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"...You were in Purgatory? Like, Purgatory, Purgatory?"
"No, the one in Miami."
"That's balls."
"No shit, Garth," Dean snorted then. He looked at the guy, sitting across the table with that smile of his somewhere between warm and knowing, finger wagging as he pointed at Dean with a twinkle in his eyes, but then somehow "are you sure? Because Mister Fizzles can tell when you're being a liaaaaaar!" catches and sticks in Dean's brain as a responding thought.
Something makes Garth grow serious. Maybe Dean had tensed up; if he did he's already pissed about it, because if it was anyone else joking with him - if it had been Sam, okay - he'd brush off or laugh and keep rolling. Because things are good, now. He'd gotten outta there, right? Hell yeah he did, grabbing hold'a Benny even if he couldn't save Cas...
But it's like Dean stops, for a long second. Like his body freezes and he can't breathe. His heartbeat is pounding in his ears and then he hears Garth's gentle tone of voice.
"That's rough, man. Even just knowin' a verrrry little bit about it, like I do. So I gotta ask," leaning forward with those soulful eyes looking kind and open as always, "You doin' all right, Dean?" Is asked. The guy's voice is a gentle drawl, and he's looking at Dean with his big eyes full of sincerity, and those huge hands on the table knobbly but strong and probably willing and ready to reach out and hold - whoa. Hold up.
Wait just a friggin second - Dean blinks hard, shakes his head, clearing his throat of the lump in it.
Here's Garth talking again; Dean notices he's shifted even closer, and they're at a diner where the booth seats are kinda like a semicircle so it's possible that Garth can swing himself around and get right on top of him - jeezus, cut it out! Cut the crap, Dean! A snarl lances through, echoes in his head, and if he was a little less adjusted, or if he was like Sammy last year hallucinating the devil, he'd probably clamp hands over ears and shake his head until the voice went away.
That being said, if he was to do so, Garth could pry his hands away, easy. "You're so strong," Dean whispers, or would if he doesn't know what's good for him. Even though Garth is a good guy, no a great guy - Dean doesn't THINK he'd knock him out just for having some ... thoughts. But still, they're- these, they're just rolling through his head because he'd been in Purgatory for a year. Yeah. He's just interested, or... Uh. Surprised by the fact that Garth clearly knows what he's talking about. Both in regards to Purgatory itself, aND the club.
Dean is very much not imagining Garth in the middle of a gay club, with those colorful lights flashing but the main ones low, and wearing some cargo pants or something without a shirt and messy hair, and he either wouldn't be drinking much or at all because it all hits him - he was a giggly drunk, Dean remembers. Affectionate. Sweet. They coulda gotten close, there. In the mostly dark of this hypothetical scene, and if Dean had a few shots of vodka or tequila in him... Not whiskey, that's blazing. He's too used to that. Tequila would probably just beat the crap out of his liver. But whatever happened, he wouldn't be sober, not completely. He doesn't want to be sober now, alone and alright, lonely, damnit - he's on the outs with Sam (or Sam is with him, he'd been acting cagey since going off alone on that one hunt, or whatever it ended up being). It's about the same level of frustration he'd had with soulless Sam, although Dean could stick around that version of his brother and minimize some of the damage particularly his smartass mouth could cause. Afterwards there was the whole stint of devil-visions, and now it's just... guilt. A huge steaming pile of it.
But he doesn't want to deal with the thought of Sam's guilt right now, guilty conscience which he deserves to have, not doing what they ALWAYS do to look for each other, bring each other back... The fact he can't stand being alone to the point that he's legitimately ready to open his mouth and spill his secrets to Garth. GARTH of all people. Which nothing against him, the guy can pull out a friggin sock puppet and get people talking....
Dean pushes his hands through his hair. It's a little longer, spikes a little different. More than it used to. He still feels like he's scrubbing dirt and blood and - whatever off his skin and outta his hair every time he takes a shower. "I, uh. Don't think so," he finally answers Garth's question, eyes flicking up to look at him.
Garth nods all serious and shit the way he does. Folds hands together before letting go and patting Dean's arm. Not his shoulder, and Dean's glad it's not his shoulder, because if he felt that he might just fall apart. "Well that's okay," he says in that warm voice of his. "An' seriously, hey. If you and Sam are buggin', you keep calling me. I'm happy to help y'all out."
