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Dean had worked a lot of jobs, but none of them could prepare him for the corporate nightmare of customer service and over exposure to popcorn that was working at AMC Theaters.
He loved movies. He loved making money. Apparently combining the two was a recipe for disaster. It had only been three weeks, but Dean was already sick of toiling away his summer in the stale too-cool artificial air of the movie theater.
It probably would have been more tolerable if he could at least be an usher. Cleaning theaters was actually kinda fun, especially because there was no supervision in there. It was just Dean, whoever else he was tasked to work with when it got busy, his broom and porter, and a bunch of empty red seats. But he had only gotten to do that job once. The rest of the time he was stuck behind the concession counter, a fake smile on his face and the persistent odor of popcorn attempting to permanently code itself into his DNA.
As it stood, working concession was the bane of Dean’s existence. He had no idea why they put him there; he was only okay at the customer service thing, it took him way too long to count change, and a lot of the time he forgot to get people what they ordered until they reminded him. Castiel, on the other hand, had it all down. Not only was he easy on the eyes, but he could charm the pants off anything, and he had a photographic memory or something. He moved gracefully and never messed up orders. The guy was made for concessions.
This was Dean’s fourth shift in a row working with Cas. He guessed the managers thought they had some kind of synergy that allowed them to efficiently ply the general public with obscenely priced popcorn and drink sizes that could probably hold the amount of liquid that made up the human body.
Dean had arrived at 5 pm that Sunday in the middle of the afternoon rush.
“This shit is crazy huh, Cas?” He said a bit breathlessly to Cas who was handing back change quicker than Dean could ever dream to. Cas had clearly heard Dean, but all he did was raise an eyebrow and then turn to the next guest. Conversation over.
“Dick,” Dean muttered to himself as he stuffed a large bag to the brim with popcorn. The “synergy” the managers noticed was probably just an increased efficiency due to the fact that Cas never gave Dean the time of day.
Dean turned back to the guest, his certifiable AMC Amazing smile tacked into place.
“You didn’t fill this popcorn right,” the woman said flatly. She blinked slowly as if the simple fact of Dean’s existence was wearing on her nerves.
“Uh, sorry about that,” Dean responded with all the sincerity he could muster. “How would you like me to fill your popcorn?” He hoped that didn’t come out as bitter as it sounded to his ears.
The downright sneer she fixed him with affirmed his fears. “Well, Dean,” she spat condescendingly, reading his name tag, “you could start by making sure the bag is full. This,” she shook the bag for emphasis, causing a kamikaze kernel to hit Dean in the face, “this is not full.”
“Right, yes, of course ma’am, sorry about that. I’ll get that right away.”
The evening wore on slowly despite the endless stream of customers. Dean kept trying to start conversation with Cas but either he remained tightlipped or a customer would interrupt any potential conversation.
Everything seemed pretty routine until Dean sold three kid’s packs and he could only find two.
“Hey Cas, do we have more kid’s packs?” Dean asked softly, wary of the impatient mother at his register.
“Probably.” Cas said with a shrug.
“Cas, c’mon, help me out here buddy.”
Dean didn’t know how, but Cas managed to allow his exasperation to bleed into the way he filled the popcorn popper. Dean groaned, apologized to the guest, and went to search the back.
He barely knew where anything was, but there were definitely none back here. He grew increasingly more frantic.
Not knowing what else to do, he prepared the two he did have and assured the lady he would deliver the third to her theater as soon as possible. He turned to Cas.
“Cas, man, they’re not back there. Help me, please.”
Cas rolled his eyes. “Dean, I know you’re new not but you’re not that new. You can’t seriously be this helpless.”
Dean furrowed his brow. Had he heard Cas correctly? “Excuse me?”
Cas shrugged again. Was that his favorite fucking mannerism? Jesus, Dean swore all he did was shrug and blink.
“All I’m saying is life isn’t easy, especially since you’re so used to being coddled. You’re going to have to learn how to do things for yourself if you expect to make it anywhere.” His eyes flicked over to Dean. They almost looked sympathetic but the blue in his eyes looked cold. Cas was pissed at him. What the fuck did he do? They’d barely even had a conversation.
“You think I’m coddled?” Dean almost laughed. He was thankful there were no movies coming up for awhile because he needed to clear this up.
