Just because he'd used it to rationalize his dinner out didn't mean that Dean was particularly eager to go in and face Ellen to apologize for fighting with other patrons. He wasn't scared, per se...nope, scratch that, he decided. He could admit it. Ellen was one scary lady when she was mad. He crossed his fingers that the week that had elapsed since the incident would have taken her down to a simmer, but she was more than capable of holding a grudge.

He stood fidgeting outside the bar next to his car, rehearsing the apology that he hoped would sound the most heartfelt (and result in the least likelihood of ear-twisting), until he heard the sound of a quiet motor beside him. Parking his Prius, Sam climbed out, grinning. "You know you have it coming, and you can't hide out here forever," he said.

"Shut up, bitch. I totally can," Dean muttered. "And when are you gonna grow up and get yourself a real car, trade in this toy thing?" He rolled his eyes at the hybrid. His heart wasn't in their traditional argument. As far as procrastination techniques went, though, it was a pretty reliable one. They'd been lightheartedly teasing each other's vehicles practically since they were old enough to drive.

"A hybrid car is not a toy," said an unexpected voice from the other side of Sam's car. Dean hadn't noticed his brother's passenger, but he definitely did now. The voice was deep and rough, stirring something low in Dean's gut. He turned to find the source, the vocal timbre leading him to expect a barrel-chested guy with an entire pack of cigarettes hanging out of his mouth.

Instead, he found his eyes immediately caught, unable to glance away, from the most intense alpha gaze he'd ever felt in his life, and he promptly lost all ability to process complex thought. Blue, his brain suggested, and his body quickly agreed that, yes, blue was the absolute best color in the universe, particularly the blue of the eyes staring deeply into his own. He registered that the man had said something else and was now tilting his head confusedly (adorably!) at Dean's lack of response.

"Blue," Dean said, holding out his hand. Then his brain caught up, and he winced. "Dean! I mean Dean! My name," he sputtered. The other man looked even more confused, and Sam seemed torn between appalled embarrassment and laughter. "Let me try again?" he sighed.

"If you think it'll help," the man said.

"Dean, this is Cas. I told you I was bringing a colleague, remember?" Sam stepped forward, gripping Dean's shoulder firmly. "And Cas, this is my older brother, Dean. I promise, he's not normally so…" He shook his head. "What was that, anyway? Awkward surrealism?"

Dean would have made a sarcastic remark, but he was afraid it would come out backward and inside-out, making him look even more idiotic. Instead, he just glared hard at Sam, and he missed noticing Cas taking a step forward to grasp the hand he'd forgotten that he was still extending.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Dean," he said, voice rumbling warmly. His words were slow and careful; Dean hoped that was just his typical way of speaking, not something he was doing because he thought Dean was dim-witted. He wore a serious expression, not laughing at the mess of an introduction, and Dean couldn't decide whether that was positive or negative.

"Good to meet you, too," he tried, relieved that his brain-to-mouth connection didn't fail him this time. On the other hand, he realized he'd unconsciously slipped into a lower vocal register of his own. He noticed Cas's hand tense in his grip, and he hoped the man didn't think he was making fun of him. He didn't smell angry. No, on the contrary; what small notes Dean could detect through the professional scent blockers worn for work by most of the attorneys at Sam's firm were tantalizingly inviting. He fought the urge to lean forward a little, just to get a stronger scent…

Sam cleared his throat. Dean suddenly became aware that what had started as a handshake was now decidedly holding hands. He quickly released Cas's hand, seeing a slight flush creep up the other man's neck toward the base of the stubble gracing his jaw. Sam now looked more aggravated than embarrassed, and Dean knew that his sudden drop in ability to function was really pushing his brother's patience levels. He was just relieved that, between his beta brother's less-sensitive nose and the blockers he himself was wearing, at least Sam wasn't also picking up on the happy little connections his body was now drawing between the newly-beloved color blue and the soft traces of cinnamon and clove-scented sexiness floating in the air around him.

