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Cas has a job interview.
Dean only finds out the day before, when Cas spills a whole bag of ground coffee on the floor at breakfast, and trips over Sam's laptop cord without apologizing at lunch, and can't find a channel to watch for a whole two fucking hours, and eventually ends up in the corner muttering and laughing over a box of weird-ass sigiled knives in Enochian and it's all a little too reminiscent of that time with the bees that Dean tries never to think about.
"I noticed you seemed a little nervous today," Dean ventures carefully after dinner. He's sitting on the bed taking his shoes off. Cas is on the other side of the room, meticulously folding clothes and putting them away.
"I'm not nervous," Cas snaps. "I'm stressed."
"Um. Okay." Dean peers around Cas's shoulder. Cas's fingers are shaking around a solitary sock that's come unfolded in his hand. Dean's chest twinges a little. "Somethin' going on?"
Cas drops the sock. He leans over to pick it up and when he straightens he cracks his head on the open draw and it's so loud that Dean grimaces a split second before Cas does.
And then it all spills out, in a sort of a breathless wound up rant, like a five year old teling a passionate unending story about their day at school: How Cas had seen the sign on the glass window of the electronics store, how he had asked for an application, how he had only had to lie a little bit, how he thought it might be a good idea to rake in some extra money in between hunts, how he had simply been interested in working there, and a half a million miscellaneous facts about the electronics that the store sells.
Dean's not sure where to start. “You could have told me earlier.”
Cas frowns, genuinely baffled. “I didn't think it was worth mentioning unless I got the job.”
Guilt diffuses through Dean's chest. “Cas, if you're anxious about something, you gotta talk about it," he insists earnestly. "If you bottle it up you're just gonna explode. You're human now, too. It's a human thing to ask for help."
"I don't need help."
Dean raises his eyebrows, not sure if he's exasperated or smitten. "Oh. Really. No interview pointers? So you're just going to wing it?"
Cas scowls a little and says seriously, "Dean, you know I don't have wings anymore. And I don't see how they would help anyway."
Right.
"I know what I'm supposed to do," Cas says, straightening his shoulders with purpose. "I read the application thoroughly. I've researched all the products they sell. I watched the cashier for several hours."
Dean doesn't let his mind linger on the logistics of the last one. "'Kay. All right. What are you gonna wear?"
"Wear? I was just going to wear my usual clothes."
Since moving in to the bunker and becoming a hunter, Cas's usual clothes have been mostly plaid and kinda worn out jeans, and this navy blue jacket he picked up at a discount store a while back.
"That's not a good idea," Dean says, getting up and walking around the bed. "You wanna make a good impression, right? Then you gotta clean up a little." He pulls a pair of black 'fed suit' pants, a fresh white shirt, and a blue tie out of Cas's drawers. Cas is just standing there watching, with that little frown sitting in the corner of his mouth like he's suddenly a little lost.
"C'mon," Dean nudges gently, "let's see what it looks like. Test drive."
"I know what it looks like--"
"As an agent," Dean corrects with affection. "Not as you. Not as the next employee of I, Tech.” (The actual name of the store.)
Cas acquiesces with a sigh. Dean privately promises to make it up to him, somehow. Cas sheds his tattered jeans and puts on the suit pants. He begins to unbutton his shirt and Dean takes over, slipping the plaid off of Cas's shoulders. He slides Cas's white shirt on and Cas's shoulders are so tense that Dean stops for a moment and rubs them, kneading at the hard slope of muscles until Cas relaxes a little. Good.
Dean threads and knots Cas's tie without realizing at first. He straightens it and his eyes comb it over top to bottom and then they just stop there, sunk like an anchor. After a moment, Dean shakes himself and carries on. But Cas noticed, of course.
"What is it?”
Dean smooths out Cas's collar. "Nothin'. It's." There's something about the infinite quiet with which Cas listens to him, the quartz curiosity and rapt attention in his eyes. "It's stupid," Dean dismisses, because it is, and this isn't about him. But.
It's just that Cas can make him feel like even the smallest thing is important, he takes everything so seriously.
"It's just." Dean's eyes flicker down and up again. "You used to wear your tie backwards half the time and I always meant to, you know, fix it for you. At some point. Always thought I would." His throat closes up a little bit. "But I never did."
"It's just a tie," Cas says.
"Yeah," Dean agrees, "Like I said, stupid."
But his heart sinks. He didn't say enough, didn't say it right, doesn't know how to explain. And Cas forgives too easily, lets Dean get away with so much when he should be upset, when he should know all the guilty decisions Dean has spent his whole life making.
"Just. Cas, I'm sorry." Dean inhales. "For all those times I wasn't there for you when you needed it. For every time you had to be on your own, no one to help you. And I know one stupid little apology doesn't cut it, but I--"
He has trouble continuing when Cas's mouth closes over his words, without warning. The way Cas does most things.
Cas kisses him softly, like dye diffusing through water, like a spring breeze carressing sleeping skin.
Cas pulls away.
"I feel better," he states. There is no tenseness in him anymore, no gnawing anxiety. His mouth is turned up into what basically counts as a smile, for him. His blue eyes are a little wondering.
"You uh, you do?" Dean manages.
Cas nods in quiet contentment. And that's all it takes. Cas couldn't fake it if he tried, he's not that sort of person. All at once this thing Dean's done for him glows between them like a sunrise, pushes the shadows out of Dean's sky. Cas studies his sleeves. "It would seem that getting dressed does much for one's self confidence. Thank you."
Dean laughs.
"How do I look?"
Dean nods in approval. "Sharp." He modifies it after a moment: "Hot."
"You know, I might just have to wear this all night, to make sure the confidence doesn't wear off."
"I wouldn't go that far--" Dean starts, before he sees the faint gleam of mischief in Cas's eyes, the smug little upturn of his mouth, and realizes the son of a bitch is teasing him.
And then it's only a matter of time before Cas is wearing nothing at all, like he deserves, laughing as Dean pulls him to the bed and they fall tangled together.
"You're gonna do fine," Dean breathes, seriously, in a small moment where they come up for air. "You're you." Cas stares at him with those brilliant blue eyes, paused, before diving in again, kissing him intently, fiercely. And Dean knows he is absolutely telling the truth.
You're amazing, Dean thinks. You're just. Amazing in every goddamn way.
The clothes sit in their hastily dumped heap all night, with the result that by the morning they are too wrinkled to wear. Cas picks out another shirt and tie and pair of pants himself, moving quietly in the early morning while Dean is still asleep.
He gets the job.