Don't Tell Sammy

Chapter One: I Need You to Pretend to be My Boyfriend (Introduction)

A/N: This is set during season nine, a week after the events of episode six. This and my other fic Run linked on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5425811/chapters/12536978 Wattpad: and Fanfiction.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11668078/1/Run don't exist simultaneously. Both set in the universe of the show, both fictions completely unrelated.

Also, in this fic, it's implied Dean and Castiel spent a lot more time together off screen than we really see, and random mentions of these hang out sessions will be mentioned and it will be easy to see in the seemingly ease of their relationship. 

'I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.'

The ex-angel in the blue vest looked away from his customer, frowning, and his eyes landed on Dean. Dean didn't want to say they lit up, exactly, although Castiel defiantly looked happier than he had when he was serving the very small old lady holding a lottery ticket directly in front of him.

'I'm working,' Castiel informed him, as if he were just any other customer. 'You'll need to get in line.'

'Seriously?'

Cas's face was unyielding. Dean sighed, and walked to stand behind the man who was next in line after the old woman being served.

'That's two fifty,' Castiel requested, and went fishing for change after the woman handed him a five dollar note. Dean couldn't help but shudder internally at the fact that Castiel, angel of the lord, the most powerful being he knew, was working behind a counter serving old ladies, and men that smelled weird.

'I'd take that young man up on his offer,' the old lady whispered, not particularly quietly. 'Goodness knows if I were your age I'd, well ... that's best not said out loud, dear.'

'Good luck, Mrs Guyer,' Castiel replied with a hint of a smile, as who Dean assumed was likely a regular customer shuffled away.

Dean waited, somewhat impatiently and uncomfortably as Cas took money from the weird smelling man for the gas he'd bought outside, then finally it was Dean's turn.

'I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend,' he repeated.

'Technically, to be at this counter, you need to buy something.'

Dean grabbed a candy bar and slammed it down on the counter with a dollar on top of it.

'I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.'

'Why do you keep saying that?'

'Because, I need you to pretend to be–'

'I heard you the first three times,' Castiel interrupted him, taking the dollar and dropping a quarter of change on top of the chocolate bar. 'But I'm working.'

'I didn't mean right now,' Dean stressed. He dropped his change in his pocket, and ripped the bar open, breaking it in half. 'I mean, can we talk? Because I need your help.'

'My shift ends at three,' Castiel informed him, watching as he put the half of the bar he'd broken off into his mouth whole, chewed, and swallowed. 'We can talk then.'

'Right,' Dean nodded, very understanding, then looked around him for a pen. He found one and picked it up, put another dollar on the counter, then grabbed Cas's uninjured arm. He was glad to see Cas's other arm seemed to be healing well, a support bandage still on his wrist, but he was moving it freely.

Dean wrote the address of the motel he was staying in on the back of Cas's hand, plus his room number, plus the number of a cab company.

'Meet me there,' he insisted, as Cas surveyed the writing on his hand, plus Dean. He attempted to decipher the odd behavior, the outrageous request, but couldn't. Last week they'd had one good night post-hunt with pizza and wrist-caring-for and good talking, but he didn't see how that one good night could make Dean act so ... like this, whatever this was.

'I'll be there,' Castiel promised.

Dean put the rest of his chocolate bar still in the wrapper by the dollar he'd paid for the pen, then but a ten dollar note beside it.

'For the cab,' he said. 'And you can have the rest of that bar. See you later, pal.'

Dean walked backwards a few steps, saluting as he went, then turned on his heel and exited the store. Castiel couldn't help but think he seemed to be in an awfully and unusually good mood.

'Who was that?' his co-worker, Nora, asked him, as he pocketed the ten and the bar for later and slid the dollar for the pen into the till.

'A friend of mine,' Castiel replied, still frowning at the door Dean had exited through while he answered her.

'A friend friend or a ... friend?'

'Just a friend,' Castiel replied, catching her implication. He'd been getting better at noticing things like that of late.

'He's pretty,' Nora commented, moving behind him to refill the slushy machine.

'Is he?' Castiel asked, eyebrows raised as he glanced at her. 'I've never really noticed,' he lied and then, sighing, the light gone from his eyes again, he turned to serve his next customer.