#johnseville

“I’m sorry, but have we met before? I definitely remember seeing you somewhere!”

That had been Dean’s first sentence, when they’d entered the conference room. Castiel Novak, Chief Sales Executive of Angel Shipping Co., sitting at the head of the table, to whom the line had been directed, had merely scrunched his nose and frowned a bit, in a show of disapproval, before continuing to organise his dossier and talk to Uriel, on his right. Flustered red, Dean had shut up, and spent the rest of the meeting with his chin buried in his hand, occasionally glancing at Castiel, determined to find exactly how he knew him.

It may have seemed like a cheesy pickup line, but Dean Smith was a classy man, and didn’t resort to them. He genuinely felt like he’d seen the man before, but his memory was blank as to when and where. The face was of the sort Dean shouldn’t forget (you’re not supposed to forget people who look like that) and although he wore rectangular dark shades (so dark that you couldn’t even see his eyes behind them), he knew he’d seen that face before. The sturdy square-ish jawline, the messed up raven-black hair, and the same frown. And he was willing to bet that he’d heard that voice before; several octaves lower than you’ll usually get to hear from a man in his 20’s, words spoken clearly and precisely, as if every word was important, and couldn’t be used carelessly.

So now, Dean sat on the same table as him, his eyes searching Castiel for any signs that’ll remind him of who he was, three places next to the Chief Sales Executive of his company Winchester Goods and his boss, John Seville, who sat at the other head of the table, across Castiel. To his right, sat his colleague and schoolfriend Benny, (‘Bennett Owen, Smith, not Benny!’), and to his left was his assistant, Sam Wesson. Sam had been promoted to the position a couple of months ago, and within weeks Dean had taken a real liking to the fresh-faced enthusiastic and smart, albeit somewhat of a giant, young man, like the brother he never had, who presently sat listening in earnest to what the speaker of the other company, a pretty middle-aged woman, who’d introduced herself as Hannah (or was it Hailey, Dean hadn’t been listening). Dean knew Sam would explain to Dean what the meeting had been about and what all had been decided later, so didn’t worry about being mentally absent.

However, it was when Castiel began to speak, that Dean was snapped out of his reverie. He propped up his head, and turned to look at the man. He wore a beige trenchcoat, which was slightly unexpected of a man of his position, but the rest of him pronounced class; black dress pants, the black overcoat over a spotless white shirt and the blue tie.

Once again, Dean’s eyes scanned the man’s face, recognising it but not able to place it. It was like, he was missing pieces to a puzzle. “…will benefit both the organizations.” He was saying, and although Dean tuned out most of the sense in his words he found himself hanging onto the gruff, throaty voice. 'A voice, not just dogs but people would obey, and he knew it’, Dean thought to himself. Then he rolled his eyes at his own self, sighing because he clearly remembered having the same thoughts about the same voice before. “As a by-product of this enterprise…” Dean blinked; Castiel’s voice was able to bring him to pay attention even when he was doing his best to tune it out.

Perhaps that line of thought made Dean smile, because it wasn’t long before he received a kick under the table. He lifted his head to face the short, brown-haired man sitting across him, whom he identified from having talked to before. It was that annoying guy, Gabriel or something, who was at a high post in the company because he happened to be the owner’s son. They’d not really talked though, except for the time they both spent in grilling each other. All Dean knew about him was that he was used to being a pain in everyone’s asses (he took delight at it), that he was gay, (he’d come out after having been caught making out with a male model on film) and that he was always talking to Sam (something to do with being gay or not, Dean didn’t know and wasn’t interested in).Dean scowled at him, muttering a, “What!?”

Gabriel smiled crookedly, his gold eyes glinting mischievously. “What’re you looking so dreamily at?” He spoke aloud, since the table was quite long, and Castiel at the other end of the table wouldn’t really be disturbed by him speaking. “Novak’s face?”

The truth was a disturbing yes. “Shut up, and mind your business, Gabriel.” Dean resounded, keeping his voice low.

“Well, you can’t seem to mind yours, Dean-o.” He snickered, using the annoying name he used for Dean, especially to irk him up. “Unless your job description includes ogling at Castiel Novak’s lips and drooling at his voice.”

Dean glared back at Gabriel. “Bite me, Gabriel.”

“Why so touchy?” He almost cooed back, the smile not wearing off.

