Dean works at Aldi's, which is, for those who don't know, a low-cost grocery store that makes people put quarters in their carts just to use them.
Needless to say, Dean hates the place – to him, they're nothing more than a big scam, and the fact that you get your quarter back afterward doesn't change his mind – but more than anything he hates his boss, Alistair. The skeev is convinced he can keep this damned thing open at all hours of the night, which is just about the dumbest thing in the world. Who the hell comes grocery shopping at fucking midnight? Or worse, three in the morning, which is exactly what time it is now.
Dean doesn't get to leave until Andy shows up for his shift, but he's always late, so he has a feeling he'll be here for a little while longer. He's already counted the ceiling tiles twice, and he's just starting to the number of cereal boxes on the shelves when the automatic door whirs open, indicating a customer.
"Welcome to Aldi's," he says it acidly, like he's saying welcome to my own corner of hell. Good thing Alistair isn't here, he'd get reprimanded over that one for sure.
The man that peers back at Dean doesn't say a word, just stares for a long moment with too-blue eyes, and then he's nodding once and disappearing behind an artfully crafted stack of cans. (Work of Dean Winchester, thank you very much.)
Dean huffs, thinking that the guy could've at least given a smile, but really, he's too tired to give two shits.
The stranger doesn't take long, no more than eight minutes (so, okay, Dean was counting, but you try working the graveyard shift at Aldi's and tell him you don't get bored), and only buys a tub of ice cream that Dean's pretty sure he's going to eat while crying over some chick flick.
"How are you today, sir," Dean manages to grind out while shoving the ice cream into a paper bag (you have to pay for those, too – like he said, scam).
The guy doesn't say anything, just nods once and gives a corner-of-the-mouth smile before pushing his money into Dean's hands, picking up his bag and walking right back out the door.
"Wierdo."
Day Four:
"You don't say much, do you?"
The guy has made an appearance every night (three am on the dot, too) thus far, and always buys a tub of ice cream – a different flavor every time, Dean can't help but notice. Tonight, he also has some White Castle frozen burgers piled in his grocery bags, and he looks particularly thrilled about that for reasons Dean can't identify.
The stranger hands him a Debit card this time instead of cash.
"Castiel Novak?" Dean raises an eyebrow, allowing himself a small chuckle as he swipes the card. "Weird name."
Castiel Novak grins, but doesn't reply – not that Dean really expected it – and takes his card back. He gives Dean an acknowledging nod this time, and then he's disappearing out into the night again.
Day Seven:
Dean's tired as fuck, and the rain isn't helping.
He keeps eying the clock too, for stupid, stupid reasons. In his defense, he gets kind of lonely here at night.
Three am precisely, and there Castiel Novak is, like some sort of ghost that only apparates at the right times. His signature trench coat that Dean's learned he wears no matter what's on underneath – sometimes Dean fantasizes that it's nothing, but he's not willing to divulge that bit of information – is soaked through, and his dark hair has been flattened by it.
Castiel shakes his head like a wet dog and Dean laughs a little. "Don't you have an umbrella?"
Castiel shakes his head in a no.
"Wait here," he holds up a finger and makes a quick dash to Alistair's office in the back, seizing the umbrella Alistair always kept there – if he notices it's missing in the morning, so be it – and when he comes back, Castiel already has his ice cream, waiting to pay for it.
"Here," Dean says, exchanging Castiel's card for the umbrella.
Castiel gives a small smile, as if to say thank you.
"No problem."
Day Thirteen:
Castiel's crying on this day, but no matter how hard Dean tries to get him to say something, he won't.
"Come on, Cas," he prods, not at all surprised by the nickname that falls off his tongue – he's been calling the guy Cas in his head for a while now. "Say something."
Castiel just sighs and sits down on a spare stool that Dean had out for the sole purpose of tying those kiddie balloons to that weird light-post thing with the aisle number on it, popping open his tub of ice cream and staring at it mournfully.
"Here," Dean hands him a disposable plastic spoon from a container that he had taken off the shelf for some bullshit like "faulty packaging."
Something in Castiel's too-blue eyes flash gratefully as he takes the spoon from Dean's hand and experimentally prods his ice cream with it.
Halfway through, Dean starts helping him eat it (after many unsuccessful attempts to get him to spill information) and Castiel doesn't leave until the whole thing is gone.
Day Twenty:
"Hey, Cas," Dean's saying, and it comes out shaky. In his defense, Cas scared the shit out of him by just sneaking up like that in the middle of the night while Dean's locking the door (God Bless whatever fucking Holiday itis that's letting him close the damn store for once.)
