Dean sat up in his bed; it creaked and moaned as he shifted is weight. Sun poured in from the window behind him and the sunlight illuminated the entire room. Dean looked around his tiny apartment; it was small, dirty, moldy, and smelled musky. The apartment consisted of one room, one bathroom, and a small kitchen right next to the bathroom. Clothes were thrown about the room, many of them were laying on the ground. One thing in particular stood out to Dean: a red dress covered in sequins. That wasn't his. Dean turned over on his side and saw a woman laying on the other side of the bed. Her back was facing Dean, so all he could see was her long blonde hair. Dean didn't remember much about the night before; obviously it had gone pretty well. He stared at the woman for a few more moments, trying to grasp any memory of the events of the previous evening. Nothing. He couldn't even remember her name. Feeling quite embarrassed about the whole situation, Dean sat back up and got up from the bed. He was only wearing his boxers and socks. Dean's feet were always cold, so he always had to keep a pair of socks near by. He slowly walked across the room, trying to avoid stepping on the red dress, and snuck into the bathroom. He turned on the sink and splashed water on his face. The cold water felt good, it was enough to wake him up and bring life to his lifeless face. Dean glanced up at the mirror; he looked terrible. A 5 o'clock shadow was plastered on his face and his eyes were drooping a little. Dean let out a sigh as he peered into the mirror at the grotesque face looking back at him. A noise came from the other room, and Dean turned around to see what was happening. The woman was now standing in the room with the sheet wrapped around her. She was gorgeous, but Dean could tell it had been a rough night. Her makeup was smeared and her hair was a mess. She smiled at Dean and he flashed her a little smile.

"Morning." Her voice was soft and a bit raspy. The woman came over to Dean and kissed him on the cheek. "Last night was fun."

"Look, bank's closed. I, uh, I think you'd better be going…" Dean started.

"Joanna. You really don't remember my name?"

"Guess not." said Dean as he grinned slightly, trying to cover up the awkwardness of the situation. Joanna picked up her dress and walked back to the bathroom. Dean let her in and stepped out so she could change. After a few minuets, she came out looking like she was ready for another night on the town.

"Now, you gotta phone I can use to call a car?" She asked.

"Yes, here." Dean said as he directed her toward the phone in the kitchen. After dialing for a car, Joanna picked up her things and left the apartment.

Dean stood in the doorway, watching her leave to make sure she got in the car safely. He then went back to the bathroom and opened the cabinet. Dean took out his razor blade and shaving cream. He smeared the cream on his face and carefully brushed the blade across his cheeks and chin to get rid of the stubble from the night before. Dean used the blade slowly as to prevent getting any nicks from the sharp piece of metal. As he was finishing one side of his face, the phone rang. Dean set the blade on the edge of the sink and walked over to the ringing phone.

"Hello?" Dean asked.

"I got another job for you. Meet me at the deli in half an hour." said a husky voice on the other end. Dean hung up after receiving the message and went back to the bathroom to finish shaving.

The man who had called Dean was his boss, Marvin Vaughn. Marvin Vaughn, leader of the Angels, was a professional criminal, a gangster. Marvin Vaughn was an intimidating little man; he had an exorbitant amount of power in New York and no one messed with Vaughn or the Angels. The Angels were Vaughn's minions, his "workers," as he called them. Dean had been an Angel for three years now, ever since he had turned eighteen. Dean had been working as a paperboy when Vaughn found him. Vaughn noticed Dean's shooting skills when he saw Dean shooting cans behind an alley. From that day on, Dean worked for Vaughn. He was one of Vaughn's "special Angels," one of the ones who "took care of people" that Vaughn didn't like. Vaughn supplied Dean with everything he needed to get the job done, he even bought the rifles. Dean certainly didn't love the job, but it was good money. Vaughn was rich and Vaughn could give Dean a lot dough for doing his will. Dean used half of the money for himself and put the other half in a savings account for his brother Sam, who was bound to need the money someday. Dean never told Sam about the new job he had acquired; he had simply moved away and tried to avoid the subject around Sam. For now, Dean had to do what Vaughn asked. It would be impossible for him to leave, anyway, Vaughn would make sure Dean stayed.

