"You're nervous." Castiel blinked, craning his neck across the table.

"Why should I be nervous? We've had dinner meetings before." Dean scratched his nose, unrecognizing his level of comfort with Castiel.

"I apologize if you feel mislead. This is not a dinner meeting."

Dean thought for a moment. "There won't be pie?"

Castiel thought for a moment and sighed. "I'm sorry that Earth humor is still so unfamiliar too me. I'm not referring to dessert selection, Dean."

Another moment of silence passed. "Oh."

"Is there a problem with that?"

The waiter blissfully chose that moment to appear. "Good evening and welcome to Olive Garden. My name is Joanne and I'll be your server this evening. Would you care to start with our famous bread sticks this evening?"

Dean answered quickly. "Yes please. And a bottle of your finest."

"Very good. Do you need another moment to decide?"

Castiel glanced down at his unopened menu. "Dean?"

Dean shook his head. "I'm not sure how much of an appetite I have."

Castiel looked from Dean to Joanne. "If you'll allow me then? Mangerò la minestra di marsala di pollo e minestrone...."

Dean found himself visibly straining to not spit his water across the table cloth while the poor waitress Joanne just looked confused. Dean found himself chuckling, amazed at the angel. Castiel simply waited patiently. "I'm sure that translation is correct."

Dean nodded. "Well, yes, there's no doubt in that. Ummm, I'll have the tour of Italy and I think my friend here would enjoy some chicken marsala and Italian wedding soup."

Joanne stumbled over her words, but managed. "Very good sir. I'll get that in right away for you."

Castiel was not surprised by the comfort Dean had in diffusing the situation. "You know Italian as well?"

Dean shook his head. "No, Cas. But I took some Spanish courses in school and the one thing I understand about Latin based languages is that they are relatively similar."

Castiel reached across the table for Dean's hand while it seemed to disappear under the table. "You never cease to surprise me, Dean Winchester."

"Yeah, well, that little stunt ordering in Italian wasn't exactly normal, Cas."

Castiel furrowed his brow. "What are you referring to? I simply thought one should order in the native language of the dining establishment."

The food came soon and Dean spoke low as the lights dimmed around them in the evening. "Yes, well, we are in the middle of Kansas though. You can't possibly think that this is that authentic."

Castiel shrugged as he sliced deftly with his knife across the chicken breast, dipping it in the sauce before chewing slowly. "It never occurred to me to think otherwise. I've followed hunters in Venice, Nice, and in obscure towns in Sicily. Until you and your brother, I never had pause for thought."

"I always kind of wondered why that was."

"Perhaps it is a mixture of my host body and my own personality. After all, he was the one that enjoyed operettas. Without him, I would not have cared enough to speak Italian."

Dean dove into his lasagna with relish. "What does your host think of all this?"

Castiel nodded to himself, dotting his lips with his napkin. "The assumption is that he would trust one of God's warriors."

Dean found his plate very interesting. "But are you still on that same side now?"

Castiel processed the next bite slowly. "Perhaps it would be best to leave our work outside of the conversation."

"Ah."

"How is your Italian tour?"

Dean nodded as he cleaned his plate with a bread stick. "Passable. Hardly noticeable that it's Americanized."

Joanne appeared as if by magick. "Would you gentlemen care for dessert?"

Dean opened his mouth but closed it again when Castiel gave him a strange look. "No...I think we'll just have the bill, please."

Joanne nearly bowed as she nodded. "Very good. And might I be candid when I say you two are the cutest couple we've had in a long while."

Joanne was already on her way when Dean began speaking, turning away from Castiel. "But wait...we aren't..."

"I think it's time we returned to the hotel."

Dean crooked his eyebrow. "You seem rather eager. Even willing to keep me from my dessert. Why, Cas?"

If Dean hadn't known any better, he would think that Cas was blushing. "I believe there are things we need to discuss."

"You got cancer?" Dean's smirk quickly faded when Castiel's unwavering gaze trapped him. "Sorry, just trying to lighten the mood. Whatever it is, Cas, we'll get through it. You're part of our lives now, me and Sammy. Don't be afraid of just talking."

Castiel's voice was nearly a whisper. "It would be unwise to discuss here. How was your meal?"

Dean slipped a few bills into the black receipt folder and left it on the table, sliding his coat away from his chair. "Enjoyable. And you?"

