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Content: In which Dean is way over his head.

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Dean would never say it out loud – or even admit it under the worst torture imaginable –, but Castiel is kinda cute when he's a grumpy little shit.

He huffs and puffs the whole way to the bar, shooting daggers at Dean and mumbling underneath his breath like he's plotting the hunter's murder and can't really decide which method would be the most painful.

It's glorious.

"Aw, Cas, don't be a sourpuss," Dean purrs mockingly as he drops onto a chair at one of the tables. It squeaks and overall doesn't look very trustworthy, but Dean survived worse establishments than this one and he's sure as hell that he'll come out of this one alive as well.

Well, if Castiel doesn't murder him before that, of course.

"I don't understand why we had to come here," he complains, pouting like a three-year-old who didn't get the last chicken nugget.

"What's so hard to get?" Dean shrugs. "You're exhausted and seriously need a break. You'll miss important details if your brain is too tired to process all the information."

"No, I get why I need a break," Castiel counters, leaning forward a bit, but instantly retreats with a grimace when he touches the sticky table. "But why did we need to visit this den of iniquity?"

Dean snorts. "It's not a brothel, man."

"It could be," Castiel objects and Dean honestly can't argue with him on that one, so he simply quirks his head and stays silent. "It would have been perfectly acceptable if we'd stayed at the motel room and ordered some takeout."

Dean smirks. "Some fresh air is always good."

Castiel frowns and takes a look around. "The air in here is stuffy and smells like old grease and alcohol."

"Yeah, but we walked here. Outside. Where the fresh air is."

Castiel studies Dean as though he's not exactly sure whether he should consider these words as serious or not. "It took us three minutes to get here."

"Three minutes are better than nothing."

Castiel heaves a deep sigh, obviously wondering if it would be good for his mental health to continue this pointless argument any longer. "You're a very aggravating man, Dean."

The hunter grins brightly. "I'm feeling the love here."

"But seriously …"

"Ever heard about cabin fever?" Dean interjects. "You basically locked yourself up in that room for the last days and buried yourself underneath all your kinky ancient texts. You needed a change of scenery, man."

Castiel folds his arms in front of his chest. "And you're the expert on what I need?"

"Yep!" Dean decides cheerfully. "Because you, my dear nerd, don't know how to relax properly. So I'll teach you."

Castiel narrows his eyes. "Relax," he says in a flat tone.

Dean nods. "You honestly need to lose that stick up your ass. Let yourself go for a bit. Drink some booze. Dance. Sing. Get laid."

Castiel stays quiet while the waitress approaches their table, takes Dean's order, two beers ("For starters," he clarifies with an amused wink), and leaves a menu behind.

"So you want me to get drunk, behave silly and have intercourse with a complete stranger, am I correct?" Castiel summarizes after a while of pensive silence. Thankfully he doesn't sound absolutely appalled by the idea, but he doesn't seem very enthusiastic either.

Dean shrugs while glancing at the menu. "Well, we don't have to go the full way. Let's start with the booze and see where it gets us."

Castiel lets his eyes roam over the establishment, obviously considering his options. And it's hard to tell what he's thinking right now, but since he's not running away Dean counts it as some kind of semi-success.

"C'mon, dude, it's not like you don't know how to have fun, right?" Dean grins brightly. "I mean, the wings …"

Castiel perks up at those words. "The wings?"

Dean rolls his eyes because the fucker knows very well what the hunter is talking about. "That badass tattoo on your back," he nonetheless clarifies and immediately scowls when Castiel's expression turns smug. "Oh, don't look at me like that! You know it's goddamned hardcore!"

Castiel tilts his head. "And because of my wings you think I like to lose myself in alcohol and anonymous sex?" He sounds kinda amused now, even a bit teasing, and he's apparently sort of pleased that Dean noticed the tattoo in the first place.

And the hunter seriously isn't sure what to make of this.

Dean is thankfully saved by their waitress appearing next to them, two beers on her tray. He instantly grabs one of the glasses in one swift move and places it right in front of Castiel, smirking. "Let's just have some fun, Cas!"

x


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Castiel is adamant that he won't drink too much because he can't afford "losing brain cells and having an annoying hangover the next day, not with such an important case on our hands!"

And yeah, Dean really wants to fight with him on that one since a good night at a bar won't risk their whole operation, but he knows it would be futile to even try. And to a certain degree the guy is actually sort of right. Solving mysteries with a killer headache and a strong urge to drown yourself in the toilet might be not that productive after all.

But that doesn't mean they can't enjoy their time.

