Chapter Text
In order to be irreplaceable, one must always be different.
Coco Chanel
Dean sets down the last box on the wooden floorboards of his new apartment. “Well, that’s the last of it.”
Dean has spent the whole day moving into his new apartment in New York City with the help of his brother. The previous month, he’d applied for and gotten the job of personal assistant to the Creative Director at one of the top brands of the fashion industry, NOVAK. He was excited about the job but knew that if he was to be someone’s personal assistant, he would have to make himself available around the clock. He made the decision to move to a cheap apartment in New York City. Though Sam offered to move with him so he wouldn’t be alone and they could split the rent, Dean assured him that he would manage on his own since the pay NOVAK offers sounded good enough to pay rent and get by with his daily life.
The apartment is big enough for one person, maybe two if Dean planned his space, and it’s comfortable. Suits him nicely — Dean never liked having too much room, it made him uneasy. He’d never been used to having ample space to himself. The sun streamed in nicely, casting a warm yellow glow across the floor and the white walls. The kitchen is small; At first, it’d been something that made Dean reconsider getting that apartment, but he decided that he might not even be at home enough to have free time for a big kitchen anyway. He’d accepted that he’ll probably have to make time for cup noodles or the like and not meals he could spend an hour or two to prepare. He liked cooking, but he could give up his hobby to pursue his dream, at least until he has the money for a bigger apartment. Otherwise, his bedroom was actually decently-sized so he could get a big king-sized bed. It has its perks.
Sam looks around, a faint smile tugging at the edges of his mouth, “This is so awesome, Dean. This job, this apartment. New York City. This is really exciting and I’m proud of you, man.”
“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean grins, pulling Sam into his side for a quick hug. “If you come to visit, let me know in advance. I watched The Devil Wears Prada the other day, just to get a feel of what my life is gonna be like. Doesn’t look pretty, gotta admit.”
Sam scrunches up his nose, repeating, “The Devil Wears Prada?”
Dean nods half-heartedly, bending over to open up a box labelled ‘CLOTHES’ in thick black marker on the side. “Yeah, you know, that Meryl Streep and Anne Hathaway movie.” Sam tucks his hands into his jean pockets, still giving Dean a strange look, and Dean rolls his eyes, “It’s got Emily Blunt in it too, she plays that other assistant?”
“Oh, yeah!” Sam recognizes, causing Dean to throw up his hands in mock exasperation. Sam only remembers movies and TV shows by specific actors and characters which annoyed Dean slightly, but it’s also one of Sam’s quirks. “I love Emily Blunt.”
“Get in line,” Dean chuckles, pulling out an AC/DC shirt and smelling it. He smiles at the clean smell and says, “If I meet her, I’m gonna see if I can befriend her. Do you think she’ll let me meet John Krasinski?”
“Hey, you’ll probably be her stylist or something, not her best friend,” Sam laughs, shaking his head. “But if you do get her phone number, you better leak it to me,”
Dean throws one of the smellier shirts at Sam’s face, causing the younger of them to shriek. “Dude, celebrities need privacy too. Hell no.”
“I was only kidding,” Sam grins, dropping the shirt to the floor. “Eileen and I will come to visit after Fashion Week is done. Are you going since you’re gonna be the guy’s P.A.?”
“I mean, I think so, but I’m not getting my hopes up,” Dean replies, pulling out a hanger from one of the other opened boxes to drape a bomber jacket he’d made for himself when he was 17. It had Led Zeppelin’s logo on the back, clear white against shimmery black. “But yeah, I think coming here after then would be the best timing.”
Sam nods and helps him open up another box labelled ‘OTHER’. “What are you gonna wear for your first day next week?”
“I don’t know, man. It’s not like I’ve got a whole couture catalogue in my closet,” Dean shrugs. He digs through the cardboard box before he gives up, dragging the other one over and cutting through the tape on the top. “Maybe I’ll have something here.”
“Well, whatever it is, please don’t wear your flannel shirts,” Sam says, shit-eating grin on his face.
“First off, I think my boss would bite my head off if I wore flannel on my first day at work and I don’t have a death wish,” Dean says, his eyebrows rising as if asking ‘Can you imagine?’. “Second, obviously not. But you know I’ve been styling you for literally every date you’ve been on, I can style flannel if I want to. I just choose not to.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Sam says dismissively, but his tone is soft when he adds after a moment, “I’m gonna miss having you around, Dean. Now that you’re in NYC and I’m all the way at Stanford. That’s a five-hour flight.”
Dean points out, looking through the second clothes box, “Well, there’s FaceTime and all that crap. We’ll live.” He digs deep and feels around until he catches onto what he’s looking for. He drags it out and holds it up to Sam; it’s a jacket he’d bought purely on impulse. He regretted the expensive purchase as soon as he left the store, but it was Christmas and he was sad, so the remorse didn’t last very long.
“Ah, yes. That denim jacket you blew your entire year’s savings on,” Sam says with sarcastic fondness. “I don’t think I have ever seen you wear that. How much was it?”
