Castiel squished his eyes together to protect them from the freezing sting of the snowflakes shooting downwards from the sky. The slight yellow light of street lamps shining through the darkness was offensive to his icy eyes. He knew he couldn't power through for much longer. His bare feet marinating in the brown slush of the sidewalk felt like statues of their former selves. He reminded himself to take steps like a machine. One. SLOSH. Two. PLOOSH. One. SKID. Two. BLOOSH. He pulled his light windbreaker closer into himself, and released a sacred breath of warm air. The street was barren and cruel. It was devoid of any soul to even ambivalently glance over his slumping figure, a fact that was eerie and strangely comforting to the traveler.

'Not that I would deserve any pity,' Cas whispered in thought to himself: not in a manner of self deprecation, but of fact. He had run away of his own accord after all.

He had walked for days. Completely left his former life three towns over. Ate stale pizza out of trash cans. Almost froze to death. Was still in the process, quite honestly. He thought he vaguely remembered the town he was currently in being called Lawrence. Perhaps. His brain had been in what seemed in a fugue state for the past few days. There wasn't another ample reason for how he could have continued continuing for so long.

All of a sudden the feeling of his consciousness started to evaporate from his head, the cold seeming to suck the life out of him through his ears. He tripped over an abrasion in the sidewalk, and was received by a cheek full of dirty snow and and an incessant buzzing bouncing between his ears. He laid there placidly for a few seconds. He could just embrace this position. Give into the buzzing. Wouldn't that be sweet?

'No,' A voice echoed vaguely in his head. 'No. Collect yourself, Castiel. This cannot be the end.' He raised his head up like a drunk baseball player swings a bat, and the rest of his body followed. He swung his body toward the nearest building on the street with a neon pink and blue OPEN sign in the window. His weight fell against the door as he struggled to pull it open. He was soon enveloped with the warm smell of cinnamon and fresh coffee nuzzling his nose, the aroma of a cafe Castiel's brain sluggishly computed. He took a few steps, and collapsed onto a plush green couch, completely disregarding its quiet wish to be unsoiled by his wet dirtiness. Castiel closed his eyes and sighed. His body showed no sign of warming up, and with it now juxtaposed with the warm ambiance of the room, he started to tremble. No one had been present as he walked in, but a bell had alerted the store that someone had entered. He had started to doze off when he was interrupted by a voice.

"Hey there, stranger," A friendly and nonchalant voice sounded near Castiel's head, as if frozen patrons napping on an entire couch were commonplace in this strange land of Lawrence. Castiel pried his eyelids open to meet this speaker.

Castiel eyed khaki shorts, a green apron, and a tight white button down rolled past the elbows as he swung his eyes upward. As Castiel's frozen gaze met his green eyes, the stranger realized something was wrong.

"Whoa, whoa, are you okay, man? You look like a popsicle," He blurted out, appalled. Cas barked a laughed in spite of himself.

"No really," The man lowered to his knees next to Castiel, his warm breath coaxing him into consciousness, "How long have you been outside? Do you even have shoes? Am I going to have to amputate a goddamn foot in the cafe?"

Cas couldn't force his lips to form words. All he could do was slam his eyes shut again, tremble and shiver, and wish for it all to be over. The stranger shot up urgently.

"Crowley!" He shouted to the back of the shop. He started taking steps away from Castiel. "Crowley, there is a guy here and he is frozen solid! Can you get me one of the extra uniforms, oh, and socks, I'm going to make him something to warm him up!"

"What about the patrons?" A voice called out.

"Oh, come on, it's a tuesday night, there are no patrons in the cafe," The man called back, irritated. Castiel was slightly confused by the word "patrons," but had no energy to question it

"Does this frozen guy," A sneering voice rang out, "Have the means to afford our hospitality?"

"Shut up, boss, let's just help him out," The man snapped back. Castiel could hear the frothy sound of a cup being filled, and the crinkling of paper. The man flew back over to Castiel.

'Why is this stranger helping me? I deserve this fate," Castiel thought as he slammed his eyes closed in resignation.

