a better method of pretending (dean/cas big bang 2k11) (1)
Dean Smith likes his life quiet, he likes the easiness of what he does and he likes doing what he does. He likes the people he works with, he likes the way things are neat and organized. Until they aren’t.
-
Sam Wesson looks over the desk at Dean Smith.
Dean is drinking coffee, staring at his laptop and very obviously brooding.
“What’s up?” Sam asks, spinning slightly in his chair.
Dean twitches and lifts his eyes, squinting. “…Why are you even here?”
Sam shrugs. “You love me.”
Dean rolls his eyes. Sam’s a good guy and a good worker, not even that annoying. Ever since the couple of murders that happened earlier in the year, Sam and Dean have become…friends. It’s not exactly a normal friendship, usually only consisting of Dean and Sam sharing coffee in the morning before Dean has to kick Sam out of his office (“It’s the rules, and I have to follow the rules,” Dean explains to a slightly pouting Sam).
“So, why are you really here?”
Sam shrugs. “Why am I ever here?” he asks, sipping at his coffee. “I thought you liked my presence.”
“I like your presence,” Dean says, returning his gaze to the laptop. He squints. “Fuckin’ journalists.”
“Hm?”
Sam props himself up, trying to peer at the screen. Dean turns it slightly and points at the title. “Bastard.”
Sam scans the article.
“Cute bastard.”
Dean tightens his jaw and glares. “Is that all you think about? This guy is…he’s…he’s more than just a guy, or some random person on the Internet with a blog. Why are blogs even legal, Sam?”
“Well, we live in the United States of America, you see, and here, free speech is legal…You’re gonna get criticized, Mr. Smith, you might as well roll with the punches and look on the bright side. He’s adorable.”
“It also seems as though he’s set out to ruin my life, which is not cool. I’m this close to getting a promotion.” Dean does the thing with his thumb and forefinger, making them nearly touch but not quite, just enough to see through the crack. “This article could ruin it.”
Sam raises an eyebrow. “Then how about you don’t show it to Zach?”
Dean purses his lips and glares, closing out of the window.
“Get to work, Wesson.”
Sam laughs, no longer intimidated. “Of course, Mr. Smith.”
Dean grabs at one of his plastic frames but Sam’s darted out of the room with a laugh before he can throw it.
He opens the minimized window and glares at the article for a couple of minutes more.
“What the hell kind of name is ‘Castiel’ anyway?” he finally mutters, and he closes the window for good, ignoring the words that jump out at him - soulless, evil, Capitalist, undertakers.
Dean is not soulless.
-
“Hey Sam, what’s up?”
Ruby sits down across from him with her salad closed, beginning to shake the container. Sam takes a bite of his sandwich. “Not much,” he answers through turkey. She rolls her eyes.
“You’re totally out of it, you have been all day. Don’t tell me you’re having an affair with Mr. Smith. Come on, Sam, snap out of it.”
Sam pauses for a moment before realizing that yes, it’s normal for Ruby to call Dean Mr. Smith, because he is Mr. Smith. He’s their boss and Sam suddenly feels a little guilty when he thinks about how casual he is with Dean. He forgets about it almost immediately when he looks back at Ruby as she stabs at lettuce with her fork. She’s always kind of violent when she eats. He likes that about her.
“No, I’m not having an affair with Mr. Smith,” he answers after a moment. Ruby snorts and stabs at a tomato. “Why would you say that?”
“Because you go to his office every morning? Because that’s the rumor around here? I wouldn’t be surprised; he’s not exactly the…totally heterosexual type.” She pauses to look him up and down, popping a tomato slice into her mouth and chewing before continuing. “And neither are you. Ah, he’s probably closeted and you’re just kind of stupid.”
Sam huffs. “I think you’re being unfair. Mr. Smith and I are just friends, that’s all. As far as I know, he’s one hundred percent heterosexual.” Which is a total lie. Sam’s known since the moment he set foot into Dean’s perfectly straightened apartment that he was at least bisexual. Plus, he is the handsomest man Sam has ever seen (even cuter than Castiel Novak, the bitchy journalist) and he doesn’t have a wife, or even a girlfriend. The words ‘suspicious’ and ‘closeted bisexual who refuses to admit that hunky guys are indeed hunky’ come to mind.
Ruby rolls her eyes again, chewing. “Well then, what about you? Or are you pining after your boss? That’d be cute.” She snorts, as if it’s not actually cute at all and Sam can’t help but smile at her. “Ahh, I can imagine that. Sweet.”
“Shut up,” Sam chides. “I’m not interested in him.”
“Who are you interested in, then?”
Sam doesn’t answer, just glowers.
-
Sam peaks his head into Dean’s office just as he’s putting on his coat. “You’re leaving?”
Dean frowns at him. “Yeah.”
Sam glances at his watch. “You usually don’t leave ‘til later, I was just…wondering.”
Dean raises his eyebrows. “I’m going on vacation soon so I’ve been leaving office early. It’s not like I’m really needed here.”
“Well, then can I come over?”
Dean shakes his head, exasperated but Sam grins, knowing he’ll always win. “Whatever, just hurry up.”
Sam grins again. “I’m ready, waiting for you.”
Dean rolls his eyes and they head out into the parking lot.
“When are you ever going to get your own car?”
“Dunno,” Sam says as he walks over to the passenger seat. Dean’s got a nice car, stylish and extravagant with leather seats, and Sam has always been tempted to make jokes about how Dean must be overcompensating for something, but he always resists, for the greater good. Well, for his own good. “I don’t exactly get paid that well.”
Dean snorts as he starts the engine. “Get another job then.”
“Aww, you know you’d miss me, I’d miss you. I’d be a wreck.”
“Oh, whatever. What’s the real reason you wanted to come home with me?”
“Well, I was hoping I could get you drunk…” Sam trails off from the daggered glare from Dean. “I’m joking, come on, loosen up. You know Ruby?” He’s quick to change the topic.
“Sam, you know you’re a special case. I don’t know any of the other workers besides you. What, is she your girlfriend?”
“Not…quite. She thinks we’re gay.”
Dean snorts. “Well, I’m not surprised. Look at you.”
Sam lets out a bark of laughter. “She seemed more keen and pinning the open sexuality on you, my friend. Come on, when was the last time you even had a girlfriend? You don’t…do…anything. Like, with girls. You hang out with me all the time, what does that say about your sexuality? That you’re ambiguous, that’s what.”
Dean glances over at Sam, hands still on the steering wheel, eyebrow cocked and mouth curved into a half smile. “Don’t use such big words, you might hurt that little brain of yours.”
Sam flicks him off, because it seems like the most appropriate response.
-
They end up on the couch, legs tangled, eating Chinese takeout. Dean would never openly admit it, but nights at home with Sam are kind of his favorite. They usually end up watching bad soap operas or whatever’s on, really. Sam likes to channel surf and Dean’s a closet fan of a bunch of hospital shows, so he always perks up a little when Sam lands on a rerun of Dr. Sexy, M.D. or anything of the sort. But he never actually says anything, keeps it a secret. Still, Dean’s pretty sure Sam’s probably aware of his addiction.
They’re actually both staring at the TV together as a woman with tanned skin, giant breasts, and long, wavy black hair yells in Spanish at a Latino man on the other side of the room. Sam’s chopsticks are halfway to his mouth and now he’s just frowning as the woman bursts into tears and basically flings herself outside. The man calls her name with a thick accent and hurries after, but she’s long gone.
It cuts to commercial, fast speaking Spanish voices voicing the adverts. “Change the channel, now,” Dean manages, finishing off the rice and chicken he had been staring at. Sam fumbles for the remote and begins to click, shifting so his ankle isn’t awkwardly placed between Dean’s legs. Dean lifts his legs to give Sam more room and they end up settling on Comedy Central.
“Scrubs,” Sam says, setting the remote down and smiling at the screen. “Much better, quality television.”
“Sure, whatever. What’s it about?”
Sam begins to explain a basic overview and Dean loses him about a minute in, thoughts drifting. He starts to think about work, which he knows he shouldn’t. Maybe he should contact that Castiel guy, try to get him on his side. But why is he getting worked up over one article? They get bad articles and reviews all over the place, usually by liberal loons who just don’t understand how business works, and it’s never been a big deal. But for some reason Dean is bothered by this guy, who had seemed so sure of himself in his writing and even in the photograph thumbnail.
Dean supposes Sam was right, the guy was kind of attractive, but that’s not exactly the point. In fact, that is so far off from the point it’s absolutely ridiculous, and Dean finds himself laughing in his head at the whole idea.
“Dean!”
Sam’s voice is sharp, and brings Dean back from his thoughts. “Hmm? Yeah. Scrubs.”
“You didn’t hear a word I said…” Sam mutters darkly, shaking his head. He detangles himself from Dean’s legs and takes their Chinese into the kitchen. “Why don’t you get a bigger apartment? It’s not like you can’t afford it.”
Dean frowns, considering the question. He looks around the apartment for a moment. “I like it here.”
“That’s it?” Sam laughs noisily through his nose. “Yeah, well.” He hesitates. “It’s cozy.”
“It’s even nicer when you’re not here.” Dean’s just teasing, but he eyes Sam in a critical way. “Did you want to talk to me about this Ruby girl or did you actually just want to eat takeout on my couch and watch bad reruns?”
Sam laughs more easily this time, leaving the kitchen and leaning against the couch. “She’s funny, kind of sarcastic and mean but also sort of…” Sam pauses and Dean watches him quietly, this time actually listening. “Like, she’s smart, she could be anywhere. I don’t know why she’s working as a number cruncher at Arch and Angel’s.”
Dean shrugs. “Bad times,” he says. “The economy’s down, probably all she could get. What’s she look like?”
“She’s…small. Long, dark hair. Sometimes she keeps it straight but sometimes she lets it wave and curl, which I think looks best. And she’s got this mouth, Jesus, and this smile. When she laughs it’s the best.”
“You’re head over heels and you’ve known the girl, what? Two weeks.”
“Almost exactly.” Sam sighs. “I don’t think she likes me.”
Dean blinks. “Of course she likes you. Do people not like you?”
Sam shrugs. “People like me, they just never like me,” he says, purposely exaggerating the second ‘like’ to get his point across. “You know? I haven’t had a girlfriend since Madison…died.” He licks his lips and then shakes his head. “And you know, it’s weird, kind of tough.”
“Ask her out,” Dean suggests. It’s much easier for him to be bold for someone else. He’d never do it if it were him, but this is Sam. “You’re a good guy, and if she talks to you she’s got to know it. Ask to take her for coffee or something, Starbucks, something fancy. That’ll get her attention.”
Sam sighs again then turns to smile at Dean. “You’re a matchmaker. You know, that’s kind of ridiculous.”
“What? Why is that ridiculous?”
“Because…look!” Sam gestures.
“You just…that’s all of me.” Dean’s frown deepens, half with annoyance and half with confusion.
“Yeah, you! You’re this guy with a lot of money, really handsome and a pretty good guy at the heart of it all, and yet you live by yourself in an apartment and your weekly thrill is eating Chinese takeout with one of your employees. I don’t even know if that’s legal!”
Dean scowls and scoffs. “As long as we’re not having sex or being scandalous or whatever, it’s totally okay. And anyway, I’m a busy man. I don’t have time for a girlfriend, or for anything, really. I need to be prepared for…for…” Dean stops and lets out a breath. “You know, making it to the top.”
Sam studies him for a moment in silence, the sounds of commercials in the background.