And for starters that means beer and food. Castiel doesn't seem so keen on the first one (okay, he takes his sips like it's some goddamned duty or something, but every single time he looks like it's a huge sacrifice and there are literally a thousand different things he would rather do), but the cheeseburgers their waitress places in front of them – well, that's apparently a whole different story! Castiel's eyes light up as if it's Christmas Eve and the freaking Beast just offered him a whole fucking library. He immediately digs in without further ado.

And the sounds he makes.

Yeah, Dean's gotta confess he heard his fair share of pornographic noises in the past and he's way past flushing at each groan he might hear, however, seeing Castiel close his eyes in motherfucking ecstasy and moaning like someone right under the table is just giving him the best time of his entire life – it's just too much!

Dean chokes on his food and blushes like a virgin.

Damn!

For way too long he just gapes at Castiel, probably looking like a obvious moron for everyone who notices the dumb look on his face, and he hastily searches for some diversion that would let Castiel miss the hunter's reaction to his enthusiastic response.

Because shit … this mess has got no right to be legal.

"So, okay, tell me the story," Dean urges hurriedly, waving his arms around in a manner which most likely appears rather ridiculous. "I wanna hear it."

Castiel squints his eyes. "What story?"

"The tattoo, man!" Dean prompts, his voice shaking a bit. He sincerely hopes that Castiel is way too in love with his food to realize the slip-up. "What's the story behind it?"

Castiel tilts his head, calculating the words in his head, obviously wondering why Dean suddenly wants to hear the history of his body art.

However, eventually he says, "One day I just woke up and thought 'What the hell, why not?'"

Dean snorts, feeling relief rushing through his system for Castiel taking his bait. "Seriously?"

Castiel takes a big gulp of his beer and keeps silent for a while, simply watching two men across the room play pool and ignoring Dean altogether. It doesn't seem like he's very keen on sharing more information than that and usually the hunter would have let him because he's sure as hell not very eager to pry into Castiel's personal life and appear too interested, but he can't help biting his lip and staring at the guy in a way that is way too apparent.

"It was an act of rebellion," Castiel eventually offers, his blue eyes gleaming. "The very first thing I did for myself, against my parent's expectations for me."

Dean finds himself smirking. "So Mommy and Daddy weren't happy about it?"

Castiel casts him a quick glance which tells Dean more than clearly that this is the understatement of the century. "I grew up in a quite religious family," Castiel explains. "I guess that's not really surprising, considering that I'm named after an angel. For a long time I did what was expected of me, played their good obedient soldier. School, college. I've only been friends with people they approved of. I'm rather certain they even sort of arranged a possible marriage with one of their friend's daughters, though they never said it out loud. However, it was implied several times."

Dean feels his gut twist in an unpleasant way and he fights back a grimace that would have given too much away.

"What about the Men of Letters?" he asks instead, trying for nonchalant.

"That was actually the one reason why I broke free from their grasp," Castiel says, smiling at the memory. "My parents never wanted me involved, but I learned a lot about the organization from my cousin and I was intrigued instantly. From the very first second I just felt that it was my calling. I couldn't escape. And I didn't want to either."

"So you got yourself a badass tattoo," Dean summarizes, grinning.

Castiel nods in confirmation. "It was coincidence, actually. I simply passed a tattoo parlor and found myself stopping when I read the Name. Thursday's Child."

Dean frowns. "Like the Bowie song?"

"Castiel is the Angel of Thursday," Castiel explains in a voice that is almost fond. "I saw it as some kind of sign. So I went inside and scheduled an appointment."

Dean can see it clear as a day: Castiel stopping in front of the shop, squinting his eyes in that unmistakable way of his right before determination surges trough his whole body, leading his feet right inside the building without even a second of hesitation, like a man on a mission he can't afford to ignore.

"Well, of course it took more than one appointment," Castiel concedes. "But once I started I was determined to see it to an end. It just felt right." He takes a small sip of his beer while eyeing Dean with his piercing baby blues. "And the end result proved the whole action worthwhile."

Dean seriously won't argue with him on that front. He had freaking dreams about that tattoo, for God's sake, and they honestly weren't innocent.

So yeah, it had been definitely worth it.

Just another way for Castiel to torture Dean and drive him into madness.

"So in the end this tattoo represents rebellion and breaking free and finding your own way." Castiel fold his arms across his chest. "It's got nothing to do with fun."

He uses the last word like it personally offended him while he glares at the hunter in that unique, intense way of his.

"Jeez, Cas, don't get your panties in a twist," Dean says. "I just meant that you're obviously not the uptight librarian you seem to be, that's all."

