Chapter One

Castiel had been working at the Roadhouse for nearly two weeks before Ellen fired him.

It wasn't like she hadn't given him a chance; on the contrary, Ellen had been very patient with him. The problem was that Castiel Novak had never bar-tended before; and sure, he pretty much had an eidetic memory when it came to things like working the cash register or measuring out shots of liquor, (for some reason, that sort of thing came naturally to him), but it was the other aspect to bar-tending that crippled him. The social aspect. He had always considered himself an introvert, but now - after the break-up with Michael and the four years of hell that followed - it was becoming apparent that whatever social skills he had previously possessed had atrophied.

As he wiped down the bar at the start of his shift, Castiel reminded himself that he wasn't supposed to be thinking about Michael anymore. He knew from experience that thinking about Michael was a black hole – it was almost impossible to escape the pull. He still found himself being drawn into it, even though a whole year had passed since he had last laid eyes him. Even though Castiel had moved 584 miles away to start a new life.

It took the slam of a whiskey glass hitting the bar to bring him back to reality.

"Are you even listening to me?" Ellen said.

"Of course. I'm sorry."

He watches Ellen as she presses the palm of one hand into her eye socket and rubs. "Cas, I have nothing against you, okay? In fact, I even kind of like you. But I need you to listen to me. I'm trying to run a business."

Ellen is the perfect example of Castiel's lack of social skills. Castiel just can't seem to get a good read on her. Ellen is one of those women who manages to sound angry pretty much 24/7 and yet, ever since Castiel started working at the Roadhouse she has treated him with nothing but maternal affection. She's motherly towards him in a way that he never got to experience as a child; yelling at him if she thinks he's not eating properly and, on one occasion, cleaning and bandaging a cut when he sliced open his finger.

However, Ellen never seems to smile. This is what makes her an enigma to Castiel. She drinks scotch and plays poker, and has the kind of vocabulary that could make even the most hardened marine wince. The fact that she is not swearing at him right now is a testament to how severely Castiel has fucked up, and he knows this.

Because Castiel cannot lose this job. Castiel needs this job.

"I'm sorry," he says, "I can do better."

When he does look up from his cleaning, he regrets it. Ellen looks sad, and although she doesn't tend to smile, Castiel has never actually seen her look sad before. He's not prepared for how bad it makes him feel.

"Honey, I agreed to give you a shot as a favour to Gabe, okay? But it's just not working out."

"I can do better. If you give me a little more time..."

"I don't have time. I need a bartender now." Ellen sighs and upends the remnants of a whiskey bottle into her glass. "You're..." She stops talking, struggling for words for a moment. He can tell she's trying to pick them carefully. "You're not quick enough when you serve people - and I get it, okay? You're still finding your way around behind the bar, but that's not good enough on a Friday night, you know? I got customers."

Castiel nods. "I can work faster."

"You spook the customers." And there it is. Castiel knew she was going to say it, but it still stings. "You're quiet, and kinda awkward. I think it's sweet that you're shy or whatever, but it's not going to make you any tips here. You need to be able to engage with people. Flirt a bit. Know what I'm saying?"

"Yeah." Cas says. Because he does know what she's saying, but damned if there's anything he can do about it.

Ellen sighs. She looks at the whiskey in her glass and swirls it around like she's trying to read her future. She downs it in one mouthful. "I've got a new girl starting tomorrow, she's got previous experience. If you want, you can finish out the rest of the week and get a bit more money under your belt." She looks from the empty glass to Castiel, her expression unreadible. "I'll understand if you don't want to."

"No, I want to. Of course I do." Castiel says, but it's not true.

The truth is, he really, really needs the money.

-

The new girl, as it turns out, is called Lisa.

Lisa has black hair and is quick to serve people. Unlike Castiel, she knows when to smile at the customers, and the natural s-shape of her hips as she leans on the bar reminds him of that feminine "ogee" curve so favoured by chinese aesthetes everywhere. And although Castiel has never been attracted to women, he figures those aesthetes must have been onto something because in the space of two hours, Lisa seems to have pulled in more tips than Castiel has managed to make all week.

And as if that wasn't bad enough, this morning Castiel had received a letter from his lawyer enclosing the final bill for his services. The price is extortionate, and exceeds much more than he expected to , coupled with the fact that Castiel is due to be unemployed at the end of the week occupies most of his thoughts. But what choice does he have? Crowley Litigation Services saved his life. He owes them so much more than an outstanding invoice.