Dean chose to ignore him, finding it easier to listen to Castiel talk about how their figures would be better next annum if there was any truth in the estimation charts, than argue with Gabriel.

But Gabriel would be harder to get rid of. “What was up with the cheesy nineteenth-century pickup line anyways, Smith?” He asked again, kicking him under the table. Dean considered kicking back but knew Gabriel would yelp like the five-year-old he was and Dean would get reprimanded, and merely stared back. “Every teenager with a dick knows that one. You could do a lot better.”

Dean’s temper flared. “Gabriel, I swear to Chri-”

“Mr. Smith.” It was that damn voice again. Dean looked at Castiel, staring at his black glasses, straining to get a look at his eyes. “You’re causing disturbance in the meeting.” Translation for 'you’re disturbing me’ in Castiel’s tongue.

Dean’s eyes flickered at Gabriel before turning back to Castiel. He spoke, with an apologetic note in his voice. “I’m sorry, please continue, Mr. Novak.”

Castiel stared at Dean for a moment, before beginning to speak again. “It also need not be added, that should we…”

Dean drew in a breath and glared at Gabriel.

“Aww, look who got scolded by their cru-” Gabriel began again, but was cut off by the man sitting next to him.

“Gabriel, pay attention and stop talking across the table.” It was Michael. He turned his head back to Castiel immediately after having glared at Gabriel, with his usual efficiency and workaholic tendencies. Dean knew he was a good one, and would perhaps be friends with if not for the stick up the latter’s ass, as he crudely told Sam. Gabriel though, obeyed his senior, but not before sticking a tongue at Dean, like the mature 30 year-old he was.

Dean returned to what he was up to before Gabriel had begun to be an ass; checking Castiel out, and listening to his voice. Wait, no, he wasn’t 'checking’ him out, he was just looking at him intently and paying more-than-necessary attention to different parts of his face, but that wasn’t 'checking’ him out. It was only…God, he was checking him out.

As this realisation hit Dean, he tuned out of the meeting again, wondering if it was okay for a heterosexual male to check out another heterosexual male (Was Castiel straight, he wondered to himself unnecessarily). It was when Sam nudged Dean, that he looked up at Sam, back into the real World.

“You ready?” Sam spoke softly, his eyebrows raised.

“For what?” Dean imitated.

“It’s your turn to voice an opinion, sir.” Sam stated flatly. He only called him 'sir’ when he was talking about something serious. At first, he’d always called him 'sir’. Then he began to call him Mr. Smith. Then, Dean. Then, for a while, he called him 'Mr. Smith’ during hours and 'Dean’ after, that is, when they hung out at bowling alleys and bars and places, and now, that they were neighbors and practically spent the day together except for the time Sam dedicated to his girlfriend, it was 'Dean’ only he was in a good mood. Otherwise, it was 'jerk’, or occasionally 'idiot’.

Dean almost groaned. “What, really?”

Sam nodded. “You remember the points we decided you were to speak on, right?” At Dean’s blank face, he added, “Please tell me you practised your speech on the bullets we planned and I wrote specifically in your diary.”

Dean blinked, with his best straight face, momentarily forgetting that Castiel was still speaking in the most gorgeous voice he’d ever heard, in the delight of annoying Sam. “Telling you that would be lying.”

Sam rolled his eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes at your boss.” Dean smiled cheekily. “I hold the authority to cut your salary for misbehavior.”

“You’re the one who’ll have to pay my dinner and drink bills then, and you know it.” Sam proceeded to give Dean his best bitchface.

It was Dean’s turn to roll his eyes, knowing it was true, and also knowing he would never cut someone’s salary for misbehavior, let alone Sam’s. He was a good boss, and he got proof of it every year when he received feedback slips and was proud of himself for it. But it was not the time to blush at how great a boss he was. Dean faced Sam, with a hint of panic in his eyes. “Sam, I have totally not been paying attention.”

Sam sighed. “Dean, what do you want me to do? Tell you all that Mr. Novak has been talking about for the last twenty minutes in the five minutes we have till it’s your turn?” He enquired, sarcastically.

“Good idea.” Dean nodded.

Sam shook his head. “Maybe you should just pass a slip to Mr. Seville that you shan’t be able to speak for whatever reason and that he should ask someone else to.” That’s what you were supposed to do, if you felt you were unprepared, or say you feel like your points have all been spoken about already, or something.