“But what’s gonna happen when you finally make it?”
Dean’s not sure how to answer that.
“Ah, well. Thanks for dinner, and the advice. And you know, don’t worry too much. You’re a smart, young guy. And you’re already a manager of our floor, it’s only a matter of time before you keep moving up the corporate ladder. But you know…that Novak guy may have had a point. I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”
Dean sits, baffled, as Sam pulls on his coat and waves, walking out of his apartment and to the bus station.
Dean settles back on the couch and folds his arms over his chest.
-
A knock on Dean’s door distracts him from an e-mail to his mother. “Hello, hello, hello.”
“Oh, good morning, sir,” Dean says, exiting out of the Gmail window and smiling at Zachariah. ‘Zach’ as he likes to be called is one of the co-founders of the entire business - Arch and Angel’s Motors and Vehicles - and the Executive Chief of the building. Though he’d never say it out loud, it’s Zach’s job that Dean is after, and Zach is so close to retirement Dean can almost taste it in the air.
“I need to talk to you, Mr. Smith.” Zachariah’s smile is a little tense, eyes tight, Dean swallows to calm his sudden nerves.
“Of course, sit down.” He turns his full attention on Zach, folding his hands on the desk in front of him. He suddenly feels guilty for leaving his salad on the desk besides him, though he had been ten minutes from his lunch break. Zachariah doesn’t even give it a look as he sits in the chair across from Dean.
“You may have seen the article online. Written by Castiel Novak? It was e-mailed out yesterday by one of the higher-ups.”
Dean nods slowly, confused as to where this is going. They take most of their criticism and send it to managers and the like to help gain experience and knowledge. In reality, the critiques and angry articles are sometimes the best because they’ve helped the company to improve, something acknowledged throughout the state.
“We need to make that go away.”
Dean frowns further. “Uhm. Why, sir? I mean…Who is he?”
Zachariah’s eyes widen with shock. “You don’t know? I suggest you do some Googling, son, or you won’t be sticking around for much longer.” Dean blinks, taken aback from the comment, but Zach continues before he has much of a chance to defend himself. “He’s going to be at our building starting next week, and we’re going to be treating this man like royalty. He’ll be on your floor, so he’ll be your responsibility. I trust you, Dean.” It’s only when Zach is very serious does he use anyone’s first name. “I need you to get him to delete that article and to write a much better one.”
Dean is baffled by the sudden turn of events. Some journalist is - is going to be living with him? An exaggeration, but mostly true.
Dean realizes something just as Zachariah is standing to leave. “But - But sir, I’m…taking vacation starting next week.” His heart drops to his stomach when he realizes that this vacation is a bust. Zachariah looks at him like he’s insane.
“You can take a vacation anytime you want, Smith,” he says with a laugh, though it’s humorless. “Just make it anytime after next month.”
Zach doesn’t give him a chance to say anything else, leaving and shutting the door behind him.
Dean sinks back into his chair, deflated.
“Fuck,” he whispers after a moment, then glances at the clock. It’s noon. He grabs his salad, opens the Internet, and types into the Google search bar ‘Castiel Novak’ to do that research so he doesn’t get fired.
-
Dean finds out that Castiel Novak is one of the most prominent young journalists of their time. He’s got two years on Dean, but he’s written for numerous magazines, journals (literary and otherwise), newspapers, and he even has a novel. Dean pays attention to the politic articles and notices most of them are deep critiques of companies he considers heavily flawed. Dean recognizes some of the names of these companies - names of strong, conservative based companies that sunk not a year or two after the articles were published. Dean brushes off his nerves because it has to be something else. It has to be.
Castiel is described by his peers as smart, sharp, and filled to the brim with humor. Does this guy realize he’s ruining people’s lives? Dean thinks absently as he scrolls through a biography. He’s handsome, alright; Dean will give him that, but what son of a bitch lives for this kind of stuff?
Dean finds a couple of articles Castiel has written for Newsweek, The New York Times, Upfront Magazine, National Geographic and realizes that he really should have recognized this guy. He wonders why he’s never come across him before when he’s as prominent in the same world as Dean.
Maybe Dean’s just starting to lose his touch.
He shakes it off. So, the guy’s a dick? He has to live with him around for a month, it shouldn’t be too bad or too hard. He’s dealt with dicks before, and this is just another one. And once it’s over, he can have his god damn vacation and promotion, and feel good about it.
-
Castiel Novak is not thrilled when he gets a call of Arch and Angel’s Motors and Vehicles, but this Zachariah guy speaks to him in such a way that he finds himself curious and he accepts the invite to basically shadow one of the floor managers (and apparently the guy’s also Head of Marketing) for a couple of weeks, and see what the company is ‘really’ about. He doubts it will change his outlook but it’s a better deal than nothing, and he’s always been open to different opinions. Despite his feelings about the company as a whole, he’s sure the people there are good people who deserve their jobs. They should just look somewhere else, for the good of the nation.
“You’ll be with Dean Smith, on floor four. You’ll know him when you see him.”
Castiel doubts this, but he thinks Dean will probably know him. Castiel doesn’t have an ego (at least, not so much so that it interferes with the rest of his life), but he’s aware of how his influence has spread, he knows that certain conservative business owners are scared of him, and that doesn’t really bother him much. After all, most of them are pulling the same scheme every time. Inherited money, making more off of the poor. He doesn’t have any pity or sympathy.
But perhaps he does have a little bit of an ego, but he figures he owes himself that much, putting everything into consideration.
“What do you think, Uriel?” Uriel sits across from Castiel at the bar, nursing his drink slowly. They’re both still wearing suits, having just gotten out of their office, and Castiel has just told his story about meeting the ‘great Dean Smith’ and spending a month as his shadow.
“It should be interesting,” Uriel says with a slow nod. “Just don’t get too caught up in it. A month is a long time, don’t want you getting attached to these folk.”
“I’m not concerned,” Castiel laughs, rolling his neck. “I’m sure they’re all just a bunch of dicks anyway. I doubt I have anything to worry about.”
“You’re a cocky bastard, you know that, Castiel?” Uriel smirks at him, heavy and dangerous. Castiel returns the look. “It’s going to get you killed someday.”
“Yes, well.” Castiel sits up and takes another slug of beer. “Today is not that day. I have plenty of time, thank you. I start on Monday. And you know - I don’t have to worry about pay or anything.”
Uriel laughs.
-
Dean comes to work the following Monday nervous and uptight. He doesn’t mean to be, he even drinks herbal tea before he goes hoping it’ll calm the nerves making his stomach jump around all of the place, but to no avail. Maybe he shouldn’t have even read up on Castiel Novak, and then he wouldn’t so damn afraid of him. He doesn’t think he actually has anything to be afraid of, because Sam has told him countless times that he’s a good person, he just comes off as kind of cold to people who don’t know him. Dean himself knows that there’s nothing wrong with him. He’s aware he was a bit spoiled as a kid, and as a teenager, and as an adult, even, but nothing he thinks that led to any permanent damage. He’s aware of how lucky he is to have his job and his money and his car and his apartment, and he takes care of his employees and shows empathy for human beings. Maybe money is important in some ways, but he’s not stupid and he’s not that selfish. Making other people - customers - happy is what, in the end, matters.
No matter how boring or cliché.
So why is he so worried? It’s like kindergarten all over again, when he told his mother he was afraid that the kids were going to pick on him. She had assured him that they weren’t and they hadn’t, so why is Dean so full of panic now? He’s a big kid - he can take care of himself.
Still.
Castiel is a different breed, the type of person Dean’s never dealt with in his life, and he doesn’t know if he can deal with it. He’s a strong person, and he’s willing to listen to others, but this is different.
Journalists, God. He hates journalists. Self-righteous pricks that wave around their degree and claim they have experience.
Bull. Shit.
Dean pulls into his regular space and gets out of his car. He smiles and waves at two girls who he recognizes as fifth floor employees on his way inside, pushing the glass doors open. He works his way into the building, sparing smiles and waves towards people he recognizes and people he knows until he manages to get into an overcrowded elevator.
“Hey.”
Sam’s behind him, and he looks at him through one of the elevator mirrors, balancing his coffee. Two women get out at the next floor, leaving them with more space. “Good morning.”
“Thought you were on vacation.” Sam frowns. “Plus, you look deathly ill. What are you doing here?”
“Castiel Novak is in this building,” Dean explains with a sigh. “On my floor. I get my vacation in a month.” He frowns and peers at himself in the mirror. “Do I really look bad?” He turns to look at Sam. “Do I look okay up close?”
Sam smiles and pats him on the shoulder. “Nerves, huh? It’s like high school all over again, meeting your first Chem partner. Good luck, buddy.”
Sam gets out on the same level as Dean but they head in different directions, Dean towards his office.
He enters, expecting to have some time to gather himself, but instead there’s a man standing in front of his desk, holding a photograph.
“Uh, excuse me…” Dean feels like he really shouldn’t have to say ‘excuse me’ in his own office, but he holds his tongue. “Hello.”
The man turns and, yes, it’s Castiel Novak. He looks even more regal in person, icy blue eyes and chapped lips, stubble shaved carefully and cleanly all around. Maybe Dean shouldn’t have noticed those things so sharply. Castiel sets down the photo carefully then glances at the frame before back at Dean. “Your sister?”
Most people assume that Jo is his girlfriend, or his wife. He blinks a couple of times.
“Yeah, actually. How’d you know?”
Castiel smirks a bit, just barely, and if Dean didn’t know to be on his guard he wouldn’t have noticed. “Could just tell,” he says as if it’s really that simple, but Dean feels his stomach churn because there’s something else, something more suspicious beneath that. “She’s a pretty thing, doesn’t really resemble you much.”
Dean scratches his nose. “I get that a lot.”
He can’t think of anything else to say.
“Castiel Novak. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Dean steps forward and takes the man’s hand. He can tell a lot from a person by their grip and Castiel has a firm grip. It seems as though he is measuring Dean up as well by the look in his eyes. Dean ignores the urge to let go first, to back down. Castiel doesn’t last long; he drops his hand a moment later.
“I’m not exactly sure what I’m doing here…” he says, surveying the office. “I was invited to…to ‘shadow’ you, if I will, but I’m not positive why I agreed anymore. I suppose I like to give everyone a fair chance.” Castiel grins and Dean feels a chill as he watches the action. Castiel’s fingers graze over the chair in front of Dean’s desk. “You have a nice office, however. Very organized, very pristine. Just as I expected.”
Dean crosses his arms and then uncrosses them when he remembers what Jo told him - how it’s a sign of weakness, of trying to fold in on oneself, to disappear. He doesn’t want Castiel realizing that he’s nervous as hell.
“Well, I’m glad to hear I’m up to standards.”
Castiel turns and meets his gaze, gives that same smug half-smile that really looks too mean to actually be a smile. “Perhaps,” he says, and Dean wishes he felt more in charge of this situation but, somehow, Castiel has gotten the power. It’s in the way he stands, the way he speaks, and already Dean is sort of admiring the guy. “What do you do now?”
Dean lets out a breath. “Nothing much exciting,” he says, more comfortable that he gets to talk about his normal routine. “I file documents, I make sure everything’s in order and that there are no flaws in the final product. I make sure people are getting the right vehicles, the right princes. That no loopholes are being used, that all of the machinery is working. Basically, keep things running smoothly on the fourth floor. I won’t be very fun to shadow.”
Castiel is still smiling, though his entire mouth is quirked up slightly now. “I’m not so sure about that, Mr. Winchester,” he says as he leans against the chair. “I want to be able to talk to you.”
