The train's heavy wheels clacked on the rails with fast intentions to get to the next station on time. Windows foggy with condensation, the inside of the cart was maybe 5 degrees warmer than outside, making almost no difference to the man who sat in the window seat. He had an ocean blue scarf around his neck, burying his stubbled chin, up to his bottom lip. His hands were closed and tucked under his arms, trying to gather up some warmth. By his side was an empty seat, occupied by his backpack. Eyes closing, he had no desire to look outside. It was dark and he still had a long way to go on this train. The train had left from Kansas and is traveling only god knows where now. It's been a long time since he's rested his eyes; anxiety always got the best of him.

Coming to a slow stop, the groans and hisses escaped the train as very little passengers entered. There were some hardy laughs exchanged between the ticket puncher and a certain passenger. The man's striking blue eyes flickered open to see what all the commotion was at this late hour. All he could hear now was heavy footsteps coming onto the cart that he rested in. Quickly, he took his bag off of the seat and hugged it close, sliding down the seat anxiously, trying to avoid any confrontation. To avoid even more contact, he closed his eyes, pretending he was asleep.

The man's heart almost stopped when he heard the person sitting across from him, worrying for a moment that they were actually going to sit next to him. But once that whole scenario was over with, he opened his eyes back up slowly, staring into the glare of the glass, noticing that sitting in the aisle set, was a casually dressed man. A warm looking leather jacket, zipped up snuggly on him, he held a flip phone up to his ear, mumbling quietly enough so that no one beyond the other seats could make sense of what he was saying. His hands looked like they've been beaten up over the years, like maybe he did some construction work without proper protection. Also, under his nails was a thin layer of dirt, but it seemed to be a part of him. It went well with the whole leather jacket look, especially with the stubble and well kept short, styled up hair he managed to pull off.

Saying his goodbyes on the phone, he flipped it closed and put it in the breast pocket of his jacket. He seemed to come on the train without any luggage, unlike the anxiety ridden man. At least he was prepared to travel across state boarders. The blue eyed man slowly looked over onto his own lap, and then he gave a quick side glance, nervous he'd catch eyes with the stranger. But within that millisecond of evaluating what he was doing, he was still fiddling around with his phone, probably texting. Taking advantage of the man's unawareness, he slowly looked back, getting a better look at his profile from afar. The man's hair seemed to be somewhat a mix between blonde and ginger, it was hard to make out in this light, but it sure was kept nicely. Mr. Anxiety always had his short, dark brown, wavy hair let loose and do what it wants. This man looked like the total opposite, he seemed to be really clean cut and old fashioned. Where as the admirer was generally messy looking, like he gave up on life and just threw on some stupid combination of clothing. Today he was alright, he wearing a navy blue trench coat with khakis and nice black dress shoes. Normally that'd be considered a normal outfit, but under his heavy trench coat was a red plaid shirt that was tucked in, and what held his pants up was a brown belt with a silver belt buckle.

The clean cut man looked up at him and smiled, making him respond by looking back out of the fogged window. It's not that he hated interacting with others, it was just that his people skills were "rusty". Hugging his backpack closer to his body, the tanned cheeks of his faded into red warmth, he couldn't believe he trusted himself to look at that stranger for so long. That was a thing he did, every person that intrigued him enough to the point of wanting to take in every detail of them, and write it down later. He already filled in 10 pages so far, and they're all of footnotes and sketches of unsuspecting subjects of interest; he didn't mean anything creepy of it, it's just that there's too many people in the world to remember all these beautiful details of all of them. But right now, he was too flustered from being caught to even reflect on the features he tried to remember about him. He didn't dare turn his eyes back around to evaluate his presence any further, and once he heard the man shuffling around and getting up, he froze right where he was.

"Hey, man, where are you headed?"

His voice was smooth yet rough like hard liquor, and he had a slight southern accent. Without warning, he sat down in the open seat, body language comfortable and open to this man that he hadn't even officially met yet.

"Uhm," clearing his throat, his eyes dance around his face, noticing how many laugh lines and eye wrinkles he had whenever he smiled, "I'm not entirely sure."

Unlike the whisky voice the stranger had, his voice was just hushed and rough, chapped sounding, almost like his lips. He sat awkwardly, body still turned to the window, but his head turned to the man.

Giving a small chuckle, he said, "Really? Me too. Small world huh?" he held out his hand for a handshake, "I'm Dean."

Reciprocating with the handshake, he said with a little smile curving his stiff lips, "Yeah.. I'm Castiel." Dean's hands were warm and just as strong as they looked.

Dean gave a firm shake, then he crossed his arms, staring Castiel in the eyes, "Neat name, mind if I call you Cas?" Castiel's hands were cold and soft.

Castiel always heard that his name was hard to remember, but no one ever tried to give him a nickname. Well, it was never too late to start with nickname, "I don't mind at all," he said in a hushed tone. He was honestly flattered to receive such a name, but it's been so long since he's slept, and he didn't know how to deal with people at this state of mentality. Eyes blinking slowly, he was unaware of how tired he looked, there was extra dark circles around his eyes and the whites of his eyes started to turn red, veins starting to become more visible.

Smiling out of pity, Dean said, "Sorry to interrupt your sleep, I just saw that you were literally the only other person on this cart," he paused and looked around, "It gets pretty lonely sometimes when you ride alone." His face almost lost the smile, but when he caught himself, he sang out happily, "But that's life sometimes. Gotta roll with it.. Say, can I sit here for the rest of the ride? I won't be on here for long."

Cas' body started to slowly scoot towards Dean's direction as they talked more. His awkward way of asking questions interested him.

"Yeah, just don't think about pick pocketing me. I don't have anything valuable on my person, I'll warn you now," he stifled out a dry laugh.

At that moment, he embarrassed himself beyond belief. Dean looked like a nice guy, and he just suggested that he looks like the kind of person that would steel from a sleeping dude on a train. But thank god Dean laughed with him, or he would have thought he was getting off on a very wrong foot that was also rude.

"Don't worry, that's all in the past," Dean reassured him ( not very well ) with some amusement in his voice.

Castiel was too tired to even worry about what that meant, he was just still worried about saying something that would actually make Dean want to pick pocket him while he slept. He didn't say anything, he just gave a tired smile and curled back up towards the window, holding the backpack close to him. Eyes closing, a small, "goodnight" slipped out as everything went black behind his eyelids, and the train's rhythm started lulling him to sleep.