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Dean knew he shouldn't have left the Impala with Sam. So the kid had practically begged him, and there was no way he could afford his own car, so what? At least if the Impala'd gotten a flat, he could've popped on the spare. Even if Dean was so broke he couldn't afford new tires or a friggin oil change at Jiffy Lube, his baby always made a damn fine bed, had roof to keep the rain out.
He gave the tank of his bike a pat. Okay, maybe that wasn't fair, to call the Impala his baby like that, not right here while he was sitting on the Harley. Even silently, he didn't want to inspire any sibling rivalry that would make the situation any worse. But shit, he was cold.
It was late Spring and Dean was caught somewhere in the bumfuck woods of Appalachia, on the side of a narrow, quiet highway, waiting for just one charitable tourist to come by and notice his distress. It was a pathetic, but not all that new, situation for him, not knowing quite where he was, unprepared for the complete lack of cell signal in the middle of nowhere, alone and helpless. In fact, it was something he usually kind of considered fun when it didn't last too long. Of course, he'd been sitting here listening to the birds for almost an hour, and he was actually starting to feel like the situation might be a bit ridiculous. Just how lost was he?
Then, there it was, like the sound of rain coming after a long drought (well, maybe not that dramatic, he just had rain on the brain). Dean jumped off the seat of the bike, jogging the few feet back to the road, and looking down each end of the stretch until he spotted the origin of that engine growl. Finally, way down the direction he'd come from so long ago, a truck began to appear, coming around the curve. It was the first time Dean had even entertained the thought of harsh redneck stereotypes, because after an hour with no traffic the first thing he saw was a boxy, ancient, rusting Ford truck, with an engine that sounded more and more like an earthquake the closer it got. It was slowing down before he realized it, and he was stepping back to the bike as it ambled onto the shoulder in front of him.
It idled there, Dean not really sure how to approach the situation, suddenly feeling a little weird about being from out west, and about this being his first real south-east experience. Fortunately, the man whose head suddenly emerged from the driver side window didn't look like he went with the truck in the least.
"Hey, are you alright?" Okay, the voice was a little weird. Not southern, but almost as rough as the sound of the truck's engine. Seriously, was the tailpipe spewing diesel or something? He shook his head with a grin. Weird shit like this was why he lived for the road. He strode up to the truck, wariness replaced by interest with a quick thrill of adrenaline.
"I had a blowout, and I can't get a signal on my phone," he explained. Close up, the guy was pale, not quite clean shaven, and his black hair was sticking up in a shit ton of angles, all of which screamed "I just had sex." Maybe not an appropriate thought just now. An elbow hooked over the door, he raised one dark eyebrow at Dean.
"Your tire went out on the straight away and you managed to get it over to the shoulder?" he looked past Dean, presumably to where his Harley was parked, neat and pretty even if its back end was leaning low. Dean grinned sheepishly, only a little impressed with himself, and mostly feeling damn lucky about that one.
"Yeah, it was a Christmas miracle, dude," he answered. The guy actually smirked, and Dean found himself grinning.
"Well I can give you a lift to a decent mechanic. I might be the last person coming down this way for a while," he finally offered. Dean craned his neck to the bed of the truck, seeing that it was conveniently empty.
"I'd really appreciate it, man," replied, finally deciding to go with it. Not that he really had another option.
"No problem. Happy to help," the guy said, finally turning off that loud ass engine and getting out of the truck. The door opened with creak and shut with a scraping sound. Dean couldn't help himself if he gave the guy a once over, taking in the muddy steel-toed boots, the worn out jeans and the completely incongruous red t-shirt emblazoned with a picture of The Smiths, the side of Morrissey's face just hardly covered by the edge of a blue flannel shirt. Dean could've winced but he restrained himself, and just unzipped his leather jacket. At least he felt like he could kick the guy's ass if he turned out to be some kind of weirdo. He followed the Smiths fan to the back of the truck and watched him drop open the tailgate and reach into the bed, sliding out a mud-crusted aluminum ramp and dropping its edge to the ground.
"I hardly ever use this thing," the guy said conversationally.
"Yeah, it is kind of crazy how lucky it is that you came along with this truck," Dean replied, a little weirded out by the turn of events, and a little amazed that this guy just happened to have a high-end, care-worn loading ramp installed in the back of his ancient truck. But, stranger things had happened.
"Do you need help rolling it over?" Miracle Truck Man asked.
"Getting it onto the bed, probably," Dean called back as he jogged over to his second baby, kicked up the kickstand and pushed her wobbling bulk around to the back of the truck. Truck Guy lifted himself onto the bed of the truck with more ease than his kind of slim frame seemed capable of. Dean pushed the heavy Road King most of the way up the ramp and Sex Hair pulled it the rest, managing to maneuver it gently onto its side in a way that it wouldn't have too much trouble with the rough truck bed. Dean wasn't going to complain about a lack of straps at this point. He hopped back down to stow the ramp and shut the tailgate. He immediately went back to the cab, and Dean followed his lead, clambering into the passenger seat as the engine whined before it turned over and finally roared to life again.
"Hey, I'm Dean, by the way," he said, pulling off a driving glove to offer a hand to his savior.
"Cas," the man replied, taking his hand slowly but shaking it firmly. For some reason, it took Dean a while to pull away. Cas was immediately back to putting the truck in gear and getting them back on the road.
"That short for something? Like Casanova?" Dean asked over the growl of the engine. He was rewarded with that smirk again.
"It's short for Castiel," he answered, not bothering to look at Dean. Dean knew that the scenery around here was really something, but he couldn't seem to get his eyes off Castiel and to a window.
"What kind of name is that?" Dean asked. It wasn't exactly the first name that came to mind for country folk.
"I was named after an angel." Oh, well. Bible belt. That made more sense. Dean was immediately prepared to back pedal. He was an atheist and not great at lying about it.
"Don't worry, I'm a pretty passive bible thumper," Castiel deadpanned, "I mean, you noticed the rosary hanging from the rearview, right?" His tone was so dry that Dean's eyes actually flicked to the mirror, even though he knew there was nothing swaying there except for an old faded strawberry-shaped air freshener. Dean snorted.
"You don't really sound like you're from around here," he remarked.
"Neither do you," Castiel answered easily, his tone flat but somehow friendly. Dean was a little bewildered. Nothing about this guy made a whole lot of sense. He was good looking, if a little nerdy, driving a truck fit for a coon hunter, wearing a shirt that announced his love of whiny chick music, and quicker than a whip crack. Not exactly what he was expecting to find the first time he met a local out here. Fortunately, Castiel took pity on him.
"I'm originally from New Mexico. My family moved out here when I was in middle school," he explained. Alright, then the angel name was either a Catholic thing or a hippie thing. Dean could deal with that. Castiel glanced over at him.
"What about you? First time east?"
Dean nodded, impressed. "Yeah, actually."
Castiel gave a rough chuckle. "Someone tell you what a good ride it is up here?"
Dean shrugged. "Didn't have anything going on, thought I might check it out." He smirked, "Shoulda known better than to trust a harmless old country road."
Castiel laughed. "No, this place'll chew you up if you're not careful."
Dean nodded, not sure how to take that. But, looking over at Castiel, he just looked kind of satisfied about it. Either he'd avoided the chewing or he liked it in the belly of the beast.
Then Dean realized they were stopping, Castiel downshifting with a screeching and growling of gears, and bringing them to a masterfully smooth stop in front of an open garage. It wasn't a big shop, just a couple of bays, set back into a tree-crowded hill, a little attached office with a big window and a lot of oil stains and scraps littered around. "Singer Auto" was painted in fading black letters across the top of the concrete facade.
Dean's driver left the truck on this time as he hopped out, and Dean was quick to follow.
"Just tell Bobby I found you out on Newfound Road and he'll do what he can. Might be a little rough at first, but he's a good man," Castiel said as he helped Dean get the Harley back out of the truck. Dean appreciated the way he handled the big bike with confidence and care, and couldn't help being a little amused at the seriousness with which he described his friend. All too soon, Dean was standing next to his Road King and watching Castiel slam the tailgate and wipe his hands on his jeans. That damn Smiths shirt, Dean thought. What a weird guy. He didn't even know he was grinning and staring until Castiel grinned back.
"Good luck with the bike. I hope this hasn't turned you off the area; tourism is our main industry out here," even though his tone was dry, Dean could tell he was making a joke. A bad one, but that's what it was.
"Nah, I'm already having a good time," he answered. Despite his bad fortune and the expenses ahead of him, it was true. Castiel paused.
"Good," he nodded. It was almost awkward, mostly because it wasn't. "Take care, Dean. Maybe I'll see you around." Dean knew it wasn't likely, the way he said it told him as much, but he did like the idea more than he probably should. He watched him get back into the truck, the door creaking and scraping shut.
"Thanks a million, Cas!" he called, and he knew it had carried over the sound of the engine and through the window when Castiel turned to him with the sexiest, smuggest smirk Dean had ever seen before quickly reversing and finally driving off.
Dean felt like he might as well have laid his bike down when that tire blew, scraped down a mile of highway and parked himself in the middle of tree, because that's about as raw as he was feeling.
"Hey, you lookin' fer something?" somebody barked, and Dean whirled around. There was a grime-streaked, bearded old man wearing a glare and a trucker hat and staring straight at Dean.
"Yeah, sorry, I need a little help with my bike," he answered.
"What you standin' over there fer, then?" Dean shrugged and the man rolled his eyes dramatically. "Well, come on, idjit, roll that poor sucker over here, and don't make me wait all day." The man who Dean thought was definitely Bobby waved a hand lazily and turned to disappear back into the garage, muttering what sounded like, "Dad blam tourists." Dean smirked, remembering what Cas had said. Definitely a little rough.
***
Cas wasn't completely right about the "a little rough at first" bit; Bobby never stopped being rough, even after he'd proved to be a good guy.
It was the longest Dean had stayed in one place for a long time. At first, it was about the bike, and about Dean working at Bobby's so he could pay off the repairs. Or, about Bobby noticing that Dean wasn't a bad mechanic himself, and wanting to keep somebody like that around for a while. But, after two months the bike was fixed, and Dean was still at the garage, rebuilding the carburetor of a '77 Chevy K10 pickup. It was amazing how much interesting work Bobby had given him, outside of the numerous oil changes, alignments and the like. He was actually enjoying himself at Singer Auto, more than he had in a long time. And, it seemed like the locals were enjoying him too. He'd acquired a certain ability to lay on the charm in his years of drifting from place to place, and Bobby was putting him to work dealing with customers when he didn't feel like it. Dean had a coworker who was one of the cutest girls he'd ever seen, but she was rougher around the edges than Bobby, as impossible as that might've seemed,
"Hey, Tiny Dancer!" Jo barked from across the garage, her voice almost drowned out by the loud country music pumping through the radio.
"Thanks, Sarah. Do you need a receipt?" He asked the woman in front of him, ignoring Jo and the look their customer shot her.
"That's alright. Thanks," Sarah answered, picking up her new set of high-end wipers and giving a faint wave as she hurried out of the shop.
"Have a good one," Dean called after her, waiting until she was gone before turning a glare on Jo.
"Who you callin' tiny, midget?" he shouted back. Jo rolled her eyes and turned away from him.
"Just get that ass over here and help me with this jack," she called.
"Yeah right, you could probably lift that damn Honda with your bare hands. Don't think I'm gonna fall for that damsel in distress crap," he answered. Shooting a glare over her shoulder at him, he watched her pull the tie out of her hair and put it back up in a tighter bun, smudging dirt through her bright blonde locks. If he wasn't sure she was five kinds of "don't fuck with that" he'd say she was just his type. As it was, any attempts at flirting on his part had been shot down by brutal and often graphic commentary on hers. He was clearly there to act as a punching bag and source of amusement for her. He'd learned early on that she didn't care that he was a better mechanic than her, as long as he didn't try to help or offer her advice. That was punishable by several hours of menial tasks and, once, the wasting of some good synthetic oil when she decided he could use a "scalp treatment."
"Just suck it up and keep her happy, son," Bobby growled, slapping Dean hard on the back as he came out of his office and stalked to the other side of the garage. Dean saw Jo smirk on the other side of him, and rolled his eyes before making his way over to her.
"I've got some errands to run. I'll be back in a few hours. Don't tear the place apart while I'm gone, y'hear?" Bobby didn't wait for a response before grabbing up a set of keys and stalking back through his office and out of the building.
Dean was at the back of the Honda with Jo. She'd already positioned a jack under the vehicle and he watched as she retrieved a set of jack stands. The overhead lift had been broken since before Dean got there.
