"Hello?"

"Come in." A clipped, rather weary voice said. Castiel shuffled into the office to catch sight of an older brunette woman sitting behind a large fold up desk. Her bright gold nametag Naomi stood out sharply against her dark grey, no-nonsense suit, which was well matched with her cool face and stiff demeanor.

"I'm here for an interview?" He said, standing awkwardly in the doorway.

"Right. Sit down." She gestured to a plastic sun chair that sat across from her desk. He took a seat, nerves making it impossible to look her in the eye.

"So, I've been told to give you a job, Casteel." She said, hands folded, gaze direct.

"Castiel." He corrected quietly, shifting in his seat as he did so. The woman's gaze remained still and sharp, despite his squirming.

"Right. Well, as your father owns this place and I have to do as he asks, it'd be a waste of time to give you an interview. So, congratulations. You have a job." She said, looking thoroughly displeased with this information.

"Oh. Uh, thank you?" She waved him off.

"Thank your father. Just come back tomorrow at 6. Wear a white button down and khakis. I'll give you the vest and name tag tomorrow."

"Okay." He answered, pausing for more instruction. A slightly awkward silence descended, lasting a few moments.

"You can leave now." She said, eyebrows raised.

"Er, right. Sorry," he said, rising from his chair. "I'll just—" He tripped over the chair's leg in his haste, causing it to fall over. He could practically feel her silent judgment.

"Sorry again." He picked up the chair, righting it. "I'll be going." He awkwardly gestured towards the office door with his thumbs, before making a quick retreat. He left the office with his face burning, teeth clenched, and eyes closing in mortification. With his silent cursing himself, he missed the boy at the concessions stand's curious gaze following him out the door.

"Castiel," Naomi greeted him as he entered her office the next day. "Nice to see you again."

"Likewise, ma'am." He answered politely, despite the obvious lie.

"Due to your home life," Naomi segued, apparently incapable of small talk. "I trust you understand the basics of the business, so I will skip most of the introductory spiel." Before Cas could contradict her, and explain that no, he didn't know anything about the movie theater business, she continued. "Then again, I am not completely convinced your father understands the basics of the business, considering our revenue." Before Cas could comment on that, she blundered on. Cas was starting to understand how animals felt when their humans just rambled on and on, not wanting a comment.

"Regardless, I'll skip the speech, since little of it matters. I'm going to leave it to your coworker to show you the ropes. I'm sure you'll catch on quickly. According to your application, you're available to work any time?" Castiel nodded, though Naomi didn't bother to wait for confirmation.

"That being the case, we're putting you on night shift. We rarely have people who want to work those hours." Naomi said, which made Castiel wonder why she thought that was a good thing to mention to a brand new employee.

"You'll be in the concessions stand. You'll mostly be working with Dean, as he works there every night, 7-close. Occasionally you'll work with Gabriel, though he usually just does inventory." She stood. "Follow me, please." She led him into the concessions stand through a door with a large sign stating Employee's Only. The stand faced the three doors that led outside. There were two registers inside; one had a fold up chair in front of it, despite the fact that if someone was sitting in it, they probably wouldn't be able to see above the counter.

"Most nights, you'll probably just be alone with Dean. We're not a large theater by any means, and we aren't exactly popular. You're going to be in charge of getting people's concessions, while Dean will do the tickets. Any questions?"

He had several, actually. Like, how will I know my schedule? How exactly does concessions work? Don't I need to be trained, or something? There's no way this is actually this informal, right? Is this "Dean" supposed to train me? When do I take my breaks? When do I get paid? I am getting the feeling you only hired me because my father is your boss; is that a correct impression?

"Uh, no, I guess?" He finally said, after seeing her incredibly put-on expression.

"Good." She said. "Alright, so, as you can see, there are no customers here. That's normal." Castiel got the distinct impression that Naomi wasn't overly thrilled with her father's advertising tactics. He couldn't really blame her, since his father's advertising tactics basically boiled down to 'word of mouth, maybe?'

"And this is Dean," Naomi said, gesturing to the empty chair. At Cas' blank stare, she added with a sigh, "or it would be, if he ever did what he was supposed to."

"Why is he still employed, then? I'm sure I read in the employee handbook, page 15, that if you consistently don't abide by the rules, it can and will result in termination—" Naomi sighed, cutting him off.

"The problem with Dean is that when he does work, he's the best employee we have. He's charming, albeit in a rather intimidating way. Whenever he does what he is supposed to, he's damn good. And he's willing to work nights, so we don't want to fire him. Plus, we all know he needs the job." She paused, sighing again, somehow sounding fonder this time. "Anyhow, I think you'll like him. It can be hard not to. Plus, you better, since you're going to be spending almost every night with him."

Before Castiel could reply, a very large thump sounded directly behind them, causing both to twist around in surprise.

A boy about Castiel's age was lying on the ground on top of a large cardboard dinosaur display for Disney's new film, obviously having tripped.

"Dean, if you broke that…" Naomi said, sounding more exasperated than angry.

"No, ma'am." He said, bounding up from the ground. "Only dented!" He was tall, at least two inches taller than Castiel, and well built. His dark blonde hair and green eyes clashed with his bright blue vest, which was over a black graphic t-shirt of what looked to be an old rock band. Castiel looked down to his own plain white button down and vest, and wondered if there was some exception to the dress code he wasn't aware of.

"Just fix it, Dean. And this Castiel, your new nightshift partner. Train him, please."

"What happened to Ash?" Dean asked, crouching down to pick up the display.

"He was fired for having illegal substances on the property. Which I have told you. Three times now."

"I remember something about that."

"Right. Well, Cas is the owner's son, so please treat him with a bit more respect than you show…anyone else. Also, please stay where you're supposed to."

"I just wanted to see the first five minutes of the new X-Men! Is that so wrong?" He asked, sincere, eyes pleading, but face betraying the underlying amusement.

"Yes." Naomi said, dryly. "It's not allowed. Stay here, train him." She said, pointing to Castiel. With that, she turned on a heel and exited. Castiel watched as Dean righted the Disney display, only to trip on it once again as he was moving to greet Castiel.

"Owner's son, eh?" Dean asked from the ground, where his body was lying awkwardly on top of the dinosaur's head, bending it backwards sharply and partially ripping it off.

"Yes."

"Think you can not tell him about this?" He asked, standing and setting the now almost decapitated, and severely creased, dinosaur upright.

"I don't really speak with my father," Cas answered, slightly distracted by the dinosaur head swaying slightly right to left, holding on by a thread of cardboard.

"Good, me neither. Wanna help me duct tape this dude's head back on?" Dean asked, tapping the cardboard display. The motion made the head fall off and silently make its way to the ground, like a leaf off a tree.

