Archive of Our Own

Dean knew there was a certain kind of pride that professionals took in their work. It was the kind of pride that prevented them from seeking help when needed.

Like, a doctor wouldn’t visit another doctor when they got sick, right? It would seem like they didn’t know how to diagnose themselves. A lawyer would defend their own case in court if they ever got in trouble. A plumber might prefer to throw in their soggy towel than admit to a colleague that they were wading in something out of their depth.

So a mechanic whose car was broken was certainly within his rights to leave the vehicle parked at home. Dean would fix her when he got back, come hell or high water – even if, as of yet, he couldn’t figure out what the hell was wrong with her.

But right now, he still had to get to work on time. If he didn’t leave within the next few minutes, he’d be late. His only option was the bus.

Which meant he had to run to the bus stop.

In the rain.

There was a stop not too far from Dean’s place. Dean jogged to get there, wrongly assuming he’d be assaulted by fewer raindrops if he moved quickly. He held his outstretched palm high over his head to shield his face from the onslaught, but sticky droplets clung to his cheeks and stubble anyway, trickling down his neck.

He didn’t own an umbrella, or a coat with a hood. He was feline at heart; he didn’t go outside if he could help it, especially not in the rain – and if he did, he drove. His ‘67 Impala had a nice roof. The car was a perfect companion for him, even if every so often she decided to ignore his pleas to start her engine.

Dean was slightly winded by the time he reached the bus stop, and he stood puffing and panting for a few moments, one hand on his stomach.

Eventually he looked around, raindrops flinging from his wet hair, only for him to realise that the bus stop had no shelter. It was a mere pole in the ground with a signpost attached.

Sulking, Dean folded his arms and glared at the grey road, willing a square shape into existence, hoping the bus would surge out of the static and pull up to the kerb. He knew it arrived here about this time of day. Often when he drove, he was stuck behind it for most of his commute.

He heard other bus passengers gathering up behind him, loitering in a scattered, damp crowd. He heard the rain pattering upon the domes of their umbrellas, and he heard their sighs. He breathed in, and a whiff of cigarette smoke coiled against his throat. He cleared his throat to banish the stench, then breathed more shallowly.

Water was dripping from his ears. It was tickling his eyebrows. He had to blink a few times to get the rain out of his eyelashes. And there was dampness seeping under his sweater.

Ugh, he hated this. Hated it.

He was in half a mind – nay, three-quarters of a mind – just to turn back, go home, make coffee, call in sick and watch wrestling and porn all day, when the rain stopped abruptly.

Dean glanced around in surprise, then looked up.

An umbrella. Someone had put an umbrella over him.

Dean looked to the left and saw another man just an inch shorter than him, his pale face perfectly dry, from his dark, coiffed hair, and his thick sweep of black lashes, to his easygoing, friendly smile. He wore a tan trenchcoat, which was also dry. Nary a drop on him.

Dean smiled back in thanks.

The man bowed his head, then turned his eyes to the road.

Dean stared for a little while, smiling, then looked at the road too.

Eventually the bus emerged from the pale haze, forming into a recognisable shape. Dean exhaled in relief, shoulders sinking in his leather jacket.

Slowly, the bus wheels aligned with the kerb, brakes squealing, and all the people gathered their briefcases and folded down their umbrellas, preparing their bus passes for boarding.

As the line of people waiting to board thinned to just a few, Dean turned to the other man, uttering a word of thanks. He stepped out from under the umbrella and into the bus.

But he didn’t have a bus pass. He fretted, patting his pockets for spare change, but before he could find even a dollar bill, the umbrella-holding stranger pushed against his shoulder, nudging him out of the way, and paid the bus driver a double fee.

Dean stared.

The man only smiled kindly, and turned to find a place on the bus.

He sat beside the aisle, mid-bus, but there was no seat available next to him.

So Dean sat alone at the front. As the bus lurched forward, Dean turned his head to peer at the stranger. He had his head down, thumbing through a paperback book he’d apparently pulled from one of his coat pockets.

Dean let himself stare. The guy was good-looking – and apparently a fast reader, judging by how often he turned the pages of his book.

When the bus finally pulled up to Dean’s stop, he went to the front and hung onto a bar, preparing to step off the bus. He looked back at his saviour at the last moment – and smiled wider when the guy looked up, just for long enough to meet Dean’s eyes before they parted ways.

Dean mouthed another thanks.

