For @cloudyjenn for round 3 of the Twitfic exchange. (prompt: AU, Cas as an accountant, Dean is the hot UPS guy. Sam, Jo, and Gabe as side characters. Dean/Castiel.) I hope you enjoy it!

I apologize for any mistakes, etc (including misunderstanding how accounting firms work :oP). I'll fix up any boo-boos within the next few days and then post a cleaned-up version :o)

*****

Dean started this thing, about seven months ago, where he’d fake deliveries. He’d take a package into a building, ask for a Mr. Should-be-here or a Mrs. The-Package-Doesn’t-Have-Her-Floor-Number-On-It and flirt with the receptionist. In the end, he’d walk away with an apology for not being able to help him or, eight times out of ten, a phone number or agreement to meet at the bar down the street that night.

As far as Sam knows, however, Dean hasn’t done that in almost two weeks. And he’s starting to get a little concerned.

“You can’t hang around here, Dean,” Sam tells his brother when he saunters into his office around lunchtime and sits on the edge of his desk. Ever since Dean helped with a mass delivery of new paper stock and computers for the company two weeks ago, he’s been hanging around whenever he has to make a delivery in the area. Sam swears he’s going to get caught, or get fired, but there’s been no trouble yet. “I have work… as do you.”

Dean flicks at the pendulum perched next to his leg and watches it swing back and forth. “Finished,” he says.

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

Dean grins. “Finished. Started early this morning, so there’s only one package left.” He pulls a small package out from under his arm, accompanied by a clipboard. “And its destination is 305 Union St.”

“That’s here.”

“Bingo.”

“Oh.” Sam starts to reach forward. “Okay.”

Dean pulls the package back. “Not for you, dipshit.”

Sam’s hand falls to the desk. “Then why are you still here?”

Dean shrugs, but whatever he was going to say is stopped when there’s a knock on Sam’s door.

“Excuse me.” Castiel, Sam’s superior ABA, stands in the doorway, a manila envelope under his arm. “Sam.” His eyes skid over to Dean, and Sam’s about to make an apology for Dean’s presence when instead of frowning at Dean, Castiel almost seems to smile.

Dean, to Sam’s great surprise, doesn’t smile back. At least not right away. Instead, he’s looking at his clipboard, flipping through sheets of paper, and Sam wishes, not for the first time, that his brother had the social graces of anyone above the age of five. It’s only after Castiel takes a step into the office that Dean looks up and offers a lopsided grin.

“Yeah, Castiel?”

“Numbers for last quarter for filing,” Castiel says, and he takes the few steps into the office and hands the folder off to Sam. “Gabriel wanted me to send it down.”

“Great.”

Sam expects Castiel to turn around and leave. He’s surprised, however, when he simply stands there, as if waiting for Sam to say something.

It’s not like Sam doesn’t like the guy. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. Castiel is quiet, reserved, perhaps a little too smart for his own good, but likeable. At the holiday party this past year, he and Sam had had an hour long discussion about the up and coming literary trends. And since then, Sam likes to think they’re almost friends.

But Sam’s become accustomed to what he’s dubbed “Castiel’s work mode” around the office. His brother, who just so happens to be Castiel and Sam’s boss, has no problem mixing work and personal, proven by the pranks he’s been known to pull around the office and the fact that most of his “office get togethers” mostly involve trips to local bars where he usually tries to drink most of his employees (and other bar patrons) under the table. But Castiel is the complete opposite.

So when Castiel stays standing in front of his desk, Sam has a moment of feeling like the world is tilting just slightly off its axis.

‘Thanks,” Sam says.

Castiel nods, and to increase Sam’s surprise, he shuffles in place. It’s barely noticeable, just a simple shift in weight and a sliding of one foot over on the dark blue carpet. But compared to Castiel’s usual stiff as a board posture and still as a statue tendencies, Castiel might as well have taken a giant leap and a bound across Sam’s office, with a pirouette thrown in.

Sam stares.