“$1,500, it's Dior,” Dean says with a frown. “And I do wear this. Many times. Remember, I wore it on that date with that girl, whats-her-name... Cassie Robinson.”
“She liked wearing that jacket more than you did,” Sam mumbles, rolling his eyes. “I thought you were gonna give it to her but then you broke up.”
Dean explains, putting the jacket on the hanger and looking for something else, “Yeah, but I wasn’t about to throw $1,500 out the window. I earned that cash from wedding dresses, prom gowns, and Bobby’s shop. Plus, a quality jacket. The cut’s magnificent. I should get to keep it.”
Sam simply grins, shaking his head as he puts a framed photograph of him, Dean, Bobby, Ellen, and Jo up on the mantelpiece. They took it when Dean was 7 and Sam was 3, the week after John walked out on them. Dean carried Sam in his arms for the photo and Sam was crying loudly. Bobby had a pacifier ready in his hand, Ellen had a small fluffy blanket, and Jo tried her best to grin. “Yeah, you should.”
“Oh, hey. I wanna give this to you,” Dean says, holding out a shirt Dean had gotten from H&M a long time ago. “I don’t really wear it and it cost like 40 bucks. Keep it.”
“Thanks,” Sam accepts the shirt, sniffing it and then grimacing, holding it at a distance. “Woah, someone hasn’t washed it in a while.”
Dean scoffs, “You have a washing machine at your place. Clean it yourself. Anyway...” He takes out a Vivienne Westwood Hypnos jacket. Blended wool with mint green and black tartan. There’s voluminous pockets on the front and its tasteful asymmetry. Tailored for an oversized look. “Think I’ll wear this shirt to work.”
“Lee bought that for your birthday, right? How much was that?” Sam asks, putting more photos on the mantel.
“660 pounds. He got it online with money he saved from work,” Dean answers. “Yeah, this should be good luck. I’m wearing this. Just need some good pants and shoes...” He selects skinny black jeans and rip-off Salvatore Ferragamo Asten Bit loafers he got off some cheap online store for 50 bucks. The quality isn’t so great but Dean has worn it for years and it never let him down.
Dean stands and holds up the new outfit against his body. Sam looks him over and raises a thumbs-up in approval. “Yeah, wear that, definitely.”
“Great, that’s that,” Dean says, setting the outfit down on a chair. “Ugh, this is gonna take so long to unpack.”
“Hey, that’s what I’m here for. I’ll help you unpack then I’ll fly back to Stanford. Eileen said it was okay,” Sam says, smiling lopsidedly. “What do you want to start with first?” As soon as he asks it, he smacks a hand to his forehead. “Who am I kidding? You’re gonna wanna start with the clothes. Okay, everything on a hanger?”
“Dude, folding just leaves creases. No,” Dean says. “But hang the branded stuff first then jackets and shirts. If I run out of hangers, fold the cheap shirts and pants.”
“Got it,” Sam nods, already putting up a remake of a Louis Vuitton coat — an Archive Pocket Blouson, according to Dean. He remembered the time Dean saw it in a shop window the time Bobby took them and Jo to the city for a trip. Dean had wanted to buy it until he realized it cost $2,630. He’d been upset the whole trip after that because he really wanted it, but Sam was 9 and Jo and Dean were 13, and Bobby runs a small store in a small town, and Ellen operates a cheap bar, and none of them had that kind of money.
When they got back to Sioux Falls, Bobby tried to placate Dean, only to have Dean ask if he can bring him to the materials shop down the street so he could buy cloth to make the jacket himself. After a full month of day to night work, Dean came out of their shared room one evening after Ellen called them all for dinner, in a near-perfect recreation of the Louis Vuitton jacket. The sleeves went over his small hands and the bottom reached his knees. Bobby asked why he made it so big and Dean said he wanted to be able to wear it even when he grew up.
He smiles — it still fits him. Dean was always forward-thinking. Fashion is perfect for him.
They spend the rest of the day joking around and unpacking until they were done, then Sam called for pizza to be delivered and they ate it while some foreign movie played at 3 in the morning.
Dean wakes up first the next morning, groaning as he cracks his back. They fell asleep on the couch and Dean sighs in relief when he realizes that in his slumber, Sam rolled right over the remote, turning the TV off. At least it didn’t keep playing all night long. He clears the pizza boxes and folds up the empty cardboard boxes, putting them neatly by the side of the door.
Sam grumbles with morning fatigue, blinking hard against the sun, “What time is it?”
“Morning, Sammy,” Dean greets. “It’s almost noon.”
“Damn, we’ve been sleeping for a while,” Sam gets up and points at the cardboard boxes, “I’ll get rid of those when I go so don’t worry about them.”
“Thanks,” Dean nods. “Go wash up. I’ll buy you breakfast and see you off to the airport, yeah?”
