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The cardboard box in his hands grew soggy and flexed beneath his palms, unlikely to survive the half-mile walk from his former office to the house he rented on Ohio Avenue. The least his former employers could’ve done was offer him a trash bag to cover it, but the security guard had stood adjacent to his desk while Castiel furiously scraped the personal contents of each drawer into the single box that had been thrust at his chest, then escorted him to the sidewalk. No warning, no curious co-workers watching him—Castiel had returned from his lunch hour to find the office vacated, senior partner Zachariah Adler waiting next to his desk with a pleasant expression and a termination notice, effective immediately.
Downsizing, Zachariah had explained, meaty hands folded on his lap. A necessary staff reduction. He promised Castiel an excellent reference and wished him good luck. With a stiff jaw, Castiel had bit back what he really thought of Zachariah’s well wishes and refrained from clocking him in the face.
He hurried at a pace just short of a run, shaking with anger and with cold—of all the days for his car to be in the shop. The wind picked up, blowing the rain sideways, and soaked his pants. His overcoat slapped heavily against his legs as he went, head bowed, blinking every second to keep his eyes clear. His desk plant, a rescue he’d nursed by fluorescent light, tickled his chin as he went.
He should’ve called a cab, but he needed every dollar for rent, the local service was questionable, and Hannah would need new books again soon.
It was just rain. He’d dry off once he got inside.
He cursed when the bottom of the box gave out three blocks from his house, and stood looking down on the water-logged contents scattered on the sidewalk. None of the items held much value, but he knelt in a puddle to retrieve them, putting the engraved pen (a graduation gift from his brother Michael) in his pocket and balancing the ruined pictures on top of his books, held in the crook of both arms. He’d never get the plant home. He left it on the sidewalk, among the ruins of the cardboard box, and hoped it would still be there tomorrow once the rain had stopped.
A few cars passed him, politely arcing their path to spare him the spray off their tires, but that couldn’t be said about the driver of a black car that peeled past and sent a wave of water up Castiel’s back.
Today was an abomination.
Seething, he clutched the books tight to his chest and bit out, “Assbutt!” at the car, though he knew perfectly well the driver couldn’t hear him, probably hadn’t seen him, wasn’t aware what he’d just done. And that thought, knowing Castiel was expendable, disposable, invisible, was the proverbial straw and Castiel the broken camel, trudging through a rainstorm.
The car stopped just shy of the intersection, tail-lights pulsing momentarily red before the reverse lights came on bright, and the car pulled alongside him.
“Shit, sorry,” the driver shouted out the passenger’s window, over loud music Castiel didn’t recognize. He spared a glance at the driver, enough to ascertain he was a young man.
“You need a ride?”
“No, thank you.” Castiel kept walking. The man didn’t appear immediately threatening, but Castiel wasn’t climbing into a stranger’s car and being abducted on top of being sacked and soaked in an hour. The car inched forward alongside him.
“Dude, you’re soaked.”
“I’ll survive.”
“How far are you walking?”
“I don’t see how that’s your business,” Castiel said, ignoring the cramp beginning in his left arm.
“Look, I’m not some crazy person. My name’s Dean. My family owns an auto shop in town.”
“Which one?”
“Winchester’s.”
“My car is at that shop,” Castiel said, side-stepping a puddle.
“What’s the make?”
“It’s a Lincoln.”
“The Mark V? Pegged you for a hybrid type.”
Convinced, Castiel stopped walking. The car stopped too and Dean leaned over to open the door. It was reckless, but Castiel was tired and wet through to his skin, and he suspected Dean was being truthful.
“Your seats,” he said, noting the leather.
Dean reached behind him and threw a sweatshirt on the seat, then gestured to it.
“Thank you.” Castiel slid inside and balanced the books on his knees while he shut the door, relieved when the sound of the rain was muted. The interior smelled like pine and motor oil. He took a moment to breathe and wipe rain from his eyes.
“Where to?”
“Two blocks down on the right.”
“You know, we have loaners.” Dean said.
“My sister has it. She’s a student; she has classes all afternoon. My office is—was only a ten-minute walk.”
“You just get sacked?”
Castiel nodded.
“Sucks,” Dean said. “What d’you do?”
“I’m a paralegal.”
“Who’d you work for?”
“Adler and Associates.”
“Man, that guy’s a jackass.” Dean laughed and checked his rear-view mirror. “My dad banned him from ever stepping foot in our shop. Probably better you’re not working for him anymore.”
“Except I need a job,” Castiel said. They reached his block and he motioned to a two-story home with a modest front porch. Dean idled at the curb.
“You’ll get unemployment, right?”
“I should qualify,” Castiel said. He went to unbuckle his seatbelt, realizing he’d never fastened it. He took a breath and squinted toward the front door. The rain was still coming down in sheets, but it was a quick dash from the street to the door. “Thank you. This was extremely kind.”
“No problem. I’ll see if I can bump your work order up a couple spots.”
Castiel smiled at him and got his first full look at Dean’s face—light stubble across his jaw, full pink lips, freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose. The skin around his eyes crinkled when he smiled back.
Castiel choked out a “thanks” and dashed inside, dripping on the tiled floor, shedding layer after drenched layer. He carried them straight to the washing machine, lay the books open to dry, and ran a hot shower. The hot water beat away everything the day had brought: Zachariah, a soggy severance check, a potted plant abandoned down the street. Everything except the last five minutes.
He’d liked the way Dean’s car smelled.
#
Monday morning, he got a call that his Lincoln was ready. Hannah dropped Castiel at the shop on her way to campus. He cringed at the total but spotted Dean through the glass windows that separated the front office from the garage, raising his hand in an awkward wave before accepting his keys.
#
“Well, you’re certainly qualified,” Sam said, flattering Castiel’s resume on the desk. He couldn’t believe his luck, getting an interview in just three weeks. “When are you available to start?”
Castiel shook Sam’s hand to accept the position and was a foot out the door when his eyes fell onto a framed photograph on the wall: a dark-haired man and a blonde woman flanked by two younger people, one of them Sam, and the other –
“That’s my family,” Sam said. “Mom, dad. My brother Dean.”
“We’ve met,” Castiel said fondly. When Sam gave him a questioning look, Castiel explained, “He gave me a ride home in the rain.”
A couple days later, Dean dropped by the law firm to bring Sam lunch, eyebrows shooting up in recognition. He made excuses to swing by regularly after that, chatting about the cars he was working on, a plot twist on his favorite medical drama that was apparently quite good. Dean promised they’d watch it together sometime.
“Since when do you have an interest in the law?” Sam asked when he caught Dean sitting on Castiel’s desk, fiddling with his tape dispenser.
“Shut up,” Dean said.
“Stop bothering my staff,” Sam told him, and Castiel, not wanting to be fired, focused on the email he was composing. Sam was a fair boss; he wanted to keep this job. Dean licked his lips and grinned.
“Just asking your staff to dinner, Sammy, then I’ll get out of your hair.”
Castiel didn’t look up until Sam had sighed and walked away, and then it was with a red face and very wide eyes.
(He made a similar face the first time Dean kissed him.)
And the next time Dean offered him a lift home in his classic Impala, Castiel didn’t hesitate to get in.