"I just need to check the rotors real quick," she said, "You jack this sucker up and I’ll place the stands." Not the easiest way probably, but Dean wasn't about to argue with her. He struggled to get the old jack moving and pumped it until the hatchback was coming off the shop floor. After a second the rear end was a couple of feet in the air. Jo placed the stands and waved her hand for him to lower the car onto them. He slid the jack out and looked up for her next order but she was already walking away.
"What're you doing?" he asked, a little irritated at being abandoned.
"Take a look for me, wouldja sweetheart?" she called back sweetly without turning. Dean rolled his eyes as she fiddled with the radio.
Whenever Bobby left for more than an hour she would change the station from the twanging country ballads he liked. She said country music was depressing because it was all guys singing about how their alcoholism lost them their women or wrecked their trucks, and Dean half agreed, but he wasn't the kind of guy to question his boss' quirks. Although, even if he wouldn't admit it, the fact that Jo's favorite station was classic rock and not Christian or the popular mix station that played the same twelve songs over and over kind of impressed him. He always worked a little better with some Sabbath in the background.
He glanced at the Dale Earnhardt clock situated high on the back wall before crouching down to shine a flashlight under the Honda. Sadly, he even knew that they were still early enough to catch the tail end of Rock 102 "The Map"'s morning show, "Taking the Highway" with Gabe and Anna. Despite the cheesy name, it was actually pretty funny.
"Alright, Cupcake, I'll take it from here," Jo was already back at his side as the station played through a commercial for a carpet cleaning service in Greensboro. He got out of her way so she could start disassembling part of one wheel, and went back over to where he had been working on the carburetor less than an hour ago. He was content to look busy while listening to Gabe make jokes about the latest celebrity faux pas while Anna dryly objected to most of what he said in a soft voice that hardly ever matched the tone of her words.
It was four hours before Bobby finally came back and yelled at Jo for changing the radio station. By then it was on to Two Timing Tuesday, a program that played two songs from the same band back to back, and they were half way through "The Magic Bus" by the Who when it was abruptly cranked back to the warbling of Dolly Parton. Jo's face was pinched into a pout but Dean just shrugged. At least Dolly was hot.
Bobby told him to go home not long after that, saying he was too quiet and it was creepin' him out. Dean figured he probably just thought Dean was spending too much time at the shop, or didn't want to pay him for the extra hours. Either way, he didn't argue, dragging his grubby ass around to the back of the garage and hopping on his bike for the short drive home.
Home. He'd had quite a few of those and this one wasn't any different. After the first month, when he realized Bobby wasn't going to fire him any time soon, he'd given in and moved out of his hotel room and into a rental house. Well, his boss had practically strong armed him into it. Dean briefly wondered if it was just because he wanted to help out the gorgeous woman who was renting out the cabin, but Bobby really wasn't a devious guy and Lisa was Dean's age with a seven year old in tow. Dean had a huge crush on the single mom and loved the kid, Ben, but he wasn't dumb enough to jeopardize the great deal she was giving him. She was probably too smart for him anyway, and Dean had decided she wasn't going to make a move on him because she'd correctly interpreted his request for a month-to-month lease as a desire to be able to leave any time he wanted. She'd still managed to force him to come over for dinner more than once without making it weird or trying to become his best friend. Even though he hadn't known her for a long time, he could tell it was just in her nature, and that she must've taken care of a drifter or two before he got there.
She was out in her vegetable garden when he got home, the one that looked like it was trying to force its way through his kitchen window. She waved as he rode past, down the driveway and around to the back of the cabin, where he always parked the Harley out of sight. A lot of time in bad neighborhoods had helped him build up a few cautious habits that he couldn't shake, even in a place where most people didn't even lock their doors at night. Back on his feet, he pulled off his helmet and unzipped his leather jacket, setting the helmet down on the stoop of the back door and picking up a black tarp he kept under the awning. He covered the Road King with care, making sure it was nice and neat before turning toward the door.
"Hey, Dean, hold up!" Lisa called, rushing out from the other side of the building. Her ponytail swung behind her, the skin above the collar of her t-shirt shimmering with sweat and her hands dusted with black soil. God, Dean loved a natural woman who didn't mind getting her hands dirty. She paused at his expression, raising an amused but wary eyebrow.
"Hey, Lisa," he replied sheepishly, pulling off his gloves.
"Hi, Dean," she smiled, "Dinner plans tonight?" It was like she almost hoped he had some, because that would mean he was starting to have a social life in this town. But of course, all he had was a handful of visits to a biker bar on the highway, the Roadhouse, where the owner and her employees were a little too weird to call friends.
"Nope," he answered. No need to lie. They'd done this one before and Lisa's cooking was awesome.
"Well I'm making enchiladas if you feel like crossing the yard," she offered.
"Sounds fantastic. What time do you want me?" he asked. She grinned at his flirtatious, intentionally juvenile phrasing, and glanced at her watch.
"I have to pick up Ben soon, but we should be back around four, and you can come over any time after that. Even help if you're feeling generous," she answered, half decisive and half playful.
"Alright," he nodded, "I'll be there."
"Great, see you in a bit," she said, sounding satisfied and taking several steps backward before she stopped, remembering something. "Oh, and, Dean?"
"Hm?" his hand was on the doorknob.
"No more glorious nomad stories, okay? My son's already a little too in love with you," she teased.
"No problem," he laughed, "See you later." He opened the back door and she waved before walking back the way she'd come. No strings attached enchiladas. Damn, Dean loved this place.
***
"That's it for the Overlook on Rock 102, The Map. I'm Cas Nagant, and thanks for listening, folks. Have a pleasant drive." Cas waited for the engineer in the next room to give him the all clear signal before pulling off his massive, antique headphones. It seemed like the station hadn't updated their technology since Elvis' early days, and the thick band always caught in his hair and pulled it in forty different directions. Not that he needed any help looking unprofessional.
He stretched his legs out under the desk before standing up to leave the booth, and was caught in the shoulder by the sudden swinging inward of the door.
"Dammit, Gabriel," he cursed as the smaller man pushed into the room, not looking all that worried about the damage he'd just inflicted on his coworker. Gabriel ignored him, slamming the door and putting his back against it as if he was trying to keep someone out.
"What are you doing? Josh has to get in here in a minute to start the next set. Would you move?" Castiel objected roughly. Gabriel was always looking for new ways to piss people off, and Cas had been his victim far too often.
"Shut up and listen to me for two seconds," Gabriel answered, his mouth curved into a deep frown of determination as he looked up at the impatient face Cas was making. Cas couldn't remember the last time he'd seen him looking so serious, and they'd been working together for almost eight years.
"What?" he asked, crossing his arms. He still didn't really trust that this wasn't a prank Gabriel was pulling just so he could have something to talk about on tomorrow's morning show.
"Y'know, you're cold as ice for a guy who makes his living mixing soft rock playlists. And here I am, trying to be a good guy and warn you that your old pal Balthazar is about to come down the hall in about five minutes and, if you want to avoid him, you better run like hell." Cas froze for one sharp moment before reacting.
"Why the hell are you standing in front of the door, then?" he growled, shoving the small man out of his way and flinging the door open so he could flee. He was half way down the hall before Gabriel called after him.
"Don't go that way, idiot!" he shouted. Cas immediately stopped short and sprinted down the hall in the opposite direction.
"Thank you, Gabriel," he said as he passed by.
"Yeah, whatever, Girl Rock," Gabriel called back as Cas disappeared around the corner. He didn't even go all the way into the lounge, just reached around the door to grab his coat off the rack and practically ran the rest of the way out of the station. If someone needed him, they were just going to have to call. Hopefully Gabriel would cover for him.
In the parking lot, he stalked to his truck, throwing his coat across the passenger seat before starting her up. She was sounding louder than ever. He probably should go get a fancy new hybrid or something, but he'd inherited the old F-100 from his father, and wasn't quite ready to let it go.
Once on the highway, he realized he couldn't go back to his apartment. He didn't want to risk a visit from Balthazar, especially since Cas had never managed to ask for his copy of the key. Balthazar had moved across the country almost a year ago, so he hadn't really been worried that he would use it, even if Cas had had a rough month or two where he was lonely as hell and almost wished he would. But, for the greater part of him, he really never wanted to see Balthazar again. It had been too good while it lasted, too shamefully easy, and it had been too late before Cas realized he didn't want to spend the rest of his life with Balthazar, and he didn't want to move to Chicago.
It had been a hell of a fight, and Castiel wasn't interested in reconciliation.
He wasn't sure how he wound up on the interstate, but he did. Maybe it was instinctual, to head back out to the country. He hadn't lived out in King's Bend in almost ten years, but somehow he hadn't really managed to stay away since they'd moved there. It was kind of like going back to the cradle, he guessed.
He had a plan. A sloppy, improvised, probably terrible plan, but at least he had one. He reminded himself of that as he shut the truck door and felt the crunch of gravel under his boots. A couple of cicadas were starting to chirp, warning that the sun was about to set, and he might've smiled under other circumstances. He walked up to the little well-kept house, hopping up the creaky wooden stairs and finally to the door. He took a second to collect himself, and knocked. "Let's hope she's in a good mood," he thought.
He heard Ben shout first, somewhere from the back of the house, maybe the kitchen, and Lisa shout back, probably to tell him to stay in his seat. Her footsteps pattered toward the door and he braced himself. The last thing he expected was the calm male voice telling Lisa he'd get it before the front door opened.
Dean stopped short at the sight of Cas in the doorway, watching as his pale face ran the gambit from surprised, to pleased, to confused and then to wary.
"De-" he started.
"Cas!" Lisa appeared behind Dean, her face breaking into a smile when she saw who was at the door. She squeezed past Dean and threw herself into Castiel's arms. Dean raised an eyebrow and Castiel gave him a tight grin over her shoulder as if to say, "Sorry about this." As soon as she pulled away, Ben was barreling down the hall and pushing his way between Dean and Lisa.
"Uncle Castiel!" For the first time, Dean saw Cas' face break into a real smile as he leaned down and swept Ben up into a big hug, his lanky legs swinging a couple of feet off the ground. Dean had seen Ben struggle out of this kind of embrace with Lisa, so he was surprised when he just curled his arms around Castiel's neck and squeezed as hard as he could.
"Goodness gracious, kid, have you been working out?" He asked, and Ben pulled away to look at him, apparently not disturbed by the idea of Dean seeing him being held like a toddler.
"Dean's been showing me how to box," he answered enthusiastically, and Castiel turned back to the other two adults in time to see Lisa punch Dean hard on the arm, and him wince.
"Oh, Dean this is my older brother, Castiel. Cas, this is Dean Winchester," Lisa said, as if she'd just remembered that they hadn't met. Dean's eyebrows went up in recognition and Cas lowered Ben back to the ground so he could offer Dean a hand. Dean looked down at it.
"Nice to meet you formally, Dean," Cas said, and Dean sensed he was still a little uncomfortable.
"Nice to see you again, Castiel," he answered, finally taking the other man's hand and struggling to match his tough grip.
"Oh, so... you've met?" Lisa asked, frowning. As Cas pulled his hand away, Dean felt a sudden urge to explain himself. Instead, Cas explained things for him.
"I picked Dean up on the road after he had a blowout a couple of months ago," he answered. Dean was pretty sure he wouldn't have been able to sum it up that easily.
"Oh, that was you? Wow, what a small world. I can't believe we hadn't figured this out by now," she said, smiling at the pleasant surprise.
"It's because Uncle Cas never comes to visit any more," Ben offered. Lisa gave him a soft smack to the back of the head.
"Go back in there and finish your dinner, troublemaker," she ordered, gesturing for him to get back in the house. Cas reached a hand out to ruffle his hair as he went inside obediently.
"What are you doing here, Cas?" she asked, leaning against the doorjam. Dean didn't miss the way Cas' eyes flicked to Dean's face before he answered Lisa.
"I dunno, I just... hadn't been around in a while and thought I'd swing by. If I'd known you had company..." Lisa looked at her watch and back up at Castiel.
"But it's Tuesday. Didn't you have a set today?"
"Yeah, but I actually managed to get out of the station on time today. I didn't have any plans, it was just kind of a spontaneous trip," he answered.
"Are you a musician or something?" Dean interrupted, too curious to stay out of the conversation. He'd been wondering about Cas a lot more than he thought was normal, and in ways he thought might've been too awkward to mention. Bobby was a relatively dry source of information, if it wasn't obvious from the fact that he hadn't even mentioned that he was setting Dean up in a rental owned by the dude's sister. Cas' eyes narrowed in amusement and he gave him a smile that hardly hinted at the smug look Dean thought he remembered from last time.
"No, I'm a DJ," he answered, "At a station in Asheville."
"Oh really? What station?" Dean couldn't help asking.
