"Dean, the boss wants to speak with you," Dean's coworker, Ralph, spat, stomping over to the car he had been working on before their boss, Charles, had called him in. Dean frowned, peeking over at the man as he slammed his tool onto his bench, letting out a string of swears.

"Ralph, what's got you so pissed?" Dean asked, pulling off his latex gloves and tossing them into the trash. Ralph gave him a glare, but it seemed more tired than anything as his shoulders slumped.

"Nothing. Don't worry about it," Ralph huffed, returning to his work, albeit slightly more forceful than he needed to be. Dean gave him another worried look but said nothing else before he crossed over hoses towards the office that their boss had in the corner of the garage.

He gave a slight knock, more of a formality than actually announcing his presence before stepping into the room. Charles sat at the computer rubbing his temples with one hand as he clicked the mouse with the other. When Dean walked in, he looked up, though it had a grimness that had Dean worried for his very job.

"Dean, could you sit down for a minute? We have some issues," Charles stated, waiting until Dean took a seat before he even attempted to speak again.

"I want you to know that I really appreciate all the effort you put into this business. You come in on weekdays, not to mention going to your other job and working the weekends and holidays there. The other workers really admire you, and I do too, which is why I haven't been involving you in this mess, but..." Charles trailed off, shaking his head before turning his eyes back to Dean.

"But what?" Dean asked, a sense of dread filling him from the core. Charles looked at him, and he swore he saw actual tears in the man's eyes.

"I'm going to have to cut your hours," Charles stated, the apologetic tone doing nothing for Dean as he froze, staring at the man as if he had grown two heads, "I wish there was any other way, but we're just not making enough money with the competition for me to keep everyone on full time. I'm sorry, Dean."

"How...how many hours are you cutting?" Dean asked, his chest tightening. Charles shook his head, the rubbing at his temple becoming more pronounced.

"Part-time. You'll work maybe twenty hours a week, less or more depending on the business," Charles explained, though his soothing tone did nothing for Dean as he swallowed, his hands shaking just slightly from anger.

"You can't," Dean replied, his voice beginning to grow strained and hoarse, "Charles...this is my main job. I can't...I need to take care of Sammy. I can't have fewer hours than I already have," He tried to reason, but the look on Charles' face proved it was a lost cause.

His boss sighed, letting his head lower in shame, "I'm sorry, Dean. I really am. I'll give you your new schedule by the next week. This will be your last full-time paycheck," Charles stated, forcing himself back and business mode and making it clear that he was done talking. Dean didn't reply, standing and walking out with his fists clenched.

Ralph wasn't the only one slinging things around.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"A third job? I don't know, Dean. Don't you work hard enough already?" Castiel stated tentatively as Dean dropped Sam off early the next Monday morning, Sam still asleep and Dean's eyes heavy with exhaustion, "I do not want to stop you from providing from Sam but...that does not mean you work yourself to death."

"It'll be fine, Cas. It's just a few more hours than I had usually been working," Dean replied, placing Sam on the couch and smiling, patting the boy gently before stepping back. He had fallen back asleep after Dean had gotten him ready, though he couldn't blame the poor boy.

"Dean, seventeen hours a day is not just a few more," Castiel responded, worry creasing his brow as he followed the man towards the house, "You will have maybe four hours of sleep a night and then work all day. What about Sam? How am I supposed to explain why you are not here to pick him up?"

Dean stopped at Castiel's last words, looking back at him with a desperation that had Castiel freezing in his tracks, "Cas, please. Can we not talk about it?" Dean asked, no, begged, waiting until Castiel's shoulders slumped in defeat and he nodded, turning away.

"You might want to rest. It's too early in the morning for you to be awake when you have to take care of Sammy," Dean commented, looking at the pajama-clad man with a broken smile. If he had known that Castiel only wore pajama pants to bed, he would have come over earlier much more often.

"I could say the same to you," Castiel replied, not looking back at Dean as he headed into the living room to get Sam into the guest bedroom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If Dean had thought Black Friday was exhausting, he never considered the absolute drag of his aching limbs as he climbed out of the Impala from a full day of working, crossing over to Castiel's house with a slight stumble in his step. He didn't even need to knock before Castiel was opening the door, a frown on his face as he looked Dean over. However, he didn't mention it, letting Dean in with his lips pressed into a thin line.

"Sam stayed awake as long as he could for you," Castiel commented, motioning to the couch where Sam was curled up, little snuffles leaving him as he clutched his knees tighter to his chest. Dean felt hollow, but he still managed to smile as he scooped Sam into his arms, pulling him close for just a moment and reminding himself that he could do this for his brother's sake.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Cas," Dean said, speaking lower and looking to the other man, who glowered at him with angry and glimmering blue eyes.

"You mean you will see me in five hours," Castiel responded, his tone bitter as he turned away from Dean, heading back to his own room, "Make sure you find time to shower and eat at least."

Castiel disappeared into his room with a slam of his door, making Dean flinch and pull Sammy closer. He looked down at his sleeping brother, slowly working up the will to carry the heavy three-year-old home when he was dead weight like this.

"He doesn't understand, Sammy. That's all," Dean comforted, though Sam showed no sign of waking up as he began to carry him back to the house. He didn't even know why he was trying to convince himself, or Sam, that Castiel wasn't completely justified to be angry about this, "He's just grumpy because he doesn't get to sleep as much now."

Dean glanced back at Castiel's house, his heart nearly stopping when he saw Castiel watching him from the window. He tried a weak wave and while Castiel responded with his own wave, it hurt Dean much more than when Castiel had turned away from him before.