“Coddled, spoiled, indulged, cosseted,” Cas hummed as he made the hot dogs, rattling on casually. “Whatever synonym you’d like, yes.”
“Where the-,” Dean looked to make sure the coast was clear, “fuck did you get that idea?”
Cas turned to face him, his hair was askew and if Dean wasn’t so insulted he might have had an urge to brush it back into place. The scowl fixed on Cas’ face made any latent feelings of those nature die before they were even half formed. His expression almost made Cas, arguably one of the most attractive people Dean had ever seen, look ugly.
“You’re arrogant. You drive a nicer car than any young person working minimum wage should afford. You’re callous- about your work and the way you treat others.” Cas’ words were biting and Dean was too baffled to be immediately stung by them.
“What the hell could you possibly know about me if you never even talk to me?” Dean shook his head in disbelief. Who would’ve known that he could be so completely wrong about a person? Especially a person he may or may not have thought was cute. Figures. This place was Hell, why would the employees who inhabited it be anything but demons?
“People talk, Dean. And what more do I need to know other than you’ve been handed everything on a silver platter, you’ve won the genetic lottery in more ways than one and you’ve chosen to be a bully?” Cas’ tone was cold and matter of fact.
“Aw, Cas, are you calling me hot?” Dean couldn’t help himself. It was a defense mechanism or something.
“You’re not helping yourself here, Dean.”
“But I’m apparently a lottery winner, you oughta at least tell me what I’ve won.” The initial comment was bad, but this was just making shit worse. He chastised himself internally, but the damage was done. Castiel’s eyes narrowed.
“You’re a well-off, attractive, heterosexual white male. I’d say you’ve won the jackpot. And you’re doing jackshit with it.” Cas looked him up and down and, as if finding nothing that was worth his time there, turned back to putting the hot dogs in buns.
“I wouldn’t be so quick to jump to conclusions, there, Cas.” Where the hell had he gotten all this? It hurt not only that Cas had apparently thought this about him for some time, but that it was so incredibly far from the truth. Dean opened his mouth to say something to that effect but someone clearing their throat interrupted him.
It was the mother of three. “Where’s the third kid’s pack?” She crossed her arms across her chest and waited.
Dean’s heart sank. He had gotten so caught up in this thing with Castiel that he had completely forgotten the task at hand. His mouth had gone as dry as his mind was blank.
“I’m so incredibly sorry, ma’am,” Cas jumped in without missing a beat, his voice dripping sincerity and his eyes wide and apologetic. “Our theater ran out and we’re doing our best to remedy the situation. We’re going to see what we have in storage and the pack will be in your hands in no more than ten minutes or we will provide you a complete refund. Thank you so much for your patience.”
Damn, even Dean felt comforted and taken care of.
“Holy shit dude, you turned the charm up to 11 on that one.” He gaped, forgetting the prior argument.
Cas merely looked at him contemptuously as he spoke into his radio. “The new hire, Dean, needs a kid’s pack.”
Well, that was unnecessary. Not to mention if he had done that at the start of this it would’ve saved a lot of trouble. Dean asked himself again what he possibly could have done to be thought so poorly of. Cas’ features softened a bit as he listened to the manager’s response in his ear piece.
“Hmm, apparently you were right. We’re out. They’ll go give her a refund.”
Dean bit back the “I told you so” bubbling up on his lips. His reputation was already on thin ice as it was.
He didn’t get a chance to clear his name before the next rush. In that time, he and Cas scrambled to deal with the dwindling stock of their movie theater. By only 8pm they were out of Junior Mints and had to resort to using the leftover large soda cups from December with Santa’s cheery face emblazoned on them.
It died down finally and both he and Cas were a little worse for wear, breathing a bit heavier with more beads of sweat dotting their brows. Dean almost felt a kind of closeness to Cas, a kind of brothers in arms type of thing except with more popcorn than actual warfare. But then he remembered Cas hated his guts.
“Listen, Castiel,” Dean said as they folded cardboard into boxes of movie nachos. “I don’t know where you got all that stuff, but it’s not true, okay?”
If Cas had heard him he gave no indication. Dean continued.