Castiel narrows his eyes, apparently not very pleased with Dean's assessment. "Your definition of 'fun' is just vastly different than mine, that's all. I don't need to drink and sing and dance to have a good time." He pauses for a moment, tilting his head like he's considering his own words in an afterthought, and eventually admits, "Okay, granted, dancing is quite enjoyable."

Dean barks out a laugh at that. "Really?"

He eyes Castiel skeptically, his stiff posture, and can't really picture him swaying over a dance floor, all elegance and grace.

Castiel, however, counters, "Yes, really!"

Dean lifts an eyebrow. "Like, waltzer and salsa and all that stuff? Or more like nodding your head to the rhythm of the music and hope for the best?"

Castiel scoffs and obviously chooses to ignore the hunter's sarcasm. "It's been way too long since I danced the last time. Maybe I should indeed rectify that."

Dean feels something odd settle in his stomach as the image of Castiel having a beautiful woman in his arms and enjoying himself immensely while moving in swift motions over the dance floor pops up in his head without permission.

So he hastily distracts himself by asking, "Yeah, when was your last time?"

"At my wedding."

Dean blinks a few times, gaping at the man across from him and trying to make sense out of his words.

Did he really just say … wedding?

"Wait … what?"

This can't be true, right? Because there is no way in hell that Dean wouldn't know about such a fucking vital information.

Right?

Castiel, though, smashes his hopes right in the next second. "My wedding," he repeats, beaming like the memory alone makes his life a hundred times better. "My bride insisted on several traditional dances and I couldn't refuse her anything. Still can't, to this day."

Dean just stares at Castiel in utter shock.

FUCK!

Is this honestly true? Did he seriously have impure and lecherous thoughts about a married man all this time? Staring at his perfect ass, imagining them in countless different positions together while hating his guts at the same time …

Oh God, Dean is so going to Hell for this!

"Wh- … Why …?" The hunter tries to order the mess inside his mind. "You … fucking bastard!"

Castiel has the freaking audacity to look surprised. "Pardon?"

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me this sooner?" Dean asks angrily. "Don't you think I should maybe know that you're goddamned married, for Christ's sake? Remember that time not long ago when I was on my death bed and you told me the allegedly three most important things about your life?"

Castiel rolls his eyes. "You weren't on your death bed, it was just a flu –"

"Not. The. Point!" Dean grumbles. "I've got a right to know, okay? We're … well, co-workers or whatever and … I need to know stuff like that. What if something would happen to you? Who would tell your wife?"

Castiel's expression turns into something Dean is unable to read, no matter how hard he'd try to. "Well, first of all, the Men of Letters would surely notify my next of kin –"

"So, what?" the hunter cuts in. "So then it's unnecessary to mention it to me at some point in the past? That's really not fair. I thought we're … um, not friends per se, but …"

He trails off, not sure what else to add.

In the meantime, Castiel's eyes obviously softened to a degree Dean would almost call fond. "Dean, I'm very sorry. I told the story of my wedding several times by now, the last time at breakfast a few weeks ago. Balthazar joked about it for ten minutes straight."

Dean frowns. He can't recall that specific incident at all.

"Obviously you hadn't been quite receptive that morning," Castiel realizes. "I'm sorry, I didn't notice."

Dean lowers his gaze, feeling his cheeks burn. "Um, yeah …"

"The wedding took place over ten years ago, before we both met for the first time," Castiel explains. "So I hope I'm forgiven for not inviting you. Though, to be fair, the only guests were teddy bears and dolls."

Dean wrinkles his forehead.

What?

"Uh …"

"Claire was a very beautiful bride, I can assure you," Castiel continues, his smile wide and affectionate. "And we danced for hours."

Dean's brain feels like it's been involved in some sort of car crash. "Uh, Claire?" he asks, confused. "Your … niece?"

Castiel chuckles. "She just went through her wedding phase after watching some Disney movie for the millionth time. She was five years old back then. When I came to visit she asked me to 'marry' her. And like I said, I can't refuse her anything."

Dean's got honestly no idea how to react to that.

He feels a lot of embarrassment for lashing out over something so sweet and innocent it would make most people puke rainbows and gllitter. Dean just wants to sink deep into the ground for being so dense and stupid to actually consider Castiel could withhold such important information about himself.

In the end Dean goes with a breathy, "Dammit, I nearly had a heart attack," because he's just way too dumb.

Castiel eyes him closely. "Why would me being married give you a heart attack?"

Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.

