"Dude."

"…"

"Dude!"

"…"

"Sammy!"

"What the hell, Dean?"

"Pay attention, dammit!"

Sam Winchester rubbed mutinously at the back of his head. It was far far too early for this. "What?"

Dean grinned at him childishly and made the most oh-god-he's-not-serious-why unsubtle nod towards the only other person in the elevator. Then his oh-so-mature older brother mouthed something. It might have been .god or it might have been .hot, Sam's lip-reading skills seemed to suffer at 6am in the morning.

Why had he let Dean talk him into switching shifts so they could drive in to work together? The bus was perfectly adequate. He could read the news on the bus. He could work on his studies on the bus. He could sleep on the bus. He could be getting more sleep squared and instead he was in the world's slowest elevator at 6am watching his idiot brother make faces at him.

Because he knew that Dean would only get more ridiculous if he didn't at least look, Sam expended the bare minimum of energy and tilted his head to the right to look more closely at the other Poor Sod Who Is Up Too Early. Dark hair, blue eyes, a stony expression that seemed to indicate Sam was not alone in being displeased about the hour. A really awful overcoat. No seriously, who even wore things like that?

Apparently pleased that Sam had turned his head that extra inch or so and looked at the object of his attention, Dean grinned again and offered the Poor Sod In the Bad Coat a slow and again painfully unsubtle look that implied not only that mental undressing was going on, but also that mental bedsprings were being sprung and god it was too damn early for this.

"Hey there," Dean said, eyebrows doing their eyebrow thing while Sam thought hard about trying to melt through the floor of the elevator. "Rough weekend?"

Silence stretched out. Poor Sod in the Bad Coat stared at the door of the elevator. His face didn't even twitch, which was rather impressive really. Sam wondered if he could do a paper on the relative unmeltability of elevator floors as compared to the level of awkwardness on the inside.

"I went fishing at this place I know near the lake," Dean continued, apparently unshaken. "It's nice to get away from the bustle sometimes, y'know?"

Again. Silence. Fish and weekends were added to the uncomfortable number of things the people in this elevator were not talking about.

"Unless you're a bustle kind of guy – which I get. I'm a fan of city streets too. Everything to its own place, if you ask me."

Sod in the Bad Coat did not point out that he hadn't asked Dean. Neither did Sam. Neither did the elevator. What the elevator did do was ding to a stop at level 13 and left Sod in the Bad Coat off still in complete and utter silence.

Dean cursed as the lift doors closed again. "Dammit."

Sam said nothing. It was far too early to be drawn into a conversation about his brother's sex life.

Day 1. Later, but still too early for this.

"Heya Sammy." Dean slung himself heavily over the back of Sam's chair and flipped his keyboard over absently. "Ready for lunch?"

I love my brother, Sam told himself. He's a decent, hard-working man who had to deal with too much too young and never got to mature properly because of it. I really am very very fond of him. I do not want to staple his hand to his forehead. "It's eleven, Dean."

"We ate breakfast at five-thirty, dude. I'm hungry."

"My lunch isn't until 11:45." Sam turned his keyboard the right way up, removed his mouse from his brother's grip and coloured another row on the spreadsheet he was working on. Puce, lime green, the yellow that wasn't bright yellow and red.

"So?"

"Zach doesn't like us taking breaks early, Dean." Dean knew this. Sam knew that Dean knew this. Dean knew that Sam knew that Dean knew this. They'd been in this company for two weeks and five days and already Dean knew every possible way to get on Sam's nerves. "Go back to your pod."

"What Zach doesn't find out, he won't know."

"Dean…" Sam turned his chair around and pressed both palms over his eyes very hard. "Do we have to have the 'you are not a secret agent' conversation again?"

"Maybe you just think I'm not because I'm that good."