With the promise that he’ll come back to visit after Fashion Week is over, Sam gave Dean a farewell hug and told him good luck before he went into the departure hall. Dean waves goodbye through the gate and turns on his heel to leave, adjusting the jacket on his shoulders.
He passes by the arrival hall and sees paparazzi so he slows and squints, trying to make out who it is.
Castiel Novak, the creative director and head designer of NOVAK, steps out of the departure hall with a redhead woman and Asian guy walking by his side. He walks with the kind of confidence Dean usually only sees on the runway and the two, presumably his employees, following anxiously as the paparazzi click away.
Dean freezes in his spot just to watch and Castiel and his employees pass him by. He can hear Castiel saying something like “... Barnes to check with the P.A., see if he’s coming in next...” The man keys it into his phone hurriedly, holding a computer bag under his arms, and Dean makes a mental note to clear up space in his phone notes app. There are way too many wish lists and shopping lists there.
The two employees’ outfits do inject some faith into his bank account, though, considering that they’re both dripping with designer labels just as their boss is. The girl has a camel-coloured fil coupé trench coat with floral print from Oscar de la Renta that could easily cost her 3000 bucks, paired with Loubi Bee sandals from Christian Louboutin. It’s probably less than $1000, but it did look expensive. The boy had on matching classic samurai trousers with a waistcoat jacket, both having green pinstripes on a burgundy background. From the cut of it, they’re Vivienne Westwood.
Castiel himself is in a suit Dean doesn’t think he’s seen before, so he’s sure it’s a custom order. From the construction quality, he assumes it’s Ralph Lauren. It looks good on him, hugging his body in a flattering way, and he walks with pride in his step. Just the air around them is way too expensive for Dean, but he can’t help wondering how long he had to work under Castiel before he can afford designer clothing like it’s nothing.
They’re gone as soon as they pass and then Dean’s on his way to hail a taxi back to his apartment.
As expected, Dean gets a phone call later that day. He puts down the bowl of pasta on the table and quickly picks up, saying, “Dean Winchester here. Who’s this?”
“Hi, Mr Winchester. I’m calling from the NOVAK office,” a woman says. “We’re just checking if you will be showing up for work this coming Monday.”
“Yeah, I’ll be there,” Dean answers. “Why, is there like an orientation or something? This is my first real job in this industry.”
The woman says, impressed, “Your first job and you nailed NOVAK? Wow, hotshot, I wanna see your portfolio someday.” Dean can’t hold back a smile and he hears papers flipping on the other end. “And no, no orientation. Nobody here has the time to do anything more than a quick tour. I’ll talk you through it, though. Show you around a little bit and get you settled before the chaos ensues.”
“Thanks,” Dean nods. “What’s your name?”
“Pamela Barnes, my friends call me Pam,” she answers. “I’ll see you next week, Dean. Word of advice; you’re not gonna have time to cook anymore, so you should have your last couple of good home-cooked meals. From Monday on out, it’s either cafeteria food, late-night cup noodles, sandwiches or the occasional restaurant dinner Mr Novak might take you out on.”
“I knew making pasta tonight was a good idea,” Dean jokes. “But that’s a bummer.”
Pamela replies, “You get used to it eventually. Listen, Dean. I would love to talk more since you sound really fun, but I have like ten other calls to make. God, I can’t wait for you to take this job. Enjoy your pasta.”
Pamela hangs up and Dean leans into his chair, watching the steam rise from the hot spaghetti.
The rest of the week passes relatively fast. Sam FaceTimes him, sometimes with his current girlfriend Eileen. The two of them had gotten an apartment of their own during their last year at Stanford University. Sam studied law and was interviewing at multiple firms to get a job while Eileen already had one as a teaching assistant to get a feel of the reins. She did early childhood if Dean remembered correctly.
Pamela called again on Saturday to tell Dean to check in with the clerk when he comes in on Monday and that she’ll let Castiel know that he’s reached work. Otherwise, the week went by quietly and Dean tried to take in every silent moment, knowing it might be a long time before he gets to feel peace like that again. He even befriends his neighbour, a cute old lady with two dogs, named ‘Thor’ and ‘Loki’ because she loved Norse mythology. She tells him she wants to get a third dog and name it ‘Freyja’.
Eventually, Monday comes around and it’s time for his first day at work. He woke up to texts from his friends and it settles his nerves.
[November 3, 2014, 7:15 AM]
Sam Winchester: Good luck at work. Don’t make an ass of yourself. Eileen says just be yourself but nobody wants that.
[November 3, 2014, 7:21 AM]
Jo Harvelle: GOOD LUCK DEAN!!!
[November 3, 2014, 8:02 AM]
Bobby Singer: Ellen and I hope you have a good first day, son.
He sends a few ‘thank you’ texts (and a ‘fuck you’ to Sam) before he gets dressed in the outfit he picked out last week. Making sure he has what he needs, he locks the door and heads out into the world.