“Okay, first of all, don’t make assumptions about my sexuality because you’re wrong.” That part had ticked Dean off. He’d finally gotten okay with the whole bisexual thing and this guy he barely knew was using his supposed “heterosexuality” against him.
“That was my mistake, I apologize. It doesn’t change my opinion on you though.” Cas did look genuinely sorry about that, but he was still unwavering in his stiffness toward Dean.
“As if I thought it’d be that easy. Second thing, I’m- I’m not spoiled,” Simply saying that was so ridiculous to Dean and so far from the truth. “Man, I wish I could be spoiled. Fuck, I’d give anything for that.”
Cas looked up, his hands paused in the middle of folding the cardboard into a box and gave Dean indication that he had Cas’ attention.
“I’m like, the opposite of spoiled,” Dean laughed. “This is my second job so maybe what you’re mistaking for being callous is the fact that I need to give these assholes concessions every day after I’ve already spent a full shift fixing cars at my uncle’s shop and I literally can’t find the energy to give a shit.”
Dean saw out of the corner of his eye that Cas’ face had fallen from the stern standoffish mask into something resembling guilt, or sheepishness. Dean chose to stay focused on placing the pre made packages of Tostitos into the boxes Cas had made.
“Also, I’m sorry if how I act has somehow offended you. I know I can come off as a cocky dick but-”
Someone approaching made Dean trail off. It was Gordon Walker, probably Dean’s least favorite coworker and former classmate.
“Winchester.” Gordon said sourly.
“Whatever can I do for you, Gordon?” Dean replied, calling upon all his backup reserves of sarcasm. Seeing the responding hard set of Gordon’s jaw was a beautiful reward.
“Management wanted me to make sure you knew you had the closing shift tonight.” Gordon’s toothy smile made Dean falter. Closing? He’d never closed. Shit, he’d barely even opened. This had better be a fucking joke.
“But I don’t even know how to close,” Dean stammered. He’d heard the horror stories of closing. Everyone hated it. The schedule listed a certain time closers were off but they’d really be stuck there for hours after. It was a bitch even for people who knew what they were doing.
“You better figure it out, princess.” Walker sneared. Dean’s fist clenched.
“I swear to god Walker, I don’t care if they fire me, I’ll have that ugly mug wrapped around my fist in a second.” Dean gritted, his whole body tense.
“Enough.” Cas said firmly, his hand latched around Dean’s wrist. “Have a nice rest of your night, Gordon.”
Gordon grinned at the scene in front of him. “Will do, Novak. Hope Winchester keeps it in his pants, though I bet you’ve got your work cut out for you.”
Dean instinctively felt the need to bite back with a clever retort, but that last comment sent him reeling. What did Gordon know? Dean had barely even admitted to himself he found Cas attractive, let alone anyone else. Especially not Gordon fucking Walker.
Then it came back to him, washing over him like those times when they didn’t have the money to fix the water heater in the winter. The one and only time he’d commented about Cas had been during his first week while he had that one usher shift. All day long he’d been sweeping up the lobbies and walking from theater to theater, and, most importantly, walking past the concessionist with the dark hair and the blue eyes that more talented people would write poems about. He’d asked the girl on break with him who’d been working there awhile about Cas and he may have described him in that exact same way. Gordon had definitely been in the room and he had definitely gotten the hint.
“Oh, no.” Dean whispered softly once he realized.
“That proves my point exactly,” Cas said, his eyes hard again.
“Uh, what?”
“I may have been wrong about you being well-off, but you’re still an asshole and a bully.” Cas jabbed a finger at Dean. “So that’s my problem with you, Dean Winchester.”
Today was really taking a toll, Dean thought as he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “When you said people talk, you were talking about Gordon?”
Cas nodded. He had a customer now. Dean got the popcorn so it would go faster.
“Jesus, Cas- Gordon?” Dean sighed heavily once the guest had left.
“Yes. Gordon. Or as you probably know him better, your victim in high school.”
Of course Gordon had been the one feeding him lies. Well, half truths, Dean supposed. And from the serious way Cas had treated the subject, he had a personal stake in the whole bully thing.
“I’m sorry, Cas, but he was lying to you.”
Cas bristled. He scoffed. “Dean, do you think I’m blind? I literally just witnessed proof of his claims.”