“Uh.” Dean pauses and then shrugs. “Sure, whatever you need.”
Castiel grins, full-blown now. “Good. I’m glad to hear it.”
-
Dean eats lunch at his desk and Castiel has been out of the office for almost an hour. He’s opening his bottle of tea when Castiel slips back into the room.
“Oh. Lunch break.” He doesn’t apologize like most people who walk in on an executive manager might. He just sits down across from Dean and watches him quietly. Dean pretends not to be bothered, eating with his plastic fork slowly. “You have some interesting employees.”
Dean swallows and quirks an eyebrow. “I do?” he asks skeptically. He can’t think of any, except maybe Sam. Of course, he pays poor attention to his employees.
“Yes, but obviously you haven’t noticed.” Dean tenses. Castiel is testing him. “Name three.”
Dean feels himself beginning to sweat under his collar. “Sam Wesson, Ruby Milton, Meg Masters.” Sam has mentioned Ruby so many times now that of course he knows her name. Meg is a girl who got in a lot of trouble a couple of months ago. She’s still working in the building, or at least, Dean’s pretty sure she’s still in the building.
Castiel snorts. “Can you name anymore?”
Dean swallows and looks at his salad. It suddenly doesn’t seem appetizing.
“Look,” Castiel says after a moment of Dean’s silence, “I know I was invited here as a bribe. I know that I’m supposed to see how fucking great Arch and Angel’s or whatever the hell is and I’m supposed to write an article about how great their Executive Whatever-the-Fuck is doing on Floor Four. So far? I don’t have anything but bad things to say. This place is badly run and run by assholes.”
Dean swallows against the sudden bloom of anger, pushing down a shout. He looks up at Castiel, meets his eyes straight on, and this seems to surprise him because he sits back a little and waits.
“No company is perfect.” Dean is bad at speaking under pressure. He stabs at lettuce and tomato with his fork. “And I respect that you think we’re so terrible, but we’re not.”
“Collectively? Yes, you kind of are.”
Dean rolls his eyes, unable to resist the urge. He’s heard this so many times, it’s like a broken record. “You’ve been here for three hours. What the hell do you know?” He doesn’t like this Castiel guy. He didn’t expect to like this Castiel guy but he didn’t think he’d find him so infuriating either.
Castiel clicks his tongue three times in quick succession. “I don’t like to use my power over people,” he says, though it’s clearly a lie. “I’d like to be proven wrong for once.”
Dean meets his gaze. It’s a challenge from the way his eyebrows are raised. There’s a twinkle of laughter and amusement in his eyes, like this is some kind of game.
“You could cost me my job,” Dean growls over the desk, feeling hostile. He’s not up for this, not right now.
“Could I…?” Castiel seems to consider for a moment, touching his chin though it’s obviously fake. “Oh yes, you’re right, I could. I know your family, Mr. Smith. You’re rolling in money. What do you have to worry about?”
Dean hesitates, wondering how much exactly Castiel does know.
“Your father’s in the Senate. You’re a rich boy who was bred to be a rich boy. You have nothing to worry about. Oh, sure, you’re a hard worker but…if you were jobless you wouldn’t have a care in the world, would you? You’re just another Conservative nutcase who thinks the world revolves around him.” Castiel’s words are cruel and cutting and Dean recoils, shrinking back in his chair. In a way, it’s all true - his father is in the Senate, he was a rich boy from birth and he’s still a rich boy. He’s also a hard worker, and if he did lose his job he would be okay for a good while, especially if he contacted his father.
But he also has pride, and Castiel is doing his best to hurt that pride, which is just irritating. “You’re here for a month?” Dean asks. “Give me a month. I’ll prove that you’re wrong.”
Castiel’s eyes dart over him and he licks his lips. “You have a month, good sir. You have one month.”
-
Dean isn’t sure what to do. He goes home and he gets on his laptop and he begins to research Castiel Novak more thoroughly, wanting to know his background. He was born in Canada and moved to the United States when he was seven with his mother and father who apparently got divorced two years later while they were living in Maine. No wonder Castiel is so bitter - at least Dean’s parents are still married, for better or for worse. He thinks he should maybe call his mother.
Not the point.
Castiel got into journalism, according to the Wikipedia page about him, when he was in eleventh grade and he created his school’s newspaper. The newspaper crumbled but his dreams did not and he went on to study journalism as a major, creative writing as his minor. Dean tries not to be interested in the idea of Castiel spinning words together and creating stories. But he wonders - does Castiel write fairy tales, or more realistic fiction? Does he use a laptop or pencil and paper?
Focus.
Blah, blah, blah. All the other stuff, Dean knows.
Castiel is a left winged liberal who has made it very obvious where he stands in politics and across the board on anything he wants to talk about. He is known for being an eloquent writer who can string words in such a way that you can’t really help but be drawn in. He’s scary, in a way, but Dean also finds him hugely impressive. Castiel is young, not even thirty yet, so he’s got a year or two behind Dean but still. What he’s made for himself? Amazing.
Dean shouldn’t be so impressed by who is basically his enemy, but he is.
He ends up falling asleep on the couch, laptop closed on his legs.
-
“So, is he a dick?”
Castiel shrugs. “Not so much.” He had been harsh on Dean Smith because it was his nature. But Dean was not a bad person, that much he could tell. He was hard headed, perhaps, and a little spoiled but that was to be expected. Castiel couldn’t blame him because he himself was bitter about his past. Dean probably hadn’t deserved his dripping sarcasm, and Castiel almost feels guilty about it. Almost. “He knows what he’s doing, he’s just not connected with it. I wonder if he even understands what it’s like to be a human being.”
Uriel laughs, low in his throat and shakes his head. “Sometimes I wonder about you, Novak,”
he says, still smiling. “You think people are such robots, but look at you. When was the last time you called your mother? Your father? You’re too dependent on yourself, and you consider me to be your best friend.”
Castiel frowns. “You and Anna,” he corrects, thinking of Anna Milton who had lived a block away from him when he was young, when he first moved to Maine. She had somehow remained an integral part of his life, even now. “Hm,” he says to himself, looking over at Uriel across from him at the little booth. “I wonder if that Ruby woman is related to Anna.”
“Ruby?” Uriel asks, taking a sip from his water.
“I had Smith name some names - he named a ‘Ruby Milton’. Do you think it’s possible that she’s related to Anna?”
Uriel shrugs. “Could be,” he agrees. “It’s neither a common nor a rare name.”
“Yeah…Well, anyway.” Castiel straightens his shoulders and smiles broadly at the waitress who brings them their food. “Anyway, what are you saying?” He remembers now that he’s probably supposed to be offended by the way Uriel had shot him down. “I’m not a robot, I simply don’t talk to my parents.”
“You haven’t been in a relationship since you were sixteen, first time you got your heart broken. Do you think I’ve forgotten? Anyone’s forgotten? And after your sister…”
Castiel purses his lips and clicks his tongue, a habit. Uriel seems to know not to carry on, and Castiel eats one of his fries and chews before continuing. “Why should I worry about relationships, love? None of that matters when you’re a journalist. And, for the record, no one falls in love with a journalist.” He snorts, thinking of all the people he’s known and heard of, men and women who wrote because they loved what they did, who eventually got left behind because they weren’t good enough. “Life isn’t fair and I’m aware of it. That’s what I say.”
Uriel shrugs again. “I guess. Just…Lighten up a little. I know you don’t like the company or whatever but with this recession, you don’t need to be the reason for a loss of a couple thousand jobs.”
Castiel rolls his eyes. “Oh, Uriel, when did you become my conscience?”
“Since you became such a dick.”
-
Dean gets to work even earlier than usual and doesn’t run into Sam. It’s actually more likely to not run into Sam in the morning, but it still makes him nervous and he hurries to his office like a madman. He kind of hates the person he’s become in just one day, but he doesn’t think it can really be helped. Castiel Novak is an intimidating man, and Dean wants nothing more than to be on his good side by this point.
He gets to his office before Castiel and for that he is relieved. He’s barely able to take off his suit jacket and grab a mug of coffee and sit before Castiel does arrive, however. He’s dressed the same as yesterday, and yet he still seems somewhat…stunning. Dean hates the word but he thinks that it’s the best way to describe Castiel who is sleek and thin and mostly straight lines as opposed to awkward curves and raggedness.
“Good morning,” he says and Castiel nods his recognition of the greeting.
“What’s on the agenda today?”
Dean bites his lip and looks at the e-mail he’d received this morning, scanning it. “Looks like a lot of number crunching…Nothing exciting, today.” He’s a little gloomy about the prospect of spending the day in the office, but as long as nothing goes awry, there’s no reason to be worried, at least. He begins to check his other e-mails quietly and Castiel sits still for a moment before he begins spinning the chair back and forth. Dean doesn’t pay him much attention, figuring he’s probably just trying to get his attention and distraction, and he clicks away at the keyboard, filling up the otherwise silent room. Castiel continues to spin, chair squeaking, and Dean continues to stare at the screen.
“This is boring.”
Dean looks up from the e-mail he’s writing, one that’s about to be sent to the entire expanse of the marketing area on his floor. He stares at Castiel for a moment and then shrugs.
“It’s work. It’s actual work, though you might find yourself allergic.” The words come out sharp and he swallows, aware he’s been inappropriate. He glances back at the screen, then at Castiel again who is eyeing him curiously.
“Very well, Mr. Smith.”
Castiel folds his hands on his lap and sits in silence, just staring.
Dean turns back to his e-mail, intent on finishing as early as possible.
-
Castiel leaves the room when Dean announces it’s lunch time but he comes back with a cafeteria tray a couple of minutes later. The look on Dean’s face when he clicks the door shut behind him with a spare smile is priceless but he tries not to let it show how amused he is.
“You’re going to have lunch with me with?” Dean asks, incredulous.
Castiel sets his tray down on the large desk in front of Dean’s salad. “Is salad all you ever eat?” he asks instead of answering the question and Dean just looks more bewildered, blinking green eyes full of surprise. It’s funny to see and Castiel continues to smile, amused. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Dean stutters, tripping over the words for a minute. “No, it’s not!” he finally gets out, sounding deeply offended. “I eat take out a lot.” He frowns as if that’s even worse than salad, which Castiel supposes it is. “I just like salad for lunch.” He nods, pleased with his argument and Castiel raises an eyebrow at him.
“Don’t trust the cafeteria or something, Mr. Smith?” he asks, looking at his own chicken patty sandwich. It doesn’t look too bad; he’s eaten worse. He picks it up and takes a bite, and actually, this shit is pretty good. He chews slowly and silently.
“I just prefer to pack my own,” Dean says stiffly. He seems to hesitate for a moment and when Castiel swallows and stops chewing he says, “You can call me Dean.”
This catches Castiel by surprise and he blinks. “Uhh.” He’s not used to being at a loss for words. “Oh…Okay.”
Castiel isn’t sure how he feels about this. He’s taken aback but he decides he has to roll with the punches. “Then make sure you call me Castiel, alright?” He holds at his hand to make the deal. Dean eyes him for a moment, almost suspiciously, then shakes it.
“Yeah. Sure.”
-
“So, how’s work goin’?”
Sam is sitting across from Dean at the little kitchen table that night. This time they’re eating stir fry that Dean actually made while Sam was on the couch watching TV. Sam hasn’t complained yet and Dean thinks it’s pretty good, so it’s an achievement.
“Fine. How about you?”
