Archive of Our Own ^beta

Tuesday

Tonight is Tuesday. Dean has the day off tomorrow, so he came to the bar for a drink. 

He dropped off Sam at home after picking him up from school, and felt like going to the bar. It’s Tuesday and it’s fifteen til five. So there is quite literally no one inside, except an old guy nursing a beer, a guy hiding in a corner booth with his nose in a book sitting next to some empty shot glasses, the bartender, and two older women drinking daiquiris with giant rocks on their fingers and little giggles behind their hands. 

Dean rolls his eyes. He sits down at the bar and orders a beer. “Can I see your ID, kid?”

“Sure,” Dean holds up his driver’s license. He turns 22 in four months. 

“Here you go,” the bartender puts a glass on the bar for Dean and fills it from the tap.

Dean takes a sip, then sighs. “Actually, barkeep, can I have a double whiskey?” 

“Sure,” The bartender pulls out a small glass for Dean. “Long day?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean nods lazily. “I’ll just finish my beer and then I’ll be off. How much do I owe you?”

“Twenty,” The bartender pours the whiskey, and turns to the guy from the corner booth who materialized from nowhere. “Castiel, do you need anything else?”

Dean only hears something mumbled in a deep voice that sort of sounds like, “More shots.”

The bartender pours six shots, and Castiel drinks two, pauses to look at Dean with bright blue eyes under a mess of black hair, and rolls his shoulders. He has his trench coat collar flipped up, which hides most of the man’s face. He drinks a third shot, collects the other three in one hand, and reaches out to touch Dean’s shoulder. He leans in and kisses Dean’s cheek, then turns away and shuffles back to his booth, shots in hand. 

Dean wipes his face and looks back on the bar. “Interesting guy,” He takes a drink of his beer, and notices a twenty dollar bill on the table top. “I didn’t pay you yet, did I?”

“No, that’s from Castiel. He’s in here a lot.”

“Does he pay for a lot of people’s drinks?”

“Not usually, no.”

“Does he kiss a lot of people?”

The bartender tilts his head, and with a smile says, “Not usually, no.”

Dean shrugs and peeks behind him at Castiel, stuck in the corner booth with his book and his two remaining shots. The third glass is already empty and tipped over. “Interesting guy.”

After he finishes his beer, he gets up and nods to the bartender. He walks for a little while before getting into his baby and driving back home to help Sam with his biology homework. 

Science is just not the kid’s subject. 

Wednesday

Dean woke up early to drop Sam off at the high school, and now he’s just sitting on the couch. He was watching cable earlier, thinking he’d be able to fall asleep, but it’s hopeless. Once Dean’s awake he just can’t fall back asleep. He either has to drink coffee or stew in the grumpiness. He chose coffee hours ago.

He made some lunch, and ate in the kitchen, so now he’s back on the couch flipping through channels. He’s been thinking a lot about last night. 

That little kiss from Castiel, or whatever his name is, was probably the most action Dean’s gotten in several months. It makes him kind of sad. Instead of crying about it, he decides he needs a beer. 

He drives down to the bar and goes inside. Trench coat-guy is in his corner booth, reading a new book, surrounded by empty, overturned shot glasses. There are a few more people in the bar today, three men drinking beer in suits, what looks like a fifty year anniversary lunch, and a few older guys littering the bar. Dean sits down at the bar. “Hey, barkeep.”

“Hey, kid. Beer or whiskey today?”

“Um, beer,” Dean is looking over at Castiel again. He turns back to the bartender and hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “What’s his deal? Why does he drink so much?”

The bartender, who Dean notices has a name tag that says “Nick”, sets a glass on the bar to fill it from the tap. He hands it to Dean, then shakes his head a little, “A lot of people say he’s ‘special’ or whatever. He’s just sort of different, y’know? He used to come in here with his brother a lot, a few years ago, but now he comes alone, and drinks.”

“Oh,” Dean looks back at the guy, with a newfound sense of pity. “Poor guy.”

“He’s fine, really, kid. Just… lonely.”

“Well, yeah, he’s alone,” he turns back to see Nick gone, talking to another customer. “Doesn’t mean he’s lonely.” 