Dean steps through the doors of the NOVAK building and breathes in deeply. It’s like the start of a new adventure, as cliché as it sounds. He feels like fashion school is paying off — and yeah, maybe being a personal assistant doesn’t have much to do with fashion, but Dean has a plan. He’s going to build up a good rapport with Castiel Novak and when the time is right, he’ll show him his portfolio and hopefully, he’ll be promoted to a NOVAK designer. To work at one of the top high fashion brands in the world as his first job would be a huge honour.
He walks up to the counter in the lobby where a girl was sitting, filing her nails while reading something off of the computer screen, her brown hair tumbling off her leather-clad shoulder. He clears his throat and smooths a hand over his blazer, introducing, “Hey, I’m Dean Winchester. I’m Castiel Novak’s new personal assistant. I was told to check in with you.”
She looks up and nods, giving him a once-over, “Oh, yeah. I’ll ring him up. My name is Lisa. Nice to meet you, Dean.”
“You too,” he smiles. She winks at him and then turns to the phone, pressing a few buttons.
“Mr Novak? Dean Winchester is here,” she says. “Alright, I’ll send him up.” She hangs up and stands, leaning over the counter slightly to direct Dean towards the elevator, “He’s not here yet, but his office is on the highest level. Go up from there, turn right and then left down the hallway. That’s him.”
“Thanks,” Dean nods once, waving goodbye as he walks to the elevator. The building isn’t horrendously high, only being about ten stories tall.
“Hold the door!”
Dean presses the ‘open’ button and a redhead runs in. Dean eyes her outfit. It’s entirely Chanel; a black wool crepe coat, cotton navy and white blouse, black crepe de chine and black satin and strass sandals. She looks good, it makes her red hair stand out. He recognizes her, though.
“Thanks,” she beams. “I’m Charlie Bradbury.”
“Dean Winchester,” Dean replies.
She looks him up and down, smiling. “I love your outfit, by the way. Vivienne Westwood?”
“Yep,” Dean says. “Got it as a gift.”
“It looks so good on you,” she compliments. “You’re going to level ten? Are you the new P.A.?”
Dean nods, smiling, “My first day.”
“Awesome! We should have lunch together later. My office is at level 8 but I’ll come up to meet you,” Charlie invites. “Me, Kev and Balthazar eat together most days. Sometimes Pam, Meg and Missouri join us.”
“Okay, sure,” Dean accepts. “This is bothering me; Were you at the airport with Castiel Novak and some Asian guy last week?”
She perks up with a smile, “Oh my God, yeah.” She moves the notebook under her arm to her other, freeing up her hand to shake Dean’s. “I was asked to get you today.”
Dean shakes her hand, saying in confusion, “I thought Pamela was supposed to get me.”
“Pamela couldn’t be here right now so I offered to get you all settled in,” she explains. “Pam used to help keep some of Mr Novak’s events in order but since you’re here now, you’ll be doing that.”
The doors open and Charlie starts walking at a fast pace, Dean trailing behind as he looks around. The office is packed, random racks of collection pieces standing around the hallways and people running from room to room, speaking into phones. She says, “So, this is Mr Novak’s office level. The entire level is just his, yours, Missouri’s and Pam’s.”
She rounds the corner to Castiel’s office, a desk right outside the door, and dumps the planner notebook in her arms onto Dean’s desk and explains, “All the events he’s currently had organized are here. Pam is giving this to you to use, guard it with your life. Lose it and he’ll have your head. Keep track of everything here. Trust me, planner notebooks are your new best friend.”
“Okay,” Dean nods, taking it in. His desk is pretty spacious but he suspects that it’ll be overflowing soon enough. “How accurate would you say The Devil Wears Prada is?”
Charlie grins widely in amusement, “First off; great movie. Love me some powerful women. Second; it’s pretty close. Good luck, Andy.”
She checks her phone’s clock and informs him, “Mr Novak usually comes in at 9:30, so you’ve got like ten minutes to go get him coffee.”
“What’s his coffee order?” Dean asks.
She grabs a post-it and clicks the pen in her pocket, scribbling as she reads out, “One no-foam skimmed latte with an extra shot and three drip coffees with room for milk. Make it super hot.” She puts the pen down and passes it to Dean, “It’s your first day so maybe he’ll cut you slack, but maybe it’ll help make a good first impression. Just don’t get the order wrong because he’s twice as grumpy in the morning. You should go now if you wanna make it back before Mr Novak does.”
Dean runs back into the office with a minute to spare before it hits 9:30 and he sighs loudly in relief as the doors open and Castiel isn’t there yet. As soon as he reaches his desk and sets down Castiel’s coffee, he sees the Asian guy from the airport run past into the other elevator, and he quickly realizes that that means Castiel has arrived.
Castiel walks in, in a Prada double-breasted wool coat, hanging open at the front to show the black Givenchy slim-fit tuxedo in wool and mohair with a satin collar. His black hair is styled to look purposefully messy, but it admittedly looked sexy, and his eyes stand out so piercingly.