“Oh, the usual,” Say says, but there’s a sort of sing-song in his voice, proof that ‘the usual’ is a total lie and that he brought up this conversation just so he could talk. “I asked Ruby out.”
“Did you now…?” Dean says, feigning curiosity as he prods at a carrot. Why do people consider carrots to be a necessary part of stir fry? He’ll never understand. Maybe he’ll Google it later.
“Yeah.”
Dean knows he’s being prompted; he’s supposed to ask Sam to elaborate. “And did she say yes?” He’s teasing, smiling a little as he takes another bite of dinner.
“She did indeed!” Sam grins foolishly as if it’s some great accomplishment. “She said she was excited. She was waiting for me to ask her out.”
“Did she admit to that last part or are you being pompous?”
Sam huffs. “I’m offended, Dean Smith! She didn’t say it, no, but she totally implied it, thus cancelling out any…pompousness that you speak of.”
“Well, thanks for the confirmation.” Dean laughs anyway. “Do I get to meet her?”
“When do you want to meet her?”
Dean sighs and leans back. “I don’t know. Maybe once all of this…this shit with this Novak guy is over.”
Sam watches him for a moment then smiles a bit. “Is it really that bad? What, is he some kind of total dick who’s trying to fuck us over that badly? I mean, from what I’ve heard about him he’s harsh but…just a little intimidating. I mean, obviously I don’t know, I’ve never actually met the guy.” Sam chuckles. “Do I get to meet him?”
Dean sniffs. “He’s not a dick, per se, he’s just…He makes me nervous.” Dean suppresses a shiver, which is stupid. Why should he shiver because some guy is trying to fuck up his company? He just has to prove that they’re worth it, which, considering what he said today, might well be a problem. “He’s definitely intimidating, I can’t even tell if he’s trying or not. But I think I caught him off guard, I told him to just call me Dean. He kept calling me Mr. Smith and it was kind of creepy.”
“That’s not creepy, that’s polite,” Sam corrects.
“Yeah, well, you should have heard the way he said it. Kind of menacing.”
“Whatever, I think you’re just being a baby.”
“When you meet him you’ll understand.”
“Yeah, maybe, if I even get to meet him. I don’t see why I should though, he’s not shadowing me, he’s shadowing you. Also, you’re not being a douche, are you? Because we really can’t afford you fucking this up.”
Dean glares at Sam. “Of course I’m not being a douche,” he says, but it’s kind of a lie. “I’m just…I’m telling him the truth. It’s important that he knows the truth! I’m not going to treat him special just because he’s got experience and he’s young.” And he can basically destroy everything Dean’s worked so hard for. Because he has worked hard for it, and he deserves it.
“Well, whatever. When you get honest, you get douche-y.” Sam nods and gives Dean a pitying look. “You’ll be fine. Buck up, kid. Deal with it, and make things work.”
“You make it sound so simple,” Dean mutters darkly. He stands up, taking his plate as well as Sam’s and dropping them in the sink. He’ll wash them later. “And it’s not.”
“Sure it is. It’s whatever you want it to be.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Dean grumbles, turning around and leaning against the counter. “I’ve got a really important job, I’m close to getting Zach’s position, and this guy he just…He just, out of nowhere decides to show up and screw that up for me. What did I ever do to him?”
Sam laughs and wraps an arm around the back of the chair. “It’s not you, Dean. It’s not even…” He pauses and shakes his head. “He didn’t know who the hell you were until what, two days ago? It has nothing to do with you. Don’t take things so personally, it makes you sound like an idiot.”
Dean sighs; Sam is right, though he’s not exactly about to say it out loud. Sam’s always been pretty logical, despite how he acts. He’s methodical a lot of time, someone who absorbs information with such quickness that Dean thinks it’s kind of scary.
“Yeah,” he agrees finally. “Yeah, I know.”
-
The next day, Wednesday, is a little better. Dean meets Sam in the elevator and gets to see Ruby for the first time when Sam walks off in the opposite direction. He’s half-yelling, “Hey, Ruby!” and Dean glances over his shoulder when he hears it. The girl is really pretty, even in the ugly yellow shirt and khaki pants combo that their employees have to wear (Dean thinks he should maybe do the company a favor and prompt to get rid of those uniforms and make Casual Fridays into Casual Monday, Wednesday, and Friday), and she smiles when Sam catches up to her. Dean wonders when they’re going on their date. He makes a mental note to ask Sam so he doesn’t end up wanting Sam to come over on the same night.
Maybe they are kind of dating. That’s sort of embarrassing.
Dean heads to his office in a better mood and when he gets there, Castiel’s not inside. He lets himself be momentarily relieved and sets up his laptop, taking off his suit jacket and hanging it over the back of his chair. He sets his lunch (not a salad this time, instead a sandwich and lemon iced tea) next to the photo of him and Jo and turns the computer on, leaning back in his chair as he waits for it to load.
Castiel enters then, looking a little worn around the edges. “Good morning,” he greets groggily, rubbing his eye, and Dean’s unsure if he should comment. He decides against it, loosening his tie.
“Good morning.”
Castiel sits across from him again, but scoots his chair mostly to the left, away from Dean. Dean’s fingers hover over the keys and he watches for a moment as Castiel dips his head. “Are you alright?” he asks, unable to stop himself. He’s not sure if he’s actually concerned or if he’s just curious. He…feels a little concerned, which is sort of weird. Castiel is some guy he has to deal with, a problem. Not a friend, someone to worry about.
“Mm, just under the weather,” Castiel answers into his lap, not meeting Dean’s eyes. His suit even looks sort of frumpy and Dean wonders if he’s sick or if he was just out late. He doesn’t feel bad anymore when he thinks it’s more likely that Castiel just had a late night. “Sorry I’m late.”
“You’re not,” Dean answers, keeping his voice light. “You’re perfectly on time.”
“Yeah?” Castiel sits up a little straighter and he barely looks like he’s slept at all. Dean frowns and glances at the computer again. “So, what today, boss?” He’s either too tired to keep up his snark or something else is up. Dean doesn’t comment on it, almost grateful.
“The same as usual.” Dean shrugs. “I make calls, I manage spreadsheets. I try to make clients happy. It’s the job and well, the job is the job, is the job.” He chews on his bottom lip as he switches tabs on the computer. “Honestly, I don’t know why you took this…This shadowing thing, or whatever. Or why you wrote that article, but I guess that’s not my concern. Why are you here?”
Castiel’s eyes are a little more focused when Dean meets them again and Dean can recognize a sick person when he sees them. Something’s wrong, whether it be the common cold or the flu, Dean can’t tell.
“I don’t know, to be completely honest.” Castiel turns his head and looks at the wall. “I don’t know. I wanted to…get out of my own office, I suppose. Make a run at someone else, in person, for a change. Maybe I really did want to be proven wrong. You know, you still have time. Time to prove me wrong.”
“Well,” Dean starts, “I already know you’re wrong. I’ve known you were wrong since I first read the article. I’m not saying we’re flawless, not at all, but you’re obviously over-opinionated. You’re not a bad person, and neither am I. Why do journalists feel the need to just…attack, attack, attack? What are you so afraid of?”
Castiel studies him for a moment and then snorts. “Of losing my job. I have the same fears as you. You get people to pay attention when you’re mean and spiteful.”
“Yeah? Have you ever tried another route, though?” Dean finds he’s been sucked into this situation, wanting to say something, to make himself known. “Maybe if you focused on the positives instead of the negatives, a lot more people would be happy. People would really listen to you, and they would want to talk to you, instead of being afraid of you.”
“Am I an intimidating person, Dean?” Castiel’s voice is sharp and he nearly cuts Dean off before he can finish. “In person, am I really that scary? Or am I just scary because I say what I think? Because I do, I just…I let things be known. I write nice things, Mr. Smith,” - he’s returned to calling him by his last name and Dean wonders if this is a bad thing - “it’s just that some people and some companies don’t deserve it. Others do. The end. It’s simple, don’t you get that? I’m not perfect, and I don’t want to be perfect. I’m not scary - People decide I’m scary. People are afraid of me by their own free will.”
Dean looks over Castiel. “Can we take a walk?”
“Excuse me?” Castiel looks incredulous. “Don’t you have a job to do?”
Dean looks back at his computer, scanning the e-mail. He opens up the Excel document and then shrugs. “Nothing that important,” he answers, rolling his neck. It makes small cracking noises as he does so and feels pretty good. “I think you should see the rest of the floor.”
Castiel rolls his eyes without abandon. “Why?”
“Do you really need a reason? Because I asked you to. Because you’re going to give me the benefit of the doubt.”
Castiel grits his teeth. “Fine,” he says tersely, standing up.
Dean doesn’t even touch him as he walks by and grabs his jacket. “Just follow me.”
-
Lots of computers and lots of employees. Castiel still doesn’t see what this trip around the fourth floor is supposed to be showing him. Dean is holding a cup of coffee and not saying anything, which makes even less sense. Castiel is getting more annoyed and impatient by the minute, but he eyes the people typing away and talking into their little headsets about vehicle types or whatever the fuck. None of these people strike him as especially important.
“My best friend’s around here somewhere. Maybe getting a snack, he does that a lot.”
Castiel turns his head to look at Dean. “Your best friend?” he repeats, confused.
“Sam Wesson. He works here. He helped me out a couple of months ago…It’s a long story, but we both could have lost our jobs.” Dean snorts, as if remembering a very funny memory. “He’s very smart, very…He knows what he’s doing. He’s a good guy, I’m glad to have met him.”
Castiel pauses for a second then shakes his head. “What, are you trying to prove that you have a heart of something? Spewing bullshit about some best friend?”
“Like I said, I only know three of the employees on this floor by name. Sam, Ruby, and Meg. Sam because he’s the closest thing to a confident I have. Ruby because she’s his girlfriend…Well, sort of. He asked her out, apparently. Meg because…” Dean trails off and then laughs. “Meg because she’s a screw up and sort of a bitch. Don’t tell.”
Castiel stares, slightly in awe. “What, what is this? What do you want?”
“I don’t know.” Dean sips his coffee. “Nothing, really. I just felt like telling you.”
“Why?”
“Because I think you ought to know. I’m not…detached. Not from everything. Not perfect, but I’m not so terribly ruined that I’m beyond saving. I think Sam helped prove that. He comes over sometimes and we talk and he was worried I was being a douche bag to you. I hope I’m not.” Dean looks over at Castiel and smiles a bit.
“Three days, Smith. I’ve known you for three days and already you’re telling me your life story? What a fantastic idea.”
Dean doesn’t seem bothered, just shrugging. “What? Are you going to tell? Write another article? I’m screwed one way or another. If I don’t tell you the truth you’re going to think exactly that - That I’m heartless, that I’m really just another corporate ladder climber. And in some ways, yes, I am. I really am. I want my boss’s job and I’m pretty desperate to get it. Honestly? Part of why I’m telling you this is because I don’t want to lose my job. I think that’s pretty legitimate, don’t you? I’m allowed to be a little selfish, at least. Give me the benefit of the doubt.”
“You already had the benefit of the doubt,” Castiel says, blowing air out of his nose. “Now, let me be honest. It doesn’t happen much, at least not nicely, so you better be listening.” Castiel watches; sees Dean smiling into his coffee cup. “In these three days, I’ve grown to like you. Not much, mind you, but enough. Enough. I’d like to stay for the rest of the month. I’m not going to leave and write some monumental article that’s going to ruin everything.”
Dean’s grinning now, not trying to hide it. “So it worked? You wanna meet Sam.”
