Chapter Text
Castiel Novak started his morning each day with exactly one cup of coffee from his espresso machine in his spotless kitchen. He lets his eyes linger on his Viking stove – an investment at the time, but something he considers absolutely worth it now. He sips and savors, and then slips into his bedroom where he has not one but two separate closets full of clothing he rarely touches. Long ago his agent wrote into a contract that he gets to keep the clothes he wears on set, and now the leftovers of a celebrated chef hang trapped in his home.
Two hours, a workout and a shower later, and Castiel hops into one of the Porsches he is prone to admiring in the quiet of his garage. He’s late again, but he knows the producer would be helpless without him and therefore gives him all the leeway he needs with his schedule. He drums a beat from some pop playlist out on his steering wheel and thinks about his weekend. There had been not one, but two blondes whom he graced with the presence of his company and he smiles affectionately at their memory.
Kaitlin, the younger one – or maybe Katherine – had seemed doe eyed and fascinated with everything he said. When he whisked her into his restaurant, he could feel how overwhelmed she was by the opportunity. As he fucked her against the back of the couch later that night, he admired his own biceps as they held her petite frame up for the right angle. She had left soon after, flushed and giggly. He knows he won’t call her again, but knows also that she will be grateful for just one night with the man behind Castiel’s Creations.
Sarah – the older one – had required a bit more persuasion before coming home. She was an up and comer in the world of celebrity chefs. She’d been at least partially introduced to the finer things in life. But she had yet to see Castiel’s level of wealth. Although she hid it particularly well, the delicate fingers that played with the beading on her jacket had trembled a little nervously as he whisked her around the charity event. He caught her staring at his lean form draped in his custom tux often throughout the night. He was pushing 35 these days, but knew himself without a doubt to be the best looking man in the room. As the champagne flowed Sarah’s defenses had lowered in increments until she was writhing beneath him in the king sized bed of the room that was not his master but would look like one to the girls he brought home on the weekends.
As her plush red lips came into his mind, his head was whipped forward to the steering wheel and a booming thud rang throughout the car. His hands were braced hard enough that he felt his wrists lock painfully with the force of the collision. “Fuck!” He yelled to no one, pulling to the side of the road. It had been a long time since he was in a car crash. Even now it didn’t feel so much as a crash but an assault on his luxury vehicle and his fragile schedule.
He looked back to see a sheepish man exiting a Ford truck, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment or pain. It was hard to tell which. He huffed in frustration and threw the door open, wheeling around to start his yelling. Large hands came up defensively in front of their owner, his words toppling out before Castiel could get anything in edgewise.
“I know it’s my fault, but I just really didn’t see the light turn red. It’s been a long day.” Castiel looked at his watch. It was currently 8:30 AM so he doubted the man’s statement. His face must have showed so. “I’ve been up all night. I’m really sorry.”
“I’m super fucking late already, so how about we skip the apologies and you just give me your insurance information.” Castiel bit out in between clenched teeth. The man, handsome with tan arms and an open face, visibly shrank back from his tone, but Castiel couldn’t find it in himself to care.
“Yeah, sorry.” The man turned around and reached across his seat to open the glove box. He handed over the info without another word. Dean Winchester. He gave a cursory glance to the name and the seeming authenticity of the card, then pulled his phone out to take a quick picture. He realized the man, Dean, was saying something and swept his eyes up to catch the pair of kelly green irises looking back at him.
“What are you saying?” Castiel asked, a little more directly than he had meant. At the man’s mouth pulling shut tight, he amended, “Sorry – I can’t concentrate on two things at once before 10 AM.”
“Oh, that’s fine.” Dean answered with a chuckle. “I was just saying I’m a mechanic. I can fix that for you. We do body work, too. You can keep the picture of the insurance, obviously, but if you bring it to the shop I’ll fix it for free.”
Castiel gave him a skeptic glance. Usually those kinds of offers were veiled attempts to get away with expired or fake insurance, but he had his name. Maybe a fake name.
“Show me some ID.” Castiel barked. Dean blinked twice before his lips pulled up in a smirk.
“You certainly don’t look like a cop.” He responded, raking his eyes over Castiel’s designer jeans and white button down he wore with a pair of Frye’s boots. The answer made Castiel realize what he had said and he rolled his eyes in annoyance at Dean’s playful banter.
“No, not a cop. Just want to see if this is really you before I just take your word on getting this fixed.” Dean nodded and pulled out his license from his wallet along with a business card. The man on the ID was younger, obviously less tired than the one standing in front of him. But it was definitely the same man. He nodded and gave it back. He looked at the card. Winchester Auto Body and Repair. So not a mechanic. A business owner.
The modesty and Dean’s overall compliance with Castiel had led him to feel a little guilty for the immediate anger hurled toward the obviously exhausted man before him. He cleared his throat and made eye contact again, trying to soften his gaze into something a little more like what he would use on a friend. One of the few he had.
“Okay, Dean.”
“Okay?”
“Yes, I’ll bring the car in to get it fixed. Should I just call, or?” Dean was still looking at him, as if perhaps he had finally recognized Castiel’s dark hair and trademark blue eyes from the television. Castiel hadn’t realized before then that he was a little annoyed at being treated like just another driver. But as Dean shook his thoughts and came back to the conversation, he realized that to this Ford truck driving, torn jeans and flannel wearing man on I-35, that’s who he was this morning.
“Ya, that’s fine. Really anytime…” He paused, and Castiel realized he was asking for a name. It was such a rare occasion for him to have to give it to someone that doing so made him give a humorless laugh.
“Castiel. Castiel Novak.”
“Okay, yeah.” Dean seemed to find his name fitting, nodding his head. “Yeah, Cas. Just bring it by whenever. I’ll make sure we get you taken care of.”
Castiel tilted his head, a little unnerved at the level of familiarity being thrown his way. No one gave him nicknames anymore. Deciding he was done with this whole scene, he nodded his head and turned to get back into his vehicle. “Cas!” Was yelled after him so he turned his head to catch whatever it was.
“Again, I’m really sorry.” Castiel didn’t want to say something stupid like, “It’s fine.” Because it wasn’t. He was late now and this was his favorite car. But he also didn’t feel like berating the good looking guy who was obviously having a shitty morning, too. So he just nodded and shut the door. He gave a final look in the mirror to Dean, who stood outside of the truck just watching Castiel. The weight of his gaze was heavy on the back of Castiel’s neck, so he put the car in drive and steeled himself for the lecture he would receive when he got to set. Charlie could only forgive so many minutes.
As the traffic flowed and he pulled into the lot, his mind lingered over the man who had hit him out of nowhere. Kaitlin, or Katherine and Sarah weren’t near his thoughts. Instead he thought about the lithe frame of a man he should definitely hate, but instead felt like an itch beneath his skin. He was going to have to sit on his hands to keep from calling the shop on his first break. He needed to figure Dean Winchester out. He had no idea why really, just only the notion that doing so wouldn’t be easy.