"I believe it could be considered pleasing to the taste buds."

Dean shivered at the word pleasing, although he wasn't quite sure why.

The ride home was quiet, Castiel preferring silence to the radio channels. Dean could feel an odd lump in his throat, though he could not identify the origin. He felt like he did in school when the teacher tried to teach a bit of theology mixed in with vocabulary. Right now, he felt himself. He felt alone, like solipsism tried to teach. Castiel, if his knuckles were any indication, was miles away and concentrating hard on whatever feeling was crawling up from his toes toward the top of his spine.

"Cas, I know you don't want me to talk, but you should listen. You once told me that I didn't have any faith, that I thought I wasn't worth saving and you were right. And maybe I haven't proved to be the best human all the times, but...."

The car came screeching to a halt, dust flying between the tires and pouring away from the end of the car as it jolted to the shoulder. Castiel turned and looked at Dean hard. "We were on a date tonight. I understand little of courtship rituals, but I feel as though my closeness to you is not complete. To express what I feel would destroy the underlying foundation of our relationship. Please do not say again that you are not worth saving because that will kill me."

The drive continued, Castiel and Dean farther apart and yet closer together than they'd ever been. Dean was afraid to breathe, afraid to embrace what Castiel was offering, afraid to accept that something to enter the lonely part of himself where faith should have been and touched him in a way that made no sense. That touched him in a way that Sammy had and his own father had. It was uncomfortable and forced him to recognize that he was neither alone in the world nor the car.

"We're here."

Dean sighed out through his nose as he looked at the three story motel, most lights dark. It felt late, but perhaps it was still early. The sky was clear, the moon shining too brightly. Dean was suddenly claustrophobic, opening the car door before Castiel could reach over and do it for him. Dean turned back, the window down still.

"You could come in. We have dessert if your host body is still hungry."

"It would be unwise for me to be alone with you at the moment. Sam is out for the night."

Dean gulped. "I want you to know that this was a good night. I want you to know that."

"Please do not indulge me." Castiel looked as though he was under some terrible strain, as though the fabric of his being was torn asunder and someone was trying to staple his body back together. "If I find more information out about the case, I will contact you. But otherwise, it would be wise not to lose concentration at this moment."

Dean spoke softly, wanting to cup Castiel's chin in his hand. "The world's always going to be ending, Cas. What we do in the time between makes the real difference."

Dean began to walk away on that note, easily making the short walk to his first story room. He turned back to find Castiel watching him. He wanted Castiel to come inside, to feel better about what it was that he was feeling. At the very best, he didn't want the poor guy to be alone when he was obviously more than slightly confused about the nature of his current human emotion. But that also made Dean wonder who was feeling what Castiel was feeling.

It was when the key turned in the lock, when Dean's body was blocking the darkness. Castiel wasn't sure if it was a memory of his host body or if he had been human once. Angels rarely remembered, or cared to remember, if either was the case. But this, this twitched in the back of his mind.

Her hand was elderly, but cared for. Her nails were polished, lacquered white. She was warm, the air was warm. And there was a smile on her face, a smile in the wind. Her hair was dark, swept up in a bun. She had the same nose as Castiel. She was handing him something, he believed they were dice.

Fireflies were all around. It was summer, twilight on the porch with the humid air and condensation dripping from the iced tea in mason jars lying on coasters on the table. Castiel felt small and young, but awkward as well. He was growing in all manners. Castiel felt the youth surging through him.

The dice clacked thunderously as they hit the table. Castiel looked at the steering wheel, tearing his eyes away from Dean for a moment. They had been playing a game, just the two of them. There was a door, Castiel was swinging open the little cardboard door. There was a man inside, dressed in a tuxedo.

He looked up as the woman swiped the card out of the holder. She smiled victoriously again, before passing the card to Castiel and wishing him congratulations. He remembered the card glowing as it passed between the pair. The man in the tuxedo, it couldn't have been. He couldn't have been.

Suddenly, Castiel looked up and Dean was walking inside the darkness, about to close the door behind him. Castiel honked the horn hard and turned harder into the nearest parking space. He ran towards Dean, not bothering to care about locking the car. Dean's eyes were wide, as though headlights were entrancing him. Even when Castiel kissed him, grabbing a shoulder, Dean's eyes remained wide.