"Shouldn't you be training me?" Cas asked, staring at the dinosaur head on the ground.

"Later," Dean said, waving his hand. "First, let me make a duct tape necklace for this bad boy to get his head back on. Wanna make a duct tape and popcorn bucket crown for him?"

And with that, Cas was quite sure this job was going to be very different from what he expected.

Two weeks in, and Cas finally understood the reasoning behind Dean's leisurely attitude. This job was boring as hell. The theater wasn't all that popular to begin with, and working the late shift on weekdays definitely wasn't the popular time. For hours the boys would be left alone. There were only so many times Castiel could clean and organize everything in sight.

"When did the last customer come in?"

"About fifty minutes ago," Dean answered, currently seeing how many unpopped kernels in a row he could throw into a small cup on the counter. 28 was the standing record.

Cas sighed. He and Dean had clashed a bit at the beginning, mostly due to his wanting to be trained, and Dean's wanting to do nothing. Castiel had insisted on being showed how do to everything, which Dean had done very sarcastically and passive aggressively in the space of an hour and a half. At first, Cas had seriously dreaded going back to the job, thinking he and Dean would constantly conflict. But seeing how little there actually was to do, Cas had calmed on his we have to be working; we're getting paid! attitude, which eased he and Dean's relationship significantly.

"Wanna join?" Dean asked, not looking up from his activity, perched backwards on his chair on two legs. His tongue was sticking out slightly, making Cas smile a little to himself.

Shrugging, he crouched behind Dean.

"Wanna see how far we can throw? I bet you I can get it in all the way from the door."

Dean slammed his chair down on all fours. "You're on."

"Customer update?" Cas asked from behind a tower of Milk Duds, which was currently taking the (crude) shape of the coliseum.

"None in twenty two minutes, none in sight. That side needs to be bigger."

Castiel was sitting on the ground, rearranging the small popcorn bags for the sixth time when Dean kicked him in the back.

"Hey, you," He said. "Want to help me set up the new Star Trek display?"

"Hell yeah." Castiel said, scrambling up from his place on the ground. At that, he received a large gummy smile, which he couldn't help but return.

Ten minutes later, Dean's smile was replaced by a look of sheer incredulity.

"What the hell do you mean you don't have any opinion on William Shatner vs Chris Pine?"

Castiel shrugged, while putting the finishing touch on the display.

"I've never seen Star Trek, which makes it hard to have an opinion. Though, I guess I'd say that Chris Pine is more attractive? And a better actor, if those insurance commercials are anything to go by."

By Dean's face, that didn't seem to be the right answer.

"Sorry?" Castiel offered.

"Well, fuck that." Dean said, surprising Castiel. "Come here." At that, he grabbed Castiel's elbow, drug him back into the concessions stand, and pushed him down into one of the two fold up chairs. Having a quick look to make sure there were no customers, Dean plopped down next to him.

"Alright, Cas, I'm going to introduce you into mediocre plot lines and bad 60s special effects."

"Sounds necessary." Castiel said, making Dean smile.

"Oh it is, my friend." He said, pulling out his phone.

…

"This is stupid, Dean."

"I know, Cas."

"Really stupid, Dean."

"I know, Cas. Don't you love it?"

Dean decided to take his lack of answer as a yes, and counted it as a victory.

"No, no, no, Cas. We need to make the whale out of Care Bear gummies. Their bags are blue, it only makes sense!"

"Dean, you can't stack bags! It would fall apart immediately; it'd never take shape. How is your major engineering?"

"And how is communications yours, mister-I-hide-whenever-a-customer-says-more-than 'Can I get a refill?'"

At Castiel's glare, Dean put his hands up in surrender.

"Fine! How about we build the whale out of junior mints, and then make the water out of Care Bears?"

"Fine."

"Why do you wear the uniform?" Dean asked suddenly one day, looking up from his phone that he absolutely should not have had on him.

"It's required…?" Cas answered, raising his brows.

Dean shrugged, and turned back to bejeweled.

"Cas, I dare you to sell fifteen large popcorns tonight."

"I'll try, Dean." Cas said, silently wondering if they'd even sell that many tickets.

"There is either do, or do not. There is no try."

"But I can't promise you I'll be able to, Dean. It depends on each customer, and luck, and—"

"Cas, Star Wars. It was a Star Wars reference."

"I've heard of that. Space aliens, right?"

"Oh my God. How do you work at a movie theater? You're coming home with me tonight, no exceptions."

And with that, Dean's biweekly show Castiel decent movies so he can finally get my references or so help me God late nights had begun.

"Enjoying cleaning the kettle?" Cas asked, smirking behind Dean, who flipped him off without turning.

"Fuck you, man. You're the one who burned that batch of popcorn to the bottom of this fucking thing."

"Only because you were distracting me by building a house out of customer reward cards!"

"Details." Dean said, flipping his hand. "You made the mess. Why do I have to clean it up?"

"Because Naomi assigns cleaning duties and likes me better?" Castiel offered, smirk still in place.

"Stupid lady, she is." Dean said, making Cas laugh. "Why would anyone like you better?"

"Because I'm polite, follow the guidelines—" At that, Dean turned, expression incredulous.

"Who are you kidding? You fuck off just as often I do. Half the time you're the one suggesting we play games with the popcorn."

"Well, then, it's just because I'm handsome." Castiel said, clearly joking. Inwardly, though, Dean couldn't help but heartily agree. "Or, because I'm the owner's son, and she has to like me?"

"That has to be it," Dean answered, hands going back to scrubbing the kettle, burnt pieces of popcorn still latched on. "Since I'm the handsome one around here."

Inwardly, Casitel heartily agreed with that.

"Want some help?" Cas offered, after a moment of silence, the only sound being Dean's hands scrubbing the steel wool against the metal.

"Sure." Dean answered.

They both knew this meant it'd take about a half hour longer, since there'd inevitably be a water fight, but neither boy cared.

"How much do you want to bet that I can fit my entire body inside the popper?"

"I'm fairly certain you'll be betting your job."

"Hey Cas?" Dean asked. Today had been a little quicker, with the premiere of some independent film that pulled the hipster crowd, who seemed to like the I don't really give a shit about appearances vibe their theater had going on. Both Dean and Cas had settled in for a quieter night once the crowd had gone into the movie, deciding to relax instead of goof off, since they technically did have a lot of people physically in the theater. Dean had been standing, reorganizing the popcorn seasoning and seed, while Cas had been sitting cross-legged on a chair, reading some book. It looked like a romance.

"Yeah?" Cas answered, sticking his finger in his book to keep the place.