“Gabriel is going to send a memo around later,” Castiel says just when Sam is starting to feel the silence around them growing uncomfortable. “He plans to take the firm out for dinner at the end of the week. On Friday.” Castiel makes a face then, and yeah, the world’s almost back on its axis again from the consternation in his miniscule frown. “To O’Shaughnessy’s.” And Sam understands the disapproval. O’Shaughnessy’s is a bar five blocks down that’s more bar than restaurant. The last time Gabriel took his employees to that particular restaurant, Sam vaguely remembers losing track of their boss halfway through “dinner,” only to have him reappear with a girl on each arm when second rounds of beer were being passed around.

Sam nods, but before he can open his mouth to make a comment Dean says, “Hey, that’s a great bar.”

Sam wants to die. It’s either that, or give Dean a lesson in what not to say around your younger brother’s workplace in front of the boss’s brother. He thinks the former might be easier.

But Castiel’s head snaps to his right to look at Dean. He stares, and Sam’s not sure what direction it’s going to go in.

Then, “I’ve only been there once,” Castiel says.

Sam’s floored.

“There for a game, or…” Dean flounders with words for a moment, and the world’s starting to tilt off its axis again because it actually looks like Dean’s nervous. “The scenery?”

Castiel’s head tilts, and Sam’s glad that Castiel might be as naive as he is socially awkward. “An office party.”

Dean chuckles at that, and he shoots Sam a look. “Geeze, Sammy. I thought you were living the hard life of the accountant, but your boss here’s paying for you to go out to a bar? I guess you accountant types aren’t as stuffy as I thought you were.”

Sam sighs, and pushes back his chair. “Uh, Dean, you were just leaving, right?”

Dean shrugs and stands up from the desk. “Whatever. One last package, then it’s off.” He turns to Castiel and Castiel is still staring at him. “So, Gabriel…”

Castiel squints at him. “Yes?”

“Could you point me to his office, ‘cause the package is for him.”

Sam can’t believe what’s he’s seeing. He’s only ever heard about Dean’s deliver-the-wrong-package-get-a-phone-number charade before, but he watches Castiel nod and glance towards the door and sees Dean swallow when Castiel is turned away and has the funny suspicion he’s finally seeing it in action, albeit slightly altered. Only he’s never seen Dean this awkward before

“Yes. He’s on floor two.”

Dean nods, but doesn’t move.

“I can show you, if you’d like,” Castiel offers.

“Awesome,” Dean says, and for the first time he smiles at Castiel. Castiel does a little shuffle again before he takes a step towards the door, and Sam has to try his hardest not to bang his head on his desk. “I don’t want to go snooping around or anything,” Dean finishes.

“I’m sure,” Castiel says, and it sounds almost like a joke.

As he watches Dean follow Castiel out the door, making small talk, Sam decides that he just might be screwed.

**

Castiel, Dean’s found out, is a Class-A nerd. From time he’d spent delivering packages to the firm a few weeks ago, he’d had half conversations that developed into full conversations with the man. And despite the semi-long rants the guy can go off on about numbers and other intellectual persuits Dean’s never really been able to devote much time to before, Dean had discovered pretty soon after meeting him that talking to Castiel was actually the biggest perk of his job in a long, long time. It didn’t help when after he’d started to think well of the guy Sam had continued talking about him at home, just as he talked about any other aspect of his work. So he knows Castiel graduated at the top of his class, knows that he tends to stay at work later than all the other employees, and that he bears a lot of the responsibility his brother has running an accounting business. As far as he knows, the guy sounds like his favorite activity outside of work would be raiding the local library shelves or else crunching more numbers so when he got into work the next day he’d be all ready and set to get a new batch so he could crunch those.

But as Dean follows Castiel up the staircase to floor two, Dean also knows that underneath the suit and skewed tie, Castiel’s a lot more than just a nerd armed with numbers. The guy’s endearing, and personable, and Dean’s found he’s worked his way under his skin.

Also, the guys not exactly physically repulsive, either, Dean thinks as he watches the way Castiel’s pants hug his ass as he walks up the stairs.

“So, this bar,” Dean ventures as he follows Castiel up the stairs. “Are you a fan?”

There’s a small sound that comes from Castiel, a kind of quiet grunt that might be half a chuckle. “Not particularly.” He looks back then, and Dean tears his eyes away from Castiel’s body just in time. “You are?”

