AN: Thank u all 4 the reviews. I put a lot of thought into the hand print so I'm happy it was noticed. I chose a few angles that weren't obvious in this piece. Please tell me what you think.
Castiel didn't shave that morning. He put on some deodorant, brushed his teeth and put on a generous amount of cologne. The black suit was his pick. He felt he looked a little less filthy against the dark colour. Taming his unruly hair was definitely out. Castiel donned his tan trench coat, fully prepared to work into the night to make up for his late arrival. Breakfast was coffee from a vending machine on his way to the elevator at his new workplace: Winchester's Insurance. Some big oaf rammed into him, spilling hot coffee down the front left side of his coat.
"Watch it," Sam moved his six hundred dollar pants out of the way of the offending liquid.
"You're fucking kidding me, right?" Castiel threw the now empty container in the nearby trash can.
"I'm not known for my humor," Sam didn't hold the elevator, just watched Castiel frantically wipe the scalding liquid away before it penetrated and karma gave him his own third degree burn. "Going up?" Sam simply folded his arms and watched the flushed little dude.
"I'll get the next one," Castiel thought it wise not to be in the same elevator as the ass, he might lose his job if he killed someone. "I'm sorry about cursing," he sighed, "I'm having a stressful morning."
"Get a helmet," Sam told him as the doors closed.
"Ass," Castiel hissed. He stepped into the adjacent lift, took off his coat and strategically folded it over his forearm to conceal the stain. "Excuse me," he tapped someone's shoulder when he got to the right floor, "I'm looking for Samuel Winchester's office."
"Take a right and straight ahead," the young woman directed without looking up from her scribbling.
"Thank you," Castiel mustered a smile which faded as soon as he turned to walk down the directed path.
"How long do you think he'll last?" someone asked behind him.
"Twenty says he won't make it through the week," someone else answered.
"A hundred says he doesn't make it through the day," the young woman with the directions said in the same disinterested tone, "He's late and he doesn't know where his boss's office is."
Castiel walked to the office listening to people place bets on how long he'd keep his job. He'd heard his new boss was a bit off a hard ass but these people were scaring him. After considering knocking for a fruitless thirty seconds he noted the silence within and entered.
"Good morning Mr..." Castiel's jaw dropped before he was even halfway through what would have been an apology.
"This is too good," Sam laughed when he recognised Castiel from their earlier encounter.
"I feel I need to tell you I do not usually behave the way I did when I bumped into you earlier," the young man's self-preservation instincts kicked in,
"Can you hire your replacement before you leave?" Sam leaned back, a cruel little smile threatening to turn up the corners of his mouth.
"At this point I can only get you a temp and by the time you're done wasting your morning showing them how things work. They'll be so behind by the end of the day you'll have just enough slack to hang them," Castiel tried to talk his boss off the present course, "I don't think you want to go to jail or have an inefficient work day. Time is money, right?"
"I'm not convinced you're much more competent," Sam said honestly.
"Then test me," Castiel mentally prepared himself for whatever task might be thrown his way.
"Jess has been nagging me about dining at Bar Basque ," Sam thought out loud, "And about working as much I do so I'm going to take the afternoon off and give in to her demands. Also, my brother's juvenile antics have resulted in my laptop being reduced to a block of government cheese. I need to make him miserable enough to put an end to his nonsense. If you take care of all the details you can keep your job for the foreseeable future."
"One o'clock?" Castiel kept his perfected poker face.
"One it is," Sam was looking forward to the collapse of this young man's bravado. It would be the perfect start to a relaxing afternoon.
"Why oh why is someone knocking down a wall in my office?" Dean stormed into his brother's office.
"Dean, meet my new assistant with the funny name," Sam was not about to have this conversation in front of the help.
"Castiel Novak," the young man extended a surprisingly steady hand to Dean, his eyes wide and heart pounding.
"Dean," a smile twinkled in the emerald eyes, "Winchester. Like the gun."
"Like the name on the side of the building," Castiel was mentally kicking himself for the decisions he'd made in the last twenty four hours.
"Novad," Sam cut in, "Don't you have work to do?"
"I'll get right to it," Castiel extricated his hand from Deans with a little difficulty. The richer man seemed to be in some kind of trance. His body actually turned of its own accord to ensure he could watch Castiel walk away.
"That is a pretty boy you have working for Sammy," Dean watched Castiel loosen his tie and unbutton his top button looking absolutely flushed.
"That is a sexual harassment lawsuit we could do without Dean," his brother said what he was almost certain would be completely fruitless.
"My workspace is under construction," the older brother pointed out, "Give a little."
"Stop thinking with your penis," Sam countered.
"But that's where I get the most circulation," Dean said in a sugary voice, "Now why do I have rubble on my floor."
"I'm having a shower installed in there," the more practical partner stated.
"I see how that could be fun for me but it's not my birthday or Christmas," the man with the emerald eyes scratched his forehead.
"You bathe in cologne every Monday," Sam rolled his eyes.
"Why did I have to look this one in the mouth?" Dean turned to leave and then turned back, "I have to pretty, blond... resourceful assistants who would just love to come work for you."
"Dean," Sam spoke slowly, "We are not playing musical chairs with our employees so you can get laid."