Castiel hesitates, then does something he never thought he would. “Sure.”
part 2
-
Sam Wesson looks over the desk at Dean Smith.
Dean is drinking coffee, staring at his laptop and very obviously brooding.
“What’s up?” Sam asks, spinning slightly in his chair.
Dean twitches and lifts his eyes, squinting. “…Why are you even here?”
Sam shrugs. “You love me.”
Dean rolls his eyes. Sam’s a good guy and a good worker, not even that annoying. Ever since the couple of murders that happened earlier in the year, Sam and Dean have become…friends. It’s not exactly a normal friendship, usually only consisting of Dean and Sam sharing coffee in the morning before Dean has to kick Sam out of his office (“It’s the rules, and I have to follow the rules,” Dean explains to a slightly pouting Sam).
“So, why are you really here?”
Sam shrugs. “Why am I ever here?” he asks, sipping at his coffee. “I thought you liked my presence.”
“I like your presence,” Dean says, returning his gaze to the laptop. He squints. “Fuckin’ journalists.”
“Hm?”
Sam props himself up, trying to peer at the screen. Dean turns it slightly and points at the title. “Bastard.”
Sam scans the article.
“Cute bastard.”
Dean tightens his jaw and glares. “Is that all you think about? This guy is…he’s…he’s more than just a guy, or some random person on the Internet with a blog. Why are blogs even legal, Sam?”
“Well, we live in the United States of America, you see, and here, free speech is legal…You’re gonna get criticized, Mr. Smith, you might as well roll with the punches and look on the bright side. He’s adorable.”
“It also seems as though he’s set out to ruin my life, which is not cool. I’m this close to getting a promotion.” Dean does the thing with his thumb and forefinger, making them nearly touch but not quite, just enough to see through the crack. “This article could ruin it.”
Sam raises an eyebrow. “Then how about you don’t show it to Zach?”
Dean purses his lips and glares, closing out of the window.
“Get to work, Wesson.”
Sam laughs, no longer intimidated. “Of course, Mr. Smith.”
Dean grabs at one of his plastic frames but Sam’s darted out of the room with a laugh before he can throw it.
He opens the minimized window and glares at the article for a couple of minutes more.
“What the hell kind of name is ‘Castiel’ anyway?” he finally mutters, and he closes the window for good, ignoring the words that jump out at him - soulless, evil, Capitalist, undertakers.
Dean is not soulless.
-
“Hey Sam, what’s up?”
Ruby sits down across from him with her salad closed, beginning to shake the container. Sam takes a bite of his sandwich. “Not much,” he answers through turkey. She rolls her eyes.
“You’re totally out of it, you have been all day. Don’t tell me you’re having an affair with Mr. Smith. Come on, Sam, snap out of it.”
Sam pauses for a moment before realizing that yes, it’s normal for Ruby to call Dean Mr. Smith, because he is Mr. Smith. He’s their boss and Sam suddenly feels a little guilty when he thinks about how casual he is with Dean. He forgets about it almost immediately when he looks back at Ruby as she stabs at lettuce with her fork. She’s always kind of violent when she eats. He likes that about her.
“No, I’m not having an affair with Mr. Smith,” he answers after a moment. Ruby snorts and stabs at a tomato. “Why would you say that?”
“Because you go to his office every morning? Because that’s the rumor around here? I wouldn’t be surprised; he’s not exactly the…totally heterosexual type.” She pauses to look him up and down, popping a tomato slice into her mouth and chewing before continuing. “And neither are you. Ah, he’s probably closeted and you’re just kind of stupid.”
Sam huffs. “I think you’re being unfair. Mr. Smith and I are just friends, that’s all. As far as I know, he’s one hundred percent heterosexual.” Which is a total lie. Sam’s known since the moment he set foot into Dean’s perfectly straightened apartment that he was at least bisexual. Plus, he is the handsomest man Sam has ever seen (even cuter than Castiel Novak, the bitchy journalist) and he doesn’t have a wife, or even a girlfriend. The words ‘suspicious’ and ‘closeted bisexual who refuses to admit that hunky guys are indeed hunky’ come to mind.
Ruby rolls her eyes again, chewing. “Well then, what about you? Or are you pining after your boss? That’d be cute.” She snorts, as if it’s not actually cute at all and Sam can’t help but smile at her. “Ahh, I can imagine that. Sweet.”
“Shut up,” Sam chides. “I’m not interested in him.”
“Who are you interested in, then?”
Sam doesn’t answer, just glowers.
-
Sam peaks his head into Dean’s office just as he’s putting on his coat. “You’re leaving?”
Dean frowns at him. “Yeah.”
Sam glances at his watch. “You usually don’t leave ‘til later, I was just…wondering.”
Dean raises his eyebrows. “I’m going on vacation soon so I’ve been leaving office early. It’s not like I’m really needed here.”
“Well, then can I come over?”
Dean shakes his head, exasperated but Sam grins, knowing he’ll always win. “Whatever, just hurry up.”
Sam grins again. “I’m ready, waiting for you.”
Dean rolls his eyes and they head out into the parking lot.
“When are you ever going to get your own car?”
“Dunno,” Sam says as he walks over to the passenger seat. Dean’s got a nice car, stylish and extravagant with leather seats, and Sam has always been tempted to make jokes about how Dean must be overcompensating for something, but he always resists, for the greater good. Well, for his own good. “I don’t exactly get paid that well.”
Dean snorts as he starts the engine. “Get another job then.”
“Aww, you know you’d miss me, I’d miss you. I’d be a wreck.”
“Oh, whatever. What’s the real reason you wanted to come home with me?”
“Well, I was hoping I could get you drunk…” Sam trails off from the daggered glare from Dean. “I’m joking, come on, loosen up. You know Ruby?” He’s quick to change the topic.
“Sam, you know you’re a special case. I don’t know any of the other workers besides you. What, is she your girlfriend?”
“Not…quite. She thinks we’re gay.”
Dean snorts. “Well, I’m not surprised. Look at you.”
Sam lets out a bark of laughter. “She seemed more keen and pinning the open sexuality on you, my friend. Come on, when was the last time you even had a girlfriend? You don’t…do…anything. Like, with girls. You hang out with me all the time, what does that say about your sexuality? That you’re ambiguous, that’s what.”
Dean glances over at Sam, hands still on the steering wheel, eyebrow cocked and mouth curved into a half smile. “Don’t use such big words, you might hurt that little brain of yours.”
Sam flicks him off, because it seems like the most appropriate response.
-
They end up on the couch, legs tangled, eating Chinese takeout. Dean would never openly admit it, but nights at home with Sam are kind of his favorite. They usually end up watching bad soap operas or whatever’s on, really. Sam likes to channel surf and Dean’s a closet fan of a bunch of hospital shows, so he always perks up a little when Sam lands on a rerun of Dr. Sexy, M.D. or anything of the sort. But he never actually says anything, keeps it a secret. Still, Dean’s pretty sure Sam’s probably aware of his addiction.
They’re actually both staring at the TV together as a woman with tanned skin, giant breasts, and long, wavy black hair yells in Spanish at a Latino man on the other side of the room. Sam’s chopsticks are halfway to his mouth and now he’s just frowning as the woman bursts into tears and basically flings herself outside. The man calls her name with a thick accent and hurries after, but she’s long gone.
It cuts to commercial, fast speaking Spanish voices voicing the adverts. “Change the channel, now,” Dean manages, finishing off the rice and chicken he had been staring at. Sam fumbles for the remote and begins to click, shifting so his ankle isn’t awkwardly placed between Dean’s legs. Dean lifts his legs to give Sam more room and they end up settling on Comedy Central.
“Scrubs,” Sam says, setting the remote down and smiling at the screen. “Much better, quality television.”
“Sure, whatever. What’s it about?”
Sam begins to explain a basic overview and Dean loses him about a minute in, thoughts drifting. He starts to think about work, which he knows he shouldn’t. Maybe he should contact that Castiel guy, try to get him on his side. But why is he getting worked up over one article? They get bad articles and reviews all over the place, usually by liberal loons who just don’t understand how business works, and it’s never been a big deal. But for some reason Dean is bothered by this guy, who had seemed so sure of himself in his writing and even in the photograph thumbnail.
Dean supposes Sam was right, the guy was kind of attractive, but that’s not exactly the point. In fact, that is so far off from the point it’s absolutely ridiculous, and Dean finds himself laughing in his head at the whole idea.
“Dean!”
Sam’s voice is sharp, and brings Dean back from his thoughts. “Hmm? Yeah. Scrubs.”
“You didn’t hear a word I said…” Sam mutters darkly, shaking his head. He detangles himself from Dean’s legs and takes their Chinese into the kitchen. “Why don’t you get a bigger apartment? It’s not like you can’t afford it.”
Dean frowns, considering the question. He looks around the apartment for a moment. “I like it here.”
“That’s it?” Sam laughs noisily through his nose. “Yeah, well.” He hesitates. “It’s cozy.”
“It’s even nicer when you’re not here.” Dean’s just teasing, but he eyes Sam in a critical way. “Did you want to talk to me about this Ruby girl or did you actually just want to eat takeout on my couch and watch bad reruns?”
Sam laughs more easily this time, leaving the kitchen and leaning against the couch. “She’s funny, kind of sarcastic and mean but also sort of…” Sam pauses and Dean watches him quietly, this time actually listening. “Like, she’s smart, she could be anywhere. I don’t know why she’s working as a number cruncher at Arch and Angel’s.”
Dean shrugs. “Bad times,” he says. “The economy’s down, probably all she could get. What’s she look like?”
“She’s…small. Long, dark hair. Sometimes she keeps it straight but sometimes she lets it wave and curl, which I think looks best. And she’s got this mouth, Jesus, and this smile. When she laughs it’s the best.”
“You’re head over heels and you’ve known the girl, what? Two weeks.”
“Almost exactly.” Sam sighs. “I don’t think she likes me.”
Dean blinks. “Of course she likes you. Do people not like you?”
Sam shrugs. “People like me, they just never like me,” he says, purposely exaggerating the second ‘like’ to get his point across. “You know? I haven’t had a girlfriend since Madison…died.” He licks his lips and then shakes his head. “And you know, it’s weird, kind of tough.”
“Ask her out,” Dean suggests. It’s much easier for him to be bold for someone else. He’d never do it if it were him, but this is Sam. “You’re a good guy, and if she talks to you she’s got to know it. Ask to take her for coffee or something, Starbucks, something fancy. That’ll get her attention.”
Sam sighs again then turns to smile at Dean. “You’re a matchmaker. You know, that’s kind of ridiculous.”
“What? Why is that ridiculous?”
“Because…look!” Sam gestures.
“You just…that’s all of me.” Dean’s frown deepens, half with annoyance and half with confusion.
“Yeah, you! You’re this guy with a lot of money, really handsome and a pretty good guy at the heart of it all, and yet you live by yourself in an apartment and your weekly thrill is eating Chinese takeout with one of your employees. I don’t even know if that’s legal!”
Dean scowls and scoffs. “As long as we’re not having sex or being scandalous or whatever, it’s totally okay. And anyway, I’m a busy man. I don’t have time for a girlfriend, or for anything, really. I need to be prepared for…for…” Dean stops and lets out a breath. “You know, making it to the top.”
Sam studies him for a moment in silence, the sounds of commercials in the background.
“But what’s gonna happen when you finally make it?”
Dean’s not sure how to answer that.