Dean shrugs. “It’s got beer, pretty good pool, so I like it well enough.”

Castiel nods and looks forward as he comes to the top of the staircase. As the floor evens out, Dean falls into step beside him.

“So, Cas… where do you like to hang out?” Dean asks.

He’s half expecting Castiel to say “the library” or “the office” and validate the image Dean’s half-created of him in his mind. He almost trips when Castiel says, “I hang-glide.”

Dean gets his voice back just before they come to the door at the end of the hall. “You’re joking.”

Castiel shrugs, reaches for the doorknob. Instead of responding, he shoots Dean a look. It’s almost but not quite a smirk, and Dean’s beginning to think he’s got this guy all wrong.

“You’re shitting me.”

Castiel shrugs again, and stands back to let Dean pass through the door. As Dean passes, he brushes against him, and he tightens his grip on the package in his left hand.

“If you’d rather believe that, then go ahead.”

“So you want me to guess now?” Dean waits for Castiel to step up beside him before crossing the waiting room to Gabriel’s office.

“If you’d like.”

Dean stops before Gabriel’s door, and watches Castiel continue forward. Castiel, he noticed the first time he delivered a package here, never smiles very much. He’s business-like and reserved and just this side of annoying in his formality. But over the past two weeks, every time Dean delivers a package here or stops in on his way to another delivery, he’s noticed Castiel’s started to smile more and more.

And he likes it.

Sam would kill him if he ever knew that’s why Dean was bugging him at work incessantly the past few weeks.

Castiel opens Gabriel’s office and stands back. He raises an eyebrow when Dean doesn’t move.

“Yeah,” Dean says. He moves forward, and just as he passes by Castiel and through the doorway he mutters, “I just might have to do that.”

**

“You’re wasting company time.”

Castiel looks up from his computer to see Gabriel leaning in his doorway.

“Excuse me?”

“Company time?” Gabriel pushes off the doorway and sprawls in the chair in front of Castiel’s desk. “You know, what we all get paid for? It’s flying out the window.”

Castiel frowns. “What are you-”

Gabriel heaves a sigh and leans his head back against the chairback. Castiel stares at his brother. If he hadn’t grown up with him, he’d never understand how he keeps the business running. But as it is, he knows Gabriel’s all show, all play, and all smarts. The guy’s a genius. Castiel just decided long ago that he showed it in… mysterious ways.

“So the eye-fucking thing you have going on with the UPS guy, did you think you were actually subtle?”

Castiel freezes, and hopes that the phone rings or his three o’clock appointment arrives early. He glances at the clock to check on the possibility. He works out the probability of the appointment arriving an hour and a half early, and inwardly groans.

“I don’t know what-”

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” Gabriel says, and he melts off the chair and Castiel’s never really sure how he manages to do that and ends up on his feet and still look graceful every time. “You might be a lot more fun around here if you were getting laid every once in a while.”

Castiel’s frown deepens. “I don’t-”

Gabriel holds up a hand and starts walking out of Castiel’s office. “I should tell you off, since the guy’s Winchester’s brother, for God’s sake, but hey…” he shrugs. “To each his own. Besides…” he smirks. “The guy’s kinda hot.”

Castiel can feel the heat of a blush rise to his ears. “Gabriel.”

“Just telling it like it is.” He disappears behind the doorframe, only to stick his head back in, making Castiel nearly jump. “But like I said, Castiel. Company time. If you’re gonna make moon eyes on the job, might as well be getting laid for it.”

“Gabriel!”

But Gabriel’s already gone, and Castiel is left sitting as his desk with little to distract him for an hour and a half before his next client comes in.

That’s what he gets for taking today’s work home last night to get an early start, he figures.

Castiel glances out his window and sees a UPS truck drive by. He can’t see the driver, but the license plate is Dean’s, and Castiel sits back in his chair with a sigh.

Yeah, he definitely shouldn’t have taken that work home last night.

**

“So let me get this straight,” Jo says as she slides Dean a beer across the counter. “You want to know about a party that was in here two weeks ago? Dean, do you know how many people come in here on a nightly basis, let alone a weekly basis?” Dean shrugs. “Multiply that by two, Dean.”

