{A.N. Hey guys new story! I'm still updating Burnt Wings & Broken Dreams but I'm kind of having a real Destiel moment and that story doesn't have any in it - it's more of a canon based story. So I thought I'd do a super AU one. I love the idea of Dean being a cop, I think it's like the closest real world occupation to hunting. So yeah, it's not Beta-ed so all mistakes are mine, feel free to let me know haha! But hope you like it!}

Chapter 1

Dean Winchester walked past the same diner everyday on his way to work. He lived two blocks from the precinct, the diner stood on the corner of 5th and Michigan Avenue, and the police station was on the corner of 4th and Michigan. Every morning he'd walk past the windows to see the same situation. A couple guys from the station were in there, tormenting the poor guy that ran it. He shook his head in disbelief as he saw one, his lieutenant, Zachariah, grab the waiter's arm as he walked past. It jerked the waiter to a standstill and Zachariah said something to him before roughly letting him go.

Dean sighed in disapproval and kept walking. He loved his job as a detective but there were still a bunch of people on the force that remembered the old days and liked them. Dean wasn't a stickler for rules, but he didn't see the amusement in hurting an innocent person on purpose. He supposed he'd already witnessed and had been the victim of mistreatment in the past – it came with the territory of being a gay cop. He'd been hazed brutally at the academy but had still managed to graduate with flying colours and be promoted to plainclothes detective in record time.

As he passed the second set of windows he looked in again and saw the unfortunate waiter walk past the booth full of Dean's so called workmates and see Uriel, the big African American who partnered with Crowley, the third in their group, slap the waiter on the butt. Dean knew from experience that Uriel hit hard and the fact was made abundantly clear when the blow caused the waiter to fall to his hands and knees. Dean stopped in his tracks debating his next move.

When he saw Uriel pull the waiter back on his feet with a huge meaty hand wrapped around the waiter's slim upper arm, his decision was made. He stalked back to the front door and opened it, the bell ringing. The group of cops and the waiter were the only people in the diner and they all turned to see him walk in.

"Hey Winchester, what the hell are you doing here?" Zachariah asked, leaning back in the booth and taking a sip of his coffee to prove he was completely at ease in the situation.

"You don't come in here," Uriel stated, his hand still holding the waiter's arm. "If he did, you'd be in trouble," he added to the waiter.

Dean took that moment to fully study the waiter in Uriel's grasp. He was shorter than Dean and much slighter, his dark hair was in an unruly mess, and, despite the fact that one was encircled in a fresh bruise, his eyes almost took Dean's breath away. They were the bluest eyes Dean had ever seen. And right now they were staring at him, a mixture of emotions swirling in their depths: pain, anger, fear. And hope.

"Uriel, why don't you let him go?" Dean asked calmly walking up so that he stood opposite the waiter next to Uriel's booth.

"Why? You want him all for yourself?" Crowley cooed sarcastically.

"Shut your hole, Crowley. Uriel, let the man go," Dean said, forcing as much authority into his voice as possible.

Zachariah drained his coffee cup and, instead of placing it back on the saucer he dropped it on the floor, the sound of the cup breaking making the waiter flinch. "Let's get out of here, boys, I think Winchester wants some alone time with our favourite waiter," he said.

Crowley and Zachariah got out from their side of the bench and Uriel jerked the waiter's arm out of his grip and stood up too. The three of them walked past Dean, Zachariah didn't even look at him, Crowley glared at him and Uriel brushed past him but at the ring of the bell at the door, they were gone. Dean turned back to the waiter who was watching them walk past the windows, rubbing his arm where Uriel had grabbed him.

"Are you alright?" Dean asked softly.

The waiter looked up at him and quickly started to clean up the mess the three men had left him. "I'm fine," he replied, in almost a whisper.

Dean crouched down and started picking up the pieces of the broken coffee cup and placing them carefully in his hand.

"Please, I'll do that," the waiter said, hurrying to deposit the crockery he collected into the sink and rushing back to where Dean stood with all the pieces in his hand.

"Just tell me where to put this," Dean said gently.

"Here," the waiter replied, holding out his own cupped hands. Dean sighed and cautiously deposited the broken pieces into the waiter's hands, their fingers brushing momentarily. The contact caused the waiter to inhale sharply and he looked up into Dean's hazel-green eyes for a split second before his gaze lowered once more to the floor and he walked behind the counter, dropping the pieces into the bin.

