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Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Dean was running late. On top of his job at the radio station, he also worked at a garage- Bobby Singer's garage, to be accurate, and Bobby was going to kill him. Dean cursed morning traffic and his need for decent coffee. No matter how hard he tried, Bobby couldn't just make decent coffee and Dean wasn't a fan of the coffee he made himself. So Dean rushed out of the coffee shop, running into a man.

"Fuck!" Dean cursed. "Watch where you're going!"

"You ran into me," the dark, gravelly voice informed him with a frown. Dean looked up and under different circumstances, he would have been caught by the man's looks, like in the movies. But this was a circumstance where he was already running late to work because of traffic and coffee, and had just spilled the very coffee he had been running late for, and not to mention Bobby was going to kill him, and not to mention Dean hated chick flicks.

"I'm going to be late, damn it!"

"That is hardly my fault,"

"Well I'm going to be even later now- fuck!"

"Well maybe you should have woken up earlier and would you please refrain from cursing in front of my two year old-"

"Right, because a two year old is going to learn how to cuss. Bye," Dean said, grabbing napkins and pressing them against the coffee stain on his pants and shirt as he rushed to his car.

Castiel looked after the man with a frown, turning his attention back to Claire.

"He was rather rude, wasn't he?" Castiel huffed. The two year old stared at him and Castiel sighed, giving her another spoonful of cake. "And of course, you have no idea what I'm saying, do you? That's okay. I don't understand you, either." Claire gurgled happily at Castiel and Castiel smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Castiel distracted himself from thinking he'd heard the voice somewhere before by engaging himself in a game of peek-a-boo with his niece and eating another bite of cake.

"You ran into me," Hours later, the voice still wouldn't leave Dean's head. Where had he heard that voice? It sounded too familiar and yet, Dean couldn't place it. It was annoying.

"Dean, you in here?" Sam called.

"In here, Sammy," Dean called from under the hood of the car he was working on, ignoring his brother's grumble at being called Sammy. His younger brother had two coffee cups and a bag in his hands. Dean looked up and groaned. "Please tell me one of those is for me." Dean grabbed a rag and began wiping himself free of the oil.

"Yep. Bobby gave me a call and told me you were in one of your moods," Sam said, sliding into the passenger seat as Dean slid into the driver's seat. "I figured coffee was the solution."

"Figured right," Dean said, taking the coffee. "What's in the bag?"

"I figured that you missed breakfast too," Sam shrugged.

"Dude, if you weren't my brother, I'd marry you," Dean said happily, reaching for the bag and making Sam roll his eyes.

"You'll say you'll marry anyone who brings you food," Sam said.

"That's not true," Dean denied.

"Name two times," Sam challenged.

"Two?" Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Because I know you can name one," Sam said. Dean smirked and took a bite out of the sandwich Sam had brought him, wisely choosing not to comment on how Sam was trying to get him to eat healthier. Sometimes, Dean wondered whether or not Sam had majored in prelaw or premed. Although, he was sure Sam would excel in whatever he did.

"Hey, that one chick was crazy. No way was I gonna eat that shit," Dean said. Sam chuckled and then frowned.

"Who'd you meet?" Sam asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about. How'd your client-lawyer meeting go?" Dean asked.

"The dude's cousin showed up in his place," Sam answered. "Who'd you meet, Dean? I know that expression."

"What expression?"

"The one on your face,"

"There is no expression on my face,"

"You met someone and you have the look. You met someone,"

"Is that your best evidence, Mr. Hot Shot Lawyer?" Dean smirked.

"Dean," Sam whined, giving him his puppy dog eyes. Dean groaned. He was willing to bet Sam didn't win the cases he won because he was a good lawyer- it was those goddamned puppy dog eyes. No one could say no to the puppy dog eyes, and if they could, they felt guilty later.

"Put those away!" Dean growled, but of course, Sam didn't listen and feigned innocence.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sam said.

"Liar," Dean grumbled. "I ran into some guy."

"Was he hot?" Sam asked. "He was hot, wasn't he?"

"I don't know- don't look at me like that. Shut up!" Dean growled. "Shut up! He spilled my damned coffee on me!"

"I didn't say anything," Sam blinked.

"You were thinking it," Dean said and Sam smirked. "Fine, he was hot alright? But that's not the point?"

"Then what is the point?" Sam asked.

"I can't get his voice out of my head," Dean said. "There you happy?"

"What's he sound like?" Sam asked.

"Dark, gravelly… deep," Dean said. "It doesn't matter. It just sounds like I've heard it before. Wanna see if she runs?"

"Start her up," Sam shrugged. Dean put the key in its slot and turned. They held their breath as the car's engine roared to life and then gave little cheers of joy. Dean's grin faded when he heard the radio.

"I'm Castiel Novak and there is a two year old named Claire sitting on my lap and you're listening to the real story,"

"Fuck," Dean said.

"What?" Sam asked.

"Shh," Dean hushed.

"If you're wondering why there's a two year old on my lap, my brother left me with baby sitting duty. He was supposed to pick her up before my job started. Oh, there he is. Why are you late? Did someone spill coffee on you and blame it on you too? Uh oh, he's giving me the look again..."

"There's a lot of people spilling coffee today," Sam commented. "Oh, don't tell me... the dude you spilled coffee on was the guy you've been fighting with on the radio, isn't it?" Dean glared at Sam and crossed his arms. Sam started laughing.

"Dude, it's totally karma!"