Chapter Text
Dean steps out of the cold into the only marginally-less-cold lobby of his apartment building. One of the fluorescent strip lights flickers and he scowls at the battered staircase. He’s too tired for all those flights of stairs, so just this once he turns the corner towards the elevator. The doors are open and a man stands inside, arm outstretched to the buttons.
“Hey, hold the door!” He jogs down the short hallway and gets into the elevator, hitting the ‘10’ button. The ‘12’ button is already lit. The man releases the ‘door open’ and with a shudder the doors begin to slide shut. Like everything else in the building, the elevator is ancient. Chances are Dean could beat the damn thing to the 10th floor without breaking much of a sweat. He usually avoids it in favour of the only slightly-safer staircase, but today sheer laziness beats health and safety.
He studies the man next to him for a minute, in a way he hopes is subtle. He’s not seen him around before and wonders if he’s new to the building. The guy is roughly the same height as Dean, but dark haired where he is light. He wears an ugly cream trenchcoat and a serious expression which Deans gut tell him is probably his ‘resting face’. According to Sammy, his is the same. He carries a grocery bag full of lumpy looking things Dean couldn’t guess at.
“Bit late for the weekly shop.” He nods at the grocery bags.
A flicker of confusion crosses his face at being addressed, but he quickly smoothes it over, glances at Dean sideways and responds evenly, “It’s not the weekly shop. I do that on Thursdays.”
His voice is deeper than Dean was prepared for and it throws him for a second. His tone doesn’t match the words, which were somewhat rude and abrupt. He wasn’t being sarky; he was just commenting on Deans inaccuracy. He continues to stare at the elevator doors.
“I meant that half 3 in the morning is an odd time to be going shopping, that’s all.”
“The customer demand must be sufficient to justify the store being open all night. So no, I don’t believe it’s all that ‘odd’.
Dean holds up his hands, palm out. “Hey didn’t mean any offence by it.”
“I’m sure you didn’t.” He sounds honest, and Dean wonders whether the sarcasm is just going over his head instead.
He shrugs. The elevator finally pings and the ancient metal doors squeak begrudgingly open. For some reason Dean feels flustered and says “Well, um-“ then gestures at the open door. “This is me.”
The man’s brow crinkles. “I assumed.”
Dean feels his cheeks warming and quickly steps off the elevator into the dark hall without saying anything else too mortifying.
It’s more than a week until Dean sees the elevator man again. It’s 3.30am and Dean shakes himself, trying to get rid of the rain that pelted down as he ran from his car to the apartment. He’d had to park on the road again. His jeans were soaked. Screw the stairs. He doesn’t need the chafing.
This time it’s him who holds the door. The man rushes in, dripping rain and clutching another grocery bag. Dean nods hello and presses the ‘12’ button for him. He seems surprised when he notices, but nods a ‘thanks’ back at Dean.
Way to play the creepy-stalker card Dean. He doesn’t know why he remembered the exact floor number the odd man lived on, or why he didn’t let him press the damn button himself. Probably because he looks like a half-drowned puppy, with his dark hair plastered over his forehead. Water trickles along the lines and falls of his face and Dean watches as the man licks off a drop that falls onto his lips. He quickly looks away.
The elevator doors shut and they begin creeping slowly upwards. Dean is determined to have a normal, silent elevator ride this time, with no embarrassing awkwardness, but he can’t say that he’s annoyed when the other man starts the conversation this time.
“Sorry if I’m dripping everywhere. I forgot my umbrella.”
Dean laughs at that. “Dude, I’m pretty much soaked anyway. Don’t worry about it.”
“Did you forget your umbrella too?”
Dean smirks but resists laughing at him again, because that might seem cruel. “I thought I’d be able to park in the underground but my card wasn’t working.” He leaves off the again because he doesn’t want to sound like a whiner. “Got caught out.”
“It’s a bit late to be getting in.”
He doesn’t know whether the man is being cute, mimicking what Dean had said to him last week. His face is all innocence, but something about the way he said it makes Dean suspect he’s aware of the connection. “I work at a bar. Had clean up duty.”
“Ah.”
Dean smiles at the expression on his face, as if a puzzle piece has slotted into place. He wonders whether Dean is his late-night elevator man, and if he is just as curious as Dean is. They reach the tenth floor and Dean steps around the puddle surrounding them and nods goodbye before stepping out.
“You’re leaking.”
“I’m- I’m what?”
Dean points to the grocery bag. The man groans when he sees the bottom of the bag is soaked through, thick liquid dripping in little splats onto the floor. He opens up the bag and pulls out a soggy carton of eggs. Or eggshells, rather as the contents are pooling in the box and Dean wonders how the hell he managed to break half a dozen eggs without realising.