He got a big smile in return.

Dean was pissed off. He was a great mechanic. He knew cars inside out. In fact, upon being handed a car that had literally been turned inside-out, he’d put it right-way-in again. Just for fun.

It kind of seemed like his baby just... didn’t wanna start. Like she was in a foul mood, or something.

So Dean left her at home to stew in her own malfunction, and he jogged to the bus stop. In the rain. Without a proper coat. Again.

He stood under the bus stop sign, hands tucked under his arms, shoulders hunched up near his ears. He glared at the road, waiting for the bus.

It wasn’t long before he felt the rain stop.

But like yesterday, he looked around in surprise, only to find his umbrella-wielding friend was back, this time with a larger grin.

Dean shrugged in apology, giving a sheepish smile. He muttered about his car not starting, and how he’d brought cash this time.

The stranger shook his head forgivingly. His generosity was clearly not a problem for him; he stood as close to Dean as he could, his shoulder pressed to Dean’s back. His navy-blue umbrella was big enough for the both of them.

The closeness was weirdly nice, Dean thought. This guy was warm and his aftershave smelled good. Kinda herbal and spicy.

Curious, Dean angled his chin so he could look more closely at the man without being too obvious. Under his trenchcoat, he wore a black suit with an open jacket – a cheap one, not a fancy one – and a blue necktie, tied backwards.

Dean chuckled, turning to face the man. He gestured at the tie, and when the man looked down, he gave a bashful huff.

Dean laughed, and with forward-moving hands, offered to retie it for him, since he was busy holding the umbrella. When the man nodded, Dean grinned and undid the tie for him. The guy lifted his stubbly chin, eyes on Dean’s forehead as Dean loosened the knot, flipped the tie over, and began to do it up again.

It was an old muscle memory, easy to do, but Dean still chewed on his lower lip as he concentrated, making sure he did the tie up the way his dad taught him – except backwards. Once he’d tightened it to the collar, he brushed it down so it lay flat. His fingertips bumped the edge of a plastic pin that was attached to the man’s suit jacket. Noticing it had the Gas-N-Sip convenience store logo on it, Dean fingered the man’s trenchcoat open by another inch, reading the nametag.

CASTIEL, it said, bold white letters printed on a glossy badge. Smaller letters underneath read MANAGER.

Dean hummed approvingly. The man chuckled, ducking his head in a humble sort of way.

With an assuring pat to Castiel’s shoulder, Dean turned on the spot, facing the road again.

The bus was approaching.

This time Dean and Castiel got on first, and Dean paid for Castiel while Castiel was still busy folding down his umbrella. Dean truly enjoyed seeing the surprised gratitude on the other man’s face when he realised his fare had been paid already.

Dean quickly chose a seat near the window, and cocked his head to the side, inviting Castiel to sit beside him.

Castiel sat, eyes on Dean. He smiled.

Then he bowed his head and pulled out his book.

Dean took a breath to speak, but didn’t, since he was never a fan of people who didn’t acknowledge unwritten ‘do no disturb’ signs. Instead, he spent the journey alternating between watching the rain-speckled view outside, and reading Castiel’s book and trying to guess what it was. It seemed to be something about angels. The print was tiny, which made Castiel’s fast reading even more impressive.

Castiel had very nice hands.

Throughout the bus ride, Dean watched Castiel’s hands more than most people would find polite, or even sane. He just thought they were good hands, that was all. Strong but delicate. Clean, well-rounded nails. Big palms. Knuckles that, when shifted, made Dean’s heart dance a little – for unknown reasons.

At Dean’s stop, he stood up, and Castiel stood up too to let him pass. Dean gave him a friendly pat on the arm as he shuffled front-to-front against his body to get by. He let his hand trail down, accidentally – accidentally – touching Castiel’s warm fingers as he slipped away.

He was sure he heard Castiel take a breath to call after him, but Dean had already hurried off the bus, blushing, and it was too late.

Dean was certain now. There was nothing wrong with his car. She had one symptom, and one symptom only: she didn’t want to start. Dean had checked every damn thing that would cause non-starting, and then some. But at this point it almost seemed like the Impala would rather Dean just take the bus, since he apparently liked taking the bus so much. She conveyed this in a disparaging, sarcastic combination of windshield-swipes and engine grunts. So Dean huffed and left home without her.

Thankfully having no car wasn’t the end of the world, today. Dean had someone to meet, and he couldn’t do that if he took his car.