Dean groans and buries his face in his hands. He's got no answer to that that wouldn't make him flush crimson red.

"Can we … can we just forget the last two minutes happened?" He knows he sounds a tiny bit pathetic, but he can't help it. There is probably some sort of excuse out there that would be plausible enough for Castiel to buy it without questioning it too much, however, Dean's brain is totally blank and he's unable to come up with something moderately believable. "Let's just, I dunno, drink our beers and play some pool or whatever."

For a second Castiel looks like he's about to nag further, reluctant to let the matter go, and it would be so him to annoy the hunter to death and provoke him until Dean would explode out of either irritation or shame, but in the end he simply makes an indignant noise that sounds like faint agreement.

"Alright, I guess," Castiel says, a weird undertone in his voice. "Pool it is."

"Great." Dean takes a big gulp, eager for some distraction. "You know how to play?"

Castiel quirks his head. "It can't be that difficult. There is a ball and a stick and a table. And math."

"Math?"

Castiel shrugs. "From my point of view it's all about angles and equations –"

"No, no, no!" Dean hastily cuts in, raising his hands. "Just stop, dude. Don't give me a fucking headache before we even have started."

Before he can't think better of it he grabs the guy's arm and drags him to his feet, feeling determination rushing through his veins. "I'll teach you how to play some pool!"

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The whole thing is a terrible idea.

So very, very bad.

Mainly because Castiel turns out to be touchy-feely when taking lessons.

Really touchy-feely.

He isn't satisfied with Dean giving elaborate descriptions or even spot-on demonstrations about the right handle of a cue or the perfect stance to make the best shot. No, he wants to feel it.

He wants to feel everything.

And Dean is way too weak to bitch about it.

So instead of picking up a fight or at least roll his eyes in an annoyed manner, he finds himself standing too close for comfort, caressing skin that's actually not supposed to be caressed by him and losing his mind in the process.

It's totally horrible.

Torture.

Because he learns so many new things about Castiel he never thought he would be made aware of at some point in his life. Like the fact that the guy actually burns hot, so warm and comfortable that Dean feels himself drawn to it like the moth to the flame. Or that he's ticklish at the elbow. Or that he's got a mole behind his right ear.

Yeah, Dean is way too close.

And there is no escape.

Especially since Castiel is obviously an awful pool player.

Dean honestly thought that he would pick up quickly, as he did so many times before. Usually it takes Castiel a ridiculously short amount of time to grasp new things, but for some reason he's got a problem with pool. Every other minute it's "Dean, am I doing this right?" or "Dean, I think you need to show me this move again."

And screw it, it's not fucking rocket science!

He saw kids barely capable of looking over the table getting the whole concept way quicker than Castiel. It's seriously not that hard and Castiel's memory is way too good to forget the right techniques fifty times in a row.

So either he's honestly the worst player in existence or – and that seems to become a reasonable assumption by every minute – Castiel is just playing him.

But that leaves the question of why?

To have a little fun? Frustrate the hunter to no extent as some kind of revenge for dragging Castiel out of their motel room earlier? Is this a sort of punishment?

Because Dean really has to admit, it's very effective.

The charged atmosphere between their bodies makes his skin tingle all over and he's simply seconds away from doing something highly embarrassing. He doesn't know what yet, but he's sure as hell that it's going to be awful and stupid and he'll regret it rather passionately till the end of time itself.

His brain functions are almost nonexistent at this point, almost anything could happen.

So he can't really be blamed for finding himself pressed against Castiel's back once again for the millionth time, cursing his weak everything.

"Dean?"

And there, that's another problem.

Dean actually thought Castiel would be as unperturbed as ever, not showing any kind of effect while Dean is going through the motions, but instead his freaking voice is so low and husky as though he's barely able to handle the situation as well. It's wavering in a way the hunter never noticed before, especially when Dean gets extra close and the space between them is decreased spectacularly.

Castiel sounds as if the whole thing is affecting him as much as Dean and the Winchester doesn't know how to deal with it.

Is all of this just his imagination? Or is there seriously something happening between them?

What. The. Hell?

"Um … yeah, Cas?" Dean finally manages to answer after being suspiciously quiet for way too long.

"I was wondering …"

Castiel's gaze is fixed on the table, with Dean plastered on his back, his muscles strained as though he's preparing for battle.

And then he turns around and they're suddenly chest to chest.

Dean startles like a deer in the headlights and stares at the man, who is so fucking close now, with big eyes, probably looking like an utter fool in the process. The voices in his head are running wild, yelling at him to step back and get some frigging distance between them, now, but Dean's whole body is frozen on the spot.