“Fine. Just drop it. It was just small talk, anyway.” He’d finished his shift early and thought he’d relax at O’Shaughnessy’s for a bit before going home. But right about now he’s starting to think it was a mistake to follow the whim and ask Jo about what she knows about Castiel. He’s known Jo since middle school, and Sam’s always gone to her and babbled about girly stuff whenever Dean had been unable to deal with it, so Dean had figured if anyone would be able to give him some insight into Sam’s co-worker (other than Sam himself, that is), it would be Jo. Because Sam and Jo are friends, and Sam and Jo talk, and Sam and Jo share things, because that’s what girls do.

But Dean also forgot, in a moment of stupidity, that Jo’s the most guy-like girl he’s ever met. And she seems to gain just as much pleasure teasing Dean as Sam does.

Jo chuckles as she wipes the bar off with a rag, and Dean glares at the TV set showing a Dallas game.

“Question,” Jo says.

Dean grunts.

“Was this Sam’s party?”

Dean tries not to tear his eyes off the TV and takes a long drink. “Why would it matter? It was two weeks ago.”

“Okay, smartass.” Jo’s next wipe of the bar smacks into Dean’s forearm, and he scowls down at the wet streak on his arm. “Just to let you know, sometimes if I know the person you’re asking about, I might remember them more than just a random person.”

Dean looks up at her. “Excuse me?”

Jo sighs. “You’re thick as brick, Dean Winchester. Sam was in here about two weeks ago with who I’m guessing was his boss and co-workers.”

“How’d you know?”

Jo lifts an eyebrow at him. “Gabriel’s firm does the accounting for nearly half the town, Dean. And Sam told me of his job with him the moment after he told you. Anyway, Gabriel comes in here pretty often, but that’s about it.” She looks closely at him, and Dean looks away again. “Who were you wanting to ask about?”

“No one,” Dean says, and finishes off his beer. “Forget it.”

Just as Dean pushes back his stool and throws a few bills on the counter, Jo says, “You know, Gabriel has a brother. Quiet, I’ve only seen him once, at that dinner party or whatever Gabriel called it.”

Dean pocketed his wallet.

“But you know, Castiel’s a regular at the library. Ash knows him pretty well, from all the computer business he does there. Says the guy’s decent. Smart. Nice.” She gives him another look. “Pretty good looking, too.”

Dean clears his throat.

“You know, Sam told me about your deliver and pick up routine.”

Dean swears he’s going to kill Sam.

“It sounds to me, though, with all your fake deliveries? You never leave a package behind.”

And then she turns and leaves the counter, taking care of a group of guys that just arrived and sat down at a table.

Dean stares after her before heading out towards town.

**

Sam arrives home to the living room table covered in brown paper, tape, scissors, and a small 5x5 inch square box.

“Dean, what the hell.”

Dean doesn’t glance up from where he’s trying to fold the brown paper around the box.

“You know, wrapping is harder than it looks.”

Sam scoffs. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you stick all your Christmas presents in a brown paper bag before giving them out.”

Dean does look up then. “Shut up, bitch.”

“Jerk.” Sam walks over to the fridge, rummages around for a few minutes before finding the leftover Chinese food. He grabs a beer before the closes the door, and turns around to see Dean taping up the last side of the box. “So, who’s the package for?”

Dean smirks in triumph as he places the box down in front of him, wrapping complete. “Postal business, Sammy,” he says. “Can’t meddle with postal business.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

Silence settles around them, broken only by the scratching of a sharpie marker against brown paper as Dean labels the box and the buzz of the microwave as Sam piles the Chinese food onto a plate and starts warming it up.

He takes a sip of beer, and watches his brother hunch over the package, writing.

“Hey,” Dean asks. “How do you spell ‘Castiel.’”

Sam spits his mouthful of beer into the air. He stares at it as it settles onto the tiled floor.

“You’re so cleaning that up,” Dean says.

Sam ignores him. “Wait, what? Who?”

“Castiel,” Dean repeats. “C-A-S-T… E?”

“Why do you need to know how to spell Castiel’s name?”