“Ah, well. Thanks for dinner, and the advice. And you know, don’t worry too much. You’re a smart, young guy. And you’re already a manager of our floor, it’s only a matter of time before you keep moving up the corporate ladder. But you know…that Novak guy may have had a point. I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”
Dean sits, baffled, as Sam pulls on his coat and waves, walking out of his apartment and to the bus station.
Dean settles back on the couch and folds his arms over his chest.
-
A knock on Dean’s door distracts him from an e-mail to his mother. “Hello, hello, hello.”
“Oh, good morning, sir,” Dean says, exiting out of the Gmail window and smiling at Zachariah. ‘Zach’ as he likes to be called is one of the co-founders of the entire business - Arch and Angel’s Motors and Vehicles - and the Executive Chief of the building. Though he’d never say it out loud, it’s Zach’s job that Dean is after, and Zach is so close to retirement Dean can almost taste it in the air.
“I need to talk to you, Mr. Smith.” Zachariah’s smile is a little tense, eyes tight, Dean swallows to calm his sudden nerves.
“Of course, sit down.” He turns his full attention on Zach, folding his hands on the desk in front of him. He suddenly feels guilty for leaving his salad on the desk besides him, though he had been ten minutes from his lunch break. Zachariah doesn’t even give it a look as he sits in the chair across from Dean.
“You may have seen the article online. Written by Castiel Novak? It was e-mailed out yesterday by one of the higher-ups.”
Dean nods slowly, confused as to where this is going. They take most of their criticism and send it to managers and the like to help gain experience and knowledge. In reality, the critiques and angry articles are sometimes the best because they’ve helped the company to improve, something acknowledged throughout the state.
“We need to make that go away.”
Dean frowns further. “Uhm. Why, sir? I mean…Who is he?”
Zachariah’s eyes widen with shock. “You don’t know? I suggest you do some Googling, son, or you won’t be sticking around for much longer.” Dean blinks, taken aback from the comment, but Zach continues before he has much of a chance to defend himself. “He’s going to be at our building starting next week, and we’re going to be treating this man like royalty. He’ll be on your floor, so he’ll be your responsibility. I trust you, Dean.” It’s only when Zach is very serious does he use anyone’s first name. “I need you to get him to delete that article and to write a much better one.”
Dean is baffled by the sudden turn of events. Some journalist is - is going to be living with him? An exaggeration, but mostly true.
Dean realizes something just as Zachariah is standing to leave. “But - But sir, I’m…taking vacation starting next week.” His heart drops to his stomach when he realizes that this vacation is a bust. Zachariah looks at him like he’s insane.
“You can take a vacation anytime you want, Smith,” he says with a laugh, though it’s humorless. “Just make it anytime after next month.”
Zach doesn’t give him a chance to say anything else, leaving and shutting the door behind him.
Dean sinks back into his chair, deflated.
“Fuck,” he whispers after a moment, then glances at the clock. It’s noon. He grabs his salad, opens the Internet, and types into the Google search bar ‘Castiel Novak’ to do that research so he doesn’t get fired.
-
Dean finds out that Castiel Novak is one of the most prominent young journalists of their time. He’s got two years on Dean, but he’s written for numerous magazines, journals (literary and otherwise), newspapers, and he even has a novel. Dean pays attention to the politic articles and notices most of them are deep critiques of companies he considers heavily flawed. Dean recognizes some of the names of these companies - names of strong, conservative based companies that sunk not a year or two after the articles were published. Dean brushes off his nerves because it has to be something else. It has to be.
Castiel is described by his peers as smart, sharp, and filled to the brim with humor. Does this guy realize he’s ruining people’s lives? Dean thinks absently as he scrolls through a biography. He’s handsome, alright; Dean will give him that, but what son of a bitch lives for this kind of stuff?
Dean finds a couple of articles Castiel has written for Newsweek, The New York Times, Upfront Magazine, National Geographic and realizes that he really should have recognized this guy. He wonders why he’s never come across him before when he’s as prominent in the same world as Dean.
Maybe Dean’s just starting to lose his touch.
He shakes it off. So, the guy’s a dick? He has to live with him around for a month, it shouldn’t be too bad or too hard. He’s dealt with dicks before, and this is just another one. And once it’s over, he can have his god damn vacation and promotion, and feel good about it.
-
Castiel Novak is not thrilled when he gets a call of Arch and Angel’s Motors and Vehicles, but this Zachariah guy speaks to him in such a way that he finds himself curious and he accepts the invite to basically shadow one of the floor managers (and apparently the guy’s also Head of Marketing) for a couple of weeks, and see what the company is ‘really’ about. He doubts it will change his outlook but it’s a better deal than nothing, and he’s always been open to different opinions. Despite his feelings about the company as a whole, he’s sure the people there are good people who deserve their jobs. They should just look somewhere else, for the good of the nation.
“You’ll be with Dean Smith, on floor four. You’ll know him when you see him.”
Castiel doubts this, but he thinks Dean will probably know him. Castiel doesn’t have an ego (at least, not so much so that it interferes with the rest of his life), but he’s aware of how his influence has spread, he knows that certain conservative business owners are scared of him, and that doesn’t really bother him much. After all, most of them are pulling the same scheme every time. Inherited money, making more off of the poor. He doesn’t have any pity or sympathy.
But perhaps he does have a little bit of an ego, but he figures he owes himself that much, putting everything into consideration.
“What do you think, Uriel?” Uriel sits across from Castiel at the bar, nursing his drink slowly. They’re both still wearing suits, having just gotten out of their office, and Castiel has just told his story about meeting the ‘great Dean Smith’ and spending a month as his shadow.
“It should be interesting,” Uriel says with a slow nod. “Just don’t get too caught up in it. A month is a long time, don’t want you getting attached to these folk.”
“I’m not concerned,” Castiel laughs, rolling his neck. “I’m sure they’re all just a bunch of dicks anyway. I doubt I have anything to worry about.”
“You’re a cocky bastard, you know that, Castiel?” Uriel smirks at him, heavy and dangerous. Castiel returns the look. “It’s going to get you killed someday.”
“Yes, well.” Castiel sits up and takes another slug of beer. “Today is not that day. I have plenty of time, thank you. I start on Monday. And you know - I don’t have to worry about pay or anything.”
Uriel laughs.
-
Dean comes to work the following Monday nervous and uptight. He doesn’t mean to be, he even drinks herbal tea before he goes hoping it’ll calm the nerves making his stomach jump around all of the place, but to no avail. Maybe he shouldn’t have even read up on Castiel Novak, and then he wouldn’t so damn afraid of him. He doesn’t think he actually has anything to be afraid of, because Sam has told him countless times that he’s a good person, he just comes off as kind of cold to people who don’t know him. Dean himself knows that there’s nothing wrong with him. He’s aware he was a bit spoiled as a kid, and as a teenager, and as an adult, even, but nothing he thinks that led to any permanent damage. He’s aware of how lucky he is to have his job and his money and his car and his apartment, and he takes care of his employees and shows empathy for human beings. Maybe money is important in some ways, but he’s not stupid and he’s not that selfish. Making other people - customers - happy is what, in the end, matters.
No matter how boring or cliché.
So why is he so worried? It’s like kindergarten all over again, when he told his mother he was afraid that the kids were going to pick on him. She had assured him that they weren’t and they hadn’t, so why is Dean so full of panic now? He’s a big kid - he can take care of himself.
Still.
Castiel is a different breed, the type of person Dean’s never dealt with in his life, and he doesn’t know if he can deal with it. He’s a strong person, and he’s willing to listen to others, but this is different.
Journalists, God. He hates journalists. Self-righteous pricks that wave around their degree and claim they have experience.
Bull. Shit.
Dean pulls into his regular space and gets out of his car. He smiles and waves at two girls who he recognizes as fifth floor employees on his way inside, pushing the glass doors open. He works his way into the building, sparing smiles and waves towards people he recognizes and people he knows until he manages to get into an overcrowded elevator.
“Hey.”
Sam’s behind him, and he looks at him through one of the elevator mirrors, balancing his coffee. Two women get out at the next floor, leaving them with more space. “Good morning.”
“Thought you were on vacation.” Sam frowns. “Plus, you look deathly ill. What are you doing here?”
“Castiel Novak is in this building,” Dean explains with a sigh. “On my floor. I get my vacation in a month.” He frowns and peers at himself in the mirror. “Do I really look bad?” He turns to look at Sam. “Do I look okay up close?”
Sam smiles and pats him on the shoulder. “Nerves, huh? It’s like high school all over again, meeting your first Chem partner. Good luck, buddy.”
Sam gets out on the same level as Dean but they head in different directions, Dean towards his office.
He enters, expecting to have some time to gather himself, but instead there’s a man standing in front of his desk, holding a photograph.
“Uh, excuse me…” Dean feels like he really shouldn’t have to say ‘excuse me’ in his own office, but he holds his tongue. “Hello.”
The man turns and, yes, it’s Castiel Novak. He looks even more regal in person, icy blue eyes and chapped lips, stubble shaved carefully and cleanly all around. Maybe Dean shouldn’t have noticed those things so sharply. Castiel sets down the photo carefully then glances at the frame before back at Dean. “Your sister?”
Most people assume that Jo is his girlfriend, or his wife. He blinks a couple of times.
“Yeah, actually. How’d you know?”
Castiel smirks a bit, just barely, and if Dean didn’t know to be on his guard he wouldn’t have noticed. “Could just tell,” he says as if it’s really that simple, but Dean feels his stomach churn because there’s something else, something more suspicious beneath that. “She’s a pretty thing, doesn’t really resemble you much.”
Dean scratches his nose. “I get that a lot.”
He can’t think of anything else to say.
“Castiel Novak. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Dean steps forward and takes the man’s hand. He can tell a lot from a person by their grip and Castiel has a firm grip. It seems as though he is measuring Dean up as well by the look in his eyes. Dean ignores the urge to let go first, to back down. Castiel doesn’t last long; he drops his hand a moment later.
“I’m not exactly sure what I’m doing here…” he says, surveying the office. “I was invited to…to ‘shadow’ you, if I will, but I’m not positive why I agreed anymore. I suppose I like to give everyone a fair chance.” Castiel grins and Dean feels a chill as he watches the action. Castiel’s fingers graze over the chair in front of Dean’s desk. “You have a nice office, however. Very organized, very pristine. Just as I expected.”
Dean crosses his arms and then uncrosses them when he remembers what Jo told him - how it’s a sign of weakness, of trying to fold in on oneself, to disappear. He doesn’t want Castiel realizing that he’s nervous as hell.
“Well, I’m glad to hear I’m up to standards.”
Castiel turns and meets his gaze, gives that same smug half-smile that really looks too mean to actually be a smile. “Perhaps,” he says, and Dean wishes he felt more in charge of this situation but, somehow, Castiel has gotten the power. It’s in the way he stands, the way he speaks, and already Dean is sort of admiring the guy. “What do you do now?”
Dean lets out a breath. “Nothing much exciting,” he says, more comfortable that he gets to talk about his normal routine. “I file documents, I make sure everything’s in order and that there are no flaws in the final product. I make sure people are getting the right vehicles, the right princes. That no loopholes are being used, that all of the machinery is working. Basically, keep things running smoothly on the fourth floor. I won’t be very fun to shadow.”
Castiel is still smiling, though his entire mouth is quirked up slightly now. “I’m not so sure about that, Mr. Winchester,” he says as he leans against the chair. “I want to be able to talk to you.”
“Uh.” Dean pauses and then shrugs. “Sure, whatever you need.”
