Guess everyone needs a cable guy, Dean thought with a shrug as he double checked the address on his appointment slip against that of the veritable mansion before him. For all he knew, he was going to be visiting solely the waspy and well-to-do from here on out. He didn't know. He'd only been a cable guy for a couple of hours.
So far, it didn't seem like a terrible gig - testy, underfoot customers and dogs that almost definitely had bites worse than their barks aside. Not what he wanted to do, perhaps, but he'd pretty much blown the good thing he had going at the garage. Not that that had definitely been the right job either; simply the one he'd always had, and, more importantly, the one he'd needed. Just like he needed this one now.
So he pulled himself out of the infernal company van and onto the lengthy driveway. He threw the replacement cable box under his arm and trudged up the walkway to the pale blue double doors.
He rang the doorbell twice to no response. So digging his hands into his pockets, he began scanning the area to see if he was being stood up. There were lights on in the upstairs' windows and a Lincoln, which Dean thought would be better off in a junkyard, poking out of the open garage. It certainly didn't appear deserted.
With an annoyed huff, he started to dig out his cell phone only for his attention to be drawn back to the house as the door minutely cracked ajar.
Whatever his expectations had been, they were not met.
A little girl, no more than five or six, stood clutching a one legged plastic doll in one hand and the doll's missing leg in the other. There were tear tracks running down both her cheeks, and Dean took a stab in the dark that it was about the doll. "Your doll there need patched up?"
She furrowed her brow slightly. Then, in a hesitant whisper, she asked, "Are you a doll doctor?"
"Guess I am today," Dean said as he set the cable box down on a table in the entryway. "Let me see her."
"Her name's Joan," she said, warily handing the doll to Dean before rubbing at her eyes. "She's a warrior."
"That right? Well, what kind of monster broke her leg?" Dean asked as he jabbed the leg back into its socket.
"The demons in Crowley's room," she said.
Dean quirked an eye as he tested Joan's leg. "Demons?"
"They're everywhere," she said tonelessly. "Along the walls. Under the bed. In the closet."
"Right then," Dean said, suddenly feeling like he needed to sidestep stumbling into a creepy child horror movie. "Well, Joan here's all set. So she can get back to ganking them."
The edges of her lips tugged upwards as Dean handed her the doll back. Then she said very solemnly, "They're not real demons. They're make believe."
"Good, I was worried." Dean said lightly before deciding to gauge whether anyone more than four feet tall was there. "So, uh, was your mom or dad around for the, uh... showdown?"
"No. My parents are dead," she said easily as though unperturbed by the punch to the gut she'd just given Dean.
He therefore assumed this was ancient news, which was just as well. He really wasn't up for a chat about her apparently being an orphan. He'd been around that block too many times himself. "Uh...okay. Someone else around?... Crowley?"
"It's his day off," she said.
"His day off? What is he, your maid?" Dean asked.
"The butler," she said.
"Girl's got a butler but no babysitter," Dean muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes. "Okay, but you're not here all by yourself, right?"
"No, Uncle Castiel is in the shower," she said.
Dean blanched, knowing for a fact that that was code for an adult being MIA. He'd used it himself plenty when his dad had still, more or less, been in the picture. He rubbed a hand down his face wondering what, if anything, he should do. Nothing yet, he decided. She could be telling the truth.
Luckily, she was.
"You're an hour early," a surprisingly deep and definitely adult voice said from somewhere to Dean's right, "and it seems you've already met one of my nieces."
Pointing out that he was, in fact, running a good thirty minutes behind schedule - and probably more so now that he'd played babysitter instead of doing his actual work - was on the tip of Dean's tongue until he looked up. Afterwards, he couldn't remember anything he was planning to say.
He wasn't sure what the most distracting thing was.
Actually, that was a complete lie.
It was definitely that the guy was running a towel over shower damp hair, seemingly unconcerned that his completely unbuttoned shirt was revealing some very well-toned stomach muscles. That alone was enough to leave Dean gaping.