He finishes his beer and thinks on that thought. He’s alone too. He’s got Sammy, sure, but he’s alone. Does that mean he’s lonely? It takes him a while to figure this out. He drinks two more beers, and gets up to use the bathroom. He goes inside and looks at himself in the mirror. “Lonely…” He ponders the word, and when he finishes at the urinal he goes back out in search of a corner booth. 

He pokes Castiel’s shoulder. “Lemme ask you somethin’, man,” He sits across from Castiel and grabs one of the two shots that still have liquid in them. He downs it, and makes a face at the harsh sting of tequila. Damn, how does Castiel drink so many of these? He turns over his shot glass and points at Castiel, who has yet to look up from his book. “You’re alone, right?”

Big, bright blue eyes flick upwards. “That was my drink,” He says quietly. 

Dean grabs the second shot and drinks it, too. “But just ‘cause you’re alone, doesn’t mean you’re lonely, right? I mean they go hand in hand, right, but they’re still two different hands.”

“That was my drink,” He says, still quiet. 

Dean shakes his head -- huge mistake, now he’s dizzy -- as the tequila starts to kick in. He feels woozy, fuzzy, and for some reason everything is funny. “I’m sorry,” Dean slurs, standing. “See you around.” He bursts into a little giggle fit and stumbles back to the bar. He orders some food from Nick, and after he eats it he takes a little walk to sober up. Then he drives to the high school to get Sam. 

“Oh, God, Dean, let me drive. Were you drinking?”

“What?” Dean giggles, “No.”

“You’re a bad liar, Dean.”

“Okay, I had oooone -- ” He hiccups, “two drinks.”

“You had tequila, didn’t you?”

“Maaaybe.”

“Ugh, Dean,” Sam puts his backpack in the backseat, walks around the driver side and makes Dean scoot over. He takes them back home to the apartment. 

Thursday

Dean woke up with a killer headache this morning. 

God, he was weird the other day. 

He dropped Sam off at school an hour or two ago, and now he’s taking a shower before work. He’s drying his hair in front of the mirror, just looking at his reflection. “God, I’m never drinking tequila again.”

He throws his towel on the ground, then groans, and rolls his eyes ‘cause Sammy’s gonna yell at him if he leaves the towel there. He hangs it on a hook on the door and walks back to his bedroom to get dressed. 

Working in a garage isn’t the worst thing ever. It pays for the apartment and it will pay for Sammy’s college tuition, and it keeps his baby looking new. He also likes the grime and grease -- his dad helped him rebuild the Impala’s engine once when he was fourteen. Of course, he also made Dean cry and said, “If you can’t fix up this car, you can’t have it. We’ll sell it to a scrapyard and you can watch it get crushed into a cube.” What an asshole.

Dean basically adopted Sam the moment he turned 18, taking his car and a bag of stuff each, and they ran off to Uncle Bobby. He helped. Gave Dean a job. Got Sam enrolled in high school. The whole nine yards. 

Dean was dumb back then. “I don’t want your charity, Bobby.” It wasn’t charity.

“It’s not charity, idjit. It’s called love. Sometimes you need help, and the people you love are always gonna help,” Bobby said it gruffly. “Now take the damn job.”

Dean’s always been grateful to Bobby. He’s a better father than John ever could be. And that’s a fact. 

Dean tugs on his boots and goes to work. He’s rebuilding a 1969 Shelby engine with parts the owner supplied, and he’s loving every second of it. 

Dean usually takes his lunch break late, or just clocks out early (he works on weekends, so it’s not like he’s bailin’ on the job) to pick up Sam from school and take him home. They can’t afford a second car for Sam, and Dean needs his car for work. And there’s no way in hell that Dean would ever let Sam ride a public bus, or heaven forbid, walk home. Dean is supposed to keep Sammy safe. That’s his only job. So he picks him up and drops him off. 

Today he just decides to take a late lunch, then go back to the garage and finish up that Shelby engine. He’s almost done, it just needs a few more parts put in before he can turn on the ignition and see if she purrs. He takes Sam home, and it’s strangely quiet in the car.

“Are you okay?” Sam asks.

