Dean had tried to call his brother before he went to bed the night before, but it had been Jess that answered so he'd had to endure another lecture about being a shit-head brother (his words) and a useless, waste-of-space layabout (her words). She was a massive pain in Dean's ass, though he was grateful that she'd stood by Sam when he went off the rails for a while. She'd even forgiven him for the whole Ruby fiasco. Dean may not get on with her, but he admired that about her – if he was ever in a relationship and his girlfriend cheated on him he honestly doubted if he'd be able to forgive and move on. Sometimes he'd find himself drinking alone and wondering when his brother was going to grow the balls to pop the question. Yet even after all Dean had done for Sam during his downward spiral, Jess still talked down to him like he was a child.

Dean was still in a foul mood over it when he awoke the next morning, when poor Cas had to bear the brunt of his irritability. He'd calmed down a bit during his shift, but busying himself with work hadn't helped to clear his head as much as he'd hoped. By the time he was putting the finishing touches on the engine of a 1995 Ford Explorer, he had only managed to push it to the back of his mind and was eager to be done with the entire day and relax at home with Cas and a beer.

"That should do it," he said with a sigh.

Pulling himself out of the engine, he grabbed a dirty cloth and wiped the worst of the grime from his hands, tossing the rag to the ground decisively.

He brought the hood down with a gentle thud and slid himself into the driver's seat. When he slipped the key easily into the ignition and turned it, the engine roared to life and, after Dean stopped revving it, settled into a steady purr.

"Perfect," he grinned, feeling at peace for the first time that day.

Another quick turn and the engine fell silent. He dropped the keys back into the outer office and was about to leave when he heard Bobby curse from the other room.

Dean stuck his head round the door of Bobby's office. "Bobby?"

"What?"

"You alright?"

"I'd be better if I had some peace and quiet!"

Dean stepped further into the room, knowing Bobby was all bark and no bite.

Bobby sighed. "It takes a lot out of me to be staring at numbers all night. I'd be fine if I could just get the damn things to tally up."

"You plus or minus this week?" Dean smiled.

"Smartass. How about this – if I'm in the red, I'll take the difference out of your pay check."

"Yeah, sure you will," Dean grinned. "You need anything before I go?"

"What – so you can put in for the extra time? I don't think so," he said gruffly. "Unless you've got a better brain for numbers. I'd take that."

Dean laughed. "Sorry - not me. Good night."

"'Night, boy. You drive safe!"

"Always do!" Dean grinned. He'd taken less than five steps when he turned back. "Bobby?"

"How is it every other employee manages to clock out with a wave and a 'see you tomorrow'?"

Dean sat down opposite his boss, who sighed and put his pen down.

"What if I could get you some help balancing the books?"

Bobby leaned back in his chair. "I'm listening."

. * * * .

"No," Castiel said resolutely.

"What do you mean, no?"

"No, Dean. I do not need your charity. I am perfectly capable of finding a job by myself."

"I'm not saying you can't – just that you could do this while you're looking, and you'd be doing Bobby a massive favor—"

"That he'd be paying me for—"

"—that he'll pay you for your time! It's not even a real job – I mean, it's not like you need to be in the office nine to five. It would just a bit of help."

Castiel eyed Dean carefully. "And exactly whose idea was it?"

"Both of ours."

Castiel cocked his head to the side sceptically.

"Bobby said he needed some help, and then I thought maybe you could do your selfless religious thing and help him out. Bobby's the one who's insisting on paying you! Apparently he doesn't do 'slave labor'," Dean said, making exaggerated air quotes.

Castiel's brow furrowed as he considered it. Dean had done enough for him, but accepting would be useful experience in his hunt for a job.

"I mean, come on – I know you're good with numbers," Dean pressed. "You do those Sudoku things in minutes!"

"It's hardly the same thing, Dean," Castiel said, but he looked contemplative.

"And maybe I'll even let you pay me back for those clothes you keep bugging me about." He tacked on an overly dramatic sigh for effect.