He carried his tupperware box of cupcakes to the bus stop, needing to tip the box every so often to pour the rainwater off onto the sidewalk. Sometimes the wind did it for him. Every half-minute or so, a hard, agressive gust sent him a step off-course, and he felt ruffled and disorientated, but continued on his journey.

As he reached the bus stop, he found himself perplexed.

There was a structure planted here which had not been here the day before.

Now there was a bus shelter.

It had a wooden roof that curved over a long bench, and freshly-painted wood planks made up the back, but it was open to the elements on every other side. The wind rushed at the shelter, making it creak in place. It already housed five or six people, all sitting perched on the bench, their umbrellas folded down, unneeded.

Dean stood under the overhang, arms folded. He looked at his tupperware box of cupcakes, and wondered if they were too forward of an offering. Making food for potential friends was what people did. Wasn’t it?

Perhaps that was just Dean.

And perhaps it was just Dean for Cas, since now he thought about it, he’d never made cupcakes for any other potential friends. Usually he just punched their arms and offered them beer. Or threw a twenty-sided die at their boobs by mistake, that one time.

Castiel seemed like a mini-muffin kinda guy. Dean was really hoping his favourite thing to eat would turn out to be cupcakes with chocolate chips in the dough, and star-shaped rainbow sprinkles studded on the swirl of white icing, since that was what Dean made.

Actually, come to think of it, it didn’t really matter if Castiel was a cake guy, a pie guy or, heck, a cookie guy; Dean was offering something nice to eat, and that was the point. It was a pleasant, sugary icebreaker.

Dean knew Castiel had arrived, not because of a navy-blue umbrella appearing over his head, but because of a familiar warmth and pressure applied to his bicep.

There he was. Castiel.

He was looking kinda wind-ruffled and rain-splattered today; the rain blasted at random angles, and there was really no escaping it.

Dean opened his tupperware container and offered Castiel a cupcake.

Castiel’s blue eyes lit up with delight, and he lifted out a tiny cake. He took a moment to examine it, picking at a pink sugar star and sucking it off his thumb. He glanced at Dean, pointing at the cupcake questioningly. “You?” he mouthed.

Dean nodded. These were his own creation.

Castiel took a bite, and began to chew. Dean felt his cheeks growing warm, despite the wind chill.

Castiel made a happy sound. He nodded.

Dean grinned. Thank God, they tasted as good as they looked.

When Castiel had finished his first cupcake, he swiped crumbs off his lips and looked to see if he could have another. Dean was still sucking icing off his own fingertips, but smirked, offering Castiel the box. Castiel held his folded umbrella between his knees, both hands freed to take the box.

He paused, noticing the name written in permanent marker on the tupperware. DEAN WINCHESTER, it said. Castiel pointed at it, then gestured the same finger to Dean.

Dean nodded again, sticking his hands in his pockets.

Castiel’s lips curled up at the corners, eyes crinkling a little. Dean rolled his eyes away, grinning, since Castiel’s smile felt very much like a compliment. It was just his name, nothing special. Jeez.

Castiel ate his second cupcake, showing even more appreciation for it than the first. He gave Dean a nudge, and when Dean raised his eyebrows, Castiel just blinked, head tilted approvingly.

Dean hung his head, chin to his chest, his grin going wild.

Castiel inhaled suddenly, cramming the remainder of his cake in his mouth and handing back the tupperware, lid on securely. He grabbed his umbrella and opened it up: the bus was approaching and the rain was dreadful, so he intended to shield them both as they dashed between the bus shelter and the bus.

Dean held tight to his box, and stood under Castiel’s umbrella, prepared to make a run for it.

The bus pulled up. The crowd gathered together, bustling to be the first inside.

But in all the commotion, the wind picked up, and with one hard, ferocious push, Castiel’s umbrella yanked off to the side, taking Castiel with it. Dean grabbed his trenchcoat sleeve, holding tight as Castiel chased his umbrella down the street, away from the crowd, both of them pulled by what had essentially become a sail at full mast.

With some struggling, and a lot of help from Dean – right arm linked through Castiel’s, left clutching his cupcakes protectively – they wrenched themselves back to the bus. Everyone else had boarded; the bus driver was only waiting for them now. The engine idled, stuttering, puffing grey exhaust against the road.

Just as Dean let Castiel go, and Castiel bent to fold up his umbrella – and another force of nature ripped the item from his hands. He swiped for it, but it was gone.

