Disclaimer: Supernatural and all of its characters belong to Erik Kripke and the CW Network. No profit is made from the writing of this work, and no copyright infringement is intended.

This work is dedicated to my partner in crime, for listening

to my nonsensical ramblings when anyone else would have

lost their mind already and brightening my day just by being you.

You're the best! *hugs*

Galway, Ireland

Dean sprinted through the cobblestoned streets of the town center, his Nikon tucked under his jacket protectively, and his notepad stuffed in a pocket. The rain was blinding, and colder then any rain he'd ever experienced back home. Spotting the dull neon of a pub, he made a small, trimumphant noise in the back of his throat and headed toward it.

He practically fell through the door, into the smothering warmth of the pub. The sound of an acoustic guitar playing something that sounded like a folk song he'd heard once filled the sandalwood and beer scented air. Shaking the water out of his short hair, he pulled the camera from under his jacket, inspecting it carefully and letting out a sigh of relief when he realized that it had been unharmed by the onslaught of rain.

The lighting wasn't the greatest, and the worn, weathered wood floors gave the whole place a very rustic feeling. Dean glanced around the small pub, noting that there were very few patrons tucked into the dark corner booths. It was quaint, and exactly what he'd come to expect in the week he'd been on assignment in Ireland.

When the editor of his newspaper had told him that he was getting a chance to go abroad and investigate the Irish Republican Army, he'd been irrationally excited. He'd rushed back to his house, thrown a bunch of clothing in a bag, and been at the airport within the hour.

Dean glared out the window of the pub, watching the rain continue to pelt the streets relentlessly. Shrugging out of the soaked olive drab jacket, he hung it on one of the hooks, and headed towards the bar. He figured, as long as he was hiding from the raging storm, he may as well grab a beer. He was took a seat at one of the rickety stools, setting his camera and notepad on the bar carefully.

"What'll it be?" The voice on the other side of the bar was deep, gravelly, and thick with the most sultry Irish accent that Dean had ever heard. His heart nearly stopped when he lifted his gaze and was met with sapphire eyes. The man was tall, not as tall as Dean but not short by any means, and had a coating of stubble on his jaw. He shot Dean a thousand watt smile and leaned his head down to get a better look at Dean's face. "You okay?"

"I'm, uh, yeah, yeah, yeah, no, I'm..." Dean stammered, running his fingers absently through his rain soaked hair. "I'm good. Can I get a beer?" He added a hurried 'please', because his mother had taught him manners, even in the face of arousal, damn it.

"You want to be more specific, lad?" The man laughed, and Dean swore to Christ it was like a chorus of angels singing hallelujahs. His stomach flipped over and his tongue suddenly felt a thousand times too big for his mouth.

"Surprise me?" He replied, his voice raspy and thick. The man smiled at him knowingly, and Dean could feel a heated blush creeping up his neck. The bartender stared at him for another long moment, making Dean squirm on the barstool and play with the strap of his camera absently. The other man finally walked to the other side of the bar, tucking a white washrag into the back pocket of his well-fitted black slacks as he went.

Dean was not used to this. The feeling of embarassment and anxiousness around someone else. The whole 'being hot for a guy' thing wasn't new, no, he'd had that tendency since high school football season his senior year. The 'giddy little school girl with a crush' thing was new, though. Maybe it was something about the intoxicating way the man smiled at him, or the way that he could watch the muscles moving under the white dress shirt and black vest.

All too soon, a tall glass of amber colored beer was settled in front of him and that shark smile was trained on him again. He picked up the glass, bringing it up to his nose to the rim, inhaling the scent of hops and something sweeter.

"What is this?" He questioned, his eyes fluttering closed at the scent. He brought the glass to his lips and took a tentative swallow, groaning when the liquid hit his tongue. When he opened his eyes, he noted that the sapphire of the man's eyes had given way to the inky black of his pupils. He swallowed around the thick lump in his throat and set the beer back on the condensation damp coaster.

"Irish Cream Ale." He replied, crossing his arms over his chest and watching Dean with rapt attention. "So, business or pleasure?" Dean choked on the mouthful of beer he had, coughing hard and pounding a fist against his chest until he regained his breath.

"I'm...I'm sorry?"

"Well, you're accent says that you're from across the pond. Are you here on business or pleasure?"

