Dean had taken to marking days on the calendar. Days were bleeding into one another and while he had faint memories of the things he'd did on those days, that's all they were. Faint memories he really couldn't pin down. It was like being unable to remember what you'd eaten last week for lunch, except it pertained to everything. The only days that were crisp in his mind were the days he'd seen Castiel. Right after the dark haired main had purchased his car, Dean hadn't seen him for a couple of weeks and he couldn't have recalled what happened in those two weeks if you played it back for him. But he slowly started seeing him around town, again at the grocery store, at a gas station once where Dean scolded him on putting the cheap grade of gas in his brand new car, and once at the shop when he'd managed to puncture his rear tire with a nail on the highway. Dean could remember those times as clear as a bell and it was starting to concern him.
Every day that he ran into Castiel he would mark the calendar on his refrigerator with a bright blue "C". At first it was a sporadic thing, then all of a sudden it was once or twice a week, and finally it was every day. They had started having breakfast together every morning at a diner just up the street from Dean's garage. The coffee was good and he couldn't complain about the extra crispy bacon that was always stashed on his plate whether he ordered it or not, compliments of the cook. It helped that Bobby was long time best friends with the owner of the place, not that Dean would ever brag about it. At first Castiel never ate. He would just and talk to Dean as he ate his own breakfast until Dean started questioning him about it. He had made the excuse at first that he'd come off the night shift at the hospital and he'd already had what would technically be considered breakfast, but when Dean started complaining about being the only one eating, he started skipping food at work so that he could eat with him in the diner.
They fell into an easy sort of rhythm, Dean giving the dark haired man his own personal cell phone number so that he could reach him if he needed to. They'd even started texting back and forth whenever Castiel was on one of his horribly long fourteen hour shifts. Those were the times when Dean felt restless. He could be sitting in the shop, Bobby and Ash working on a car not even three feet from him and feel completely alone. They could all be carrying on a conversation and Dean felt that it was empty. Just sound to fill the silence. Until Ash started poking fun at him for missing his new "boyfriend". The mullet-wearing-redneck-computer nerd had no room to poke fun at anyone else. He was weird beyond belief and he could do things with a computer that would probably stump the pentagon. Bobby opted to stay out of the boyfriend talk all together and Dean was thankful. He and Castiel were not dating. Not by any definition of the word. Except they texted one another all day, they ate breakfast together in the same diner and Dean had even mentioned just doing their grocery shopping together so that he wouldn't feel so alone walking the aisles by himself. They weren't dating.
"Dean! Boy, what the hell are you doin'?" Bobby shouted suddenly, causing Dean to look up from the muffler he was patching, sizing up a square of sheet metal to make sure he had enough room to work. The old man was marching toward him, grabbing him by the wrist and jerked him away from his work.
"Bobby, what the hell-" he griped, eyes jumping to his hand when Bobby held it up in his face, bright red blood trailing down his thumb freely. He frowned at it, wondering why it didn't even hurt and Bobby was tugging him over to the bench where they kept the first aid kit handy for just such an occasion. "Guess I cut it on the sheet metal. Didn't even feel it..."
"That's because you got your damn head in the clouds. If you can't get yourself out of this funk, maybe you need to take a vacation," Bobby grumbled, pulling out a bottle of peroxide and poured it unceremoniously over Dean's hand. The liquid was cold and it made him flinch a bit, watching as the blood washed away from his skin to reveal a fairly deep cut that was fizzing slightly from the peroxide. "You're daydreamin' about him too much."
"I was not daydreaming. Especially not about Cas," he mumbled, knowing that wasn't completely true. He'd been thinking about asking him to come out with him to a bar on one of his nights off. Just to wind down and try to get a hold on whatever the hell was happening with his life. A few beers between friends was nothing to him, but apparently it meant more to the people around him.
"Yeah? Well, you can tell that to him when you see him here in a few. This needs stitches. Ya gotta go to the emergency room," Bobby huffed, wrapping his thumb tightly in a wad of gauze and nodded toward the door. "C'mon, I'll drive ya."