"Why'd you say you don't really talk to your father?" Dean asked, not looking up from the seasoning he was arranging.

It was silent on Cas' end for a long moment.

"I suppose because I don't really talk with my father," Cas said eventually.

"Why's that?" Dean asked, still not looking up.

"He's not really around. He's usually shacked up in his study. He wanted to be a screenwriter, so we have hundreds of half finished manuscripts lying around the house. He was never all that good at it though, and it's a hard business to break into, so nothing ever came of it. When this place came up for sale, I think he thought it'd be half fulfilling a dream. You know, the movie part of movie scripts. But he didn't take into account that he really sucks at business." At that, Dean snorted. "But yeah, he's constantly in his room, trying to write his sorrows away. And when that doesn't work, he usually drinks to forget."

"I know how that is." Cas rolled his eyes, used to the platitude.

"Sure." He said, going back to his book.

"No, I mean, really." At the somber tone, Cas looked up. Dean was still staring at the seasoning, but no longer actually pretending to be working with them. "My dad…he's always around. But never around, if you know what I mean. He's always in the house, but I never see him. He's always off his ass drunk. Might as well not be there."

"It sucks, doesn't it?" Cas said, after a long, tense moment.

"It does. Any mom in the picture for you?"

Cas shook his head.

"Me neither." Dean chewed on his lip, while Cas watched, silent.

"Want to watch Lion King tonight?" Dean said eventually, finally turning to face Castiel.

"What's that about?" Cas asked, ignoring the blatant shift in topic.

"Disney's version of Hamlet, with signing lions." At Castiel's wide-eyed look, Dean cracked his first smile of the night. "Yeah, we're watching that for sure."

"Cas, what the hell are you doing?"

"I'm putting butter on my pizza."

"My God. Why?"

"It improves the flavor, Dean."

"Whatever you say. Don't blame me when you die of cardiac arrest when you're thirty."

"Explain." Dean said, eyes glaring while his hands moved independently, making children's popcorn trays.

"I didn't mean to offend, Dean. It's just that comedies often resort to phoned in humor and tropes. Jokes are often only funny the first time, and movies like Sandler's often use jokes we have been used to since cartoons. It'd be far too broad a stroke to say that all comedies are bad, but I think the genre is severely lacking in cleverness and originality. And I'd say that most comedies, while they may receive a return in investment, aren't worth the several million dollars they take to make."

"But Cas," Dean said earnestly, body angled completely away from the register and leaning towards Castiel, "don't you think that several of the greatest films of all time have been comedies? I mean, look back to the late 50s, with Tony Curtis and Marilyn—" A loud cough cut off his tirade, startling both boys. They both turned to see a kid, no older than 15, idling at the cash register with a look that only pre-teen boys can master.

"If you two are done flirting, do you mind telling me where theater 3 is?" He asked, facial expression mirroring one Dean swore he once saw on the villain of a Disney Channel movie.

"Right where the theater with the giant 3 above it is, sir." Cas said, tone the picture of politeness, before turning sideways to face Dean again. Dean snuffed out a laugh, before turning back to begin again.

"Cas, hey. Castiel. Wake up." Dean said, nudging him with his foot.

"Blurgh a hulrf." Cas mumbled, shoving his face into the couch's arm.

"Cas, the film's over. You gotta go home."

"Did they get together?" Cas said, slurring his words. Dean smiled.

"Yeah, buddy, they did."

"Good." Cas said, voice still scratchy from sleep, and almost incomprehensible from being spoken into a seat cushion. "Would you allow me to possibly not move from this area and just sleep here tonight?" Dean only hesitated a moment, mind jumping to too many places, too fast.

"Of course."

"Well, that was dramatic." Dean said, after several long, tense moments of complete silence.

It had been a busy night, and Cas had been getting flustered, not being used to the rush. Dean had asked him to grab a box of popcorn seed from the back, which Cas had done at far too brisk a pace. He returned with his arms full, and right as he was about to pass Dean, his feet began to slip on the popping oil that perpetually covered the ground. In a slight panic from losing his footing, he absentmindedly let the box fall from his arms, and tried to grab onto Dean's arm for balance. Of course, this only succeeded in pulling Dean down to the ground as well. Cas landed straight on top of Dean, who let out a large oomph from hitting the hard ground. They both cringed at the sound of thousands of little seeds bouncing off the tile floor.

Upon not receiving a response from Cas, Dean huffed a laugh, which was when Castiel became acutely aware that he was touching the majority of Dean, and was only about three inches from his face. His laughing breath was warm on Cas' lips, and it made his brain pause for a second longer than what would seem strictly normal to an outsider. He'd never been quite so close to another human being, especially one he admittedly (secretly) wanted to be that close to.

Inanely, all he could think was that Dean's eyes were the exact same color as the salad leaves he'd had for lunch.

Once his brain snapped back to the present, he realized his hands had been curled into Dean's chest. And he hadn't moved for a good fifteen seconds. Cas' face colored, and he sprang up, closing his eyes and silently trying to talk himself down from the humiliated feeling watering down his chest. The tittering and mocking applause from the large, waiting crowd wasn't helping.

"Well," Dean said, pushing himself off the ground. "Let's get that cleaned up." Though incredibly embarrassed, Castiel couldn't help feel an absurd sense of gratitude at the there's a problem, we'll fix it attitude of Dean's. The disapproving looks, the silent disappointment, the frank blame game, the screaming censure—all that Castiel was used to, and all that would never even enter Dean's mind. Castiel could no more help the thankful smile he sent Dean's way than the eternal sense of gratitude he sent to whatever deity was listening that Dean had to work nights so he could watch his little brother during waking hours.

Six months in, Cas was quite certain that Dean was the best friend he'd ever had. Not that he had all that much competition. Cas wasn't overly gifted when it came to social interactions, and while never friendless, he was never one to have the best friend type. He had people he could sit with at lunch, but no one to go see movies with. He had people to pair up with in classes, but no one to sleep over. It always bothered him slightly, but not enough to make drastic changes to his behavior. As far as he was concerned, if someone didn't like him for him, why bother?

Now, Castiel was rethinking that idea. If having a best friend was always like this, he had wasted a good nineteen years of his life. Then again, Dean didn't seem to care that he always acted like himself. He didn't have to change.

And that might have been the nicest thing of all. While Dean definitely brought out his more rebellious side, he was still Cas. He still aimed poorly when shooting popcorn seeds or crumpled up paper. He still refused to make spitballs, since they were unsanitary. He outright refused to give pretty girls discounts on the account of their appearance. He was adamant about wearing the company uniform of an ugly blue vest and khakis, despite Naomi's lack of care. He rarely understood any movie reference, despite his vocation.

