I think this is one of my favorite chapters. Somewhere USA by Gordon Lightfoot.
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They were about halfway there. When they'd pulled into the next town and the sun had set, Dean had set off to the nearest bar, leaving Cas in the motel room. It wasn't like the guy couldn't leave if he wanted to. He'd staked a firm claim on the seat nearest the hot bartender out of habit. A guy needed a break from laconic angels every once in a while, he told himself. It was just an hour and a few shots. He didn't have any intention of seriously wooing the bartender, but he certainly hadn't meant to spill his guts out to her. He walked out of the bar with suspiciously wet eyes, inebriated and with the bartender's parting greeting of 'Damn good luck'. Dean walked into the motel room, not really expecting Cas to be there. He got a surprise when Cas was curled on the farthest bed like a cat, reading. The guitar was propped up against the bed, and Dean smiled. That meant Cas had taken it out of the trunk and played it while he was away.
"Hey," he said, hanging his jacket up.
Cas sat up, swiftly hiding the book he'd held under his pillow. "Dean." There were no other words for it. The angel looked pissed. Angry, slightly miffed, shirt rumpled and hair messy. Pissed and oddly human. Dean almost laughed.
"Good book?" He fished into his jean pockets, drawing out a scuffed cassette he'd picked up from a box on the side of the road on the way home. Just 'cause Cas would like it. No other reason.
Out on the road, like a low down joe
And the bar where we are is so cool I'd like to stay
Cas glared in response. Dean frowned. They'd talked normally in the car. Cas surely couldn't be mad because he'd gone to blow off a little steam. "You OK?"
"Perfectly all right," Castiel answered stiffly. His eyes flickered curiously to the soft folk rock crackling from the crappy stereo.
"Yeah. Right." Dean rolled his eyes, and kicked his boots off. He sat down at the end of hid bed. He could feel the angel watching him. Man, his love life was fucked up. Since when did he even have one?
Misunderstood, like I knew I would be
The one I care for don't mind, she's built that way
"This is Gordon Lightfoot, by the way. Played a twelve string guitar. I thought you might like him, cause you're into that whole manly yet sensitive music." Dean quirked a smile.
"Dean, why did you get a room with two beds?" Cas asked suddenly, the muscles in his jaw flexing.
"I – uh – what?" Dean sputtered. He might not be drunk, but he was too drunk to deal with whatever this was.
"I don't need to sleep. I could have… gone somewhere else. Wouldn't that have been better?"
Dean wasn't sure what to say. "Better how? Why?"
Cas tilted his head to one side and growled, "I know why you go to bars."
Dean went to sink down onto his bed, only to realize he was already sitting down. "Oh. Uh, right. Oh." They were both silent. "You think you should go somewhere else so I can get laid?" He finally asked.
"Yes." Cas said simply.
"Fuck, Cas. Why would you-" he took a deep breath. "I wanted us to go on this trip together. Why would I be running off to bang chicks every night?" His laugh was shaky.
"You go on roadtrips with Sam. He was the one who quite indelicately informed me what you did at bars." Cas' words were hard, almost a challenge.
"Damnit. This is different. I, uh, we're different. I thought you knew that." Dean stared at his hands.
I would gladly offer you my love
In this hotel in Somewhere, USA
"I think I understand better now." Cas swallowed, closing his eyes and letting the music wash over him.
"Good." Dean said abruptly. "Are you less pissed off now?"
"No." Cas snapped, turning towards the window, away from Dean.
"What? Why are you mad?" Dean asked, exasperated.
A few minutes passed. "While you were gone, I felt something." Cas sounded bitter.
"Uh, okay. What?" Dean swung his legs over the bed, so he was facing Cas' back.
"I don't know. I'm not experienced with feelings." Cas' voice shook.
"Right." Dean sighed, remembering. "Describe it to me."
This rental car never went so far
But with each passing mile one more dream has turned to clay
"I… it was unpleasant. I felt hollow and the back of my throat ached. Inside me seemed cold and sharp and… I don't know, Dean." Cas stuttered.