Castiel nods like he understands and shrugs his shoulders which are wrapped in his own trench coat. Dean notices a tear on the left sleeve of it (not that Dean's eyes were travelling down Cas' body, no way), and pinches the fabric between his fingers. "I got a girl for a brother who could fix that for you," he says, and it sounds so much like an invitation that Dean finds himself wondering if he just asked the guy out. Which would be ridiculous because really the only kind of interaction they've had is sitting together eating ice cream silently at three in the morning. (Which has formed into a habit this past week, somehow.)
Castiel smiles and takes Dean's hand in a way that seems much more intimate than Dean would like to admit and when he draws away, there's a slip of paper fluttering against Dean's palm. He closes his fingers around it before the wind can snatch it away, and inspects it, taking note of the ten digit number written in chicken scratch across it.
"Is this -" Dean looks up, but Castiel is already halfway across the parking lot with his shoulders hunched against the wind, so Dean just grins and tucks the paper into his pocket.
Day Twenty-One:
Castiel comes in at three thirty am this time around, and Dean does not mention the fact that he's been holding his breath for the past half hour. Cas must be psychic or something because he appears at the same time that Andy does (who is tweaking but on something by the looks of it; Dean wonders yet again how he hasn't gotten fired). Andy gives Castiel a look and then another more meaningful one to Dean before taking the store keys out of Dean's hand and ducking inside.
"He's not that bad of a guy," Dean tells Cas who stares after Andy. Castiel shifts his blue gaze to Dean and does one of his signature half-smiles, before turning on his heel and heading in the opposite direction. Dean doesn't know what it is, but something in him tells him to follow Cas, so he does. Castiel leads him to this beaten up Camaro who's paint job makes Dean cringe and pops open the passenger side door, reaching into the glove compartment and extracting two slips of paper that are much larger than the one that he left his number on.
"I was going to call you," Dean blurts out, and he doesn't know what makes him say it; Cas looks at him curiously as it is. "But I didn't - I don't -" he shrugs and rubs the back of his neck, which is warm to the touch.
Castiel just shakes his head as if to say it's okay, and grabs Dean's right wrist, bring his hand up. Dean extends his palm and Castiel presses one of the slips of paper into it, waving his own around. Dean examines it and chuckles when he sees it for what it is. "Are you asking me out on a date, Cas?"
`Castiel blushes and it's just about the cutest thing that Dean's ever seen in his life, and that's how Dean Winchester gets a date.
Day Twenty-Two:
In the long run, Dean and Cas communicate only with text, which is horribly done on Dean's end (the buttons are way too small for his fingers, unlike Cas who has these slender hands that move like a fucking ballerina or something) and how the two of them even end up in the right place together is beyond him.
It wasn't one of those high school pick-you-up routines, and more like Cas was waiting for him at the small theatre on the edge of town with a large grin and a ticket stub in hand. Dean greets him with another smile but shuffles awkwardly on his feet because he hasn't been on a date since, well, high school, and he really didn't want to fuck this up.
They see Iron Man 3 which is just about as badass as it sounds and has Cas leaning forward in his seat with wide eyes and a mouth stuffed full of popcorn and it's one of the most adorable things Dean's ever witnessed, and even though he hates 3-D with a fiery passion, Cas' excitement is totally worth it.
When it's over and they're outside and Cas is gripping Dean's sleeve, Dean looks over, and before he can blink Cas is on his toes and pressing his mouth to Dean's and there's something about it that has Dean's insides on fire. It's been awhile since he kissed anybody, and he's not big on all that romance/destiny/meant-to-be-together crap, but there's something about the way Cas' mouth fits on his and Dean can't imagine anyone else's there.
Dean never planned on sleeping with Cas, especially on the first date, and they don't, not at all, not in any way, but Dean ends up in Cas bed for entirely different reasons.
Day Twenty-Three:
Cas says something.
It was enough to make Dean stop making breakfast after a hardcore cuddling session (because only Dean can make cuddling hardcore, and he's just as badass at breakfast as Rachel Ray is) and almost drop the entire pan of eggs, and Castiel is nonchalant about it that Dean all but faints.
"I only speak when absolutely necessary," he says in this deep voice that sounds like it has gravel shoved down his throat, and he toys with a fork on the table. "And I felt it was necessary to say thank you."
Cas looks up with his too-blue eyes, and his stupid half-smile, and he says, "For everything."
He doesn't say anymore.
That's okay. He doesn't have to.