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Dean’s hands shake as he scrambles to pick up the empty plates and mugs from the table in front of him — a table at which Prince Castiel, heir to the throne of the kingdom, is currently sitting at.
This is a modest, small roadside inn, and Dean’s never served or seen anyone important, let alone a future king, with wide eyes as blue as the sky that follow each of Dean’s clumsy movement with a polite and amused curiosity.
“Dean, I have a proposition for you,” Prince Castiel says with a voice that rumbles low like gravel under a carriage wheel, and Dean braces himself for what’s to come — this is far from the first time a man says those words to him, but he doesn’t have the fondest memories of the times he’s said yes. “I would like you to come work for me, at the castle, as a servant — you can choose the position, either as a cook, or maid, or personal footman.”
Dean’s “yes” comes out of his mouth before he can even properly think about it — too relieved that Castiel hasn’t asked him to share his bed, and to have a way out of a job and a place that never felt like home.