so little of it."

"Tell me about it," Dean murmurs as his hand reaches up to touch his throat. It's been a long time, and yet sometimes he swears he can still feel cold hands and stiff leather around it. A shiver passes through him and he quickly changes the subject. "So, speaking of eating... I see you aren't. Finish your lunch already, or are you saving it for later?"

It's a stupid question, but he'll take awkward conversation about food over memories of the worst years of his life, any day. Castiel just shakes his head. "Actually, I overslept a little this morning. In my rush to make it to work, I could not spare the time to make myself anything to eat. It's alright, though; I'm not that hungry anyway."

A loud gurgling noise punctuates the statement, and Dean would make a smart comment about it if it hadn't come from him. "Huh. That's too bad, because I'm starving. I was about to ask if you wanted to blow this popsicle stand and go grab something to eat with me."

Castiel stares at him, but follows without a word when Dean stands and heads towards the doors.

Castiel does not order salad, and Dean's respect for him increases about thirty points. There's also chicken in the pasta thing he ordered, which means he's not a vegetarian or anything - thank god.

It doesn't, however, stop him from looking unimpressed when Dean gulps down his heart attack on a plate in mere seconds. "That... cannot be healthy," Castiel observes. "Especially when you eat it every week."

Dean licks some barbecue sauce off of his hand and takes another bite of his dripping burger. He smiles charmingly around his food. "What can I say? If I die, It'll be because I enjoyed the good things in life." Castiel looks unconvinced, but Dean pretends not to notice and swallows down the rest of the burger, groaning as he does so. "I swear to god, these burgers are better than sex..." From across the table, Cas quirks an eyebrow. "Well, maybe not all sex. The fries are good, too. Want some?" He pushes his plate towards the other man while grabbing some for himself in the process.

Hesitantly, Castiel plucks one from the side and raises it to his lips. Dean tries really hard not to notice how slowly those lips part and how they close again, brushing against the tips of Castiel's long, elegant fingers...

Dean coughs into his hand, breaking off his train of thought. "...So?"

Disappointingly, Castiel swallows and shrugs. "For something with such little nutritional value? They are not bad." But before Dean realizes it, Castiel takes more and eventually it becomes a mental race to see who can finish first and get the last one.

It goes to Castiel. Even though the only person Dean might have relinquished the last fry to is Sammy, for some reason Dean doesn't seem to mind.

The Roadhouse is pretty dead save for the few regulars sitting at the bar. None of them seem to be in a talking mood tonight, either, so Dean's left with Jo for company while he cleans the glasses behind the counter.

"So what's got you in such a good mood?" she asks, noticing his cheerful, happy demeanor. "Did Dr. Piccolo confess her feelings for that new intern?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "Oh, please. She's just on the rebound to make Doctor Sexy jealous. It'll pass." Jo giggles and pretends to wipe down the counter when Ellen gives her a look.

Once her mother looks away again, Jo tries a bit harder. "Seriously though, you're all chipper and bright-eyed. And you're humming while you clean. Did you get lucky last night or something?" She pauses, and from the look on her face it's clear that something unpleasant occurs to her. "Oh, god, it wasn't that British chick who hits on you all the time, was it?"

One of the customers looks at them and takes another drink.

"Shut up, you brat," grumbles Dean, smiling at the customer as if in apology for his coworker's gossiping. "I can't be in a good mood once in awhile?"

Jo gives him a look and doesn't even pretend to work anymore, opting to sit down and watch Dean instead. "You go to see Sam today? That why you're so happy?"

Setting down the glass and picking up another, Dean shrugs. "Well, I went to see him but he was doing overtime with one of the Golden Girls. But I seen this other guy there in the lobby so-"

"Other guy? What other guy?" Jo's face goes bright. She leans forward, hands under her chin, and there's an evil glimmer in her eyes. Dean really should stop talking, but he hasn't been able to tell anyone about Cas yet and it ends up coming up like word vomit.

"His name's Cas. Well, Castiel technically and - I know, it's weird, whatever - he works in Sam's office building..."

With Jo listening intently, Dean gives her a quick recap of how he met Cas - not exaggerating on how he rescued him from Raphael, not at all - how odd he was, how Dean kept seeing him everywhere, and eventually how he asked him to lunch. Jo just nods her head as Dean tells her what Cas likes to eat, about his weird staring habit, and how he talks like he's writing a formal letter all the time.

When he gets to the part about how freaking blue his eyes are, Jo raises her hands and stands up. "Okay, that's enough of that. Seriously, I knew Sam was the chick in your family, but I had no idea you could be such a girl, too."