Dean looks over his shoulder then and waves the box he’s wrapped and labeled with Sam’s work address in the air. “He’s got a package.”

Sam stares at his brother. For a minute, all he can feel is wild panic. If Dean’s trying his games at Sam’s work, Sam’s going to rip him a new one.

But then he reminds himself this is Dean he’s talking about. The Dean who’d paid for half of Sam’s college tuition and beat up bullies on the playground in high school for him.

And then he remembers Dean’s weird attitude at his office that day.

“Dean, you haven’t tried one of your pick-ups in a while,” Sam ventures.

“Jesus,” Dean grumbles as he turns back to hover over the package. “Does everyone have to keep mentioning that today?”

Sam ignores that. “Seriously, Dean. You aren’t gonna try anything stupid at the office, are you?”

“I shouldn’t even answer that.”

Sam nods. “Yeah.” He watches Dean. After a minute, Dean grabs the leftover paper and starts scribbling on it with the sharpie. Sam leans forward and sees that he’s jotting down different letter combinations, all trying to spell out “Castiel.”

“C-A-S-T,” he says. “I-E-L.”

Dean’s only acknowledgement is a quiet, “Thanks, Sam,” after he’s done writing and has gathered the remaining brown paper into a ball to throw out.

**

Dean decides, on Wednesday, that he’s chicken shit. The package he has wrapped up in brown paper and has labeled with Castiel’s name and work address is sitting on the passenger seat, and has been sitting there since Tuesday morning. He’d driven by Sam’s office at lunch time yesterday, but it had taken him another pass around three before he’d parked his truck and sauntered up the front steps into the building.

Even then, he’d stared at the staircase leading up to Castiel’s office for a total of exactly thirty-nine seconds before making a bee-line for Sam’s office instead.

“You’re a coward,” Sam had told him as soon as Dean had entered his office and plopped down on the chair in front of his desk.

“Shut up,” Dean had snapped.

Dean had stayed a total of five minutes, all of which passed in silence listening to Sam type on his computer, before he’d gotten up and headed for the front door.

He hadn’t been expecting Castiel to be entering the building just as he was leaving.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel had said as he looked up from a folder he’d been rifling through.

Dean had nodded, held up a hand in greeting and realized belatedly that it was the one with Castiel’s delivery in it. He’d dropped it abruptly, and nodded instead. “Hey.”

Castiel’s head tilted, just slightly, and instead of passing through and continuing up the stairs like Dean thought he would, he’d stopped and hovered. Dean never realized before how close he stood to people.

“Are you visiting Sam?” Castiel asked. “Or do you have another delivery for Gabriel.”

“No, no delivery,” Dean said.

Castiel’s eyes had fallen to the package in Dean’s hand.

“Uh… wrong address.”

Dean realized how stupid that was as soon as Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Oh.”

Dean glanced at the papers in Castiel’s hand and, as Castiel opened his mouth, his eyes on the package in Dean’s hand again, Dean asked, “Busy day?”

Castiel had paused for a moment, and it had taken Dean every ounce of will not to squirm under the curious stare.

“Yes,” Castiel had finally said. “There’s a new business in town that we’ve just signed with. I’ve just received all their paper work.”

And from there they’d talked about the growing business in town, and how awesome it would be if they had a really cool company, like a vintage record store, come to town so Castiel could crunch those numbers. Or, rather, Dean had babbled about a store like that he’d once been to, and enjoyed the way Castiel smiled at that, and then listened as Castiel reasoned they’d have quite a lot of numbers to crunch if they had Dean as a patron.

And so on Wednesday afternoon, as Dean once again finds himself in Sam’s office, he starts to wonder if Jo had been trying to shit with him.

“Listen,” Sam says as he hangs up the phone from talking to a Mrs. Atkins from Sally’s Fitness. “Leave the package here and I’ll give it to Castiel if you’re too scared.”

Dean frowns at him. “I hate you.”

“You’re the one who’s chickening out, Dean.”

Dean doesn’t bother gracing that with a reply.

Dean lets Sam work in silence, and it’s only after the fifth time that Dean leans forward to flick the pendulum on Sam’s desk that Sam sighs and makes a grab for the tiny contraption.