Dean rolls his eyes. “I’m not a girl.”

“Dean. I asked if you were okay. That has nothing to do with how manly you are.”

“Well, I’m annoyed at you,” Dean grumbles, glancing at Sam. “But otherwise, I’m fine.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “No, you’re not. Why are you upset?”

“Oh, why am I upset ?” Dean repeats the question but with a fake-concerned tone. “Maybe it’s ‘cause my little brother is being nosy.”

“You’re such an asshole, Dean. I was just tryin’ to see if you’re okay!”

Dean smiles smugly. “Well, I’m fine,” He turns into their parking spot at the apartment and puts the car in park. “Okay, now I’ll be home late so make dinner for yourself, do your homework, and make sure you go to bed before eleven.”

Sam crosses his arms over his chest and pouts. He grumbles and picks up his backpack, “Fine asshole, should I make dinner for you for later tonight or are you comin’ back really late?”

“I might go to the bar tonight, so --”

“Dean, this is about a girl isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been going to the bar almost every night this week, getting drunk and coming back looking like, like, some girl just rejected you or somethin’. Is that what’s been happening?”

Dean sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. He hates snapping at Sam. He already feels bad but he can’t just apologize. “It’s not about a girl.”

“A guy then?”

Dean whips his head to the side and glares at Sam. “You don’t know what the hell you’re sayin’. Now get inside and do your homework. I have a job to get back to.”

Sam looks like he wants to keep pushing. He presses his lips into a line and breathes out harshly through his nose. Sam knows that Dean’s had boyfriends, there was Aaron for a few weeks last year, and Sam woke up to find a guy named Victor sleeping with Dean in Dean’s bed a few months ago. Sam didn’t say anything, but he heard Dean kick the guy out with a, “My brother doesn’t know. You gotta leave, man.”

Sam had opened his bedroom door a little and watched Dean with Victor. “That must be hard for you,” Victor shook his head sadly. He kissed Dean gently, “If you ever come out, give me a call, okay?”

Sam watched Dean look sadly up at Victor, and kiss him one more time. “Bye, Victor.”

Sam looks up at his brother now, and shakes his head sadly. He just wants Dean to be comfortable in his own skin. Comfortable with himself. He sighs and drops his glare. “I’ll see you later, then.” He gets out of the car and watches Dean drive away. 

-

God, Sam is insightful. 

Fuck, Dean’s not going to be able to hide anything from that kid. Fuck fuck fuck. And the kid is totally right. This is all about a guy. 

That guy. Castiel. 

Dean has literally not stopped thinking about that guy. He bright blue eyes, his messy dark hair, weird drinking habits, that big dumb coat. Why else would Dean go back to an empty bar every night? It’s not for the beer, that’s for sure. 

Fuck.

Dean gets back to the garage and finishes up the Shelby engine, and by the time he’s done, he’s so anxious his hands are shaking. A drink would help calm him down, and he’d get to see Castiel one more time too. He wonders if Castiel lives near the bar. Or maybe in the bar. He seems to have claimed that corner booth. Maybe he lives there . (Damn, Dean is going insane.)

It’s not like Dean has seen Castiel wearing different clothes. He has seen Castiel with a different book, though, and there aren’t any bookshelves in the bar. 

“Hey, Bobby, the Shelby’s all done! I’m goin’ home!”

“Thanks, boy. Good work today.” 

They nod at each other, then Dean goes into the break room to wash his hands and get his jacket. When he gets out to the car he starts driving and doesn’t stop until he sees the bar. It’s Thursday night. There’s a few more cars in the parking lot, but this place isn’t exactly the most popular bar in town. It’s a bar for quiet nights out with friends, or casual first dates. 

And Dean’s not here to see friends. 

He goes to the bar first, and as he walks, he checks over his shoulder to see if Castiel is in his usual booth. There he is. 

Dean smiles and orders a beer from Nick, the bartender, then walks over to Castiel. Something is different this time though. Castiel is hunched over the table, empty shot glasses overturned and scattered around him (that part is normal, sadly) with his face hidden in the crooks of his arms. 

“Hey, Castiel,” Dean says quietly. “Can I sit with you?” 