Castiel nodded eventually. "I suppose I could do it, but only as a favor to your boss."

"You've made his day, Cas," Dean sang as he dug out his cell to call Bobby.

. * * * .

The next day Cas stood wide-eyed in Bobby's office, surveying the several piles of documents piled up to two feet high and balanced precariously on desk corners, staplers, and various other uneven surfaces.

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "Not quite as easy a job as you'd hoped!" he exclaimed. "I'll just, eh..." He disappeared and left Castiel staring sadly at the beckoning paperwork. He started on the nearest pile, intending to skip through and see what sort of order everything was in before starting, before realizing that they weren't arranged in any sort of order at all. He sighed.

"How's it going?" Dean asked, poking his head into the room half an hour later.

"It's a mess!" Castiel hissed. "There are papers here from yesterday mixed with those from last year! There are delivery notices mixed up with the invoices, and I don't even know where to begin. This is all your fault," he declared.

"So they're all out of order then?" Dean said sympathetically.

"They can't be out of order if there is no order."

"What are whining about?" Bobby grumbled. "I have a system."

Castiel went red. "I'm sorry, I—"

"Don't get yourself in a knot, boy – I'm just pulling your leg." He cleared his throat. "What do you think? Can we can sort out this mess?"

When Castiel glanced around, gesturing helplessly to the many piles, Bobby cast Dean a surreptitious wink.

"So I guess this is going to take a while, then?" Bobby answered himself.

"Longer if I keep getting interrupted," Castiel complained, looking pointedly at Dean.

"Come on, idjit!" Bobby said loudly. "Back to work. Give the boy some peace."

Once they were out of earshot, Bobby turned to Dean. "That ought to keep him busy for a few weeks – longer if I can persuade him to work half-days. Afternoons, hopefully, because that's when I need a bit of help answering phones."

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean said, clapping the older man on the shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah," Bobby grumbled, trying not to sound too pleased. "Now get back to work."

Dean worked hard all day, losing his shirt before lunch in the sweltering summer heat – it felt like the sweat was pouring off him. His stomach was started to grumble, and he reckoned it must be near lunch time. Well, he'd stop for food once he was finished up here.

"That boy works himself to the bone," Bobby commented to Castiel, looking out the window at him. "You should go out, make sure he stops for lunch."

"Dean, forget to stop for food?" Castiel laughed. "I don't believe it."

"It's happened," Bobby said. "I've lost count of the number of times I've had to drag him away from some car he's working on to remind him to eat."

"So he doesn't eat with the others, then?"

Bobby shook his head. "Dean keeps himself to himself – I reckon he doesn't know the names of any of the other guys in the yard. he only knows mine 'cause my name's on the sign!" He looked over at Castiel. "You should go have lunch with him – remind him to eat."

"We eat together at home all the time," Castiel pointed out. "I think he'd prefer some time away from me."

"Cas," Bobby began, "or... Castiel?"

"Either is fine."

"Cas, in the three years I've had him working here, the past couple of months or so have been the most alive I've seen him. Now I wasn't going to pry – it's none of my business, so long as he gets his work done – but that doesn't mean I didn't worry about him. He wasn't unhappy as such, but I reckon you're a breath of fresh air. You're good for him."

Castiel cocked his head to the side. "Do you really think that?"

"Course I do. Now get out there and make sure he eats something."

When Castiel emerged from the office, he couldn't help but stop and stare at the half-naked Dean. There was something incredibly beautiful about the way his taut muscles moved while he worked, and when he pulled something – a wrench? – from his back pocket, leaving a smudge of grease across the seat of his pants, Castiel felt an uneasy warmth spread through him. Trying his best to quell whatever it was, he approached Dean.

"Dean?" he asked quietly.

"Hmm? Oh, hey Cas. What's up?"

"If you tell me where this café is, I could run and get us some lunch."

"Nah, I'll get it – just let me finish up here, first."

"I could go and be back by the time you've finished."