"My name's Dean. Dean Winchester. I work at the police station down the road," Dean offered, walking up the counter and leaning against it. He watched the waiter wash the used coffee cups vigorously and leave them to drain next to the sink. He wasn't sure if the waiter was even going to acknowledge his statement. He was about to turn and leave when he heard the waiter exhale softly.

"Castiel Novak," the reply finally came.

"Castiel," Dean repeated, trying out the interesting name. "Well, if you ever need help with those guys, call me, alright?" He pulled out his business card and offered it to Castiel.

The waiter approached him tentatively and hesitantly plucked the business card out of Dean's hand. It was then that Dean noticed his bruised knuckles.

"What happened here?" he asked, keeping the accusatory tone out of his voice.

Castiel quickly withdrew his hand and placed it and the business card into the front pocket of his apron. "N-nothing. I was clumsy, fell down."

"Is that how you got the black eye?" Dean asked, keeping his voice calm and steady. It was at this moment that he noticed Castiel's split lip. "And the busted lip?"

Castiel reached up with delicate fingers to gingerly touch the red cut on his lip. "Uh…yeah, I guess so," he replied. "You…you should go now. Thank you for before, but…but I need to get things ready for the lunch rush."

"Okay," Dean said, pushing off the diner's counter. "But you call me if anything happens alright. Anytime. I work one block that way and live two blocks the other way. I can get here pretty quick. Remember that okay, Cas? I can call you that yeah?"

Castiel didn't say anything but nodded his consent and turned back to the counter, pulling up a rag to start cleaning. Dean sighed and walked back out the door, the bell dinging as it opened and closed. When he walked past the windows again he chanced a glimpse back inside to see Cas watching him walk off.

Dean really did hope that Castiel would call him. He'd seen enough domestics to know exactly what was going on. The man was in a relationship that clearly was only working for one person, and that person wasn't Cas. But Dean couldn't very well help him without proof, and he couldn't help Cas if Cas didn't want to help himself. Dean sighed again, it was going to be a long day.


At ten o'clock that night Castiel was finally closing up the diner. The last few customers had just left and he'd locked the front door and pulled down the blinds on the door and windows so he could start cleaning. He truly was thankful for Dean Winchester that morning. That altercation was tame compared to other mornings alone with Crowley, Zachariah and Uriel. He didn't understand the unbridled hatred they had for him. If they disliked him so much, why didn't they just go to another diner for breakfast and coffee?

He angrily wiped at the tables, wincing as the movement made the dark bruise on his arm throb even more. He'd already looked at it a couple hours ago. Alastair was going to be mad that someone else had made a mark on him. A steady knock at the door made him jump. Speak of the devil…He took a deep breath and unlocked the door to come face to face with the older man.

"Castiel," Alastair murmured, winding a hand around the smaller man's waist and closing the door behind them. "How was your day?" he asked, locking the door. The sound made Cas swallow nervously.

"It was…good, Alastair," Cas said, trying not to cringe when the other man kissed his neck. "How…how was yours?"

"Crap," Alastair replied and Castiel froze.

"W-why?"

"Because the health inspectors want to look at this dump, day after tomorrow," Alastair replied, and Cas's insides twisted. "But I'm sure you can get it all nice and clean for them right?"

Cas nodded without hesitation, he didn't need to anger Alastair anymore.

"Are you done down here?" Alastair asked, gesturing to the tables.

"A-almost, if you go upstairs, I'll be right up, alright?"

Alastair's hand moved from Castiel's waist up to the back of his neck and he squeezed, forcing Cas's head backwards so that the smaller man was looking up at Alastair. "Don't be long," he said before harshly letting him go. With that, he stalked to the back of the restaurant, to the door marked 'Staff Only', through it and upstairs to their shared apartment.

Cas let out the breath he'd been holding and rubbed the back of his neck unhappily. There'd be more bruises there tomorrow. More ammunition for Zachariah and his cronies to taunt him about. He quickly finished cleaning the tables, put the sponge back next to the sink, hung up his apron and switched off the lights. Then, after taking a deep breath, he ascended the stairs, head hung low.

{A.N. Hey guys hit review! Tell me what you think!}