He couldn't remember the last time he was in an emergency room and quite honestly he really didn't want to think about it. Dean was left sitting in the hard plastic chairs as Bobby talked to the nurse behind the counter, filling out forms for him like his father just because Dean's hand was cut and he couldn't fill them out himself. It was a long and tedious process, but he was amazingly pulled back into one of the rooms fairly quickly. He was told to wait by the lady that lead him back, that someone would be in to see him soon. Dean sat on the end of the exam bed, dangling his feet like a five year old as he stared at the blood steadily soaking through the gauze wadded around his thumb. It was apparently a pretty bad gash, but he just couldn't feel it. When the door creaked open again, Dean glanced up from his hand to see a man standing in the doorway, all dark hair and scruff-dressed in dark blue scrubs-as he mumbled something to a nurse outside the room. He wasn't sure what he should have expected, it was where the guy worked after all, there was a good chance of running into him.
"Cas-" he scoffed, watching as the dark haired man turned to face him with wide eyes. He seemed just as shocked to see Dean as he was, frowning worriedly as he inched his way into the room. "Fancy seein' you here."
"Dean, what are you doing here?" he asked softly, peering down at the file he'd brought in with him along with a syringe. "You've sliced your hand open? Let me see..."
Dean watched him closely as he dropped the file onto the counter, moving closer to the bed with the syringe still in hand. He didn't hesitate to lift his hand, holding it up for Castiel to see. He already had a pair of gloves on, sitting the syringe on the bed next to Dean's leg as he slowly peeled the gauze away to frown at his hand.
"This cut, it's very deep," he said with a heavy sigh. "What on earth did you do?"
"Patching a muffler at the shop, sheet metal, must have sliced it right open," he explained, watching Castiel closely as he turned his hand back and forth to get a full look at the gash. "It's funny, it doesn't even hurt. Didn't even know it happened until Bobby said something."
Castiel glanced up at him in confusion, letting go of his hand so that he could turn toward the counter and pulled out a small sealed package. When he returned to the bed, he slowly peeled the package open, removing an antiseptic wipe and a small hooked needle and thread. It was a suture kit. Once he had everything laid out, he wiped Dean's thumb as clean as he possibly could and grabbed for the syringe, uncapping it carefully before he grabbed Dean's wrist with his free hand to keep him steady.
"You didn't feel any pain? You don't feel anything now?" Castiel asked seriously, poking the tip of the needle into his skin gently and pressing the plunger down a bit before he moved to a new spot and repeated the action until the syringe was empty.
"Nope, nothing. Guess it's you, huh?" Castiel jerked his head up to stare at him in shock, stepping back so that he could throw the syringe into the red bio-hazard box screwed into the wall beside the counter. "I'm just joking man, calm down."
"You're just in shock, Dean. You've cut it right down to the bone near the tip of your thumb," Castiel said quietly, grabbing for the needle and the suture thread. He didn't feel like he was in shock, he actually felt really calm despite everything and now that Castiel was there-even though he was currently threading a needle through his skin-he wasn't even concerned about his memory gaps.
"Hey, will you go out with me?"
Castiel flinched a bit, looking up at him in confusion. It was almost like he had was having a hard time believing the words that had come out of Dean's mouth. He hadn't meant to blurt it out like that, but there was really no other way to do it other than to just say it. If he hadn't, he probably would have just sat on the question for the rest of his life. It was just a few beers at a bar, nothing serious. At least, that's what he kept telling himself. "Dean Winchester, tell me you did not cut your hand open as a means to ask me out," he demanded and Dean just stared back at him seriously.
"What? No, it was accident. I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing," he mumbled, still staring at the dark haired man as he went back to work. He had sewn up Dean's thumb faster than he was sure any human should have been able to, using another disinfecting wipe to clean off the residual blood and turned back to the counter to retrieve a roll of bandages. When he started to wrap his finger tightly Dean realized that he wasn't going to answer him, that he was just going to let the question go unanswered and it made his heart throb painfully in his chest. "So, that's a no then?"
Castiel still didn't answer him, wrapping his thumb and hand snugly, tucking the bandages into themselves so that they wouldn't come undone. He was deathly silent and it made Dean think that he'd overstepped his bounds. He tried to think back to what it was that he could have said wrong, maybe he'd worded it wrong. It was like he was asking Castiel out on an actual date. Or to be his boyfriend. That wasn't exactly how he meant it, or at least he wouldn't admit to himself that was how he'd meant it. And when he turned away again to peel off his gloves, Dean caught him by the upper arm and pulled him back.