All he can do is gape and remember to breath.

(And that's quite challenging considering the fact that they're sharing the same air, with their noses nearly touching each other and everything.)

Dean doesn't know how long they stay like that, simply staring at each other's eyes, motionless, tuning out the people and noises all around them like they don't matter at all. Damn, a freaking monster could burst into the bar right now and rip everyone apart with its huge claws and fangs and Dean wouldn't notice a thing.

Shit, he's seriously screwed!

"I was wondering …" Castiel repeats once again, his voice deeper than any voice ever went before, and it does something very weird to Dean's system.

"Yeah?" the hunter prompts after a while of silence.

Castiel licks his lips and Dean can't help following the movement way too obviously. "Maybe we should go back to our room."

Dean wants to argue out of principle, however, his protest gets stuck when wrapping his head around hearing the words "our room".

"Uh … for research?"

Castiel frowns in a way like he never ever heard about such a thing as 'research' before. "Well, actually –"

And then Castiel's phone starts to ring.

Of course.

Dean suppresses a groan and instead finally takes a few steps back, feeling relief and disappointment rushing through his veins and making him dizzy. He ignores the sensation of sudden coldness as good as humanly possible (and by that he means not very good) and clears his throat awkwardly, fumbling with his limbs in a way that doesn't make any sense, but sure as hell makes him appear especially pathetic and uncool.

Castiel studies him for a moment with an unreadable expression, obviously eager to understand the mystery that is Dean Winchester, and completely ignores the blaring phone in his pocket.

Dean squirms uncomfortably at the face of this scrutiny and hastily asks, "Is it Sam?"

Because there is no one as great a cockblocker as his dear little brother.

Not that this moment before between them had been a situation worth of cockblocking, of course. Not at all!

Dean hates himself for even thinking that while feeling a flush creeping up his neck.

"No, it's your father," Castiel informs him after eventually checking the name on the display. He hesitates for a second, apparently contemplating to send the call to voicemail and leave it with that, but in the end he sighs deeply. "I assume it might be important."

Considering the fact that John did in fact hear Dean ordering some break from researching about an hour ago and he's honestly not a man to easily disturb another guy's well-earned rest it's most likely a fair assumption to presume something like that.

While Castiel answers the call, Dean hurriedly grabs his beer bottle and downs the rest of the content in one go. He really needs all the alcohol he can get.

Especially when realizing that half of the patrons in the bar are looking in their direction, most of them curious and amused, and Dean can't help blushing fiercely and ducking his head. The girls at the table right next to theirs giggle quietly and a dude half his age actually gives him a thumbs up and a wink.

Obviously Castiel and he put on quite a show for the people around.

Yeah, Dean seriously needs to leave this place. Quickly.

"Really?" Castiel suddenly exclaims in surprise, jerking Dean away from his thoughts. The Man of Letters seems tense and simultaneously excited while listening to whatever John is telling him. "You think there is some Babylonian origin? But nothing indicates –"

Castiel halts, his eyes going wide all of a sudden. "Oh my God, that would mean …Yes, exactly … I know, John … I've never heard of it before, I always thought it's impossible, but – wow."

Dean straightens his back and steps closer again, reminding himself over and over that they're on a motherfucking case and that there might be lives at risk.

"What is it?" Dean demands to know, leaning in to make sure that no one would overhear their conversation.

No other reason at all.

"John found some references to an ancient Babylonian spell that –" Castiel starts, but immediately pauses when looking at Dean's "speak goddamned English to me, you bastard"-face. "It all makes sense now, I don't know why I didn't see it before. Sometimes it's merely a little puzzle piece that's missing and it's driving you crazy –"

"Cas!" Dean cuts in.

Castiel flinches. "Sorry," he apologizes. "It's just … I'm sure we know now what the witches' spell is meant for. And I'm quite certain they went through with it instead of being interrupted –"

"Oh damn, those fucking witches raised a Hell monster, didn't they?" Dean groans, grimacing.

He seriously doesn't look forward to hunting something like that.

However, Castiel instantly shakes his head. "No, they did not."

Dean frowns. "So … what the fuck did they do?"

Castiel's gaze becomes even more piercing than before when he announces, "They saved a soul from Hell."

x

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Yeah, I know, I'm evil leaving you with cliffhangers and cockblocking ;D And I'm sorry to say it won't be the last time ;p

However, the next chapter will be up tomorrow, so I guess that's not gonna be so awful in the end! At least it's enough time for some serious threats if you so choose - I always love me some anger and misery from my readers :DD