Fuck. Gordon got his blood boiling like no other. There was no hope for Dean when it came to reigning in his temper around that guy.
“Look. You remember how I said I wasn’t spoiled?” Dean asked.
“Yes, was that a lie too or are you trying to change the subject?” Cas’ eyes bored into Dean’s. Dude was not playing around. Dean kinda dug that. He’d probably dig it more if all that anger wasn’t directed at him, though.
“I’m explaining,” Dean continued. “So, I wasn’t spoiled. I lost my mom when I was little, barely knew her. My little brother never knew her.” Dean couldn’t believe this was coming up next to the popcorn machine that gave him hell on a daily basis.
“My condolences, but Dean, that doesn’t excuse your actions-”
“Let me finish, Cas.” Cas nodded, though he didn’t seem convinced. “Anyway, my brother and I didn’t have a mom. We barely had a dad. I raised Sammy. Took care of him, looked out for him, hell, I’m trying to put the both of us through college as it is.”
“Admirable and I still get it, I was wrong, but I don’t see how-”
“Cas. Jesus, let me talk.” Cas threw up his hands dramatically but kept his mouth shut. “So my kid brother was- and is- my life. Imagine my surprise when a kid in my class, a senior, started picking on little freshman Sammy.”
Dean paused a bit for emphasis. Cas’ brow had raised, his attention piqued, so that was something.
“ ‘Course I had to hear about it through the grapevine, but it had been happening for months. Here was this 18 year old Gordon Walker not only knocking books out of my kid brother’s hands and shoving him into lockers, but he kept telling him ugly lies, kinda like the ones he told you, Cas.”
Cas had started worrying his lip between his teeth. His eyes were wider now. The doubt was visibly seeping into the cracks of his steely exterior. Dean kept going, driving it home.
“Gordon was teasing my 14 year old brother about our dead mom. He told Sam it was his fault that she was dead,” Dean’s voice cracked a little with emotion, but he cleared his throat and carried on. “Gordon told my brother all this shit about how she was probably happy she never had to know Sam. And yet he calls me the bully.”
Cas’ silence was deafening. Dean had even managed to rile himself up by telling the story. He consciously made himself unclench his hands that were balled at his sides.
“So yeah, I kicked his ass once or twice, but I think I had a pretty good reason, don’t you?”
Cas nodded quickly. The movement was small but decisive. He seemed smaller, like he had deflated. He could practically see the cogs turning in his mind, the pieces fitting together until the truth was realized. Dean almost felt bad for him, but he was mostly glad to have cleared his name.
“Dean, I’m so sorry. I uh,” Cas faltered for the first time since Dean had known him. “I know what it’s like to be judged at a glance and here I am, guilty of the same thing that ruined my adolescence.” Cas put his hand on Dean’s arm. His eye contact was almost unbearable, but it was the nicest way Cas had ever looked at him. “I’m off now, but I’m so incredibly sorry and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”
Dean looked at the time on his register. He had to man this post alone for an hour and then close the whole concession stand by himself? He was royally fucked.
Dean smiled grimly. “You’re forgiven. Couldn’t stand you hating my guts.”
“I’m glad I don’t anymore, the silent treatment was hard to keep up.” And then Cas smiled. Dean didn’t think he had ever seen Cas smile, especially not at him. It kind of made all the shit from today worth it. Not quite, but almost. “Goodnight, Dean.”
“For you maybe, I’ve gotta close and I have zero clue what I’m doing.” Dean groaned.
“I’m sure you’ll manage.”
“Doubtful. Too much coddling, y’know?” Dean winked, then, to make sure Cas knew he was joking.
“Ah yes, you better be careful, I hear some people in this work environment don’t take too kindly to any of your kind. I hear they can be real assholes to nice people for no reason.” Cas smiled then, a bit sadly. “But they’ll probably make it up to you at some point. No guarantees, you never can tell with them.”
“Of course, and I’ll watch my back. Wouldn’t want anyone glaring daggers at me.” They both chuckled. They were good now, it seemed. A weight eased itself off Dean’s shoulders.
And then Cas left with a small wave and a smile Dean would probably categorize as shy.