"Cas, I didn't mean-" he started, stopping when Castiel turned to face him again, still peeling off his gloves.
"I will have them write you a prescription for some pain medication. You're going to want to take some time off of work, you have to keep the wound clean and change the bandages at least once a day if they're not soiled," Castiel sighed, glancing up at him. "If you promise to take better care of yourself, I will agree to go out with you."
Dean dropped his arm in shock, blinking at him as he turned toward the door, scooping his file up as he went so that he could jot something down in it and just as suddenly as he had appeared, he was gone again, leaving the door open. He just sat there, staring at the open door as a small smile spread over his lips. It was a small victory for the price he paid, but he'd take it. Cutting open his hand had been just about the best thing that had happened to him all damn week.
He was actually having a difficult time picking out what to wear. The only nice clothes that Dean Winchester owned was the one suit he'd worn to his dad's funeral. He sure as hell wasn't wearing that to go hang out with Castiel on a Saturday night. Most of his jeans were torn or stained with oil from working at the shop and his shirt selection didn't span beyond old rock bands or flannels. He wondered why the hell he'd never thought to keep a good set of clothing off to the side for just such an occasion. Normally he didn't worry about what he wore because he'd never really had trouble attracting attention no matter what he was wearing, but something told him that just wasn't going to cut it with the dark haired doctor.
After several long minutes of digging through his closet for a third time he found a pair of jeans that weren't torn to hell and back, still unstained and a light grey henley. It was as good as he was going to get and it still looked casual enough to hang around a bar in. Once he was sure he had something half decent to wear, he dove into the shower and scrubbed himself as clean as he possibly could with a wounded hand. He was forced to hold one arm up out of the water at all times, washing awkwardly. While the cut hadn't hurt at the time, over the few days that followed it began to ache terribly and he'd actually had to resort to taking the pain medication he was prescribed. He'd gone into work to do some paperwork one day-which Bobby bitched to no end about-and hit the tip of his thumb on the desk and caused it to start bleeding again. That had been a pretty bad pain day.
Driving had been somewhat of an issue too. Normally he drove with his left hand on the wheel, but now that it hurt to put too much pressure on it, he had to use his right and he kept fidgeting to try and find a comfortable position. By the time he actually made it to the bar he'd finally managed to find a half decent way of driving, but by then it was too late. He parked his car and stepped out, scanning the parking lot for Castiel's car. It was nowhere to be seen and he kept telling himself that the guy was perpetually running late, that he wasn't standing him up. And so what if he did stand him up? He'd still have a few beers and head home like he had planned all along. He knew everybody at the Roadhouse after all, it wasn't like he'd really be alone.
The inside of the building was pretty quiet, for a bar. There were people playing poker around the far tables, pool near the back and a large horseshoe shaped bar right in the middle of it all. He scanned the crowd over, just to be sure Castiel wasn't there and he'd just missed his car coming in, but there was no one that faintly resembled the dark haired man. Taking a deep breath, he made his way toward the bar and pulled himself up onto one of the stools, shrugging off his leather jacket so that it draped over the backrest. It was too damn hot for long sleeved shirts and jackets, he had to push the long sleeves up past his elbows just to get a bit more comfortable and slowly pulled his phone from his pocket. They'd agreed over text where to meet and what time to be there, so Dean scrolled back through his messages to be sure he didn't misread something. Roadhouse - nine o'clock on the dot. He'd even given Castiel directions that really couldn't be fucked up if you were trying to get lost. Glancing up at the clock it read ten after...maybe he was just running late.
"Is that Dean Winchester sitting all by himself at the end of the bar?" a warm female voice scoffed and he didn't need to look up to know it was Ellen Harvelle. She owned the bar with her husband. They had a pretty little blonde haired daughter named Jo that now owned the diner in town he and Castiel ate at every morning. "Someone stand you up?"