Dean narrows his eyes and folds his arms across his chest. "Just what are you trying to say, missy?"

She just snorts and puts her hands on her hips. "Well, it's obvious you've got some kind of a huge man-crush on this guy. Frankly, Dean, it's kind of embarrassing."

"I do not!"

Jo smiles wickedly and feigns a high, girlish voice like that of a stage actress. "And his eyes, oh my god, you should see his eyes! They're the nicest shade of blue I've ever seen!" She snorts. "Please." Before Dean can throw a rag at her head, she runs off to clear a table in the corner, laughing the whole way.

Dean resents her implication. He is totally not crushing on Cas. At all. Cas is just a really weird but interesting guy.
Who happens to be really freaking sexy.

And has really nice eyes.

God damn it. Dean is a fucking girl.

He could almost deny that he likes Castiel. If he really put his mind to it, he could say that he generally likes hanging around weird people, or that he's just looking out for a poor schmuck who seems like he's got a shortage of friends.

But it's really hard to pretend he's innocent when his dreams for the next week all involve his hands wrapped in dark, messy hair, rough stubble rubbing up against his thighs, and beautiful long fingers going places that make him want to scream in pleasure.

So Dean figures maybe Jo's right, and that he should just accept it. Move along.

Meaning, he can't wait until Tuesday rolls around again, so he can at least see if Cas has a girlfriend or something. Dean's a lot of things, but a homewrecker isn't one of them. And if Cas is single, well, Dean's never been great at impulse control. And as fantastic as the hot dreams are, he'd rather go for the real thing.

When Tuesday finally arrives, Dean puts on a clean pair of jeans instead of the ones he usually finds at the bottom of the clothespile on the floor, shaves, and takes an extra five minutes to make sure his hair isn't doing anything stupid.

He leaves the bathroom, grabs his keys and is halfway down the hall before he runs back to put on some deodorant.

If that Old Spice Guy is anything to go by, he should smell exactly like the kind of man Castiel wishes his man smelled like.

"How do you not have the body of a sumo wrestler?" Sam wonders that afternoon over lunch. He sips from a glass of water thoughtfully, as though this is truly one of life's most troubling questions.

"Bite me, Sammy."

Sam shakes his head and takes another bite out of his rabbit food. Dean's the one who fucks men, and yet Sam always manages to out-gay him every time they meet up. Unfortunately, Cas doesn't seem to be backing Dean up on this one, either.

Seemingly still fascinated, Sam leans back in his seat while Dean pauses to take several gulps of his drink. "It's like watching a freak show. Just how much more can you stuff in there?"

"It is rather remarkable," agrees Castiel, voice in a similar hushed tone to Sam's. "I don't believe I've ever seen anyone eat the way Dean does."

Dammit. Two against one, this is so not fair.

"I know right?" Sam laughs. "I'm waiting for the day he accidentally mistakes his hand for food!"

"This whole ganging up on me thing sucks," Dean points out to them, mouth full. "Let's talk about something else. Hey, Cas, did you know that Sam has three nipples?"

He gets a spoon to the head for that one, but it's worth it.

As Sam tries to tell Castiel that Dean is an asshole who should be avoided at all costs, Dean marvels at how cool his little brother is acting after he invited a total stranger along for their brotherly bonding session. He's still not sure why he did, because he definitely doesn't like cutting into his Sammy time, but the second he saw Cas in the lobby, that thing happened where his mouth opened without his brain's consent, and the words just came out. Even when Cas said he didn't want to interfere with Dean's family time, Sam insisted that he come along. He even offered to pay.

Even though Castiel drew the line there, Dean's brother rocks.

Of course, he tagged along anyway and is, and from what Dean can tell, having a pretty good time hanging out with him and his geeky little brother. Much to Dean's dismay, the two of them have been dorking out about whatever it is nerds love.

"So the whole Mars being closest to the Earth on Saturday is all a sham?" Dean asks, trying to participate in the conversation.

Castiel gives a solemn nod. "To my knowledge, there have been no signs of irregular sightings. Not to mention there would be some kind of news report on it by now. I believe someone has fooled you."

Bored, Dean tunes out the conversation when Sam says something else, opting instead to just look at Castiel, who doesn't seem at all intimidated by talking to a guy who works a million floors above him. He obviously didn't shave this morning, but then again, he never looks like he shaved when Dean sees him. His hair is still messy, and his lips look totally chapped again, like he never uses them. Naturally, the thought sets Dean's mind on the path of what they would look like wet and swollen, or wrapped around a big, thick-

"Here's your bill, sir," interrupts the waitress, snapping him out of his daydream. Have a nice day!" She smiles and sets the cheque down on the table between them.

