A/N: Last chapter got messed up somehow originally and most of it was missing. If it seemed really short or anything is confusing, you may want to make sure you saw the correct version.

By the way, I am a librarian myself; most of these anecdotes and questions are based on situations I or colleagues have experienced!

Following the disastrous Roadhouse trivia night, Dean had spent the rest of the weekend trying to avoid any moments where conscious thought might remind him of how idiotically he had behaved. Alcohol had only been able to help so much to that end; by Sunday morning, when his hangover was painful enough to make him conclude that he was simply too old for that form of induced amnesia, he decided to work his body into exhaustion instead. He scoured every inch of his kitchen, caught up on lawn work, washed his beloved car, and finally fell into bed after a near-scalding shower, ready to sleep the sleep of the dead for as long as possible.

Unfortunately, that end-point turned out to be just after eight o'clock the next morning, when the phone rang. "Dean?" Charlie said when he answered, sounding slightly flustered. "Are you busy this morning? Tell me you're not busy."

"Why would I tell you that? You'll just tell me that I am now," he grumbled.

"Well, yes, I will. But I need you to say it anyway."

He sighed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Okay, what do you need?"

"I was supposed to help Gilda with a new service dog program this morning around ten-thirty, but I forgot I had a doctor appointment."

"You okay?" Dean asked in concern.

"Um, yeah. It's…lady problems." Charlie had learned that that explanation was one that most men were willing to accept without asking any questions, on the off-hand risk that she might actually answer them.

"No, no, sure. I understand," Dean immediately replied, much to her satisfaction. "I'll help out however I can, but, Charlie, I'm no good with dogs. What am I supposed to do, here?"

"Don't worry," she assured him. "Gilda will have everything under control."

After he finished the phone call, Dean tried to rouse his still-fatigued body with coffee and breakfast, pulling on a comfortable flannel shirt and pants that he decided wouldn't bother him when they got covered in the inevitable dog hair. Gilda was picking him up in her work van, since, as Charlie had predicted, "we wouldn't want to get fur all over your Baby, of course." Dean's car was definitely a Dog-Free Zone, and he appreciated the girls' foresight.

When Gilda arrived, her van was full of blissed out shagginess and lolling tongues. "Dean, I hope you don't mind, but Lolli has to ride shotgun. She's in training, and we're learning she gets a bit carsick if she can't be by an open window." The golden retriever strapped into a harness in the front passenger seat seemed to grin at the sound of her name. Dean shrugged and climbed into the seat behind the dog, eyeing the other two dogs harnessed next to and behind him. One was another golden, and the other appeared to be mostly a mound of black, brown, and white fur with bright blue eyes.

"That's Lolli's sister, Mabel, beside you," Gilda continued with her introductions. "Mabel's an old pro, so I'm working Lolli beside her to teach her the ropes. Max is the Aussie in the back, and I'll have you holding his leash so I can take the girls. Max knows what he's doing, so you won't have to direct him much, but he can be a stinker sometimes."

"Have you tried switching his food?" Dean cracked. This was a bit outside his comfort zone, so he was joking around to hide his apprehension. The things I do for Charlie, he thought with a grimace.

Gilda grinned and rolled her eyes. "Just don't drop your guard. He likes to play."

"Well, me, too, I suppose. Hey, Max, go easy on me, okay?" He reached back to pat Max hesitantly on the head. He was probably imagining the smirk he thought the dog gave him in return.

As the van headed into the downtown area, Dean began to wonder about some of the details Charlie had been vague in explaining. "So it's a kids' program, right? Letting kids cuddle with them while we supervise?"

"Sort of." Gilda seemed distracted, apparently looking for parking. "It's a new literacy program, 'Tales for Tails.' Children who are struggling with reading sometimes feel better doing it with someone who won't judge them if they make mistakes, so the dogs are a good fit. The kids can sit next to them and read stories, and the dogs make them feel more relaxed and confident."

When Gilda mentioned books and reading, Dean began to get a strange feeling. Surely, Charlie wouldn't be setting him up like that. "Gilda, where is the program being held?" Gilda was quiet. Dean waited, getting increasingly agitated. "Gilda…"

"Okay, look! This was not my idea! Honestly, I don't want to be involved in this at all, especially not with my babies! But Charlie begged, with those big puppy eyes, and you know how she can do that, and now it's too late! The library board approved it, and it's really a good program, or I would never have agreed! There's nothing we can do now. I need to have the dogs in there in ten minutes, and there's no way I can safely handle three leashes, especially not with one dog in training. Dean, I'm really sorry, but please don't be mad at me, and please don't back out!"

