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Doctor Dean Winchester works the night shift in the Emergency Department. He doesn’t mind it; he’s never needed much sleep, and it’s not like he has anyone to go home and snuggle with at night.
Long, busy nights do make him punchy sometimes, though.
This morning, he’s in one of those moods. He bounces on bow legs as he air-drums to AC/DC in his mind, weaving through the employee parking lot that’s already full.
He climbs into his beauty of a car, Baby, and exhales the night from his body, then finds his sunglasses and slips them on. Deciding he needs to listen to some AC/DC now that it’s stuck in his head, he shuffles through his tape collection until he finds the one he wants. He switches Metallica out of the deck and nods as “Highway to Hell” begins.
It’s then that he notices a car—a Prius, God help him—hovering nearby, waiting for his space.
“Oh, yeah, you sexy beast, you want this, don’t you?” Dean teases, though he can’t see the other driver and they obviously can’t hear him. Likely, the other driver is anything but a sexy beast—more like a granola-munching hippie—but he can dream.
He backs out and lets Granola have the space.
The same thing happens the next day.
And the next.
And the next.
Soon it’s a routine, and even when Dean is parked farther away than usual, Granola still waits for him. It’s kind of fun, this stranger playing a game with him, and Dean becomes curious.
Granola works the day shift, obviously, and has terrible taste in cars. But that’s all Dean knows, and he doesn’t know how to get more information...until he does.
It happens because Dean is late.
A patient kept him over his twelve hours, which isn’t unusual, but this one was especially tough. He drags himself out of the hospital, exhausted.
He perks up, though, when he sees a note under his windshield wiper:
Hello,
You were running late, so I had to park elsewhere. I hope everything is okay. If it isn’t, remember that you did your best and I hope everything will be better tomorrow.
By the way, your car is gorgeous.
Castiel
Despite the tough night, the note makes Dean smile. Castiel, huh? It’s an unusual name. And because it’s so unusual, Dean figures that, perhaps, this Castiel won’t be too hard to find in the staff directory on the website...hopefully with a picture.
His assumption about the driver’s looks was wrong, because Castiel is a sexy beast, holy shit.
And thoughtful, too, as he discovers when a coffee and a doughnut are waiting for him the next morning in a box placed carefully on the ground (just placed, clearly, because the coffee is hot and Castiel is waiting in his car).
Dean waves.
Castiel waves back.
Taking a chance, Dean approaches. The window slides down smoothly, unlike his own, which takes a little arm power.
Wow, the guy’s online picture is nothing compared to real life. Blue eyes...dark hair...huge hands that would feel fantastic manhandling him… “Uh, hey. Thanks for this. Wasn’t necessary.”
Castiel shrugs. “I know. I thought perhaps you’d had a rough day yesterday.”
“Yeah. Uh, I’m Dean. Winchester.”
“Castiel Novak.” He extends his hand to shake. “You can call me Cas.”
I’d love to call you, Cas, Dean wants to say, but refrains because kind, hot dudes make him goofy-nervous and he doesn't want to blow this. “Cool. You can call me Dean.”
Cas nods, his brows knitting and his smile dropping slightly, probably in confusion because obviously he can call you Dean, you idiot, Dean isn’t short for anything and hey you’re still holding his thick, manhandling hand and fuck.
Dean clears his throat and pulls his hand back, and of course it’s sweaty and gross. “Well, uh, thanks again. Have a good day. Hope you have one of these”—he gestures to the box with the coffee and the doughnut that he’s holding—“for you, too. You’re probably gonna get a lot thrown at you at the clinic today—we had a bunch of cardiac patients in the ER last night.”
It’s then that Dean realizes he just outed himself, essentially admitting that he knows Cas is a doc in the outpatient cardiology practice connected to the hospital and that he knows this because he looked the guy up.
Because he’s that nice or because he just wants to get the hell out of this situation, Cas merely replies, “I do, thanks.” He points to a paper cup to his right. “I guess I should get to it. It was great to meet you, Dean.”
“Yeah. Yeah, you too.”
Cas waves and flashes him a warm smile before raising his window, which is Dean’s cue to get in his car and get the hell out of there.
With the way he just embarrassed himself, Cas is never gonna wait for Dean’s parking spot again.
But he does wait.
Sometimes they chat.
And a few weeks later, as Dean is approaching his car, he sees Cas leaning against Baby, hands tucked into his pockets. He’s dressed in jeans and a gray t-shirt with a blue button-down layered on top. It’s the most casual he’s ever seen the doctor. Dean wonders why he’s so dressed down and where his car is...until he realizes it’s Sunday morning and Cas doesn’t work on Sundays.
“Hey, Cas,” Dean says, the butterflies in his belly putting on their helmets to face down another blue-eyed assault to Dean’s heart.
“Hello, Dean.” Cas looks nervous, too, which is strange. Dean’s never seen him as anything but calm and collected.
“Where’s your car?”
“At home.” He takes a hand out of his pocket and rubs at his forehead as he shifts on his feet. “I was hoping you could give me a ride there...um, perhaps after we go out for breakfast together?”
The butterflies trade their helmets for sombreros, tossing them in the air as they shake their maracas. He’s asking me on a date! With a breathy chuckle, Dean answers, “Yeah, Cas. I’d love to do that.”
Eventually, Cas doesn’t wait for Dean to leave his parking space anymore—because they both work the day shift, and at the end of the day, they climb into one car and drive home.