"Oh. Thanks," Dean replies as all three of them reach into their wallets to grab their share.

As they walk out, Sam tells him to wait for him in the car while he makes a quick run to the bathroom. Dean grunts as he opens the door to the Impala, unlocking it for Cas.

"He can't wait ten minutes?" he grumbles. "Christ."

"Perhaps he is hoping to run into our waitress again," suggests Castiel. "He was staring at her the whole time she was near our table."

Dean turns to look at Castiel with raised eyebrows. "Seriously?" At Castiel's nod, Dean can't help but chuckle. "Damn, I didn't even notice. Sammy, you dog, you!" He grins as Castiel tilts his head and looks lost.

"Sam doesn't act like a dog."

Dean laughs at that, if only because Castiel looks honestly confused as to why Dean would compare his brother to an animal. "You only say that because you've never seen him attempt to get laid," he explains. "You should see him when he goes out to bars, it's a riot." He smiles at the memory of Sam getting his first number from a girl when he once visited Dean at The Roadhouse, all stuttering and smiling like a loser. Dean was so proud.

The memory sparks an idea that Dean can't shake, once it occurs to him. "So, listen. To make up for ditching last time, Sam and I are going out tonight. Wanna come?"

Castiel only blinks and parts his lips before closing them again, and Dean struggles to ignore the ache in his chest that comes along with the rejection. When Cas looks away and opens his mouth again, and nothing comes out, Dean tries to make the moment less awkward. "It's okay if you can't - it's short notice and you're probably really busy with your work and stuff and-"

"I'd like that," Castiel interrupts, blushing. "To come, I mean." Castiel looks straight into Dean's eyes as he says it and somehow Dean just knows that Cas means it, isn't just pulling his leg to seem polite or anything. But then Cas's last sentence hangs in the air and both of them feel their cheeks get a little warmer. He tries to correct himself again. "T-To go to a bar with you. Of course. You and Sam." Stumbling over the words, Cas pauses again to look out the window to the busy street outside. "I... rarely socialize with anyone outside of my family. And you. But I..." He turns back to look at Dean, completely serious again. "I like spending time with you."

Dean feels the blush come back at least tenfold. What the hell does he say to that?

"Yeah. I like you too, Cas," he murmurs. Flustered, he looks out his own window and tries to ignore the fact that his pants have gotten a little too tight since the conversation started. What he really wants is to turn around and tell this incredibly odd man sitting in the back seat of his car just how much he likes him back, but Sam chooses that moment to knock on the window and hold up a phone number with a grin.

Another time, then.

Dean is totally not fidgeting while he waits outside for Cas to show up. Not at all. As it happens, it's really cold out tonight. It has nothing to do with the fact that Cas said he would be there at ten, and it's nine fifty-five. Visions of getting stood up and laughed at, or of a pale man in a trenchcoat getting mugged, may or may not be slowly filtering into Dean's mind.

Or it could just be that it's just really fucking cold.

"Your prom date didn't ditch you, did he?" Sam asks as he walks outside to stand with Dean, drinks in hand. Dean grabs the bottle of beer and takes a swift gulp before punching Sam in the arm. Sam retaliates by kicking him in the ass and running back inside like a five-year-old girl.

"You bitch, Sammy!" Dean yells as he turns around and flips the bird at Sam's back, only to jump when a low, growling voice speaks behind him.

"Dean?"

"AH!" Dean drops his drink in surprise and spins around. Castiel is standing right behind him with his typically neutral expression.

"Holy shit, Cas, are you a ninja?" Dean asks as he wipes at some beer that spilled on his sleeve.

In response, Cas shakes his head. "My apologies. I did not mean to scare you." Dean might be going insane, but did he just see a smile?

He scoffs. "You didn't scare me. I just wasn't expecting your sneakiness. How long have you been here?"

"I just arrived. I don't know this area particularly well, and I think I took a wrong turn at one point. But I left early, so I think I am on time, yes?"

Dean glances at his watch and whistles with approval. Nine fifty-nine. "And still one minute to spare. Not bad." He pats the other man on the shoulder and leads him towards the entrance to The Roadhouse, smiling the whole way. "So tell me, Miyagi, what's the beer for you?"

Cas wrinkles his nose and Dean can't help but sigh inwardly at how cute it is. "I don't much care for beer," says Cas. "My brother Gabriel is forever trying to make me drink it and I cannot say that I like the flavor. It doesn't stop him from making me drink five cans in one sitting, though."

Thinking that Cas's entire family sucks, Dean laughs as he sits Cas down at the bar. "Well, what drinks do you like?"

