Ten Times I Said I Love You. One Time I Didn't.

Maintenance Man.

Dean Winchester:

It's been a week. I've had a home for one whole week. I've never had a home before. It's been nice, and calm, and comforting in a way I didn't know a few walls could make me feel. Despite that, I still don't know how I am gonna come up with $800 for rent. I have managed to save up $123 dollars in the passed week while still eating twice a day and paying for the bus to get to work. And even that is cutting it close for me. At this rate, I'll probably never stay here again when the end of the month rolls around in a few weeks and I don't have the full amount of rent. But that doesn't really matter because the power just completely went out. There isn't even a stinking storm out or nothing...what the hell. I get my shoes on and walk a few blocks until I find a payphone. There goes 50 cents. I have a number written on my hand and I call it, almost feeling nervous for some reason. It rings once, twice, three times. No pick up. Here goes another 50 cents. One ring. Two rings. Thr-.

"Hello? Who the fuck gave you this number?"

"Huh.. Is this Castiel?"

"Like I said before, where did you get this number."

"Off the fridge. I need 'maintenance help'. Is now a bad time?"

I can hear people in the background kind of snickering and he goes quiet for a moment.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, I couldn't call you from the house because the powers out. I don't know what happened. I woke up and everything was off."

There's a loud sigh and then someone snaps their fingers and I can hear muffled discussions going on.

"Alright, I'll be over in about an hour with an acquaintance of mine. Okay?"

"Okay, see you then Cas."

Wait. What did I just say? Cas? That's so weird. I don't hear what he says next because I hang up the phone and make a run at it to get home. That was smooth. Real smooth Dean. I'm a moron.

Castiel Novak:

Castiel hung up the phone was the line went dead. He was a little flushed in the face but he didn't know why. Something in his stomach was aching but pulsing simultaneously. He gave a few orders and cut his meeting short, sending his people off to do their dues. Collect money from this guy. Get a gun to that guy. Pick these people off and drop them off there. Don't run into any cops. It seemed like he was a football coach for gangsters. Only, no one dared to mess with him. And certainly no one interrupted his meetings. But of course, Dean, the kid from Florida without a clue, did. About 45 minutes later, Castiel pulled up in front of the house driving a white Mercedes with a shorter man in the passenger seat who looked bored out of his mind.

I get out of the car and walk towards the house while my older brother follows me. Man does this guy ever have bad timing. My brother is going to kill me. I told him we could hang out today like 'normal' people. He doesn't like my lifestyle. But the first thing that happened when he got in my car was my phone blaring and a bunch of bumbling idiots needing an 'emergency meeting' because some nitwit couldn't do their fucking job. And then, of course... the kid I'm renting the house to has to call while my brother is already glaring at me from across the room, practically stomping his feet to leave. So here we are. I didn't exactly have a choice but to drag him along. Besides, he's a better handy man than me anyways. We get to the door and I knock. It feels weird knocking at your own house. Dean opens the door and he's in pajama pants and a white t-shirt. He looks like he just crawled out of bed- a sight I was not prepared for.

"Oh- hey. That was quick. Come in."

"Yeah, I tried not to take too long, just had some things to wrap u-"