"Fine," Dean groaned. He wanted to wink at Castiel as he walked by but the boy refused to look at him so Dean went to his office to do something semi-productive, hopefully without seeing the crack of an overweight construction worker.
Castiel's day kept getting worse. The hangover was starting to set in and he was getting yelled at on the phone. Bar Basque, as he discovered, was in New York. It was a six hour flight and he would have to find seats in the next ten seconds. Samuel Winchester's work was split between actuarial and managerial duties. His morning started with statistics so he could crunch numbers on his flight. If only the shrew he was trying to communicate with would speak in an indoor voice.
"I need him on the next flight," Castiel's hand clenched into a fist.
"It departs in eight minutes and we have free seats in the business class," the harpy said with practised patients.
"My boss is going to kill me if I stick his wife in the business class," Castiel hissed.
"I'll stay on the line and call 911," the efficient tone answered.
"Eat me," Castiel dropped the phone. He had assembled every piece of available information on his new company and boss. Jess, full name Jessica nee Moore, turned out to be the pretty, blond wife whose location was impossible to pin down. Inspiration struck Castiel as he was going over his sea of information. He called down to Transport to reserve the company jet.
"I'm sorry, did you just tell me the co-owner, the guy who helps run the company and gives it free actuarial services, that he can't have his company's jet for a single day?" Castiel gripped his desk.
"Yes because the other co-owner, the guy who carries out most managerial tasks and woos the company's clientele is going to be using it," a bored voice answered.
"Have a nice day," Castiel snarled.
"Call again soon," pleasure was injected into the voice. The call ended.
"Everyone here is mean," Castiel's lower lip protruded... then he realised not everyone was mean. He felt a little ashamed then he remembered he'd be out on his ass in five hours and rallied. He took the mobile phone he'd been assigned and called the fancy restaurant while he stalked Dean's office. He asked for a two or three o'clock reservation, maybe four. The guy on the other side of the line asked for the date and when Castiel answered, "This afternoon," he actually burst into laughter. Not in a position to be indignant or enraged Castiel started to negotiate, bordering on grovelling.
"On hold?" Dean made Castiel jump.
"It's a step up from being disconnected," the young man turned, so did the corners of his lips.
"Stalking me?" Dean smiled.
"No," Castiel answered, "I'm just lurking quietly outside your office."
"Yeah," Dean nodded, "Sneak up on a bunch of guys with nail guns," he walked past.
"I need your help," Castiel said looking down.
"I was happier when I thought your stalking was recreational," Dean mock pouted, "What do you need?"
"The company jet?" the young man rubbed his neck. It was a nervous gesture.
"Boy! You swing for the fence," a surprised laugh escaped Dean.
"I'm sorry but I am desperate," Castiel threw his hands in the air, "I am trying to get a reservation at a restaurant where they laughed at me for not calling last fall, I cannot find my boss's wife and I have no idea how to get them to New York by this afternoon. He is going to fire me. I have no money and no place to go. This hangover is giving me a headache that I can feel in my teeth. And I have no one. I'm crying to my one night stand," Castiel shook his head with his hand on his forehead.
"I have scotch at that construction sight with my name on the door," Dean put his hand on Castiel's shoulder.
"Completely unhelpful as it will be, pour me a glass," Castiel led the way. Dean took the phone out of his hand and redialled.
"Dean Winchester, I need a reservation for two at three this afternoon," he said after the peppy little greeting, "Good man," he put the phone down.
"I'm ineffectual," Castiel fell into the chair facing Dean's desk.
"I'm in business insurance," Dean poured and handed Castiel the glass, "They're just listening to me to cover their ass. You can have the company jet and I'll take all my brother's managerial appointments, the rest you can do the shuffle with. I'll secure Jess."
"Should I kiss your feet or will the ground under them suffice?" Castiel asked in amazement.
"You can be self-sufficient tomorrow," Dean advised, "Because Sam will not hesitate to fire you. "
"I don't doubt that," Castiel downed his whiskey like he was in a bar. Dean laughed quietly. Castiel had clearly never had a drink in business situation. "This year alone eight assistants have quit: one from El Salvador, one from Africa, one from Poland, two from Germany. People who survived slavery, genocide, Nazi's, rogue Special Forces, world war two ran away screaming. He's cruel and malicious. It's like he's missing a soul."
"Wow," Dean's emerald eyes widened.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to talk smack about your brother," Castiel looked up at Dean.
"I think that's the most accurate description of Sam I've ever heard," Dean downed his drink like he was at a bar too. When in Rome or when Roman's come or whatever.
"I'm going back to Charles Lynch," Castiel got up, "Do you wanna come over and unwind after your busy afternoon?"
"I can't," Dean shook his head.
"Okay," Castiel rubbed his neck. It was also a gesture of humiliation.
"I want to but I just saved your ass and if we hook up, well... that's the very definition of sexual harassment," the business owner said.
"You didn't do this for me," Castiel started spinning (he was a whiz at this), "You did this for Jessica. Her husband does various time-consuming things for this company and she doesn't see him enough. His afternoon off will give her quality time. As a bonus, you can use his office and not have people hacking the walls with sledgehammers in the background during your meetings."
"Seven good for you?" Dean smiled broadly.
"It's perfect," Castiel couldn't help but smile back. For once in his life he felt like he had someone. A non-permanent someone but hey, beggars don't choose.