The rest of his ensemble, however, likely would have left someone who wasn't slightly turned on gawking. Trench coats weren't exactly the style norm outside of film noir, and Dean didn't even know where to start with the backwards, crooked tie.
He mentally kicked himself for all out staring since it was probably why the guy's piercing blue eyes were now boring into him expectantly. Or maybe it was because the guy had said something. Right. "Yeah. Seems like a good kid. So...uh, you're Castiel, huh? Well, what am I looking at?"
"Just a moment. Grace, would you please go play upstairs?" Castiel said. The little girl nodded before beginning to traipse up the steps, grinning warmly at her doll. Once she was nearly to the top, Castiel turned back to Dean. "Now, follow me."
"You know, she could have stayed, right?" Dean said. "I don't mind kids."
"I would certainly hope not," Castiel said pointedly, squinting slightly. He folded his towel before setting it neatly on the foot of the steps. "However, I think her staying would have been less than professional."
"Yeah, okay," Dean muttered with a shrug, unsure how the kid being there affected his professionalism anymore than his jeans and flannel. "Makes total sense."
Nevertheless, he followed Castiel into an ornately furnished, formidable seeming sitting room, with a wall to wall stone fireplace but, as far as Dean could tell, no television. Castiel, who had regrettably buttoned his shirt, took one of the armchairs in the room's far corner, shrugged off his overcoat, and gestured for Dean to sit opposite him.
Dean surveyed the room again before taking the offered chair. Then he leaned forward and rested a hand on the armrest of Castiel's. "You know, usually when you call the cable guy, it's so he can fix up the TV, not have a cozy chat by the fire."
Castiel raised his head slightly. "You're not here for the nanny interview?"
"Uh... no. Just the boob tube," Dean said. Then, as he took in Castiel's downcast eyes, he asked, "Did you want me to be?"
"Yes, actually," Castiel said. Dean grinned, glad he could make a good first impression in five sentences or less. Obviously, he was just awesome.
"It has been difficult to find an applicant interested in having the position for more than a year. I thought that since you were older than most of them, you might be. Hiring a new one annually is tiresome."
So it had nothing to do with him, just his age. Well, so much for his self-esteem for the day. Dean rolled his eyes.
Castiel sighed as he stood up. "I'm sorry to have wasted your time, Mr...?"
"Dean's fine," Dean said.
"Dean, then. I'm afraid Mr. Crowley, my butler, must have called for the cable company and not informed me. He can be rather unthoughtful that way. I was unaware the television wasn't working; I rarely watch it. I'll show you where it is."
As they walked back through the entryway, Dean sheepishly scooped up the replacement cable box from where he'd left it in the foyer. "Well, this probably would have cleared that up faster, huh?"
"Perhaps," Castiel said, as he shifted his overcoat from one arm to the other.
"You expecting a cold front in the den or something?" Dean asked.
Castiel tilted his head slightly, looking perplexed. Dean smiled slightly before gesturing at the coat.
"Oh. Sort of. The air conditioning has not been working properly."
"The whole place falling apart on you, huh?" Dean asked with a smirk.
"I hardly think two devices malfunctioning indicates that," Castiel said.
"No one ever tell you things break in threes?" Dean asked.
"It's not an expression I've heard before," Castiel said. "But then, I haven't heard many. I've been told that I, uh, 'live under a rock'?"
The last part is said with such hesitancy and question, like Castiel really has never strung those words together before that Dean can't help himself. He just starts laughing and shaking his head.
"I don't understand why that's funny," Castiel said.
"That's it right there, Cas," Dean said clapping his hand over his shoulder. "That's it right there. Now where's your TV?"
Castiel led him into a room that was considerably smaller than the sitting room but seemed much more inviting and casual. The television stood prominently in the middle of the back wall. Dean, knowing that he was definitely running further behind schedule now, went straight to work.
He began to untangle the TV's mess of wires before noticing that Castiel was watching him intently. He wasn't the first to watch Dean work, but this felt different than the eleven year old who'd been anxious to get back to her cartoons and the nurse that had seemed anxious to grab his ass.