But that was it, wasn't it? Instead of making fun of him, Dean helped show him how to aim. Instead of bully him to take part, Dean let him hold a target to shoot spitballs on. He rolled his eyes whenever Cas sternly told a girl That is $8.50, actually, my friend here is just joking, but never said a word. Instead of commenting on Cas' uniform, he simply explained where his own graphic tees had come from, and forced him to listen to the bands. And instead of simply telling him You have to see Star Trek sometime, he said, Let's go see Star Trek, tomorrow, at mine.

He included him. He took him as is, at face value, and didn't seem to care about his peculiarities. Dean listened to him ramble about absolutely nothing for hours, and just commented whenever appropriate. Often, he even asked Cas to explain why he loved something or how something worked—even if it was as idiotic as coccus vs bacilli, or why it was conceivable that the god Apollo was actually secretly in love with Dionysus. Dean couldn't have cared, Cas was sure, but he listened, he commented, he included him, he enjoyed him, and Dean did it all without making Cas feel like it was a hardship for him to do so.

It never really was a competition, but Dean had become his favorite person.

Six months in, Dean was fairly certain that Cas was the best friend he had ever had. It seemed weird to say, considering the rocky start they got off to, and just how different Cas was to his usual crowd. Normally, Dean liked to hang around people like himself – brash, insensitive, somewhat slackerish, brawn over brain, vocational over theoretical, humor over emotional, prickly, rough around the edges, 'I don't give a shit unless you cross me' types. All his better friends were exactly like that – the majority high school drop outs, and all of them turning their faces to what society deemed 'classy.'

Don't get him wrong; Dean still liked those kinds of people. There was Gordon from the shooting range, Benny from the mechanic shop, Andy from high school. Dean still saw them regularly, though none of them knew about Cas. Dean was fairly certain that if they met him, they'd think Dean had suffered some kind of personality transplant. And he was completely certain they wouldn't like him, and wouldn't put up with him.

Hell, if he hadn't met Cas the way he did, he'd act the exact same way.

The problem with Cas was that, from the start, Dean didn't think about him how he'd think of a friend. He was a coworker, and he'd be treated as such. He didn't have the preliminary 'how much do your clothes cost,' or 'how do you feel about whiskey,' or any of the other questions Dean couldn't help but judge people on. Dean wasn't looking to make a friend, so it didn't matter what Cas seemed like from the outside. He was just someone he had to work with, so he accepted him face value.

But then he had to spend time with him. A lot of time with him.

At first, Dean really didn't care for him. He was far too adamant about the rules, he sat too straight, he wore the uniform religiously, he didn't understand (or make) any jokes, he refused to lighten up, and he looked at Dean like he was an unfathomable creature.

So yeah. The first two weeks sort of sucked.

But then Cas started to talk.

Dean didn't know what prompted it. Just one night, Cas had re-organized the entire stockroom—twice—while Dean had been busy making a dragon out of receipt paper. Cas had emerged out of the room, plopped next to him, and just began to chat. It was awkward at first, but behind the stilted words and inordinately large vocabulary, Cas was actually rather sweet—and wickedly intelligent.

After that, Cas started to lighten up a lot. He participated in Dean's random shenanigans, and talked with him amiably as he did so.

And Dean liked what he said. A lot.

None of Dean's friends were the scholar types, per-se. None were stupid by any means, but they were far more intelligent in their own fields—be it bartending, cars, electrical engineering—than they were in the conventional way. But Dean could tell that Cas was extremely educated. He chatted about fine literature, musicals, types of wine, Greek mythology, politics, animals, astronomy, languages—even fucking plants on one memorable occasion. But no matter how out of his depth Dean felt, Cas never cared. He just explained what he was talking about—be it giving book synopses, Greek mythology lessons, (very slow) language explanations, or showing him the stars outside on a slow night. He didn't seem to think Dean should know any of this, or that it was a bad thing that he didn't. He never seemed to look down on him; if anything, he just seemed grateful to have a listener.

And Dean? He fucking basked in it.

The problem with having no school, a do-nothing Dad, a perpetually busy younger brother, and extremely work heavy friends, was that nobody ever just talked about things. People were so busy in their own poverty, their own problems, their own sadness, that all they talked about was their own drama. No matter how kind he wanted to be, Dean got intensely tired of hearing about everyone's woes. And every night, Dean got to go and just be talked at about the world. Cas never complained about his home life, though Dean got glimpses that it might not be so pleasant. All Cas did was talk about things he knew, things he liked, things he cared about. A book here, a star there. If nothing else, Cas was content with just being on an Earth that he obviously adored. Talking about life instead of people, and about things instead of problems, it was like a six-hour slice of relief—heaven, if you will, to Dean's purgatory life.

And even beyond that—Cas was kind. Like, superhumanly kind. He wasn't always nice—he struggled with social norms, obviously, was extremely blunt, and never really grasped the term 'appropriate.' He wasn't scared to tell people when they were being twats, when they really should get back to work, or when they should really fuck off and leave he and Dean alone. And he did that all with a rather terrifyingly calm demeanor. So not always nice, no, but always kind. He did everything with good intentions, and he never dished out what wasn't deserved. Dean sincerely doubted there was a malicious bone in his body. He listened with his whole heart, gave pure advice, and sincerely actually seemed to always care about doing the right thing. It was rather mind-boggling how someone could have so pure intentions, and be so kind, so sincere, so open to another human being. And he did it all without thinking.

Other than his little brother, Cas quickly cemented himself as Dean's favorite person. And to think, if Dean had met him literally anywhere else, he wouldn't have looked twice.

For the first time in eight months, Cas had taken a night off. Now, Dean wasn't usually one to sulk, but he couldn't help but feel (perhaps irrationally) lonely. He had done this for a long time before Cas, and there was a good chance he'd be doing it after him as well. But still.

About three hours and twenty minutes into his shift, Dean was extremely busy with bending paperclips into the shape of the Millennium Falcon. Technically, he knew he probably shouldn't be wasting company property, but he figured if it was good enough, they could put in display to advertise the new Star Wars movie. You know, maybe. Possibly. When it came out. In three years.

Whatever.

It was a very sluggish night. Wednesday nights were notoriously slow, and (as expected) that night was worse than usual due to the lack of quality films. The time was creeping closer to 10:30, and they hadn't had a customer in over thirty minutes. The only movie that was even playing in the next hour time slot was some Michael Bay everything-blows-up-including-the-plot flick that had been out for three weeks. Consequently, when Dean heard the telltale doorbell, he was startled enough to poke himself in the thumb with an open paperclip.