"Rock 102-"
"The Map," Lisa interrupted him, "The only station we get around here that's not country, christian, or public radio." She laughed, "But Cas is in charge of the three hour chick rock playlist, so it's hardly an improvement."
"Wow, that's so funny. We listen to it in the garage sometimes," Dean said, grinning a little at the absurd idea that he'd been listening to the station so often yet never managed to catch his show or ad recordings. Dean knew he would've recognized that obscenely deep voice of his if he'd heard it.
"And now that we're getting to the chit-chat," Lisa said, reaching out to hook her arm around Cas' and pull him toward the door, "Get in here before the hot meal I slaved away on goes to waste."
Cas almost opened his mouth to object, but Dean's grin stopped him short.
"I helped," Dean said proudly before shutting the door behind them. Cas laughed.
***
Not only did Cas not get out of a dinner that was obviously awkward entirely because of him, he ended up having to do the dishes.
But, even with the huge weight of Balthazar resting on his mind, it wasn't all bad.
Lisa came up beside him as he was scrubbing a plate, setting another glass next to him before resting her hand on his forearm and stretching up to give him a kiss on the cheek. He was obliged as a brother to grimace and shy away, but ended up grinning once she'd rolled her eyes and turned to walk back out of the room. Being around Lisa was a good reminder that somebody still loved him despite the fact that he was selfish and approached all of his relationships with a tendency toward negligence.
"Wait, she's not looking, right?" he heard Dean whisper conspiratorially from the doorway behind and resisted the urge to turn around. "Cool, here, you sure you can do it?"
"Of course I can!" was Ben's barely hushed response.
"Alright, let's go. Hang on. Take this too."
"Whoa!" Ben sounded way too pleased for this to be anything good.
"Go on, take it over to him," Dean encouraged. Cas finally turned when he felt Ben approach.
"Are you insane?" it was his first instinct to shout. Dean had somehow managed to stack all the remaining dishes into a perilous tower wobbling over the top of his nephew's head and sliding slightly on the plate that was its base. He quickly reached out to remove the stack of glasses, scrambling to drop them into the sink with soap-slicked hands. He turned back for the rest of the dishes to find Dean behind Ben, doubled over and laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world. He sighed and rolled his eyes, turning back to the sink.
"Alright, nice job, kid." Dean said after a moment, and Cas heard them slap high fives. "Better get back out there and look innocent," he added.
"Right," Ben agreed. Cas heard him run back out of the room.
"What, wasn't that the least bit awesome?" Dean asked beside him. Cas turned his best unamused expression on him. The little half of a smile he got in return was almost enough to break his resolve. Dean leaned back on the counter and waved a finger at him.
"My little brother has an expression just like that. I call it the bitchface," Dean said, as if there was nothing insulting about calling someone's expression akin to that of a bitch. Cas almost laughed.
"Little brother?" he couldn't help asking.
"Yeah, his name's Sam," Dean answered, turning around to face the same way as Castiel. "Guess you kind of know what that's like," he added thoughtfully, "Although I bet Lisa was a little easier to handle than Sammy."
"When I wasn't beating the boys off of her," Cas replied. Dean chuckled.
"Yeah, I bet that was rough." Castiel turned to see him staring back out of the room thoughtfully. He couldn't help the turn his mind took then.
"Do I need to get my old bat out again, Dean?" Dean's head swiveled back to him, a surprised look on his face as if to say, "Who, me?" Cas smirked and turned back to the sink, cool as a cucumber as he added, "My batting average in high school was... impressive."
"Oh, wait, for me? No, no, no," he immediately objected. "We're just friends, I swear. Well, and, you know, renter-rentee or whatever."
"Good," Cas answered, and the tone it came out with was a little different than he'd intended. A little more relieved than amused. Well, if this situation wasn't getting more and more confusing by the second. Dean snorted.
"Although, I gotta tell you, man, I wouldn't be so sure of yourself there," he said, his voice low. Cas refused to turn and find out what kind of look Dean was giving him, blindly slotting several dishes into the strainer.
"As I recall, I did much of the heavy lifting when we moved that bike of yours," he answered.
"Yeah, but I'm scrappy." Cas finally looked over to find Dean wiggling his eyebrows and grinning smugly. He couldn't help letting out an amused huff and smiling back.
"Mm," Dean's eyes shifted, and Castiel realized they had been staring at each other for some time. He coughed and turned away. Not exactly what he needed right now. He could've blushed, feeling embarrassed that his usually astounding ability to control himself was currently failing miserably.
"Have you been able to get out and ride much since you got your bike fixed?" he asked. He was a DJ, he ought to be able to come up with something to fill the silence. There was a tiny pause before Dean answered.
"No, I don't really know where to go. And Bobby's been keeping me pretty busy," he said. Cas was putting the last of the dishes in the strainer. Cas glanced at him.
"Do you ride? I mean, I've been wondering if you ever manage to get out on something that doesn't sound like it's about to rattle apart," Dean practically rambled.
"No. I don't have a bike. I mean, I used to when I was in college, but unfortunately I had to sell it," Cas answered, draining the sink.
"Really?" Dean asked, sounding genuinely surprised that Castiel was ever the biker type. "What kind of bike was it?"
"Suzuki Intruder 800," he answered automatically, not even offended. Even if he was athletic, sporting three days worth of stubble, and struggling in an off-again, on-again relationship with alcoholism, he couldn't deny that he was also kind of a nerd, gay, and yes, cared about the color of window treatments and accent rugs, which he had.
"Nice," Dean said appreciatively. Cas glanced at him, and the way Dean was giving him a once over was obviously just in the service of imagining how Cas would've matched up to a bike that size. Even so, Cas found himself thinking a little less purely. When Dean looked up and caught him staring, Cas couldn't look away. What the hell.
"Aren't you done in here yet?" Lisa asked loudly as she strode into the kitchen. Cas was immediately back to facing the sink.
"Yeah, actually. I guess I oughtta head out soon," Dean answered after a pause, and Cas watched him step away from the counter out of the corner of his eye.
"Alright, thanks for coming over and further corrupting my son," she joked.
"No problem. Thanks for having me," he answered.
"Any time," she said, and Cas turned around to find her smiling up at Dean. He knew her well, so he knew that smile. She liked him, a lot, but she thought he was more trouble than he was worth.
"Tell Ben I said bye," Dean said, moving toward the back door. He looked up, locking eyes with Castiel, "Maybe I'll see you around, Cas," he smiled, and Cas couldn't help his own smug grin.
"Take care, Dean," he answered. Dean shook his head as he left, still smiling.
***
Cas got away with that first night by the skin of his teeth. Somehow, Lisa didn't even grill him for information or suspect his motives. Actually, the way she just seemed so happy to see him made him feel pretty guilty for not visiting more often.
Gabe was still helping him, if grudgingly. He told Cas when it was safe to go home because Balthazar was at the station, then when it was safe to go into the station for spot recording because Balthazar was elsewhere. It was pathetic. Cas knew it was pathetic, but he'd already bought his ticket on this train and planned to ride it to the end of the line. The fact that he kept reminding himself of how fucked up and broken he was, how dreadfully unsuited he was to like a guy beyond anything but a quick pick up, was only helping him dig the hole deeper. It was like, if it was just maybe a bad idea to want to ask out the strange guy who was apparently renting his old house, he wanted to be sure said guy never ever even considered Castiel a viable option.
Of course, that meant he was definitely not begging another night off Lisa. No, Cas liked Dean way too much for that, and he'd known the moment they met that Dean would be an easy play for him. Good guys were always too easy.
Cas was sitting in the booth, nursing a cup of coffee while playing through someone's request for I Need to Know by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. Not only was the thought of someone requesting this song for someone else depressing, the whole "going solo" thing hit a little too close to home. He really didn't think it would be fun explaining just how single he was to Balthazar, since he was pretty sure he'd screamed something about guys like him being a dime a dozen last time they'd seen one another. And since Gabe was the closest thing to a friend Cas had, and that was a stretch in itself, he was also in a bit of a panic over being solo and going back to his apartment tonight.
He really didn't think he was being all that psycho in thinking that Balthazar would be waiting for him. After all, they'd been together for five years, so Castiel knew him pretty well. That kind of tricky, dramatic setup was just his style.
Cas still didn't feel like talking to anyone, even if he couldn't see them, so he queued up Down the Road by BTO and decided to air a spot and a commercial for his exit. Whoever was coming in next (because he was so far off today that he couldn't remember who it was) would pick it up. He finished his coffee, listened to the spot (a clip from the morning show), waited for the start of the commercial, and looked over for his clear sign. As soon as he got it, he tore the headphones off and went to leave the room. Andy was blocking his way, and then trying to press through the doorway at the same time.
"Sorry, dude," the shorter man laughed nervously.
"Chuck's got some requests still if you want to take them," was Cas' dry answer, pointing to the engineer booth.
"Oh, ha, oka-" Cas shut the door before he could answer. Usually he liked Andy, but he didn't have much patience today.
He stalked to the lounge, ignoring everyone he passed and heading for the coffee maker. He wanted a drink, and his best response to that urge was to make himself sick on caffeine.
"Leave some joe for the rest of the planet, wouldja?" Gabriel joked, slapping Cas on the back as he left the room. Cas ignored him, sitting down in the corner with his coffee and hardly even noticing that Anna was reading the newspaper in the chair across from him.
Castiel liked Anna, even in a bad mood like this one. She'd been there for years before him and always did her best to help him out, usually without the sarcasm and insults Gabriel liked to bundle with his brand of assistance. Aside from work, though, he really didn't know anything about Anna that she hadn't said on air. He just knew she always said no when Chuck asked her out, and she kept a box of gummi bears behind the microwave so Gabe wouldn't eat them.
"Relay for life had record earnings this year," she said conversationally. Cas grunted in acknowledgement. "And apparently a boy named Timmy in Barkersville actually got stuck in a well yesterday."
"Seriously?" Cas huffed in amusement.
"Yep. No Lassie, unfortunately. Had to call the fire department," she answered before folding her paper and lowering it to her lap.
"Are you feeling alright? You didn't sound very... lively on air a minute ago," she asked, pointing in the general direction of the booth. Her eyes were soft with concern as Castiel stared at her over the rim of his cup.
"Yeah, I'm just a little stressed," he sighed.
"How come?" she prodded gently.
"Oh, I just... my apartment flooded and I haven't got a place to stay tonight," he lied. Gabriel was the only one who knew anything important about Cas' life, and was surprisingly not the loudmouth he usually acted like.
"That's terrible!" Anna replied, sounding genuinely horrified by the idea. The idea that she even believed him seemed sweet, especially considering how Gabriel would've laughed in his face. "Don't you have someone who can put you up? How long until it's fixed?"
Cas quirked an eyebrow at her attention, both surprised and kind of impressed by it.
"Just a couple of days," he answered, thinking about when Gabe had said Balthazar would be gone. "I mean, I can get a hotel, it's not a big deal."
"But still..." she frowned. Cas shrugged. "Why don't you stay with me, Cas?" she asked abruptly.
"What?"
"I mean, I only live a couple of miles away from the station, and I have a sleeper sofa," she explained, "I mean, it would be better than paying for a hotel, and I really wouldn't mind."
"Are you sure?" he asked, still kind of incredulous.
"Absolutely," she smiled.
"Well, I mean, I'd really appreciate it," he finally answered, feeling instantly relieved. Maybe he really did have a friend who wasn't mostly in it to play tricks on him.
***
"Cas, settle down. My apartment isn't going to swallow you, I promise," Anna said, smiling softly as she sat down next to him on the plush red sofa. She gave him a soft pat on the shoulder before sitting back and pulling her legs and a glass of wine with her.
"Sorry," he laughed. It wasn't often that he was reminded of how socially awkward he was, so sitting with Anna in her perfectly decorated, airy but colorfully modern, apartment was really making him think about how much he usually didn't care what other people thought.
Anna could seriously cook, too, and she was easy to be around. Every weird thing he did, she just brushed it off with a laugh and a pat on the shoulder. After telling Cas to stop fidgeting and sit down on the sofa which was apparently also going to be his bed (and which was also not to be worried about because it was from Ikea), she had put on a Fleetwood Mac record. He wasn't sure if she was doing it just because he was "Chick Rock" or if she really liked Fleetwood Mac, but it was alright, he guessed. Obviously it was her record, but he had a shitload of records at home that he hated, but had to know because it was his job. At least her stereo system was amazing. He knew she was making more than him because the morning show was the station's biggest pull, but this was the first time he'd really thought about it.
"Cas?" He turned to find her staring at him, an eyebrow raised.
"What?"
She smiled, touching his knee.
"Are you okay? I'm sure your apartment will be fine," she asked. He shrugged, coming to his senses and sitting back.
"Sorry, sometimes I have a hard time getting my brain to slow down," he answered.