Dean closed his eyes as Gilda's apologies washed over him, feeling a bizarre mix of a desire to flee and the urge to stop fighting. They pulled into the library parking lot, Gilda still darting nervous looks back at him, and he sighed and patted her shoulder. "It's all right, not your fault. Gotta say, this goes beyond Charlie's usual schemes. Getting boards involved? She must be upping her game lately."

"Well, she wasn't working alone this time," Gilda muttered.

"What? Who else is in on this?"

"You remember that man who pissed Sam off at the Roadhouse on Trivia Night?"

"Who, the jackass who was bragging about beating us?" Because he was teamed up with Cas. He was his brother! Could Cas be in on this thing? I can't deal with this. He rolled his head back onto the headrest. Hot breath puffed against his neck, and a moment later, Max jammed his tongue directly into Dean's ear.


Castiel watched Gilda and Dean, leading the dogs, were greeted by the youth librarian as they walked into the children's area. He told himself again, for the millionth time, that this was a terrible, terrible idea, and that he was the worst sort of idiot for allowing it to happen.

The problem was that the program itself was undeniably a good idea. Who would have thought that Gabriel would propose a plan in which the core concept was actually likely to be extremely successful for the library? Libraries across the country were doing similar programs, and they were wildly popular. Anything proven to encourage young people to become readers wasn't something Castiel could flatly refuse, no matter how torn he felt about the motivation behind it. And sitting there that night at the bar, looking at the determined faces of the three conspirators (well, two conspirators; Gilda looked as conflicted as he felt), he knew there was little chance he'd be able to have the program without accepting the scheme.

That didn't mean that he had the first idea what to do now that Dean was actually in his library. Charlie and Gabriel had stared at him when he'd brought up that problem, confused as to why their suggestion of "just talk to him!" was likely to be somewhat inadequate.

I don't have to do anything at all, he thought unhappily. It's a children's program, and Linda is handling it. There's no real reason for me to go over there, and Dean's not going to come over here, either. In fact, Dean looked anxious, though it was hard to tell whether that was because of his obvious inexperience handling the large dog currently pulling him forward or because of any other reasons.

Charlie had said that Dean liked him. She had showed admirably loyalty in refusing to divulge too many other details, as frustrating as Castiel had found it at the time, but she had been firm about that fact.

Dean liked him, and apparently Dean was a wonderful person who, Charlie swore, just needed a little help to get over the initial awkwardness and nerves that were standing between them. Okay, but what about my own nerves? Castiel fretted. How am I qualified to help anybody feel less socially clumsy? I'm the king of Poor People Skills.

There was a small crowd of children gathered around the dogs, waiting their turns to read. Dean looked a little more relaxed now that the dog he was handling was flopped on the ground beside a young girl instead of attempting to herd stray toddlers. He kept his eyes firmly trained on the dog, either worried about further misbehavior or deliberately trying to avoid glancing toward the reference desk. Castiel, actually standing just behind the corner of a shelf (definitely not "lurking") at the entrance to the adult reading room, had actually left the desk unmanned. He hadn't been providing particularly effective service, anyway, as distracted as he was. He'd finally grabbed a handful of books and was now doing an impression of the world's laziest shelver, frozen in place with book in hand as he stared at Dean and the dog. From this distance, Castiel couldn't see the gorgeous green eyes that had haunted his memories since he first gazed into them, but he imagined that he could see them sparkling as Dean smiled and introduced the dog to the boy next in line. The thought made his knees feel weak.

Child after child sat with the animals, snuggling as they turned pages. On any other day, Castiel would have been reduced to a happy pile of warm fuzzies by now, watching them. Instead, his mind kept recording the passing of time, insisting that if he didn't say something soon, he was going to lose his opportunity. Dean would leave, and he wouldn't be tricked into coming back. Castiel would feel even more frustrated, which would lead to even more tension between them, and it was all going to fall apart if he didn't just walk across the damn room and say hello. He ground his teeth. A small boy finished his book, stood, and threw his arms around Dean's knee, and Castiel had to crush down a wave of irrational jealousy.

I'm being absolutely ridiculous, he decided. Right now, I'm walking over there. I'm just going to go up to him, smile, not grab his leg, open my mouth, and –

"Excuse me? Will you help me with the copy machine?"

Castiel blinked, trying to pull his head back into the present. "What?"

A middle-aged woman frowned at him, waving a handful of papers. "I need the copy machine, and it never works right. Come help me."

"I'll be over in just a minute or two," he said, fighting feelings of annoyance. Twisting his head back around, he saw that Dean and Gilda were thanking the last children, and Linda was approaching the pair with a handful of dog treats.

