A/N: i'm not even gonna say anything other than life happened and this is really short - i found it going through some old docs like oh my goddd

It was no surprise to Castiel when police found a dead young woman in a car a couple days later. Even though she has no ID and all her teeth were pulled out of her head, he knows who she is – or, rather, was.

He had been dropped off in the next town, as he had requested, and then he had… done it. Before he'd gotten out of the car, she was dead. She didn't need to die, it was just habit. After that, he'd walked on, and was now in a couple cities over, where either it would be very easy to hide or easy to get caught. He was taking a chance, and he didn't like it too much, but avoiding this city would be very inconvenient. Besides, Dean Winchester might be in this city. It was possible, no matter how slim the chance.

"…police have no means of identifying the young woman who was found murdered in her car…" Dean slammed his fist down on the table when he heard the name Castiel. He was tired of the Angel's murders being made a big deal of, when his own were kind of brushed under the rug. The news of the bank he'd robbed had been a blurb the day after. And they had said he was a suspect. Only a suspect.

He glanced around the bar to see if he had caused any ruckus with his pounding; he hadn't. He was sitting under the only TV in the place that had the news on, the others had sports related things going on. Dean tried to block out the yells and excited cheers coming from those patrons who were already drunk, to no avail. Besides, he was getting drunk himself, and was probably going to do the same thing after he changed the channel to this television. It was his last night in this city, and he was feeling depressed – he deserved this, no matter where it got him.

Castiel wished he could change his face. He saw around 10 cop cars just coming into the city, and even more walking around the park he was in now. And he knew they were looking for him. It was dusk now, he'd gotten there mid-afternoon; he'd leave in the morning. They might find him in the night, yes, sleeping somewhere in an alley, or maybe a bench, but he needed sleep. He'd been awake for over 24 hours straight, mostly walking. He was tired. So he avoided everyone as best as he could, avoided the park he'd wanted to be at, but right now he just didn't care if he got found, arrested. He could barely feel his legs.

Dean was drunk now. And, like he predicted, he was shouting at the top of his lungs like the others were. He was on his 8th beer. He'd forgotten he was a serial killer, he'd forgotten all but his own name – and he didn't even know it.

The wind was biting Cas' face while he was strolling the sidewalk, passing local businesses and strip clubs; it had begun to snow, and no matter how lightly, it was still cold. He pulled his bag closer to his back, and put his hood up, thankful for his layers. But in spite of the protection he had, he felt like instead of getting arrested, he would freeze to death first. He needed to keep going, of course. He needed warmth, too, right? He stopped. He looked around for a place he could go in with the least chance of police officers being there. His eyes stopped on a bar across the street. Even though he usually wasn't one for alcohol, he wasn't against it, either, and gin (or something as fiery) sounded really good right now. Besides, what kind of police officer would be in a bar at this time of night? He quickly crossed the road. He hid his backpack as well as he could outside, and he walked inside, promising himself he would not get drunk.

His ears were immediately assaulted with the roars of other guys in the bar, yelling at the sports game. Castiel had never been one for sports. He walked up to the bar, sat down as far away from the other customers as possible, and ordered a shot of whiskey.

Dean's staring was borderline creepy, but the man seemed oblivious. He'd been staring at him since he walked in, practically drooling. This guy was gorgeous. Even from this far, Dean could see the man's bright blue eyes: he noticed the scruffy beard, the tanned skin, the brown hair that he could picture running his hands through later. Oh, this guy was coming with him. Maybe they would get a hotel room, maybe they would just go back to the impala, but right now that was not important. He had to go up to him first, meet him. He didn't just want to fuck him; he wanted to get to know him, even though he didn't really know why.

10 minutes later, Cas was drunk. He knew he shouldn't have ordered that 3rd shot. He was on his 5th and he had lost it. He didn't know how he was gonna pay for this, either. He'd just have to try to sneak out. He sighed, succumbing to the stuff overpowering his mind, burrowing his head in his arms.

The next time he glanced up, he was surprised to see someone next to him. The first thing he noticed about this someone, though, was his amazingly green eyes –

"Have I seen you before?" the stranger asked suddenly, in a deep voice. Cas squinted.

"I don't think so…" Although, he did seem rather familiar, but he knew he'd have remembered someone so handsome –

"So, uh, what's your name?" the stranger smirked. Castiel, he thought to answer, but no – not his real name – couldn't tell his real name.

"Zeke…" Cas answered. If he showed any hesitation, the stranger didn't recognize it.

"My name's Sam."

Dean couldn't shake the feeling that he'd seen this Zeke before, somewhere, but he ignored it. He continued to smile at him.

"So, are you from around here?" Did he really just ask that?

"Uh, no," Zeke answered, clearing his throat and sitting up. "I'm from out of state."

"Oh? Just visiting, huh?"

"Yeah. I assume you're from around here, then?" he asked, turning his whole body toward him, making Dean a little excited.

"Um, sure. Yep," he nodded, and tried to sound convincing. It either worked or Zeke didn't care.

They both paused, staring into each other's eyes; Dean didn't feel awkward in the least. In fact, he felt like he could do this for hours on end, and would've if he hadn't been brought back to earth by Zeke's gruff voice.

"Sam," he said, "That's a very nice name."

Never mind about being brought back down. He only shot farther up.

Castiel licked his lips involuntarily, his eyes scanning the man in front of him. He felt his heart race as Sam placed his hand on his knee. His eyes kept going from his eyes to his lips and back again. Everything about him, just –

"Are you doing anything later?" Sam practically purred, making Cas blush. He glanced at the time: 10:00. He smiled.

"Later as in… when?" Sam leaned closer to Cas, grinning.

"Now," he whispered.

"Now? I'm free…" he whispered back.

"Bartender!" Sam yelled, his eyes leaving Castiel's for just a moment. He handed the bartender a 50 dollar bill, telling him that he was paying for his "new friend", and to keep the change. He downed the last of his beer, and Cas downed his last shot, and Cas found himself being dragged out of the bar by Sam's firm grip on his hand.

The bitter wind hit Dean like a ton of bricks, but he tried not to let it bother him. He had plans for tonight. They would go back to his hotel room he forgot he had – yeah, that was it. But could they walk there? It was only a couple minutes away, you could see it from where they stood.

He pulled Zeke as close as possible, and put his lips right on his ear.

"Let's go back to my place," he said. Just because it was a hotel room didn't mean he didn't live there for the moment. Right?

He dragged Zeke along the sidewalk, keeping as close together as possible (for warmth, of course.) A couple of minutes later they were outside the hotel; a couple of minutes after that, they were in the hotel room.

A/N: idk if i'll continue like wtf? you say. ? you just updated? you say. yes ik but still life