Dean almost shuddered. “Uh-uh. No way.” He was terrified of John Seville. What with the guy’s constant yelling and threatening to fire him, he knew he didn’t have a soft spot for him either. Dean had joined the company as an intern immediately after college, and John had been almost the age of his dad then, and how he bossed him around. Dean was still scared of talking back to him. Plus, the last time he’d passed a slip to him saying as such, he’d had to hear about it for the next hundred meetings, and totally embarrassed in front of the other senior members. Not to mention John had denied him the leave he’d asked for on his birthday on account of that same fact. “I’d rather stand up and talk crap about bananas and whipped cream and spiderman rather do that.” He told Sam seriously.

Sam pursed his lips. “As much as I’m sure a lot of our guys and girls would enjoy your lecture on bananas and whipped cream and spiderman,” he stole glances at Gabriel, Balthazar, Jo, and their other colleagues. “I know for a fact that neither Mr. Seville nor the seniors of Angel Shipping will particularly enjoy it.”

Dean would’ve asked Sam to 'stop smart-assing’ if he didn’t know he was correct. He was clearly at a loss. There was nothing he could do, but tell John that he wouldn’t be able to speak or stand up and talk nonsense because he was 'supposed’ to give his views on Castiel Novak’s words and all he had done, all meeting, was concentrate on how he looked and sounded, and not what he spoke.

Damn good looks, and damn that sexy voice.

Wait a second, his own mind reciprocated, Did I just think Castiel’s voice was sexy and that he was good looking?

Before Dean could begin to ponder on that line, he was interrupted by Sam again. “Dean!” He spoke with urgency. “What are you gonna do!?”

Dean’s eyes darted around the room, as if the answer to that was written on the walls and the ceiling. Castiel was still speaking earnestly. “So, to conclude…”

“What were you doing anyways?” Sam almost hissed.

Dean smiled as nonchalantly as possible. “Not paying attention.”

“That’s really unlike you.” Sam contemplated, frowning slightly. “I mean, as much of a distracted airhead you are otherwise, you usually pay attention in meetings and conferences. Is something wrong?”

“No, Sammy,” Dean chided, as he called whenever he was annoyed with Sam behaving like he was his mother or something. “The missus is fine, as are the kids.” He had neither, but that’s clearly what Sam sounded to have been talking about. He added, in a more teasing tone. “That’s what you were asking about, huh?”

Before Sam could respond, Dean’s attention was drawn away. Castiel was speaking to him again.

“Mr. Smith,” he said, almost fervently, as if himself afraid of what the consequences would be for Dean to have been caught disturbing the meeting twice. “You’re-”

Suddenly a brilliant idea hit Dean. He looked up and met Castiel’s eyes, his gaze apologetic, but mind working rapidly on his new idea. “I apologize again, Mr. Novak, I was discussing an urgent matter with my junior. Excuse me.”

Castiel frowned slightly, and Dean supposed this was because he had not devoted his full attention to him, and it displeased him that such a well-prepared speech should not be heard by everyone. The truth however was not so, though Dean couldn’t have known that. “Of course, Mr. Smith.” He glanced downwards at his dossier, and would probably have continued had Dean not interrupted him.

“You see, Mr. Novak,” Dean flashed him a warm smile, almost an indulgent one. “I think your speech was excellent, and was asking Mr. Wesson if he had taken notes.” He paused, briefly, knowing how Sam must’ve felt betrayed, and smiling inwardly, glancing around the table with the smile still on.

“Has he?” It was not Castiel who answered, but Lucifer. Lucifer was like the 'John Seville’ of their company, and although he didn’t like sitting at the head of the table, he sat right next to him. He was a tall blond man, with authority in his voice, and he was really good at what he did. Of course, what made him an important part of Dean’s plan to ditch mortification, was the fact that he showed more than a keen interest in Sam. Apparently, he’d even tried to buy him away and in the version of the story Dean told, 'Sam was far too much comfortable in Winchester, and under Dean’ that he would easily turn down such offers. Dean also suspected, like several others, that Lucifer’s liking for Sam wasn’t just because of his analytical and management skills, and not just professional.

