Dean had always been a glass-half-empty sort of guy. He'd realized at a young age that life wasn't very kind, that God didn't care how good of a person you were, He would still ruin your life. Mary, his mother, had been killed in a house fire when Dean was only 9, his younger brother Sammy 5 at the time. Everything had been lost in that fire, his mother, all their worldly possessions, and his father's will to live. John turned to drink, drowning the flames that lingered deep inside his chest with whiskey and travelling to try and escape the heat. Sammy was- and had always been- Dean's responsibility, though Dean would never complain. He'd give anything for Sam, and had already given up so much to ensure his brother would never have to understand the cruelty this world could hold. He could almost assume he'd done an okay job now. Sam had attended Stanford Law School on a full ride- he'd always been the one with the brains- and Dean couldn't be more proud. He was working shifts at his Uncle Bobby's auto shop when he had time, and tending bar the rest. John had long disappeared, still running from phantom flames, and Bobby sometimes got slurred phone calls in the middle of the night. Dean had learned to turn his ringer off. It wasn't easy to be optimistic for Dean, he'd been dealt a pretty lousy hand, and the silver lining always seemed to be just out of sight for him. He'd never been able to find it.

It was nearly 2 in the morning, the regulars still settling in their booths, AC/DC playing quietly in the background of the folksy pub. Dean was wiping down mugs behind the bar, he'd be closing up soon enough and heading home to attempt to get a wink of sleep before his Sunday shift at the auto shop. Bobby didn't tolerate showing up late, though he did have a soft spot for Dean, and if he showed up with donuts and a large black coffee for the old man, he grumbled but lost his anger behind a gulp of the rich dark roast. When 3 o'clock rolled around, Dean ushered the old boozers out onto the sidewalk, watching with familiar amusement as they ambled down the street. They, as usual, would be hearing it from their wives, and Dean would be hearing it the next night when they all came in for Sunday dinner. He chuckled at the thought and locked up, heading back to wipe down the tables and sweep before he could leave as well. Turning up the music, he got to work, determined to not spend any more time than necessary here. When he was satisfied with his effort, he made his way into the inky night and out to his 67' Impala parked out back. Softly, he patted the hood and slid behind the wheel, instantly relaxing into the worn leather. If his dad had one thing going for him, it'd be his taste in cars, and his knack for being too drunk to drive anyways. John had packed up and left in some old junker from the auto shop, leaving the Baby to Dean. He supposed it could've been seen as a peace offering, or a sorry excuse of an apology. Either way, Dean hadn't asked questions.

"On time for once, boy. There's a new customer waiting in the bay for you, get on with it." Bobby tossed a rag to him as Dean rounded the corner into the lobby of the auto shop. He flashed the old man a grin and headed through the door into the bay, seeing the back of a man wearing a long tan trench coat, standing in front of a rough looking Lincoln Continental.

"Hey. Names Dean, what can I do for you." he sauntered over to the man, who turned, a bit startled at Dean's sudden approach.

"Oh, hey. I'm Castiel. The stupid piece broke down yesterday on my way home from work, I mean, I know it's never run perfectly but come on. I had it towed here, but the old guy said the 'expert' wouldn't be in until this morning. I'm guessing he meant you." Castiel assessed Dean, looking him over once, with more than an ounce of judgment. It took all Dean had in him not to turn around and tell him to fix the car himself. He could tell, this guy was something 'smart'. An accountant or a professor or someone else who would clearly look down on someone like Dean, a 37 year old working at an auto body shop. Who wore a dress shirt and tie to an auto shop anyways? He grunted a response before appraising the vehicle. It clearly had nothing on his Baby. Rust had begun to eat away at the wheel wells and the windshield had small chips in it. Dean popped the hood and frowned. Obviously it hadn't been serviced in God knows how long.

"It needs a lot of work, and that's before figuring out why it's not running. You've been rough on her, that's for sure. Give me a couple of hours, I'll see what I can do." Dean started getting his things together, rolling his sleeves up. This was going to take a bit of TLC, which he was always happy to give. Castiel let out a long sigh, and Dean shot him a look. "Unless, you've like to push her out of here and figure it out yourself, because it wouldn't be any loss on my part Cas." The man looked taken aback but tensed his jaw.

"I wouldn't think of it, Dean." Castiel sneered his name and Dean glared.

"Come back after lunch. I expect a generous tip by the way, I charge extra for attitude." With that, Castiel was leaving the bay, and Dean was smirking at the man's back. He'd definitely won that argument. Sighing, he stared at the car. This was going to be a long morning.