Together Dean and Castiel watched the blue shape soar up into the sky. In a violent windrush, it slashed inside out, metal spines breaking mid-air. Dean raised his eyebrows, watching the thing carried away, vanishing into a dark grey raincloud.

Castiel let out a stunned breath.

His shoulders slumped, and he pressed his lips together in disappointment.

But Dean shook his head, taking Castiel’s arm and pulling him into the bus. They were both soaking wet now, with dripping hair and soggy clothes.

At least Dean still had his cupcakes.

There were no seats left, so they stood together, hanging onto the handles, bodies swaying from the ceiling and dripping on the floor as the bus drove on.

Dean offered Castiel a reassuring smile, and a cupcake, but Castiel shook his head, eyes cast down.

Dean covered up his cupcake box again, and sighed.

On his way out, Dean handed a cupcake to the driver, since Castiel wasn’t gonna take any more. Then he paused, and went back into the bus. He held the open tupperware, offering it from seat to seat, glad to see strangers smile, hands rising as they requested a cupcake. Anyone who wanted one reached to take the offering, thanking Dean before sitting back down to enjoy their treat. Thank goodness, there was enough for everyone.

Dean left the bus grinning, and looked back to see the bus driver grinning too.

At the very last second before the bus pulled away, Dean looked back in through the window, and was thrilled to see Castiel smiling too, even more contentedly than anyone else.

Dean didn’t even try turning his Impala on in the morning. He just picked up his bus fee and walked right past.

It was still raining. The wind was even worse than before.

People huddled in the bus shelter like penguins, shoulders crammed tight, the points of their umbrellas jabbed into the sidewalk, but their saggy frames left unbuckled in case of a sudden incoming of raindrops.

Dean tucked himself away in the crowd, tall enough that he could just about see over people’s heads. But he couldn’t see Castiel. No dark coif of hair perked up above the crowd. No blue eyes flashed Dean’s way, no Castiel on tiptoes trying to search for him.

Dean waited.

He waited so long that he missed the bus, and was left alone at the stop.

He waited for the next bus, and the next crowd, and the next set of penguin people and their damp, battered umbrellas.

But Castiel was nowhere to be seen.

Dean started to wonder if Castiel had been on the first bus to begin with, and Dean had just missed him because of how tightly the crowd was packed. Everyone wanted to stand under the bus shelter, since they’d observed what happened to Castiel’s poor umbrella and they didn’t want their own umbrellas to suffer the same fate. It was just too damn crowded to spot anyone.

So Dean caught the second bus.

He sat alone at the front, arms folded.

There was rainwater under his sweater. And a weird, sad, lonely feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Castiel stood at the bus stop, resisting the urge to open up his new umbrella. He wanted to look at it constantly, because the novelty of having a different one was so exciting, and he couldn’t wait to show Dean. But he knew perfectly well that it wasn’t sensible to open it yet. The wind wasn’t too bad today, but there was a bus shelter now, so there wasn’t any real need for an umbrella, was there?

Usually Dean was here by now.

Castiel kept an eye out, leaning forward to peer along the sidewalk, hunting for an approaching figure, who would no doubt be jogging along with his hands over his head.

Even though it had likely been inconsequential, and Dean maybe didn’t even notice, Castiel wanted to explain why he hadn’t been here yesterday morning. It had only occurred to him when he’d headed to bed; Dean wasn’t aware of his schedule, and maybe didn’t realise that Castiel’s Thursday shift at the Gas-N-Sip was in the afternoon.

Castiel really hoped Dean hadn’t waited.

No, he thought to himself. No, Dean wouldn’t have waited. He had work to get to. They weren’t exactly friends – they’d barely spoken a word to each other. They were... acquaintances.

Yet even so, Castiel felt like he ought to wait for Dean.

Maybe he’d come now.

Or... now.

Now?

The bus arrived, and everyone got on.

Castiel hesitated, remaining under the shelter, attention set at the most distant part of the sidewalk he could see before the sight faded into a drizzly gloom.

The bus driver honked the bus horn. Castiel looked over, and saw the driver beckon.

Castiel shook his head. He was waiting for Dean.

The bus driver shrugged, and closed the automatic doors. With a screech and a hiss, the bus and all its passengers pulled out into the road. That deep engine growl roared off, and Castiel watched the bus fade from a blocky shape to a blurry one, and then to nothing.