“Dean, I have work.”

“Yeah?”

“Done with your deliveries?”

“Almost,” Dean lies.

“Well, go finish them.”

Dean pulls the middle finger as he stands and starts to leave.

“Dean. Leave the package.”

Dean opens the office door. “Forget it,” he says.

“Dean.”

Dean forgot Sam’s a fast little bugger, because one minute he’s behind his desk and the next the package is ripped right out of Dean’s hand.

“Hey,” Dean barely gets the warning out before he’s lunging for the packaged clasped tight in Sam’s hand. But Sam’s also really tall, and so he has to wrangle Sam into a kind of half choke-hold and pull him down to chest level to almost be able to reach the package in his hand.

And that’s how Castiel and Gabriel find them.

“Well well,” Gabriel crows. “I hope you made an appointment for your time, Dean. Although I never really considered hostile takeovers part of the business before.”

Dean freezes and stares at Castiel. The man is staring right back, eyes wide. Sam’s gone stiff underneath Dean’s arm, but it only takes him half a second before he’s shoving Dean off him. Dean thinks that he’s too preoccupied by the boss walking in on their tussle to keep hold of the package, but as he stumbles away the package is ripped out of his hand once again.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said. “There was a-”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Gabriel stares at Sam a moment longer before turning to Dean. “Delivery boy causing problems?”

If Dean didn’t care so much about Sam’s job, this is the point he’d start shooting his mouth off. But as it is, when he shoots a look at Sam he can see the blush of embarrassment rising all the way to Sam’s hairline, and he chokes back his words.

“Just… doing my job,” he says.

Gabriel makes a low sound, and it’s one-hundred-precent skepticism.

“Just don’t wreck the furniture,” he says, and then he’s walking out of Sam’s office and gone.

Castiel, however, stays. He’s still staring at Dean.

“Uh… sorry,” Dean shoots at his brother. Sam shrugs, and he still looks a little stunned and a whole lot embarrassed. So Dean ducks his head and decides to escape. It doesn’t help that Castiel’s still staring at him with what he can’t decide is confusion, wonder, or disgust. He’s never seen that look on Castiel’s face before. And he doesn’t like that he can’t read him.

Dean clears his throat, straightens his uniform, and walks passed him, hoping Sam’s smart enough not to give Castiel the package right after he leaves.

**

As soon as Dean leaves the office and Castiel hears the engine of a truck start up, Sam sinks back against his desk and silently holds the package he and Dean had been fighting over forward.

Castiel gives Sam a look.

“Take it,” Sam says. “It’s yours. If I get fired, I want you to have this before I have to pack everything up.”

Castiel almost smiles. “Gabriel won’t fire you. If anything, I think he was impressed. He’s always been fond of… unconventionality in the workplace.”

Sam groans. “I’ve noticed.”

Castiel takes the package from Sam and looks it over. “This is what Dean was delivering?”

“Yeah.”

“Why were…?”

“Just open it.” Sam sighs, and he stands up, walks around his desk, and sits in his chair. Castiel watches as his head falls to the top of his desk and stays there.

Castiel opens the package carefully. The wrapping is messy and there’s enough tape on it to make getting to any paper to open the wrapping difficult. But he finally manages it, and tosses the paper into the wastepaper basket beside Sam’s desk. He lifts the lid, rifles through the packing material to get to the contents, and freezes.

“It better be worth it.” Sam’s words are muffled by his desk.

“Oh,” Castiel says. He lifts the tiny, plastic hang-glider out from the box and holds it up to the light. It’s cheap, a simple kids toy probably from the toy store in town, but when Castiel flips it towards the light he can see it’s been fiddled with. The original hang-glider’s been removed, and in its place are wings made of paper. Just by looking at it, Castiel can tell that if he tossed it across the room it would drift down in the air instead of plummet like a rock.

“Are you kidding me?”

Castiel tears his eyes away from the toy to stare at Sam. Sam’s head is lifted from his desk and he’s glaring at the toy in Castiel’s hand.

“That’s what he had to give you? I got fired for that?”

