This took far too long to do. I may have forgotten it, sorry about that, but I'm back now!

After his talk with the doctor all that was left for him to do was say a quick 'I got to head off. Urgent business' to Sam and disappear out of the hospital while he could still breath. As he climbed into his car, he just sat there not starting the engine and not moving. All he was doing was staring at his steering wheel, finger clenched. All he could think was, why Sam? Why his Sammy, after everything? Hadn't they been through enough? Had they not yet had their full quota of misfortune? Clearly not.

The silence broke as Dean slammed his hands on the wheel repeatedly and cursed. He probably looked like madman to anyone passing by, but it wasn't like he could give a shit right now. $600,000. How the hell was he meant to afford that? He'd already had their account wiped clean from the accident and it wasn't like he even had two jobs any more. He could get a loan? Like the bank would give him $600,000 for his sob story, but it couldn't hurt but try… and if it came to it there were always emother /emways of getting a loan. Yeah. He'd fix it somehow. It was his job after all, look after his baby brother.

It wasn't like he could do anything right now though, so what would it hurt to be a little bit selfish. He drove with a raw aim to find the one thing that would block out the words that the doctor had spoken to him earlier. He could have laughed hollow as it may be, but trust the world to have given him the same vice as his father. He'd tried to avoid it, hell he had watched it ruin his dad. Yet still he found it call to him. It blocked out the hurt and fixed all the bad if only for a night. That was how he ended up parked at Harvelle's Roadhouse.

He was gritting his teeth as he walked in and surveyed the place, giving Ellen a small wave before she retreated back into her office and he sat at the bar. It seemed like all the regulars were in tonight and you could defiantly pick out the new faces. You always could in a bar like this. They were always huddled together in some sort of pack, a little on edge and shooting looks at the other patrons. Though he guessed it didn't help that all the regulars looked like crazy rednecks that if you said the wrong thing you'd end up with a fist in your face. It wasn't true of course. Dean had grown up with the majority of these guys and they were all pretty cool. The one sitting at a table near the back, (Bobby his name was, ran the salvage yard nearby.) practically raised him and his brother when their dad drank himself into a ditch. Leaning an arm onto the bar, Dean waved over the barkeep and decided to start the night with how he meant to continue it.

With a whiskey. Make it a double.

After a few hours (and more than a few top-up's) he found himself searching the bar for someone. Anyone really, who could just take the edge off. There was a small group of girl's that had been staring at him for some time now, twirling their hair and giggling. Though even in his minds haze they weren't really his type and the only one that was had that brown hair and eyes that just reminded him of Lisa. So she was out. He was almost ready to give up and just go home and wallow by himself, when his eyes met a pair of cerulean blue ones. They were framed with messy brown hair and he couldn't help but smirk as he saw the blush rising on the man's cheeks at being caught staring. He offered the other man a wink, before turning back to his drink. He'd give him ten minutes and if he didn't come over, he'd have to go get him himself.

Dean had almost reached nine minutes in counting when the man decided that his, slowly edge himself closer to Dean, thing wasn't working and he sat down next to him. Not that he'd expected any less, after all, he knew he was hot and the guy had already been staring at him so really it had been a case of when not if.

Turning to face him he smirked, leaning his elbow on the bar as his hand tapped at his almost empty whiskey glass. Seeing him closer up was a real treat that was for sure. Blue eyes, dark hair and suit that in no way looked like it did this guy justice. If his body was as good as his face then he was in for a hell of a night. At least it matched his hell of a life.

"Been waiting for you to come on over, took your time much didn't you?" As he spoke he flashed a wink at the other man and if he had even a shred of luck today he'd be able to get out of there soon.

"I was nervous. Unsure of the correct protocols for such a situation," The other man explained as he sighed away from Dean's gaze. It was almost as if the guy was trying to look anywhere but directly at his face and he had to admit, it was kinda cute. Maybe if he'd had the kind of time to date or see anyone he'd have taken the time to get to know this man, but instead he just downed his drink and stood.

"Proper Protocol say's my place or yours?"

"Yours…" Grinning now, Dean waited for the blue eyed man to make a move and after a clear minute of the man obviously asking himself whether this was a good idea or not, he stood nodding his head. Great. Step one, pick up a hottie complete.

Heading out towards his baby, which honestly he was probably a little too drunk to drive, but what the hell, the path wasn't wobbling beneath him so he was sure it'd be okay. Not to mention that his place was only a few blocks away. Opening the guy's door first, (yeah he was a gentleman. What of it?), he let blue eyes in before he jogged around to the driver's side and slid into the seat. Putting the car into drive, he quickly pulled out of the parking lot and set out down the road, casting a smirk at blue eyes who was sat awkwardly in his passenger seat.

"Hey, you wanna give me your name? I mean I can keep calling you blue eyes all night, but a name easier to shout y'know?"

"It's Castiel. Castiel Novak."

If Dean wasn't a pro at driving under stress he was sure he would have crashed the car right then and there. Novak. As in multi billionaire Novak corporations. Shit. Suddenly it was like he hadn't been drinking at all that night and everything was clear to him. Sammy's operation. The $600,000 dollars he had to come up with in a week and the billionaire in his front seat.

Slowing down as they approached the intersection, he had a choice. Turn right; go home. Just use this Castiel for a night to forget and quick band aid over the shit hand he'd been dealt. The sane part of his mind told him that was the right way to go and there was always some other way he could get the money, after all what would Sammy say if he went left and out of town? He'd be disappointed that's for sure, but he'd seen where turning right got you. It stuck him with a busted up car and nearly a dead brother. The more he thought about it the more obvious it became.

He turned left.

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