At around 4pm, before the post-work rush, his brother Gabriel stops by the bar and orders a bowl of nachos and some draft beer. He eats at the bar, chatting to Castiel as he watches him try to unclog the sink. This is the "Gabriel" equivilant of trying to cheer him up. Together, Castiel and Gabriel watch Lisa at the other end of the bar, as she engages the bar patrons in conversation. She is beautiful, Castiel thinks dispassionately. He watches as Rufus tips her a $20 bill. He shouldn't feel bitter, but he does.

"Goddamn, little brother." Gabriel says, "I'm sorry, but I would have fired you too."

Castiel frowns. "Thanks."

"No, I mean it. Look at her. That woman is a work of art. I mean, if it makes you feel any better I would've fired Gandhi if it meant I got to work with a hot piece of ass like that." As Lisa leans over the bar to show Rufus a picture of something on her cellphone, Gabriel's eyes all but pop out of his skull. In this position, her v-neck top has been pulled into a compromising angle.

"Thank you, Jesus." Gabriel whispers.

Castiel attacks the sink. His nose itches, and he tries to relieve himself by pressing his nose into the back of one marigold glove. "You know," he tells Gabriel, "I'm not sure how good of a bartender Gandhi would've been. I'm fairly certain he didn't drink." With one almighty heave, he puts as much weight as he can on to the plunger in his hands, but it is to no avail. The sink is clogged, it smells bad, and the air conditioner is broken. Castiel can feel himself sweating through his t-shirt.

"I don't know, he always showed a lot of skin. If you show a lot of skin, you tend to get bigger tips." Gabriel reaches over the bar and tugs at Castiel's marigolds, "You could learn a thing or two from him. And from that mesopotamian goddess standing at the other end of the bar. Sex sells, little brother."

Castiel rolls his eyes and tries the plunger again. The water level doesn't move. "I'm not selling sex, I'm selling beer."

"See? That's why you don't make any tips."

He heaves his weight onto the plunger again, and feels a sweaty strand of black hair flop onto his forehead. In this heat, even his hairgel is melting.

"I don't make tips because I can't talk to people. And I suck at my job."

If Gabriel really wanted to cheer him up, he could have said, 'You don't suck at your job!" , but he's Gabriel, so instead he says, "Yeah, you do! That's why you need to show some skin."

Castiel sighs. He tells himself that Gabriel is trying to help, and pushes all thoughts of attacking his brother with a plunger to the back of his mind.

By the time Gabriel is on his fourth beer, all pretence of sobriety is out the window. He leans over the bar and tries to whisper to Castiel, but it comes out as more of a stage-whisper, and Castiel is convinced everyone within five feet can hear them.

"Hey, hey kiddo. Come here." Castiel sighs and abandons the sink, but still refuses to peel off the yellow gloves. He leans towards his brother.

"What?"

Gabe inclines his head towards Rufus. "How about Rufus Turner? He's a Detective. That's kind of hot, right?" He whispers, loudly.

Nothing against Rufus, but he is fast approaching retirement age. It seems like ever since Castiel moved in with his brother, Gabriel has been trying to set him up with someone. Moving to Sioux Falls was supposed to be a new start for him. Castiel had a new name, a new life. The last thing he wanted was any complications. Castiel feels his shoulders drop. "Gabe..."

"Humour me. Is Rufus bangable - yes, no or maybe?"

Castiel rolls his eyes. He's played this game with Gabriel before, but it seems like his brother is not going to give up. In Gabe's eyes, Castiel's self-imposed celibacy is just another way of letting Michael ruin his life. But Castiel finds it hard to trust people; hell, most of the time he's so goddamn anxious around new people that it's impossible to even pop half a boner. This is what Michael has made of him. This is what happens after four years of being stalked. Castiel is so not in the mood for dating, and even if he was, it wasn't going to be with anyone that has a goddamn mustache. Sorry Rufus.

But, because Castiel is feeling generous, or perhaps because Gabe is being so goddamn loud that he can't be sure that Rufus can't hear them, Castiel doesn't say anything about the mustache. Instead he says, "I told you I'm not looking for a relationship right now."

But Gabriel just smiles, "Fuck man, I'm just trying to get you laid. I'm being a good brother."

"I'm going back to my plunger now."

"That's right." Gabriel isn't even pretending to whisper now. "You take out your sexual frustrations on that sink!"

Castiel does, and manages to splash himself with stale water in the process. He's wearing bright yellow gloves, and his hair is plastering to his forehead, and he is becoming more and more conscious of the fact that he can smell his own deodorant. Castiel has never felt so unsexy.

"Okay, next one!" Gabriel is back to stage whispering. "Dean Winchester. I mean, he's basically the straightest person I know, but we're running out of options here."