Quick estimation in Dean's head brings the price of everything on Castiel's body to at least 5000 bucks. Holy shit.
Castiel walks into the office and Dean holds out the coffee to him, unsure if he was supposed to leave it on his desk or give it to him when he walks past. Castiel slows and takes the coffee from him, raising an eyebrow, "What did you get?"
"One no-foam skimmed latte with an extra shot and three drip coffees with room for milk," Dean echoes the order from his memory. "And I made sure it's hotter than Hell, sir."
Castiel nods approvingly, drinking the coffee without even blowing to cool it down. It shocks Dean but he doesn't show it, simply watching silently while Castiel downs the drink. When Castiel is done, he sets the empty cup on Dean's desk and says, "Welcome to NOVAK. You're Dean Winchester?"
"That's me," Dean affirms. "Thanks for hiring me."
"Play your cards right, you'll win a long, fantastic career in this industry and it won't even be a gamble," Castiel advises. "Grab a phone or your notebook, walk with me."
"Where are we going?"
Castiel answers, putting down his laptop bag in his office before coming back out, "I need to check in on different departments. You don't have to come with me, just walk me to the elevator. I have things to update you on." Dean follows Castiel as they walk out into the hallways, and at first, Dean thinks Castiel will just give him a few notes at the elevator but then he starts talking.
“Confirm with Bradley Cooper for when he’s coming to pick up his suit for the Hollywood Film Awards. I worked hard on that one, I’ve got a feeling Guardians of the Galaxy might win something,” Castiel rattles off as Dean follows hurriedly. He sure walks fast for someone shorter than him. Dean quickly pulls out his phone and starts typing. “I’ll be attending the event as well, so book me for November 14th at LA. You’ll be coming with me. We’re flying there, so renew your passport if you haven’t because there will be flights in the coming months to overseas so you might as well renew it now. The flight will be paid for. Let me know when you’ve booked the tickets.”
Dean nods, typing desperately. “Yes, sir.”
“And there’s going to be Fashion Week in two months. I haven’t decided who will be going with me yet, but note down that Gabriel and you will definitely be coming along. Just in case, tell Balthazar Freely, Meg Masters, Pamela Barnes, Kevin Tran, and Charlie Bradbury to keep their schedules free,” Castiel continues as Dean scrambles to key it into his phone’s notes. The words are misspelt and shortened, skipping most of the vowels, but he’ll just clean up the notes when he gets the time to do so. “Help me check which ones Bela Talbot and Lucian Morningstar will be attending.”
Dean nods, ducking just in time to dodge a hat being strewn across the hallway. He asks, trying to keep up with Castiel’s quick pace, “Do you usually attend all of them?”
“Sometimes,” Castiel says, dumping the coats into the arms of a woman walking past. She takes it in stride, smoothly intercepting the coats and keeps on walking, to Dean’s astonishment. “In the last two seasons, I did New York and then Milan and Paris.”
“What about this season, sir?” Dean asks, turning to his side so a hairstylist, bottle of hair dye in her hand, can run down the hallway with no obstructions.
Castiel answers, opening the door to his right, “Just New York and probably Paris. I might catch the tail end of Milan if clients for the Academy Awards don’t run long. We’ll be working on those outfits even while at the Fashion Weeks. Make sure Meg, Balthazar, and Pamela get me those design sketches by 2 tomorrow for review.”
“Yes, sir,” Dean mutters, fingers flying across his screen. It occurs to him belatedly that he should just voice record Castiel next time and transcribe everything later.
Castiel pauses halfway into the elevator. Dean halts abruptly, narrowly missing Castiel, and Castiel says, “Oh, and call Margot Robbie, check if she still wants me to style her for the Golden Globes. That’s all, thank you, Winchester.” The door slides shut in Dean’s face and he lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
He walks back to his desk, running it over under his breath, “Okay, okay. Gabriel and I are going to Fashion Week, check for Bela and Lucian, tell Pam, Kevin, Charlie, Balthazar, and Meg to stay free... Book him for New York, hold off on Paris and Milan. No for London. Check with designers for AA sketches... What else, what else...” He squeezes his eyes, trying to remember everything. “Shit, yeah, call Margot Robbie and Bradley Cooper. Fuck, book our flights for November 14th to LA.”
He scrambles all over his desk, trying to find the notebooks. Once he retrieves it, he grabs a pen and starts scribbling down memos. When it’s all noted down, he picks up the phone and goes through the company’s database, finding the number for Margot Robbie’s agent.
“Hello, Castiel Novak’s office calling,” Dean starts once the call is picked up. “Calling to ask if Mr Novak is still up to style Margot Robbie for the Golden Globes? Yes? Okay, I’ll let him know it’s still on. Thank you, ma’am.” He dials for Bradley Cooper’s agent and repeats the conversation before he finally hangs up, sighing loudly as he collapses into his seat.
