It was 8.50 a.m. when Dean poured himself a cup of terrible coffee from the ancient coffee machine that hasn't been cleaned since Dean started here. Every morning he convinced himself he will never drink the stuff again, but then he starts to get a headache, and Dean wonders if there is some sort of narcotic in it that keeps him coming back for more. He grimaced as the rancid coffee burned his tongue, and made his way from the break room to the office. He found his name on the big whiteboard to see what he is rostered in for this morning. Front Desk. Dean groaned inwardly. He hated this job. Even though he only gets it for 1 day every 6 weeks, he still can't help but feel slightly put out. It also meant, sudden realisation dawning on Dean, that he wouldn't be able to finish the report that had kept him here until 10 p.m. last night. Every cloud having a silver lining and whatnot.
He scanned the board until he found who else got landed with Front Desk duty today. He grinned as he saw Oliver Whelan's name allocated. He and Olly nearly always ended up working together, and Dean liked Olly. Olly was a bear of a man, and just a few years older than Dean. Olly always managed to look threatening, even though he wouldn't hurt a fly. He sort of reminded Dean of Sam in a way. A big, lumbering giant that could go from gentle soul to warrior beast in a heartbeat. Today was definitely looking up.
Dean wandered up to the Front Desk, and chanced a glance through the glass reception. A small queue already. He stopped before opening the door, and gave himself a quick once over in the mirror hanging on the door, to inspect his uniform. Blue shirt, navy tie straightened, and he could forgo the stab proof vest at the moment. He wouldn't need it thanks to the heavy glass protecting him and the reception from the waiting area. The July morning was warm, thankfully, and so he had left his jacket stowed in his locker.
"Morning, Winchester." came a familiar voice from behind him.
"Morning, Olly. You and me again. Let's hope today won't be as eventful as last time." said Dean, meeting Olly's eyes in the mirror.
Olly laughed. "You're just saying that because that guy vomited on your shoes."
Dean's face darkened. "Thanks for reminding me."
"Oh, don't be so sour," Olly grinned, the epitome of a person who enjoys being up early. "We're finished at 6 today."
"True," Dean said, taking another sip of coffee, and pulled a face. "Jesus, that is awful."
"That's because you're American." Olly said, simply, opening the door to Reception.
"That doesn't even make sense, you asshole."
"Never said it had to."
Dean rolled his eyes, and followed Olly in. He turned on the computer closest to the window, leaving Olly to man the phones behind him. He knew they would switch in a hour or two, because as much as Dean disliked the Front Desk roster, he hated manning the phones.
His fingers moved swiftly over the keyboard, as he logged himself on. He flipped open the visitors book in front of him, pulled the shutters open, and pressed a little button that said "Number 00, please go to reception."
Dean had been in Ireland 3 years, and been a member of the Garda Siochana for just over a year. It was different from his last job, Sheriff's deputy in some small no name county in Montana, and he wanted something a little bit different. On a whim he had ended up here, in Dublin, in one of the busiest stations in the country, but he loved it. The job was challenging and constantly changing. His work team were a great bunch of people, and for once in his life he felt like he was actually making a difference by going to work in the morning. However, today was not one of those days.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am, but I can't sign the form unless both you and your partner are here to witness it." Dean began.
"Ma'am?! How old do you think I am?" said the young woman standing on the other side of the glass, cradling a toddler on her hip. "Just sign the fucking form, would ya? I'm going away next week."
"As I have already said, I need the child's father here as well. It won't take two minutes but both of you need to be here." Dean met the woman's eyes, knowing that she would back down. He could always tell who was going to be a challenge and who was just letting off some steam.
"Fine." said the woman, deflated. "I'll call back later."
"No problem." said Dean, making a quick note on the computer as the woman turned and left. He threw a quick look at his watch, and sighed. 9.45. It seemed like an age since he started. He reluctantly pressed the button again. "Number 10, please go to reception."
"Good morning. What can I do for you today?" said Dean, distractedly as he fixed some of the papers on the desk, not looking up.
"I have an appointment with Sergeant Lucy Walters at 10 a.m. Could you please let her know that I have arrived?" came the response.
