Thanks to everyone who reviewed for the last part: ramen-is-my-goddess, Alpha Kan't Spell, Manifestation of a Storyteller, Mirror and Darkling! I appreciate all the love and feedback; it's what keeps me going!

Part II

Wiping his face off with a dirty handkerchief, Dean rolled out from underneath a beat-up '68 Chevy Corvette. The thing probably would've been scrapped by most other mechanics but Dean swore that he'd be able to fix her up. After all, he'd been taking care of his baby for over ten years now; he knew what made classic cars run.

Dusk had fallen, the early spring air cool but almost pleasantly so. The snow had just melted away, leaving the ground covered in a muddy slush. The world was just coming back to life after its long rest, the days growing longer, and for Dean it marked the beginning of a new stage in his life that had been too long in coming.

At twenty eight years old, Dean was ready for a change. He was still living in the same town his dad had moved them to twenty two years go in the same house his dad had bought and fixed up. He had been even been working at the same freaking job for about eleven years now. The job, like his house, his car, and about everything else in his life, had been left to him when his dad had died in a car accident eleven years ago.

When he was only seventeen Dean had been forced to become fourteen-year-old Sammy's father figure. It wasn't all that different from how things had worked before actually, except for the money. Their father hadn't been around much growing up, but he had always provided for the family. Without him and his income, Dean had been forced to work part-time in order to just pay for food. His dad had some cash in the bank, but Dean would be damned if he had used it for anything else than paying for Sammy's college. The kid was smart and he was going to college, period. Luckily, Bobby Singer, Dad's old boss, had reached out to them and had not only given Dean his dad's old job but occasionally fed them and gave them a little extra cash to pay for an electricity or gas bill.

Now, it wasn't like Dean had plans to switch jobs or buy a new house—No, something much better had happened. Sam, after living for six years in freaking California for college and law school at Stanford of all places, had just moved back home. Dean wasn't quite sure why anyone would want to come back here, but he wasn't about to complain if it meant he got to see Sammy on a daily basis again. Somehow Sasquatch had even managed to convince his girlfriend Jessica—a girl who was way too nice for him—to move here with him to the crossroads of Godforsaken and Nowhere. They had moved into the old Winchester family house with Dean two weeks ago and, while Dean had to get used to having other people around again, he would readily admit that he had never been happier.

"Dean, you still out here, boy?"

A grin worked its way onto Dean's grease-stained face as he heard the familiar gruff voice calling out to him. "Yeah, Bobby. I'm just about to head home though."

Bobby snorted as he appeared from behind a pile of wrecked cars. "What're you still doin' out here? Your shift ended an hour ago, ya 'idjit."

Dean's grin grew as he pushed himself to his feet. "Ah, you know me, Bobby. I lose track of time when I'm working on a beauty like this."

Bobby just shook his head and readjusted his hat to block out the glare from the setting sun. "Ain't no reason to sit out here and freeze your ass off, boy. Now get yourself home. After all, you got some people waitin' for you these days. You're probably keepin' dinner waiting too."

Dean had to laugh at that. "Yeah, probably. I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Have a good one. And say hello to that brother of yours for me."

"Will do, Bobby!" Dean would have to pull Sammy away from his office one of these days and bring him over to the junkyard for lunch. Bobby would never say so out loud, but Dean knew that the older man was happy to have Sam back around too and wanted to see more of him.

It took him less than half an hour for Dean to make it back to his car and drive across town to his home. He still did a double-take when he saw Sam's preppy little car parked in his driveway and resisted the urge to bump it as he pulled the Impala up beside it. Honestly, he loved his brother, but his taste in cars left a lot to be desired. Dean wished he could blame it on the time Sam spent in California, but he knew that Sammy had been like that long before he left.

As soon as he stepped into the house he was hit with a wall of delicious smells. God, but was he happy Sammy brought Jess back; that woman could cook like no other. "Hey, Sam, Jess, I'm home!

"It took you long enough." Dean rolled his eyes as Sam stood up from his spot on the couch closest to the old woodstove in the corner of the room. He had his laptop out, meaning he had probably brought work home with him again. Despite Sam's words, his younger brother was smiling back at him, his ridiculous floppy hair falling in his face. "I thought you'd got lost on the way back."

"Yeah, you wish. I could probably drive back blindfolded."

Sam scoffed, but his smile stayed on his face. "I would dare you to, but I'd be afraid you'd actually take me up on it."

"You'd better believe it."

"Would you two stop flirting and come sit down? Dinner's ready."

Both Dean and Sam's face screwed up in disgust as Jess's voice drifted back from the kitchen. Dean shook his head and yelled back, "Uncalled for, Jess! I'll be right over as soon as I make a pit-stop in the bathroom to vomit."