Castiel doesn’t move for a few seconds, and only replies with a muffled hum, “Mmf,” and slowly moves farther into the booth, moving his legs first, then dragging his upper half across the table. 

Dean blinks. Apparently Castiel wants Dean to sit next to him and not across from him. Dean shrugs and sits, placing his beer gently on the table. “Can I ask you something, Castiel?”

Castiel lifts his head slowly and turns it to look at Dean. He looks tired. And sad. “Okay.”

Dean thinks of all the possible questions in the world: Do you want to get dinner with me? Are you single? Do you live at this bar? Can I kiss you? Do you have even the slightest idea how hot you are? Do you wanna come back to my place?

Instead of any of those, he goes with: “How are you able to drink so much tequila?”

He expects Castiel to laugh. Or smile at least. He doesn’t. 

“I have a high tolerance,” Castiel’s face is super serious, although slightly confused. He squints at Dean. “Why don’t you drink tequila?”

Dean chuckles nervously. “Well, I have a low tolerance. Opposite of you. I take two shots and the world starts spinnin’ like a merry-go-round on steroids.”

“The world already spins,” Castiel sits up a little bit, resting the side of his face on his hand. “Merry-go-rounds are incapable of taking steroids. They have no living cells.”

Dean has this tiny little part of him that wants to get annoyed and snap, it’s just a phrase, but instead he finds this tiny little misunderstanding totally endearing. “You would be right, there, Sunshine,” He smiles genuinely, then takes a drink of his beer. 

This is where Castiel grins, a small upturn of one mouth corner that makes him look the slightest bit buzzed. The more Dean looks at it, it feels like Castiel is relaxing. “You’re sitting with me,” Castiel blinks and his smile disappears again, and he looks at Dean, not accusing, just observing. 

“Well yeah, I think that’s pretty obvious, y’know?” 

Castiel nods in understanding, but looks slightly frustrated with that response. “You’re still sitting with me.”

“Yeah,” Dean pauses and thinks about why Castiel is saying that. “Do you want me to leave? Is that why you’re saying that? I’m really sorry, y’know, about before, tequila makes me weird.” Dean sort of slides away, putting one foot on the ground in case he needs to make a quick exit. 

Castiel immediately reaches out and grabs Dean’s shoulder. “No!” He doesn’t shout, but says it firmly. 

Dean leans back into the booth, into Castiel’s hand. “Alright, man, sorry,” He shrugs Castiel’s hand off (only because Castiel keeps it there when Dean is sitting back normally again) and drinks some beer. “If I understand what I think you’re asking, then I’m sitting here cause I want to be. You seem nice, and like you could use a friend,” He blushes and looks away, “And you’re kinda cute.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says, looking at Dean. “I think you’re beautiful. Although I believe you don’t value yourself, and you’re going to disagree with me about your appearance.”

Dean sort of nervously chuckles. He wants to forget Castiel ever said that, so he does the first thing he can think of and avoids avoids avoids . “You’re one honest guy, man. Like Honest Abe. We should call you Honest Cas.”

Castiel does his small little smile again, and looks at the table, tracing the grain patterns with his finger. “My sister calls me that.” 

“Honest Cas?” Dean makes an amused face and snorts. 

“No, just Cas.”

“Oh, cool,” Dean sips at his beer. “So that’s, like, your nickname, then?”

“My brother likes to call me ‘Cassie’. I don’t mind it, but I’d prefer it if you didn’t use it.”

Dean ponders about the emphasis on ‘you’. Does Castiel mean Dean specifically? Or does he just mean that name is only for his brother? “Okay,” Dean nods, “I like ‘Cas’ anyway. It suits you.”

“Thank you,” Castiel starts, then pauses. “You never told me your name.”

“Oh!” Dean sorta slaps his forehead, then gives Castiel his hand to shake. “Dean Winchester.”

Castiel looks at Dean’s hand for a few seconds, then lifts his head so his hand is free, then slowly grabs Dean’s. He shakes once, then lets go. He tries to hide that he wipes his hand on his jeans, then turns forward in his seat and looks at his shot glasses. It looks like he’s counting them, his eyes quickly darting from one glass to another. 