He continued to wait, hands on his replacement umbrella.

He hoped Dean was okay. He hoped he was still coming.

He didn’t know why he was waiting. It just felt like he ought to.

Just in case.

It was almost time for the second bus. Castiel decided that if Dean didn’t arrive by then, he’d get on.

Oh, here it was. Castiel could hear the engine approaching.

But he also heard something else approaching from the other direction. He turned his head to look...

Bootsteps. Heavy ones. And a huff of breath, panting. Castiel’s heart soared, and he felt genuine happiness rising inside him as Dean emerged through the rain, boots clumping on the sidewalk.

The second bus pulled up. The doors opened. Everyone else got on.

Dean finally reached the bus shelter, grinning, slowing down as he shook his head. He tried to explain – something about his car, something about getting it working again, something about wanting to take the bus anyway – just in case. He straightened up, his green eyes gleaming with a smile.

“You waited for me,” Dean said.

“I did,” Castiel replied.

Dean put his hands in his pockets.

The bus driver honked.

Castiel glanced at the bus. Dean glanced at the bus. The pair of them were the last two waiting in the bus shelter.

They both glanced at each other, silently communicating something completely unexpected. They both looked back at the bus driver, and they both shook their heads.

The doors closed and the bus drove away.

Dean peered interestedly at Castiel. Castiel beamed, looking down. He lifted his umbrella, unlatched the waterproof fabric from the frame, and pushed out the metal skeleton until it clicked.

Dean looked up in awe, then laughed.

A rainbow umbrella. Castiel had owned it for years, but not until this very morning had he found reason to use it. The blue one had been simple, practical, and didn’t stand out at all. But this one...?

Rainbow sprinkles had been scattered all over the cakes Dean made. Therefore it was a safe assumption: Dean liked rainbows.

Dean obviously enjoyed the umbrella very much. He stood under it, grinning up at it, chest pressed right against Castiel’s. Castiel twirled the umbrella, watching Dean’s eyes sparkle like an enthralled child at a firework display.

Their eyes met, and they shared a smile, both conveying their absolute joy at how this funny moment in their lives had somehow come to be, how things seemed to happen of their own accord, just so the two of them could get here, standing together under a rainbow umbrella with nobody else around.

After a moment or two, Dean licked his lips, then cocked his head, as if inviting Castiel somewhere.

Castiel smiled softly. He glanced at the coffee shop across the road, then looked back at Dean.

Dean nodded, a smile bursting into existence on his face like sunshine.

Castiel was a big fan of coffee. Judging by Dean’s enthusiasm, he was too.

And so they went.

They talked all the way there, starting gentle and uncertain – “So! You, uhhh... wanna talk?” – but picking up confidence by the time Dean pushed open the door and Castiel folded up his umbrella, following him in.

“I love the rain, don’t you?”

“Not a freaking bit, Cas. Not even a little.”

“Well, I suppose we balance out then, don’t we?”

Dean laughed. “Sure, buddy. Why not. Yin and yang. Cheese and bacon. Coffee and—”

“Donuts?”

“I was gonna say pie.”

“I like pie, too.”

“Thank God.”

They chatted for the length of time it took to drink three coffees (each), and consume a slice of cake, and some apple pie with cream, sharing both, with the plates set between them. With a booth to themselves, they could comfortably sit at a right-angle to each other, knees pressed together.

When Castiel laughed, he laughed deeply, and every time, he noticed how Dean watched, apparently dazed by Castiel’s graceful mannerisms and low voice.

Of course, whenever Dean laughed, Castiel filled up with core-deep contentment, so pleased to have the power to make someone else do such a thing, especially in moments when Dean guffawed so hard he almost fell out of the booth. (Three times.)

Outside the rain lashed against the glass, the visible world locked in an incoherent bubble of grey, but inside, they stayed warm and happy. They got to know each other a little better.

They even learned about each other via the choices they made when they each called in sick to work. Dean faked a cough, while Castiel straight-up told his co-worker he was on an impromptu date, and would be in next Monday.

Dean blushed at the ‘date’ thing. But, as Castiel ended his call and slipped his cellphone back into his trenchcoat pocket, Dean bit his lip, admitting quietly, “Gotta be honest. Up ‘til now, Cas? Wasn’t completely sure this was a date.”

“Oh?”

