The supermarket is empty, except for one lone customer, but that's to be expected, Castiel thinks; after all, it's 2:30 am on a Saturday. Anyone living this close to the university at this hour is either studying or partying. Castiel would have been doing the former had it not been for his night shift. He thinks about the assignment for his Theology class while leaning against the counter that holds his register, and his head snaps up when he hears it.
A loud crash echoes from the direction of the canned goods aisle. Well, really more of a multitude of smaller crashes interspersed with swear words. Cas logs off his register and follows the noise, now reduced to only a young man's grumbled curses, and is faced with a rather devastating sight (since he's only one on night duty and the mess is now his to fix). Bent canned goods litter the tight aisle, a couple leaking their contents onto the linoleum floor, but the majority of which still in one piece: thank god. He's so wrapped up with surveying the disaster zone, that he's rather startled when he hears, "sir?"
He looks up to see a handsome man, around his age carrying a mechanics textbook from the local college in one hand, and a store basket filled with beer that he looked to young to be buying in the other.
"Crap, man" he starts, shifting his book into the basket so that he can card his left hand through his hair in a nervous gesture. "I don't know what happened, I accidentally ran into that one display case and all of the sudden it was canmageddon in here."
Cas kneels on the floor in attempts to start the clean up, and the other man takes his side after trying to explain the situation. "At least let me help you. This must be the last thin you expected to be doing on a Saturday night, huh? Cleaning up after a stranger who screws up your displays."
"Nonsense. This is my job, sir" Castiel takes pride in his job- enjoys it even. He's worked at the supermarket for a year an a half, and has worked his way up from bagging boy to assistant night manager in record time.
"I'm Dean Winchester. Uh, you can call me Dean." The man says without stopping the clean up, "sir makes me feel like my dad, 'sides, you don't look much older than me."
"I'm Cas." Castiel replies out of politeness and maybe something more, he just can't place what.
Dean stands up and moves to the opposite end of the aisle, saying that they'll get it done faster if they work toward each other and cover a larger amount of space more freely. Cas agrees. When Dean gets out of the range of a normal person's earshot, he mutters to himself. Castiel's hearing is almost unnatural however, so he can hear the words laced with frustration and worry, "Shit. how am I gonna afford to pay for all this," from across the way. It obviously isn't meant for any ears save his own, but as they pick up cans and move closer to the center of the aisle, and each other, Cas says, "don't worry about the cost, only a few cans were damaged to the point that they're unsellable, and this wasn't done maliciously, so we can forget about it." As soon as the sentence is out of his mouth, Castiel is shocked. If it were anyone else he would have pressed the issue and made sure that the supermarket got reimbursement for their damages merchandise, but he's letting a man he doesn't know from Adam walk out without a second thought. Then comes the worst part is: Cas is fine with it.
"Are you sure? I mean, I don't want to getting in trouble because I'm a klutz."
"I'm more than sure. The company had a profit in excess of several million dollars last year, I think they can afford a few dented cans." Cas smiles and it reaffirms in his decision, if only based on the relief on Dean's face.
In a little while, with their team effort, the aisle looks even better than before Hurricane Winchester rolled through. Dean even refused to leave while Cas mopped the floor, opting instead to pick up a broom himself and sweep the non sticky and wet areas of the aisle.
When they're finally finish, Dean follows Castiel up to his checkout station.
"ID please," Cas requests. Just because the guy's cute, doesn't mean Cas has any right to sell alcohol to somebody potentially under the legal age. Another voice in his head silently wants to compare Dean's age to Castiel's 22 years as well. For research, or something. He's relieved when Dean hands it over and confirms that he's 21 and a few plus months, and tells himself it's only because he could sell him the beer. Right.
Dean pays and exits the store with his alcohol, leaving Cas to finish out his once again boring shift until the morning crew comes in at 6, but now something a little different than theology is on his mind, though it does involve worship.
When Dean packs the beer into his mini fridge of his dorm after he gets back, he kicks himself for not making a move, or doing anything besides getting the guy's first name.
That regret evaporates when he pulls out the crumpled receipt from the bottom of the plastic bag. Scrawled on the back are the seven numbers he'd been too afraid to ask for earlier, and he's too contented to do anything but smile and think about what time he'll call tomorrow. These thoughts last until he falls asleep.