Time passed considerably more slowly without Cas there. There were only a handful of customers and their orders were pretty easy. Except one asshole ordered four orders of mozzarella sticks and they all got stuck together in the fryer when Dean put them in all at once. Other than that, it was pretty painless aside from the impending closing duty looming over his head.
He did his best to make all the hot food trays and nacho boxes before he technically had to close. It was more folding than he had ever wanted to do in his life. Why did they even sell hot food at a movie theater? Who even bought this over priced garbage?
Before the last movie of the night, the manager stopped by to let Dean know what he had to do. Unfortunately, Meg was probably the least helpful and least sympathetic person.
“Alright, Deano, listen closely cause I’m only going through it once. Everything behind that counter that’s removable you gotta put in the back in the sink. Make sure your cups and your bags are stocked. Fully stock the candy counter and the waters. Lock everything up. Oh and all the condiments need to be put away. That includes the ketchup and mustard. Make sure you take those apart and only put the bags in the fridge. Any questions?”
Dean didn’t know a human being could talk that fast. He had barely registered it and now he was supposed to ask a question. “Uh?”
“Alright, swell. Don’t take too long, kid, I don’t want to be stuck here ‘til we open.” And with a flip of long brown hair and the lingering scent of cigarettes, she was gone.
There was about one minute left before he was allowed to close the concession stand and Dean was searching for the lights. He was supposed to turn them off so people knew it was closed, but he’d never seen a light switch back here. If he needed some kind of manager key he was going to flip shit.
“Excuse me, could I get three orders of chicken tenders, some curly fries, and a hot dog?” A voice said to his back. An order that size with so many hot foods was going to be hell. And Dean had just dumped the last of the hot dogs in the trash. Today was such shit, what the fuck.
But there was Cas, standing there with a shit eating grin on his face.
“You don’t actually want that stuff, right?” Dean asked tentatively. Cas wasn’t still mad at him, he wouldn’t be this much of a dick.
“God, no. I’ve been making that stuff for over a year, there’s no way I’d ever eat it.” Cas shook his head. His eyes were bright and his smile was soft. His demeanor had taken a complete 180 since Dean started his shift today.
“So uh, what can I do for you?” Dean glanced down at the time. He should be closed by now.
“I’m here to help you, you idiot.” Cas said dryly and Dean could kiss him.
“You’re kidding.” Dean said in disbelief.
“I’m not really the kidding type.” Cas replied dryly. “Plus, I figured I should show you the ropes and maybe get to know you. The uh,” Cas averted his eyes, “the real you.”
“You’re a life saver, Cas. I was pretty sure I was going to die here.” Dean relieved hand through his hair and allowed himself to relax a bit. It was going to be okay, Cas was going to help. Cas made his way behind the counter and put a hand on Dean’s shoulder.
“Consider me your get out of Hell free card.” His eyes crinkled in a smile, and Dean’s heart stuttered momentarily.
They got to work immediately. Dean was weary and ready to be done, and Cas, though he’d gotten an hour or so break from work, wasn’t ready to spend anymore of his time here. Especially unpaid time.
Cas was quick and efficient; he instructed Dean on what to do clearly and with way more patience than Dean thought he deserved. Currently, he was elbow deep in the popcorn machine, shoveling all the excess popcorn into a huge trashbag.
“Doesn’t this feel like a waste?” Dean asked as he scooped, the salt from the popcorn drying out the knuckles on his hand.
Cas set the boxes of candy he was carrying down on the counter and started stocking up the candy shelves. “Welcome to AMC,” he said. “I tried to suggest a donation program where we’d give all the excess to homeless shelters in the area, but they wanted nothing to do with that.”
“Figures.” Dean muttered and continued to scoop.
The progress was slow and more physically taxing than Dean would have liked to admit. Carrying the big, metal appliances into the back was straining his arm and back muscles. Cas helped him out a couple of times when he tried to carry more than was possible considering the number of hands he had. Cas would swoop in without a word and rescue the metal pretzel coils that were on their way to certain death. There were no more cold, calculated looks. Cas would smile proudly in those moments, as if he enjoyed spending time with Dean and helping him.
“I’m really glad I don’t have to hate you anymore.” Cas said at one point out of the blue while they were carefully extracting the hot oil from the fryer. Dean smirked, the guy really didn’t beat around the bush.