Castiel grins, full-blown now. “Good. I’m glad to hear it.”
-
Dean eats lunch at his desk and Castiel has been out of the office for almost an hour. He’s opening his bottle of tea when Castiel slips back into the room.
“Oh. Lunch break.” He doesn’t apologize like most people who walk in on an executive manager might. He just sits down across from Dean and watches him quietly. Dean pretends not to be bothered, eating with his plastic fork slowly. “You have some interesting employees.”
Dean swallows and quirks an eyebrow. “I do?” he asks skeptically. He can’t think of any, except maybe Sam. Of course, he pays poor attention to his employees.
“Yes, but obviously you haven’t noticed.” Dean tenses. Castiel is testing him. “Name three.”
Dean feels himself beginning to sweat under his collar. “Sam Wesson, Ruby Milton, Meg Masters.” Sam has mentioned Ruby so many times now that of course he knows her name. Meg is a girl who got in a lot of trouble a couple of months ago. She’s still working in the building, or at least, Dean’s pretty sure she’s still in the building.
Castiel snorts. “Can you name anymore?”
Dean swallows and looks at his salad. It suddenly doesn’t seem appetizing.
“Look,” Castiel says after a moment of Dean’s silence, “I know I was invited here as a bribe. I know that I’m supposed to see how fucking great Arch and Angel’s or whatever the hell is and I’m supposed to write an article about how great their Executive Whatever-the-Fuck is doing on Floor Four. So far? I don’t have anything but bad things to say. This place is badly run and run by assholes.”
Dean swallows against the sudden bloom of anger, pushing down a shout. He looks up at Castiel, meets his eyes straight on, and this seems to surprise him because he sits back a little and waits.
“No company is perfect.” Dean is bad at speaking under pressure. He stabs at lettuce and tomato with his fork. “And I respect that you think we’re so terrible, but we’re not.”
“Collectively? Yes, you kind of are.”
Dean rolls his eyes, unable to resist the urge. He’s heard this so many times, it’s like a broken record. “You’ve been here for three hours. What the hell do you know?” He doesn’t like this Castiel guy. He didn’t expect to like this Castiel guy but he didn’t think he’d find him so infuriating either.
Castiel clicks his tongue three times in quick succession. “I don’t like to use my power over people,” he says, though it’s clearly a lie. “I’d like to be proven wrong for once.”
Dean meets his gaze. It’s a challenge from the way his eyebrows are raised. There’s a twinkle of laughter and amusement in his eyes, like this is some kind of game.
“You could cost me my job,” Dean growls over the desk, feeling hostile. He’s not up for this, not right now.
“Could I…?” Castiel seems to consider for a moment, touching his chin though it’s obviously fake. “Oh yes, you’re right, I could. I know your family, Mr. Smith. You’re rolling in money. What do you have to worry about?”
Dean hesitates, wondering how much exactly Castiel does know.
“Your father’s in the Senate. You’re a rich boy who was bred to be a rich boy. You have nothing to worry about. Oh, sure, you’re a hard worker but…if you were jobless you wouldn’t have a care in the world, would you? You’re just another Conservative nutcase who thinks the world revolves around him.” Castiel’s words are cruel and cutting and Dean recoils, shrinking back in his chair. In a way, it’s all true - his father is in the Senate, he was a rich boy from birth and he’s still a rich boy. He’s also a hard worker, and if he did lose his job he would be okay for a good while, especially if he contacted his father.
But he also has pride, and Castiel is doing his best to hurt that pride, which is just irritating. “You’re here for a month?” Dean asks. “Give me a month. I’ll prove that you’re wrong.”
Castiel’s eyes dart over him and he licks his lips. “You have a month, good sir. You have one month.”
-
Dean isn’t sure what to do. He goes home and he gets on his laptop and he begins to research Castiel Novak more thoroughly, wanting to know his background. He was born in Canada and moved to the United States when he was seven with his mother and father who apparently got divorced two years later while they were living in Maine. No wonder Castiel is so bitter - at least Dean’s parents are still married, for better or for worse. He thinks he should maybe call his mother.
Not the point.
Castiel got into journalism, according to the Wikipedia page about him, when he was in eleventh grade and he created his school’s newspaper. The newspaper crumbled but his dreams did not and he went on to study journalism as a major, creative writing as his minor. Dean tries not to be interested in the idea of Castiel spinning words together and creating stories. But he wonders - does Castiel write fairy tales, or more realistic fiction? Does he use a laptop or pencil and paper?
Focus.
Blah, blah, blah. All the other stuff, Dean knows.
Castiel is a left winged liberal who has made it very obvious where he stands in politics and across the board on anything he wants to talk about. He is known for being an eloquent writer who can string words in such a way that you can’t really help but be drawn in. He’s scary, in a way, but Dean also finds him hugely impressive. Castiel is young, not even thirty yet, so he’s got a year or two behind Dean but still. What he’s made for himself? Amazing.
Dean shouldn’t be so impressed by who is basically his enemy, but he is.
He ends up falling asleep on the couch, laptop closed on his legs.
-
“So, is he a dick?”
Castiel shrugs. “Not so much.” He had been harsh on Dean Smith because it was his nature. But Dean was not a bad person, that much he could tell. He was hard headed, perhaps, and a little spoiled but that was to be expected. Castiel couldn’t blame him because he himself was bitter about his past. Dean probably hadn’t deserved his dripping sarcasm, and Castiel almost feels guilty about it. Almost. “He knows what he’s doing, he’s just not connected with it. I wonder if he even understands what it’s like to be a human being.”
Uriel laughs, low in his throat and shakes his head. “Sometimes I wonder about you, Novak,”
he says, still smiling. “You think people are such robots, but look at you. When was the last time you called your mother? Your father? You’re too dependent on yourself, and you consider me to be your best friend.”
Castiel frowns. “You and Anna,” he corrects, thinking of Anna Milton who had lived a block away from him when he was young, when he first moved to Maine. She had somehow remained an integral part of his life, even now. “Hm,” he says to himself, looking over at Uriel across from him at the little booth. “I wonder if that Ruby woman is related to Anna.”
“Ruby?” Uriel asks, taking a sip from his water.
“I had Smith name some names - he named a ‘Ruby Milton’. Do you think it’s possible that she’s related to Anna?”
Uriel shrugs. “Could be,” he agrees. “It’s neither a common nor a rare name.”
“Yeah…Well, anyway.” Castiel straightens his shoulders and smiles broadly at the waitress who brings them their food. “Anyway, what are you saying?” He remembers now that he’s probably supposed to be offended by the way Uriel had shot him down. “I’m not a robot, I simply don’t talk to my parents.”
“You haven’t been in a relationship since you were sixteen, first time you got your heart broken. Do you think I’ve forgotten? Anyone’s forgotten? And after your sister…”
Castiel purses his lips and clicks his tongue, a habit. Uriel seems to know not to carry on, and Castiel eats one of his fries and chews before continuing. “Why should I worry about relationships, love? None of that matters when you’re a journalist. And, for the record, no one falls in love with a journalist.” He snorts, thinking of all the people he’s known and heard of, men and women who wrote because they loved what they did, who eventually got left behind because they weren’t good enough. “Life isn’t fair and I’m aware of it. That’s what I say.”
Uriel shrugs again. “I guess. Just…Lighten up a little. I know you don’t like the company or whatever but with this recession, you don’t need to be the reason for a loss of a couple thousand jobs.”
Castiel rolls his eyes. “Oh, Uriel, when did you become my conscience?”
“Since you became such a dick.”
-
Dean gets to work even earlier than usual and doesn’t run into Sam. It’s actually more likely to not run into Sam in the morning, but it still makes him nervous and he hurries to his office like a madman. He kind of hates the person he’s become in just one day, but he doesn’t think it can really be helped. Castiel Novak is an intimidating man, and Dean wants nothing more than to be on his good side by this point.
He gets to his office before Castiel and for that he is relieved. He’s barely able to take off his suit jacket and grab a mug of coffee and sit before Castiel does arrive, however. He’s dressed the same as yesterday, and yet he still seems somewhat…stunning. Dean hates the word but he thinks that it’s the best way to describe Castiel who is sleek and thin and mostly straight lines as opposed to awkward curves and raggedness.
“Good morning,” he says and Castiel nods his recognition of the greeting.
“What’s on the agenda today?”
Dean bites his lip and looks at the e-mail he’d received this morning, scanning it. “Looks like a lot of number crunching…Nothing exciting, today.” He’s a little gloomy about the prospect of spending the day in the office, but as long as nothing goes awry, there’s no reason to be worried, at least. He begins to check his other e-mails quietly and Castiel sits still for a moment before he begins spinning the chair back and forth. Dean doesn’t pay him much attention, figuring he’s probably just trying to get his attention and distraction, and he clicks away at the keyboard, filling up the otherwise silent room. Castiel continues to spin, chair squeaking, and Dean continues to stare at the screen.
“This is boring.”
Dean looks up from the e-mail he’s writing, one that’s about to be sent to the entire expanse of the marketing area on his floor. He stares at Castiel for a moment and then shrugs.
“It’s work. It’s actual work, though you might find yourself allergic.” The words come out sharp and he swallows, aware he’s been inappropriate. He glances back at the screen, then at Castiel again who is eyeing him curiously.
“Very well, Mr. Smith.”
Castiel folds his hands on his lap and sits in silence, just staring.
Dean turns back to his e-mail, intent on finishing as early as possible.
-
Castiel leaves the room when Dean announces it’s lunch time but he comes back with a cafeteria tray a couple of minutes later. The look on Dean’s face when he clicks the door shut behind him with a spare smile is priceless but he tries not to let it show how amused he is.
“You’re going to have lunch with me with?” Dean asks, incredulous.
Castiel sets his tray down on the large desk in front of Dean’s salad. “Is salad all you ever eat?” he asks instead of answering the question and Dean just looks more bewildered, blinking green eyes full of surprise. It’s funny to see and Castiel continues to smile, amused. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Dean stutters, tripping over the words for a minute. “No, it’s not!” he finally gets out, sounding deeply offended. “I eat take out a lot.” He frowns as if that’s even worse than salad, which Castiel supposes it is. “I just like salad for lunch.” He nods, pleased with his argument and Castiel raises an eyebrow at him.
“Don’t trust the cafeteria or something, Mr. Smith?” he asks, looking at his own chicken patty sandwich. It doesn’t look too bad; he’s eaten worse. He picks it up and takes a bite, and actually, this shit is pretty good. He chews slowly and silently.
“I just prefer to pack my own,” Dean says stiffly. He seems to hesitate for a moment and when Castiel swallows and stops chewing he says, “You can call me Dean.”
This catches Castiel by surprise and he blinks. “Uhh.” He’s not used to being at a loss for words. “Oh…Okay.”
Castiel isn’t sure how he feels about this. He’s taken aback but he decides he has to roll with the punches. “Then make sure you call me Castiel, alright?” He holds at his hand to make the deal. Dean eyes him for a moment, almost suspiciously, then shakes it.
“Yeah. Sure.”
-
“So, how’s work goin’?”
Sam is sitting across from Dean at the little kitchen table that night. This time they’re eating stir fry that Dean actually made while Sam was on the couch watching TV. Sam hasn’t complained yet and Dean thinks it’s pretty good, so it’s an achievement.
“Fine. How about you?”
“Oh, the usual,” Say says, but there’s a sort of sing-song in his voice, proof that ‘the usual’ is a total lie and that he brought up this conversation just so he could talk. “I asked Ruby out.”