Dean cleared his mind and continued to get ready; Vaughn always expected his Angels to look their best. After he finished shaving, Dean wiped his face with a towel and walked over to his closet. He pulled out his black suit and white button down shirt. Dean put the shirt and pulled on the black pants. He carefully buttoned the shirt and tied his tie. Dean slipped into the suit jacket and buttoned one of its buttons. He put on black dress shoes and made sure their knots were even. Dean walked back to the bathroom and smoothed out his hair with his hands. He removed his black hat from the hat rack and placed it on his head. Dean brushed the dust off of his shoulders, straightened his jacket, and walked out of the apartment.

Dean casually walked down the stairs and outside to the front of the building. He hailed a cab and told the driver to head to Chuck's Deli. In a few short minutes, Dean had arrived at the small establishment.

He stepped out of the car, paid the driver, and walked into the deli. The sign read "Closed," as Vaughn never wanted any interruptions. Marvin Vaughn was sitting at a back table with a few other men. All were dressed in suits. Dean removed his hat and placed it on the rack before approaching the table. Vaughn sat at the head of the table; he was a short little man with dark curly hair. He stood up as Dean approached the table and the two shook hands. Vaughn gestured for Dean to sit so Dean obeyed.

"So, what's this job you've got for me?" Dean asked the man across from him.

"Straight to business, I like it. One of the many reasons I keep you around, Winchester." Vaughn gave Dean a little smile as he spoke. "There's a guy who owes me big, and he hasn't paid yet. He was supposed to pay me two months ago. Get the picture?" Dean nodded.

"Good. Here's his information. I expect you to take care of this by the end of today. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." Dean took the piece of paper from Vaughn and got up from his seat. He opened the piece of paper and saw the name, address, and location. He folded the paper and put it in the pocket of his suit jacket. Dean walked out of the deli and started to make his way home. On the way back to the apartment, Dean thought about how he would approach this job. He came up with a plan to hide in the warehouse across from the location of the target and wait there until the time came to shoot. Dean would call Vaughn to make sure his men took care of the body and then he would leave the scene. It was a simple plan. Every job was essentially simple: wait, shoot, run. It had become so routine to Dean that he had lost some of the guilt behind shooting Vaughn's enemies. It was just another job, another thing he had to do, another kill. Besides, Dean needed the money and Vaughn always payed him well.

When Dean came back to his home, he went straight to the trunk sitting at the edge of his bed. He opened the trunk and lifted up the metal bin to uncover the secret compartment in the bottom of the trunk. There lay all of his guns. Dean had rifles, pistols, handguns, and an assortment of knives just in case. Dean took out a rifle and his favorite handgun. He lifted up his holster and tightened it around his hips. Dean securely placed the handgun in its spot and put the rifle in its case. He slipped a knife into his suit jacket pocket and buttoned it once again. Feeling a few jitters as he usually did, Dean went over to his bedside table and poured himself a shot of whiskey. He downed the shot quickly and felt the buzz of the alcohol as it went down his throat. Dean straightened his jacket, picked up the case with the rifle, and walked out of the apartment.

Dean made his way to the warehouse and set up shop in the top floor by a window.

"And now, we wait." He muttered to himself as he peered out the window, awaiting the arrival of the target. After a few hours, the target finally appeared in Dean's view. He cocked the gun and positioned it in the window. Dean pulled the trigger and watched as the bullet struck the man. Dead. Dean packed up his gun and closed the window. He put his hat back on and casually waltzed down the stairs. After finding the nearest pay phone, Dean called Vaughn to tell him the deed was done.

"Now look, I'm gonna need a car to get me outta here. And someone to take care of the body."