"So, who's hungry? I could really use a burger right now! Sam, let's get in there and get you something to eat, too - get 'em to throw a whole head of lettuce on top, just for you." Dean clapped his hands and spun on his heel, striding toward the door to escape the mortifying scene. He'd rather face down an entire pack of angry bar owners than spend another minute out here, humiliating himself more with every passing moment.

Inside, he grabbed a booth by the bar. He reached for the menu to hide his face, even though he probably could have written it out perfectly from memory, and he rarely varied in his orders, anyway. Sam and Cas slid into the other side of the booth, Sam still aiming a mild bitch-face at Dean. There was uncomfortable silence as Cas studied the menu and the brothers pretended to do the same. Dean would have breathed a sigh of relief at the arrival of the waitress, if only it had been someone else.

Bang! A mug of beer hit the table hard in front of Sam, making all three men jump. Jo glared challengingly at Dean, arms folded. "Well, hello, stranger."

"Jo," he said, smiling weakly. "Just who I wanted to see. Uh, your mom around?"

"Yep," she said, popping the last letter between her lips. "And she's been waiting for you to show your sorry face. I thought you'd be too chicken to come in and face her for at least another week."

"What, underestimating me again?" He tried for cocky, missed, and landed somewhere less stable. "I'll talk to her."

"Good. She won't let me bring you your drink until you do, and I don't feel like being caught in the middle of this." She rolled her eyes, then abruptly smiled brightly at Cas. "And how about you? You're new!"

"Jo, this is a friend from work," Sam said quickly, eager to change topics.

Cas held out his hand, which Jo shook firmly. "Castiel Novak," he said, smiling politely.

"Castiel?" Dean blurted. All three turned to stare at him, and he gripped his menu again, wishing fervently that Ellen had allowed him a beer. "Um...it's an...unusual name, is all."

"Yes," Cas said, frowning. He looked self-conscious, grimacing for a moment. "It's the name of an angel. My father was fairly devout."

"I like it!" Dean protested. Cas looked at him with raised eyebrows, and Dean just shrugged. "It sounds cool and mysterious, like you're some kind of bad-ass superhero or something." Cas kept staring, but the corners of his mouth twitched a little.

"Dean," Sam sighed. "Just...why don't you go talk to Ellen now? Jo doesn't want to have to wait all night to take your order."

"Yeah, okay." Breathing deeply, Dean pushed himself off the bench and made his way toward the bar, where he now saw Ellen polishing some rocks glasses with perhaps a bit more focus than was required.

The apology did not proceed in as straightforward a manner as he had hoped. "Dean, I just want you to answer me one thing," Ellen said, giving him a hard stare in response to his attempt. "When you walked in here that night, were you looking for a fight?"

"No!" he spluttered. "Of course I wasn't! I'd never - "

"Then were you looking to take over Benny's job as bouncer?"

"Ellen…"

"Because you know I don't stand for harassment of any kind in this bar. If you've got problems with drunk knothead idiots, you should know by now that all you have to do is say the word or give a nod. I don't want 'em here, and we've made that pretty clear in the past. Hell, you've been coming here long enough to know that! Instead of letting me and Benny do our jobs, though, and keep everything nice and neat, you decided to start brawling. So you're either suffering from memory loss, or else you came in here looking for somebody to punch. Now, I've seen you grin and sass back to worse than the crap Jo told me those guys were shoveling, so I know where to put my money."

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "It's possible I was having a shit day."

Ellen nodded. "We all do sometimes. Don't mean we have to spread the joy around. Next time, you need to decide: do you want a drink, or do you want a fight? You want a drink, you come here, and I can help. You want a fight...well, this ain't the place to be. Too many other idiots happy to oblige, and too many breakable items lying around." She glared at the glasses she'd been wiping.

"Yeah. I'll remember."

She sighed. "Look, you know I'm sympathetic. I'm just glad you didn't get yourself hurt too much before we broke it all up. If you were anybody else, starting fights in here, I'd say you weren't welcome back, but…" Ellen shrugged. "Just don't do it again, okay?"

