The Dreaded Talk

Food is amazing, Castiel thinks to himself. He takes another bite of the O'Malley's Classic Pub Burger, chews it slowly, and considerately- not in the sense that he's minding his mannerisms due to present company, but that he wants to savor the fascinating blend of tastes which are unlike the fast food burgers he's had previously. Every bite is a new surprise, because the batch had been mixed unevenly and thus the ratio of spices is varied, not to mention the disproportion of mayonnaise, ketchup, pickle, cheese, lettuce; no burger will ever be the same, by fault of mere circumstance. This is his third burger. His favorite bite so far was the 6th of the second burger.

He smoothly ignores Dean, who is observing him with a bewildered yet amused expression. Dean and Sam are sitting across from him in the booth and have both long since finished with their meals; Dean had also chosen the Classic Pub Burger, while Sam opted for the Classic Chef's Salad. Sam focuses on his drink now as Castiel eats, occasionally looking over at Dean and then at him, before back to his glass. The waitress interrupts their meaningful conversation (Castiel is practicing sarcasm in his head, to expand his communication skills- in reality, the three of them are sitting in silence).

"Your friend sure can eat, can't he?" she converses, refilling Sam's sweet tea with the half-empty pitcher in her hand. Sam gives her a tiny "Thanks".

Dean snorts. "He could probably eat a couple hundred of 'em if he wanted to." That causes her to laugh with her entire body, and Castiel at last raises his head in Dean's direction. Dean looks as though he can't decipher the meaning in his gaze; to be fair, Castiel himself doesn't know what emotion he's currently displaying.

"Should I tell the cook to put on another burger for ya, then?"

Castiel smiles considerately at the waitress- not in the sense that he's putting careful effort into his expression (though that is partly true on account of his inexperience in social situations), but that he wishes to express gratitude for her service. "I appreciate your foresight."

"Well isn't that the most polite 'yes' I ever heard," she grins. "Same one? Okay, I'll be back with y'burger and more soda."

She bustles away. Castiel takes another bite. Oh, this one is excellent. It's too bad that humans rarely take the time to experience their food, to know it intimately. Human cuisine is such a complex art form. It's discovering the perfect blend of spices and sauces and meats and produce, mixing and matching in literally countless different ways, all to create a single dish which is then replicated in millions of different varieties: a little more oregano, a bit less chicken bouillon, grilled or baked, salt-free, heavy cream instead of milk, add orange glaze, skip the gravy, serve it hot or cold or in between, have a small plate, have the whole pot. Yes, food is amazing.

Dean moves around in his seat to get comfortable for another half-hour or more. He sighs. Cas eating is definitely not a good sign: the last time this happened, Heaven had taken him off the angel juice and that'd made him practically human. "You enjoyin' that?" Dean jibes. He doesn't want to think about what's happening to Cas.

Cas nods. "Yes, the burger is wonderful."

"Oh, good. Wonderful."

Sam sets down his drink and makes like he's gonna leave. Whoa, hold on a minute there, bucko- Dean's not ready to be left alone with Cas, not yet.

"Where d'you think you're going?" He hates that he sounds so obvious, but Cas either doesn't notice or is kindly and considerately not paying attention to him.

"Dude, relax, I'm just going to the bathroom." Which, of course, is Sam-code for "Dude, I feel like a third wheel being crushed by the big, rainbow-colored elephant in the room. I gotta leave before I suffocate, and you two better talk while I'm gone or I'll lock you both in the motel for the night and let the elephant take care of itself. And that's a promise."

Seeing as Dean can't argue without basically telling Sam he's right, Dean has to let him leave. Fantastic. This is the first time since the motel that Dean and Cas have been left alone. Dean starts drumming his knuckles on the table and humming Metallica songs.

Castiel swallows the last bite of his burger, cleans his hands with meticulous precision, sets his plate aside, and sits quietly. Waiting. He doesn't look at Dean, doesn't try to initiate conversation; everything in its own time. If Dean doesn't want to talk, he won't force him to.

Meanwhile, Dean struggles to come up with words to say. How the hell do conversations like this even begin? "Hey, remember we made out around this time yesterday? Well I can't seem to stop thinking about it and I might like you as more than a friend, possibly. Also we are two dudes and members of different species. Just in case you didn't already know that." Most people don't have these problems. Most people only have to worry about how to act on first dates and finding The One and planning weddings and, at worst, fighting over cheating and fighting for gay rights. Lucky bastards.

All of a sudden a thought pops into his head and he just says it without second-guessing whether or not he should. "So, uh, Sam knows."

A wave of warm Relief washes over Castiel, and it is cleansing. "That comes as no surprise." It doesn't, since Sam mentioned it in his prayer earlier that day. But Castiel won't tell Dean about the prayer unless he feels Sam wants it to be made known.

Dean tries to laugh, but his throat is congested with Fear. Castiel senses so much of it; he hopes that, once Dean can say what he needs to, the Fear will pass. The waitress interrupts them (but this time it is not sarcasm: she is actually intruding on a conversation of sorts, only one that hasn't begun yet), setting down a new burger and refilling their drinks with a smile, and then she is gone. Castiel doesn't eat: his attention is solely on Dean.

After a minute of nothing, Dean psychs himself up to say whatever's on his mind. That's the fairest thing he can do. No worrying about what he sounds like, since he's pretty sure it doesn't matter to Cas anyway. He doesn't know what to say. So he says that. "I, uhm-" He clears his throat and tries again. "I don't know what I'm supposed to say. It- happened. I'm not gonna sit here and pretend it didn't happen because who am I kidding, y'know? We could talk about it 'til we're blue in the face. But, uh, but..." His train of thought derails, and despite his effort to come up with something, anything, he freezes. "But" what? What does he want to say there?

Castiel attempts to finish his sentence: "But you don't want to pursue it any further."

"Yes. No, wait, I mean yes, I-" He clenches his hand into a tight fist and fights the instinct to smash it against something, again and again, really just punch the crap out of it. Cas tilts his head; an understanding passes between them. Shit.

"You're... afraid to pursue it any further."

He swallows. Licks his lips. He wishes he could say that he doesn't want it to happen again. It would make everything so much easier. He can't, though. He can't look into those apologetic blue eyes and say something so cruel, especially when he'd kinda be lying to the both of them. God damn it. This whole thing isn't really that complicated at all. It's a single damn yes-or-no question that he's too afraid to answer, because whatever choice he makes will change everything past this point. But it's not just him- Cas has to ask himself the same question, has to come to the same conclusion.

Dean takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. It doesn't help. "What is this?" he whispers hoarsely, gesturing to Cas and himself. "I mean, what the hell're we gonna do now?" Cas looks down at his untouched plate, then away into empty space.

"I wish I had an answer for you, Dean, I sincerely do."

Sam rejoins them before Dean has the chance to say don't do that, Cas, don't put this on yourself, no one has all the answers. He shoots Cas a look to try and relay that to him, while Sam is still getting settled, and Cas nods back. We'll figure it out, Cas assures him with his eyes. Sam grins at the both of them, a gesture that can only mean finally; Dean smacks him on the back of the head.