Dean sort of freezes, but takes his hand back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to --” Dean stops talking when Castiel looks back at him again. 

His gaze is piercing, but not scary. It’s just… intrusive. Dean feels like every freckle, every eyelash, every little patch of green in his eyes is being studied and recorded by those blue eyes. “Dean,” Castiel says quietly. “You have thirty-two freckles on your nose.”

Dean touches his nose, almost self consciously, and blinks at Castiel. “I do?”

Castiel nods. “I like them,” He gently reaches out and moves Dean’s hand, grasping it firmly and moving it back down to Dean’s lap. 

“Oh, um,” Dean swallows. He’s never been stared at like this before. “Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel’s features soften ever so gently and he tilts his head, his eyes moving from counting freckles up to Dean’s eyes. “You’re welcome,” he says, his voice soft and heartfelt. 

Dean blinks again, and Castiel looks away towards his shot glasses. Dean looks down at his hand, resting on his thigh, and still wrapped in Castiel’s fingers. He could pull away, he usually would pull away, but… he likes this. He likes Castiel. He looks over at him, and opens his mouth to say something -- he jumps when his phone starts ringing loudly. 

Castiel jumps and pulls his hand back to press it against his ear. Dean answers the phone quickly, and gets out of the booth. “Sorry, Cas, it’s my brother. I’ll be right back.” Castiel lets Dean go with a simple nod, and Dean nods back, lifting his phone to his ear. “Sammy, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” There’s a pause, and Dean can feel Sam’s smirk. “Who’s Cas?”

“Nobody you need to worry about,” Dean growls, pushing his way out of the bar and outside. The November chill makes him see his breath as he talks. “What’s up?”

“Well, I know you went back to the garage,” Dean hears a little noise which makes him think Sam is scratching his head. “But it’s been, like, four or five hours, so I’m making dinner --”

“What’s for dinner?” Dean interrupts, please be burgers, please be burgers!

“-- and I was calling to see if you wanted some,” Sam continues. “Oh, I’m making burgers. I put two on for you just in case you wanted them later, but I know how you’re always saying they don’t keep in the fridge as well, so I thought I’d call and see --”

“Yes, Sammy, if there are burgers, it will always be yes.”

“Okay,” Sam laughs. “Make sure to give Cas your number!”

“Shut up, bitch,” Dean makes his way back inside, rubbing his arms to warm up a little. 

“Drink some water before you drive home, okay?”

“Okay,” Dean agrees. 

“Bye, jerk,” Sam hangs up.

Dean pockets his phone and goes back to the booth to sit by Cas. He carefully avoids touching Cas, at least inciting touch, because that handshake earlier clearly made him uncomfortable. He puts his hands on the table, tapping his fists nervously. “Hey, buddy, so...” He looks over at Cas to find him staring intently back.

“Your brother called you,” He says unnecessarily. 

Dean waits for Cas to say anything else, but he doesn’t. “Yeah, he did,” Dean nods. “He’s, uh, makin’ dinner, so I’m gonna head out, if that’s okay.”

Cas’s eyes dart away and stay away, and then he’s tracing the table’s grain pattern again. “You have no obligation to be here, Dean.”

“I know, but I like it here,” Dean leans a little closer, copying Cas’s arm placement -- resting the underside of his upper arm on the table and propping his head on the heel of his hand -- but he doesn’t touch Cas. He leans his face closer to the middle of the table to catch Castiel’s eye. “Cause I like you .”

“You like me,” Castiel says, looking into Dean’s eyes. 

Dean nods. “Yeah, Cas,” he smiles. “I like you.”

Castiel seems to freeze, and his jaw drops a little. His face slowly flushes a deep red. His mouth opens like he wants to say something, but he closes it and just stares at Dean.

Dean just smiles and adjusts his head on his hand. After a few moments, he says, “I do have to get going, y’know, for dinner. Do you have a phone?”

“Yes, my brother purchased one for me for Christmas,” Castiel nods. 

“Alright,” Dean pulls his phone out of his pocket and opens up a new contact. He types in ‘Cas’ as the name, and sets his phone on the table. “Put your number in there and I’ll call you.”