He was answered by a short, sweet laugh from the kitchen and a chuckle from Sam. The Winchester house almost felt like a true home again.

OoOoOo

The next day, Dean managed to drag Sam out from his little office down in the town center and out to lunch. Jess's lunch hour didn't match up and unfortunately Bobby was busy too, so it was just the two of them, but at least it was something.

Sitting down in the diner across from Sam's office, Dean heaved a contented sigh as he slid onto the vinyl seat. The two of them had gotten a few looks when they walked in, though Dean wasn't surprised. They didn't exactly look like they should go together; what with Sam's nicely tailored lawyer suit and Dean's grease-stained jeans and t-shirt. But Sam dutifully ignored the stares and just quirked an eyebrow at Dean as he picked up his menu. "Rough day at work?"

"Just a lot of heavy lifting. Bobby pulled me away from the Corvette today to help get some new cars settled in the yard. I'm pretty sure he had me haul around a ton of metal just to see me sweat."

Sam grinned. "I wouldn't put it past him"

The conversation broke off just long enough for the both of them to put their orders in to the cute blonde waitress who came to their table. Dean had flirted shamelessly of course which meant that the next fifteen minutes were spent trying to get Sam to stop "discreetly" asking when he was going to settle down with a real girlfriend. Honest to God, if Sam gave him one more of those knowing looks Dean was going to punch him.

Luckily for Sam, Dean managed to skirt around the issue until their food arrived. Never so happy to see a hamburger, Dean ignored Sam's disapproving frown as he winked his thanks to the waitress. Okay, it was totally more of a pout than a frown, definitely verging on Sam's patented "bitch face".

Dean just smirked back as he pulled off the ridiculously large pile of lettuce and tomatoes the diner kitchen had plopped onto his burger. "You know, if you keep your face like that for too long, it'll stick like that."

His snide remark prompted an eye roll from Sam. "Shut up, Dean." The effect was somewhat ruined by the small grin he was trying—and failing—to fight off. He stayed quiet for all of two minutes, getting a few bites of the salad he ordered, before he felt the need to talk again. "By the way, don't think I didn't see that."

"See what?"

Dean earned himself another eye roll as he tried to speak through a mouthful of hamburger. "You, scraping all the lettuce off your lunch. What are you, five? That was the only part of your burger that might not induce a heart attack."

Now it was Dean's turn to roll his eyes. "Relax, princess. I'm as healthy as a race-horse. Besides, why waste time on all that rabbit food when I could just eat a good burger instead?"

Sam seems to have expected the answer. "What happened to all that crap you gave me growing up about why I should eat all my vegetables?"

Taking a second to take a slug of the soda he ordered, Dean tilted his head as he washed down his latest bite of meat. "Hey, I raised you right. Now I figure I've earned myself a little leeway. It sure as hell wasn't easy, what with you being you and all."

Sam's face drew up into a more serious expression and Dean realized what he had just said: that he had raised Sam. The problem was, it was truer than either of them really wanted to admit. Because their Dad had been almost constantly MIA thanks to his busy work schedule, Dean had basically been left to bring Sammy up as best he could even before John died. It was a minor miracle Sam had made it to his eighteenth birthday. Dean had never blamed their Dad for anything, knowing that John did what he had to do to keep the family afloat, but Sam had felt for a long time now that John's workaholic tendencies had robbed Dean of a childhood or some such bullshit. Either way, any mention of Dean's bringing Sam up usually resulted in Sam getting all moody but this time Sam seemed to fight the feeling off. Finally, his expression melted into a dry smirk. "That's not nearly a good enough excuse for you to be pushing that much grease into your arteries."

Glad that a decent lunch hour hadn't been ruined, Dean happily let the subject be buried. "You're just jealous because Jess won't let you eat what you want anymore. I say being single is definitely a fair trade off for getting to down a quarter-pound piece of heaven like this whenever I feel like it."

"Whatever, jerk."

"Bitch."

With that brief exchange, Dean knew that they were okay. When Sammy had moved away, Dean hadn't been sure that things would ever be able to go back to how they were before. That he and Sam would drift apart.

Dean would never say so, but when Sammy had left for college he had practically ripped Dean's heart out. Sure, Dean had been proud as hell that his freakishly smart baby brother had gotten into Stanford, and sure Dean had known it was coming for months before Sam got on that plane, but it didn't stop it from hurting. For the first time, Sam was going somewhere Dean couldn't protect him.

