Dean takes the job at Gabriel’s Bakery to help put Sam through college. Sam gets a full ride though so when Dean keeps the job at Gabriel’s Bakery it’s for the cute blue-eyed employee.
Castiel Milton comes into the shop around four am to prepare pastries and the likes. He leaves after the morning rush, entrusting the shop to Anna, only an hour or so after busboy Dean clocks in. This gives Dean sixty minutes of ogling.
Sixty minutes. Five times a week. For months.
It’s mid afternoon and Dean heads out back to receive the supply van they get on Wednesdays, escaping Anna’s voice yelling into a telephone. Alphie’s calling out again.
Dean unloads the van with the driver’s help- “Until next week brother,” Benny tells him, like always- then starts moving crates from the dock and into the storage room of the small shop. It’s manual labour (and Dean learned two weeks in that lifting with your knees is no joke) but Dean likes it. He likes that he gets a little sweaty and he likes that he’s always just a little sore after work.
He also likes to be efficient, or his backward definition of the word anyway, which is why he often ends up carrying way too many things all at once. He’s on his tenth trek back inside with a crate of apples kept stable on a shoulder with one arm. He hugs a bag of flour to his chest with the other, a massive sack of walnuts hanging from the crook of that elbow.
It’s all a bit much and he wouldn’t mind struggling along but then Castiel appears. Dean stops in the frame of the door, cool air at his back and facing the warmth of a bakery kitchen.
“You’re done for the day,” Dean says almost accusatorily like this isn’t Cas’ family’s shop.
“Alphie,” Cas offers by way of explanation. “Would you like some help?”
Dean isn’t sure but he thinks Cas’ eyes trailing up and down his body are assessing more than the disposition he’s gotten himself into.
“Euh… Yeah sure. Can you take my flour?”
“If you’re offering,” Cas says stepping up into Dean’s personal space. “But I’d like to take my time with that so after closing, maybe.” Cas takes the bag of flour. “I’ll leave you to handle the nuts for now.”
An hour before Dean’s shift ends, long enough after the afternoon rush that there are only a few patrons in the seating area, Dean walks up to the cash register Cas is manning.
“Did you mean it?” Dean blurts because if he doesn’t blurt it he’ll never get the words out.
Cas raises a brow and takes his time to answer. “I did.”
Dean doesn’t pause and rushes through the next part he had planned albeit clumsily. “I’m not- I don’t have a- I’m no blushing virgin.”
“You’re definitely blushing, Dean.”
Dean proceeds to blush more with his mouth hanging open for a moment.
“I didn’t think you would be,” Cas continues.
“Are you calling me a slut?”
“I’m calling you handsome.”
“Me too. I mean- I- I’m attracted to you.” And then: “Too.”
When his shift ends Dean goes home. He takes a shower but still ends up smelling like pie and icing, puts on a nice shirt- okay a nicer shirt than the ratty band tee’s he’s used to which isn’t saying much- and spends no more than five minutes on his hair (he spends an hour, he spends an hour on his hair) before going back to the bakery to meet with Castiel after closing.
That night neither fucks the other but they do argue about whose car to take, settle on walking to the pier, eat hot dogs by the railing and talk through the night. Mostly about family. Cas has a million and one siblings which keeps him going for a long while, but Dean doesn’t mind listening (he loves it actually) and it’s not like he can’t talk about Sammy forever.
At some point, Cas tells Dean that he looks nice and Dean looks away when he says thank you.
They knock shoulders and bump knees and at the very end of the night, in a fit of customary nerves, Dean punches Cas in the face abruptly. Only, it’s with his lips and it feels like a kiss.
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I am attempting to do a drabble a day for this entire week.
Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday.