Cas looks away and rubs the back of his neck. "I don't really know. The drinks Gabriel gives me always taste good, but he never says what's in them."

From the sounds of it, it doesn't seem like Castiel's brother has been serving him tequila or Jack. Nodding, Dean calls Ellen over. "Girly drinks, huh? Gotcha. Ellen! Two Paralyzers, if you please!" She shoots him a quick smile before moving to fill a glass with ice.

In the meantime, Dean turns to face Castiel. "If you don't know what to order, always start with Paralyzers. They're easy to make and taste pretty good - just Kaluha, vodka, milk, and Coke." Cas nods intently as though each word spoken by Dean holds great intellectual value, but Dean stops him when he moves to grab his wallet. "First one's on me. Enjoy it."

Smiling, Dean passes Ellen the cash as she pushes the drinks towards him and Castiel. Surprisingly, Castiel doesn't recoil or wrinkle his nose all cutely when he takes a sip, so Dean guesses that he likes it.

"Good?"

Castiel nods and keeps drinking. Half the glass drains on the next sip, and Dean has to step in. "Woah, dude, take it easy. You get drunk a lot faster when you drink through a straw, and that shit's nothing but sugar."

Castiel widens his eyes slightly and pushes the glass back a bit. Dean just laughs and when Jo walks over to them, a sly grin on her face, Dean orders them both a Gladiator as Cas finishes off his other drink.

He tells her to give Sam the bill when she sets them down. She nods and can't help but smirk at Castiel, who's looking at the drink with curiosity. Leaning over, she whispers, "So this is your big girl-crush, huh? Not bad... I can see what you mean about the eyes."

Dean rolls his eyes but smiles back. "What can I say? I have good taste."

Before Jo's even turned around again, there's a clack as Cas finishes his drink and plunks the empty glass down on the bar, looking at Dean with that small smile again. "That was also very good," he decides. "I think I like the drinks you're picking out for me... What else will I like?"

Dean hopes Cas doesn't notice how red his face gets when he turns that gorgeous blue gaze on him. He swallows and orders him an Angel's Fall. It's going to be a long night.

"... and that's why I can never go back to Disneyland," Dean slurs, hours later, as he knocks back another beer. Cas nods with glazed-over eyes, apparently caught on Dean's every word. He hiccups and Dean starts laughing loud and uncontrollably.

"Oh for the love of... Sam, would you take them home, please? I don't want these two idiots passing out here," shouts Ellen as she clears the empty glasses off the bar. The tone is far kinder than the words, but drunk is drunk. "By the way, I expect that tab to be fully paid off by the end of the month, unless you start dropping by more often. We haven't seen you in ages, boy - it won't kill you to say hello once in awhile."

Sam smiles at her and grabs Dean by the shoulder a little harder than necessary. "Come on, you jerk, it's time to go home. You too, Cas."

Dean grumbles out a "bitch" and Cas stumbles along behind them until Dean extends his arm and wraps it around Cas's shoulder, pulling him in to their drunken parade. Somehow, Sam manages to lead them all outside towards the Impala and opens the doors for them, shoving Dean into the passenger seat with a little less grace than usual. Castiel remains standing and looks completely confused as he digs around in the pockets of his trenchcoat.

"Strange... I could have sworn... I mean... my house keys are not set right. Right set." He pauses and hiccups again. "That is, they are not where they should be." He digs in his suit pockets instead. "I seem to have mis... set... lost them somewhere."

Amused, Dean turns around in his seat and smiles. "Whatever, man, you prob'ly just had too much to drink... why don't you just crash at my place tonight?"

Cas stares at him for a minute with wide eyes as though the thought had never even occurred to him. "I... should probably not, I mean... really?"

Dean nods and motions for Cas to get in. "Seriously, dude, it's no big deal! Now get in here, before Sammy throws a hissy fit!"

With Sam glaring at them both, Castiel attempts to get in the car as carefully as possible, as though it's some kind of intense challenge. Which, come to think of it, it is.

Once everyone is safely inside the vehicle, Sam backs out of the parking lot and Dean blasts Van Halen from the radio, singing along with David Lee Roth the whole way back. Twenty minutes later, they wave goodbye to Sam as he heads home in a cab. Dean takes Cas by the shoulder again and starts leading him inside the building and up the stairs to his tiny apartment.

Watching their figures disappear inside the apartment building, Sam figures that if he goes to work a bit early, he can leave Castiel's keys on his desk in the morning.

The cab driver asks how the night is going and Sam replies, "Just fine, thank you," but Dean is definitely paying for lunch next time.