The Asian guy from earlier comes back in and greets, “Hey, man. I’m Kevin.” He’s dressed simply; just a jacket, shirt, and pants from H&M. It can’t be more than $100 in total but it looked good.
“Dean,” Dean returns. “Oh, yeah. Novak says you should keep your schedule free in case you’re coming for Fashion Week.”
“He says that every year, I know,” Kevin assures. “He said Balthazar, Meg, Charlie, and Pam, too, right? Don’t worry, we all free up our time for that month just as a precaution.”
“Good, good. One less thing for me to do,” Dean nods, going over his notes and transferring them into the planner.
Kevin leans against the desk and asks, “How’s your first day so far, P.A.?”
Dean exhales, “He literally just walked in and there was so much shit to do.”
Kevin laughs, shaking his head, “That’s the life of a fashion titan’s personal assistant. Well, if you need any help, my office is down four levels from here.”
“What are you working as?” Dean asks.
“I’m a garment technologist,” Kevin answers. “I figure out cloth and all that, make new materials or whatever. It’s a pretty cool job, my office is like four levels down, though. The other offices on this floor other than Castiel’s are Missouri's, the merchandiser, Pamela, who does PR and our marketing director who got fired a while back.”
“Why’d they get fired?” Dean questions, frowning.
Kevin replies, a pitiful smile on his face, “He messed up with the distribution of promotional posters for the NOVAK x Armani Winter collection we did.”
Dean’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, “I don’t remember seeing that collection.”
“It’s not out yet. The guy was supposed to send the posters out to retail stores but he mailed them all to the wrong address and they ended up in an old crackhouse or something,” Kevin says, voice low as if sharing some big secret. “When Castiel found out, he got so mad. Fired him and sent him off with a testimonial so awful that I think he just decided to pretend he never worked here.”
“Oh my God,” Dean breathes.
“But don’t worry!” Kevin quickly says, realizing that he may be psyching Dean out. “He won’t ask you to do that kind of thing. You’re just keeping track of events, picking up stuff and calling people for him. Posters and all that will be the next marketing director’s job. Yours is good.”
“Jesus. I hope I don’t fuck up,” Dean mutters.
“Relax, it’ll be fine,” Kevin assures. “Listen, I’ll come back up here around noon to grab you for lunch with my friends. You up for it?”
“Charlie already invited me. I’ll see you guys then,” Dean nods, trying to smile even though Kevin’s tale spooked him out. Kevin grins and pats him on the back once in encouragement before he leaves for the elevator once again to return to level 6.
Dean looks through the company’s database and finds a few Gabriels, but he finds one who shares a last name with Castiel and he hopes that’s the correct Gabriel. He’s apparently a makeup artist for the company.
“Hello, Gabriel?” Dean asks once the call picks up.
“Ooh, don’t recognize that voice. Is this the P.A.? Dan Winchester?”
“Dean,” he corrects. “And yeah. Mr Novak asked me to tell you that you’re coming for --“
Gabriel cuts over him, “For Fashion Week. I go with him every year. Perks of being head of makeup and his big bro. You’re coming too, I’m thinking.”
“Yeah, I am,” Dean affirms.
“Good. I’ll see you around, kid. Gotta go, this face isn’t gonna beat itself.”
“Sorry, beat?” Dean repeats, bewildered.
Gabriel pauses before he realizes why Dean is so concerned and he clarifies, laughing, “Beating a face just means I'm applying godly makeup. Lord, I wouldn’t hit a woman. Could you imagine?” He doesn’t give Dean time to answer before saying, “Okay, really can’t stay on the call anymore. Also, news that Cassie has a P.A. now is gonna spread like wildfire. The calls aren’t piling up right now but you’re gonna want to keep that line open. And you should learn how to read cursive, you’re gonna need to write fast. Good luck, kid.”
Gabriel hangs up just as the elevator doors open and Castiel comes back in.
“Everything settled?” Castiel asks.
“Called Bradley Cooper and Margot Robbie’s agents, everyone’s informed and I’m gonna book the flights for LA,” Dean says. “Otherwise, it’s all done.”
“Not bad, Winchester,” Castiel says, a hint of a smile on his face. He looks good when he smiles. “Right, let me know when you’ve booked it. Do you need help with figuring out how to use the company funds? I apologize for running off without showing you the ropes, but I was in a hurry.”
“It’s okay, I know how to do it,” Dean waves dismissively. The program is easy enough to navigate and it doesn’t take long for Dean to get to the company funds. Any passwords he needs to use are already written on a post-it for him on the computer screen, so it’s even more convenient.
Castiel nods, folding his arms, “Alright. Well, once you’re done with the flights, you may go off for lunch until I call you back. It’s your first day so I’ll handle some of the loose ends on my own.”
“Are you sure I can’t help you with those?” Dean asks. He figures if he’s gonna kiss ass, he should start now.
Castiel shakes his head, “I can do it, Winchester, but thanks for offering.” As soon as he turns to walk into his office, a blonde Englishman runs in, donning full a black Versace suit. "Balthazar?"