Castiel’s face is still red when he nods, slowly moving the phone towards him so he can type in the phone number. He pushes Dean’s phone back to him with two fingers. Then he grabs Dean’s closer shoulder, and squeezes the meat of it with his palm. “Will I… will you sit with me tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Dean smiles, easing out of the booth. “I can eat dinner here tomorrow.”

“With me,” Castiel says.

“With you, yeah.”

Castiel nods once, and takes a book out of an inner pocket of his trench coat, opening it and taking his eyes off Dean. Dean shrugs and turns away. “I like you, too,” Dean hears.

He turns back, “What?”

Castiel meets his eyes this time. “I like you, too.”

Dean smiles and chuckles. “Well, that’s good to hear, Cas.” Castiel nods again. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” 

“Tomorrow.”

Dean goes home and gives Sammy a big hug, then munches down his burgers before going to bed.

Friday

Dean doesn’t hate his job. 

But today, everyone keeps commenting on how happy he looks, how his face is lit up with a smile. They keep asking him if he’s getting pie later, and if he’s seeing a hot girl tonight. He just shrugs them off, scratching his head and getting back to fixing cars. That’s what he’s there for, and that’s what he likes to do. 

He changes the oil in four cars, then struggles when he has to basically pull out an entire engine just to replace a cracked radiator. The owner of the car -- a Saturn Vue -- was just a teenage girl so he tried to keep the facts straight and make sure she was getting what she paid for. The girl said she loved her car, something Dean can definitely relate to, so she told him to replace the radiator. 

After he puts the Vue back together, he takes a break for lunch. He goes back to work for a few hours, then picks up Sam from school to take him home. Dean decides to take a nap, and then call Cas.

He wakes up an hour later, and finds Sam at the kitchen table doing his biology homework. In one fist is a clump of his long hair, and the other is a highlighter. He looks extremely frustrated. 

Dean slaps Sam on the shoulder, “Hey kiddo, relax, would’ya?” He sits down across the table. “You could switch subjects for a while, maybe take a break?”

Sam looks up, frustrated tears in his eyes, and immediately gets up and walks away. “This is shit!” he yells.

Dean shrugs and gets up too, walking over to Sam and pulling him into a hug. “It’s alright kid, it’s gonna be alright.”

Sam nods and calms down, nodding into Dean’s chest. “Okay, okay. I’m gettin’ hungry. Do you want anything?”

Dean scratches the back of his neck. “No, I’m uh… I’m actually going on a date. Gettin’ dinner with him.” Dean blinks, damn it. 

Sam’s face brightens like he just got a new set of history books. “You asked out the guy from the bar?!”

Now, Dean, he’s got two choices. Ignore what he said, and say he has to leave. Or, he can embrace that he’s going on a date with a guy. He bites the inside of his lip while he decides. He looks down and then nods, “Um, yeah, I -- I, uh, asked him out yesterday.” 

“Dean!” Sam looks and sounds so excited. “I’m so proud of you! What’s his name? What’s he like? Will there be another date?”

Dean gets flustered really fast. “His name’s Cas, it’s short for Castiel, and he’s, um, quiet. Nice. Y’know, uh, good looking.” He carefully avoids the question about a second date. He doesn’t think Castiel should be treated like a fling or a one night stand. Castiel looks like a long term… thing. 

Dean’s usually very repulsed by any mention of tomorrows or commitments… but imagining it with Cas… it doesn’t sound so scary. 

And that’s what sounds scary.

Dean shivers and goes over to the front door to get his jacket and lace up his boots. (Don’t tell anyone, but he wears Doc Martens sometimes. What? They’re comfortable.) He pulls on his shoes and he looks up when he hears Sam talking.

“So you guys are eating dinner?”

“Yeah,” Dean nods.

“Are you bringing him back here?” 

“Um,” Dean hadn’t thought about it. “Maybe?”

“Well, um, you can. I might go to the library,” Sam shrugs. 

At that, Dean stands. “Alright, now hold on a second. First off, it’s a school night, you shouldn't be goin’ out so late. And second, I wouldn’t bring anyone here while you’re here, especially when you’re studying!” His voice raises a little and he points over to the table, where the contents of Sam’s backpack are sprawled all over the table. “Even if I did, we wouldn’t do anything.”