American accent. That's new.
Dean flicked his eyes upwards to meet the gaze of the man in front of him. Definitely American. Not one of Dean's usual customers. This guy certainly wasn't here to get a form stamped or to sign a couple of documents to prove he had been in the station. No, this guy was here on business. Dean noticed an office ID peaking out from underneath the collar of the man's shirt. Business casual. The man's incredibly blue eyes seemed tired. Bag. Mobile phone in hand, and a constant vibe of "I am far too busy to deal with any of this." One of two people. Social worker or Probation officer.
"Sure." said Dean, "What's your name?"
"Castiel Novak."
Dean quirked an eyebrow. The man gave a small smile, and replied "I know, I get that a lot."
"I'll just need you to sign in, here." said Dean, pushing the ledger towards Castiel. "Can you also put in your reason for being here. I'll call over to let Lucy know you're here. You can take a seat when you're done. Lucy won't be long, especially if she is expecting you."
Castiel took the proffered pen, and signed his name in small, even handwriting. Even upside Dean gave himself an internal pat on the back when he saw "Social Worker" being printed in the column next to Castiel's signature. He watched Castiel turn and take a seat close to the door as he waited for Lucy to answer the phone.
"Sergeant's phone."
"Luce, there's a social worker here for you."
"Which one?" came the short reply. Dean got the feeling Lucy was not too happy about this meeting.
"I don't know. I've not met him before. He's new."
"Oh, Jesus. That's all I need. Look, I'll send one of the lads over to pick him up. We're in building 2 today."
Dean winced. Building 2 was the oldest building on the station ground and was where the Child Protection Unit held most of their interviews. Dean didn't envy Lucy or her team for doing their jobs. "Great. I'll tell him you'll be a few minutes."
"Thanks, Dean."
"No problem. You still on for lunch?"
Lucy sighed. "Doubtful. I have Court at 11."
"Sucks to be you."
"Piss off."
"Bye, Lucy." Dean replaced the handset, and leaned over to the window. "Mr. Novak, Sergeant Walters will be over to fetch you momentarily."
Castiel smiled at Dean. "Thank you."
Dean sat back down behind his computer, absentmindedly tapping out the notes required after each visitor. He could also see Castiel from this vantage point. He watched Castiel frown at the battered, old, mobile phone in his hand and then bring it up to his ear, listening to what Dean assumed was a voicemail. Castiel's frown deepened as he reached into his bag, withdrawing pen and paper, and hurriedly began to write. Dean heard him make a disapproving noise as he hung up the phone. Dean also couldn't help but hear the conversation that followed.
"Hi Helen, it's Cas."
Silence.
"I just recieved the message. How is she going to get the service now, if we don't pay for it?"
Silence.
"I know. I know that. But -" Cas snapped his mouth shut, his face darkening, silent for a moment.
"I have to return to the Judge and tell him that so." He finished evenly.
Silence.
"Yes. Thank you anyway Helen." Cas clicked the phone off, and exhaled quietly.
"Rough day?" Dean asked, popping his head up from behind the computer. The queue had been seen to prior to Castiel's arrival. Now it was just him in the waiting area.
Castiel seemed slightly startled. "You could say that, and it's not even lunch time yet."
"That bad?"
Castiel quirked his mouth upwards into what could have been smile, Dean wasn't sure. "Worse."
"How long have you been here?" said Dean, changing the subject. Smooth, he told himself.
Dean watched Castiel cock his head to side, thinking. "About a month?" came the response, "You?"
"3 years. I love it though." Dean grinned.
"I guess it kind of grows on you." said Castiel, returning Dean's grin with that upward quirk.
Suddenly, a third voice entered the conversation. "Mr. Novak?" Lucy's messenger. An unfamiliar face, Dean didn't recognise the officer. "Can you please come with me, Mr. Novak? The Sergeant is waiting."
Castiel stood, shoving the errant papers back into his bag neatly. "Thanks." he said, nodding at Dean. Dean threw him a little wave as he watched him retreat out of the room, adjusting his bag, and putting his phone to his ear again.
Dean shook his head. Social workers, man. What a job.