Then, when Sammy told him he was moving back, it was like Christmas came early for Dean. He had been scared too, at first. That Sam wouldn't be the same. That Dean wouldn't have a place in his life anymore. But it turned out that Sam had missed Dean just as much; not that he'd ever say so out loud.

"Hey Sammy, after work and dinner, what do you say about heading off to the Roadhouse tonight?"

"Man, I would but in all honesty, I'm so tired I'd probably pass out after one beer."

Dean scowled into his burger. "You're a lot less fun now that you're employed, you know that right?"

Sam shook his head while at the same time a smile played across his face. "I may be having less fun, but my bank account is a lot happier. I can't spend the rest of my life living off you, especially if I ever want to have a real future with Jess."

"Yeah? You gonna buy a little house with a white picket fence, a barky little dog, and two point five kids?"

"Well buying a house is definitely on the list of things that would be good to do at some point. It's nice being at home again, but that two-bedroom one-bath is going to get real small real fast."

"I guess. But remember to give me like a thirty day notice, alright? I'll need to wean myself off of Jess's cooking."

Sam laughed and Dean was happy that his brother hadn't seemed to hear the way his voice had gone rough and caught in his throat. Even though the three of them were stuffed into a small house, Dean didn't mind too much. No matter the headaches Sammy caused him, Dean was always most content when they were together. Maybe it was just a peace of mind thing, but he wasn't sure he was ready to let that go yet.

Then again, the walls in the Winchester house were paper thin and he really didn't want to hear what Sammy and Jess were doing at night. Almost as much as Dean didn't want Sam to hear what he did with the occasional women he brought home. There were just some things they didn't need to share.

"Anyway, Sammy you need to stop talking and start eating. My break ends in fifteen and if I'm not back in time, Bobby'll bitch at me until quitting time."

OoOoOo

Sam had been right about how tired he would be after he got back from work. For once Dean had actually made it back before he did and when Sam finally walked through the door he looked ready to collapse. Apparently a big case had just come in and he had been run ragged all day, the lunch hour he had taken with Dean the only break he got.

Dean of course had teased him mercilessly for getting so wiped out by a job that basically revolved around sitting on your ass and researching. Jess had been much more sympathetic and had quickly ushered Sam to the dining table while promising a nice relaxing evening.

Two hours later, Dean left Sam and Jess at home sitting on the couch watching some network drama on TV and headed off to the Roadhouse on his own. Usually he would've just stayed and joined them but there was something about the sheer domesticity of it all that rubbed him the wrong way that night. Besides, he couldn't stand procedural cop shows.

As he pulled up to the Roadhouse in the Impala, Dean couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. Like Bobby, Ellen, who ran the Roadhouse with her daughter Jo, had been almost a parental figure for Dean and Sam growing up. Especially after their father had passed away, Ellen's door was always open to them. Dean had pretty much grown up with Jo, which was probably one of the only reasons that he hadn't asked her out yet.

Stepping into the Roadhouse felt almost as familiar as stepping into his own house and Dean immediately waved over to Ellen. Walking over to her, Dean sat down on a barstool with his usual smirk. "Hey there, Ellen. Looks like you got a good crowd tonight."

The blonde woman smiled back despite herself as Dean pulled off his leather jacket. "Yeah, a lot of people seemed to have stopped in to get out of the cold. You come here alone?"

"Unfortunately. Sammy overworked himself again so, yeah, I'm here alone tonight."

"Knowing you, I'm sure it won't stay like that for long."

Dean made a wounded face at her verbal jab but didn't bother denying anything. More often than not, his lone trips to the Roadhouse ended with him leading a young woman back to the Impala.

Looking around tonight though, he didn't see very many prospects. As bad luck had it, it seemed like most of the Roadhouse's patrons today were of the trucker and biker variety with a disappointing lack of females. The women he did see all seemed to have come with someone anyway, so that was a no go. It didn't even look like Jo was working tonight since he didn't see her hustling pool. "I doubt it. Looks like you have a high number of troublemakers tonight, none of which look like they'd like to go anywhere with me."

Ellen gave him a look. "Honey, you're the only troublemaker here. Now are you gonna order anything, or are you just going to take up space at my bar?"

"Just give me my usual."

"You got it."

As Ellen walked off a few steps to get him his drink, Dean let his eyes continue to wander around the Roadhouse. Like his preliminary once-over had suggested, most of the occupants were men who looked as grease-stained as Dean. There a few exceptions, but one of the most dramatic was a pair of businessmen sitting at the far end of the bar. Dean hadn't seen them at first but now that he got a good look at them they stuck out like a sore thumb.