Castiel simply watched. It was kind of strange, but Dean had already figured out that the guy was strange.
Really, he wasn't all that surprised that Castiel stood quietly for the whole ten minutes it took for him to switch out the old box for the new one, go through the cable's reboot system, and dig the remote out of the couch.
Once he was done, he handed the remote to Cas. "Well, give it a whirl."
Castiel turned the TV on, and Dean smiled goofily at the opening credits of his favorite telenovela before realizing that another human being was, in fact, in the room with him. He flinched slightly, but Castiel looked completely unphased.
"Dean, do you have any experience with children?" Castiel asked, eyes still on the television.
That was unexpected, but Dean decided to roll with it. "Well, I do have one. Ben's ten."
"That would complicate things," Castiel said. Then after a contemplative pause, he continued, "Do you have any other experience?"
"I, uh, I practically raised Sammy, my kid brother," Dean said. "'Course, he's not really a kid so much as a giant now. Even has his own little tyke. Sammy Jr."
"And you've watched him?" Castiel asked.
"Once or twice. The munchkin's not even three months old," Dean said. "Of course, I had to go save Sammy's ass the first time Jess left him alone with the kid."
"How did you 'save his ass'?" Castiel asked.
Dean bit his tongue against laughing at the way Castiel said 'ass.' "Told him to stop freaking out, mostly. Oh, and bought him a new pack of pacifiers because he somehow managed to lose all the ones he had."
"Have you ever thought about being a nanny?" Castiel asked.
"You mean before right now?" Dean asked.
"Obviously," Castiel said, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, I've never exactly dreamed about flying off with Mary Poppin's umbrella, but I always thought she was kind of a cool lady," Dean said, internally wincing that he'd just admitted that.
Castiel was unphased. "Who is Mary Poppins?"
"Who is Mary Poppins?" Dean echoed. "You've got a five year old girl here, and you don't know that? You need help, man."
"She's six," Castiel countered, "and I am looking for help."
"Not that kind of help," Dean said.
"What kind then?" Castiel asked, oblivious to the point Dean was trying to make.
"Disney therapy? I don't know. I really can't play 20 questions with you right now. I've got to get back to it," Dean said packing up the old cable box.
"Dean," Castiel said, placing his hand on Dean's shoulder to stop him from leaving the room. "I would like you to be the new nanny."
"You barely asked me five questions, Cas," Dean said. "You know I'm not qualified."
"I disagree," Castiel said.
"Yeah, why's that?" Dean asked.
"From what you've just told me, you've raised your own child as well as your brother. Your brother believes you are more qualified than he is to care for his child and called you for that reason," Castiel said. "You also fixed my niece's doll even though I'm sure it's not part of your job description. Not all of the nannies I've met with are willing to do that."
"That was a test?" Dean asked.
"It's Grace's test," Castiel said. "She can fix Joan herself, but she prefers whoever is responsible for her during the day to be competent enough to fix the doll or at least compassionate enough to care that the doll was broken. You were both."
"Devious kid you've got there," Dean said.
There was something mirth-like in Castiel's gaze, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he ushered Dean back to the foyer before handing him a business card.
Castiel Engel
IRS Headquarters
Chicago, IL
312-123-5555
"Think about it," Castiel said.
Dean nodded. "Yeah, okay."
He stared at the business card as he trekked back to the van, totally not sure what to think about anything that had just happened. He'd been played by a six year old and offered a job by the most clueless guy he'd ever met.
He shook his head as he turned the ignition only to hear a faint rap on the driver's side window. He rolled down the window. "Now what?"
"I thought it would be important to mention that you would live here," Castiel said.
"Me and Ben?" Dean asked. Because not taking Ben with him was a deal breaker.
"You and Ben and your spouse," Castiel said.
"I don't have a spouse," Dean said automatically, even though he was not at all prepared to rehash his complicated relationship with Lisa to a relative stranger.
"Oh, I simply assumed," Castiel said. Dean waited for the follow up 'what happened to Ben's mom,' but whether he was curious or not, it didn't come. "Just you and Ben then."
