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Winchester & Co.

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Castiel is screwed.

He has an interview in ten minutes and there’s nothing about the way he looks that screams ‘hire me!’. More like ‘fire me!’ than anything. 

It's just been one thing after another today, starting with his alarm clock malfunctioning, going off at three in the morning and refusing, no matter how many times he hit the off button, to shut up. And because of all that, he forgot to reset it, waking almost an hour and a half after he should’ve. 

As if that wasn’t bad enough, his good suit was at the dry cleaners—his bad one, covered in coffee from his altercation with a revolving door yesterday morning—so he needed to make a quick stop on his way to Winchester & Co. to pick it up, which ended up being a twenty-minute argument with the guy behind the counter who insisted that Castiel hadn’t dropped anything off, despite him having the tag right in his hand. He just couldn’t understand why the guy didn’t want to give him his suit.

Now he knew why.

This suit, though clean, was decidedly not his. At least two sizes, too large, he needed to hold them up at the waist and roll up the ankles and sleeves just to be able to function, never mind looking put together and professional. It was all just a big mess and he was starting to think that maybe God just didn’t want him to have this job. Or anything good at all.

He rubs his hands down his blotchy face, trying to wipe away any sign of the tears that keep threatening to fall. It doesn’t work, of course, and his heart sinks with every passing second that brings him closer to his scheduled interview. Ten-fourteen…only eleven more minutes. He sighs in defeat and tries in vain to fix his bedhead, but it’s no use, seeing as his hair is unruly on the best of days. 

Frustration churns his gut and he lashes out, kicking his bag across the bathroom floor with a not-so-manly squeak. 

“What did that bag ever do to you?” 

His head whips around only to find a man standing in the doorway of the otherwise empty bathroom, watching his little outburst with a grin turning up his lips. Castiel clears his throat and glances at the floor, embarrassed by his disheveled appearance with the perfectly put together and perfectly gorgeous man standing not ten feet away.

“You good, buddy?” The man takes a step closer, his smile dropping from his face as a concerned frown takes its place. Damnit, even that looks good on him.

“Um…” he clears his throat and bends to pick up his bag, which is stuffed full of rumpled papers and his pajamas. “Yeah—yeah, I’m fi—fuck!” He scrambles to grab the oversized slacks before they hit the floor and, mercifully, he manages, but the other man notices, anyway and takes a step forward like he was about to grab his pants for him.

“Seriously, are you good?” His green eyes shine with concern and Castiel just…breaks.

No…” His eyes well and he swipes furiously at them, turning away and tearing off a strip of scratchy brown paper-towel to dry his eyes. “I’ve got this interview in…” he glances at the clock, “Fuck—in eight minutes and my alarm didn’t go off so I woke up late, then my good suit was at the dry cleaners but it wasn’t because the guy gave it to someone else, and now all I’ve got to wear is this,” he spreads his arms wide, indicating his attire, before his shoulders slump in defeat, his bag falling out of his hand onto the grimy bathroom floor. “Who would ever want to hire a hot mess like me?” He chucks the paper towel at the trash can and it hits the side before fluttering to the floor. “But this is my dream job, you know? All I’ve ever wanted to do." 

For a moment, the other man seems taken aback and Castiel flushes bright red, realizing just how pathetic that all must’ve sounded. He’s just about to apologize when the man takes a hasty step forward. 

“No, no, it’s really not that bad. Here,” The man looks him over before reaching out almost without thought, his hands moving to Castiel’s waist, fingers deftly tucking in the loose shirt and trying in vain to straighten the flimsy collar before finally heaving a heavy sigh and stepping back. “Okay, so it really is that bad.”

But all Castiel can feel are the imprint of the stranger's hands on his hips and his fingertips brushing his neck with their burning heat, so it takes him a few seconds to realize the other man has removed his belt and is approaching him once more. “Maybe this…no, it’ll just scrunch them up. Oh, fuck it; we look about the same size.” He says, eyeing Castiel again as he starts unbuttoning his shirt.

Castiel stands in shocked silence, mortified and in awe of this stranger’s kindness. “W-what are you doing?”

He glances up for half a second before continuing with the rest of the buttons. “I’m giving you my suit. You need to make a good first impression on the boss-man.” He glances up at Castiel and smirks. “Gotta get that dream job.” 

Castiel can’t help a small smile as one shoulder lifts in a shrug, the over-large suit slipping off as he does. “I’ve heard he’s kind of an asshole.”

The stranger laughs a full, belly laugh, head thrown back and all, before nodding. “He kind of is an asshole, yeah.” He glances up at Castiel and sees that he’s still fully clothed. “Well come on, you’ve only got,” he glances at the clock, “four and a half minutes until that interview. Boss-man doesn’t like tardiness,” he says all this with a sly little grin that has Castiel’s heart fluttering all over the place, and the wink he throws in at the end nearly kills him right then and there.

But the undressing thing…

“Umm…I’m just gonna,” he points to the closest stall and flushes bright red at the grin that transforms the nearly-naked man’s face before Castiel disappears inside and closes the door behind him.

“Ah, nervous are we? Not that I can see much under all those clothes, but you’re probably smokin’ hot.” Castiel says nothing, but inside, his heart soars. “Shit, I’m weirding you out, aren’t I?” His voice, mercifully, comes from the next stall over. At least no one else will walk in on him half-dressed.

“Oh, uh, no. No, it’s okay. I’m flattered, really.” And it’s true. As insecure as Castiel might be, he still enjoys the compliment—especially from the likes of a beautiful stranger.

His laugh rumbles over the stall wall, warming Castiel from the inside, out, as a pair of pristinely pressed—and very expensive—slacks are passed over. How much does this guy make? He decides not to ask and slides into them, surprised at just how well they fit.    

Next is the light blue button-up, followed by the charcoal grey tie and suit jacket to match. Castiel tries to ignore the fact that he’s probably wearing more money than he’s ever made in his entire life, not to mention just how good it smells. He doesn’t know what it is, exactly, but he’d bet it’s not the man’s fabric softener.

When he exits the stall after having handed over his old suit so the other man has something to wear, he doesn’t recognize the guy staring back at him in the dirty mirror.

“Wow…” he breathes, staring wide-eyed at his reflection.

“S’like it was made for you,” the other man says from behind him, now dressed in the too-large suit, but still looking just as good as before.

“Thank you,” Castiel beams, his face actually hurting from smiling so wide. “I don’t know what I would’ve done…” But the man waves him off before looking him over.

“One more thing…” He steps forward, eyeing Castiel’s hair before his fingers sink into the dark, unruly tresses, trying his best to flatten them out, but without much luck. “Huh, guess it’ll have to do.” His smile is warm, though, and Castiel can’t help but feel eternally in his debt. “You’d better get going. It’s true what they say—about the boss-man being an asshole, that is.”

“Oh! Yes, I’d better go.” He snatches up his bag from the floor. “How will I return your suit?”

The other man watches him for a moment, a shine in his eyes that Castiel doesn’t understand. “Don’t worry; I think we’ll definitely be seeing each other again. Get out of here,” he says, shooing Castiel off.

It’s only after he gets on the elevator that he realizes he never got the man’s name.