"Shit." He swore under his breath, which he internally repeated when he saw that it was Cas who had come in. Good friends as they were, he doubted he'd be overly impressed with the deformed half ship. Dean oh so discreetly covered the half-formed ship with a blank sheet of paper, hiding it from plain sight well enough. Satisfied that he wasn't going to get embarrassed by his complete lack of artistic ability, Dean looked up to greet him.

Cas looked worse than usual. A lot worse.

Well, scratch that. He was dressed a lot better than usual, having finally ditched the uniform for a nice (if a little ill-fitting) black suit coat, white button down, and slacks. He even had on a dark blue tie, though it seemed to be done incorrectly, and was lying backwards.

So the outfit, nice change.

But Cas?

See, Cas never looked happy, per se. The guy was an anomaly with his feelings, usually preferring stoicism to emotional lucidity. Still though, he gave a rare smile, warm chuckle here and there. And he never looked upset. If anything, he usually just looked confused, and perhaps a little annoyed, with a twinge of mirth for good measure. But now? He looked upset. He looked unhappy, disheveled, and tired. His resting frown was replaced with a real one, though that disappeared into a tired little smile when he reached Dean.

"Hey, Dean." He held his hands in front of him, twiddling his thumbs. "What's playing?"

"Well, in forty minutes we have the new Transformers. Twenty after that, we have the new Cruise movie. After that, there isn't another showing until midnight, and that's that musical about orphans."

Cas hummed in answer, looking off to the side a bit, obviously distracted. Dean tried to catch his gaze.

"Cas?" The prolonged staring contest with the candies out front continued. "Cas?" He asked again, raising his voice a little. At this, Cas startled.

"Yes?" He asked, looking up.

"You okay, man? You seem a bit…" Dean trailed off, not knowing exactly where he was going. "Uh, distracted?"

"My apologies. It's been an rough night."

"Does that have anything to do with the get up?" Dean asked, hands gesturing to the suit coat and tie, which was decidedly rumpled, like it had been sitting in the back of a closet for a few months before it had gotten any use.

Cas stared at Dean, silent for a second longer than was probably acceptable, and then quickly gave himself a once over.

"Is there something wrong with my attire?" He asked, sounding a bit more dejected than what was appropriate for the situation.

"No, no, no, of course not." Dean hurried. "I just mean, whenever I see you out of the theater, you usually just wear jeans and a t-shirt. Or something. Just a bit fancy for your usual. Plus it's the theater, and you seem very dressed for it. So I just thought that maybe you had something else going, something that didn't go well…" Dean trailed off, realizing he was rambling. Cas didn't seem to mind, and was just looking at him with a little smile.

"Yes, I am a bit over dressed. I had a date tonight."

Oh.

"Oh," Dean said, mirroring the only thought he had about that that he was willing to share. "And how did that go?" He asked, now twiddling with a loose paperclip between his fingers.

"Well, as I am here alone, you can probably surmise how well it went." Cas said, looking back down at the candies, frown back in place.

"What happened?" Dean asked, genuinely interested despite himself.

"It's not a very interesting tale. Don't you have work to be doing?"

"Right," Dean snorted. "Because there are so many people around, begging for my attention." He gestured to the only person within seeing distance, who happened to be an usher vacuuming. "Lay it on me, man; I'm all ears."

"It's rather pathetic." Cas said. Dean just raised his eyebrows, and gestured go on. Cas sighed.

"Alright. Well. I was supposed to meet him at the Riviera. You know it?" Dean nodded. He had never been, which was mostly attributed to the fact that one appetizer cost about a day's pay, and the price of gas to get there in his elderly car actually made him cringe. "I was waiting for him at the front for a while. He was about twenty minutes late."

Dean didn't interrupt, as Cas looked about ready to stop at the merest sign of protest on Dean's part, but in reality, he couldn't believe that someone who had Cas' attention wouldn't use it to its maximum. Dean had taken to showing up to shifts ten minutes early just so he could catch Cas as he came in—Cas' time was special, and it was hard for Dean to fathom not using it when it was given to you.

"So, he finally walked in and saw me sitting there. I started to get up, since I was starving. Before I could greet him, he said, 'Hey, are you Cas?' And I replied in the affirmative." Stopping, Cas sighed deeply, looking to the ground, and continued. "He gave me a once over, snorted, and then said, 'Well, I'm not going to waste both of our time. This isn't going to happen'. And then he clapped me on the shoulder, and left."

The vacuum sputtered in the background, prompting the usher to angrily begin kicking it.

Cas shrugged. "So, yeah. I just got up and drove here, figuring I might as well see a movie since I'm out. That was my night. How was yours?" In reality, 'since I'm out' was more accurately 'since I'm upset,' and 'a movie' was truthfully 'you,' but he wasn't going to mention that to Dean.

Cas shifted his weight from feet to feet, for once on the other, more uncomfortable side of staring.

"What?" Dean finally said, weakly.

"Yeah." Cas answered, shifting awkwardly.

"And he just left?"

"And he just left." Cas shrugged. "On the plus side, the hostess heard, and felt so bad for me that she gave me a free slice of cake. So the night wasn't a total loss."

"But Cas," Dean said, trailing off. "He just left you?" He finished, voice still weak, incredulous.

"It's okay. It was good cake." Cas said.

"Did you really like him?" Dean asked, feeling hurt on Cas' behalf, furious on his own, and bewildered on mankind's.

"No, no," Cas said, shaking his head. "He was just a friend of a friend. It was a blind date; my friend was more excited than I was, honestly. I was sort of doing it as a favor. But, still…" He said, not seeming to want to say that was super shitty of him and it hurt anyway. Dean, for one, was having a hard time coming up with any proper response. He didn't want to see too incensed, not wanting to seem improperly angry about it, being just a work buddy to Cas. At the same time, though, it'd be callous just to brush off, and God, he was upset, and that was hard to pretend away.

"At least you got a new worst date story?" Dean tried, immediately internally wincing at his effort. Cas, for his part, just chuckled.

"Yes, I do have that. Hopefully one day I'll have a good date story to tell along with it."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, tilting his head. "Do you…not have any good date stories?" Cas looked down, suddenly looking awkward.

"There is a slight possibility that this was my first date." Cas mumbled. Dean froze.

"How slight?"

"100%?" Cas answered, looking sheepish. Dean just stared at him, long enough for Cas to start shuffling his feet. "So…Transformers starts at—"

"No," Dean interrupted, causing Cas to look up. "No."

"Transformers isn't on?" Cas asked, confused.

"No, it is," Dean answered impatiently. "But you hate Michael Bay and that's not the point. The point is: there is no way that was your first date. No."