The two men wouldn't have been particularly remarkable anywhere else but here they definitely stood out in their suits, shined shoes, and trimmed hair. They were sitting together talking in voices too low for Dean to hear, and it was hard to tell if they were coworkers or friends or whatever by their body language. One, who was shorter with slicked back dark blonde hair and honey brown eyes, was smirking and laughing while holding a fruity cocktail that Dean had never seen anyone but young party girls order. The other was a little taller with dark, disheveled hair and was wearing what was possibly the world's most boring trench coat as he stiffly sat in his seat nursing a beer. But the thing that really caught Dean's attention was the dark haired man's eyes. They were a shockingly bright blue, like crazy blue. He had only seen a color like that once before…somewhere…

Dean didn't know he was staring until Ellen popped out of freaking nowhere and set a bottle in front of him.

"What's the matter sweetie, you just jumped about a foot into the air. What had you so distracted? Someone catch your eye?"

"What? No! No, definitely not." Not in way Ellen meant anyway. Dean did not swing that way. But that didn't mean he wasn't nosy. Trying to act casual he fiddled with the cap on his bottle. "So who are the two yuppies at the end of the bar? I don't think I've seen them come in here before and it doesn't exactly seem like their types top pick of hangouts, no offense."

"None taken, since it's true." Keeping her voice low enough so that they wouldn't hear themselves being talked about, Ellen leaned onto the counter next to Dean. "From what I overheard, they just seem to be on some sort of road trip back to see some family. They probably stopped here because it's the only place open this time of night near the highway."

That's more or less what Dean figured, but something about it didn't seem to sit right. The more he thought about it the more sure he was that he had seen the dark haired man before. He felt like he should know him, but apparently he wasn't even from around here. "Did you catch their names?"

Ellen gave him a strange look and Dean wished that he could explain his curiosity without sounding like he had already had one too many beers. "You know I have a policy against making my patrons' business my business." Dean did his best impression of Sammy's puppy eyes, a difficult task while still attempting to maintain some semblance of masculinity. The half-assed imitation seemed to work though—either that or Ellen just felt so much pity for him that she just gave in. "But I may have overheard the guy in the trench calling the other 'Gabe' and shorty over there calling the first 'Castiel'. But I can't even begin to guess while you're interested."

"Come on Ellen, I'm not interested, just…I thought I, knew one of them from somewhere is all."

"Right. Well I certainly know better than to pry."

The good-natured smile tugging at the corner of Ellen's lips suddenly melted away as her attention drew away from Dean and his strange curiosity to something over his shoulder. Noting the abrupt change in her expression, Dean twisted around to look behind him and his own face drew into a scowl. Two of the rougher looking clients were starting to get rowdy over in the corner. Even from where he was sitting at the bar, Dean could hear their argument as they began to shout and bump chests. A fight was brewing and Ellen knew it.

Dean knew that Ellen was perfectly capable of handling herself—the shotgun she kept under the counter was testament to that—but as long as he was sitting there he wasn't going to make a woman he practically considered his mother take care of this on her own. Ellen seemed to be able to read his mind and put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't you move from that stool, Dean Winchester. I'll go settle them down myself."

Just as she said so though, the chest bumping devolved into a full on fistfight as one of the scruffy bikers threw the first punch. There was a sharp screech as the table they were sitting at was shoved away and chairs slammed to the ground as they started swinging wildly at each other. Dean was on his feet in an instant, shaking Ellen's hand off, "Sorry Ellen, but you gotta let me take this one for you."

Without giving her the chance to argue Dean made his way toward the fight. Straightening his shoulders to make himself look as intimidating as possible, he called out towards the two brawlers. "Hey, knock it off! If you wanna start something, take it outside!"

They didn't react but Dean hadn't really expected them to. They were too far gone to pay attention to anything outside of their scuffle and Dean knew he was going to have his hands full trying to break them up. That didn't mean he wasn't going to try of course, just meant that he would have to adjust his plans. Grabbing onto the man closest to him, Dean used brute force to haul the thug away. It worked, causing a pause in the fight for all of five seconds before Dean was rewarded for his efforts with a punch to the jaw.

The second guy had come up from his side and sucker-punched Dean right in the side of the face. Knocked off balance, Dean stumbled back before he released the first guy in order to block the next shot aimed his way. In the back of his mind he heard Ellen yell something at him but his mind had just switched to automatic. If these assholes weren't going to listen to him, Dean was definitely ready to beat them at their own game.

In the blink of an eye Dean threw himself into the fight. He had the advantage over the other two in that he was sober but in the sudden free-for-all they seemed more intent on ganging up on the newcomer. Swinging his fist up in a vicious right-hook, Dean caught one of the drunks right in the nose and sent him staggering back with blood dripping down his face. Dean's heart was pounding wildly in his chest, running on adrenaline and muscle memory as his body reacted without Dean even having to think. He had beat down more than one bully in his life—it had practically been his hobby all through high school—and he knew exactly what he had to do.