"You got it, kid." Vaughn's raspy voice echoed in Dean's ear. Once the car arrived, Dean hopped in and quickly closed the door. Vaughn sat in the backseat, holding an envelope. He handed the envelope to Dean and told the driver to take them back to Dean's apartment. Dean opened the envelope and saw the cash. It was more than usual, Vaughn must've really wanted this guy dead. Vaughn dropped Dean off back home and then drive away. Dean watched the car drive away and he felt empty. There was no satisfaction in what he had just done, no feeling at all. He felt a bit better having just gained a lot of money, but the money didn't seem to have a lot of meaning. Dean looked down at the envelope and sighed. He went back upstairs and carefully stowed it with the rest of the money he'd earned.

After every job, Dean always felt a little stirred up. He needed a drink, something more than the whiskey he had sitting on the table. Dean headed back out and wandered until he found the nearest speakeasy. It was disguised as a book store, but Dean knew what was really inside. He meandered in and made his way to the basement where the bar was.

The bar was dimly lit and only a few people were scattered around the room. It wasn't very busy on a Tuesday night. The room smelled of sweat and alcohol, a combination with which Dean was quite familiar. He walked over to the barkeep and ordered his usual drink. At the end of the bar sat another man reading a book. Dean took his drink and sat at the bar a few seats away from the man. As he sipped his drink, Dean's eyes kept wandering over to the man next to him. He was wearing a long trench coat on top of a navy blue suit. He had a mess of black hair atop his head. The man was very still, almost like a statue. Dean couldn't help but look at the man. The man noticed Dean staring and looked up. Dean immediately looked away like he hadn't been staring at the trench-coated, black-haired man. A few moments passed, and Dean found himself looking at the man again. Once more, the man noticed and stopped reading. This time he closed his book and turned towards Dean.

"Is my reading bothering you?" The man asked. Dean could tell the man was slightly upset and maybe a little bothered. It took Dean a few seconds to respond.

"No. Uh, no. Sorry. I was… I was just wondering what you were reading." Dean responded. Of course Dean didn't really want to know what the man was reading, he just had to make up an excuse for staring at a man for five minutes. The man smiled a little and showed Dean the cover of his book.

"The Sun Also Rises. It's Ernest Hemingway. I think he's brilliant." The man said quietly. He looked a bit flustered. Dean smiled at the man's enthusiasm for the author.

"I'm Dean. Dean Winchester."

"Castiel Novak."

"Hi. Sorry I bothered you about your book. I'll just let you get back to reading." Dean tried to sound smooth but instead he sounded like a complete idiot.

"No, it's fine. It's hard to read in here anyway." said Castiel. "Everyone talks and it gets hard to focus sometimes."

"Yeah, I bet." Dean looked at Castiel. His eyes were a bright blue, a bright, captivating blue. Dean couldn't help but stare into Castiel's eyes. Every time Dean looked into those eyes he felt nervous and comforted at the same time. There was something about this man, something different. Dean didn't quite understand what it was, but he knew there was something special about Castiel. Dean had been too entranced by Castiel's eyes and face to even realize that he was still talking.

"I mean; books are how I find an escape from the real world. Each book is its own adventure, its own world, it's hard not to prefer reading to reality." Castiel said as he fumbled with the spine of his book.

"Yeah," said Dean as he tried to snap out of the strange trance in which he had just been. Dean continued to look at the man. He decided that Castiel was, well, beautiful. Everything about him was beautiful. Dean felt odd in thinking so, but he knew it was true. This man was beautiful. Dean looked back down at the table, trying to convince himself he didn't feel this way about another man. He couldn't feel this way. He just couldn't.

"I think I had better go home. I've got a dog who needs to be fed." Castiel said as he stood up.

"Do you come here often?" Dean asked.

"Sometimes."

"Will I see you here, say, tomorrow?"

"Maybe you will. Goodbye, Dean." Castiel whispered as he winked at Dean. He picked up his book, tapped it on the table, and walked out. Dean's gaze followed Castiel as he left, still in disbelief of what had just happened. Noticing his glass was empty, Dean asked for another drink. Dean had no idea what he was feeling or why, but he knew he needed to see Castiel again. As Dean sipped his second drink, the mysterious man in the trench coat haunted his thoughts.