Dean crossed the two foot gap between their beds unsteadily, like it was a line that couldn't be crossed over again. "OK," he said softly. "Does this make it go away?" He laid the palm of his hand flat across Cas' back, touching him through the worn fabric of his blue shirt.
Cas stilled. "Yes. How did you know?" Neither of them dared move for a moment, until Dean sank down onto the bed next to Cas.
"That's loneliness, Cas." Dean wasn't sure he ever wanted to stop touching Cas, even if it was innocent, comforting touches like this one.
"Oh." Color spread along Cas' cheekbones.
"It's a real human thing, I guess." Dean muttered. "You never really get used to it, I gotta tell you."
Now that we've met, and your eyes are all wet
Let me fetch my guitar, there's a song I'd like to play
"I don't like it." Cas said shortly. He contemplated Dean's words, eyelashes fluttering as he blinked.
"No one does," Dean laughed. He started drawing circles with his index finger, barely paying attention to anything else. Cas' lids half closed like a lazy cat. Dean knew he was the only one who got to touch Cas this way. April had screwed him, and Meg had kissed him, but it was nothing like this. This was… perfect, he supposed. He swallowed. "Can I show you something?"
"Of course, Dean." Cas answered. His voice was gentle, like ocean waves lapping at the shore.
"Okay. But you have to take your shirt off." Dean winced at the way the words had come across. "Trust me." He hoped that conveyed what he wanted to say. I'm not gonna kiss you, or say I want you. None of those things we're not allowed to do.
"I do." Cas said, and his hands busied themselves on his buttons. Dean pulled the shirt off, and let his eyes roam down Cas' naked shoulders and back. He started tracing designs on the bare skin, lightly at first, both hands skimming across the angel's back.
I would gladly offer you my song
In this hotel in Somewhere, USA
"You know," Dean said offhandedly, "What you said earlier doesn't make a whole lot of sense." Cas' eyes were closed, his head tilted back, and he carried on. "What you said on the roof."
Cas sighed. "What I said is true. But I suppose you want to know the truth." They were both so fucking vulnerable right now. There wasn't anything left but the truth. "Dean," he said in a broken voice, "Anything I try to do right, I shatter."
Dean swallowed, tears springing suddenly to his eyes. "That's not true." Cas didn't answer. His hands trembled on the angel's skin. "And even if it was, I don't break easy."
"Yes," Castiel murmured. "You do."
Dean bit his lip sharply. "You saved me once, angel." He'd done it again. That stupid nickname. "Lie down," he instructed, guiding Cas down onto the mattress, his face pressing into the pillow. He began to work in earnest, pushing hard into the muscles of Cas' back. A deep groan escaped Cas' throat, and Dean smiled despite himself.
One never knows where the good times go
If you've got some to spend we'll do anything you say
As he ran a thumb up the center of Cas' spine, he started talking. "You know, I like to think none of the rules apply when it comes to us. Seems like everything I love burns. But you stuck around. Keep coming back, actually." Dean was so caught up in the gentle guitar and the feel of Cas' skin and the soft sighs he made and trying to get the words across that it never occurred to him that he'd just told Cas he loved him. He could swear as he talked, he could see the faintest shadow of wings appearing across the floor. It wasn't like when Cas had done the same thing to intimidate him the first time they'd met. If you could call it 'meeting', exactly. He was pretty sure Cas didn't even know it was happening.
I'd never lie, well you know I try
Though you think it's the drink that's made me behave this way
Somewhere along the line, he stopped talking, and started praying. He knew Cas could hear every word. He'd never been much one for praying, but he prayed to Cas. He caressed the curves of Cas' shoulders before running a fist up his lower back. His prayer ended suddenly. It wasn't coherent words in Dean's mind, more of a feeling. Cas heard it, though. Loud and clear. Could you just let me love you?
"Oh, Dean." Cas turned over, catching the hand that had been stroking his shoulder blades in his own hand. He pulled Dean down on top of him, and snapped his fingers. The lights flickered off. Dean shifted in the embrace so Cas was now in his arms, his head nestled between the hunter's shoulder and neck. It felt safer this way. In the dark, it was almost like they couldn't see themselves break.
I would gladly offer you my love
In this hotel in Somewhere, USA