So Dean was delighted seeing his plan work automatically. “Seems like he hasn’t, Mr. Lucifer.” Nobody knew Lucifer’s last name. They just called him Mr. Lucifer. Gabriel, Balthazar and the type had spread the rumour that his name was 'Lucy’ and surname 'Fer’ but Dean was pretty sure that wasn’t the case.

“He could just borrow notes from someone else.” John almost interrupted, not liking 'his boys to be out of line’ and his junior talk directly to Mr. Lucifer. “Please continue, Mr. Novak.”

“I apologise for disturbing again,” Dean bit his lips, speaking again, this time directly to Castiel, his eyes pleading though he didn’t 'mean’ to use his 'puppy-dog-eyes’. Meh, last straw. “But it’d really be helpful if you’d repeat the last point, you know, the one about statistics and…” He let his voice trail off meaningfully, his eyes showing that he knew what was being talked about. “I mean, it was a great conclusion, and I totally agree too, but, if you could…”

“Uh…” Castiel began uncertainly, looking at his seniors.

“Mr. Winchester, he just finished speaking.” Zachary spoke, almost rudely, to Dean. “You should’ve paid attention.” Dean looked almost outed. “There’s no reason why he should have to repeat.”

“There’s a reason.” An unknown voice rejoined, and it was a redhaired pretty woman who looked at Dean with clear warmth in her eyes. She was new, but spoke with authority. And she looked definitely 'interested’ in Dean. Dean returned the smile gratefully. “As Mr. Smith said, it was a great lecture, and even I would like for Mr. Novak to repeat, if he doesn’t mind.”

“I don’t..mind.” Castiel almost muttered, helpfully. Dean couldn’t help but notice just how different he was from when he had been speaking. He was confident then, and now, he was almost flustered-looking. Dean wondered why.

“Well, then, Mr. Novak, please continue.” Mary, a blonde woman sitting on one side of John said in a gentle voice. Although she looked to young for it, Dean often perceived her as motherly, which was problem he didn’t really have with girls usually. Also, it was rumored that she and John were a couple, although the guys had a hard time believing that someone like John Seville could have a girlfriend, like Mary Burns. They were too different, and in any case, in Dean’s opinion, John’s drill-sergeant-attitude wouldn’t really appeal to girls.

But he smiled, relieved, and nudged Sam, cocking his eyebrow at him, as if to say 'Look what I just did, Sammy, I’m awesome’. Sam smiled, with a sigh.

“Don’t forget to take notes this time, Mr. Wesson.” It was undoubtedly Lucifer.

Dean had a hard time stifling a chuckle as Sam glared furiously at his notepad, only muttering a, “Of course, Mr. Lucifer.”

And once again, Castiel began to speak, and this time, instead of focussing on how wonderful he sounded, Dean also listened in to what he had to say. He had to agree, Castiel’s speech had indeed been impressive; his knowledge on stats impeccable. Dean liked that on a man.

Wait, no, not in that way, his own mind ushered, not 'like’ like it. Just, like in a platonic professional sense. Obviously.

It was a good ten minutes before Castiel was done concluding, and he threw a small smile in Dean’s direction as he sat back down to enthusiastic applause. Dean replied with a smile instantly, but before he could realise what happened, Castiel had regained the slight frown and expressionless look he had been sporting since the start of the meeting, and looked away from Dean. Dean would’ve spent time thinking about it, if Lucifer had suddenly not suggested that they take a break.

“That is, of course, if Mr. Smith doesn’t need any repetitions.” Added Lucifer, standing up and smiling in Dean’s direction, which was odd for him, but Dean assumed it was only because Sam was sitting next to him.

“No, Mr. Lucifer, I think I’m satisfied.” Dean replied, jokingly, with a diplomatic expression, one masters after spending hours in conferences, over the years. As Lucifer stood up, the rest of the people around the table stood up too; a few walking out of the room to get to washrooms or canteens, and the others merely walking over to people they knew and talking.

“Dean,” the voice belonged to the only man there who’d take his name like that: John Seville. “I’d appreciate if you don’t disturb the meetings from now on in that manner.” He said, almost sternly.

“I’m sorry, I had no idea that you’d mind.” Dean replied earnestly. Meh, he was lying; of course he knew. He just knew John would prefer over-interest in the meeting rather than distractedness. He hated slackers. “It won’t happen again, sir.”