The guy looks dejectedly at the carton and sighs. “I’m going to have to go back to the store.”
“It’s twenty four hours man, just go in the morning.”
“But I need them now.”
“What’s so urgent that it needs eggs at this time of night?”
He bites his lip and looks embarrassed for a moment before muttering “I bake.”
That, he didn’t expect. “Huh?”
“I have trouble sleeping. Baking passes the time and helps me wind down before bed. I was mid-way through a batch of profiteroles when I realised I’d run out of eggs.”
“Profiteroles? Seriously?” He looks hurt and Dean immediately feels bad. “Hey, I’ve got some eggs you can have. Seems pointless to go all the way back to the store when there’s plenty 20 feet below you.”
“I couldn’t possibly-“
The doors ping open and Dean rolls his eyes. “Sure you can. Let me do the neighbourly thing. It’s new to me.”
He smiles gratefully and follows Dean off the elevator and into the hallway. They reach a door with a crooked 10B nailed to it and as Dean works the keys in the lock he stops, holds up a finger to the man’s startled face and says “Uh. Don’t judge the mess.”
He pushes the door open before he can respond and strides inside. The man follows cautiously, lingering around the doorway. The apartment is small and opens straight into the living room/kitchen, like all others in the building. It isn’t that untidy really, just a few discarded clothes hanging over the back of the couch and a couple of used plates here and there. Dean calls from the kitchen, “How many do you need?”
“Four. Please.”
Dean wanders back to the doorway, clutching a small carton which he hands over to the man, who is eyeing the extensive record collection Dean had filling his shelves. He looks away, as if caught spying, and takes the eggs. “Thank you. It was very... neighbourly of you to help me like this.”
“Hey I did it for the profiteroles man. Half-made pastry? That’s a tragedy.”
He smirks. “I feel like I should at least know the name of my profiterole-rescuer.”
“Dean. I’m Dean.”
“Castiel.” He holds up the carton and smiles. “Thank you.”
“Thank me in pie.”
Castiel laughs and turns away, heading to the elevator. Dean closes the door and goes to bed with a grin on his face.
“Dude I was joking about the pie. You didn’t have to make me-“
“I know, but I wanted to express my gratitude.”
“You could have just bought me some eggs.” At Castiel’s hurt expression Dean quickly forgets his bashfulness and takes the freshly baked cherry pie from him. “But this is so much better. Thank you.”
Castiel relaxes and replies quietly. “You’re more than welcome.”
Dean eyes him, noting the way the corner of his lips tug upwards slightly, as though he were fighting the urge to smile. He licks his lips. “Have a slice with me.”
“I couldn’t impose myself-“
“It’s your damn pie Cas. You should at least get to try it.” He nods towards his front door at the end of the hallway. “Come on.”
Castiel smiles, and Dean’s not sure whether it’s because of the nickname, the invitation or whether he just likes pie. Either way he follows Dean back to his apartment and a few minutes later they are both sat at the small dining table in Dean’s kitchen, two small plates of cherry pie in front of them. Dean moans when he tastes the first mouthful. Castiel blushes, which Dean finds equal parts adorable and hilarious. He laughs.
Castiel smirks and asks “Do you two want to be alone?”
“Definitely.” The pastry is so crisp and the berries so juicy that he is not exaggerating his reaction. He finishes his slice before Castiel is even half way through his own. Castiel catches him eyeing it and pushes the plate towards him.
“You don’t want it?”
“I find that I enjoy the act of baking more than the finished product.”
Dean slides the plate closer and starts on the second slice. “What do you normally do with all the leftovers then?”
Castiel shrugs, watching the way Dean licks the cherry sauce off the back of the fork between each mouthful. “I sometimes take them into the office but my co-workers are getting annoyed with how ‘unhealthy’ I’m making them. I’m ashamed to say that more than a few times I’ve ended up throwing away whole batches because they’ve gone off before anyone got round to eating them.”
Dean splutters and looks appalled. “No way, I can’t have that. Not a chance. I can’t bake for peanuts but I can eat like a champion.” He rests both elbows on the table and leans towards Castiel, wagging his fork. “I think I see a solution to both our problems. Next time you get your bakers hat on, you come round here and we’ll work our way through all of the deliciousness together. I’ll chip in for ingredients of course.” He smirks. “Reckon that’ll work?”
There’s a sparkle in Cas’s eyes as he leans forwards with a matching smirk and dips his finger into the cherry sauce on Deans plate. He licks it from the tip of his finger and enjoys the expression on Deans face. “Yeah. Yeah, I think that could work out fine.”