They looked at each other for a few beats. Chuck wandered by with his 'I Love Lucy' coffee mug and gave them an indecipherably nervous look. Sam, having now been awake long enough to start deciphering the indecipherable, swung back to his work. "Go back to work, Dean."

"But Sammy, I figured out why hot dude in the elevator wouldn't talk to me."

"Uh huh?" Sam clicked another cell. Puce. "Apart from 'he just didn't have enough fashion sense to be gay'?"

"Dude. Not cool. Total stereotyping and discrimination right there." Dean tugged up Chuck's now-empty chair and straddled it, leaning forwards to flick Sam's ear and missing (of course. Sam had not, after all, been Dean Winchester's brother for twenty-two years for nothing.) "Besides, what the hell was wrong with what he was wearing? He looked all rumpled-gentleman-spy. It was hot."

"Dean. I'm working."

"Besides," Dean leaned in and stuck his head between Sam and his computer screen. "I figured it out. He got off at floor thirteen. You remember what's on floor thirteen?"

"The Lithuanian Embasy Offices?" Sam stopped and frowned. "Dean."

"Exactly! The only way Sexy Rumpled Guy could have ignored a hot piece of ass like mine is if he didn't have the faintest idea what I was saying." There was a slight pause as Dean built towards what was obviously the dramatic crux of his explanation. "He doesn't speak English, Sammy!"

It crossed Sam's mind to point out – politely – that one does not usually work in an embassy in the middle of a busy city in the United States without having a grasp of the language, but he did not. He had several reasons for this. One – he'd learned through long experience that once Dean had an idea in his head he was exceptionally hard to talk out of it. Two – he was tired and grumpy and he'd gotten up at six so he was feeling uncharitable. Three – it was at this particular moment that they were interrupted by the source of Chuck's disappearance.

"Dean. Samuel. How lovely to see that you are making yourselves so much at home in my team. I do like to see my staff feeling comfortable."

Dean banged his head against the desk once, replacing a cell of data with y76y76yyu. "Ms Talbot."

Sam turned in his char and gave their manager his very best innocent look. "We're just getting back to it, Ms Talbot. Dean had a question about the rec in the x-drive. I thought I'd talk him through what I understood about it."

"So long as the 'x' rec does not become the 'triple x' rec, Samuel." Bela Talbot stared at Dean as he grumbled his way back over to his seat and then stared at Sam for good measure. She smirked while doing it, so he didn't think she was particularly upset. But then again he'd gotten the impression that no one was ever quite certain when Ms Talbot was feeling what. "Do try not to let your brother's thinking appendage distract you from your work too often, Samuel."

"Um yes. Right," he said, and reminded himself yet again as Ms Talbot sashayed off to terrify another of her minions that he really did – he really did love his brother.

Day 2

"Dude – check out his tie. I told you – gentleman spy chic."

"Dean, what the fuck?"

"No, seriously. That there is super hot."

"Dean…" a desperately lowered voice. "He's standing right there. The elevator is not that big. He can hear you."

"So? He can't understand me and if I don't whisper like you're doing – not very subtle, little brother – he won't know we're talking about him. Cut it out. He's going to think you're weird and then I'll be weird by association."

"Yes, because I'm the weird one."

"Always have been, always will be." Dean grabbed for him and the rest of the ride to level thirteen was occupied with Sam wriggling furiously away from his brother's attempts to give him a noogie. Said attempts were briefly halted so that Dean could watch Sod in the Bad Coat and Weird Tie walk out of the elevator. Bro, his hips are so gay.

In defense of Dean's theory, Sod in the Bad Coat seems as little perturbed by Dean's overt appreciation of his tie as he was by the unfortunate fishing and weekending segues of the day before. Sam thought this was hardly conclusive. Dean smirked victoriously all the way to his desk and stole Chuck's mug.

Day 3

"Maybe I could learn Lithuanian."

