Dean was glad to be sitting in the Impala, to feel its purr beneath him, to hear the rumbling of the engine, to feel the leather wheel against his palms. It was better than staying up in that bright hotel room where he'd been told he was made for Michael.

Made for Michael, he mused. What the fuck does that mean? Asshole.

The tension still resided in him, and he figured if — no, when — he went out to lunch with Cas he'd maybe have a little to drink. Not as much as last night. He hd to promise himself that. He didn't need another repeat of that, and public drunkenness was probably the kind of shit Michael, and Zachariah didn't want him doing anyway.

Castiel was looking at him, as if he was hurt, cerulean blue eyes so big. Dean didn't like it. It reminded him of pity. It wasn't a pitying look, per se, but it sure as hell seemed close.

"What?" Dean snapped.

"They're allowed to do this to you?" Castiel asked.

"I don't know," Dean answered honestly. "They think they can. Sam's gonna help. But I can't do anything right now. I just… I just need this time out, Cas. And I want to make up for last night. I was an ass."

"You were drunk."

"Doesn't mean I wasn't an ass."

"But—"

"Cas, I'm trying to apologize to you," Dean intoned.

Castiel's cheeks went a little pink, and Dean couldn't help staring. They were at a crowded intersection, and would surely be left at the right light for awhile, so it wasn't as if he couldn't get away with it.

Someone behind him honked their horn, drawing him from his reverie. How long had he been looking him over? Looking at those pink cheeks, the full, pink lips, the sharp jawline. Dean's gaze had also gone to his thighs. And as he'd looked at Castiel, Castiel had looked at him.

Focus on the road, he told himself. He made the turn, and continued driving.

"Then I accept your apology," Castiel eventually said.

"Good."

"And not because you have money, or your'e some big name celebrity."

"Right."

Why was Castiel making a point to say that? Did he think he was entitled?

Maybe I am.

"Because you're actually trying to be human."

Dean's gaze hardened, heat flaring.

"What, so you think I'm not human?"

"I didn't say that."

"Uh, buddy, yeah, you did."

"Okay, fine, maybe I did say it," Castiel snapped. "But I mean, look at you. Your outfit costs more than my rent, your brother is famous by association and also your lawyer, you have Garth at your beck and call. That's not… normal."

Dean gave him a cocky grin. "Thanks, it's called being rich and famous."

Castiel only sighed at that and sank down in the seat.

"You know, we don't have to do this," Dean went on. "I can take you to get that phone, make sure your car gets fixed, and then drop you off wherever you want. You have that friend, right? What's her name?"

"Meg."

"Meg, that's right! Seriously though, man. If this is bothering you—"

Quick as an adder, Castiel shot out, "It's not."

"Then what's your deal?"

"What's your deal?"

"You know what? No, we're not gonna argue like this. We're not a couple o' twelve year olds."

Castiel grinned.

"What?"

"I don't know, Dean, you seem pretty immature."

"Are you… are you teasing me?"

Castiel's brows lowered, suddenly all serious. "Yes."

Dean started laughing, and it felt good. It felt so good that he didn't feel as if he had to do anything else in that moment. For those few moments he wasn't thinking about the contract, wasn't hoping his headache would go away soon, wasn't thinking about how much he wanted to punch Michael in his stupidly gorgeous face. And he wasn't thinking about how strange his situation with Cas was, or what he yearned to do with him. There were no worries about where this would lead, about maybe ending up hurt and disappointed. He just laughed.

Castiel laughed too.

"There we go!" Dean said. "Knew you couldn't be such a hard-ass all the time."

"Thanks."

To Dean's surprise, Castiel seemed to mean it sincerely. He inwardly shrugged. If that's how Cas wanted to take it, that worked too. Besides, Dean was realizing he was starting to like Castiel's reactions, even if he wasn't so sure he liked what it did to him.

"Tell me about yourself," Dean requested.

"Why do you want to know?"

"I don't want to take a total stranger out to lunch."

Castiel seemed to think that was reasonable as he asked, "What do you want to know?"

"I don't know, whatever you want to tell me," Dean said with a shrug. "Favorite color, favorite movie, where you went to college… that kind of stuff."

So Castiel began to tell him, and Dean took note of everything. By the time they made it to an electronics store, he knew his favorite color (green), knew his favorite movie (A New Hope), knew his favorite book (The Dresden Files by Jim Butcher [Dean had had to try really hard to not seem so shocked]), knew his favorite food (peanut butter and jelly sandwiches)... He listened to him talk about his college experience, what he'd majored in. Dean was happy to hear it all. By the time they pulled up to the store, Dean didn't want the conversation to end.

He rifled through his pockets, grabbed his wallet, and then started flipping through the bills he had in there, counting.

After coming up with what he thought would be a sufficient amount, he passed the money to Castiel.

"Alright, kid, go have fun," Dean teased.

"Ass."

"You're an ass."

"This is too much," Castiel said.

"Just take it. I'll wait out here."

"Will anyone see you?"

Dean lowered his hat over his brow. Castiel just raised an eyebrow in what Dean thought might be a disbelieving look, but then he took the money Dean offered, and got out of the car. The door creaked as it opened and closed. Dean knew he should oil the hinges, but that sound? That sound felt like home.

He tried not to stare as Castiel walked away, but oh god, Dean would be lying if he said that his new friend or whatever he was didn't have one hell of a nice ass.

Guilt tugged at his stomach.

Castiel had helped him last night, helped him when he hadn't even known how to help himself. He shouldn't be looking at him like that, thinking about him like that.

"You are an ass," Dean muttered to himself, agreeing with Cas.

Still, even as he tried to veer his thoughts away from what he wished he could do with him, they just kept burning in his brain.

Dean tried to rationalize it, tried to logic his way out of the thoughts. No, you can't do that. One, he's being nice to you and you don't want to fuck that up. Two, he's a virgin and probably isn't interested. Three, you don't even like virgins! Four, if Zachariah or Michael found out, maybe even Crowley, they'd have it out for your ass.

The logic made sense. It really did. Yet, his emotions didn't listen to it.

Suddenly frustrated, and a little angry with himself, Dean leaned over to look through the glove compartment on Castiel's side. His cassette tape collection was in there. Hell, he knew cassette tapes were outdated, but they were classic. How could he not love them?

Dean found a Led Zeppelin tape that he loved, and he popped it into the tape deck. He put the volume just loud enough for him to hear, and listened to one of his greatest inspirations while he waited for Castiel.