Unfortunately he wasn't used to fighting two people at once and while Dean had turned his attention back to his second opponent he didn't catch it as the thug with the bloody nose grabbed an empty whiskey bottle. The only warning he had was a shrill warning across the room from Ellen before something hard slammed down on the back of his head.

Stars burst in front of Dean's eyes and a sharp pain nearly blinded him as his knees gave out from the blow. He heard footsteps thundering over but instead of looking up and finding Ellen and her shotgun his eyes caught a quick flash of a tan trench coat before his vision when black.

OoOoOo

As Dean came back to himself, the first sense that returned was pain. A low, dull thrum on the back of his head and a weakness in his limbs. He was lying down on his back on something sort of soft; maybe...definitely the small bed in the backroom of the Roadhouse. The second sensation that returned was his hearing. There was a lot of shuffling and muffled voices…and someone calling his name. Forcing his eyes open, it took a moment for Dean to grasp that he was staring up at a pair of strikingly blue eyes.

"J-Jimmy…?" The name had rolled off of Dean's tongue before he even realized he was speaking.

The eyes, and the head they were connected to, tilted to the side. "That is not my name. But, more importantly, are you okay?"

The rest of the man's face came into focus as Dean's ears were filled with his surprisingly deep voice. It was that stiff guy from the bar, his blue eyes boring into Dean's. It took half a second for Dean to even process what he had said, too caught up in the way his voice had sounded. But when the words sunk in and the haze cleared away from his brain enough for Dean to actually form a coherent thought he let out a low groan. "…My head hurts like a bitch. What happened?"

"You were hit on the back of the head with a glass bottle. It failed to shatter so you were not cut by any glass, but you have a fairly significant bump developing, as well as some bruising."

He said all of this in the same tone anyone else would use to discuss the weather. But was even weirder was that it took Dean that long to notice how freaking close the other man's face really was. There were literally less than six inches between their noses. "Um, that's great and all but…dude. Personal space?"

The other man looked like he just grasped it himself as he blinked in surprise, "Ah. My apologies."

He had just pulled himself back when the door to the backroom slammed open as Ellen came hustling inside, her lips pursed and eyes dark with worry. When she saw that Dean was awake a relieved breath of air rushed passed her lips. "Thank God. Dean Winchester, I swear you take more years off my life than I can count."

"Sorry Ellen. Did you get those clowns out of here?"

"You've only been out for about three minutes. I've got some of the other guys holding them down until the ambulances get here. Speaking of which, should I call one for you?"

Wincing, Dean slowly moved to sit up to try to take stock of his injuries but jerked forward in shock as he felt the too-familiar stranger press his hand against Dean's back to help him up. Dean muttered a quick, awkward thanks and tried to remember what Ellen had just asked him. "Uh, no. No, I think I'm good."

Blue Eyes frowned next to him. "Are you certain? You expressed some amount of pain earlier, perhaps it would be better if you went to the hospital."

Ellen's frown deepened and Dean answered back before she could launch into a concerned lecture. "Alright, I won't lie, I feel like someone used my head for batting practice, but I'm good. I've had worse and if nothing's cracked open I'll be fine." That, and he didn't have any health insurance. No way was he going to pay out of pocket to have some quack tell him that yes, he does have a bump on his head.

Ellen didn't seem completely persuaded but seemed to decide to let it go. "Fine, no ambulance. But I'm giving Sam a call so he can drive you and your car home. Lord knows if you have a concussion or not and I'm not letting you get behind the wheel in that state."

Sam wasn't going to be happy to get that phone call but, looking into Ellen's eyes, Dean knew that he wasn't going to weasel his way out of it. So instead Dean just gave a begrudging shrug and tried not to wince as the small movement caused a dull twinge of pain to shoot down his neck. Fucking great, he was going to be sore for days.

As if sensing his discomfort, the hand on Dean's back slid up in an almost soothing motion to rest against his shoulder blades. What the hell? Dean's eyes widened but he couldn't get his body to jerk away like he knew he should've. Like he would've if it had been any other random dude practically stroking his back, but hell if Blue Eye's hand on him didn't make him feel a little better.

Before Dean's mind and body could work out a plan of action, the door to the backroom opened again and the auburn-haired man from the bar stuck his head in. Despite the situation there was still a small smirk on his face, like he had just been told a particularly funny but not particularly appropriate joke. His golden eyes zeroed in on the man sitting next to Dean and his shit-eating grin grew. "Hey, Castiel, I know you want to stay here and play with your new puppy, but we gotta get going."