Sam glanced up from his cellphone to see that Dean was staring with unnerving intensity at SBC. He had to assume that they weren't bothering the man too much or he could very easily have taken the stairs, or a different lift. So far they were all following the same routine – Dean parked his precious baby in the carpark. Sam tried not to spill their coffee all over his lap as he got out. They waved at Bobby, the security guard, who arrived just before they did and was always busy making sure no one except the big bosses had parked their cars overnight. They took the lift at around 6:04 am. The lift stopped at the first floor. SBC got in. He moved to stand near the back. He said nothing. Dean stared unabashedly at him. Sam pretended he wasn't there. He'd perfected that really well over his life. He liked to think of it as a super power. One day he would be able to convince Dean he wasn't there as well and he wouldn't be dragged into these ridiculous things.

"Lithuanian."

"Yeah – don't sound so dubious, Sammy boy. I could learn a language."

"Sure." Sam glanced at their companion and was relieved to see that he was still staring at the doors of the lift as though they might open suddenly and reveal unknown secrets of the universe. "Sure you could, but why? And who would teach you?"

"I could learn it online. How hard could it be to learn 'Hello'?"

"Don't you mean, "Please go out with me because I am ridiculously obsessed with you?"

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

"But seriously." Dean crossed his legs and gave the ceiling his thoughtful look. "I could learn how to say something, right?"

"What if you try to say 'wanna come back to my place' and instead say 'your mother knits reindeer sweaters'?"

"What?"

Sam noted SBC's face twitch ever so slightly. Aha. "It could happen."

"You're a dork, Sammy." But the contemplative look passed from Dean's face and he grinned and ogled SBC as he left the lift.

Day Four

"Dear god, Sammy, he's even hotter with the coat off."

"Well duh."

"Look."

"No."

"Look, Sammy."

"Dean, I'm trying to finish this e-mail. It's important."

"We spend exactly one minute and fifty-three seconds with this guy every day, Sam. You can answer the e-mail later. His sexy, sexy chest may not be there later. Look goddammit."

"Sexy sexy chest?" Sam looked up and Dean crowed in triumph.

"See?"

"Yes, Dean. Very nice."

"Sound a bit more enthusiastic or I'll tell Hot Elevator Guy about your crush on Ricky Martin."

"I was fifteen."

"Doesn't make it any less shameful, Sammy boy."

"Fine. Your elevator boyfriend has a lovely chest. Are you happy?"

"Delighted."

The next day was the weekend. After that, their shift changed to an eight-o'clock start for a week and Dean spent the whole week moaning about missing his elevator hottie. Sam spent the whole week trying to explain to Chuck why his coffee cup was appearing in such strange places and hitting his brother for being a hyperactive jerk when he was depressed.

On the seventh day, Sam went to level thirteen on his second break and hovered uncertainly around the reception until a (really really really hot) gentleman approached and eyebrowed him into submission.

"I'm – uh – looking for a … for someone who works here…" Sam hesitated, wondered if he really loved his brother this much and nearly decided that no – no he did not, this was exactly what Dean deserved for stealing both Jerry McIntoch and Marsha Grady from him in highschool when Sexy Eyebrows made a 'go on' nod and he realised the only way to get out of this without appearing to be a total loon was to forge straight ahead. "He's – sort of this high…" he indicated. "Dark hair, blue eyes, a tan coat and a kind of crumpled look to him?"

"Castiel."

"Is it?" They blinked at each other. "Oh. Right. Yes. Um – can I speak to him?"

"Are you the elevator man?"

"The what?"

"The man in the elevator who has been harassing him?" Sexy Eyebrows lowered his sexy voice to a not-so-sexy-and-really-rather-intimidating pitch.

"Uh – no?" Sam was not proud of how his voice squeaked uncertainly. "I mean – sort of? I mean… uh… that's my brother, you seen and…"

"Your brother?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Sexy Eyebrows smiled. "That's all right then. So long as you aren't here to hit on Castiel."