Dean shook his head, sitting his phone down on the bar top and glanced up at the brunette woman with a soft smile. She slid a glass across the bar toward him, picking up a bottle of dark colored liquor from behind the bar and poured a bit into his glass. He hadn't planned on drinking too heavily, but in light of the current situation, one couldn't hurt. He reached out to take the glass, nodding his head as he tipped it back and slid it back across the bar toward her.
"How's Jo?" he asked with a slight hiss from the burn of the whiskey. "Haven't seen her at the diner for a few days."
"Vacation. Went off to Miami to get some real sun," Ellen mumbled, pouring him another shot which he gladly accepted. "What happened to your hand?"
Dean hummed under his breath, tipping back the glass again and glanced down at his bandaged hand. It was just a bitter reminder that Castiel wasn't there when he said he would be. "Sliced it open, sheet metal at work," he shrugged, rolling the empty glass around in his good hand.
"You alright, Dean? Really?" Ellen asked quietly, ducking her head down a bit to actually look him in the eye. "You're lookin' kinda pale there sweetheart."
"Great, I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"
Ellen shrugged her shoulders, reaching out to take the whiskey glass from him gently and sat it down behind the counter. He could hear her slide open the cooler, pulling up a cold bottle of beer and popped the cap off on the side of the bar top before she slid it toward him and just smiled at him sadly. Without another word she was gone, headed off to the other end of the bar to wait on some muscle bound biker dude who had more tattoos than he could count on his arms. Dean sipped at his beer, glancing down at his phone and he wondered if he should text Castiel. Ask him where he was. Or why he even bothered to agree to meeting him there if he was just going to stand him up in the first place. He could have said no, Dean wouldn't have blown up at him or anything for it, the guy was free to make his own choices. But trailing someone along seemed a little cruel and unnecessary.
By the time he'd finished his first beer, Castiel still hadn't shown. He kept watching the clock, twenty after, thirty after...nothing. Ellen didn't ask him any more questions thankfully, even though he knew that she understood what was going on. Another beer later, he'd had enough. There was no point in going to a bar and drinking alone unless you were just a sad sack of shit. Sliding down out of his stool, he wiggled his wallet out of his back pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. He waved Ellen down, paying for his drinks and pulled his jacket on. Castiel was forty-five minutes late and that was long enough for Dean to believe that he just wasn't coming. He'd probably only said yes in the first place because Dean was hurt when he'd asked. Maybe he was only showing up for breakfast every morning because he felt like he owed him something after helping him with his car. He'd never expected anything in return, maybe he should have made that clearer.
Cramming his good hand down into his pocket he worked his way toward the door, ignoring the burning in his thumb as he pushed past another body coming in through the door. He bumped into them, hearing them curse lightly under their breath. "Sorry man," he huffed, readjusting his path so that he could get out without touching them again.
"Dean? Dean wait," the man gasped, a strong hand catching him by the upper arm. When he finally looked up, he met Castiel's wide blue eyes. He honestly didn't expect him to show up and especially not like this. "Please, don't go. I know-I'm late-I-I couldn't figure out what to wear and then when I left the house I left my damn phone behind and I couldn't remember the directions and I couldn't go back home because I was already so late I am so sorry please don't go."
He stood there gawking at him, listening to the words tumbling out of his mouth in a ramble. He'd never heard him lose his composure before and he would have been lying if he said it wasn't downright adorable. Dean felt like shit for being stood up, but now he was having a hard time being upset at all. Castiel was there and he was begging him not to leave him. Who was he to tell him no? He just nodded his head lightly, blinking a bit when Castiel sighed in relief and tugged him farther into the bar. Once they were back inside the bar, Castiel stood by his side, looking at Dean for direction on where they needed to sit. Dean lifted his good hand and gestured to a booth near the back end of the bar where they could sit and be left alone. He let Castiel walk ahead of him, taking a moment to look at what the guy was actually wearing. He had on a tan trench coat and dark pants, they kinda of looked like the same pants he was wearing when they first met on the side of the road weeks ago and he smirked a bit thinking he'd picked out a suit to wear.