"Yeah, tell me about it," she laughed, "Usually Gabe is calling me every three hours to find out if I've seen some show or heard about some thing that happened. He's a lot more enthusiastic about work than I am, to say the least."
"Really? He alway struck me as a bit of an instigator," he replied, thinking of the numerous times Gabriel had drunk dialed him and ended up sleeping it off on his couch, or the times he'd told the morning show audience how hung over he was.
"Well, yeah, he's just a crazy little bastard, I guess." They both laughed at that. There was a pleasant pause afterward, Castiel suddenly feeling a lot more comfortable.
"You know, I'm sorry we haven't talked much before this," he said. She gave him a big smile for that.
"Yeah, me too. So," she hit him on the shoulder, playfully soft, unlike most female friends he had, who just liked to beat him up, "Talk to me. Tell me what you did before you started at the station." Cas whistled. Now, that was a while ago.
"Well, I was in school for a while, out at State-"
"Really? I went to State! What was your major?" she interrupted excitedly.
"Um, religion and writing, actually. But I wasn't that great at the religion part," he answered sheepishly, "And I ended up not finishing my degree so..."
"Eh," she shrugged supportively.
"What about you?"
"Oh," she laughed, "Communications with a focus in broadcast journalism, you know. Pretty predictable. How did you ever end up as a DJ?"
"Oh, well, it was a little weird actually. One of my writing professors used to work in radio and had a huge crush on me. I was really broke and they kept sending me recording work, for like, books for the blind and eventually other stuff, you know," he answered, "After I dropped out of school I really needed a job, and all I had to put on my resume was some bartending and voice work."
"Huh, how crazy. Your professor had a crush on you?" she repeated.
"Yeah, I guess when you stop taking your creative writing workshops seriously and just write smut it makes an impression," he answered dryly. She laughed.
"I'd never pictured you as the smut writing type," she joked, "I mean, Chuck, definitely, but not quiet 'I'm your copilot' Cas."
"It's the quiet ones, you know," he joked back.
"Why did you drop out?" she asked, pouring herself another glass of wine. He was doing his best to refrain from drinking in front of a coworker, having learned that lesson a long time ago, and picked up his own glass of water from the coffee table, turning it in his hands.
"Well, my mom passed away, and my sister was only eighteen. She needed me, so, you know. It wasn't a hard choice," he answered. Anna's hand was suddenly covering his.
"Cas, that's... Your dad wasn't around?"
"No, he left when I was a lot younger," he answered somewhat awkwardly, not sure how the conversation had taken this turn.
"How old were you?" she asked.
"When I dropped out? Almost twenty-two, so not that young really. I mean, it worked out. I ended up moving back home, and I was lucky to have plenty of work, and got to do a lot of voice stuff basically from my closet, you know," he shrugged. "Lisa never wanted to go to school beyond community college, and she didn't need to. She's smart. She stayed in our hometown, working in real estate, and I moved out here for an internship and then 102 hired me. The rest is history." She squeezed his hand.
"Wow, I never would've guessed all that," she said sympathetically.
"What, you don't have a sad childhood behind you or anything?" he tried to joke.
"Well, not really. My parents fought a lot, but they always took care of me, you know. They live in Georgia, so we see each other sometimes," she answered. "Oh! They almost disowned me for dating a black guy in college," she added, her hand shooting upward as if she'd struck gold. He had to laugh at that. It was almost common ground, considering the sitcom-worthy tribulations he'd experienced as an openly gay man in a small mountain town.
"Sorry," she said quietly, her hand flattening itself somewhere between his shoulder and chest, "I just drank this entire bottle of wine without realizing it."
"I understand the feeling," he chuckled. Suddenly, she lunged forward and her mouth was on his, her hands on his neck and in his hair. He flailed for a moment before finding her shoulders and managing to push her away as gently as he could.
"Oh God, I'm sorry," she was already panicking, "I didn't mean to... attack you, it's just, I kind of like you, and..." she sighed and deflated, now significantly closer to him.
"Oh, no, Anna, that's..." he stammered, still trying to process what had just happened and what she was saying.
"I mean, I didn't invite you over because I-I just wanted to help," she tried to explain. He gaped at her.
"I, I mean, wow. I thought you knew, or that Gabriel would've told you. I mean, I figured everyone knew. Chuck knows," he laughed nervously.
"What?" she asked, looking up at him sadly.
"I'm gay. Completely. Sadly. Otherwise, I mean, one bottle of wine wouldn't stop me from taking advantage of you in an instant," he said flatly. She stared at him for a long moment before covering her mouth with a hand.
"Oh God, I'm embarrassed," she laughed.
"No, don't be. Really," he replied, "It's fine. It's my own fault."
"Why, because you don't wear a placard around your neck announcing your sexuality?” He stifled a sudden laugh at the image. “I'm just really clueless, and probably drunk," she shook her head.
"Anna, please. Don't be. Happens more often than I'd like to admit," he answered, somehow trying to deal with the now irreparably awkward situation.
"I'm just going to... go to bed," she said, standing from the couch. "Without you," she added jokingly. They both laughed somewhat half-heartedly.
"Well, goodnight, then," he answered. She was already almost half way across the room, and just managed to smile tightly.
As soon as she was gone, he turned to stare at his reflection in the television, realizing peripherally that the record had stopped playing a while ago.
***
Dean felt like an idiot. He knew it was irrational, that he hadn't fucked up in any way, and had in fact been doing great in all areas of his life, for once. He wasn't drunk, he didn't hate his job, he hadn't taken any girls (or guys) home and subsequently forgotten their name so that he had to flee town in shame and fear of shotgun retribution. He realized he had friends. He wanted to see what happened next in the stories of Jo, Bobby, Lisa, that weird mullet guy at the Roadhouse. He didn't even care that in less than six months he was going to turn thirty, because Ben thought he was the coolest grown up ever.
Of course, to that he'd blurted something like, "What about uncle Cas?"
Ben had snorted and said uncle Cas was the weirdest ever, like it was even better to be weird than cool.
Dean even kind of liked that old probably-racist-and-homophobic guy who always smoked cigars outside the hardware store and made his living mowing the grass and chopping the kudzu on the side of the highway. He always pulled Dean aside to complain about cell phones and give him seriously unsolicited tips on jungle survival that he'd learned in 'Nam. Small town living was awesome.
Honestly, what did he care that he hadn't gotten Cas' number? That he was too chicken to ask Bobby or Jo about him, or that he still hadn't managed to cross that fine line between staring at Cas' address (which was written in Lisa's loopy writing and pinned on her fridge next to Ben's report card) and showing up at his front door like the really pathetic stalker he was? Who cared? Who would want to mess up the sweet setup he had going for him?
But seriously, this guy. How could he look so frumpy, stoic, and nerdy yet manage to turn on a stupid, smug little grin that blocked out all other light in the room and was about the hottest thing Dean had ever seen? How could that stupid fucking smirk show up in Dean's head every twenty minutes, interrupting whatever song he had stuck in there, whatever sentence he was in the middle of formulating, and flooding his face with heat? Seriously, he wasn't a fourteen year old boy. It wasn't natural to get turned on by a dude's expression, which really wasn't even more than a memory of an expression. No, he was more like a sixteen year old girl, too stupid and shy to just ask the dude's freakin' sister for his number and invite him out for a drink.
No, instead he ignored the whole thing, except for the part where he went out to the pawn shop in the next town over and bought a radio and a crappy old phone. The phone was so he could talk to Sam without crawling onto the roof to get a signal, but actually just to make himself feel like it wasn't just about being able to listen to Cas' show every day in the privacy of his own home. Really, it was just about being able to listen to Cas' show. Every day. In private.
God, Cas' taste in music was embarrassing, though. Dean spent most of the four hours groaning at every girly selection of Bad Company power ballad, Bob Dylan crooner or the fact that the only Rush song ever played was Closer to the Heart. It was obvious Cas knew music, but his taste in it made Dean feel a little second hand shame. At first, he was okay with it, shrugged it off because of the way Cas gruffly explained himself between songs. After less than two days, though, he was already talking back to him as if the guy could actually hear him through the speaker.
"No, Cas, no! REO Speedwagon is not under appreciated. Over appreciated. You know what's under appreciated? Neil Peart. Just talk to me about how epic Neil Peart is one time and I swear I will beg Lisa for your number, you hot-sounding son of a bitch."
Of course, that didn't happen, but Dean counted his blessings each time Cas didn't tell his listeners how much he preferred John Bonham, or god forbid, talked about Keith Moon first. No, it was chick rock, so he always got to listen to Pete Townshend songs being sung by Pete Townshend. What would Daltrey do?
Obviously, the answer to all his troubles was to stay up way too late watching old horror movies, his only companions a collection of empty glass Nehi soda bottles. He wished he had someone around to force him to socialize, or get drunk or laid, like Sam usually would in his bitchy, emotional brother way. But, he didn't. It was just him, two AM, and the sudden sound of Jo's jeep engine, pulling up outside his front door. He was on his feet, TV off, sprinting toward the driveway with the haste of a desperate, foolish man.
***
Cas couldn't go back to Anna's because he was mortified, and he would eat his own foot before asking Gabriel for a place to stay. Of course, the last place he could go was home, knowing from his last talk with Gabriel that Balthazar's flight didn't leave until the next morning. His solution? Drive half way to Lisa's only to think better of it and stop off at the Roadhouse, a place he knew all too well from his high school days and college breaks. The owner, Ellen, and her weird live-in accountant, Ash, decided to punish him for his long absence by getting him more hammered than a college freshman on St. Patrick's day.
A few hours later, he was just about convinced that he could get the new rough-talking country-boy bartender into bed if he tried hard enough. Fortunately, Jo came along to drag him out before he could make an ass of himself.
"Come on, Cassie Bear," she said, and he snorted at her use of the nickname she'd given him back when they were going out in high school. Well, he had been in high school anyway. She'd been in middle school. But, that wasn't so unusual in a small town like this, and when kids were still just young enough.
"Oh, Joanna," he crooned as she put her arm around his waist and dragged him off his bar stool. She half carried him across the room without even a grunt of effort. He giggled when she shoved him into the passenger seat of her jeep and he fell over. As soon as she joined him, he reached over to wrap a hand around her bare knee. Her jeep smelled like motor oil and faintly of gunpowder. He'd forgotten she liked to go shooting. She liked most things that could cover up the fact that she was the sweetest, purest girl a man could ever hope to meet. She was honest and kind, and Cas loved her wicked potty mouth. If he'd ever wanted to marry a girl, it would have been Joanna Harvelle, because he couldn't stand the thought of another man treating her bad. Lucky for both of them she was too good to keep a gay man in the closet, and she'd kicked him right on out, right out onto his ass.
"You are amazing," he said, vaguely aware that the jeep was moving.
"Don't I know it," she answered, patting him on the head and leaving her hand comfortingly on his shoulder.
The next thing he knew, he was opening his eyes, Jo shaking him awake while trying to haul him back out of the jeep.
"Come on, you fat ass," she was saying, hauling him up by the arms.
"I am not fat," he objected, sliding off the seat and almost falling when his feet hit the ground. He wrapped an arm around Jo's shoulders and let her lead him, wobbling. through what felt like a grassy yard. Somehow, his feet and his drunken brain figured it out and he groaned.
"Not Lisa's, Jo!" he whined.
"Drunk guy doesn't get to call the shots, buddy," she answered mercilessly.
They were almost across the gravel driveway when a porch light came on in the cabin next door and they both turned toward it. Dean was half way down his front steps.
"Jo? I thought I heard that jeep," he called. Suddenly Cas found himself being dragged toward the light.
"Worst idea," he objected, but Jo ignored him, bringing him up to the bottom step, until he could see Dean Winchester staring at him warily, less than a foot away.
"Hey, Tinkerbell. Didn't know you were the one renting out the old Cas shack," she said. Castiel almost laughed at her belligerence.
"Damn, I guess this is a small town," he answered, still eyeing Castiel.
"Dean's new," Cas contributed, "A very talented cyclist." He smiled at his own not-joke.
"Oh, so you've met?" Jo asked. Dean grinned sheepishly and scratched the back of his head in confirmation.
"Great! You take this-" she said, pushing Castiel off herself and toward Dean without any warning and causing him to stumble. He would've face planted in the dirt if Dean hadn't reached out and caught him in time. He found himself being hauled to his feet again, clinging forcefully to Dean's shoulders. He turned back to Jo, eyes half focused on her frowning face.
"You're gonna leave me with this guy I'm gonna take advantage of," he half asked half stated.
"What the hell, Jo?" Dean asked, sounding a little irritated.
"You turned on the damn light, you asked for trouble. What, you thought the sound of my jeep's engine was a Jo booty call dinner bell?" She snapped. Dean pulled back and raised an eyebrow at the suggestion.