"Oh." Dean chuckled nervously and nodded. "Mostly business, but it's hard not to mix them in a place like this."

"It is a beautiful place." The man nodded. Dean extended his hand over the bar.

"I'm Dean Winchester, by the way." The man eyed him for a moment before reaching out and shaking his hand.

"Hello, Dean. My name is Castiel Novak." Castiel's hand was large and warm, callouses coating the palm, but his fingers were long, and slender.

"You have an artist's hands." Dean whispered before his brain could stop his mouth from moving. The shy smile on Castiel's lips had him immediately wishing he could take it back. "I, uh...sorry, that was-."

"No worries, boyo. I'm taking it as a compliment." Castiel smiled happily at him. An man at the end of the bar waved a hand at Castiel, gesturing at him empty glass. Dean watched as Castiel wiped his hands on the rag and straightened the midnight blue tie around his neck. "I've got to take care of business, but I'll be back down his way. Finish that beer, lad, and don't go runnin' off. I want to know more about you, Dean Winchester." Dean nodded, unable to convince his brain that it was polite to respond when someone spoke to you.

The man oozed swagger and sex appeal, even managing to, somehow, make wiping down the bar after filling the man's beer look sexy. He grinned at Dean over the tap knobs, shooting him a wink, and it was only then that Dean realized he was still staring like a complete creeper. His eyes snapped back to the wall in front of him, and he lifted the beer to his lips, draining half of the pint in one drink.

"It's good, isn't it?" Castiel's voice startled him and he nearly jumped off of the stool.

"I, uh, yeah, it's real good. Tastes like cream soda."

"That's the point of 'Irish cream ale'." He laughed. Dean leveled a half-assed glare at him.

"Hardy har." Castiel gave him another smooth, cocky grin.

"So, Dean, what kind of business is it that you're here doing?"

"I'm a photojournalist. I work with a newspaper back in Kansas, they sent me over here to research." Dean took another large gulp of his beer.

"What're you researching?" Castiel questioned, reaching over and grabbing two shotglasses. He filled them both with whiskey and slid one of them in front of Dean. He lifted his own in a toast, and Dean mirrored the action. "Slante." The men downed their shots in one go.

"I'm researching..." Dean glanced around cautiously. His travel advisor had warned him that he should be cautious about who he spoke to reguarding his research. The IRA wasn't exactly a forgiving group. He lowered his voice and leaned in, crooking a finger at Castiel until his mouth was directly next to the man's ear. He took the oppourtunity to covertly inhale the scent clinging to his skin. He smelled of sandalwood, and something crisp and clean, like summer rain or fresh air in a field. "The IRA." Castiel pulled away slowly, his knuckles white with his grip on the towel.

"That's a ballsy topic, Dean." He finally stated after a pregnant pause.

"I know, Cas. That's why I wanted to cover it." Dean started, running his finger over the rim of his beer glass. "I wanted to cover something more then just the local basketball game. I want to be taken seriously, and I just...can't if I don't pick up some more serious cases." Castiel tilted his head to the side, the wild dark hair on his head flopping over his forehead. Dean quirked an eyebrow skyward. "What?" "You called me Cas."

"I'm...sorry? Did you not want me to?" Dean questioned, trying to find some way to backpedal.

"No, no, it's...it's fine, it's just that no one has ever called me that before." Cas gave him a soft smile. "I like it."

"Oh. Well. Good." Dean responded with a grin of his own, draining the rest of the his beer. Cas picked up the glass and moved to fill it up. When he returned, he set it back on the coaster, and set about rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. Dean watched, entranced as inch by inch of milky, softly tanned skin was revealed. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip when he saw the soft skin of Cas' inner elbow that was practically created to be kissed.

"How long are you going to be in country, Dean?" He questioned, leaning forward with his hands on the bar. Dean ran his hand over the back of his neck and pulled a half shrug.

"As long as it takes. Could be a week, could be a year."

"That must be tough on your family."

"Only family I got is my kid brother. Sammy. He's in law school though, so it's not..." Dean trailed off. He missed Sammy like hell and talking about him didn't help. Instead, he snagged his camera off the bar and lifted it to his eye. "Smile, Cas."

"S'long as this doesn't end up on the front page of the New York Times." Cas chuckled, brushing his hair off his forehead and giving Dean a dazzling smile. Dean snapped the picture and pulled away to look at the digital screen.