"There is a way, and it is called a lack of social know-how, Dean. So, about Transformers—"

"No," Dean interrupted again, more determined. "I don't care if it's your first date or not—though, for the record, that does surprise me—I care that that was your first date." Cas looked at him, biting his lip.

"Sorry, Dean, I don't understand—"

"That that was your first date, I mean." Dean explained. "That your first date was taken by some piece of shit asshat that just left you after…You know what? No."

Cas watched, eyes wide, as Dean turned on his heel, and walked into the backroom. A few moments later, he returned, toting a Closed sign, and a pissed off looking Gabriel. Dean slammed the sign in front of his register, and then spun to face Gabriel.

"Alright, look, you owe me like thirty times over for keeping quiet about you stealing the candy and then blaming it on rats and children. I am leaving, and you're going to man your drawer instead of hiding in the back, and then you're going to count my inventory, and tell management that I got a bad case of the flu very suddenly, or I swear to you I will never lie for you again. Capishe?" Gabriel nodded, sucking on a lollipop, looking more annoyed than actually threatened. Cas watched, bemused, as Dean hopped over the counter with one hand, sauntered over to the check out clock, clocked himself out, and then strolled up to Cas.

"Dean?" Cas asked, once he stopped in front of him.

"Okay, Cas. I apologize about my outfit, and the lack of forward planning, and the fact that probably nothing is open at this time of night, but thems the brakes with this unplanned shit."

"What?" Cas asked, lost. "I'm just going to see Transformers—"

"No," Dean said firmly. "You're not."

"Huh?" Cas said, looking at Gabriel for help, who was totally ignoring them in favor of trying to pick up Dean's half finished Millennium Falcon.

"Cas, I am about to take you on your first date." And with that, Dean grabbed his elbow, and walked him outside.

Cas stayed silent as Dean walked him to his behemoth of a car. He stayed silent as Dean started the car with a growl, at a speed far too quick for a parking lot. He stayed silent as they crossed the river, and made their way to Main Street. It wasn't until Dean pulled into the parking lot of a little diner that he finally opened his mouth.

"Dean, you're my coworker, so I am pretty sure you're not actually going to murder me." He said seriously. "But I am wondering why you kidnapped me, and what exactly is happening here—" Dean turned off the ignition, and swiveled to look at Cas.

"Look, dude. I thought it made it pretty clear in the theater. No way is it okay that your first date was that. First dates are supposed to be memorable, yeah, but they're supposed to be memorable because they're awkward, and you're excited, and spent way too long deciding what to wear, and way too long wondering about what place to go, and fretting over if kissing on the first date is okay, and if you smell, and how your hair looks, and that shit. It's supposed to suck, but it's supposed to suck because you're inexperienced and too nervous to make it fantastic. But it's supposed to lead to second and third dates, where you're more experienced, and then the dates will continue to suck less as they go. Until which point where the stop sucking, and actually are awesome. Do you got it?"

"Uh…No?" Cas tried. "I'm sorry Dean, but why I am here?"

"Dude, I am taking you on a date, and you are plunging asshat whatever-his-name-is out of your memory forever. That date never happened. Final. You deserve a better first date."

"Dean, while…sweet, you don't have to feel obligated to do this—"

"Fuck obligation, Cas," Dean said, hitting his steering wheel, and making Cas jump. "This is about you, and your memories, and what you tell forever, and what you deserve. You're going on a good first date, and that's final. Now get out of the car." He ordered, jumping out himself, and slamming the door.

Hesitantly, Cas followed.

The diner was small. It was also poorly lit, had dust on the ceiling fans, seated only tables in lieu of booths, and had a questionable looking pink stain that reached from a few paces in the door to the kitchen. The door had squeaky hinges, the windows could really use to be acquainted with Windex, the only other man inside looked like he probably had robbed several banks and had gotten off on pure intimidation. Also, Cas was positively sure it smelled better than anything else he had smelled in his life.

Dean led him to the back corner, where there was a table that seemed relatively clean, if lacking in silverware. The seats did actually have cushions, which Cas counted as a plus. He raised his eyebrows when Dean pulled his chair out for him, but sat willingly. He was still a little unsure of what exactly was going on, but at this point, beyond willing to do anything that led to food. He had practically starved himself for the Riviera, since the food was so expensive; he wanted to be able to enjoy it. But as that didn't happen, all that was in his stomach was an undersized slice of cake, and some McDonald's fries that he may or may not have cried on.

"Alright, so I know this place is a little unconventional," Dean said, taking a seat. "And it's probably not the best place to take someone to impress them. But you'll enjoy it, I swear."

"I don't doubt you, Dean." Cas said, which won him a smile.

"Glad to hear it. Okay, I want to make sure you get a coffee here. I know you like your coffee like sludge—don't deny it," Dean said, waving a finger at Cas' obvious almost interruption. "You like it black and bitter and completely undrinkable, which is exactly how they make it here. Also, what you're smelling? Waffles. Get some." He was about to add more, but a young blonde teenager walked up to their table, looking bored.

"Hello, my name is Jo, I'm your server tonight." She wore a too-tight t-shirt, along with a Kansas City Royals hat. Her hair was up, and she looked like she'd love for nothing more than to leave the restaurant with only a middle finger in her wake.

"Hi, Jo. We're on a date." Dean said, gesturing between him and Cas. Cas blushed furiously, looking down, despite knowing that it was all for show.

"Congratulations." She intoned. "What do you want to drink?"

"Sprite." Dean said, "And I'll have a cheeseburger with everything on it. Fries." It was obvious this wasn't the first time Dean seen the menu, though he didn't seem overly friendly with the staff girl.

"And for you?" Jo asked, turning her unimpressed glare to Castiel.

"Uh, water. And coffee?" He added, at Dean's look. "And, uh, waffles, I suppose."

"How do you want your waffles, and how do you take your coffee?" Jo asked, again looking like the world had conspired to make her listen to idiots at far too late at night.

"Black coffee, waffles with…syrup? And butter?" Jo gave a bright, fake smile, and turned back to the kitchen.

"What?" Cas asked at Dean's grimace.

"You and butter. I just don't understand. It's gross. And bad for you."

"It's a dairy product, Dean. How bad for you could it be?"

"Ice cream is a dairy product. As is whipping cream, and heavy cream, and eggnog. None of that is any good for you. Neither is butter." Dean said, shaking his head, smile still intact.

"It comes out of cows, and thus it can't be that bad for you." Cas said, tone firm.

"You still make no sense."

"Speaking of making no sense…What exactly is happening here?" Cas asked, realizing he was sounding like a bit of a broken record.

