once & done: destiel one shots

Meeting at a fossil dig (mechanic/professor AU)

Castiel stepped down into the Cretaceous period, white plastic shovel in hand, and knelt at the base of a hill to dig. It was community day at the quarry and he'd come alone. Gabriel didn't see the value, and Castiel had already reserved tickets, so he'd put on his only pair of jeans and made the two-hour drive. The quarry was a bit larger than a football field, gray and brown softly eroding cliffs surrounding a shallow lake. Pipes ran from it, pumping the water out, keeping the bone bed exposed.

He easily brushed the powder-fine dirt from his pants when he stood and picked another location, farther away from unmonitored children. The paleontologist in charge had said fossilized shark teeth were a common find and Castiel was determined to take one home.

He'd dug into the hillside roughly ten inches, carefully sifting through the black sediment with his fingers, applying pressure to any solid object to determine if it was just clay–if it broke, it was. Most of it was. But he found several interesting rocks, a tubular fossil that might be coral, and (with only ten minutes to go) had exposed the edge of something intriguing when above him, a young boy shouted in distress and slid down the hill. The sole of his sneaker made direct contact with Castiel's nose. He winced at the sudden pain, warm flow of blood from his nose he futilely tried to contain with his hands, barely registering a man's raised voice approaching:

"Ben, what the hell did I tell you? Hey, man, are you–oh, shit."

The voice shoved something in his face and guided him to the ground to sit. There was no chance of finding a shark tooth now. What an unfortunate end to an otherwise pleasant day.

"You," the voice said sharply to the child. "Apologize."

"I'm sorry!" Ben whined. "The hill was slippery."

"Yeah, yeah. Just dig something up before they boot us out of here."

"There was something..." Castiel motioned blindly to the area where he'd been digging.

"I'll find it," Ben declared.

"Sorry about that," the voice said, softer, directed at Castiel. "He's my friend's kid. She had to work today, so I said I'd bring him. I don't know anything about this stuff. I'm Dean."

"Castiel."

"I'll make you say it again when you don't have a towel to your face," Dean said through a laugh.

Castiel studied him through slitted eyes. Dean looked a few years younger, maybe twenty-five. Dust-covered brown hair, a smile that wouldn't quit. He rested his forearms on his knees and motioned to the darkest mud.

"If you asked me yesterday, I woulda said it was just dirt."

"What do you do?" Castiel asked.

"Mechanic. Got my own shop not far from here. You?"

"I teach."

"You live nearby?"

Castiel shook his head. "A couple hours away."

"In that case, let me buy you lunch, get some food in you before you hit the road."

"I appreciate the offer, but I'm a mess. I just want to go home and take a shower."

"Right," Dean said, sucking air over his lip in a manner that might be embarrassment. He drummed his hands on his knees and sniffed before he stood up. "I'm gonna help the kid. You alright for a minute?"

Castiel nodded, and once Dean was a distance away, he removed the towel from his face. He couldn't breathe, nasal passages swollen, but the blood flow had stopped. He folded the towel so it concealed most of it.

"One minute left!" a volunteer called. Castiel felt for his shovel, the small plastic bag containing his finds, then struggled to stand on rubbery legs. Maybe it would be better to wait a moment, let Dean or one of the volunteers lead him out of the quarry, but he stubbornly tried again, swaying on his feet, wondering if the drone camera overhead would catch his fall into the marl.

"Whoa, easy, man—"

Dean's arm slipped around his back and Castiel slumped, graceless, into him up the hill.

At the top of the quarry, Ben stood in line to look at fossil exhibits laid out on picnic tables, and Dean got Castiel a bottle of water. He and Ben waited with Castiel for the bus back to the parking lot, crowding into a bench seat, and walked him to his car.

"Alright, say your name for me again."

"Castiel." He bit his lip as the blush crept up his neck, prickling over his cheeks. But it was windy today; perhaps he simply looked flushed.

"Castiel," Dean repeated. "That's a mouthful. You sure you're okay to drive?"

While Castiel wasn't positive, he nodded. With both hands in his pockets, Dean scuffed his boot on the asphalt, glancing at Ben, at the box store behind them.

"They got a bathroom and a Starbucks in there. You could wash your hands, let me buy you one of those pumpkin lattes."

"I would like to wash my hands," Castiel admitted, surveying the blood and dust under his nails. "But I prefer tea."

"Awesome," Dean said, grinning. "I'm gonna toss my shit in the car."

Castiel watched him and Ben walk to a long black car that, if Castiel had to guess, was a couple decades out of style (not that his Continental was anything to write home about). With a minute to himself, he changed into the clean shirt he'd brought for the ride home, casting the bloodstained one into the foot well, sighing at the brush of clean fabric against his skin.

Inside the Starbucks, Ben held up a small shark tooth he'd unearthed from Castiel's dig site and high-fived Dean, snapped a picture with his phone to send his mother.

"You keep it," Castiel told him with a wink.

He brewed much better tea at home, he mused, sipping questionable Earl Gray from a paper cup, his name butchered on the side, but he had nothing like this in his apartment: someone on the other side of the table, boots occasionally knocking against his shoes. Green, green eyes staring, fixed, back at him.