Feeling like he'd gotten off easy, Dean breathed a sigh of relief as Ellen grudgingly handed him his beer. He walked back to the table and sat down with a sheepish grin for Sam. "All better now," he said. "All appendages left intact."

"Dare I ask why they were at risk?" Cas said, tilting his head curiously. He was halfway through his own drink by now and was looking more relaxed than when Dean had left. Dean didn't particularly want to get into the story of the fight; something told him that Cas wasn't the sort of guy to find that type of thing amusing.

Sam, unfortunately, was not interested in preserving Dean's dignity. "He got into a fight here last weekend. Apparently, he thought the best way to deal with a group of rude alphas making crude comments was with his fists." Yeah, Sam was still aggravated, too, apparently.

Cas's jaw tensed a bit. Dean bit his tongue and ran a hand over his face. Great. Now he thinks I'm a violent jerk with a drinking problem. "It's not as bad as it sounds," he said. "There were just two guys, and if I hadn't already had a drink or two," or five… "I could have handled them just fine, without a lot of mess." The excuses sounded weak even to himself; Cas certainly didn't look reassured.

Looking around the bar with narrowed eyes, Cas said, "Does this sort of thing happen often here? I'm surprised." He sounded a little strained, as though he was choosing his words carefully. Trying not to offend Sam by calling his brother stupid, Dean thought. Of course, Sam would probably join in and agree with him. They wouldn't be wrong, either. God, I'm such a moron.

"No, Ellen keeps a good place," he assured Cas, trying to appear unconcerned. "Keeps an eye on everyone and usually cuts folks off before they can drink enough to do too much damage." Now Cas looked even more tense, and his scent was turning into something burnt and bitter-smelling. Dean tried running back through his words, looking for what he'd said wrong. "I mean, I've never seen a fight get too bad when I've been here. Most I personally have ever gotten was a sprained wrist, and I really had that coming…"

"What Dean means to say," Sam cut in, as Cas's eyes got wider and he looked as though he was about to rain down righteous fire upon brawlers and those who would enable them, "is that Ellen's bar is like a second home for us and a lot of other folks, and Ellen is kind of an adopted mom. Step out of line, and she smacks you with her spoon, so to speak." He chuckled. "But you don't have to worry or anything."

"I wasn't worried," Cas muttered. "I was just…" He paused, then shook his head. "It's been a long day. Perhaps I should be getting home soon."

Dean hated that idea. He hated that Cas was leaving, leaving before they'd had a chance to talk much, and that he was leaving while he still smelled so unsettled. But part of him was whispering that maybe it was for the best, because Sam was totally wrong in his assumption that Cas was worried about getting caught in a melee. His scent wasn't worried at all (and Dean privately thought that it was a good thing Sam mainly did contract and estate work instead of criminal law, where interpreting scents would be more critical). Cas smelled angry. He was angry and disgusted about something, and Dean had a sinking feeling that it was about him.

Sam protested that Cas hadn't gotten to eat dinner yet, and Cas compromised on having a burger packed up to take home with him. Conversation settled on small talk about frustrating coworkers and local gossip, but Dean couldn't bring himself to participate in the discussions at all. He felt ridiculous for being upset; after all, there had never been a chance that a guy this gorgeous, smart, and put-together would ever be into a hot mess like him. Why be disappointed about confirmation of the inevitable?

Negative self-talk, he could practically hear Dr. Bradbury whispering. He snorted a little as he reached for his beer. Cas looked up at him, squinting a little in a questioning way. Dean just shook his head.

Guys like me don't… He stopped, thought trailing off. Guys like me… But that was why he'd been going to the counselor, right? What was all the talk about "growth" and "direction" for, after all, if it wasn't so he could stop being a "guy like him"? All those assignments, all the exercises and stuff she had him doing - maybe he just hadn't been taking it seriously enough. But what if he did? Would the Dean who meditated and journaled and took multivitamins be the kind of guy who didn't ruin his chances for good things before he even got started?

I can fix this, he decided. One whole new me, coming right up.