"This is a hot chocolate, and a cinnamon roll I took out of the oven not even five minutes ago," The man sputtered out, "Come on, let's get up straight, buddy, open your eyes."

Castiel reluctantly felt his center of gravity being shifted upwards, a piping hot mug being shoved into his hand and a gooey blob of dough in the other. Castiel opened his eyes and was met by the amenable eyes of this stranger.

"Thank...you," He strangled past his slight pink lips.

The man's face burst into a beaming smile, "No problem." He stood up, and pulled a chair over to sit across from Castiel. He leaned back, his hands behind head, and introduced himself: "My name is Dean Winchester. I'm an Aquarius. I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and frisky women. Drink up!"

As Castiel started to feel warm nourishment enter his cavernous stomach again, color started to seep back into his mind. He looked around and saw a very tasteful cafe. It had sunny, yellow dandelion walls, with green accents. He was sitting on a couch pressed against the glass front window of the store. He looked around and booths and high top tables and chairs and a cherry wooden bar near the coffee maker and case of deserts across the room from him. He noted two doors. A large menu on the wall on opposite from him advertised all of the specials that Impala Cafe had to offer scribbled in multiple colors of chalk. At the very bottom of the board there was written in large, legible letters: "RULE #1: RESPECT THE EMPLOYEES." Every item he read on the menu sounded tasty, but nothing looked more delicious than the kind stranger seated in front of him.

In his frozen state, Cas' mind had skipped over a few of the finer details of the man's-Dean, he had said his name was- figure. His eyes gained a piercing green intensity. His jaw gained a sharp, sexy definition. His tight white shirt accentuated pulsating muscles. Cas' mouth actually watered before he shoved a bite of cinnamon roll down his throat.

"I am Castiel," he muttered after he finished the gooey treat.

Dean tilted his head in bemusement: "Castiel? That's a strange na-"

"Here's your extra uniform, you demanding intgrate," A trenchant voice entered the room. A stout man with thinning back hair and a sneer seemingly permanently etched onto his face became the face behind this voice. Cas took a sheepish sip from his mug, suddenly self conscious for forcing Dean to be castigated by this man.

"Thanks, boss," Dean obliged without looking at him.

"If you think I'm going prance my ass over there, you've got another think coming, Winchester."

Dean rolled his eyes and muttered, "All bark, and no bite, that guy. Don't pay him any attention."

"What was that?"

"Nothing," Dean stood up and turned away. Cas almost spilled his drink all over his lap with the accompanying sight. The uniform Dean wore was so tight less than nothing was left to the imagination.

'Have I died? Is this Heaven?'

Dean turned around suddenly and Castiel's jaw shot so quickly back into position, he felt a spinning sense of whiplash. "Come on, let's get you into some non-frozen clothes, huh?"

Cas wrestled to find a coaster, and carefully placed his half-empty mug on top of it. He then fell into step behind Dean. As the two approached the counter, Crowley squinted and analyzed Castiel. He seemed pleased with what saw because the corners of his mouth turned into a devilish smirk pretty quickly.

"So, you're new to town, I assume? Not even a pair of shoes to your name? Would you, perhaps, like a job?"

Cas deliberated for a second. Maybe this place could be a good way for him to start from scratch. Maybe he could build a new life here. Maybe-

"Whoa, boss, hold up," Dean injected before Cas could answer, "We basically just resuscitated him, and you're offering him a job?"

"My maternal instincts are kicking in, what can I say, I want to help the kid," Crowley's tone sounded forcibly harmless, "Besides it's only serving coffee."

Dean narrowed his eyes, and looked unconvinced before stating between clenched teeth: "As long as it's only serving coffee."

"And it will be!" Crowley sang joyously before slapping Cas on the back, making him double over slightly. "Your new get-up is right there, you can stay in one of the rooms above tonight; you'll start tomorrow!"

Castiel's cautiously eyes darted from Crowley's to Dean's before he decided to throw caution to the wind. He didn't really have a life anymore, anyway. This real did seem like a good place to start rebuilding.

"O-okay..." He stammered sheepishly, looking quickly at his new uniform on the counter, at Crowley's surreptitious smile, and then at Dean's genuine one, "...Boss."