Dean looked at his watch and then back at Cas. "Alright. It's just round the corner – grab my wallet out of my back pocket, would you?"

Castiel swallowed, gingerly pinching the protruding corner and gently tugging it free.

"Jeez, Cas, grab my ass, why don't you!" Dean joked. "No seriously, man, I'm not gonna break. Were you a master pick-pocket in a past life or something?"

"Yes that sounds exactly like me," Castiel shot back, deadpan.

"Just grab the stupid thing," Dean said. "And get me a cheeseburger and a coke."

Castiel nodded.

"Make it a double cheeseburger and a coke," Dean changed his mind as his stomach growled at him.

"I don't know where you put it all," Castiel chuckled, feeling strangely at ease.

When he returned with their lunch Dean was still buried up to the elbows in the car's engine. Cas grinned. Putting the bag of food down, he crept up to Dean and tucked his wallet back into his pocket, before slapping it.

Dean jumped and yelped. "What the—" Seeing Castiel's grinning face he relaxed. "Oh, it's just you," he said with a laugh.

Castiel ducked his head as he retrieved the bag of food.

Dean stared at him like he was a riddle to work through, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Just when I think I've got you figured."

The longer Dean stared at him the longer Castiel had to worry that perhaps that hadn't been the right thing to do, but then Dean slammed the hood down. They ate together, leaning back against the windshield.

Castiel listened intently as Dean told him about what he was doing to the car. He had no doubt that in a few weeks' time he'd actually understand some of what Dean was saying to him, but in the mean time he was content just to listen.

"Dean?" Castiel asked when Dean fell silent.

"Yeah, Cas?"

"I was wondering..." Castiel trailed off uncertainly.

"What?"

"Would you... I mean, how would you feel, about—"

"Well, boys!" Bobby's cheery voice interrupted them. "Having a pleasant afternoon picnic, are we?"

Dean jumped up, ushering Castiel off the front of the car. "I'm just about to get back to—"

"Oh, don't get your panties in a bunch, Winchester – I know you've still got ten minutes left of your lunch break."

"I don't, though," said Castiel quickly. "I should get back to—"

"Nonsense – you're not my employee, Cas. Well, at least not officially. You don't have to stick to an hour."

"All the same..." Castiel hurried back into the office, carrying their trash back with him.

"He's a good 'un," Bobby noted, casting a sideways glance at Dean. "He's lucky he ended up with you."

"Yeah..." Dean said, watching Cas through the office window. Then the second half of Bobby's comment sunk in. "Wait, what?"

"I said he's lucky he ended up with you. Or you with him."

"What's with the look?"

"Nothing, nothing," the older man said, scratching at his beard. "You look happier, is all."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Bobby, what are you getting at?"

Bobby made a dismissive noise and walked away, grumbling, "This is why I stay out of other people's business."

Dean watched his boss leave, feeling slightly unsettled that Bobby had paid enough attention to him to realize that he was happier – he preferred to keep his head down and just get on with things. He brushed the thought away and popped the hood again, keen to fill his mind with engine parts.

By the end of the day he'd forgotten about the exchange with Bobby – a newly discovered oil leak on top of the list of repairs he already had to do had kept him busy for most of the afternoon – but when he was washing up and heard Bobby shouting goodbye to Castiel, it popped right back to the front of his mind because really, it was none of Bobby's damn business where Dean was happy or sad so long as he did his job, and who knew what the old man and Cas were saying about him? He decided not to dwell on it and waved Castiel over.

"Are you nearly ready to go?" Castiel asked.

"Ready and raring," Dean confirmed, and the two started walking towards Deans car. "Listen, did Bobby say anything to you about working hours?"

"You mean that from next week he wants me to start working half days?" Castiel asked, a hint of bitterness in his tone.

"Yeah. You don't sound too impressed by that - most people would love to work half days all the time!"

"But the longer I'm needed here the longer it'll take me to get a job," Castiel protested.