"No-"
"Well, if I take him home I'll wind up naked somehow. He's sneaky like that," she said, gesturing at Cas, who chuckled knowingly. "And since you're right here asking for trouble, I don't see why Ben should see his uncle in such a pitiful state. So just shut up, let him sleep on the couch tonight and watch him crawl his hungover ass into Lisa's house tomorrow morning." She didn't leave room for argument, and turned and started to walk away immediately. Suddenly, she stopped and turned back, waving a finger in their direction.
"And you better take care of that drunk bastard, Dean Winchester. Or so help me I'll drop a Prius on your ass." Finally, she turned and walked off into the dark until they couldn't see her any more.
Cas realized his arms were wrapped around Dean's waist, head on his shoulder when Dean fidgeted, pulling on Cas' arms and trying to move back up the steps. Cas shoved himself off the other man and hastily stumbled up the stairs, causing Dean to sprint after him in alarm. Soon he was being led gently by a set of strong hands on his waist across the front porch.
Dean struggled to get the door open with an arm full of Cas. The man was small but solid. Under that white button down, Dean wasn't feeling anything but muscle. Cas surged out of his hold again as soon as they made it into the house. Dean reached for him but gave up when he saw him disappear around the corner, headed for the bathroom. Of course he'd know where it was if he really used to live here like Jo said. Dean sighed and followed when he heard the first sounds of dry heaving. It wasn't a pretty sight, but then Dean had never found drunkenness very attractive. He hunkered down in front of the sink and tried not to stare at the guy. After a few minutes, there was a lull in the puking and Dean glanced over to see Castiel resting his head on the seat, eyes shut. Good thing Dean had bothered to clean the bathroom today.
"Not exactly what I thought for our next meeting," Cas murmured, moving to the more miserable, existential stage of his intoxication.
"Don't worry about it, Man. We can have a real meet and greet later," Dean reassured him.
"Alright," Cas acquiesced.
"Alright," Dean repeated with finality, reaching toward the sink for a hand towel and holding it out to his guest. Castiel's eyes cracked open and he took the towel with a shaking hand. Dean watched him wipe his mouth and patted his shoulder, unable to help feeling a little sorry for him. Castiel wormed his way toward the touch until Dean's hand was on his neck and his knees were pressed into Cas' side. It was a little weird but Dean wasn't complaining.
"Feeling any better?" he asked. Cas nodded. "Alright, come on, let's get you turned in." Cas lifted his arms in the air to help Dean pull him up. It was very childlike and made Dean think maybe he'd been through this a few times.
Cas leaned his head on Dean's shoulder as they left the bathroom, smelling like whiskey and sourness. He clung to Dean's neck when he lowered him to the couch, and it reminded Dean of what Jo had said about Castiel being sneaky. His fingers trailed down to the hem of Dean's shirt when he stood, before dropping back to the couch.
"I'm gonna go get you some water, okay?" Castiel answered with a thumbs up that was half fingers as Dean left the room and went into the kitchen. He filled a glass with water and took a step back out of the room, thinking better of it and turning back for a bucket he kept under the sink. He left the kitchen just in time to see Castiel shoot into a sitting position, and was smart enough to sprint over, sloshing water on the carpet, so he could shove the bucket into Cas' hands. Dean winced, looking away as he listened to the other man retch. After a moment, he heard him take a shaking breath, and the bucket was carefully set down next to his foot.
"Ellen Harvelle is evil," he groaned weakly. Dean turned to look at him and watched as he fell back on the couch, staring miserably up at Dean. Dean couldn't help but smile a little at the pitiful sight. He sat down next to Cas's knees on the couch, taking the immobilized man's hand and wrapping his fingers around the remaining half glass of water. Cas lifted himself just enough to drink it obediently before flopping back down.
"I knew you were a good guy," Cas croaked, still staring at Dean through half-lidded eyes. Dean shrugged.
"Umm... thanks?"
"I've never had a wrong first impression," Cas explained flatly. Even his drunken warbling came out rougher than gravel and deeper than quicksand. It was one of those singular things about people Dean always found himself noting, like the fact that Cas' hair was clean and fluffy even though it looked like he'd let it go after a rough night, or how the way his mouth moved counteracted the chapped appearance of his lips, just making everything look soft and pliant.
"Wish I had that kind of foresight," he answered, looking down at Castiel, his body arranged as if he'd been thrown there and never bothered to readjust in order to get comfortable.
"That's how I knew, I'm a jerk, because I knew that dumb English ponce wasn't gonna be it for me," he rambled on while Dean compulsively rearranged Castiel's limbs on the sofa.
"Ponce, huh?" Dean knew he should feel guilty for egging Cas on, but he couldn't help himself.
"Yeah, but he was cute. And persistent. Should've married Jo. Should've been straight and married Joanna Bear. Story of my life," he rubbed a loose hand over his face. The hand slapped back down to the couch, and Dean was suddenly being glared at. "She is the blonde bane of my existence," Cas slurred.
"Sounds like Jo," Dean shrugged. The whole situation was cute, so fucking cute. Drunk Cas wasn't sexy like smug Cas, but damn was he endearing. Full confirmation that the guy was batting for the other team didn't hurt, either. Except for the part where Dean's heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest.
"She knew. She waited-two drinks ago and I would've had you naked, screaming my name on that coffee table," he gestured angrily and Dean automatically glanced behind him at the piece of furniture which totally couldn't have handled that kind of activity. He swallowed as Cas went on, "She waited until she knew I couldn't do anything to drag me out of there, and then she didn't even take me home. One time-one time!-I seduce that girl and I never ever get to live it down," he grumbled, "But she is a fox, and I had to."
Dean cleared his throat, nodding and trying not to think about how hot both Jo and Cas were, lest his mind be blown by the mere idea of that coupling.
"Your face, is red," Cas' face split into a grin, and his hand slapped Dean on the thigh, which was a little jarring. "Dean," he growled, "You're having an impure thought." His hand gripped Dean's leg and it was all he could do not to rocket off the couch. He shook his head as he pulled the quilt off the back of the sofa to cover Cas.
"No, no, no, no," he muttered. He was not losing the upper hand in an exchange with a drunk guy. Fortunately, Cas didn't seem to notice, picking at the edge of the quilt. It had been in the house when Dean moved in.
"This," Cas breathed deeply, "Is totally mine." Dean quirked an eyebrow. The quilt was covered in pink, blue and yellow flowers. Cas looked at him and frowned. "It is ugly," he said flatly. Dean couldn't help but laugh,
He smoothed the quilt over Castiel's chest before standing, watching Cas' nails scrape down the care-worn denim over his knee before dropping back to the couch.
"I'm gonna get you a pillow, okay, buddy?" Cas just nodded. Dean let out a long breath as he left the room, heading into the bedroom so he could pull a pillow off his bed. He liked to sleep with two, but he could deal with just the one tonight.
Of course, when he got back to the couch, Cas was already passed out. Dean hesitated, but finally leaned over him to lift his head and slide the pillow under as gently as he could. Just as he let go, that sneaky hand wound its way up the back of his neck and into his hair, and he was suddenly staring into blue, blue half-open eyes, with hot whisky-vomit breath beating against his chin.
"Hi, Cas," was his quick and witty response.
"Obviously too drunk," Cas muttered, "But you are a really gorgeous man." His face broke into a goofy grin and his fingers clumsily explored half of Dean's face before letting him go, and finally rolling over to press his face into the back of the couch.
Dean stood straight, cursing silently. Talk about wasted opportunities.
***
Dean woke up to the crash of something breaking. He was out of the bed and wielding a scrappy wooden bat Ben and Lisa had given him before he was really even awake. He blinked rapidly, looking around and seeing where he was, poised for danger in just his boxer briefs, clearly having under slept. He heard someone cursing faintly from the kitchen, and he suddenly realized why he should actually be freaking out. He dropped the bat on the bed and snatched yesterday's shirt off the floor as he rushed out of the room. He had it half way on when he stepped into the kitchen, finding Castiel crouched on the linoleum in front of the sink.
"Cas? What-" Cas' arm whipped out, motioning for Dean to stop moving.
"I broke a glass," he said blandly. Dean finally realized he was picking up glass shards and crouched down to help.
"It's eight in the morning. I'm surprised you're even awake," Dean said. Cas sighed wearily.
"I had a phone call from work that woke me up," he answered, sounding about as pissy as Dean could expect from a guy who probably didn't remember half of what he'd done the night before.
They threw the glass they'd collected away, and Dean watched as Cas swept the floor. Weird how he'd known where to find the broom, since Dean liked to keep it behind a shelf in the living room. Cas was still wearing his clothes from the night before, minus shoes or socks, his hair in even worse shape than usual and his eyes dark and tired.
"Not feelin' so sharp, huh?" Dean asked. He was rewarded with a short but terrifying glare.
"I can't remember most of last night, and least of all how I wound up on my old couch with a bucket next to me, smelling awful and tasting worse," he said without a hint of amusement. Dean would usually be kicking a guy with such a bitchy hangover out at this point, but he supposed he could deal with it this time. After all, the hangover and bad mood just made his voice a little scratchier.
"I just know I'm very hung over, a bigger idiot than I would've given myself credit for, and I have to be back at the station by ten to fill in for someone," he added, emptying the dustpan into the trash. Dean shrugged.
"You want some coffee?" he asked, striding over to the coffee maker and automatically starting to make more than enough for both of them. When Cas didn't answer after a moment, he turned to find the other man leaning against the counter, frowning at him.
"What?"
"Last night, I didn't...?"
"What, describe vividly how you would've liked to take advantage of me if you weren't way too drunk to perform?" Dean asked, smirking. Cas groaned, slapping a hand over his face. Dean just pulled down a couple of mugs and spoons. He didn't know how Cas took his coffee, but Dean personally needed a lot of sugar. The gurgling of the coffee maker filled the silence as Cas dropped his hand and kind of grimaced at Dean, like he was really too hung over to know what to say.
"Kind of nice catching you without that smug ass grin," Dean couldn't help saying. Apparently he was going for broke here, since they were already alone and disheveled. Cas almost laughed.
"Sorry," he said instead, catching Dean a little off guard. He turned back to the coffee, putting sugar in his empty cup so he could have something to do.
"No problem, man. Better for you to wind up over here hitting on me than for Ben to see you in that state." Cas sighed.
"Yeah, it's easier to avoid if I'm just not around," Cas murmured. Dean swiveled back toward him.
"Wait, you haven't been visiting because you have a drinking problem?" he asked, sounding almost offended by the idea. "You didn't even have a drink with dinner the other night." Cas was looking at the stove instead of Dean.
"I don't drink around Ben. And I don't have a... problem. I've just been kind of stressed lately," he answered, rubbing the side of his neck with one hand.
"Yeah, tell that to the bucket," Dean said, nodding toward the living room. Cas turned around just to give him that pinched look again, the one that reminded him a little too much of Sam's bitchface.
"You hardly know me, Dean. Don't assume, and don't patronize me," he snapped, turning to make his big exit. Dean rolled his eyes, lunging to grab Castiel by the back of his shirt and pull him back into the kitchen. He was lucky the strong nerdy guy didn't fight back.
"Chill for two seconds, and have some coffee before you try to stomp off somewhere," he said, pushing him to the counter before letting go and turning to pour two cups of coffee. He handed the one without sugar to Castiel and offered a spoon. Cas stared at it for a second before looking at Dean and shaking his head.
"Black coffee, gross," Dean joked. He watched as Castiel finally took a sip and then sighed.
"I'm going to be late," he said flatly, still irritated.
"How exactly were you planning to get back to the Roadhouse, anyway, genius?" Dean asked, trying his best not to sound too much like a jerk.
"The Roadhouse? How did I get here?" Cas asked, frowning.
"Only place I can think of. Jo dropped you here, and pretty roughly I might add," Dean answered, drinking his own coffee.
"Oh," Cas said.
"Oh? Last night you were telling me how you wished you'd married her. Now it's just 'Oh'?" Dean quirked an eyebrow.
"I haven't seen her in a while," he answered.
"Well I see her almost every day. She threatened to drop a Prius on me," Dean huffed.
"That's par for the course with Joanna Harvelle," was Castiel's enigmatic reply.
"You know, you're kind of all over the place in my life right now," Dean said roughly. "You're old best buds with everybody I kind of like, even though you're not around most of the time and none of them talk about you."
"Sorry to be such a bother," Cas answered, laughing bitterly.
"Just... give me your damn number," Dean demanded. Cas stared at him.
"Why?" If someone was giving out rewards for biggest idiot, Dean thought, Cas would win big.
"So I can call you," Dean said slowly, "And ask you out. Maybe even to a place with less vomit." Cas kept staring at him.