When they reached the booth, Castiel shucked off his jacket, revealing that he was indeed wearing the same black suit and Dean shook his head, pulling his own jacket off. He tossed it into the booth and slid onto the seat, watching Castiel as he repeated the action, sitting far more rigid in the seat across from him. He sat his hands on to table top, linking his fingers together and opened his mouth to say something before he slowly closed it. He repeated the action several times and Dean just waited patiently for him to get out whatever it was he was going to say. He'd waited for nearly an hour for the guy, what was a few more moments?
"I really am sorry that I kept you waiting for such a long time, Dean," Castiel finally said, almost as if he were reading Dean's mind. "I had every intention of being here at nine, I swear it. I just allowed things to get away from me."
Dean scoffed a bit, still unable to get over the way the guy talked. He was like a damn walking dictionary that could talk. He almost preferred the way he'd ranted back at the door, but then he wouldn't have been Castiel if he talked like that all the time. Dean raised his hand, waving it toward Ellen at the bar and when he caught her attention he held up two fingers and she nodded over at him. "It's fine, Cas," he chuckled, leaning back on his seat with his arm draped over the back.
"No, it most certainly is not. I made an agreement to meet you and I didn't adhere to that. I should have called you when I realized I was going to be late. I should have-"
"Cas!" Dean snapped, smacking his good hand on the table and the dark haired man flinched a bit. "I said it's fine, man. Drop it. You're here now so there's no harm done."
Castiel nodded stiffly as Ellen approached their table and passed out two beers silently, she didn't even stick around to hear Castiel mutter thank you before she was walking away and leaving them to their little corner of the bar. Dean grabbed his beer, holding it out across the table toward Castiel and the dark haired man watched him in confusion. He had to jab the bottle toward him again for him to get the hint, scooping up his own bottle and reached out with it to clank against Dean's.
"To not getting stood up by a doctor?" Dean asked and Castiel frowned darkly. "I'm joking-to uh-new friendships? And not getting stood up by a doctor."
"Dean!"
"What? I honestly thought you weren't going to show. I was about two steps from driving home and crying myself to sleep with a half gallon of ice cream, dude. I was heart broken."
Castiel rolled his eyes, sensing the sarcasm dripping from Dean's voice and brought his bottle to his lips and took a long drink. He instantly made a face, glancing down at the bottle with his nose all scrunched up and Dean almost choked on his own beer at the sight of it. Of course Castiel wouldn't be much of a drinker, the guy seemed as straight-edged as they came. He was a collage boy, a doctor for crying out loud, that took a lot of damn discipline. Things that Dean could never hope to accomplish. Book smarts had never been his thing, he was more of a pull things apart and put them back together kind of guy. He wasn't like his little brother, book smart and sharp witted. Dean was the idiot in the family.
"Not a big drinker?" he asked softly, taking another drink of his beer.
"No, I cannot say that I am," Castiel muttered, taking a smaller sip of his so that he wouldn't overwhelm himself again. "It is certainly an acquired taste."
"Yeah, it kinda is. You want a coke or somethin' instead?"
Castiel shook his head lightly, taking another drink and handling it a bit better. They fell into that comfortable silence that always seemed to consume everything whenever they were together. Now that he thought about it, he wasn't exactly sure what he had expected with them going out to a bar together. There was nothing to do in a bar but play pool and drink. Or talk. But they never really talked that much. Dean's eyes scanned the back of the bar, spotting an empty pool table near the bar and he smirked, nodding his head across the room.
"You play pool?" he asked, Castiel tilting his head for a moment before he followed his gaze. He shook his head no, but Dean was already sliding out of his seat and Castiel followed along behind him automatically. "It's easy, here."
Dean reached over to pull his beer out of his hand, setting it on a table off to the side of the pool table, and walked over to the rack of pool cues hanging on the wall. He'd played pool there so many times, hustling less experienced players for money that he knew which cues were better, pulling two of the straightest ones down off the wall and held it out toward Castiel. He seemed confused by it, but took it from Dean's hand none the less and held it close to himself, glancing around at the other pool table where two truckers were in the middle of a game.
"Rules are simple. We'll start with eight ball," Dean sighed, smirking as he rounded up the balls onto one end of the table, leaning over and using his forearms as sort of a make-shift rack, positioning the balls into a triangle formation. "White ball is the cue ball. You knock it into the other's and try to sink them into any one of the pockets."