Dean's eyes bounced back over to "Castiel". Castiel, right. Ellen had said that earlier. He was frowning, the expression bordering on what Dean would almost call a pout, his blue eyes narrowed slightly at the other suited man. "I am not playing, Gabe. This man was knocked unconscious, it was the least I could do to—"

Gabe interrupted, "Blah, blah, blah, whatever. You've done your duty or whatnot, he's alive, let's go. We have places to be."

Castiel let out a long-suffering heaving sigh but obediently rose to his feet, apparently used to his companion's attitude. As his hand slipped from Dean's back, the separation was suddenly too much for Dean to take. He didn't know how he should react but he knew that he couldn't just let him walk away. Reaching his own hand out, Dean snagged Castiel's elbow, his fingers gripping tightly at that awful trench.

Castiel's steps froze and his eyes immediately found Dean's and Dean felt his mouth go dry. Why was that gaze so fricking familiar? By now everyone in the room was looking at him and Dean realized that he should probably say something besides 'No, don't go'. "Ah, I…" Great, he couldn't form sentences anymore. Jesus, what was wrong with him? "I, I feel like I should buy you lunch or something."

Tilting his head to the side, Castiel continued to stare at him—God, did the guy ever blink?—as if he were trying to figure Dean out. Dean hoped he figured it out and shared with the class because Dean wasn't so sure that his head injury was to blame for his inability to speak. "If…you are feeling as if you owe me something, I assure you it is entirely unnecessary."

"No, it's just…Let me buy you lunch tomorrow in town."

From the door, Gabe let out a small scoff. "Sorry kid but by tomorrow we'll be—"

"—Tomorrow will be fine, if your mind's made up on the matter." Dean almost smirked as Castiel cut his friend off midsentence and continued to ignore Gabe's glower, never once breaking eye contact with Dean. If it had been anyone else, Dean would've definitely be weirded out. "Where would you like to meet?"

"Uh, how about the diner on the corner of Third and Main at noon?" Sure he had just been there today with Sammy, but it was the first place that came to Dean's mind. The Roadhouse was closed until dinner service.

Castiel nodded once. "I will meet you there then." He stared at Dean for a minute longer and Dean was half-certain that he would've gone right on staring if Gabe hadn't snagged his shoulder and practically hauled him out of the room.

As the door closed behind the two men, Ellen put her hands on her hips and shook her head. "Strange character, but after what he did it doesn't feel right of me to complain…"

That caught Dean's attention. Sure, Castiel had been there when he woke up but Ellen was a tough woman to impress. "What do you mean? What'd he do?"

"After you got hit with that whiskey bottle, that guy flew off his barstool like someone had lit it on fire. You should've seen the look on his buddy's face, his jaw about hit the floor. I didn't even have time to grab the shotgun before he was across the room. And for someone who looks like that, that Castiel guy sure can kick some ass. He had those two drunks knocked out so fast I don't they even knew what hit them. They're the ones I called the ambulance for." A scowl spread across Ellen's lips at the thought of the two trouble-makers in her bar until a moment later a different sort of thought seemed to come to mind and she turned her eyes back down to study Dean. "But I thought you knew all that already. Isn't that why you're taking him to lunch?"

"Oh, uh, yeah." If she was willing to believe it, Dean was willing to pretend like that was absolutely his intention the whole time. Everything made a little more sense that way. "Yeah, of course."

Maybe he agreed a little too readily because Ellen didn't look particularly convinced. If anything, she looked a little more concerned for his mental health. Smart woman. "…You must've hit your head harder than you thought. I'm going to go call Sam to take you home."

"…That's probably a good idea."

OoOoOo

Needless to say, Sam hadn't been happy to get a call at eleven at night that Dean had to be picked up from the bar. He became a little more sympathetic when he saw the lump on the back of Dean's head and the fist-sized bruise on his jaw. Not that it stopped him from bitching at Dean the whole way back to the house about him being an overly-protective, impulsive dumbass but a well-placed groan of pain shut him up.

The next morning, the only thing that convinced Dean that rolling out of bed was a good idea was remembering that he had a lunch date—er, appointment. It also gave him the motivation he needed to work through the morning at the salvage yard without complaining. Despite the ache in his muscles, Dean didn't whine to Bobby at all, until his watch showed twenty 'til twelve when he practically begged to be let out early for lunch. Bobby relented of course, going soft on him probably thanks to his new black and blue look.