"Dean, I... This isn't a good idea," he finally managed, frowning with frustration. Dean sighed.
"Cas, I like you. A lot more than I probably should considering this is, what, the third time I've seen you? In other words, there haven't been many opportunities for me to ask, and you're just going to piss me off if you say no," Dean replied stubbornly. Cas kept frowning.
"Extra toothbrush and a ride to my car," he said shortly, negotiating.
"Not on the table," Dean shook his head, "I was already going to do those." He watched Castiel over the rim of his mug as he drank.
"You don't want to go out with me, Dean. I'm-"
"Will you shut the hell up? I'm asking you out on a date, not out to the courthouse to pick up our marriage license," Dean interrupted. Cas opened his mouth, but Dean cut him off. "I know gay marriage isn't legal in this state, I was just making a point." Cas' reply was to glare.
"Give me the toothbrush and I'll give you my number," he snapped.
"Thank you!" Dean said, dropping his mug back to the counter. Cas set his own down next to it so he could follow Dean back to the bathroom. Dean had to rifle around in the medicine cabinet for a while before finding a toothbrush still in its packaging.
"Oral B pink medium," he said, as if stating the make and model of a car, before handing it over. Cas ignored him, his chest brushing Dean’s back as they switched places.
"I'm going to go find a pen," Dean said smugly.
"Whatever," Cas muttered, but the way his ears turned red didn't escape Dean's notice. By the time he came back Castiel was rinsing his mouth. He stared at Dean's reflection in the mirror as he came to stand next to him. Dean held up the only pen he'd found, a green dry-erase marker.
"Hit me," he said, popping the cap and letting it fly to the floor. Cas rolled his eyes, snatching the marker out of Dean's hands and turning towards him.
"Shall we make this as much of a joke as possible?" he asked, making it obvious the question was rhetorical as he pulled Dean's arm out straight and proceeded to write his phone number as largely as possible across the inside of his forearm.
"Better be giving me the right number," Dean replied.
"Ask Lisa if you think it's wrong," Cas growled.
"Maybe I will," Dean smirked, looking up from his arm in time for Cas' face to press close to his, his hand gripping Dean's jaw almost painfully. His lips were feather soft, pressing an expert, half open mouthed kiss on Dean's. Dean pushed back and was surprised when Castiel let him, Dean's hand pulling him in by the waist. They kissed almost lazily for a long moment before Cas finally pulled away.
"In case you wise up, I wanted to get something out of this," he said quietly. Dean grinned and Cas kissed him again before ruining the mood by checking his watch.
"I'm going to be late," he said dryly, and Dean took the hint and let him go.
"Pants and we're gone," Dean answered, valiantly beating back the urge to see if he could shove Cas into the shower with him. By the time he got back from sliding into jeans and boots, Cas was waiting by the door.
"Sure you don't want to stop in and see Lisa and Ben before you go?" Dean asked, steering Cas back through the house to the back door.
"There isn't time," he answered flatly, and Dean let it go. He slung his jacket on and handed Cas his helmet before pushing him out the door in front of him. He was mildly surprised that he didn't receive any complaints about riding "bitch." Instead, Cas just stood patiently, helmet in hand, and watched Dean uncover the bike and roll it closer to the driveway before starting it up.
Dean got on and turned to motion Cas over only to find him clambering on behind while pulling the helmet over his head. Dean watched as he slid the visor up.
"Bike sounds good," he half-shouted over the engine.
"Thanks," he answered, "You ready?" Cas just gave him that smug grin and slid his hands into Dean's jacket pockets. Dean laughed to himself before taking off.
There was only one other vehicle in the parking lot at the Roadhouse, and that was Cas' hillbilly truck. Dean pulled the bike in next to it and shut off the engine. He felt Cas hop off behind him and heard him grunt as he removed the helmet. Dean dismounted too, feeling that maybe some kind of proper farewell was in order this time around.
"Got the keys?" Dean asked automatically. Cas just nodded, scrubbing a hand through his messy hair.
"Thanks for the ride, and, you know, the bucket," Cas said flatly.
"My pleasure," Dean replied happily. Cas raised an eyebrow at him.
"Right. I'm still running late," Cas said.
"Well, I will call you," Dean smiled.
In response, Cas pressed the helmet into Dean's hands and leaned in to kiss him again. He was caught off guard when Dean managed to get a hand on his neck and press his mouth open. "Mmmm," he noised appreciatively when Dean's tongue flicked against his. It had been a long time since someone kissed him this well. This time it was Dean who pulled away. Cas just watched his mouth as it went.
"Drive safe," he said nonchalantly.
"You're going to regret ever meeting me, Dean," Cas answered as he turned to get into his truck.
"Likewise," Dean answered sarcastically, grinning. Cas just rolled his eyes and didn't look back.
***
I just realized I gave Cas a big manly truck kind of like John's. I think I inadvertently wrote some Freudian daddy issues for Dean. Hm. Also, Jenny's number was not intended as a Jenny Thunder reference, but I'm glad my brain made that happen too.
Castiel couldn't concentrate through most of the set he was covering for Gabriel, who, true to form, was even more hung over than him and had opted to go home after struggling through the morning show. Cas hardly played anything but requests. Every other song was aired in alphabetical order from Gabe's pre-approved set list. Fortunately, the engineer today wasn't Chuck, and didn't question the necessity for sunglasses indoors or try to irritate him. Cas was aching, dehydrated, and about to have an anxiety attack over Dean Winchester and the way he smelled like motor oil and man. Cas wanted to rub himself all over that and never wash it off.
"Hey, your set's over," Anna said, suddenly in front of him and pushing his feet gently off the desk.
"Oh," was his brilliant response.
"Nice shades," she joked as she took the headphones from him and waited for him to vacate the chair so she could sit down.
"I found them in the lounge. I think they're Gabriel's," he replied, holding the chair as she sat down. She pulled the headphones on.
"Why do you think that?" she asked.
"He was wearing them yesterday," Cas answered dryly. Anna laughed. He smiled.
"See you later," he whispered, backing out of the room. She waved at him as he went. It looked like the other night hadn't been as disastrous as he'd thought.
Cas was silently pleased and unsurprised when his phone rang right before his show and it was Dean on the other end.
"Hello?"
"I told you to give me the right number," was the first thing he said. Cas smirked, leaning back in his chair and tossing the magazine he'd been reading back to its spot on the nearby table.
"I see you talked to Lisa," he replied easily.
"Yes, she was very helpful," Dean answered. "Restaurant, movie, or bar? I'll drive out," he said shortly.
"Original," Castiel teased dryly.
"I'm open to suggestions," Dean answered, and Castiel could practically hear him shrug.
"Museum?" He offered. Dean snorted. "Library?" A huff of laughter. "Monster truck rally?"
"Maybe for the second date," Dean laughed. Cas couldn't help it if he was smiling.
"Hm, I guess all three if you're asking me to choose," he said after a moment.
"Alright. I can't believe I might let you drive me around in that death trap for any length of time, but alright. If you're going to be like that," Dean grumbled.
"I told you, the regret is coming," Cas replied.
"I stole your address off Lisa's fridge. Six o'clock?" Dean ignored him. Cas had a sudden moment of panic, realizing how long it had been since he'd been in his apartment and exactly why. What if Balthazar had been there, left something, done something? Crap.
"Cas?"
Castiel took a deep breath. Never mind. Balthazar was gone. He was going home tonight, and this fantastic idiot was actually forcing him out on a date.
"Alright," he finally answered.
"It's just a date," Dean reminded him.
"Glad we established that," Cas answered, and hung up.
Figuring that Dean would be listening, he made sure the first thing he played during the show was Jenny's Number (867-5309), followed by several songs about being just friends and attractive women stealing men's cars and breaking their hearts. After about 45 minutes, he finally got a call in from Dean. He proudly requested I Can't Fight This Feeling by REO Speedwagon and Cas had a hard time not laughing while introducing it.
Before he knew it, he was leaving the station and pulling up in front of his apartment. He climbed the steps and stared at the door warily before going inside. Everything was as he had left it. In fact, after a quick survey of the entire place, he was fairly certain that no one else had been there since he left. Fantastic. He then realized it was five thirty and rushed to get ready.
Dean was so punctual that Castiel half wondered if he'd been standing on the doorstep, just waiting to ring the bell. Cas answered the door barefoot but dressed, and still trying to shake the water out of his hair from his shower.
Dean looked about as good as ever. He had a black tee on under his leather jacket and what appeared to be a clean pair of jeans. Cas, comparatively, was in black slacks and a half-buttoned white shirt.
"Waiting tables tonight?" Dean joked as a way of greeting.
"Why? Are you going to start a bar fight or drag race down a back road?" Cas retorted. Dean huffed and pushed his way inside.
"Wow, nice place," he said, looking around. Cas didn't think it was much, but it wasn't bad either. Anna's the other night had made his own home seem bare. He liked for the place to look nice, and be comfortable, but the only thing he stocked regularly was food.
"Thanks. Make yourself at home. I'll be right back," he answered, leaving the room to find socks and shoes, and apparently a nice pair of jeans to switch the slacks for. Walking out of his bedroom again, he froze while passing the mirror. It hit him that he was going on a date. He hadn't been on a date since he met Balthazar, he suddenly realized. Balthazar loved that sort of thing, because he thought everything mundane was hilarious, and he liked to play up the fact that they were in a romantic relationship more than anything. Castiel knew he had never felt as well attended, even while acting his part somewhat grudgingly, because he wasn't the type to perform romantic rituals. He was actually fairly mystified by their appeal, and so didn't know how to conduct them, only how to participate. Balthazar had made it easy, and not asked the same of Castiel, knowing it was not in his nature. Instead, Castiel was the realist, the responsible one.
He guessed that's how he realized that he didn't need or want to work for a relationship which was based in nothing more than ease and affection. You could say Castiel was a romantic because he believed something more profound existed, and that he would find it.
Dean was examining his record collection when Castiel finally made it back to the living room.
"You really like the Smiths, huh?" he asked without looking up. Castiel moved closer to find him conflictingly looking at the back of a Led Zeppelin record.
"I like the Smiths," he answered, smirking. "Do you have a record player?"
"No, not here. I gave my old one to Sammy when I became a vagrant," he answered easily.
"I've got an extra if you want it," Cas said, watching Dean pause half way through putting his record away. He turned to Cas, eyebrow already raised.
"An extra deck?" he asked. Castiel nodded.
"It's old. You'd need a phono preamp to hook it up to a stereo, but it works," he said.
"You sure?" Castiel nodded again.
"Is Four your favorite?" he asked. Dean looked back at the record he was putting away.
"I don't know, I think I like Two a little more," he answered thoughtfully.
"Well, you can have this one if you want," Cas said, reaching over to push the record all the way back and pull out another one nearby. He handed it to Dean, who was frowning at him warily.
"Seriously?"
"Yeah, I have another copy. I have three of Houses of the Holy, if you want one of those," he said. Dean stared at him. "It's my favorite," he explained.
"Giving me your whole collection wouldn't get you out of this date," Dean replied after a long pause. Cas laughed.
"Good, because I'm not going to give you my whole collection. Just these, and maybe a copy of In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida, because everyone with a record player ought to have that to wake up the neighbors with," he said, searching down the adjacent shelf for the right Iron Butterfly record. He pulled it out when he found it and handed it to Dean.
"Seriously?" was Dean's clever response. Castiel rolled his eyes, and pulled a copy of Houses of the Holy from the end of the shelf where he kept it with others that he listened to more regularly. He gave that to Dean too.
"You don't have an extra copy of-"
"No. Don't ask for the expensive ones," Cas cut him off flatly, turning to walk away. Dean just obediently followed him to the door, and they left, only pausing so Castiel could lock up behind them.
They went to see an action flick, even though Dean joked about the slasher film that was playing, saying that Cas could just hold his hand if he got scared. Castiel recognized it as a cheap excuse to do things other than actually watching a movie, and picked the action movie which looked mildly interesting. When, half way through, Dean started to whisper his critique of the car chase and subsequent fight scene, Castiel reached over and covered his mouth with a hand. Dean turned to him with a glare and Cas offered him the popcorn before retracting his arm. He was also appreciative of the way Dean's hand eventually ended up on his knee instead of on the back of his seat after an affected yawn.
After the movie, he let Dean pull him out of the theater by the hand, and let him thread their fingers together on the walk back to the truck. Dean seemed to hardly notice he'd done it, talking animatedly about what they'd just seen.
As Cas pulled out his keys, Dean stopped by the truck's front bumper.
"You know, I could fix this beast up for you if you want," he offered.
"Dean, there are a lot of things I'd let you get your hands on before I let you touch this truck," he warned without bothering to look up.
