Chapter Text
If it was a love story, it would’ve started out differently.
Maybe something extraordinary would’ve happened. Maybe their eyes would have met and fireworks would’ve gone off in their heads. Maybe they would smile— shyly, of course, because people that look that good shouldn’t exist, right? Maybe after that they’d exchange names, maybe numbers, keep smiling at each other and laugh and blush. They’d go on dates, and they’d fall in love slowly but surely, and they’d spend the rest of their lives together, happily married with 2.5 kids and a dog and a white picket fence.
The day Dean first sees the new pilot, nothing out of the ordinary happens.
Chuck is still sitting in the closest seat to what Dean likes to call the pamphlet shelf, his face in his hands and his second cup of coffee sitting out in front of him. (Dean is almost positive that he didn’t go home last night— but, then again, Dean doesn’t even know if the guy has a home.) Ellen is in the kitchen cooking breakfast for Sam, who’s sitting at the lunch counter looking over the notes for one of his classes. Jo is behind the cash register, smirking at Samandriel, who is late (again) and is scrambling to find his apron, which Dean may or may not have switched out with the one that has the “Alfie” name tag again, just to piss him off a little.
Dean is sweeping up the floor, which is usually Chuck’s job, but right now Chuck is amidst writing another book. Dean doesn’t mind picking up on the slack, really, mostly because it gives him an excuse not to cook breakfast. Nevermind that most people order a coffee in the mornings before moving along, he likes to avoid the rush of sleepy, irritable flyers.
Across the airport, next to the receptionist’s desk, Crowley is standing outside his office door talking to someone. Dean can’t get a good enough angle to tell, so he isn’t quite sure who it is at first, but he’s got a feeling that this is the new pilot that someone started a rumor about. Dean can’t help it— he’s curious, so, yeah, he’s going to look.
Of course, it’s just his luck that at the same time, Crowley heads into his office and the stranger half turns a little and notices Dean staring. Caught, Dean blushes (actually blushes, Jesus), and, as if to make it worse, the guy fucking smiles at him and then winks (winks! Who is this guy?) before following Crowley into his office.
“Who was that asshole?” Dean manages to ask, trying to cover the fact that his entire face has turned a bright red. This hasn’t happened in years.
“Beats me,” Sam says. He doesn’t even bother turning around.
Dean doesn’t see him for another three months.