Castiel works as a teller at his local bank, and Dean is a new mystery customer that brings in a wad of cash and crumpled singles once a week to deposit into his account.
Working as a bank teller was definitely a unique and interesting experience - and one that Castiel generally enjoyed.
Of course, there were always the customers that raised hell when they walked through the door, complaining about incorrect overdraft fees or loan interests, but for the most part, the people were pleasant and Castiel didn’t mind plastering a smile onto his face for five or six hours at a time.
He and the other tellers had their favorite customers that they always talked about, whether for the entertainment factor, or because they genuinely liked them.
There was the nice old woman who always updated the teller on her grandson’s theater career; the middle aged man who generally arrived drunk and so sure that he was a millionaire even though he wasn’t; the college-aged girl who came in with a different hair color every time; and a younger man who kept trying to convince the teller that he was haunted.
Yes, Castiel was sure that he’d seen it all - and then one day, Dean Winchester came through his line.
The moment Castiel looked up as the new face approached the counter, he was thrown off. Sandy and deliberately coiffed hair framed a perfectly symmetrical face that he was sure he’d seen on a famous statue in some museum or another. Soft green eyes blinked at him with an even softer smile as he leaned forward against the counter and tilted his head.
“Hey,” the man said, his voice almost as smooth as the marble his arms were resting against.
“Hello.” Castiel cleared his throat and smiled, praying to God that it looked natural. “How can I help you today, sir?”
The man pulled out his ID and slid it across the counter.
Dean Winchester, it read.