"Alright, just saying," Dean shrugged. Cas found the right key and looked over at his date.
"What?" Dean asked after a moment. Cas just smiled and shook his head before opening his door. He got in and reached over to let Dean in on the other side. They shut their doors at the same time and Cas started the truck up. It was as loud as ever.
"What do you want to eat?" he asked as he pulled back onto the street.
"Whatever's good," Dean answered vaguely.
They ended up at Castiel's favorite burger joint, a small place with big booths and dark red walls. He knew he'd made the right choice when Dean's eyes practically rolled back in his head after one look at the menu.
"This isn't even funny," he grumbled, "How the hell does everything on here look so awesome?"
"Need me to order for you?" Castiel teased.
"Real cute. Maybe if I can't decide in the next half hour," Dean answered.
Eventually they figured out what they wanted. Dean ended up with a monster of a bacon pepperjack burger, Cas with an avocado burger topped with a fried egg. Dean thought that sounded weird, but ended up trading half of his own burger for half of Cas' after he made Dean try it. Fortunately, Dean didn't mind when Cas quietly ate half of his onion rings.
The only squabble was over the check.
"I picked the restaurant, I'll pay," Cas asserted calmly.
"It's a date," Dean argued.
"And you've never heard of going Dutch?" Cas snapped.
"Yeah, and it's overrated," Dean said.
"I'm paying," Cas replied with finality, "Drinks are on you."
Dean was silent after that, but Castiel wasn't that surprised when they walked into the bar and Dean immediately ordered long islands for both of them. The bartender only carded Cas, to Dean's surprise. Castiel just gave him a smug grin and sipped his drink. Dean rolled his eyes.
"Want to go sit in the back and make out?" Cas joked.
"Wouldn't that be original?" Dean answered, unamused. "I'd rather talk to you, if you don't mind."
"Maybe I do," Castiel replied smartly.
"What's your favorite color?" Dean asked.
"I like red," Cas shrugged. "You?"
"Blue. Favorite song?"
"That's impossible. Next question," Cas huffed.
"Favorite movie?" Dean asked.
"Once again-"
"Favorite comedy?"
"The Jerk," Cas answered automatically, seeing Dean glance at his half-empty glass. Dean's was still mostly full. "Yours?"
Dean shrugged, "Caddyshack. Groundhog Day is awesome too."
"What is your fondest childhood memory?" Castiel asked. Dean took a moment to think, and then gave a little laugh.
"When Sam was in middle school we were on our own one Fourth of July. I went and bought a ton of bottle rockets and we shot them off in this field. Set it on fire," Dean grinned, wagging his eyebrows as if he'd just described something really impressive. Cas laughed.
"You want another drink?" Dean asked as Cas finished his first one. He pushed the glass away and smiled.
"I'll wait for you," he answered.
"I'm savoring it," Dean joked as he took a long drink. Cas chuckled.
"Honestly, don't try to imitate my capacity for alcohol. It's far greater than that of most human men," he said.
"Should I not have suggested a bar?" Dean asked. Cas waved him off.
"I know what's wrong with me, Dean. Sometimes I just forget that a bandaid is a poor excuse for a tourniquet," he answered.
"Well, that's really deep," Dean said, sounding a little surprised.
"The first cut always is," Cas answered, nodding as if in deep thought. Dean snorted.
"Seriously, though," he started, leaving room for Cas to reply.
"You're nosy," he noted flatly.
"Date," Dean reminded him. Castiel sighed
"I used to tend bar. And party a lot. I have a high tolerance," Cas answered shortly.
"Nice press release there, Cas," Dean barked, finally finishing his drink. They both ordered a beer before Castiel was forced to talk again.
"I promise, it's not a special story, Dean. Alcohol is easy. Life usually isn't," he said.
"Very profound, not very detailed. How'd you end up so ripped the other night?" Castiel gave him an unimpressed look.
"You can thank Ellen for that. I went for a drink and she plied me with a wedding party's share of liquor," he answered.
"You're not as good of a liar as you think you are," Dean replied lightly. Cas sighed in frustration.
"You're intolerable," he answered.
"I am adorable," Dean grinned.
"My ex was in town. I was avoiding him," Castiel finally admitted grudgingly, chugging half his stout.
"Really?" Dean replied, seemingly fascinated, "How long were you with this guy?" Cas leveled an unamused stare at him.
"Five years," he answered flatly.
"I guess you liked him, then?"
"I liked him," Cas answered.
"End badly?" Dean asked.
"Screaming match. Someone called the police," Castiel shrugged. Dean whistled.
"Guilty party?" Dean asked, staring at Cas over the edge of his glass.
"Me? I dated him even though I wasn't in love with him," Castiel answered, his mood plummeting at the thought of it. He drained his beer and ordered another.
"You give this guy a nickname?" Dean asked. Cas quirked an eyebrow.
"I don't do nicknames," Cas answered flatly.
"He give you one?" Dean asked. Castiel nodded.
"He liked to call me Cassie," he answered. Dean grimaced.
"What's wrong with 'Cas'?" he asked. Castiel actually smiled a little.
"Good question." Dean laughed. "Actually, it wasn't that strange coming from him, but Jo used to call me Cassie Bear when I was in high school. So it seemed a little weird sometimes."
"Yeah? What kind of pet name would you come up with for me?" Dean asked, grinning. Cas laughed, then shrugged, smirking.
"I don't do pet names," he answered. "I'm guessing you do?"
"When the mood strikes," Dean grinned.
"Do you have something in mind?"
"For you?" Cas nodded. Dean took a moment to think.
"Baby," he smiled, "Babe. Beautiful. You know, all the good ones."
Cas couldn't help it if he imagined such a thing, or the fact that his ears were suddenly warm. He took a slow drink out of his beer. Dean chuckled.
"Thanks," he suddenly said, and Cas frowned in confusion.
"What for?"
"I dunno. Not just humoring me so you could jump my bones," he shrugged.
"If I wanted to just jump your bones I sure as hell wouldn't humor you first," Cas answered a lot more bluntly than he'd intended. It took a moment for his words to settle for both of them, and Dean smiled.
"I can't remember the last time I met someone like you. I don't think I have," Dean said, seeming amused by the thought.
Cas thought of a smart mouth response, but it didn't come out. Instead, he gave Dean a long warning stare before taking hold of the front of his shirt and closing the distance between them. Beer mingled in their mouths as they kissed, probably with more enthusiasm than their position in front of the front window called for. Dean's hands were cold on Cas' neck and jaw from the chill of his pint glass. Castiel didn't know if this was the right thing, but he was past caring. He just did what he wanted, and prayed that he wouldn't regret it.
***
"Do you always curse like a sailor when you come?" Castiel asked a short while later. They hadn’t made it past the living room, and they’d hardly made it past Castiel’s front door. Now they were on the couch, Dean lying bonelessly on top of Cas, both messy, as Cas traced lazy patterns in the cooling sweat on Dean’s back. Dean turned his head, breathing against the side of Cas' neck.
"At least I'm articulate," Dean muttered. Cas hummed in amusement. "Not bad for first date," he added dryly after a moment.
"Regret it yet?" Cas asked.
"Maybe a little," Dean answered. Cas laughed. They’d been on each other and gotten off so fast it was like some kind of miracle of relativity. He couldn't remember having anything like that, that quick, and was maybe a little amused that he didn't feel the least bit bad about it not lasting longer. Dean pushed himself up to look down at Cas, his hand running off his chest, leaving it feeling suddenly cold and bare.
"Just wait. I'll make it happen," Cas said, but it came out quiet and half-hearted. Dean just stared down at him, and Castiel stared back, unable to look away, feeling somehow challenged.
Dean kissed him, and his eyes fluttered closed, something closer to longing than desire making him press back, his hands stilling on Dean's back. Afterglow didn't seem to cover it.
"Shower," was Castiel's first word when Dean pulled away. It wasn't suggestive, just a statement that a shower was the next logical action. Dean just peeled himself off of Cas and stood, pulling the other man with him.
"Do you have to work in the morning?" Cas asked, turning to lead the way toward the bathroom. Dean was close behind him.
"No, not until Monday," he answered easily.
"Do you think Lisa would be scandalized if you didn't come home tonight?" Cas grinned, turning on the shower before turning to pull Dean in with him.
"I'll never live it down," Dean answered, smirking as he pulled the curtain closed.
***
Castiel didn't find it until the next week. He remembered throwing something on the ground when his hand was groping for a condom in the recesses of his bedside drawer, but at the time he'd been preoccupied with Dean, naked and squirming beneath him.
Between the first Saturday he'd woken up next to Dean and this one, when he was finally up early enough to clean the apartment, he had been preoccupied with Dean many times. The first night turned into the weekend, which was fun until Sunday when they were in bed and Dean's phone started blowing up with calls, first from Lisa, then from Jo. Their first concern appeared to be making sure he wasn't dead, their second to call him a dog, and in Jo's case "Tiger."
There had been burnt eggs in the kitchen one time, an argument about what defined a place as "public" and, very nearly, a special christening of the staff lounge at the station. If Chuck had walked in any later than he did, the fallout would most likely have been tremendous, including the gossip landing Castiel as a subject of the morning show, yet again.
There had also been a case of "The best lasagna ever formed by human hands," as smugly delivered by Dean Winchester. And, the discovery that if there was one thing that trumped sex in the life of Dean, it was pie, and control of this substance could lead to control of its devourer.
Once the weekend was over, Castiel was a little surprised at how easily the date he’d been pressured into had turned into Dean domineeringly inserting himself in Cas’ forever. That week, Castiel was forced to jump between the station and King's Bend to attend mandatory dinners at Lisa's, which Dean seemed to find hilarious. Cas thought it might have been because he didn't realize she was examining Dean and their apparent relationship for any signs of weakness. He was also forced into a Bill Murray movie marathon in Dean's living room, which necessitated a retaliatory Steve Martin one on the following night.
By Thursday he had stopped snapping at Dean for continuing to attempt to date a selfish excuse for a man who was probably on the rebound, because he suddenly realized Dean might actually listen to him.
The fact that, at the mention of rebounding, Dean had cut him off with an unimpressed glare and an, "I am not a rebound kind of guy," might have helped.
At two AM the following morning, while Cas was comfortably pressed against Dean's side, asleep in his old house, Dean's ridiculous '80's reject telephone started ringing. Cas had almost fallen off the bed when Dean sprung up out of a dead sleep, and was instantly ready for a fight. It was the infamous Sam, and Castiel wasn't sure he'd ever be able to make Dean smile as wide as he did when, at an unholy hour of the morning, it was announced that Sammy was going to be driving out from California, and he'd be in King's Bend by Monday night.
So Castiel had to neurotically clean his apartment, because he was meeting the beautiful bastard's brother, and he was thinking, like a thirteen-year-old wreck of a girl, that he was in love with Dean.
And that's how he found the envelope with his long lost spare key to the apartment, and a note from Balthazar. It had been knocked under the bed, and Cas had to be a little weirded out by the fact that his ex had left it for him in the drawer where he usually only kept cough drops and condoms.
His mood plummeted, just knowing Balthazar had been in the apartment, and realizing with no small amount of shame what an asshole he'd been for avoiding him the whole time. He hadn't even read the letter yet. He set the key carefully on the nightstand before sitting on the bed to read the short note, scrawled in Balthazar's familiar loopy writing.
"It was lovely, Cassie. You were right, of course, being the brain in our relationship.
Although, you must admit, being as stunningly beautiful as me has its strongpoints.
No hard feelings, whatsoever. Feel free to call, as I am ever your faithful friend.
Many kisses, none with tongue,
Balthie"
His phone number in Chicago was scrawled beneath his signature, and Castiel almost laughed with the overwhelming feeling of relief that washed over him. It was wonderful and aching, suddenly realizing how much he missed Balthazar and his utterly sweet, sarcastic blundering. He hated most the feeling that he might have damaged that, so it was wonderful to see that he was really a fool for thinking that Balthazar would carry a grudge against him, or hold onto someone who didn't want him. Cas supposed he could be rather narcissistic. He almost wanted to call right now, just to make sure he could, but he didn't. He had a set in two hours, and then he was going to meet Dean, and apparently his "sasquatch" little brother at the Roadhouse. Suddenly, he felt nothing but painful excitement. He certainly didn't realize he was humming Metallica through the rest of the cleaning.
***
Castiel realized he might have been a little overenthusiastic when he invited Gabriel to the Roadhouse with him. They'd been out drinking together, a couple of times, but it had usually ended with Castiel passed out in his apartment and Gabe running off with a huge group of people he'd just met to go to some club. Inviting him to Castiel's home town, to meet his friends, his significant other ("plus one" and "arm candy" were also Dean-approved terms) was a gesture more on the level of real friendship. Anna declined, with regret, because she had a date.