Castiel carefully places the hang-glider back in the box. “Sam, you have not been fired.”

He turns to leave, but at the last moment, stops.

“Don’t… don’t thank Dean for me,” he tells Sam as he turns around.

Sam looks stupefied. “You want to thank his worthless ass?”

“Yes.” Castiel nods. “Just… I’ll do it.”

Sam shrugs. “Okay.” Then his head falls back down to his desk. “It sounds like you and Dean deserve each other,” he mumbles. “You’re both crazy.”

Castiel smiles and heads to his office.

**

Dean curses when he slams the back of the truck down on his finger. Water sloshes onto the package in his arm, and he’s about to kick the back of the truck when he remembers the last time he did it, and the talking-to he’d gotten from his boss.

So instead, he marches up the steps to Sam’s office and decides that today has been, without a doubt, the crappiest day in his entire life.

And that includes last night, when Sam had barely spoken to him besides an angry, “I can’t believe you did that.” Dean hadn’t been able to decide whether he was referring to the fact that Dean had basically jeopardized Sam’s career by attacking him in his office, or whether he was referring to the package for Castiel.

Either way, it had left Dean in a pissy mood all night that carried into this morning. And now, it’s been pouring buckets of rain for the past two and a half hours, he’s behind on his deliveries since the bridge on Wayland Avenue had been closed down for flooding, and he can’t remember a time when he’s been this wet.

On top of all that, the package he’s delivering is to none other than Gabriel. The only other person Dean imagines could be worse would be Castiel. But he’d already had that horrible delivery yesterday, so he figures his life can’t be that crappy.

Dean stomps into the entranceway, his boots squeaking, water-logged, with every step, and wonders if it’s worth it to go say hi to Sam before he has to go, dripping wet, into the office of the guy who he’d been half afraid would fire his brother yesterday.

So he stands in the entranceway for a few minutes, dripping water onto the tile and wondering what would be better, until he hears a door close from the top level. He looks up, pushes back the hood of his raincoat, and sees Castiel standing at the top of the stairs.

Shit.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean raises a hand, and notices that his thumb is already starting to turn purple. Fantastic.

“It’s…” Castiel stops there, and Dean decides that this might be the worst day in not only this lifetime, but the next as well.

“I have a delivery,” Dean says. “For Gabriel.”

Castiel nods. “Gabriel’s out right now.” And he’s walking down the steps and Dean wishes that he hadn’t worn the blue tight and black suit today, because Cas has always looked his best in that outfit. Something about the way it brings out the blue in his eyes, though Dean would never admit that out loud. “I’ll sign for it.”

Dean nods and holds out the clipboard. It’s only half-wet, because Dean’s learned that if he holds it under his jacket it won’t get soaked, and he dries out faster and better than paper does anyway, wet clothes be damned.

Castiel takes the clipboard from him, and Dean watches him sign his name. When Castiel passes it back to him, his fingers brush Dean’s. Dean pulls his hand back too quickly, and watches as water drips off his jacket onto Castiel’s shoe.

“Shit. Uh…sorry,” Dean mutters.

Castiel shakes his head. “It’s just water.” And he sounds like he’s not mad at all, but rather curious as to why Dean would care. And Dean almost hates the almost-gentleness in his voice, because now that he knows he probably screwed up yesterday, he has to go and fall for Castiel for yet another reason.

“You’re… it’s nasty out there today,” Castiel observes.

A surprised bark of laughter escapes Dean. “Yeah. What tipped you off?” But he glances at Castiel and sees he didn’t take it the wrong way. Castiel is watching him carefully, almost too carefully, and Dean fidgets under the stare.

“Come and dry off,” Castiel says abruptly, and turns towards the offices on the first floor.

Dean’s about to tell him that it’s okay, he’s just going to get wet again anyway and he’ll be going now, when he realizes he still has the package in his arm. He mentally curses, and goes to follow Castiel.

Castiel leads him to a kitchenette. It’s small, with only a counter, a few cabinets and a refrigerator and microwave in it. Castiel is rummaging through the cabinets, and Dean watches as he pulls down a travel mug and a jar of instant coffee.