“Cassie, where’s Cassie?” Balthazar asks, rushing into the office. Dean points right in front of him, confused by his rush, just as Balthazar’s eyes land in Castiel and he blurts out, “Rowena MacLeod might be free!”
Castiel unfolds his arms, leaning forward as his eyes widen, “Quitting or getting fired?”
“Unknown,” Balthazar says hurriedly. “There’s talk that she’s faltering in her position at Gucci, I think something about not getting paid what she deserves but I could be wrong. Cassie, it's now or never.”
Castiel turns to Dean and snaps his fingers, ordering, “Get me Rowena MacLeod.”
“Um, do we have her number?” Dean is almost afraid to ask. Balthazar shoots him a sharp look and Castiel lingers, giving Dean a once-over.
“No, so this is your chance to prove that you were the right hire.” Castiel smiles wryly. “Get me Rowena.” Once Castiel is away in his office, Balthazar suggests checking the company’s database before he quickly leaves the room to tend to other pressing business.
Dean’s eyes scan the company’s contacts list, trying to locate any MacLeods and finally, he finds one; Crowley. He calls the number listed and waits until it goes through. A British man is on the other end; His voice is what Dean imagines whiskey would sound like.
“Crowley MacLeod. State your business.”
“Hi, I wanted to ask if you knew Rowena MacLeod’s contact,” Dean requests in his most polite voice. “I assume you know her because of your last names...”
“She’s my mother, actually,” Crowley clarifies. “Who is this? You don’t sound like that PR girl who always does his calls.”
Dean answers, “His P.A. Dean Winchester.”
“Interesting. Wings caved and finally got a P.A.,” Crowley says, amused. Dean wonders why he calls Castiel ‘Wings’. “Did he say this was a test?”
“Kind of,” Dean mumbles, drumming his fingers on his desk anxiously. If Rowena is as in-demand as she seems to be that Castiel wanted her instantly, then every second he spends on the phone with Crowley is another second someone else could be picking her up, and another second closer to Dean possibly getting fired on his first day from a fashion house titan.
“I apologize on Wings’ behalf. He tends to be too hard on his people when he’s jumpy,” Crowley says. “Alright, I’ll make your life a little easier. Mother, someone on the phone for you. Novak.”
A Scottish woman’s cheery voice shocks Dean as she says, “Oh, hello. I’m Rowena. Is this Mr Novak?”
“This is his assistant, ma’am,” Dean replies, finger hovering over the button on the phone. “I’ll connect you to him. Give me a moment.”
“Thank you, dear,” Rowena says.
Dean holds a hand over the receiver, barely able to hold back the grin on his face as he calls out, “I have Rowena!” He redirects the call to Castiel’s office and watches as he picks up the phone, speaking. He looks up and connects eyes with Dean, and a hint of a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth before he turns to look out the office window.
Dean books the tickets while waiting for Castiel to finish the call, and after fifteen minutes, Castiel hangs up and walks out to Dean’s desk. He looks up at his boss, asking, “I’ve booked the flights, business suite. How did the call go, sir?”
Castiel nods once, formal, and says, “It went well. Rowena MacLeod starts work here in two weeks. Change her in the company’s database to the marketing director of NOVAK instead of Gucci. When she comes in on Monday in two weeks' time, you will show her to her office. Do you know where it is?”
“Down the hall, Kevin told me,” Dean says.
“Not bad, Winchester. Keep this up,” Castiel says. He pauses, lingering for a second. ”And that's a great outfit. I like Westwood.”
A grin splits across Dean’s face.
“How was your first day, man?”
“My boss totally digs me,” Dean grins. “He said to keep up the good work.”
“That’s awesome, Dean,” Sam replies, eating his dinner as he types something on his laptop. Dean FaceTimed Sam as soon as he got home from his first day and caught him while he was making changes to his resumé during dinner. Eileen made them sushi and she promised to make Dean some when they come to visit in March. “Did he like your clothes?”
“Said he likes Westwood,” Dean replies, digging through his drawers to find his passport. “As soon as I’ve got cash, I’m gonna get more Westwood.”
Sam laughs, “Don’t blow all your money. That shit gets old real quick.”
Dean rolls his eyes, “Yeah, yeah.” His eyes light up with triumph and he lifts his passport, grinning victoriously. “Found it.”
“Dude, your first awards show, though,” Sam redirects the conversation. “Eileen’s all excited about it. Who are you gonna meet.”
“Man, I don’t know. Novak said to stick close to him when we’re there since I’m new. But he said we’ll check in with his personal clients so I might get to meet some celebrities. I’ll let you know if I do,” Dean says excitedly. “I can’t wait for this LA trip. I’ve never been to LA.”
“Me neither,” Sam says wistfully. The mood dampens slightly when Sam adds, “I used to have this recurring dream when I was a kid. I don’t get it anymore, but it was like... you, me and Dad in LA. I don’t know why I had it, I don’t know what LA’s like, but I kept getting that dream. I just wish Dad was more of a dad and took us, you know?”