Wiping the grease and oil off as best he could, Dean hurried back into the Impala and pulled on the clean shirt he had tossed into the backseat on his way out of the house. Usually he wouldn't have bothered but Dean didn't want to show up to lunch looking like a grease-monkey if Castiel was going to show up in a suit. Sure, he had done just that yesterday with Sam, but that was Sam. No matter what happened they had to put up with each other. Castiel on the other hand didn't have to love him unconditionally.

He might've cleaned himself off but by the time Dean got to the diner his hands were sweating and for the life of him he couldn't figure out why. What was it about Castiel that made him freak out? It wasn't like there was anything special about the guy—except maybe his ridiculous eye color that seemed to pierce into Dean's soul. In fact, by all accounts, he was the weird sort of guy Dean would usually try and stay away from, what with the staring, the strange way he talked, and lack of understanding about the concept of personal space.

But even with all that, Dean just had to see Castiel again. He had never even met the guy before in his life, but why did Dean feel like he had known him forever?

Shaking the feeling off, Dean walked into the diner. A quick glance up at the old clock on the wall told him there were still five minutes until noon but there was Castiel, already sitting in a booth by the window. He seemed to have been staring out through the glass, watching the small town pass by like he was watching a movie, but as soon as Dean stepped through the door his head whipped around and those blue eyes instantly found Dean's green and it felt like someone had shot a couple of volts through Dean's veins. Seriously, what the hell was wrong with him?

Dean offered a small smile and walked over, trying not to let the mess of emotions rolling through him show on his face. Castiel's own face was almost eerily blank but in a strange way Dean could almost feel a cloud of nerves hanging around the other man. Even if it was just Dean's imagination, he was going to run with it. It was much easier to act confident when he thought the other guy was as uneasy as he was.

"Hey, hope I didn't keep you waiting."

Castiel stiffly shook his head as Dean took a seat across him. The guy looked like he was wearing the same clothes he had worn to the bar last night. In fact he looked exactly the same; same dark ruffled hair, same five o' clock shadow. Did he sleep in his suit? "I have not been here long. I simply wanted to arrive early to ensure that I was at the right diner."

Dean's lips quirked up into a smile just because he didn't know what else to do. Hell, he didn't even know what he was doing here. "Right, well…thanks for showing up. It's Castiel, right?"

Seeing Dean's smile seemed to melt a bit of the tension from Castiel's shoulders. "Yes, Castiel Novak. And yours, yours is Dean?"

"Dean Winchester." Dean reached his hand out and Castiel immediately reached out to shake it, his grip firm and warm. Definitely human despite how he acted. And why did the name Novak trigger something in Dean's memory? Everything about Castiel felt like a giant déjà vu. "Ellen told me what you did at the bar and I figure you deserve a 'thanks'. I heard you kicked some ass last night."

Was it Dean's imagination or did the man look embarrassed? "It was nothing."

Dean's smile spread into a grin. "How did a guy like you learn how to fight like that anyway?"

Castiel tilted his head and for a moment he looked genuinely confused. Then he blinked, looked down at his suit, and understanding sparked in his eyes. "Ah, I suppose I do look a little settled these days." Straightening up, he once again met Dean's gaze. "I do not have a large amount of experience with bar brawls, but luckily I'm still in shape. I just returned from my tour of duty with the Air Force six months ago."

"Wow." Dean hadn't seen that one coming. Now the straight back made a little more sense, the man held himself like a soldier. Given that his dad had served in the Marines, Dean should've recognized it. "Welcome back. Was that guy you were with in the Air Force too or...?"

Dean's voice trailed off, not sure what to assume, but Castiel picked up where he had left off. "No. That's Gabriel, one of my older brothers. Actually," a hint of a smile touched Castiel's lips, "he's the only one in my family who refused to go into the service. All the same, he was the only one willing to drive me out here, so I shouldn't complain. As…disconcerting as it is I haven't yet found the time to buy my own car. Since I left for the Air Force right after I graduated high school, there are a number of things I have to catch up on."

"Whoa, hang on, high school?" If he had gone straight into the service after high school, he either already had a long military career or…"How old are you?"

"I turned twenty-one this year."

Holy crap. Dean had been six years old when Cas was born. Just by looking at his eyes you would think that he was much, much older than that. But now that Dean actually sat back and looked at Castiel's face, there was a definite youthfulness around those old-soul eyes. And for whatever reason, the new information made Dean even more nervous. What was a twenty-eight year old mechanic with a G.E.D doing talking to a twenty-one year old war hero? Shit.

Maybe seeing a sudden hesitance in Dean's eyes, Castiel tilted his head to the side. "If I may ask, how old are you?"

"Uh, twenty-eight."