"Hey," Dean said, grabbing his wrist lightly.

Castiel jolted to a stop.

"This is a job. You might not like it, but—"

"It's not the job, Dean," Castiel cut him off.

"Then what is it?"

Castiel stared at the ground sullenly.

"Look, everyone needs a little help now and then. Like when you needed a place to stay?"

"That was different," Castiel said quietly.

"How so?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Castiel said, moving towards the car once again.

Dean stared after him, unable to see what Castiel's problem was. He hurried after him, and once they were in the car, Dean's hand froze on the ignition. "Cas," he said slowly.

"I said I don't want to talk about it."

"No, it's not that," he said, his hand moving to join the other on the wheel. "Just... At lunch, was there something you were going to ask me?"

Castiel stared at him.

"Cas?" Dean frowned when Cas didn't answer. "You okay buddy?"

"What?"

"It sounded like you were going to ask me something before Bobby came over."

"Oh. Oh!" Castiel's eyes widened in comprehension. "It was nothing."

"Out with it, Cas," Dean said.

"How do you do that?"

"You're a terrible liar. And stop changing the subject."

"I was wondering, if perhaps..."

Dean's hands tightened their grip on the wheel; he could feel the nerves rolling off Castiel in waves. He wished he'd put some music when they'd gotten in the car.

"...you could teach me how to drive? If I got my learner's permit," he added hurriedly.

Dean's pulse pounded in his ears and he wiped sweaty palms on his jeans. "No," he said thickly. Suddenly the car, able to carry five people, felt too small for just the two of them. He couldn't breathe. His hand fumbled with the window crank and he rolled down the window, brushed the back of one hand across his brow as he sucked in a breath. "No."

"Oh." Castiel looked disappointed. "No, that's fine—"

"I would if I could, Cas," he said apologetically, "but I just can't, okay?"

"Yes. Of course."

"Cas, I just don't think I'm really the right person to be asking," Dean went on, hating feeling like he was letting Castiel down.

"I understand," Castiel said quietly, not pointing out that Dean was the only person he had to ask.

Castiel couldn't understand, not without knowing the real reason Dean had said no, and Dean couldn't help but feel bad for him, sitting there looking so damn sad that Dean had knocked him back. He gave Bobby a quick wave as he pulled out of the yard.

. * * * .

Castiel had been quiet ever since they left Bobby's. Despite the fact he had assured Dean that he completely respected his decision, Dean was convinced that he'd hurt Castiel by saying no. When he finished his dinner he let his fork drop to the plate with a clatter, Castiel's eyes immediately looking up at him.

"We should go out tonight," he said. "Celebrate you having got yourself a job of sorts."

"Dean, I don't really think—"

"No. No, Cas – I'm not taking no for an answer. You and me, we're going out."

Castiel didn't seem too enamoured by the idea, but Dean figured that once he got out he might start to enjoy himself.

He left Castiel washing up and went to freshen up. Once he'd brushed his teeth and scrubbed the last of the grease and oil out from under his fingernails, he changed into a snug black v-neck t-shirt and a dark red shirt. He was still rolling the sleeves up when he came to an abrupt halt just inside the living room door.

"Haven't you got anything better to wear than that?" he asked when he saw what Cas was wearing.

Castiel looked down at himself. "No?"

Of course he didn't. Dean knew that – he'd been there when they'd gone shopping. "Come here," he said, dragging Castiel down the corridor and into his bedroom.

"What are you doing?"

"Finding you something better to wear than a t-shirt for a band you don't even listen to."

"I— You picked out this t-shirt!" Castiel accused. "You said it would make me look, and I quote, 'cool'. Whatever that's supposed to mean," he muttered under his breath.

But Dean was too busy sliding coat hangers across the rail to rise to the bait.

"Ha!" he exclaimed when he found what he was looking for. Then he pulled out a few more for choice. "Try some of these," he suggested.

"I still don't see what's wrong with what I'm wearing," Castiel grumbled.

"Just try them," Dean said, leaving no room for argument.