At this point, Sam really wants to throw that night with Victor back in Dean’s face. But he isn’t going to. He lifts his hands in surrender instead. “Alright, alright! You have a point. Go have fun, will you?”

Dean grumbles and pulls on his leather jacket, putting his keys in his pocket. “Fine. I’ll see you later. Make sure you eat, and finish your homework. I’ll be back around ten, and you better be in bed, bitch.”

“Alright, jerk,” Sam grins, and opens the door for Dean, pushing him out into the hall. “Make sure to ask before you kiss him!” And the door gets slammed shut and locked.

Dean flushes, but he pounds on the door, just out of principle. “You better be asleep when I get home!”

With that, he goes outside, gets into his baby, and drives to the bar. 

Cas is in his usual booth, so Dean walks over and sits across from him. “Hey, Cas,” he taps his foot against Cas’s under the table. Cas doesn’t jump, but he does look up at Dean quickly. 

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel smiles, a small movement, but it lights up his face. 

“You want some dinner?” Dean asks. 

Castiel nods, so Dean flags down a waitress and they get some food. 

Castiel eats slowly and quietly, so Dean stays quiet too and focuses on his chicken sandwich. He hasn’t had one from here before, and it’s really good. Castiel got chicken tenders (which, fuck, that’s adorable) and fries. He eats everything on his plate like he’s never had it before, and he’s squinting at it like he isn’t even sure if it’s good. He keeps eating it, so Dean assumes he likes it, but he really can’t tell based on Castiel’s face alone. 

“Dean,” Castiel says, after he’s finished eating. Dean’s been done for a while, now just quietly sipping on his beer. 

“Yeah?” Dean sees that Castiel is looking at him. 

Castiel opens his mouth once, then closes it. “Can I sit next to you?”

Dean nods, but Castiel doesn’t move at all. Well, he moves further in on his side of the booth. Dean chuckles and slides his drink across the table, then gets out of his seat to sit next to Cas. He watches Dean move and sit, and then they’re just staring at each other. 

Castiel’s cheeks are a little red, and his mouth is slightly open like he has another question, but he’s not asking it. Dean just turns to face him a little more, and then he sees it. 

Castiel wants to kiss him. He’s looking at Dean’s mouth, and his hands are in his lap, twitching and completely restless. 

Once Dean realizes it, he just wants to sink into the corner of the booth with him. He raises his hand to Cas’s cheek, careful not to touch him, and asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Castiel’s hands grip tightly onto Dean’s wrist, pulling his hand in to cup Castiel’s face. “Yes, please.”

Dean hesitates for a fraction of a second before leaning in to press his lips to Castiel’s. They’re dry but warm, and so soft. Dean pulls back, just enough to lick his lips, before leaning forward again, tilting his head more so he can kiss Castiel deeper. Castiel kisses back slowly, just a press of lips, but as the kiss goes on he gets bolder and leans forward more. One of his hands goes to Dean’s chest, gripping his shirt tightly and pulling it closer. 

Dean pulls back slowly and opens his eyes. He grins at Cas, when he opens his eyes too, and rubs his thumb against Cas’s cheekbone. “You’re pretty good at that, Cas,” Dean smiles.

Cas looks at him like Dean is everything. “Thank you,” He says sincerely. “I’m doing it again.” 

Dean chuckles, and they kiss again. He pulls away, “Can I ask something weird?”

“Nothing you could ask me would ever be considered weird, Dean.”

Dean doesn’t know why he’s asking… but, “Can I take you home? With me? To… my house, I mean.”

Castiel tilts his head. “You... want to.”

“Yeah, is that okay?” Dean blushes and backs away a little. “I didn’t mean… we don’t have to do anything, that’s -- that’s not why I asked!”

Castiel leans forward, resting his head against Dean’s chest and wrapping his arms around Dean’s body. “I think it would be nice to lay with you, Dean.”

Dean holds Cas back, wrapping his arms tightly around him, “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Dean turns and flags down a waitress, “Can I get the check, please?”