“Gabriel doesn’t like the regular coffee,” Castiel explains when he catches Dean staring at the jar. “He claims it’s not sweet enough. Instant coffee, on the other hand…”

“Sucks.”

Castiel chuckles. “Yes.” He looks up, and Dean catches his frown. “Would you rather not have-”

“Oh, no. Hey,” Dean takes a step forward, and wonders if he can screw anything else up. “No. Thanks. It’s warm.”

Castiel’s small smile is back, and Dean notices for the first time that there’s a small electric water boiler already working away.

“Listen,” Dean bursts out. He’s cold, and tired, and pissed, and tired of walking on eggshells. And if he’s screwed his kind-of-friendship with Castiel up, well, he can’t get any lower than this. “Sorry about the commotion yesterday. Sam was just being Sam and, well… wait, no. Uh… Sam’s fine. Just… brother things, you know?” He looks up from the water boiler to see Castiel staring at him. He can’t read this expression either. “You have a brother, although yours is kind of…”

“Abnormal?”

Dean laughs, and finds himself relaxing suddenly. “Yeah.”

Castiel nods. “I understand.” He turns back around and unplugs the water boiler, which has begun to steam. “Your brother seemed to think he was going to get fired, yesterday. But he’s not. So don’t worry. Gabriel is… odd. So he thought the display was rather funny.”

“Oh. Okay. Good.”

Castiel nods and Dean watches as he measures out the instant coffee, pours the water and stirs.

“Milk or sugar?”

“Black. Thanks.”

Castiel nods again and snaps the lid onto the coffee. But when he turns around he doesn’t give the cup to Dean. Instead, he continues staring at Dean, his hand gripping the edge of the counter.

“Cas?”

Castiel shakes his head and then he’s pushing away from the counter.

It’s cramped in here, and Dean didn’t realize he’d taken a few steps closer to Castiel as they were talking until Castiel takes a single step forward and Dean can practically feel the body heat coming off of him. It feels nice, what with being soaked through and all. But even if he wasn’t cold and sopping wet, he imagines it would feel just as good, if not better.

“Thank you,” Castiel says.

Dean stares. “Uh… what?”

“For the delivery.”

“Oh!” And Dean gets it. He looks to the package in his hands and holds it forward. “Sorry. Yeah. You’re welcome.”

Castiel looks at him for a breath before he shakes his head, grabs the package from Dean, and drops it onto the counter. “No, Dean.” And Dean shivers at how Castiel’s voice has suddenly gone an octave deeper.

But then Castiel takes that nonexistent step between them, and Dean shivers for a completely different reason.

His back collides with the refrigerator and he hears the clatter as a magnet falls off onto the linoleum floor, but all he’s really aware of is the heat that slides over his body as Castiel slots his body to fit Dean’s, and then there’s a mouth on his.

Dean makes some sort of noise, he knows it because he can hear Castiel’s answering moan. But other than that he’s pretty much just going with the flow. And it’s a nice flow at that, because Castiel’s hands, when they come up and grip his hips, manage to slide under his raincoat and Dean thinks they fit just perfectly against him. And when Castiel coaxes his lips apart, Dean finds that Castiel tastes like rainwater.

That could just be from the fact that Dean’s soaked through, but Dean’s not thinking about that at the moment.

When Castiel’s mouth slides away from his, Dean realizes belatedly that his fingers grasping tightly to Castiel’s hair.

“You’re warm,” Dean mumbles, and he’s barely aware he was even going to say anything.

Castiel’s soft laughter vibrates against Dean’s chest, and Dean pulls him towards him for another kiss so he can feel the laughter against his mouth.

When they part that time, Castiel takes a step back. But his hands still linger on Dean’s hips and the small smile Dean’s come to love is now a huge grin.

Dean lets his eyes flicker around Castiel’s face, down the rest of his body, and he can’t help but notice the front of Castiel’s suit is littered with water spots. But Castiel doesn’t seem to mind.

“Thank you,” Castiel says. “For the hang-glider.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He smirks. “You’re welcome.”

Castiel leans in for another kiss, and just before their lips connect Dean can’t help but say, “So this means you hang-glide, right?”

Castiel doesn’t answer until much, much later.

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