“But now I’m completely sure,” Dean smiled, eyes on his fourth coffee, stirring in the foam with Castiel’s cake fork.

“And are you happy about it?” Castiel pried.

Dean curled a hand against his pinkening cheek, and nodded. “Uh-huh. Very.”

When they did eventually leave the coffee shop, they walked together, with Dean’s hands in his pockets but his elbow brushing Castiel’s, taking shelter under their rainbow umbrella.

They left so that Dean could show Castiel his beloved car. “We can take a drive around town, maybe. Promise you, Cas, it’s the nicest feelin’ in the world, driving in the rain. Used to drive my younger brother around just to get him to fall asleep. Still do, sometimes.”

“How old is he now? Your brother.”

“Sam? Uh. Thirty.”

Castiel’s quiet laugh took over him so intensely that he nearly dropped the umbrella, and Dean had to sweep in to hold it for him.

“Pff, all right, so you’re a skeptic,” Dean smirked. “Bet you a second date that my baby’s purr and the sound of the rain will rock you to sleep like a good lullaby. Fifteen minutes of driving and you’ll be out like a light.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at him. “Hmm,” he remarked. “I’ll take that bet. Conversation is far too stimulating to let me sleep. Especially not after all that coffee.”

“What do you get if you win?”

Castiel felt his eyes sparkle as he looked affectionately at Dean. “A second date. As well as a third.”

Dean sucked his lower lip. He seemed to hesitate, but only for a moment, before finally eloquating the response that came to mind. “Maybe by the fifth date, Cas, I-I could rock you to sleep myself.” He flustered. “Y’know, if you want. Or not! Or whatever. Whatever’s good for you.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows. But there was nothing keeping him from replying, warmly, “Sixth date. Then yes.”

Dean ducked his head, failing to hide a blush. “Awesome.”

They did indeed take their drive around town. But a half-hour passed and Castiel was still very much awake. Dean seemed terribly enthused by the idea of the sixth date Castiel had just won himself. He kept muttering the words “Sixth date? Sixth date,” over and over, in total disbelief, until Castiel realised something.

“You’ve never had a sixth date, have you?”

Dean chuckled. “Look, I’m a one-date-in-the-bedroom kinda guy, usually. Three dates if I really like her. Five if she’s into something freaky.”

“‘She’?” Castiel pondered the pronoun, then hummed a note, interested by that information. He was the outlier.

Dean wet his lips, glancing over. “I could do six out-of-bedroom dates with you, Cas, easy. Maybe even ten.”

“What about so many that you forget how many you’ve had?”

Dean seemed to sink down in absolute delight. He couldn’t even reply, he just stared at the road before them, his emotional smile shaking on his lips, his eyes full of hope. Castiel kept on watching him, amazed.

Somewhere amongst all the talk of baked goods and brothers and wrestling and running a Gas-N-Sip, Castiel suggested that – maybe, perhaps, this was simply a strong suggestion – Dean should get a second opinion on his temperamental Impala.

Whether or not it was kismet that the two of them met, purely because the Impala threw a tantrum; whether or not she was ‘a car with personality’; the fact remained that cars were not meant to work some days and not others, for no discernable reason.

“I have no doubt you’re skilled enough to fix your own car, Dean, and that’s fine – but nobody ought to be too proud to ask for help,” Castiel said firmly. He watched the traffic lights reflecting in the mirror-glossed road as they drove, and he smiled at their beauty. “Even the brainiest, most advanced scholar could learn something from a child. And there’s no shame in wanting to learn more.”

Dean gave Castiel a fond look after he said that. Castiel wasn’t looking back, but he still noticed.

“Oh, boy,” Dean muttered.

“What?” Now Castiel looked at him, curious.

Dean was smiling to himself. “You,” he said. “You’re definitely gonna teach me a thing or two about everything, that’s for sure.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“Oh, I know so.”

Castiel admired Dean’s profile, his well-proportioned features highlighted by the colourful lights, all blurred by the grey rain. “Tell me, Dean, what else do you know?”

Dean opened his mouth as he grinned, shooting Castiel a soft look. “Well,” he started. He gulped, his grin fading to a content smile. “I know one thing. Come next Monday... and every Tuesday to Friday following that, except Thursdays? I’m gonna be taking the bus to work. And I’m gonna stand in the rain without a coat. And I’m gonna wait for you to join me.”

Castiel lowered his eyes, smiling. “In that case, Dean... Every day... I’ll be there.”