John merely nodded in reply, exiting the room with an air of business he always had around him.

Dean sighed, turning to Sam. “How smart am I?” He dimpled.

“Extremely smart, sir.” Sam replied, sarcastically.

“Since it’s my turn to speak now,” Dean looked at Sam’s notes. “I’ll be here preparing what I’ve gotta say. You can go and make out with Jess if you want.” Dean smiled cheekily.

“Yeah, no, I’m good.” Sam scowls back.

“Oh, I forgot,” Dean chuckled, not having forgotten at all. “Ms. Jessica Moore has refused to even talk to you during work hours.”

“It’s because it might risk our jobs.” Sam muttered. “You know, interoffice dating.”

“Or because she’s not interested in being seen in public with Bigfoot.” Dean offered, sitting down, and leaning against the backrest, taking Sam’s notes in his hand.

Sam replied with silence, busy gathering the papers on the table into Dean’s file.

“But there’s someone else who’s interested.” Dean whistled, seeing Lucifer approach them.

Sam perhaps saw who it was through the corner of his eye, and held the books to his chest, muttering to Dean, “That guy creeps me out. It’s like he’d always trying to get in my head or something, and he looks at me like the Devil. Tell him I needed to be somewhere.” He began to walk away.

“I’ll tell him you needed to use the little girl’s room.” Dean muttered back, knowing Sam didn’t hear, but taking pleasure in imagining the look on Sam’s face. Well, in any case, Lucifer stopped before reaching Dean, beginning to talk to Uriel instead. Whatever, Dean thought to himself, returning his attention to the pages in his hand, let Sam worry about his own love life.

Speaking of which, in spite of himself, Dean raised his head to look at Castiel. He had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and was talking to Hannah, the speaker from before, clearly engaged in an interesting animated conversation. It irritated Dean that they spoke in a way that Dean couldn’t hear Castiel speaking, and he found himself searching his brain for things related to the trenchcoated guy again.

“Hi.” A voice spoke from beside him. Dean turned his head to see the woman who’d helped him out from before.

“Hey.” Dean smiled back.

“Dean Smith, right?” She confirmed. Dean nodded, admiring how she looked even prettier from closer. “I’m Anna Milton. I believe we’re meeting for the first time.”

“We are.” Dean grinned. “All thanks to you, though. You’re new.” Dean added, feigning accusation. “I wouldn’t have minded knowing you before. I’d have enjoyed it, I’m sure.”

“You’re funny.” She giggled, but Dean recognised it as the 'obliging’ giggle. “And hardworking, I guess, judging by the amount of attention you pay to the speech?” She added, sarcastically.

“Was it that obvious?” Dean smiled, nodding his head.

“Not really, you did a good job hiding it, but I guess I read people.” She grinned again. “But then, I often get the feeling a lot of people here at 'Angels’ do too.”

“Uh-uh?” Dean muttered, suddenly finding himself more focussed on the fact that Castiel was laughing, a sound like thunder, and the sound was fascinating him. Dean wondered what had made him laugh. Was it something Hannah said?

“Yeah.” Anna didn’t notice, or at least pretended not to. “Well, it was nice to meet you.”

This time, Dean completely failed to register her words, his attention completely on Castiel, who was almost doubling over with laughter, and making a delightful sight. It almost seemed to prep some memory in his brain, some drunken memory. A bar scene…Castiel had been there…laughing, exactly like this…

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Anna repeated, louder, and Dean almost jumped.

He turned, and smiled awkwardly, embarrassed. “What?”

“I unconsciously do this thing where I say the same stuff in a far more complicated manner when people ignore me the first time.” She replied, good naturedly.

“I’m so sorry. I was just thinking something…” Dean turned his head, and hand to gesture with his eyes was he was talking about, when he stopped moving all of a sudden, his eyes fixed on Castiel. The latter had taken off his dark glasses, and his eyes could be seen now, and damn, Dean 'saw’ them. As beautifully blue as the sky, with the onyx black pupil standing out in the middle of the sea of blue, Castiel’s eyes both fascinated and surprised him. He found himself not being able to tear his gaze away from them, and all of a sudden, the part of Dean’s brain which was clouded (by lasting effects of alcohol) cleared, and everything made sense. Dean knew this man. He knew him too well.