"As you have never been on a date before, and this is your very first one," Dean said, tone extremely firm, leaving no room for argument. "I am pulling out all the stops." Dean frowned. "Well, as many as I can with no future planning and it being so late at night. I know this place isn't like, the Hilton or whatever, but trust me, their food is good. And dinner is always like, the first thing you do on a date. Thus—" Dean opened up his arms, gesturing to the restaurant. "Dinner! Or late snack. Whichever you prefer." Cas knew he probably should have some decent reply to this, but beyond You're far too kind and Are you really seriously doing this right now? he couldn't think of much to say.

"Well, okay, then." Cas finally settled with, which seemed to appease something in Dean. Some tension bled out of his stance, leading him back into his usual, casual demeanor.

"Okay, so, let me ask you some awkward "Get to know you questions" that inevitably rise during every date. What did you want to be when you grew up, vs what do you want to be now?"

"I wanted to be a pilot," Cas said immediately. "So I could fly. When my eyesight started getting poor," he gestured to his contacts. "I sort of lost the idea. I'm not sure what I want to do now, but I am thinking something along the lines of owning a bed and breakfast in Vermont." Dean snorted.

"I can see it. You would make uncomfortable small talk, and then burn their food, but you'd be so polite that they'd all come back."

At that, Jo came back, setting down their drinks. Without a word, she was off again. Cas tentatively picked up his coffee, a little wary after all the build up. Dean just raised his eyebrows, in a universal go on sign.

It was good. It was really, really, damn good. It was extremely bitter, and probably had been sitting in the pot for far too long, but that was exactly how Cas liked it. Call it conditioning by his own inability to make coffee any other way, but bordering on turpentine was the only way Cas could drink coffee. He made a little happy noise, and downed a good third of it. Dean was wearing an incredibly smug smile. Randomly, Cas wondered when Dean had learned his coffee preference, and when he thought to apply it here.

"Okay, so, how do you feel about pets?" Dean asked.

"Cats are good. Rodents less so. Barn animals are too much work. Dogs slobber and are underfoot, but their loyalty is commendable. Reptiles are unwelcome in any abode of mine."

And just like that, with some lackluster coffee, truly heavenly waffles, a decently sized cheeseburger, and a back and forth conversation, Cas spent two and a half hours at a ratty diner, talking about inconsequential details about himself, and learning treasurable little tidbits about how Dean lived his life. Amazingly enough, Dean managed to bring up entirely new topics they hadn't discussed in their eight months of acquaintance, and he never let the conversation die to an awkward pause. His conversational skills were a complete marvel, and Cas couldn't help uncontrollably smiling to himself throughout the entire evening.

After Dean won their "who's going to pay" argument, he quickly finished paying the bill (which was an unreasonably low amount. Maybe that's why they couldn't afford to buy booths), Cas clambered into to Dean's car.

"Thank you for dinner, Dean."

"No problem, Cas. How do you feel about bowling?"

"Bowling?" Cas repeated, surprised. "You want to do more?" Dean rolled his eyes.

"Of course. One measly dinner shouldn't count for your first date." And with a wink, they were off across the town.

Cas hadn't wanted to admit it, but he was truly appalling at bowling. He only had gone once or twice before, and had never really gotten into it. While he claimed it was because the sport didn't take any mental effort to play, and was thus boring, it was much more attributed to the fact that he could never get above a 50, with or without bumpers.

As he said, truly appalling at bowling.

This had not changed in the four years since Cas had been.

With bumpers up, he managed to bowl a 43, and even succeeded in getting a gutterball. Yes, with bumpers. In comparison, Dean was well over 200, and had thoroughly enjoyed watching Cas get more and more frustrated every time he managed to hit a grand total of one pin down.

"Being this bad shouldn't actually be possible," Cas said. "How can it knock one pin down, and then go in the exact same place the next roll?" He asked, voice whining.

Despite this, and his competitive nature that was currently clawing at his chest, Cas was having a spectacular time. While obviously enjoying his display of atrocious bowling skills, Dean never made fun of him. In fact, he even showed him some tips to do better—not that they did anything, but Cas appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

The alley was mostly empty, save for one couple at the opposite end, who seemed much more interested in licking each other's tonsils than knocking down pins.

The game ended at around two thirty in the morning, with Cas' arm a good deal sorer, and his heart a good deal lighter. And his stomach a bit queasier—but that was nothing new when around Dean.

"Thank you again, Dean, for such a lovely night." Cas said, as he climbed back into Dean's car. Dean's massive car, he should say. Big enough for a lot of activities.

"Don't thank me, dude. I'm not finished with you yet." Cas wasn't sure what more Dean could really do at this time of night, but he was more than willing to sit and find out.

"Gas n' Sip?" Cas asked, confused. "Why are we here?"

"Because, Cas, I need to take you for dessert, and it was this or McDonald's drive thru. Don't complain." Dean answered, climbing out of the Impala.

"Not complaining." Cas muttered, stepping out of the car. "How exactly are we having dessert here?" Cas asked, raising his voice back to normal levels. Dean shrugged.

"Creativity, I suppose." He answered, leading the way. Cas smiled at his back, and trudged in behind him. The door's little bell tinkled, which should have alerted the cashier of their presence. As he was sleeping face down on the counter, Cas was fairly certain he didn't care if they were there or not.

"Alrighty, Cas, let's see what we can do here." Dean led him through the aisles, making occasional comments about the food variety and quality. Here and there he grabbed items, but Cas wasn't entirely sure what he was planning yet. Regardless, he followed him around.

"Okay. Can you get me a cup of cappuccino?" Dean asked, nodding to the machine. Cas nodded, grabbing a cup.

"Okay, Cas. We're about to get creative. I'm going to make for you a coffee cake with ice cream." At Cas' raised eyebrow, he added "Gas station edition. It'll be unique."

That, Cas didn't doubt.

Fifteen minutes later, the concoction Dean placed in front of him didn't look like a coffee cake. Honestly, it didn't look like much of anything, including edible. To make it, Dean had used a Twinkie, and taken out the crème filling. He stuffed the empty Twinkie with parts of a crumbled up chocolate donut, and then dumped it into the cup of cappuccino. He let it soak for a moment, to 'give the juices some time to seep in,' and then took it out, and placed it on an empty nacho tray. He then microwaved it (which was behind the counter for the nachos. The man still didn't awaken), and poured the rest of the cappuccino on top. He then grabbed an ice cream sandwich, slid the ice cream out of the middle, and placed it atop 'the cake.' Finally, he took a chocolate filled Hostess pie, and pushed out the chocolate filling on top of the entire thing. Grabbing a spoon from where they rested near the slushies, he placed it in front of Cas, weirdly proud.