Castiel is furiously plunging the sink. He's picturing his brother's face while he does it.

"I don't know who that is."

"He's Ellen's son. Step-son, or whatever. He's talking to Lisa." Despite himself, Castiel finds himself turning to look, and he's not prepared for what he sees when he does.

Dean Winchester is a mechanic, that much is obvious. Castiel can tell, because he's wearing dark overalls that he recognises from Singers' Auto a couple of miles down the street. The overalls have been stripped to his hips in favour of a grey t-shirt that has now been obliterated by engine oil and sweat. His face is pink from working in the sun all morning. Dean Winchester smiles at Lisa, and when he smiles, he smiles with his whole face. Castiel is very aware that he must be staring.

"Well?" Gabriel prompts. Castiel opens his mouth, and when he realises he has nothing to say he closes it again.

Of course, this guy is way out of his league. A guy like this might as well have the word "STRAIGHT" tattooed across his forehead, and it's pretty apparent by the way that Lisa's face lights up that he's never had to work to get a woman's attention. Still, even knowing that he doesn't have a chance in hell of scoring with him - even knowing that it's more than likely that he's never going to even see this guy again, given that his employment is being terminated in exactly four days time - Castiel allows himself to revel in the slight frisson of sexual attraction, and the way his blood is suddenly running very hot beneath his skin. It's been so long since Castiel has had a crush - so long since he's actually felt any kind of sexual attraction to someone - that just looking at Dean Winchester's face is a revelation to him. He can't kiss Dean Winchester, of course. He can barely drum up the courage to say two words to the man. But Castiel decides to let himself enjoy this - he allows himself this one moment.

Dean Winchester is a goddamn wet dream.

"Shut up." His hisses to his brother, which earns him a whoop that causes the entire bar to turn and look at them. Despite himself, Castiel smiles and shakes his head. He peels off the marigold gloves and rakes his fingers through his sweaty hair, having finally decided to give up on the sink.

Gabriel opens his mouth to say something, but quickly shuts it. He swallows a mouthful of beer, and eventually says, "It's about time you started shopping around again."

"I told you." Castiel says, "I'm not 'shopping around'. I'm just..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. 'Trying to get your life back on track', et ecetera. Change the record, will you?"

Time passes slowly once Gabriel leaves the bar. Despite his new-found libido, Castiel decides to put a lot of his energy into ignoring Dean Winchester. After all, Mr Engine Oil over there has all the hallmarks of being a very bad idea. Sure, he might have a perfect, white smile and biceps like a stevedore, but what Castiel really needs now is money. What he does not need is sentimental attachment, least of all sentimental attachment to a flaming heterosexual.

As business begins to pick up, and as the after-work crowd starts to mill in, Castiel finds that he is focusing so hard on ignoring Dean Winchester that all his previous anxieties disapate slightly. He's so distracted that he forgets to be socially awkward; instead, he finds himself popping open bottles of beer and lifting kegs with an alacrity that surprises even himself. At some point, even the sink seems to drain. And Castiel shakes his head to himself and smiles wryly, because doesn't it just figure that it would be the day after he got fired that he would learn how to be a good bartender?

And if he does spare the Winchester boy a glance or two, well… he is working, after all. Castiel reasons that it would be remiss of him to ignore a potential customer. One time, he looks up, and he thinks he catches Dean's eyes darting away, but he couldn't swear to it. And who is he kidding, anyway? Lisa has already monopolised Dean Winchester's attention. She keeps him well-stocked in craft beer and pretzels, and at one point when Castiel looks over, she appears to be touching his arm, so he goes right back to ignoring them.

Something else Castiel puts a lot of energy into is not hating Lisa.

At around 8pm, as the crowd really starts to get busy, that's when it's time for Castiel to clock off. He is, after all, still a rookie. Since starting this job he has been relegated to working the less-busy hours, because only true professionals get to work the decent, money-making shifts.

Jo Harvelle, for example.

Jo is Ellen's daughter and works the Roadhouse like she was born to it. She slips behind the bar and gives Castiel an affectionate hug before she ties back her hair and sets to work. And maybe Castiel is imagining it - it could all be in his head, after all - but he thinks he detects a degree of sympathy in her face, which means Jo has been talking to her mother. Castiel doesn't think he'll miss working at the Roadhouse, but he'll certainly miss working with Jo.

And then it's that time of day, where Castiel has to tally up his cash register before he goes home. This part he knows he's good at, seeing as he always had a better head for figures than he did for social niceties. He counts the money and jots down numbers on a slip of paper, but it doesn't escape his attention that Lisa isn't doing the same. She is still pouring drinks. Still talking to Dean.