Picking up his cue he gestured to each of the six pockets, waving the white ball in his other hand for Castiel to see before he moved to the opposite end of the table and set up the first shot. Castiel watched him intently, like he was studying for a test as Dean lined up the shot and took the break. There was a loud cracking sound that caused Castiel to jerk back from the table a bit, watching in awe as the colorful billiards sailed around the table, three sinking into random pockets around the table.
"First shot's a break. If you sink any of the balls you get either solids or stripes. Unless you knock them both in and then you get to pick whichever you prefer. I'll take stripes, so that means you shoot for solid colors and only solid colors. Whatever you do, avoid the eight-ball, that's the black one. You knock that in before all of your other colors are cleared and you lose. Eight-ball is always last. Got it?" The look on Castiel's face told him that he seriously didn't get it. He just kept glancing between their table and the other one, trying to understand what the hell he was doing. Technically, it was Dean's shot still, but he decided for educational purposes that he would let the dark haired man have a go, setting his cue against the wall and rounded the table to stand behind Castiel. "Here, like this. You hold the cue like this and lean down over the table, aim for a ball that looks like it'll go into a pocket easy."
It was a little strange helping another man lean over a table, guiding his hands so that he pulled the cue far enough back and pushed it forward against so that he knocked the cue ball into the purple ball across the table and it instantly thunked into the corner pocket. Dean stepped back, allowing Castiel to straighten up as well and he just smiled down at the table. Apparently Dean had found something that caught his interest, now they just had to perfect his technique and they had all night to do it. After he got a few beers in the guy he was a bit more relaxed, he was actually nailing shots on the pool table, even though were technically Dean's stripes and not his own solids, but he never corrected him. There would be a time for strict rules later, now they were just fucking around and having fun doing it.
By the time Ellen kicked them both out into the chilly night air, Castiel was half tripping over himself and Dean wasn't fairing much better even though he was trying to hold the dark haired man up on his own feet. Neither one of them were in much condition to be driving home and their cars were the only two left in the lot aside from Ellen's. He really didn't think of it as a problem until Castiel dug his keys from his pocket and tried to start off across the lot toward his car.
"Hey! Whoa Cas," he gasped, laughing a bit under his breath as he caught the man under his elbow. "You can't drive home!"
Castiel turned to glance at him then back over to his car, shaking his head. "I wasn't goin' to Dean. Was gonna sleep in it," he huffed, trying to tug his arm free of Dean's hand and failing.
"Okay, no. You're not sleeping in your car dude, look-" he grumbled, licking his lips roughly. "My house, five blocks that way. We can walk and come back in the morning for the cars when we've sobered up a bit."
He could see the gears turning in Castiel's brain. He seriously hoped that he wouldn't tell him no for the simple fact that he didn't want him to spend a night sleeping in his car. He knew from experience that it was terribly uncomfortable and if he woke up with a hangover and a stiff back it was going to be all sorts of hell in the morning. He was offering the guy a couch to sleep on and nothing more.
"Well alright then, let's go see where Dean Winchester lives!" Castiel demanded, trudging off in the direction Dean had pointed fast enough to jerk him along with him.
It was comical to watch Castiel march down the street with clumsy feet, stumbling over every other crack in the pavement and catching himself on thin air before he started off again. Dean just followed along behind him having to tell him left or right as they went until they were at his front door. Castiel was more interested in looking around the front of the modest single story brick home than following Dean into the house. He had to reach out and grab him by the front of his trench coat, tugging him into the house.
"Alright, couch pulls out into a bed, so you got a place to sleep, bathroom is first door on the left, kitchen is in there," he rambled, pointing off in directions of the house.
Castiel just nodded at him, shrugging off his trench coat and suit jacket as he moved toward the couch and literally face planted onto the couch. Dean just stood there for a moment, staring down at him in awe. He was literally down for the count and it was amazingly adorable. He could already hear him snoring softly and he just shook his head. Tossing his jacket onto the chair beside the front door, he shuffled past the back of the couch, stopping for a second to drop the blanket that was draped over the back down onto Castiel's back and headed straight to his bedroom. Almost being stood up aside, it was a pretty good night. Hopefully the morning would be just as good.