I'd Rather Have Destiel

These Are For You (Don't Ask Me How Much They Cost)

These Are For You (Don't Ask Me How Much They Cost)

Dean's at the point where he's just really pathetic, but he wouldn't know the meaning of dignity even if Cas threw a dictionary in his face.

He wasn't really sure how his life had managed to spiral down into the mess that it currently was, but it was probably curtesy to his Winchester fuck-up charm. It comes with the name. Dean had been prowling around the retail store looking for unaware customers who were "just browsing" to pounce on. (He hated this whole 'commission paid wages' bullshit that the company pulled. He didn't like bullying people into buying some ugly ass clothes that they would return the minute his shift ended, but the money helped to pay for Sammy's tuition so he could deal.)

Around the corner stood his anticipated victim. Dean's steps became more confident as he headed directly for the man who was looking through the shirts-only-douches-wear rack. Dean assessed him from behind: oversized trench coat, dark mussed up hair – definitely a try-hard douche. He quickly thought of a tactic in his head: greet the customer, continue the conversation with some bro shit, shove the topics of hot girls loving this brand in there, and presto: another sale that would make his rest easier at night.

In reality, it didn't work out like that at all.

Dean was right beside the customer now. "Hey there! I'm Dean –"

The customer let out a startled yelp and threw the shirt he was holding at Dean's face.

Dean was hit in the eye with the hanger, but he somehow managed to thoughtlessly complete the rest of his programmed greeting, "– Do you need some assistance?"

"Oh," the man said, his voice gravelly deep like he had been eating rocks all day. Despite the throbbing pain in his eye (right one), he felt a shiver run down his spine at the sound. "I'm sorry. You surprised me," the man said, leaning down to pick up the item he had dropped. Unfortunately, Dean knelt down at the same time and their heads knocked together violently enough that he felt an impending headache.

"My apologies, again," the man said, snatching the fallen clothing from the floor which left Dean crouched over, empty-handed and embarrassed. Dean slowly pushed himself to an upright position, his palm automatically pressing against the momentary pain in his right eye. (It hurt, goddammit.) "I'm very sorry for the trouble I have caused you today."

Yeah you should be, Dean thought without venom. Instead he said, "Yeah, it's okay. That's fine. Um, well." The hook and liner was gone. Now he just looked like a stumbling mess in front of a grade-A dick bag that didn't sound very sorry at all. He half hoped that this dude would tell him to get lost, but the other half of him told him that he hadn't made any sales today. (He fucking hates commissions.) The pain was sort of fading now, and he took a look at the douchebag that had managed to cause him so much misery in such a short time.

Whatever he was expecting, it sure as hell wasn't this 'hunky piece of heaven' as his co-worker Meg would call him. (He usually disagreed with Meg's description, but this guy took the cake. Or the pie.) The mussed up hair looked more like I just rolled out of bed than I purposely stood in front of the mirrors for hours to achieve this. The unfitted trench coat was more like a battered hand-me-down that was half adorable and half really, really hot instead of one of the many recent mass productions following the random ass trench coat trend that appeared out of nowhere. It was topped with chapped but full lips and a five o'clock shadow that left Dean unconsciously wondering how it would feel against his ass. Head tilted, his squinty blue eyes examined the suddenly speechless sales associate.

The customer continued to stare at him, and Dean realized that he should probably be speaking instead of engaging in a staring contest with the man. "Yeah. So. Would you like some assistance today?" he asked, trying to remember what he doing in the first place. Sales. Clothing. Commission-based wages. Okay, he was (maybe) back on track now. "Do you need a specific colour or size? We have an extensive selection that you can choose from. And if you can't find anything you like you can always check our online store and we can order for it to ship to this location free of charge."