“Yeah, I’m glad about that too,” Dean laughed a little. "I'm also glad you're not really a dick."
“Yeah, that wasn't fun. But I mean, it was hard, Dean.” Cas said. “I had all this information from Gordon but everything I saw about you in person went against that. I basically had to force myself to ignore the obvious, that Gordon was wrong. I’m sorry about that, I ruined any chance at friendship we ever had.” His voice was soft, low and sort of somber. Dean hoisted the box of oil onto the counter and wiped his hands on his jeans, vowing to nip this mindset of Cas’ in the bud.
“Cas, it’s alright.”
“No Dean, it’s really not,” he chewed his lower lip nervously. “I liked you, how could I not? Your energy is infectious, you’re consistently positive, and you do care, you really do. I was lying to myself as much as Gordon was lying to me.”
“Well, shucks, Cas. I liked you, too. Still do as a matter of fact.” Dean fished the concession keys out of his pocket and began to lock up the registers. “You wanna start over?”
Cas’ brow furrowed in confusion. “Pardon?”
Dean wiped his hands on his pants, though even those were covered in popcorn shrapnel. “Hi, nice to meet you, I’m Dean Winchester.”
Castiel eyed the outstretched hand cautiously and then grasped it with some degree of hesitation. “A pleasure. I’m Castiel Novak.”
Dean grinned. “Well, Castiel Novak, I look forward to working with you.”
“And you as well, Mr. Winchester.”
The registers were locked, the candy shelves closed, and all of the appliances put in the sink for the late night janitorial crew to take care. “Are, uh, are we done?” Dean asked hesitantly.
Castiel paused and did a final sweep. “We forgot the condiments.”
Across the concession stand, the condiment station was still complete and out on display. Dean bolted over, grabbed all the metal trays for the butter to fall into, the jalepeño case, and the salt shakers and brought them back over. He tossed them in the sink where Cas was attempting to rearrange the massive load of dirty dishes and appliances so they all fit.
“My car’s my dad’s, by the way.” Dean said as he was halfway out the door to get the cases of ketchup and mustard. That final thought had been bugging him all night. He needed Cas to know the truth about that one last thing.
“Hmm?” Cas hummed, not looking up from what he was doing.
“My car. I’m not rich or spoiled or anything. I get why you’d think that though, I mean, an old car in mint condition? But uh, it was my dad’s, he left it to me before he uh,” Dean trailed off.
Cas was there then, a helpless, stricken look on his face. “Dean, it’s okay. Everything I thought about you was wrong, I get that now and I’m so incredibly sorry. You don’t need to prove yourself to me, you’re a good, genuine person.”
Dean nodded, a knot in his chest easing. They started new, right? They didn’t have to deal with today’s events anymore.
“Now go get the ketchup and mustard so we can get out of here.” Cas said.
The ketchup and mustard dispensers were bulky and heavy so Dean had to take two trips. He brought them back to Cas and was ready to leave.
“Not so fast, hot shot.” Dean paused. “We have to disassemble the bags.” Of course. It wouldn’t be that easy.
There were like four parts that made the dispensers work. There was a nozzle and then a little plug and then the pump and then another part on the opposite end. The tricky part was removing those pieces that were literally keeping the sauces inside the bags.
“Do you need me to show you how to do it?” Cas asked, hovering over Dean’s shoulder. Dean scoffed, he worked with far more complicated parts every day at the garage. This was a cake walk. Plus, he had assembled the bags once before when he opened the concession stand. He’d figure it out.
“Nah, I’m okay, you’ve helped enough today anyway.” Dean shooed him away.
“If you’re sure…” Cas lifted his hands and backed away.
“Positive.”
“Make sure you do it over the sink.”
“Roger that.” Dean hefted up the bag of mustard and assessed it. Cas was close by at his side, observing carefully. Dean couldn’t perform under such close scrutinization so he fired up the small talk. “So Cas, what are your dreams? Aspirations? You’re not set on working concessions forever, right?” Dean huffed a laugh.
Cas shook his head out of the corner of his eye. “No one has really asked me that since I’ve worked here.”
Dean was happy he could be the first. He’d be happier if he could figure out how to pry the tiny nozzle out of the tube part of the bag.