Cas was weirdly impressed, though not hopeful in the slightest towards the taste.

His pessimism wasn't unfounded.

While creative, it tasted like a soggy mess of weirdly warm, bready, confectionary sugar.

He ate the entire thing, unable to stop smiling, despite his stomach's protests.

When they walked back out to the car, Dean spoke, anticipating what Cas was just about to say.

"We're not done, so don't thank me yet."

"So, this is going to be one of the more cheesy parts of the night." Dean said, after they'd been driving in silence for a bit. Cas was leaning his head against the window, the content smile feeling permanent on his face.

"Yeah? What does 'more cheesy' consist of?" Cas asked, eyes closed.

"It's cheesy. But you're cheesy, so you'll like it. But just so you're prepared."

"Mmmhmm." Cas not-answered, deciding to wait out Dean's awkwardness. About five minutes later, he felt the car come to a stop. Dean placed it in park, and turned off the engine. It was incredibly quiet.

Cas opened his eyes, and saw that they were inside their county's State Park. Cas had thought that it'd be closed by now—actually he was sure it was, and he suddenly wished he hadn't spent the entire ride with his eyes shut.

"What are we doing here, Dean?" Cas asked, unable to keep the wonder completely out of his voice.

"Well, I know you love it here. Plus, I checked the forecast. No clouds." Dean said. Cas' brow furrowed in confusion.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Dean just smiled in response, and stepped out the Impala. Cas followed, and bemusedly watched as Dean climbed upon the hood of his car.

"Sit." He said simply, patting the hood of the car. After a blink, Cas, ungracefully, settled himself up there. "Look up." Dean said, smile back in place.

It was starry.

Not just, oh hey, it's a clear night, starry. But truly, truly, wondrously starry. The park had no lights—not even a parking lot overhead—, and it was completely dark. Nothing inhibited their glow, and Cas could only look up and smile.

"Tell me about them." Dean said, nudging Cas' arm.

With an almost embarrassing amount of affection bubbling in his chest, Cas did.

"So," Dean said, after they both decided the weather was a bit too nippy to be out and had climbed back into the Impala. "I think that's gotta be the end of this first date. My only other idea is walking around Walmart, and that seems a bit underwhelming after we just looked at the stars." Cas huffed a laugh, and then hummed in agreement. "If there's anything else you'd like to do, though, I'm all ears." Dean said, earnest. Cas smiled, but shook his head.

"No. No, I think I had better let the expert decide when a first date has run its course."

"Alright, then. Home it is. Ready for awkward at the door conversations?" Dean asked. No, Castiel thought as they drove on. Not really. Because then it's over, and that is just unacceptable. He closed his eyes. Oh God, please want to do this again. Please.

Before long, they pulled up to his house. Finally, Cas turned to Dean, determined to get out what he'd been trying to say all night.

"Dean, thank you. Just, thank you. I don't know how I can adequately even begin to express—"

"Cas," Dean said, cutting him off. "You're welcome. Don't mention it."

"I just want you to understand how much it meant to me that you'd care—"

"Cas," Dean interrupted with a sigh. "You deserved it. You deserve a good first date. You don't need to be thanking me—just curse what's-his-name for being a fucking idiot." Cas turned to look out the window to hide his smile. It was very quiet, except for the crickets and the faint rustle of leaves from the wind. They both stayed silent, knowing that it was time for this to end, but neither wanting to be the one to part.

"Dean," Cas said finally. "For the record, this did not suck." Dean snorted, surprised.

"Well, glad to hear it."

"You said first dates were supposed to suck, but they'd lead to second dates which sucked less."

"I do remember mentioning that." Dean replied, refusing to let his imagination pull him into hopeful destinations for where this conversation was headed.

"So…What happens if the first date didn't suck?" Cas asked, looking down at his twiddling thumbs. Dean let out a breath, and didn't answer for a few moments.

"Well, normally, I think that'd mean that you'd go on a second date. And it'd be better than the first, usually." Dean replied, trying to keep his tone mild.

"I sort of doubt it'd be better than this." Cas said, making Dean's smile go soft. "But…uh…is that something you may like to do?"

"Is what something I'd like to do?"

"A second date." Cas said, awkwardness just seeping out of every nuance of his posture.

"Is that something you'd like to do?" Dean said, just as awkward, purposefully uncooperative. Jesus fuck, he usually sucked at this to begin with. Then add the fact that he actually really liked Cas? Fucking hell.

"Well, in the interest of academic research, it might be helpful to get more data on this first and second date hypothesis you have."

Dean huffed out a laugh. Only fucking Cas.

"Only in the interests of academic research?" He repeated, biting back a smile. Cas hesitated a second.

"Of course." They both awkwardly smiled to themselves, before catching the others eye, which of course finally set them into an uncomfortable bout of laughter.

"Oh my God, we are making this so awkward." Dean said, laughing, looking at his hands.

"Well, it's me and you, so what do you expect?" Cas said, smiling. He rolled his eyes, before catching Dean's. "Alright, so, this is stupid. Dean, I very much enjoyed this date. I would very much enjoy going on another. Would that be something you are interested in?"

"Only for academic study?" Dean asked, laughing when Cas hit him on the arm.

"Be serious." Cas whined, before placing his head against the dashboard in a gesture of defeat. "I don't know how to properly handle this. I am not adept at…" he waved his hand around in midair. "the subtle art of wooing." Dean laughed outwardly at that, making Cas clunk his head against the dashboard again.

"I don't know, man, you have me pretty wooed." Cas turned his head to look at Dean, who was looking over at him with a small smile.

"Is that so?"

"It is."

"Does that mean you'll go out on a second date with me?"

"And a third. And a fourth. And probably even a fifth, as long as you don't take me to a movie theater." Dean said, making Cas laugh.

"That's…grand." Cas said, making Dean roll his eyes.

"Okay, I think I've had enough awkwardness for one conversation. You better be getting inside, anyway. Your dad's going to hate me before he even meets me. It's like, 4AM."

Castiel nodded in response, but stayed sitting, just grinning at Dean for a few moments.

"Cas?" Dean said.

"Right, right," Cas answered, shaking his head to clear it. He hastily and clumsily clambered out of the car. "I'll just—I'll just get going then. See you tomorrow?" He asked, sticking his head in the open window.

"Of course."

Despite both boys extreme nervousness for their shift together the following day, surprisingly little changed. They still had very few customers, fucked off more often than worked, and bantered back in forth until late until the night. Only this time, there was the added awkward (but happy) grinning at each other at random times, the occasional casual touch that made both of them squirm (in the good way), and the general air of I could kiss you right now and you wouldn't even mind (that was probably best of all).