He wiped the grease from his hands onto his jeans before turning to shake hands with the costumer getting a tour of the garage. He stopped cold when he saw the face. He'd never met Jimmy Novak's doppelganger, but damn did this guy come close. His mind instantly flashed to trailing his lips over the man's jaw line. His hair was blonde, and his eyes were brown but all the features were sculpted the same. He tried to not let the shock register on his face.

"Dean this is Castor, I'm sorry what is your last name?"

"Thrice," he said reaching out a hand to Dean who took it with faked confidence.

"Well Mr. Thrice, what can we do for you?"

"Cas here's got an older mustang that is in need of repair, I thought you'd be just the man to help him out," Dean's boss Carl Spot had a large smile, and a cigar clenched in his teeth. He turned back to Castor, "Dean here just finished rebuilding his precious '67 Chevy Impala in his off time. That's actually how he got his job here, we towed it and he asked if he could just pay to use our space and tools in his spare time to fix it up. I told him he could do it for free if he wanted a day job. Man's a genius with a wrench."

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, "Thanks, Boss. Uh, Mr. Thrice, would you like to show me your car?"

"Please, call me Cas," he said as he lead the way to the '65 Mustang. Dean let out a sad sigh, Cas. It was starting to rust around the wheel wells and along the edges of the hood. He popped open the hood, the engine needed a fair bit of work, but it was do-able.

"you talked to Mr. Spot about when you want this done?"

"Yeah, I'm giving him double whatever it costs to have you work exclusively on it."

"Excuse me?" Dean was flabbergasted, that was a lot of money. "Why?"

"Well this car means a lot to me. And I did drive by here a couple times and see the Impala in progress. I figure any man who can rebuild a body and an engine on an old piece of art like that is well worth my time and money," he tossed a wink at Dean. His smile looked just like Castiel's, he couldn't stop himself from blushing and looking away. His voice was smoother, it didn't have the same appeal but there was something about him that wouldn't let Dean just walk away. "So you just moved here a few months ago. I've heard all about you from my secretary who frequents that bar downtown. This handsome new mysterious mechanic that no woman can seem to bag, even though, as she puts it, 'he's a total ladies man.' Heck, even my wife mentioned you, said she saw you at the store."

"Yeah, I moved here about six months ago. What's your secretary's name?"

"Jenna, she's a pretty red head. Kinda tall and lean. Know her?"

Dean flipped through the names and faces in his head, "Oh yeah," he laughed, "She's uh, aggressive." She'd been pursuing Dean since he first came to town. He'd buy her a drink and talk to her, but as hard as she tried to get him to come home with her, he'd always decline. Dean hated to think he was being noticed, he just wanted to blend in, be normal. He'd rented a dingy studio apartment and got a job fixing cars. He'd work all day, and go home and cook himself a nice meal and meditate while he cleaned his guns. He'd been using his free time to learn to cook, he really enjoyed it. Crafting and experimenting. Mostly eating. After dinner he would space out and sort and clean his weaponry. Not that he had gone on a hunt since Sam fell, but he needed to know it was there.

"So Dean, can I get your number, I want to be able to check up on the progress."

"Well you can always call the shop, Mr. Thrice."

"No offense, but your office boy is dumber than a sack of hammers. I want to know from you personally how it's all going."

Dean felt uncomfortable, but he obliged the man and wrote his number on the back of one of the shop's business cards.

"Thanks! Oh, and Dean," he put a hand on Dean's shoulder, who thought the other man was standing awfully close. It reminded him of…No he wouldn't think about it. "Call me, Cas." He winked and walked away. Dean couldn't stop himself from turning and watching the familiar looking man.

He finished his work for that day and went home. He crawled into the shower and turned the hot water as high as it would go. He thought maybe he could steam Castiel out of him. Maybe if he could get the man out of his system he'd stop dreaming about him, stop missing him. It hadn't worked so far, but it had to work eventually.

The next few days went without incident. He began working on Castor Thrice's '65 fastback, if he had a big project he could just zone out and not think about anything. He started with sanding down the body, getting rid of the rust. He'd get everything on the car done in a two weeks if all the parts came in on time since Thrice was paying for Dean to only work on his car. Friday came and before he could get into the shower, his phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hey Dean, It's Cas Thrice."

"Oh, hey Mr. Thrice. I just finished sanding down the car today, I'm gonna paint her when I go in Sunday."

"Great! That's actually not why I called though. I know this is kind of imposing, but the wife is being a major hassle, I was wondering if I could come over a while and escape. I'll bring beer?"

Dean sighed away from the phone, "Well I just got off work, so I kind wanted to shower and relax."

"Right, right. Well I'll be over in half hour, that give you enough time to shower? You live in the Birch Court apartments, right?"

"How'd you know that?"

"Small town. See you soon!" he hung up on Dean who stood there for a moment trying to figure out what had happened. He scrambled into the shower and scrubbed himself down quickly. He didn't think he'd taken a long time but he heard a knock on the door as he turned off the water.

"Shit. ONE SECOND!" he hastily pulled a towel around his waist and bounded to the door, checking the peephole just to make sure it was Castor. "Hey Castor."

The other man's eyes slid over Dean like a hungry wolf looking at a steak, "Hello, Dean." He purred. Dean shuttered and felt sick.

"I'll be right back, clothes and stuff. uh just take a seat anywhere."

"No need to get all dressed up for me, Dean." He sat down at the lonely table in the sparse apartment and watched Dean retreat quickly to the bathroom with some clothes in hand.

Dean pulled on some jeans and a tight black t-shirt that didn't smell. Well it smelled like engine grease, but everything Dean owned smelled like that by now. He couldn't get rid of the horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. He came out and saw Castor lying on his bed with a beer in his hand.

"Come lounge around with me, Dean!" he waved Dean over, who reluctantly walked over and sat on the edge of the bed drinking a beer he'd snatched on the way.

"So, wife problems? What happened?"

"I got married," Castor laughed out. Dean feigned a chuckle which abruptly stopped when he felt a hand gently move up his back. "I came by earlier, saw you working on the car. You certainly know how to make a jumpsuit look good."

"Castor, I don't think—"

Castor pulled him back onto the bed, his beer spilled over his chest and neck. Castor licked a stream dribbling down his neck, and up to his ear, gently nipping at the lobe. "Why else wouldn't you take a woman like Jenna home, hmm? I saw the look in your eyes when you saw me the first time."

"You're married," he protested weakly.

"Got an appearance to maintain. Come on, Dean," he whispered into Dean's ear. His skin prickled with goosebumps. At this volume his voice purred like Castiel's. Castor straddled Dean and kissed him hard and sloppy. He tasted like beer and smelled like cheap aftershave. The only thing he had in common with his angel was the looks, and even that wasn't the same at this distance.

His angel.

It flashed in his mind like a neon sign.

He pushed Castor off and stood up.

"Stop. Get out of my apartment. I'll finish your car, but if you want an update you call the shop."

"Dean, come on, buddy."

"I'm not your fucking buddy," his voice was hard. "Get out."

Castor scrambled up and grabbed the rest of the beers and left.

Dean wanted another shower. The last night with Cas flashed in his mind and he was seized with regret and self loathing. He vomited into the sink. How could he do that to Cas? How could he say those things to his Castiel?

For the first time since he'd left Cas, for the first time since he'd watched Sam fall, he sat down on his bed and started praying.

"God, are you listening? Castiel said you were gone, but man, I need you to be there. I fucked up bad. I need Cas back. I'll do anything. Please, God. Please, Castiel. I'm sorry."