“Did you now…?” Dean says, feigning curiosity as he prods at a carrot. Why do people consider carrots to be a necessary part of stir fry? He’ll never understand. Maybe he’ll Google it later.
“Yeah.”
Dean knows he’s being prompted; he’s supposed to ask Sam to elaborate. “And did she say yes?” He’s teasing, smiling a little as he takes another bite of dinner.
“She did indeed!” Sam grins foolishly as if it’s some great accomplishment. “She said she was excited. She was waiting for me to ask her out.”
“Did she admit to that last part or are you being pompous?”
Sam huffs. “I’m offended, Dean Smith! She didn’t say it, no, but she totally implied it, thus cancelling out any…pompousness that you speak of.”
“Well, thanks for the confirmation.” Dean laughs anyway. “Do I get to meet her?”
“When do you want to meet her?”
Dean sighs and leans back. “I don’t know. Maybe once all of this…this shit with this Novak guy is over.”
Sam watches him for a moment then smiles a bit. “Is it really that bad? What, is he some kind of total dick who’s trying to fuck us over that badly? I mean, from what I’ve heard about him he’s harsh but…just a little intimidating. I mean, obviously I don’t know, I’ve never actually met the guy.” Sam chuckles. “Do I get to meet him?”
Dean sniffs. “He’s not a dick, per se, he’s just…He makes me nervous.” Dean suppresses a shiver, which is stupid. Why should he shiver because some guy is trying to fuck up his company? He just has to prove that they’re worth it, which, considering what he said today, might well be a problem. “He’s definitely intimidating, I can’t even tell if he’s trying or not. But I think I caught him off guard, I told him to just call me Dean. He kept calling me Mr. Smith and it was kind of creepy.”
“That’s not creepy, that’s polite,” Sam corrects.
“Yeah, well, you should have heard the way he said it. Kind of menacing.”
“Whatever, I think you’re just being a baby.”
“When you meet him you’ll understand.”
“Yeah, maybe, if I even get to meet him. I don’t see why I should though, he’s not shadowing me, he’s shadowing you. Also, you’re not being a douche, are you? Because we really can’t afford you fucking this up.”
Dean glares at Sam. “Of course I’m not being a douche,” he says, but it’s kind of a lie. “I’m just…I’m telling him the truth. It’s important that he knows the truth! I’m not going to treat him special just because he’s got experience and he’s young.” And he can basically destroy everything Dean’s worked so hard for. Because he has worked hard for it, and he deserves it.
“Well, whatever. When you get honest, you get douche-y.” Sam nods and gives Dean a pitying look. “You’ll be fine. Buck up, kid. Deal with it, and make things work.”
“You make it sound so simple,” Dean mutters darkly. He stands up, taking his plate as well as Sam’s and dropping them in the sink. He’ll wash them later. “And it’s not.”
“Sure it is. It’s whatever you want it to be.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Dean grumbles, turning around and leaning against the counter. “I’ve got a really important job, I’m close to getting Zach’s position, and this guy he just…He just, out of nowhere decides to show up and screw that up for me. What did I ever do to him?”
Sam laughs and wraps an arm around the back of the chair. “It’s not you, Dean. It’s not even…” He pauses and shakes his head. “He didn’t know who the hell you were until what, two days ago? It has nothing to do with you. Don’t take things so personally, it makes you sound like an idiot.”
Dean sighs; Sam is right, though he’s not exactly about to say it out loud. Sam’s always been pretty logical, despite how he acts. He’s methodical a lot of time, someone who absorbs information with such quickness that Dean thinks it’s kind of scary.
“Yeah,” he agrees finally. “Yeah, I know.”
-
The next day, Wednesday, is a little better. Dean meets Sam in the elevator and gets to see Ruby for the first time when Sam walks off in the opposite direction. He’s half-yelling, “Hey, Ruby!” and Dean glances over his shoulder when he hears it. The girl is really pretty, even in the ugly yellow shirt and khaki pants combo that their employees have to wear (Dean thinks he should maybe do the company a favor and prompt to get rid of those uniforms and make Casual Fridays into Casual Monday, Wednesday, and Friday), and she smiles when Sam catches up to her. Dean wonders when they’re going on their date. He makes a mental note to ask Sam so he doesn’t end up wanting Sam to come over on the same night.
Maybe they are kind of dating. That’s sort of embarrassing.
Dean heads to his office in a better mood and when he gets there, Castiel’s not inside. He lets himself be momentarily relieved and sets up his laptop, taking off his suit jacket and hanging it over the back of his chair. He sets his lunch (not a salad this time, instead a sandwich and lemon iced tea) next to the photo of him and Jo and turns the computer on, leaning back in his chair as he waits for it to load.
Castiel enters then, looking a little worn around the edges. “Good morning,” he greets groggily, rubbing his eye, and Dean’s unsure if he should comment. He decides against it, loosening his tie.
“Good morning.”
Castiel sits across from him again, but scoots his chair mostly to the left, away from Dean. Dean’s fingers hover over the keys and he watches for a moment as Castiel dips his head. “Are you alright?” he asks, unable to stop himself. He’s not sure if he’s actually concerned or if he’s just curious. He…feels a little concerned, which is sort of weird. Castiel is some guy he has to deal with, a problem. Not a friend, someone to worry about.
“Mm, just under the weather,” Castiel answers into his lap, not meeting Dean’s eyes. His suit even looks sort of frumpy and Dean wonders if he’s sick or if he was just out late. He doesn’t feel bad anymore when he thinks it’s more likely that Castiel just had a late night. “Sorry I’m late.”
“You’re not,” Dean answers, keeping his voice light. “You’re perfectly on time.”
“Yeah?” Castiel sits up a little straighter and he barely looks like he’s slept at all. Dean frowns and glances at the computer again. “So, what today, boss?” He’s either too tired to keep up his snark or something else is up. Dean doesn’t comment on it, almost grateful.
“The same as usual.” Dean shrugs. “I make calls, I manage spreadsheets. I try to make clients happy. It’s the job and well, the job is the job, is the job.” He chews on his bottom lip as he switches tabs on the computer. “Honestly, I don’t know why you took this…This shadowing thing, or whatever. Or why you wrote that article, but I guess that’s not my concern. Why are you here?”
Castiel’s eyes are a little more focused when Dean meets them again and Dean can recognize a sick person when he sees them. Something’s wrong, whether it be the common cold or the flu, Dean can’t tell.
“I don’t know, to be completely honest.” Castiel turns his head and looks at the wall. “I don’t know. I wanted to…get out of my own office, I suppose. Make a run at someone else, in person, for a change. Maybe I really did want to be proven wrong. You know, you still have time. Time to prove me wrong.”
“Well,” Dean starts, “I already know you’re wrong. I’ve known you were wrong since I first read the article. I’m not saying we’re flawless, not at all, but you’re obviously over-opinionated. You’re not a bad person, and neither am I. Why do journalists feel the need to just…attack, attack, attack? What are you so afraid of?”
Castiel studies him for a moment and then snorts. “Of losing my job. I have the same fears as you. You get people to pay attention when you’re mean and spiteful.”
“Yeah? Have you ever tried another route, though?” Dean finds he’s been sucked into this situation, wanting to say something, to make himself known. “Maybe if you focused on the positives instead of the negatives, a lot more people would be happy. People would really listen to you, and they would want to talk to you, instead of being afraid of you.”
“Am I an intimidating person, Dean?” Castiel’s voice is sharp and he nearly cuts Dean off before he can finish. “In person, am I really that scary? Or am I just scary because I say what I think? Because I do, I just…I let things be known. I write nice things, Mr. Smith,” - he’s returned to calling him by his last name and Dean wonders if this is a bad thing - “it’s just that some people and some companies don’t deserve it. Others do. The end. It’s simple, don’t you get that? I’m not perfect, and I don’t want to be perfect. I’m not scary - People decide I’m scary. People are afraid of me by their own free will.”
Dean looks over Castiel. “Can we take a walk?”
“Excuse me?” Castiel looks incredulous. “Don’t you have a job to do?”
Dean looks back at his computer, scanning the e-mail. He opens up the Excel document and then shrugs. “Nothing that important,” he answers, rolling his neck. It makes small cracking noises as he does so and feels pretty good. “I think you should see the rest of the floor.”
Castiel rolls his eyes without abandon. “Why?”
“Do you really need a reason? Because I asked you to. Because you’re going to give me the benefit of the doubt.”
Castiel grits his teeth. “Fine,” he says tersely, standing up.
Dean doesn’t even touch him as he walks by and grabs his jacket. “Just follow me.”
-
Lots of computers and lots of employees. Castiel still doesn’t see what this trip around the fourth floor is supposed to be showing him. Dean is holding a cup of coffee and not saying anything, which makes even less sense. Castiel is getting more annoyed and impatient by the minute, but he eyes the people typing away and talking into their little headsets about vehicle types or whatever the fuck. None of these people strike him as especially important.
“My best friend’s around here somewhere. Maybe getting a snack, he does that a lot.”
Castiel turns his head to look at Dean. “Your best friend?” he repeats, confused.
“Sam Wesson. He works here. He helped me out a couple of months ago…It’s a long story, but we both could have lost our jobs.” Dean snorts, as if remembering a very funny memory. “He’s very smart, very…He knows what he’s doing. He’s a good guy, I’m glad to have met him.”
Castiel pauses for a second then shakes his head. “What, are you trying to prove that you have a heart of something? Spewing bullshit about some best friend?”
“Like I said, I only know three of the employees on this floor by name. Sam, Ruby, and Meg. Sam because he’s the closest thing to a confident I have. Ruby because she’s his girlfriend…Well, sort of. He asked her out, apparently. Meg because…” Dean trails off and then laughs. “Meg because she’s a screw up and sort of a bitch. Don’t tell.”
Castiel stares, slightly in awe. “What, what is this? What do you want?”
“I don’t know.” Dean sips his coffee. “Nothing, really. I just felt like telling you.”
“Why?”
“Because I think you ought to know. I’m not…detached. Not from everything. Not perfect, but I’m not so terribly ruined that I’m beyond saving. I think Sam helped prove that. He comes over sometimes and we talk and he was worried I was being a douche bag to you. I hope I’m not.” Dean looks over at Castiel and smiles a bit.
“Three days, Smith. I’ve known you for three days and already you’re telling me your life story? What a fantastic idea.”
Dean doesn’t seem bothered, just shrugging. “What? Are you going to tell? Write another article? I’m screwed one way or another. If I don’t tell you the truth you’re going to think exactly that - That I’m heartless, that I’m really just another corporate ladder climber. And in some ways, yes, I am. I really am. I want my boss’s job and I’m pretty desperate to get it. Honestly? Part of why I’m telling you this is because I don’t want to lose my job. I think that’s pretty legitimate, don’t you? I’m allowed to be a little selfish, at least. Give me the benefit of the doubt.”
“You already had the benefit of the doubt,” Castiel says, blowing air out of his nose. “Now, let me be honest. It doesn’t happen much, at least not nicely, so you better be listening.” Castiel watches; sees Dean smiling into his coffee cup. “In these three days, I’ve grown to like you. Not much, mind you, but enough. Enough. I’d like to stay for the rest of the month. I’m not going to leave and write some monumental article that’s going to ruin everything.”
Dean’s grinning now, not trying to hide it. “So it worked? You wanna meet Sam.”
Castiel hesitates, then does something he never thought he would. “Sure.”
part 2