"Lisa not leaving?" He asks Jo.

Jo doesn't meet his eyes. "Uh, she's working a double shift. Mom asked her to stay behind, give me a hand with the evening crowd."

Castiel keeps a small smile plastered to his face, although it feels rictus. He would've killed to work a double-shift right now. Double-shifts are where the real money is. He turns his attention back to the money in his hand, and finds he has to start counting the twenties all over again. Jo places a hand on his arm.

"For what it's worth," she says, "Lisa has a kid. I think that's a big part of why Mom hired her. She's a single mom."

And now Castiel feels like ten different kinds of asshole, because he's been quietly hating Lisa all night, and he doesn't want to hear about how she's just a regular mom, trying to do her best. Logically he knows none of this is Lisa's fault. It's not her fault that Castiel is balls deep in debt, and it's certainly not her fault that he can't tend a bar for shit. And he feels like saying to Jo, 'It's okay, I know I suck at bar-tending. You don't have to be nice to me', but he doesn't, because the only thing worse than being an asshole is being a self-depreciating asshole. He accepts her kind words with good grace, and later when she offers him some red licorice, he accepts one and chews on it thoughtfully as he closes out his till.

And then it's time to go. Castiel turns to Jo to say his goodbyes, pulling the candy out of his mouth as he does so - and the strangest thing happens. Dean is looking at him. He almost looks flustered, but in the dim light of the bar, it's difficult to tell. How long had he been watching him? For a moment, Castiel forgets how to breathe. He is startled when Jo smacks him on the rear.

Off his facial expression, she laughs. "Are you going home tonight Cas, or are you going to stay here all night having eye-sex with Dean?"

Castiel doesn't know how to respond to that, but it doesn't matter anyway, because Dean is the one that speaks up. The first words Castiel hears him say are, "We weren't eye-sexing.", and he says it with such vehemence that it's hard not to be insulted.

"Hey," Jo says, "It's okay. Cas is pretty hot. But if you want to ogle the bar staff you have to buy a drink."

"Okay, then can I get a nice frosty glass of you shutting your goddamn mouth?"

"We're out of that. Can I interest you in a bottle of keep it in your pants, Dean?"

"We were not eye-sexing, Jo."

"If you say so, moron."

That is enough. It's the final indignity. Because Castiel can deal with clogged sinks, and losing his job, and even the fact that he's been able to smell himself for almost eight hours straight; but goddamnit, when you find the one person in months who is able to breathe life into your tired and battered libido, and that person denies checking you out, (like, fervently denies checking you out. Like, Castiel must look disgusting right now, because the idea of Dean finding him attractive is apparently fucking ludicrus); well, that's too much. Castiel slams his till shut with such force that the bottles of liquor along the bar shake. Both Dean and Jo are startled, which is good, because Castiel is filled with an eerie calm.

Enough." Cas points at Jo, "Jo, I have no idea what "eye-sexing" is but it sounds weird and iniquitous. I'm leaving."

To his horror, Dean laughs. "You always talk like that, man?"

"Talk like what?"

Jo laughs, "Poor Dean. Is he using too many big words for you?"

"No, I'm talking about the gravelly phone-sex voice. This guys sounds like Tom Waits gargling a mouth full of lighter fluid."

He doesn't have a response to that, so he just stares at Dean. He could so easily reach across the bar and grab him. He doesn't know what he would do if he grabbed him. He drags his fingers through his damp hair and is very aware that Dean is watching his movements.

"Now that's an idea!" Jo calls, "A phone sex line! Thats sure-fire way to make money. I bet you'd rake it in, Cas."

"I don't know how much money I'd make off phone sex . 'Tom Waits gargling lighter fluid' sounds like a pretty niche sexual preference."

Dean laughs so hard, he spills his beer. Castiel isn't entirely sure if he's laughing at him, or if he just finds what he's said funny, but his low self-esteem inclines him to think the worst. The two things he has learnt about Dean Winchester in the past two minutes are: 1, he does not find Castiel attractive and 2, apparently he thinks Castiel's voice is weird. He breathes deep. Damn Dean Winchester and his perfect fucking face.

It shouldn't hurt so much, but it does.

He has no jacket to grab, and no bag of any kind, so he just makes his excuses and walks out of the bar. When Jo calls after him, he does a fairly good job of pretending he can't hear her. It's a short walk to the apartment he shares with his brother and when he gets home, Gabriel isn't there, which is just as well really.

He loves his brother, but he's had enough of talking to people for one day.

When Castiel sleeps, he dreams about Michael.

He always dreams about Michael.