"Me? No! I mean. No. Not that – I mean I'm sure he's very nice and…"

"I'll get him for you."

Sam let out a breath. "Thanks."

"Not at all." Sexy Eyebrows winked and walked off, giving Sam ample time to appreciate his excellent taste in clothes. Yes. That was what he was looking at. Clothes. Which were not ugly crumpled tan coats. At all.

"Sam."

He jumped and then tried to make it look like he was stretching. How on earth had he not noticed SBC (or Castiel, but what the hell kind of name was that? It didn't sound eastern European at all) coming up beside him? He had not been staring after Sexy Eyebrows! He had not been metaphorically drooling! He had not started relegating people to complicated descriptors in his head! "Yes? Um! Hello!" This was not how he had planned for this to go, and that – at least – was the truth.

"Gabriel said that you wished to speak with me."

Castiel's voice was deep and had soft edges, not heavily accented but a little deliberate, as though he was considering what he had to say very thoroughly before he said it. For a wild moment Sam wondered if Castiel had still been considering his answer to Dean's first question while Dean moved on to his third that first day in the elevator.

"I did, thanks for coming to talk to me."

"It was no trouble. Would you care to step into one of the meeting rooms or will this be brief?"

"Oh, it won't take long. Look – was Dean really harassing you? Your friend – Gabriel?" Sam waited eagerly for the nod and then smiled to himself. Suck on that, Dean. I learned my guy's name in ten minutes. "Yes, well, he said that we'd been bothering you and I wanted to apologise for my brother if that's the case. He really wouldn't have kept on about it if he'd had any idea you could understand him."

"I do not understand why he would think I could not." Castiel tilted his head to one side as though he was considering a very difficult puzzle. "It is an odd conclusion to jump to."

"It made sense to him at the time, I guess. Since you haven't exactly said anything to change his mind he's just been running with it – care to explain why you've let him make a fool of himself?"

Castiel frowned and Sam could pick out the faint hint of a flush on the other man's cheeks. "It was a pleasant change for there to be no filter. I find I learn more about a person if they do not know I am listening."

"That's not cool and a little creepy, dude."

"I am aware. But your brother is refreshingly blunt." The blush deepened.

"You like him." This came as more of a surprise than it should have. But then again, Castiel had god's best carved why-are-you-bothering-me face, and damn it, Sam shouldn't be expected to try to read any deeper than that at six in the morning! "You like my brother. Who has been hitting on you without realising you understand he's hitting on you."

Castiel said nothing. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Look, Castiel…" he sighed. "Okay. We're going to be back on the early shift next week so my brother will be back in your face. He's been moaning about missing out on seeing you every morning. I can't make you talk to him and god knows I can't stop him from talking to you. So…" Part of Sam wanted to tell Mr Castiel that he was a good and loving little brother who would protect his older brother's fragile feelings from the inevitable fallout that would culminate from a misunderstanding of this magnitude. Part of Sam found the whole situation oddly hilarious. "So – you'll tell him eventually, right? Once you've figured this…" he gestured vaguely at the whole white-shirted-blue-tied-neat-shoes person in front of him. "Out."

"Probably."

"Good. Well. Do that."

"You will not be telling him yourself, then?"

Sam hesitated. Frowned. Thought of the fact that this would win him the prank war forever. Grinned. "No."

"Very well. I will see you in the elevator."

"See you then." Sam gave a cocky little wave and hurried back to his offices only three minutes late. Zach snarled and fumed and made incredibly passive aggressive remarks, but Chuck had his coffee cup and Ms Talbot was nowhere to be seen so Sam counted himself lucky. In the background Meg was screaming at Ruby for moving her office chair and Ash was staring at Dean's computed with a sort of awed respect which Sam suspected had something to do with the number of viruses his brother had already managed to collect.

Life was not that bad, Sam thought as he changed a cell to not-the-bright-yellow and thought about Gabriel and his sexy sexy eyebrows.