"Perfect. You have a face built to photograph." Dean mumbled, more to himself then Cas.

"S'that mean you think I'm pretty then?" Cas chuckled, reaching out toward the camera. Dean noticed what he was doing and he turned the camera, showing Cas the photo. The other man hummed his approval and smiled. "That's a good picture, Dean. You're good at what you do."

"It helps when I got good subjects to shoot." Dean replied. They stared at each other, grins plastered to their faces until Dean finally broke away and looked out the window. "It's Summer! I thought it was supposed to be warm!"

"It is warm, lad!" Came a voice from the end of the bar. Dean turned to see the other man looking at him with an amused smile. "Can't ya see I broke out my Summer sweater! You're in Ireland, boy." The man gestured to the corded, green sweater he wore and Dean chuckled nervously.

"Oh, settle down over there, Balthazar. Don't make me call Gabriel and have him drag your ass home." Cas called tossing a coaster at the man. "Ignore my brother, he's forty-five going on a hundred. 'Old soul', that's what my father used to tell us."

"That's your brother?" Dean questioned, his eyebrows nearly touching his hairline. Cas nodded and leaned a hip against the bar.

"Sadly, yes. My older brother. I'm the youngest of five. Balthazar is next, then Raphael, Gabriel, and Michael." Dean nodded slowly, his eyes moving from Balthazar back to Cas.

"Wow, your house must have been a nightmare growing up." Cas laughed and nodded.

"It was definitely something. Worst part was that we only had one bathroom. That was the real nightmare." Dean could feel the alcohol starting to warm his limbs, shaking out the cold from the rain that had clung to him even after coming inside. "So...I know that people on your side of the world aren't exactly as straight forward about this but...I want to see you again, Dean Winchester."

"Oh, okay. That's...I'll probably be in here again quite a few times before I leave, I'm sure I'll see you again." Dean replied, his brow furrowed in confusion. He couldn't quite understand why exactly Cas had brought that up.

"No, Dean, that's not what I..." Cas trailed off, running his hand over the back of his neck as his eyes dropped to the ground in front of him. "I meant see you again." Dean stared at him, a blank expression on his face. Cas was floundering for a more accurate phrase when Balthazar sighed heavily, leaning his forearm on the bar and turning to look at the pair of them.

"He's trying to tell you that he wants to take you to dinner. Like a date. You do know what a date is don't you, love? Cassie has this little problem." Balthazar waved his hand in the general direction of Castiel. "He's really good at acting the part of the sexy, confident bartender when he's got that vest on, but, when it comes to actually interacting with people beyond taking a drink order? It all goes down the pisser." The man nodded and turned back to his beer slowly. Castiel was blushing wildly when Dean turned back to him.

"Well...yeah...I'd like that." He smiled, nodding and standing off the stool. He was reaching for his wallet when Cas waved him off.

"Please, the beers are on me."

"Wow, well...thanks, Cas. So, how about...dinner, tonight? After you get off work tonight?"

"Sounds good." Cas replied shyly, brushing his hand through his hair. "I'll see you tonight, Dean."

"Yeah, I'll, uh, see you tonight..." Dean nodded, shrugging into his jacket and putting his camera back around his neck. He was halfway out the door when a large arm closed around his bicep. He turned and found Cas staring at him.

"I forgot that you didn't get my number in case you need to get ahold of me. " He hooked his index finger around Dean's camera strap and pulled him close enough that Dean could feel the heat radiating off his skin. Cas tucked a piece of paper into Dean's front pocket, letting his fingers skim over the hair below his belly button. Dean shuddered when Cas leaned in to whisper in his ear, his lips brushing over the heated skin. "Tonight?"

"T-tonight..." Dean stammered, nodding slowly. Cas pulled away, smirking at him.

"I'll see you then, I guess." Dean watched Cas walk back around the bar before backing out the door into the rain. He had a feeling that the goofy grin on his face wasn't going away anytime soon...

As he started walking back to his rental cottage, dodging the raindrops and making a mental note that he needed to buy his boss a present for sending him to Ireland. He was in his cottage, shrugging out of his jacket and throwing on a pot of coffee when a realization hit him.

He was going to have to go on a date with Castiel Novak and not make an ass of himself...that was going to be fun...