Castiel didn't move.

It took Dean a moment to realize that Cas was uncomfortable with the thought of disrobing in the same room. Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Cas, we're both dudes here. Don't make it weird," he grumbled, turning to face the wall.

Behind him there was the noise of fabric being rustled and then a moment of silence before Cas stiffly stated, "Okay."

Dean turned and shook his head immediately. "No. Green is not your colour. Try the grey."

Castiel sighed dramatically. "The AC/DC shirt was grey."

"Name one AC/DC song."

Castiel face screwed up as he thought. "That one about rambling?"

Dean screwed his face up at he tried to work out what song Cas was referring to. "Rambling?" he echoed. Then, "What the— You better not be talking about Ramble On, or so help me—"

"Yes, I think that's the one."

Dean deflated. "That's... That's Zeppelin, dude!" he exclaimed, sounding mildly heartbroken and not even concerned about it. "How do you not know that?"

"Sorry," Castiel shrugged, not looking sorry in the least.

Dean shook his head sadly . "You're a terrible friend," he said deadpan and threw the grey t-shirt at him. "Try that."

Castiel smiled a little and motioned for Dean to turn around again. Cas needed a music lesson, and he needed one pronto! Movement caught his eye in the mirror and he automatically tracked it, his heart skipping a beat when he saw a pale stretch of skin showing between denim and ruffled cotton. He looked deliberately down at a smear of grease on his shoe and coughed as noisily as he could to cover up the sound of potential nakedness, and he very definitely wasn't going to look again because that had just been weird.

Somehow, his eyes met Castiel's in the mirror. Damn it!

"No," he said, turning round and staring at the front of Cas's t-shirt. It was stupid, but he felt like Cas would know he'd been staring if he looked him in the eye. Not that he'd been staring. He'd only looked. Glanced, even. For a minute— a second. "Try this."

Castiel grabbed the new shirt directly from Dean's hands and turned his back on Dean.

"Oh shit," he said when Cas let him see. Cas looked damn good in blue, and for a moment Dean's words got caught in his throat as he stared. "That's better," he said thickly, and nodded approvingly. "You look... better," he finished lamely.

"Good."

"Yeah. You look good. Clean."

"Clean?" Castiel echoed, unsurely.

"Tidy," he said gruffly. "Whatever, dude. Let's go."

. * * * .

To Dean's credit he stuck with Cas most of the night but, as usual, was drawn into the cloying action of the pool table and its admirers. It was always the same, Castiel thought, tracing the rim of his empty glass. Dean was an experienced player and the teenagers Dean was currently hustling out of their money were drunk and distracted by their girlfriends. It wasn't all Dean's fault. Castiel was perfectly dreadful as a 'wingman' and he hadn't the first clue how to play pool. Watching Dean had only taught him that you hit balls and make lewd remarks to throw off the competition. Or maybe that was flirting. Castiel would have been content to sit quietly with Dean while they poked fun at each other, but when Dean stepped into the bar it was clear: he had to be doing something.

Castiel turned his attention to the rows of bottles behind the bar, only able to identify one or two. He accidentally caught the bartender's eye and the man approached, asking "Another?"

Cas pushed his empty glass towards the bartender and shook his head. "No, thank you."

"I'll take one," said a voice from on Castiel's left.

He turned and saw large green eyes flecked with brown, framed in long dark eyelashes. Castiel barely caught himself from falling off his barstool in the other direction.

"Snuck up on you, did I?" the man laughed. "Sorry, man. I didn't mean to freak you out."

His cheeks had a sprinkling of freckles across high cheekbones, and his eyes crinkled cheerfully. Damn, the man was beautiful. Castiel's heart began to race and he automatically glanced behind him for an escape route. Dean was nowhere to be seen. He tried to swallow his panic and turned back, folding his hands onto the tacky surface of the bar and studying them intently.

"You drinking alone?"

Castiel glanced sideways at the newcomer. He was still smiling slightly and his mouth looked pouty.