He made Gabe follow him in his ridiculous little white Miata, because he knew he was either staying at Dean's or Lisa's tonight, and he was not ready to invite the ruin known as Gabriel upon his family just yet.
"Lighten up, buddy," Gabriel said, slapping Castiel on the back as they neared the Roadhouse door. It was eight o'clock, still light out, but the bar was lit up like it was midnight, reverberating with what sounded to Castiel like Tom Waits' Low Down. "I promise, boyfriends love me." Castiel rolled his eyes and pushed him inside, watching as he made a beeline for the bar. He was only a few feet inside when Jo jumped in front of him, grinning.
"Hey, Cassie Bear," she said sweetly, shouting over the music.
"Hi, Jo," he answered, letting her grab his elbow in a vice grip and drag him toward the end of the bar, where Dean was already sitting, sipping on a bottle of beer. He was surprised to see Bobby on the stool next to him.
The way Dean's face lit up when he saw Castiel was almost childlike, and Cas would have made fun of him if he didn't like it so much. Dean's hand rested on his lower back as soon as he was in reach, and Cas leaned down for a quick kiss.
"Bobby just told me something real interesting," Dean said as soon as Cas straightened up.
"What's that?" Cas asked, turning to give Bobby a wary look. The scruffy old man just chuckled and took a swig on his beer.
"You worked at old Singer Auto for almost five years," Dean said conversationally. Cas smirked. He'd been wondering when Dean would figure out that, despite the fact that his truck was a piece of junk, he wasn't ignorant when it came to auto mechanics, present company included.
"I like to think I'm well rounded," Cas answered flatly.
"And you taught Jo how to change her oil," Dean added, seeming almost offended at the thought. He could hear Jo snicker behind him before she appeared next to Bobby.
"I taught Jo how to kiss, too. Did she mention that?" he asked. Jo punched him hard in the chest and he smirked at her.
"You taught me how to shoot, too. Did you forget about that one?" she warned. Dean was already laughing.
"Hey, sweetheart," Ellen said, appearing and sliding a dark pint over the bar to him.
"Hi, Ellen," he answered, leaning over the bar to kiss her on the cheek before she left to get back to work. Since he was a boy, she'd never let him get away without a kiss on the cheek, which made it easy to ignore Dean's juvenile grin.
"Well that's cute," Gabriel voiced Dean's thoughts as he swaggered up to the group, holding some kind of fruity-looking cocktail. Castiel had to wonder how much sweet talking it had taken for the gruff bartender to make that.
"This is my friend Gabriel from work," Castiel practically sighed. Bobby was looking at him like he would've liked nothing more than to kick his ass, Jo ready to pick a bitch fight, and Dean as excited as he was about everything.
"Hey, man, I'm Dean," he said, reaching out a hand that Gabe took and shook hard.
"Yeah, heard you were at the station the other day. Sorry to miss that," he said, winking. Dean immediately looked at Castiel, who could've laughed or could've shot himself. Instead he just shrugged and hid behind his beer.
"You're the Gabe who hosts the morning show with Anna, right?" Jo asked, remarkably civil for once.
"Oh, a lovely listener," Gabriel said, wiggling his brows and taking Jo's hand. "Enchante," he said, kissing her knuckles. She stared at him, shock and possible bloodlust in her eyes. Dean was shaking with silent laughter, Bobby also trying his hardest not to bust up. She finally regained the ability to react and pulled her hand away.
"Hosting with you must be like pulling teeth," she snapped, but Castiel could see the pink cast to her cheeks even under the washing blue of the nearby bar light. Gabriel shrunk back in mock offense.
"I am a joy to work with, aren't I, Cassafras?" Castiel sputtered mid-drink, having to set his glass back on the bar so he could cough the beer out of his windpipe. Dean patted him on the back helpfully.
"No respect, no respect at all," Gabriel complained loudly. "And I was going to give you a raise, too!"
"You? Give me a raise?" Castiel managed to laugh.
"Yeah, you didn't think old Balty was just around to stalk you, didja?" Gabriel asked, grinning like he was the richest man in the world. Castiel realized he actually hadn't heard why Balthazar had come back for the week. He knew that he was one of the most important producers for the station, because that's how they'd met, but since he'd left, Castiel hadn't thought it mattered much.
"You're kidding?" Castiel asked, hoping that what he'd realized wasn't true and that Gabriel was just pulling his leg.
"I'm the babe with the power," Gabe laughed maniacally before taking a sip of his fruity drink.
"What?" Dean interjected, "What's he talking about?"
"Balthazar came back to transfer his interest in the station to Gabriel," Castiel answered, ready to groan and kiss his peace of mind goodbye.
"Fine, I'll give you the raise. But you'd better bribe me with a drink. I know a 'thank you' would be too difficult," Gabriel smirked.
"Hey, what'd I miss?" a new voice came from nearby.
"Holy sweet mother Mary!" Gabriel practically jumped out of his shoes at the sight of the man towering behind him.
"Sammy!" Dean shouted gruffly, leaping out of his seat to yank the taller man into a rough bear hug.
"It's Sam," he replied flatly, but his face was plastered with a big grin. Dean finally released him, still smiling like the sun.
"Welcome to the Smokies, dude," Dean said, "How was the trip?"
"Curvy," Sam said succinctly, "But I've been out here before, to look at schools. You remember?"
"Yeah, that waste of money because everybody knew you were getting into Stanford," Dean barked as if this was a conversation they'd had a million times.
Bobby suddenly cleared his throat loudly. Everyone turned to him as he readjusted the hat on his head.
"Well, you gonna introduce us or what?" he grouched.
"Yeah, old man. Everybody, this is my little brother, Sammy," Dean said, turning to face the group again.
"It's Sam," Sam corrected.
"Little isn't the word I'd use," Gabriel said, "More like gargantuan. Giraffe. Skyscraper. Sasquatch." Dean pointed at Gabriel, nodding toward Sam like he'd just vindicated his side of a long-standing argument. Sam looked at him with a pinched expression Castiel recognized as the "bitchface" before glaring down at Gabriel.
"Who's this vole?" he asked.
"I'm Gabriel," he said happily, grabbing Sam's hand so he could shake it. "I'm your brother's boyfriend's boss. I like mini-golf, aquariums, full-figured women, and freakishly tall, sensitive prettyboys with emo hair." Sam already looked ready to kill him, which seemed to satisfy Gabriel, if his shit-eating grin was anything to go by.
"Yeah, anyway," Dean said, choosing to ignore Gabe. "This is my boss, Bobby Singer, and my coworker Jo Harvelle." Sam shook each of their hands in turn.
"I put up with his shit," Jo said, as if giving him her job description. Sam let out a bark of laughter.
"Yeah, I know that one pretty well." Dean shoved him, but Sam just ignored it, turning to Castiel instead.
"You must be Castiel," he said eagerly, offering his hand for Cas to shake.
"We accidentally spoke on the phone a few days ago," Cas nodded. Sam grinned.
"Dean never shuts up about you. It's all I've had to listen to since he bought that phone," Sam laughed. Dean turned away as eyes swiveled toward him.
"Didn't you buy that phone wednesday before last?" Jo asked.
"God, are you stalking me or something?" Dean turned to ask her. She shrugged. Cas laughed.
"Well, I seem to remember him going on and on about some hot guy that picked him up on the side of the road right after he got out here," Sam said, grinning. Cas turned to Dean, smiling smugly.
"Oh, really?" Jo asked.
"Yeah, he had a really crappy truck and a shirt with some 'lame' band on it or something? Oh, and his voice, 'Oh Sammy, his deep, manly voice,'" Sam teased, his impression of Dean high-pitched and feminine.
"Oh shut up. You're such a bitch," Dean said, suffering.
"Jerk," Sam replied easily. Castiel was laughing by now, reaching over to rest his hand on the back of Dean's neck.
"Hey, don't feel too bad about it, Dean," Gabriel piped up, "When I asked Cas what his new boy toy was like, his exact words were, 'He's funny. And he smells nice.'" Bobby, Jo, and Dean all laughed at his perfect impression of Castiel, who covered his face with one hand. He looked back up when Dean's arm snaked around his waist.
"You think I smell good?" he asked smugly.
"Not today," Cas answered flatly. "You smell like gasoline."
"That's because some scrawny blonde gave me a gas shower today," Dean shouted, staring pointedly at Jo, who just shrugged unapologetically.
"Hey, who's this good lookin' fella?" Ellen asked, reappearing on the other side of the bar.
"Hey, I'm Sam, Dean's brother," Sam answered, leaning around Gabriel to reach out for a handshake.
"Longshanks," Gabriel muttered, and Sam shot him a quick glare.
"I'm Ellen, Jo's momma," she answered.
"She runs the joint," Bobby informed him, "And if you watch close after they close up, you can see her fly home on her broomstick." Ellen reached out to smack him hard on the back of the head, making his hat fly off and revealing his rarely spied bald spot. "Dammit, woman," Bobby cursed.
"You call me a witch one more time in front of my customers and I won't need a spell to turn your ass back to dirt. You hear me, Bobby Singer?" she warned. He just grumbled as he readjusted his cap.
"Can I get you something, sweetheart?" she asked, turning back to Sam.
"Uh, yeah, whatever Dean's having, I guess," he answered slowly. She walked away to get him his beer, and he turned a questioning look at Dean and Castiel, who both shrugged.
The rest of the night proceeded in the same vein, with a game of darts and Jo spending some time on Castiel's back. Ash made an appearance to tell Gabriel that he liked his work, and congratulate him on his promotion, which he apparently knew about because he was friends with Andy on some kind of internet bulletin board.
By the time they left the bar, Gabriel was far too drunk to drive, and Sam had to carry him out to the Impala (which Dean nearly wept at the sight of, running his hands over its hood in a way that reminded Cas of something they'd done the night before) so he could sleep it off on Dean's couch. Fortunately, Lisa had been cool enough to find a bed for Dean to install in the spare bedroom, so Sam didn't have to sleep on the floor.
Despite a hangover, Gabriel still managed to hit on both Lisa and Sam through breakfast, to the amusement of neither one. Castiel would've been embarrassed, but Dean seemed so pleased with the situation that he couldn't bring himself to feel bad. Sam eventually had to agree to a tour of the station just to get Gabriel to shut up and go home. It was in the middle of this argument that Lisa abruptly asked Dean what he wanted to do about the lease. Dean turned to Castiel, who felt a thrill that had nothing to do with Ben kicking him in the side of the leg.
"Can we renew it for a year this time?" Dean asked, turning back to her. Lisa shrugged, smiling.
"Fine with me, if that's what you want to do, Dean," she answered.
"Does that mean you're going to live here for a while?" Ben asked, trying not to fidget in excitement.
"Yeah, what're you so happy about, brat?" Dean asked, reaching across Castiel to tickle his nephew, who laughed and squirmed out of reach.
While they were all eating lunch in the lounge at the station that afternoon, Cas having to fight Gabriel's advances on his plate, Sam took it upon himself to silence the room so he could announce that he'd been accepted to several nearby grad schools, and was waiting for his financial aid information to come back before moving out in the fall.
Dean was ecstatic, giving Sam an extra long hug before sitting back down and automatically taking Castiel's hand. Cas knew the thought of vagrant Dean's entire life situating itself in one state, near Castiel, should have been terrifying after dating him for little more than a week, but the only thing that scared him was how happy he felt about it.
When Gabe and Sam filtered out of the room, arguing about something, Dean held Castiel back, pulling him away from the door.
"I promise I'm not trying to freak you out. The lease was all me, but Sam never mentioned moving out here before today," Dean said, looking intently at Castiel. Cas gave Dean the smug grin he knew he liked so much.
"If I ever come to my senses and ditch you, it's you who's going to have to live in my town, next to my sister, Dean. Not me," he said dryly.
"Just keep giving me that stupid look, and we'll be fine," Dean muttered, pulling Castiel in for a kiss.
"Would you two get a room, already?" Gabriel chided loudly from the doorway.
"Seriously," Sam backed him up.
Dean just hit Sam hard on the chest.
"Why don't you go play with your runt boyfriend, El Gigante," Dean growled.
"Yeah, Andre, if you need a place to stay for a while, I've got a spare bedroom," Gabriel offered. "And a spare bed," he added, rolling his tongue to emphasize the "bed."
"In your dreams, you friggin chipmunk," Sam snapped, retreating back down the hallway. Gabriel ran after, calling out various tall things.
Dean and Cas slowly followed, Dean taking Castiel's hand again.
"I'm glad you came to my rescue with your piece of shit truck and lame shirt," Dean said.
"I'm glad you ran off the road and almost died," Cas replied flatly. Dean laughed.