Dean gulps. Why is it that he gets all choked up over things like this? He knows, if anybody offers to help him, but more importantly, Sammy, then he's a goner.
That, and. Garth saying that not knowing, or. Not being okay...IS okay. It makes him think of Cas, somehow. He thinks they'd like each other, if somehow there was any way they could meet. If Dean hadn't been such a fucking useless, all-too-human bastard, they might-
"Okay, whoa there," hands suddenly up and curved, palms facing Dean and steel-blue grey eyes full of concern, Garth says "Ya may think you're rough around the edges, but Dean, I won't sit here and let ya call yourself useless."
Oh, shit. Son of a bitch, he must've said that out loud. "Uh," Dean clears his throat. "Look Garth, it's not -"
"Not what? An issue? No big deal? Dean there's semantics fine as frog hair, and so I'm definitely missin' em...," Eyes bright he leans in, jabbing the tip of his finger to touch Dean in the center of the chest. "- but that's on purpose, 'cause I know some things about you, Dean Winchester. One, you could start a fight in an empty room." Dean's lips scrunch up as his eyes rise and eyebrows lift, and he nods a little. "And two," jabbing fingers into Dean's chest again to punctuate each word with emphasis "is that you - are - a - good - dude. You hear me?" His drawl is more pronounced even as his gaze gets steely. "You ain't some useless human, you're a damn good human, Dean." Leaning back with a satisfied nod, "And ya know what? I need you to hear this," Now shifting forward abrupt and sudden, Garth lifts one hand and practically grabs onto Dean's cheek. Dean nearly jumps out of his skin.
"Jeezus, Garth!"
"What, are my hands cold? Sorry. Also speakin' of cold I hope it's cool fer me ta hold onto ya, because you need to know this." He speaks in manner so incredibly focused, his eyes intent even as they are crinkled on the edges with smile lines. "I'm proud to call ya my friend," Garth says, and if anything he'd already said hadn't floored Dean, this would do so now.
He cannot believe his ears. "You know Bobby," he says to the other slowly. His lips are trembling. It's still hard, sometimes, to say the guy's name. "so you know a lot about us, plus whatever Sam and I have told you. But you still full honestly think I'm a good person?"
"Yup," Garth says
"That you're proud to call your friend?"
"Yup"
"Geeeyawddam-"
"Look I may love ya, Dean Winchester, but you better not put the lord's name in vain in your mouth."
Dean's eyes appear to glow almost as they pop wide. He gasps a little bit. "Wh-what the hell'd you say?" Dean's tone drops roughly from shock and confusion, and he makes a movement that could seem threatening, though it is actually nothing more than a reflex of surprise.
Garth clearly doesn't care; he doesn't even flinch.
"What is," the dude stands his ground. Metaphorically speaking, as he's still sitting down, leaning all into Dean's space and holding on to his friggin CHEEK - but he's still totally serious and remains unfazed as he says "You heard me. I love you."
Ordinary circumstances might have Dean nodding awkwardly or feeling uncomfortable, but he's ...frozen, now. All he can do is allow his eyes to flicker across the whole of Garth's face. Yup, he's serious. Still. And Dean can barely get the air to say anything, never mind to know -what cAN he say? He feels a rising warmth as much as acute stab of pain somewhere inside him. And it may be stupid, but the only thing he eventually manages to croak is, with a lick of his lips and drop of eyes, sincere in his own turn:
"Damn, Garth, I - thank you."
With that fully inadequate and ridiculous response, Dean can feel his ears get hot and just knows his entire face is flushing red too.
But Garth appears just as unfazed as before Dean spoke, on the contrary he smiles wide, eyes crinkling completely as his grin looks almost too big for his face. It pushes his cheeks up, and he moves his hands to pat the outside edges of Dean's shoulders before spreading arms.
"You're welcome, Dean. How bout a hug?"
And without any reluctance at all, Dean smacks his lips and nods, coming in to wrap his arms around Garth's slimmer shoulders and hang on. The guy is thin, almost gangly, but warm and so damn strong as he squeezes Dean back.
And since Purgatory, maybe for the first time, Dean feels himself relax.