"N-no. I'm with my, uh, Dean," Castiel motioned towards the pool table, where Dean was still obscured by the throng of tipsy players.

"Oh yeah. I get it. It's rough when they bring you out and then find something else to do, huh?" He nodded towards the pool table. "I don't really get the appeal, myself. Drinking seems like a better way to lose money," he added, winking.

Castiel felt his heart pound even harder and he clenched his hands to keep them from shaking. "Excuse me." Castiel slipped off his stool and sidled past tables and chairs until he reached the toilets. Eyes flicking over to see Dean still engrossed in his game of pool he pushed the door open and ducked inside.

When he reached the bright fluorescent sanctuary of the toilet, he felt foolish. What was wrong with him? There was no reason for him to be acting like this. He ran cold water in the sink and washed his hands in the cold water far more thoroughly than was necessary. Once the last of the soap had swirled down the drain he cupped his hands under the tap and splashed his face.

The door opened behind him, letting in the din of the bar.

Castiel splashed himself with another handful of water. When he looked up, he saw the man from the bar in the reflection of the mirror. "Hello again." Droplets of water dripped from his face into the porcelain sink.

"I just wanted to check that you're okay," he said, vaguely apologetic. "I really didn't mean to freak you out. I just..." The man shrugged.

Cas took a deep breath and squared his shoulders before turning to face him. "No. It's fine. I... haven't been out much lately."

He smiled. "It's kinda loud, right? You wanna go somewhere quieter?" he asked, taking a step towards the sink.

Castiel was once again drawn to the man's eyes. "No. I'm fine."

The other man reached behind him and Castiel pressed himself up against the sink, breath caught in his throat as the other man pressed against him, his gaze dropping to the man's lips; thin and pale.

As soon as the pressure was there it was gone again, and a paper towel was being offered to him. He took a deep breath.

"Your face is wet."

"I know," Castiel replied, dapping the paper down across his face but almost afraid to blink because the other man was still right there.

"So look, uh, I've been out of the game for a while. How about we go back out there and start over. Maybe let me buy you a drink?"

"I was just about to leave, actually."

"Well, I could leave with you, if you want some company. Maybe find a way to make your Dean a little jealous, no?"

Cas could feel the sweat prickling at his scalp as he pivoted towards the door. "I really don't think that's a good idea."

When he was close enough, he backed into the door and forced it open, rushing back into the darkness of the bar and bumping into two people in his rush to get outside. Just as he was about to clear the last table, a hand gripped his forearm and spun him around.

Castiel kept moving backwards, pulling the stranger with him as he tried to wrench his arm free. "Let me go!" his plea was swallowed by the noise in the bar.

He could feel the cool outside air tickling his ankles from behind and his vision began to darken.

Dean appeared out of nowhere. "Hey!" he called out, his voice cutting through the bar like a gunshot. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"None of your business."

"Like hell it's not!" He turned to Cas. "Is this guy hassling you?"

"I..."

The stranger released Castiel's arm to stand square with Dean.

"And who the fuck are you? His boyfriend? Back off!"

Dean lunged at the stranger and shoved him backwards through the doors. Castiel followed, disoriented, just in time to see the stranger swing a punch at Dean's head.

"Stop!"

Dean paused, clenched fist raised ready to strike back in retaliation, and looked over at Cas. Castiel shook his head, silently pleading with him to just walk away. The man from the bar ran at him, a blow to the gut knocking the air out of Dean's lungs, and he fell to the ground.

"Stop it!" he shouted again.

The stranger straightened his jacket. "You ought to keep your boyfriend on a leash," he said to Cas as he headed back into the bar.

Castiel's blood ran cold. "I'm sorry," Castiel apologised, not really sure what for. He looked down at Dean where he was still sitting on the cold concrete trying to catch his breath. "I'm so sorry." He walked backwards until he stumbled, then turned and fled. He blinked back tears as he ran, not knowing where he was heading – except straight to Hell.