“I’m in school as well, paying my own way. I want to um,” He stared at his feet and said considerably more quietly, “I want to write movies.”
“Dude that’s so cool!” Dean decided that maybe going in from the top and starting with the black pump would be the way to go. Because if you got rid of the pump then the mustard would come out, Dean’s exhausted brain reasoned. Shit it was probably close to 1am at this point.
“Yeah, it’s tough but I think-” Cas broke off as he turned back to Dean. “Wait! Dean don’t-”
Before what he said registered, Dean had pried off the black pump from the mustard and mustard exploded out of the tube, making him and Cas look like a sad imitation of a Jackson Pollock. The stench was abrasive and they both started coughing. Dean tossed the bag in the sink.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, Cas oh my god,” He spoke quickly and frantically looked at Cas for a reaction. Shit, if he had ruined all the progress he’d made tonight he was going to lose it.
Cas was staring down at his shirt. The promotional shirt for the upcoming Shawn the Sheep movie had a picture of said sheep emblazoned on the shirt. Cas’ shirt, and Dean supposed, his shirt as well, was splattered with yellow. There were splotches of mustard on Cas’ sleeves and in his hair. Dean moved an inch toward Cas and stepped in a puddle on the ground, bathing his black shoes in a topcoat of yellow.
And then Cas started laughing. It was a deep, husky laugh and it was infectious. Dean joined in and there were tears in his eyes. He grasped Cas’ shoulder for support and it was shaking with the force of his laugh. Dean withdrew his hand and it was sticky with mustard. Cas stopped after a while and turned to Dean.
“You uh,” He snorted. “You’ve got a little something on your cheek.” And then Cas laughed again and Dean, despite how long he’d been working and how much he hated this place, realized there was no place he’d rather be.
“Oh, do I really?”
“Yes, I believe it’s a spot of mustard.” Cas’ voice was thick with laughter. “Here, allow me.” And he swiped his thumb across Dean’s cheek.
“All better?”
“All better.” Cas confirmed.
Well, that was a disaster, Dean thought, looking at the mustard covering even the walls.
“I hate this fucking job,” Cas voiced, using a clean part of his shirt to dab a spot of mustard on his lip. He grabbed the bag and deftly disassembled it as well as the ketchup bag. Maybe Dean should’ve asked for help after all.
“God, same. At least we’re done for the night.” Dean said.
“Yes, though not without any casualties.” Cas gestured to both of their clothes.
“May Shawn the Sheep rest in fucking piece.”
“Amen.”
They cleaned up what they could of themselves with the sink, but the mustard had already melded into the fibers of their clothing.
“I have a spare shirt in my car, if you’d like.” Dean proposed as they walked to the break room.
“Please.”
Cas waited for Dean while he clocked off and grabbed his backpack. They made their way to the parking lot together.
“Uh, so I noticed your name tag didn’t have your favorite movie on it.” Dean said, a bit shier than intended as he dug into the trunk of his car for his spare shirt. Dean’s own name tag had his name and underneath it said Raiders of the Lost Ark. He had a butt load of favorite movies, but he’d grown up with Raiders. Cas’ name tag was missing the favorite movie aspect. Cas took the offered shirt gratefully.
“I couldn’t choose. It’s such a shame that they only let us pick one.” Cas said, pulling his tarnished shirt over his head without any hesitation. Dean swallowed thickly and averted his eyes respectfully.
“Well, uh, I was wondering if you’d like to go see a movie with me at some point?” Dean scuffed his feet as he asked. He looked up at Cas who was now clothed in Dean’s ratty ACDC shirt. Cas smiled.
“Dean, are you asking me out on a date to the place of our employment? Where we get free movie tickets?” His smile was a full grin now. Dean wanted to kiss him, even if he had some stray specks of mustard on his cheeks.
“Um. Yes?”
“Okay.”
“So, you wanna go?” Dean perked up.
“Yes. Though I really ought to be going, but today has been… an adventure.” Cas said, opting to squeeze Dean’s hand instead of risking a mustardy hug. “Yellow suits you.”
“See you at work, Cas.” Dean called after him.
“I’m counting on it, Dean.” Dean grinned. Maybe working concession wasn’t too bad.