Castiel blinked and though his expression didn't change, Dean could almost sense a surprise roll off of him. "Oh. How old is your brother?"

"Sam's twenty-five, but he's been doing more with himself than I have…Wait," a frown slipped onto Dean's face, "how did you know I have a brother?"

Again Dean could almost feel the change in Castiel's emotions, this time a quick burst of apprehension. "I, overheard, at the bar last night. I apologize for bringing it up, I hadn't meant to eavesdrop."

"No problem." The real problem was that Dean couldn't remember ever talking about Sam at the bar, or saying that Sam was his brother. Maybe Castiel had heard him and Ellen talking and had just assumed—freakishly accurately—that he and Sam were brothers. But who the hell knew? Dean bragged about Sammy all the time, something probably popped out last night without Dean even realizing it. Besides, he had better questions to ask. "It's not like I can blame you for eavesdropping when you joined in the fight with me. What made you jump in anyway?"

Dean was genuinely curious. Castiel didn't look like the type to get riled easily and the idea that he would run into a fight for a stranger didn't feel right. Castiel just looked at him like Dean had just asked why people breathe air. "I'm not entirely certain myself. I felt I should protect you."

And now Dean felt like a damsel in distress. Great. Laughing away his embarrassment, Dean shook his head. "Usually I'd be insulted but even I have to admit that I needed some help last night." Okay, usually Dean would be more than insulted. Usually he'd have to fight off the urge to punch any guy who even so much as insinuated that Dean was anything less than fully capable of taking care of himself, but hearing it from Castiel was somehow alright.

"It was no trouble. I was running on instinct, though it ran counter to my usual nature, and I'm just relieved that it worked out as well as it did."

"It definitely could've been worse. Ellen could've pulled out her shotgun." Dean laughed again, this time more from the heart. It was then that the waitress came around to take their orders and their conversation fell away to your basic small talk.

It was almost comfortable, but as the minutes wore on and their plates began to empty, an anxiety began to build up in Dean. Finally, he and Castiel were both done with their food and Dean couldn't keep himself quiet any longer.

"Hey, Cas—Can I call you Cas?" 'Castiel' just seemed too, too something. A nickname was definitely required.

Castiel's head tilted to the side and a small, amused smile touched on his lips as he pushed his plate away. "I…suppose."

"Alright, Cas. Listen, do you want to come over to my place tomorrow for dinner? I don't know if you're heading out of town or what, but my brother's girlfriend makes a mean pot roast." Dean really wished someone would've knocked him out again so that didn't come out of his mouth. But just like yesterday the thought of Castiel leaving sent Dean's mind into a panic. It was almost felt like he was about to lose a family member and, Jesus, Dean couldn't just let him walk away, even if he had no idea why.

But Castiel didn't seem caught off guard. In fact, he almost seemed relieved. "I'm sure I could convince Gabriel to stay one more day. Thank you, I appreciate the offer very much."

"Great!" Holy shit, Dean hadn't expected the guy to actually agree to come. "Um, here." Grabbing a napkin and the pen that had been left on their table to sign the check with, Dean scribbled down a few lines and passed it back across the table. "My address. If you show up around seven, I should definitely be back from work by then."

"Of course. It's the small white house on the corner, right?"

"No—well, sort of. It was white a real long time ago but my Dad and I repainted it green when I was eight."

Castiel blinked then nodded uncertainly. "Right. I will be there around seven then. Thank you again, Dean."

Folding up the address, Castiel put it in the pocket of his trench coat, then with a small smile stood and walked out. Dean followed him with his gaze, watched him step out of the diner and move down the street, his head tilting up to look at the overcast sky. Outside, in the gray light Castiel looked like he had walked into an old black and white film, except of course for his eyes. His eyes were still that haunting blue color. The same exact color as…as…

Realization hit Dean like a brick. He remembered where he knew that color from. Where he knew that face, that figure—where he remembered Castiel from. But, it couldn't be. There was no way. No way…

But the similarities were freaking uncanny. Even if Dean's memories had been skewed with age, it was just too much to call a coincidence. Castiel looked exactly like Jimmy, James Novak. That's where he remembered the name 'Novak' from, that was Jimmy's last name! But James Novak had just been Dean's imaginary friend from when he was a kid, hadn't he? Dean hadn't thought about him—it?—for years and years. And now suddenly a carbon copy of Jimmy was walking around town! What the hell was going on?

Jumping out of his seat, Dean ran to the door of the diner but by the time he threw the door open, Castiel had disappeared off the main street. Swearing, a rush of air slipped from Dean's lungs as he leaned against the doorframe, wondering if he had just invited a ghost into his house.