"No, I'm in a hurry. I'm late, and your copy machine always takes forever, and then it messes up and takes my money. I swear, I don't know what my tax money is paying for…"

"Ma'am, I'm sorry," Castiel hurriedly said. There's no time for this now. "If you like, I can get an assistant to come work with you –"

"No! You're not doing anything, and I asked you! I don't know why I come in here, you're all so useless, and nothing ever does what it's supposed to do!" The woman, now shouting, had apparently decided to pin every library-related aggravation she'd ever felt on Castiel, and she would not be stopped. "I have no idea why we even have libraries anymore! You could be replaced by Google and a chain bookstore! You should be grateful you even exist, and yet you're just standing around doing nothing! This is nothing but a place for perverts to find internet pornography and lazy bums to get things for free instead of getting a real job! And you won't even – "

"Lady! How about you just shut up and listen?" Castiel, who had been gaping in wordless shock at the onslaught, hadn't even noticed anyone behind him, but the deep, rich voice at his shoulder resounded in his ears with a warmth and fierceness that made him feel suddenly protected. "I don't know what library you've been using, but I've never been anything but amazed at the kind of service this guy provides. I've never thrown a thing at him that he can't handle, and he does it because he loves it, not because he's some kind of mindless computer. Librarians are professionals, not slaves. And if you can't even work a copy machine, then maybe you need to take a look at who the useless one here is, but I bet that if you apologized and asked nicely, this man would still probably take you over there and help you, 'cause that's the kind of person he is."

The woman, now open-mouthed and wide-eyed, looked dazed at the righteous defense of Castiel and his profession. Dean stood tall and assertive beside Castiel, radiating indignation, almost daring the woman to argue back. After a few beats of tense silence, she lowered her eyes and exhaled with a huff.

"I apologize for raising my voice," she said stiffly. "I believe I can assist myself." She turned and left as quickly as wounded pride allowed her to move. Castiel tried very hard not to goggle.

"Hope she won't complain to anybody about that," Dean said in a quieter voice. "If you get in any trouble, I'll take the blame, tell them that she was out of line and I was the one who told her to knock it off, not you." He suddenly looked worried, twisting in his hands the leash he was holding; the dog at the other end was sniffing the carpet, apparently unconcerned.

Castiel cocked his head, recalling the woman's expression. "No, I doubt she'll complain. Too many people were around to hear, and she's probably embarrassed by the scene she made. I do thank you. Confrontations like those are rare, but I don't usually have back-up when they happen."

Dean was smiling at him. Castiel was smiling in return. Neither of them was mentioning that they knew who the other was, let alone addressing that this was the second time they had met face-to-face. A casual observer might have remarked that, as the moment stretched on, the two men had moved beyond "meaningful glance" into "soulful gaze territory. Any such observer, though, was wisely keeping his mouth shut, sensing that the unresolved sexual tension in the air might just be heading toward resolution.

"Hi," Dean finally said, breaking the silence. "Um, I'm Dean."

"Hello, Dean," Castiel said. "I'm Cas—OOF." At that moment, Max chose to demonstrate the validity of Gilda's warning by swiftly and without warning ramming his nose directly into Castiel's crotch. Startled, Castiel stumbled backward, lost his balance, and fell on his ass with a thud that drove the breath from his lungs.

"Max! No!" Dean hauled on the leash, frantically trying to drag the dog off Castiel's chest, where he had jumped to lick at the librarian's face. He looked positively mortified, groaning, "No, no, no," while Castiel spluttered and tried to stand back up. "Gilda, help!" he finally cried.

After Gilda came to the rescue, apologizing profusely and leading the dogs (suddenly now well-behaved) to the van, Castiel found himself staring at Dean's back, where he had been leaning his forehead against the shelf silently. He felt truly awful; yet again, their chance to finally meet and know each other had blown up in catastrophe. "Um, Dean?" The man's shoulders were shaking. Was he…crying? "Dean, are you okay?"

"Am I okay?" Dean said in a strained voice. "First I called you a girl, just because you work at a library, Then I spilled beer on you and ran off, and now I'm molesting you with dogs." He finally turned around and looked Castiel in the face. He wasn't crying; he was shaking with laughter. "Dude, the universe is trying to tell me something. It's either that I need to give up trying before I somehow blow us all up, or that I need to just…get over myself already. Stop freaking out, unbend, and laugh. So, I give up. Here's me laughing. The world wants to drop a bomb on me, whatever. I can take it."

Castiel was unable to resist the infectious laughter punctuating Dean's surrender speech. "You can take it? Based on which of us keeps getting soaked – in beer, in drool – maybe I'm the one who'll need to duck and cover."

They were both laughing in pure relief, the tension and nervousness drained away completely. Finally, Dean wiped his eyes and grinned. "Well, Cas, if we're dodging missiles from the universe, wanna dodge together? You free tonight? I promise, no dogs."

Castiel couldn't have been more emphatic in his acceptance.