“I know, Sammy,” Dean mumbles, checking that his passport is still valid. “But he made his choice when he ran off. Bobby’s been a stand-up dad for us anyway.”
Sam perks up a little at that, “Yeah, you’re right.” He looks away from the screen for a moment to sign to Eileen off-screen — Dean really needs to learn sign language when he gets the time — and Sam looks back apologetically, “Sorry, man. Gotta go. I’ll talk to you soon, yeah?”
“Yeah. Bye, Sam,” Dean says, hanging up as Sam waves goodbye. Regardless of the reminder of the awful father that was John Winchester, nothing could make him feel upset. Sure, maybe John walked out on them when Dean was 7 because their mom died, and maybe he never even called to check, but Dean’s got a great family in the Singer-Harvelles and his pretty hot boss just told him his outfit is great and that he did a good job. So, really, who gives a fuck about John Winchester?
The flight to Los Angeles has Dean anxious. Being left by your father before you turned 10 and then being raised by a family who isn’t exactly ready to take in two more boys means that Dean never gets many chances to ride a plane. It’s not his first time, but it still gets him just as nervous.
He’s next to Castiel in the plane's business suite and they’ve been in the air for five minutes now, and he’s just humming Metallica under his breath.
“Are you humming?” Castiel asks, staring at him.
“Is it bothering you, sir? I’m sorry,” Dean apologizes. “Flying makes me... jumpy, I guess.”
“No, I understand,” Castiel replies. “I was fearful my first few times flying, but you’ll get used to it. If it helps, you can hold my hand. Kevin comes along sometimes and he’s scared of flying too so I let him.”
Dean hesitates but decides that if he’s offering, then maybe it won’t be so bad. He tentatively slides his hand into Castiel’s. At the risk of sounding straight out of a teenage romance book, Dean thinks their hands fit perfectly.
Dean holds Castiel’s hand tightly for the five-hour flight and coupled with some Metallica, it turns out that flying isn’t so bad.
The plane lands with no hitches and then it’s instantly off to get picked up by the taxi that will apparently take them to Bradley Cooper’s hotel so Castiel can style him for that night’s award show. Dean asks, “Wait, I’m gonna see him with you?”
Castiel frowns, “Well, yes. He’s my client and you’re my assistant. Where else would you be?”
“I just assumed you’d want me to leave you alone while you did your thing,” Dean says, realizing belatedly how pathetic he sounds.
“Nonsense,” Castiel scoffs. “I suppose this doesn’t need to be said, but Charlie did lose her mind the first time she met Angelina Jolie two years ago, so just be mindful of your behaviour.”
Dean doesn’t freak out meeting the A-list actor, surprisingly enough, and he doesn’t lose his shit when he gets complimented on the full Ralph Lauren suit that Castiel loaned him from the company’s storage. He doesn’t even spaz out in the limousine ride to the venue with the celebrity in question sitting right across from them.
Technically, it would be two celebrities, right? Castiel himself was one as well, one of the world’s most famous high fashion designers. Either way, Dean had to admit he was impressed with how well he’s keeping his cool.
He doesn’t freak out when they step out of the limousine onto a red carpet and there are cameras flashing in his face. He can barely make out photographers shouting over the music and each other, asking the actor and Castiel on who Dean was. He thinks Castiel answered one of the photographers, but he could be wrong. Castiel pulls him along by his sleeve and by the time Dean adjusts to the significantly less crowded space, he realizes Bradley Cooper has disappeared into the crowd, probably finding his co-stars or friends.
Castiel keeps him close the whole night, introducing him to celebrities he knows personally and meeting ones he’s never spoken to before, all the while Dean gets to meet them.
When they hand out the awards, Dean has to admit that Castiel’s foresight is amazing — Guardians of the Galaxy does actually win an award, and the spectacular NOVAK suit Castiel constructed himself gets to be on full display on Bradley Cooper when the cast goes to accept the award together.
“It looks amazing, sir,” Dean compliments. “I mean that cut, the colour in that lighting? Wow.”
“Thank you, Winchester,” Castiel smiles. “It does look incredible there.”
Dean decides that applying at NOVAK is one of the best decisions he’s ever made. He could learn a lot from Castiel. And, in due time, he could really build up his own reputation; the mentee of fashion legend Castiel Novak who was taught by him how to make a perfect suit, how to pick the correct fabric, how to really bring a piece to life. Hopefully, someday, Dean can live comfortably in the life he so badly wants to live with the career he wants.
John Winchester walking out on them like they didn’t matter to him won’t matter anymore, long in the past, and Dean can get Bobby, Ellen and Jo a better home than that tiny house that’s barely holding together, and he can buy the best materials to make Sam and Eileen’s wedding outfits because who are any of them kidding with, they’re just a matter of time anyway.
And maybe, just maybe, he won’t smell his mother’s burning dress when he’s trying to go to sleep.